Juju island attack
The Echoes of a Broken Shore
The third week of their Jeju vacation arrived not with the promise of a return to normalcy, but with a fragile, glass-like stillness that threatened to shatter at the slightest vibration. The mountain villa was a sanctuary, yet it felt like a gilded cage for the six members who resided there. Every floorboard that creaked too loudly, every bird that chirped too sharply outside the window, caused Jisung to flinch, his eyes darting toward the door with a primal, heartbreaking fear.
Jisung was currently in a deep state of regression. He had been "four" for three days straight, his mind refusing to return to the complexities of adulthood where the man who had tried to drown him was also his best friend. In this soft, blurred world of little space, things were simpler. There were "good boys," "bad monsters," and the "Dadas" who kept the monsters away.
Minho sat on the plush carpet of the sun-drenched living room, his legs spread to create a safe harbor for Jisung. The little boy was focused intently on a set of colorful plastic rings, trying to stack them in order of size. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and for a moment, the dark bruising on his neck was obscured by the collar of his oversized yellow hoodie.
"You’re doing so well, Sungie," Minho encouraged, his voice a low, soothing hum. He reached out to ruffle Jisung’s hair, and the boy leaned into the touch, a small, shy smile ghosting over his lips.
"Look, Dada! Red one on top!" Jisung chirped, his voice high and sweet. He clapped his hands, the plastic rings rattling on the floor.
"A perfect tower," Minho praised. He felt a pang of bittersweet joy. This was the Jisung he wanted to protect—the one who found wonder in plastic rings and felt safe in a pair of warm arms.
Across the room, Chan was hunched over his laptop at the dining table, his face illuminated by the cold glow of the screen. He was in the middle of a tense email exchange with their company’s management. They were demanding a group photo to "quell rumors" of a fallout, unaware that the fallout was a radioactive crater.
"They want a 'V-Live' or a photo, Minho," Chan muttered, rubbing his temples. "They don't understand. They think it was just a 'trainee-style' scuffle that got out of hand."
Minho’s expression hardened instantly. "Tell them if they want a photo, they can come down here and explain to Jisung why he has fingerprint bruises on his windpipe. Otherwise, they get nothing."
Jisung’s hands stopped moving. He looked up at Chan, his eyes wide and dazed. "Channie-papa? No pictures. No... no flash. Flash is scary."
Chan immediately shut his laptop, the "leader" persona melting away into the "caretaker." He moved to the floor, sitting on Jisung’s other side. "No flashes, baby. I promise. No pictures today. We’re just going to play."
"Is Jinnie in the pictures?" Jisung asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. He clutched his yellow chick plushie to his chest. "Jinnie likes pictures. He makes the 'peace' sign."
The room went silent. It was the first time in hours he had mentioned Hyunjin. Every time he did, it felt like a cold draft blowing through the house.
"Jinnie isn't here, Sungie," Chan said gently. "He’s... he’s taking a long nap in the other house."
"He's mean when he wakes up," Jisung murmured, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the floor. "He called me a 'whore.' Dada, what’s a 'whore'?"
Minho felt a surge of murderous rage so potent he had to physically grip the carpet to keep from shaking. The fact that those words were rattling around in the head of a regressed four-year-old was an atrocity.
"It’s a bad word that people use when they are being very, very mean and very, very wrong," Minho said, his voice trembling with restrained emotion. "It doesn't mean anything about you. Jinnie was using 'ugly words' because his heart was full of 'ugly' that night. It’s not yours to keep, okay?"
Jisung nodded slowly, though the confusion didn't entirely leave his face. He picked up a blue ring and turned it over in his hands. "I keep the pretty chain safe. I was a good boy."
"The best boy," Chan whispered, kissing the top of Jisung’s head.
The afternoon was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway. Jisung scrambled into Minho’s lap, his breath hitching in a way that signaled a looming panic attack.
"No! No, no, no!" he whimpered, burying his face in Minho’s chest. "He’s here! Dada, hide me! Hide Sungie!"
"I’ve got you, I’ve got you," Minho hissed, wrapping his arms around the boy like a shield.
