jaeyong doesnât really buy it. seoyun essentially says he wouldâve been fine without him and that he convinced himself not to kill himself because of him in the same breath. jaeyong didnât know that. he was too wrapped up in himself, too unable to process emotions to think that seoyun still suffered beyond the day he got those scars on his arms. would seoyun have been better off without him? probably, if he was even still alive without him. itâs not something jaeyong wants to ask about, so it remains nothing but a thought carving out a place for itself in his mind, a thought that will linger for a while. âokay,â jaeyong relents. âit felt like you needed me,â but he ends up laughing. âi wouldâve,â missed seoyunâs dick, he means, because thatâs easier to admit than missing anything else about him. itâs hard to remember who he was before huangjun now, before he learned the art of emotion, but he thinks even then he wouldâve missed seoyun, even if he didnât know how to name it. maybe it wouldâve been like daeyong, with him moving on easily and without grief, or maybe it wouldâve been too much to lose them both.
because even if seoyun hated him, or pretended to, jaeyong still had him; he was still some reliable, persistent presence in his life, whether he was visiting jaeyong in the hospital or in between sheets with him or yelling at him. he wouldâve missed the attention and the love if he lost him while they were still dating, and theâŚfamiliarity if he lost him after. itâs something else he wants to tell seoyun but knows wonât help, because jaeyong can miss him or want him gone all he wants and still never be able to give seoyun what he wants from him.
to jaeyong, the ring was simply a thank youâ a token of the depth of his appreciation, some repayment of the debt he owed seoyun for the care he gave to both him and huangjun. he wasnât thinking beyond that, and seoyunâs words make his heart heavy in his chest. did he know? was there any part of him that recognized the significance of those rings, of that gesture? if there was, he still only meant it as a token of friendship. he wouldnât have minded their fates being woven together if not for seoyunâs feelings, if it wasnât something tragic. seoyun is right. jaeyong knows it. thereâs a lot he never shouldâve done. he looks down at the ring again, and he nods slowly, resigned. thereâs another apology on his lips, but heâs apologized enough. seoyun is probably tired of hearing it. he knows heâs tired of saying it.Â
i wish things could be different. but theyâre not. âme too,â jaeyong practically whispers. âiâve been trying,â to love you. iâve been trying so hard, seoyun, please believe me. he doesnât know if itâll be helpful to tell him how much heâs thought about it, about what it would take to love him, if he could in this universe, if he could in any universe. he doesnât know if itâs worth mentioning that he wants to and is afraid to all at once. itâll probably only sting. it stings jaeyong, because he knows theyâre so close. he knows the answer is yes; in another life, he could love seoyun, maybe even if huangjun leaves him one day in this life he could, but for now, he doesnât. he doesnât love him, and he canât, or surely he would love him already, for all of his trying.Â
itâs hard to imagine a life where they all love each other and are all happy, though. every time he tries, his chest hurts, because that means jaeyong watching huangjun love someone else, and even if he did love seoyun, it could never be enough. it could never be enough to cure that pain, to make it worth it, and maybe thatâs the real problem. even if he did love seoyun, he couldnât be with him, and in some way, isnât that worse? doesnât it hurt more to have something so close to in reach but just past your fingertips, rather than having no hope at all?
so maybe jaeyong shouldnât say anything. maybe heâs already said too much. his words only make everything worse. the best thing, for both his and seoyunâs sake, is to not give seoyun any hope: to make them being together seem impossible. it is, isnât it? he could never leave huangjun even if he wanted to; he told him he wouldnât. he could never be happy with huangjun loving anyone else. thatâs it. in the end, it doesnât matter if he loves seoyun at all; it just matters that they could never be happy together. they are doomed to something tumultuous and dangerous, chaotic and ill-fated.
he wants to tell seoyun he doesnât regret meeting him, but itâs easy for him to say. heâs only in pain because seoyun is. he doesnât know if seoyun has ever hurt him once; meanwhile, causing seoyun pain is the only thing jaeyong has ever done for him.
