yesterday, the scientists put a pause on the torture related to his power detection ability in favor of exploring his ability to unheal – or more accurately, see if he could heal. they seem to think daeyong's pain empowerment ability is indicative of some potential in jaeyong to do the same, or to regenerate, like his younger brother.
so they made him unheal some of his own wounds – only small ones. not the long, diagonal gash from his chest. not the scar jaeyong earned when his own father held a knife to his throat and sliced just deep enough for jaeyong's life to flash before his eyes – a lingering warning, a threat at the hands of the man he shares his ability with. just the small scars, like a couple on his hands from failed knife tricks, the elbow he skinned falling off his bike like a normal child – the small cuts on his arms inflicted upon him by his parents to build his pain tolerance and remind him just how much they could make him bleed.
the thing is, small wounds add up, and scientists are not so easily satisfied. they know the farther they push him, the more likely they are to achieve the result they want. jaeyong knows that, too. but they also all know jaeyong is one of their own, and they would prefer to keep him alive. so they are careful with him, at least compared to daeyong – at least for now.
they were kind enough to send him home covered in bandaids. jaeyong spent an hour in his apartment's bathroom after, expertly tending to the injuries like he has hundreds of times before.
pain is a natural part of healing. in a couple weeks, he'll be fine again, the only evidence of re-opened wounds being scars that might be a little more noticeable to someone who memorized all his body's bumps and blemishes.
today, though, it hurts. his long-sleeved shirt keeps rubbing against the fresh scabs on his arms, and the cut on his thumb stings every time he moves it. but life goes on, and so does jaeyong. it doesn't matter if it hurts. it never has.
what matters is restocking his and daeyong's fridge and pantry, because always ordering food is expensive and jaeyong still needs to feed daeyong enough to make up for six years of vitamin slop and liquid protein.
he's scanning a box of cereal at the self-checkout when he feels it – or feels him, more accurately. relief. the stinging fades a little, but the relief is unnatural – the result of a mutagen power. jaeyong can tell immediately, and maybe he could tell even if he didn't have his own ability to recognize others. because the sensation is familiar – almost as familiar as daeyong sending a thought to him, or his mother tampering with his mind. he'd know what seoyun feels like anywhere, really.
and seoyun knows what he feels like, too. it comes with the territory of a man with pain absorption loving a man who might as well be an open wound. seoyun knows too much. he doesn't need to know more. he doesn't need to notice the new scabs where scars used to be, and if anyone has every mark on jaeyong's body memorized, it's seoyun.
so jaeyong freezes, keeps his head down, and stares blankly at the back of the cereal box in his hands, hoping seoyun just walks by.
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