Chan stood up, his jaw set. He walked to the window and exhaled in relief. "It’s just Changbin and Felix. They went to get the groceries and the new pacifiers."
Jisung didn't let go until the door opened and Changbin’s familiar, deep voice echoed through the hallway. Even then, he remained tucked under Minho’s chin, watching the door with the wariness of a hunted animal.
Felix entered first, carrying a bag of supplies. He looked at the scene on the floor—the plastic rings, the star projector, the three of them huddled together—and his eyes welled up. He had spent the morning crying in the car while Changbin drove.
"I got the ones with the little stars on them, Sungie," Felix said, trying to keep his voice light. He reached into a bag and pulled out a pack of high-quality pacifiers. "And I got the peach juice you like."
Jisung peeked out from Minho’s arms. "Stars?"
"Yeah, look." Felix knelt down, opening the package and handing a blue one to Jisung.
Jisung took it, examining the small glow-in-the-dark stars on the plastic shield. He popped it into his mouth, the familiar soothing motion helping to settle his frayed nerves. He reached out a hand toward Felix, a silent invitation. Felix didn't hesitate; he sat down and pulled Jisung’s feet into his lap, gently massaging them over his socks.
Changbin walked in a moment later, looking exhausted. He sat on the sofa, leaning his head back. "He’s still at the gates, Chan."
Chan frowned. "Who?"
"Hyunjin," Changbin said, his voice a low rumble. "He’s sitting on the curb outside the first villa’s gate. He hasn't moved in hours. The manager said he’s refusing to eat or go inside. He just keeps saying he needs to apologize to 'Hannie.'"
Minho’s grip on Jisung tightened. "He can stay on the curb until he turns to stone. He’s not coming here."
"I know," Changbin said. "But the manager is worried he’s going to collapse. The sun is hot today."
"Let him," Minho snapped. "Jisung collapsed in the ocean. Where was Hyunjin’s worry then?"
Jisung, sensitive to the change in tone, looked up from his pacifier. "Jinnie is in the sun? He’ll get a 'burnie.' Burnies hurt."
The sheer, unconditional empathy of the boy was staggering. Even after everything, he didn't want the "monster" to have a sunburn.
"He’ll be okay, baby," Chan said, casting a warning look at the others to stop the conversation. "He has people to take care of him. Right now, we need to worry about your lunch."
The rest of the day was a slow, deliberate effort to keep the peace. They watched a movie about a brave little dinosaur, and Jisung eventually fell asleep on the floor, surrounded by his "Dadas" and "hyungs." But the peace was shattered at twilight.
A sudden, loud thud came from the back porch. It wasn't the wind, and it wasn't a bird. It was the sound of someone stumbling.
Jisung bolted upright, let out a piercing, jagged scream. He didn't even look; he just scrambled toward the corner of the room, his limbs flailing. "He’s here! He’s here! The monster is here!"
Minho and Chan were on their feet in a second. Changbin lunged for the back door, tearing it open.
There, crumpled on the wooden slats of the porch, was Hyunjin. He looked unrecognizable. His hair was matted with sweat and sand, his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his skin was deathly pale. He had somehow evaded the manager, walked the miles of mountain road, and found the "secret" villa.
"Please," Hyunjin rasped, his voice sounding like it had been dragged over broken glass. He didn't even try to stand. He stayed on his knees, his hands shaking violently. "Please, I just... I have to see him. I have to see he’s breathing."
"Get out," Minho roared, his voice shaking with a terrifying, quiet fury. He stepped in front of the doorway, blocking the view of the living room. "If you take one more step, Hyunjin, I swear to God, they will have to carry you out in a bag."
"I didn't mean... the water... I didn't mean..." Hyunjin began to sob, a horrific, keening sound that tore through the quiet evening. "I saw red, I saw the chain and I—"
"You tried to kill him!" Chan yelled, his usual composure finally snapping. He stood beside Minho, his face a mask of betrayal. "You held him under! You watched him stop fighting! You don't get to come here and cry about it!"
From the corner of the room, Jisung was hyperventilating. Felix and Jeongin were trying to hold him, but the boy was thrashing, his eyes blown wide with a terror so deep it looked like he was staring into an abyss.