thereâs one thing. thereâs one thing jaeyong wants to say that might make things worse, but that he thinks he would regret keeping to himself. âi want you to know,â he begins, slowly, like heâs thinking through each word before it leaves his mouth. âeven whenâŚi was dating you just for fun, and even when we were fighting afterwards, i liked it,â and he laughs a little. he looks down, at his own hands, at seoyunâs laying on the bed. he wants to hold his hand, because itâs what theyâve always done: comforting each other through the physical, even if it means nothing, but that doesnât go along with not giving seoyun any hope, so jaeyong holds back.Â
âi was happy with you. maybe not all the time; i think thatâs impossible. but i was happy with you.â
cw; drugs, mental health/depression
he wants to cry. he probably would be if these fucking drugs didnât dry him out and make his eyes itchy and tearless. he wants to disappear even if it means reappearing somewhere else. thereâs a pain thatâs settled so deep into seoyunâs soul that some days he forgets that heâs carrying it. thereâs no escaping it now; nothing to do but sit here and stew in it, to let it grow until seoyun is all but certain that itâs going to swallow him whole. he wants to go home. he wants to stop feeling. he wants...
seoyun wants to be loved. desperately. years spent with too many bodies and not enough souls, hands that were warm to the touch but left too quickly and were never spared a second thought. he wants what jaeyong and huangjun have: unwavering, two people who would go to the ends of the earth for one another over and over again. he wants jaeyongâs passion and huangjunâs gentleness and all the eccentricities they share between them. he would settle for one if he canât have both, wanting so despairingly to belong, to be part of something. family. he doesnât have any left.Â
who would go to the ends of the earth for seoyun? itâs miracle enough that jaeyong picked his broken body up off the street in the same city. alone, dying on the pavement. how can a person recover from the moment when he realized that no one would care when heâs gone? sure they might miss him for a little while, but who would pluck weeds and leave flowers at his grave? even daeyong might grumble about being put out of seoyunâs home at first, but he has someone else to take care of him now. they would forget about him and kang seoyun would die two deaths. the very thought makes his bones feel cold.
âit doesnât matter,â he chokes out, voice strained and raspy. jaeyong could still like him. it doesnât change anything. âi know you liked it. i know you were happy. why else would you keep letting it all happen?â he faces his caretaker if only to shoot him an accusatory glare, only to look away again immediately. it still hurts. âbut it doesnât matter. because... because...â
the strangled half-sob that forces its way out of his throat hurts. he follows the horrible sound with a gasp, cracked ribs and tender limbs tensing painfully. itâs a reminder that no matter how much he wants to get up and leave this place, to run away and try not to feel anything ever again, he canât. heâs stuck here, too weak to do anything but lay still and suffer. and bring down the mood of everyone around him like some infectious parasite that saps happiness out of everything it gets close to. seoyunâs so sad he feels like he may be sick. or it might just be the pain or the drugs, or both.
âi donât have anyone.â he doesnât know if jaeyong understands this. if heâs ever understood what itâs like to be truly alone. jaeyong has always had family. he's always had a confidante, whether it was daeyong, or pretended it was seoyun, or now huangjun. heâs always been loved by someone even if he didnât love them back. seoyun canât help but be a little bitter, but mostly he just doesnât know how jaeyong could ever understand how this feels. how the rejection cuts a little bit deeper with their history. he wonders if jaeyong knows that seoyun feels like his messy ex is the only one who really knows him.Â
âi want to go home,â itâs hardly more than a whimper, a quiet plea for this pain to stop. he knows he canât, that itâs not safe to move him yet without doing more harm. heâd like to keep his leg functional when this is all over. heâs not even sure where home is; his late parentsâ house never felt like it belonged to him, too big to be comfortable even with daeyong there. this certainly isnât it either.Â
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âyou shouldnâtââ move. seoyun shouldnât move in this state, no matter how much he wants to find a more comfortable position, but as always, seoyun is stubborn. jaeyong knows if he tells seoyun to do something heâll only want to do the opposite. huangjun is the one of the pair of them that has any chance of getting seoyun to listen, so jaeyong simply frowns at him as seoyun anchors himself on his arm and sits up. jaeyong winces at his sound of pain, but the silence that follows is uncomfortable. jaeyong knows better than to think seoyun wonât explain the why; surely itâs why he moved in the first place.
he almost feels sick, and he doesnât know why. maybe itâs because he wants to forget. he wants to ignore seoyunâs feelings for him so much that they eventually go away, and talking about it doesnât accomplish that goal. maybe itâs because of the guilt that comes with every reminder, chained to every thought surrounding seoyunâs feelings for him. seoyun loved him once; thereâs still something of that left now, or something new that bloomed in the wreckage of their past relationship.Â
sometimes he still wonders if he couldâve loved him with more time, but time wasnât the problem. he knows he couldnât haveâ not without some outside catalyst for his self improvement, because seoyun wasnât enough. heâs stopped asking himself why now, because he can never find the answer, and it only frustrates him.Â
huangjun is just different. maybe it was because seoyun had no real softness to rub off on jaeyong, harsh more often than not even though jaeyong understood seoyunâs love. it just wasnât transformative. it wasnât paradoxical and both intense and tender at once. it wasnât what he needed. he doesnât know if anything in the world other than huangjun couldâve fixed any of jaeyongâs broken parts.
in the end, it doesnât matter, because there is only this jaeyong, and this seoyun, andâŚheartache.
thatâs the best word for what he feels when seoyun finally speaks.
âiâm not scared of much,â jaeyong chuckles with the slightest smile, some attempt at reassurance, some desire to lighten the mood, to fix something, but he knows it doesnât. he doesnât feel any better, at least. part of jaeyong wants to be optimistic, wants to cling to this something that he did for seoyun even at his worst, but it must be bitter for him now; it must be bitter to know the only reason the person you loved didnât leave you was because they saw you as something to use.
âyouâŚneeded me,â jaeyong says, because the vulnerability is contagious, because he feels like he owes seoyun his honesty after their time spent in a year-long farce. maybe it will only hurt more. maybe itâll make everything worse, but it weighs heavy on jaeyongâs heart regardless. he needs to lift that weight. âi liked that. it made it easy to do what i did.â it was wrong. jaeyong knows now. fun, but wrong; heâs trying to do less terrible things now. bit by bit, he tries to make up for the evil that drenches his past. âiâm still sorry.â
he almost says i wish i never did it, but does he? jaeyong tries not to spend too much time regretting. heâs already spent too much on the what ifâs. he did it. it brought he and seoyun here now, and he can wonder what paths wouldâve led to something different all he wants, but he has to face reality regardless. the reality is, if he never did what he did, he might not know seoyun beyond some distant acquaintance. he can never decide if things wouldâve been better that way or not.
softer doesnât feel like an insult anymore, now that heâs away from his parentsâ influence and sees the beauty in being gentle and meaning it. he smiles softly too, although itâs sad, and he lays his hand on the bed, splaying out his fingers, showing off what used to be seoyunâs ring, now on one of jaeyongâs own fingers. itâs murkyâ murkier than itâs been in a while. âi used to hate this ring,â he admits, and he smiles, a little more sincerely. âi never wanted anyone to know how i was feeling, but i kind of wonder, if i had it back when we were together, and i wore itâŚwhat it wouldâve looked like. if it wouldâve been clear because i didnât feel anything, orâŚdark because i didnât feel anything.â thatâs not the point though, just jaeyong practically babbling. he sighs quietly.
âi think iâll keep wearing it until you want it backâ if you ever do,â and jaeyong doesnât know why he hopes he does. it just doesnât feel like it belongs to him anymore. âiâmâŚstupid sometimes. it might help me realize what hurts me and what helps me. i donât think i know that all the time.â
he pauses, but not for too long. âi didnât mean to make you love meâ or like me âagain.â what did he mean to do, then? âi donât really know what i was doing, i guess,â he laughs. âi just felt like i owed you, for taking such good care of huangjun, and me, too. i knew my words werenât worth anything anymore. âthank youâ didnât feel like enough, but i did mean what i told you.â
he almost says it again: that he wants him to be okay, but his mind flashes back to the last time he said those words, and the kiss, and seoyunâs tears, and figures itâs better left unsaid. i want to see you happy doesnât seem right either, because it seems like the follow up is i just donât think i can be part of that. all i do is hurt you, and he doesnât know if seoyun is ready to accept that yet. it certainly wonât aid in his recovery process. (he doesnât know if heâs ready to accept it yet, either.)
âi have a lot of nice things to say about you too but i donât know if it would make things worse or not,â he says with another small scoff of a laugh. thereâs a lot he wants to do that might make matters worse. he doesnât want to lead seoyun on; he is working so hard not to hurt him. it feels like holding his breath, and heâs already exhausted.