"Dada! Dada, help!" Jisung shrieked, the pacifier falling from his mouth. "Don't let him take me back to the water! No water! No water!"
Hearing Jisung’s voice—the high, terrified pitch of a child—seemed to break something final inside Hyunjin. He looked past Minho’s legs and saw the yellow hoodie, saw the trembling boy who used to be his "twin," his partner-in-crime.
"Jisung," Hyunjin whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. "Hannie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
"Go away!" Jisung screamed, hiding his face in Felix’s chest. "Go away, bad man! You hurt Sungie! You hurt!"
Minho didn't wait. He stepped onto the porch, grabbed Hyunjin by the front of his shirt, and hauled him up. For a moment, it looked like Minho was going to throw a punch, but he simply shoved Hyunjin toward the stairs with enough force to send him reeling.
"You are dead to him," Minho hissed, his voice a lethal whisper. "You are the thing he sees in his nightmares. If you ever, ever come near this house again, I will call the police and I will testify myself. I will watch them lock the door. Now leave before I lose the last bit of restraint I have."
Changbin stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. "Come on, Hyunjin. You’re making it worse. Look at him. You’re killing him all over again."
Hyunjin looked back one last time. He saw the way Jisung was shaking, the way he was clutching Felix as if his life depended on it. The realization of the damage he had done—the permanent, psychological scar he had carved into the person he loved most—seemed to finally settle in. His knees gave out, and Changbin had to catch him to keep him from falling down the stairs.
Changbin led a broken, sobbing Hyunjin back toward the car, promising to take him back to the other villa and call a doctor.
Inside, the damage was done. The "Safe Zone" had been violated. Jisung was inconsolable. He was sobbing so hard he started to gag, his small body racked with tremors.
"He found us," Jisung wailed, his voice raspy. "He found the secret house. Dada, he’s gonna find me in the dark!"
"No, no, baby, he’s gone," Minho said, rushing back to him and pulling him into a tight embrace. "He’s gone forever. Dada’s going to lock the doors. We’re going to put the big bars on the windows. He can't get in."
It took hours to calm him down. They had to give him a warm bath to stop the shivering, and even then, he wouldn't let go of Minho’s hand for a single second. They moved his bed into the center of the room, and all the members—except for Changbin, who was still dealing with the aftermath—piled into the room.
Jisung lay in the middle of the bed, sandwiched between Chan and Minho. He was sucking on his star-patterned pacifier, his eyes fixed on the ceiling where the projector was casting a slow-moving galaxy. His breathing was still hitching, a lingering remnant of the panic.
"Dada?" he whispered around the silicone.
"Yes, my star?" Minho replied, stroking his cheek.
"Is Jinnie a monster now? Forever?"
Minho looked at Chan. The question was a heavy one. They wanted to say yes, to make it simple for the four-year-old mind. But they knew the truth was more painful.
"Jinnie is a person who did a monster thing," Chan said softly. "And because he did a monster thing, he can't be around us. We have to keep the 'good boys' safe."
Jisung closed his eyes, a single tear leaking out. "I miss the Jinnie who shared his ice cream. But I’m scared of the Jinnie who likes the water."
"We’ll keep the ice cream Jinnie in our memories," Minho whispered. "And we’ll keep the water Jinnie far, far away."
As the house finally settled into a restless sleep, the moon climbed high over the mountains. The vacation was supposed to last one more week, but they all knew they wouldn't stay. They would go back to Seoul, back to the dorms, but the world would never be the same. The "eight" were now "seven plus one," a fractured equation that didn't add up.
In the dark, Jisung reached out and found Minho’s hand, squeezing it tight. He was a little boy lost in a storm, clinging to the only anchors he had left. The salt was gone, and the beach was miles away, but in the quiet of the night, the sound of the waves still echoed in the back of his mind, a reminder of the night the moon turned red and his best friend became the tide. But as long as the "Dadas" were there, he would keep breathing. He would keep stacking his rings. He would try, one day at a time, to be a "good boy" in a world that had suddenly become very, very big.