âseoyunâŚâ he says again, after some silence, because a question has been haunting him. âdo you wish i never went to you with that vampire bite?â do you wish you never loved me? âdo you wish we never met?â
content warning: drug mention, injury mention, suicide mention/suicidal thoughts
âi never needed you,â his voice is sharp, a severeness and seriousness to his expression that he didnât even know that he was capable of in this drugged and injured state. âi was just fine without you. i would have been fine without you too. you were able to make me believe everything because i let you. âcause i wanted something to look forward to, âcause you made me feel special and like someone would miss me if i killed myself. even when it was just sex, i could still convince myself youâd miss my dick if i caved and offed myself successfully. and it worked.â he wants to believe that he was in control, that he knew what he was doing. maybe he was, just willfully ignorant the whole time. maybe heâs only fooled himself into believing that recently.
oh, heâs still bitter. bitter that he was tricked into loving jaeyong so much, bitter that jaeyong loved him back. the bitterness bleeds into now, with seoyun feeling so much for jaeyong with so little in return. maybe itâs their destiny, a cursed fate. or maybe itâs just seoyunâs craving for self-destruction, a way to make himself feel something, even if itâs just a pain deeper than that of his injuries. he wishes he had the energy to reach over and shake jaeyong, to cry and scream and demand to know why heâs not good enough to be loved. he knows itâs crazy. he knows that even if he did, he wouldnât get an answer.
seoyun looks down at jaeyongâs hand instead, focusing carefully on the ring. his ring. well, it used to be. one part of a set of three... maybe he thought it meant something at the time. it doesnât; he knows that now. since he left it and ran away it doesnât seem like it belongs to him anymore. he doesnât belong to a set of three; why would he own the ring that does.Â
âit wouldâve only show something if i made you sick,â he wants to touch it, to take it back. but itâs not his anymore. he doesnât belong here. âit was always black on my hand. mental illness, yâknow? i stopped looking at it âcause i already felt awful, i didnât need a reminder of it.â he still feels awful. and only some of it is the pain of his injuries and jaeyongâs shitty stitches. he wishes that his hands were steady enough to redo some of them himself. theyâll do the job in any case.
seoyun has always been perceptive. maybe he knew, consciously or not, that the three rings belong together. three parts of a whole; together for a thousand years and never once separated, at least not for long. maybe centuries ago three others had worn them, joined together by forces they couldnât explain. maybe one person kept them safely close together, all on one hand, clinking against each other and reminding each golden band of its others. seoyun wants his ring back. but more than that he wants what he thought it promised; another thousand years together.
âthe rings belong together,â he says simply, eyes heavy with sadness more than fatigue, âso it doesnât belong to me. you should have never given it to me.â saying it out loud hurts in ways he didnât expect. he turns his head away from jaeyong even though thereâs no where to hide; he wants to bury the burning feeling in his eyes away. he wants to hide the threat of tears from jaeyong, who surely will only feel more guilty when he spots them. thatâs not what seoyun wanted. thatâs not why heâs here, why he called jaeyong to save his life. he shouldnât have done that either, he realizes. maybe it would have been better just to die.
he just listens instead. to jaeyongâs apologies, to telling him how unwanted he is in much kinder words. jaeyong only owed him. he only used seoyun to save his boyfriend and himself. even his thanks feels like another fang piercing his skin, the tip driving right into his heart. seoyun doesnât belong here. heâs known it from the beginning but in his pain and suffering he could pretend that he had a place even just temporarily. he wishes he could get out of this bed, to pick up his things and just go home. he wishes he didnât feel so much, that the numbness would come back and he wouldnât have to deal with this pain. even the nice things jaeyong has to say have barbs in them.
âi donât know,â he croaks his response to the question. still not looking at jaeyong. still trying his best not to cry. âi wish things could be different. but theyâre not.â
confusion. maybe thatâs the word to best define jaeyongâs state with an injured seoyun in his life. exhaustion, maybe even more accurate. he has school and work and playing nurse to someone he convinced himself he may never see again, that he was okay never seeing again. frustrationâ that too, because at the end of the day, jaeyong is still selfish, and all he really sees is that he and huangjun canât catch a break, nevermind seoyun.
he just wanted time to breathe, to heal, to live in peace after the hell jaeyong put them through. for someone as dramatic as he is, he wanted something simple, something easy, something painless.
seoyun back in his life is not that, let alone seoyun almost dying. heâs had plenty of time since saving seoyunâs life to think about that fact, and what he wouldâve done if he failed, if seoyun lost too much blood, if jaeyong had to sit through a funeral with far too few people mourning someone that loved him when he never deserved it.
he thought about it, and settled on the fact that he didnât care enough. no devastation, no real ache in his heart, but maybe he just isnât moved by the hypothetical. maybe death means little to him, if he cared too little when he found out about his twin brotherâs supposed death. he didnât mourn then, either. maybe heâd do the same if seoyun didnât make it: move on, process it within a year, be haunted by how he failed him next may.
the guilt he feels now is ironic, where he didnât have any when he pictured seoyun dying. he knows he should. he doesnât want seoyun to die, even in all of his former anger, even if he mightâve thought he did once.Â
jaeyongâs life would just be easier without him. and he thinks seoyunâs life would be easier without him, too. he knows he hasnât done a single thing but hurt seoyun in all of their time together. it doesnât feel like he saved his life. it doesnât feel like he did anything good, like he just prolonged some kind of deep suffering. he still didnât want him to die. he doesnât regret picking up the phone. itâs justâŚsad. he doesnât know if theyâll ever be able to look at each other again without it hurting.
he doesnât know how long heâs been here at seoyunâs bedside, watching him breathe, to make sure everything is working as it should, and becauseâŚhe doesnât know why. because he canât stop thinking, because every rise and fall of seoyunâs chest is a reminder that seoyun mightâve received the worst of all the wrong jaeyong has ever done. he remembers laying his head on that chest, once, listening to a heart that he knew beat for him, a heart he knew he would smile through shattering one day.
he wonders if any of it was real. heâs wondered that for months, ever since he knew he was in love with huangjun while seoyun still lurked in the shadows of his life. he liked him; he had fun with him, beyond just toying with his feelings, otherwise he wouldâve gotten bored and been the one to cut things off. the physical attraction was real. the loveâŚwhen he searches his memories, everything feels cold, incomparable to the warmth he carries with him everywhere now. it is all sharp and rough, nothing soft like he knows love to be. no willingness to sacrifice, no desire for seoyunâs happiness, never wanting the best for him.
when he said he never loved him it was true. the real question is can he ever? does he want to?
heâs almost too lost in thought to even notice seoyun stir, but his eyes refocus and he sits up straighter in his chair. he reaches a hand out toward the bedside table, ready to catch the cup of water should seoyunâs medication induced clumsiness spill it. all is well, however, at least until seoyun opens his mouth.
jaeyong chuckles, because itâs what jaeyong always does, because of course he doesnât know, at least not anymore. when he inhales, itâs deeply, air filling his lungs as a pit opens in his stomach. i loved you. itâs what jaeyong wanted back then, but now it stings. âno,â he replies, quiet, and he almost hopes seoyun doesnât elaborate.
jaeyongâs so quiet. it feels weird, uncomfortable, like something heavy sitting on seoyunâs chest. jaeyong is never so quiet. he was always loud, confident, the center of attention. but then again, jaeyong has changed recently. some of those sharp edges have been softened out, some of the intensity he once had not, lost, but hidden behind something else. mellow, or at least as much as one of the hair trigger songs can be. he thinks that he had seen the illusion of this before; jaeyong pretended to soften out when they had dated. but this time it seems real. he doesnât drop the act when huangjun isnât watching, he doesnât have to stop and think about what words will wrap him tighter around his finger. seoyun can appreciate that the change is good for jaeyong. he canât help but feel sore that it has nothing to do with him, despite loving him first.
he wants to sit up in bed. so he tries, but is met immediately with loud, painful protests from his injured leg not wanting to be moved from its comfortable position. but seoyun canât talk like this, even in his dizzy medicated state. he reaches for jaeyong for help, wordlessly asking for support as he drags himself upright. his head spins and he regrets his own stubbornness only for the moment, a soft groan of complaint finally escpaing him.
the quiet hangs there still, almost as if seoyun had forgotten about what he said. or maybe understood the ânoâ as a plea not to say anything more. but neither is the case, the thoughts still weighing heavily on his mind until the dam breaks and they spill out on his tongue. he just needs to catch his breath for a moment first, the struggle of moving and the pain that followed taking his breath away for a moment. obviously heâs not on that high of a dose if heâs still feeling anything at all.
âyou saw me,â he finally breathes, voice soft as if telling a secret. âat my worst. when i didnât want to get out of bed. my scars, my story. and... even though it was just... fun to you... you decided to stick with me. you never pitied me.â it had meant a lot back then. it would still mean a lot now, but the way jaeyong looks at him isnât the way seoyun wishes he would (even if seoyun also wishes that he wouldnât wish that). âyou had no idea what you were getting into. but it didnât scare you away either.â he wonders, briefly, if he would have had that with the new relationship that he ruined all too soon. that person hadnât known all of seoyun yet; he had been carefully introducing the best parts of himself first, hoping that theyâd be good enough to outweigh the other baggage. he screwed that up too quickly to ever know.
eyes close. heâs still tired, he doesnât want to sleep. thatâs all he does these days and heâs sick of it. maybe he just doesnât want to see the inevitable apology on jaeyongâs face now. he already knows it: iâm sorry, seoyun. an apology for not being able to care that way, for caring about huangjun too much to let someone else in. seoyun doesnât blame him. he just wishes it were different.
âyouâre softer now too. in a good way. more genuine. you made sure i wasnât alone on christmas and you gave me that ring. what was i supposed to do?â he half-shrugs helplessly, sparing his bad arm the motion. maybe this was inevitable. maybe itâs not all seoyunâs fault. he doesnât know and he probably never will. he just knows that sometimes, even while he was worried that they would forever be maimed or stressed about whatever problem they were getting into next, the murkiness of the ring receded a little when seoyun was with them. it was always there, dark and tumultuous, but for a moment there would be a reprieve. and once he recovers enough to walk out of this apartment, heâs afraid heâll never see that again.
content warning: drug mentions, not really a hospital but might seem like it, injury
he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. the angle hue of the lights arenât the same as what he expects in his own bedroom. he studies a ceiling of which he doesnât know how to read any of the cracks, as if in another country in a language he doesnât understand. seoyun is confused every time he drags himself back into consciousness, prescription-grade painkillers and a general weariness slowing a normally sharp mind. heâll remember soon enough, from the feeling of sheets that donât belong to him, to the faint herbal scent that doesnât belong to his own home but is familiar all the same. heâs in huangjunâs apartment, this time as the patient. and in the same moment he remembers where he is, he recalls why heâs there. he feels like heâs been hit by a semi truck. maybe being mauled by a werewolf is a comparable experience.
the medicine makes his mouth feel dry. he turns, looking for a water cup, and finds company at his bedside instead. looking at jaeyong hurts in a way too. a dull ache, not nearly as painful as the slow to heal gashes in his limbs, but heavy and present all the same. heâs quiet, like heâs trying not to be noticed, as he reaches for his water. the cup is heavier than he remembers, either refilled while he slept or whatâs left of his limbs yet to find their strength now that heâs awake, or some combination of both.
his head is fuzzy from the medication; he probably told his caretakers to give him too large of a dose. seoyun canât blame himself; heâs only halfway to being a doctor and heâs missing clinicals while bound to this sickbed. heâll be behind when heâs finally able to return to classes. heâll have to repeat the semester. but maybe thatâs not too bad; maybe heâll end up in clinicals with kyuhwan if recovery takes long enough. he wouldnât mind it too much as long as he had a friend there with him. maybe heâd know how to prescribe the right dose of medication to himself if he was able to attend his classes, though.
far-away eyes finally focus in on jaeyong, trying to figure out what exactly heâs doing there. tending to the injured seoyun, obviously, but why right now? why not stuck to huangjunâs side where he so clearly belongs? even that thought sends a painful ache through seoyunâs chest. has he ever belonged by anyoneâs side? will he ever? the sigh he breathes is long, sending painful shudders through him where aching ribs expand and contract.
âdo you know why?â he speaks without thinking, without first checking if jaeyong is awake, or listening, or even cares about anything he has to say. no, heâs numb to everything. thereâs nothing left in this world that can hurt him any worse than he already has been, even if he makes a fool of himself while high as a kite in his ex-boyfriendâs new loverâs apartment. âi loved you. and i like you now.âÂ
âokay,â jaeyong assures him. âiâll get it for you,â and i wonât let a wolf take you out like they did with your dad. part of him is furious; the wolf is so lucky itâs dead. if seoyun didnât need him here, it wouldâve met a far worse fate than death at seoyunâs hand. somehow, he feels like he failed, too. jaeyong, a song hunter sworn to protect humans, sworn to kill all supernatural creatures, jaeyong who lost sight of his purpose in the past months without his family to push him forward in it. maybe he needs something like this. it shakes him up; hopefully it shakes him awake, too. he needs to do better. he needs to kill them all.Â
seoyun grabs onto his arm, and the anger drains from his body almost instantly. for some reason it makes jaeyong want to cry. maybe itâs because itâs familiar and unfamiliar at once, both weak and desperate at the same time. desperation isnât foreign to them, but the lightness of it is. he canât remember the last time seoyun touched him like he wanted him for anything, let alone softly. itâs because heâs dying. jaeyong knows. seoyunâs life is in his hands in all the ways jaeyong never intended. if seoyun dies here, will his spirit live on? will he forgive him from wherever he goes next, if there is anywhere?Â
no. he canât think about it. thereâs no room for uncertainty. he has nerves of steel.Â
(he needs them, god, he needs to have them, he needs this to be the one thing his parents taught him that he doesnât fail at now that heâs left them.)
âseoyun,â he says instead, leveling his voice, making effort not to let it shake with the emotion welling up in him. itâs gentle but firm at once. let go. heâs free soon enough, and he focuses on seoyunâs leg. he puts pressure on it first with one with some of the abundance of gauze he brought with him (and itâs a good thing he did, now that heâs looking at what heâs working with.)Â
he situates himself so he can elevate seoyunâs leg with one hand and still apply pressure with the other. âwhen do i rinse this out? now, or do i wait until the bleeding stops more?â he doesnât know when thatâll be. seoyunâs blood soaks the gauze and stains his hand far sooner than jaeyong is ready for. âfuck,â he mutters, and he has to lower seoyunâs leg to keep pressure on it, then takes more gauze out of his backpack, pressing more to the wound âi probably have to just rinse it out now, donât i? i donât think i have enough saline for everything, but i have room temperature water. i think i need to get it bandaged up as soon as possible. are you really going to make me give you stitches? when should i do that?â jaeyong remembers how to give stitches, itâs just the order of everything he isnât certain of with an injury this severe.
he doesnât blame seoyun for not knowing heâd answer. if their roles were reversed, jaeyong would know seoyun wouldnât pick up the phone for him anymore. not like youâd call me for anything else, he nearly says, but moments like these require thought before he speaks, and he realizes they arenât helpful to seoyunâs survival here. he holds them back. he chokes back the lingering bitterness, and that strange feeling of privilege in being the one seoyun called that lingers too. âi figured it was important,â he says instead, voice soft, and maybe seoyunâs head is clear enough to decipher the meaning in between the lines of those words. jaeyong hopes he doesnât think too hard about it.
this is the moment in the movies where confessions pour from lips, air heavy with finality and fear, but jaeyong doesnât feel any of it, or he doesnât let himself. seoyun will survive, so thereâs no need, even if he had anything to say. maybe itâs that irrational confidence, or maybe jaeyong can simply never be vulnerable with seoyun. maybe he is so stubborn that he would hide the truth even from a seoyun just barely clinging to life.
does he have anything to confess? it feels like he should. it seems fitting for him to say i love you, like the universe waits for it, like it leads him to it even now, but jaeyong doesnât want to lie to him. maybe, when heâs certain thereâs nothing he can do to save him, he will. maybe it would be merciful to lead seoyun into death knowing he is loved. (no, jaeyong knows even a dying seoyun wouldnât believe him. even now, it would be cruel.)
the truth is that jaeyong doesnât love him, but maybe in another life he could. he hopes, if seoyun dies here and gets another life after this, that itâs that one.Â
âi donât want you to die,â is the best he has, and maybe itâll be funny later. maybe heâll remember seoyunâs confession to him being i donât hate you, and heâll laugh about it. âso donât, okay? iâm gonna need you to do a little work to stay with me.âÂ
jaeyongâs hands on him hurt. and as much as instinct begs seoyun to try to pull away from the pressure on his deepest wounds, he forces himself to stay in place. he broke out in a cold sweat long before help arrived and he trembles under the pain, through the terrifying chill that runs through his whole body. but he leans into the uncomfortable sensations, determined to still feel them, determined to live. his breath comes in shorter gasps, his heartbeat throbs loudly in his own ears. but itâs still beating, despite all of the blood and pain. he tries to count the beats to stay present and aware.
âflush it first,â he pants, fighting the urge to sit up and attempt to do it himself. he needs to stay down, to save his energy and keep as much blood as possible still inside his body. âthen stitch. then bandage. itâll be fine.â it has to be fine. even if jaeyongâs stitches are ugly and bulky and lack all of the refinement and training that seoyunâs would. âleave a gap for drainage.â he closes his eyes, struggles to breathe through the pain, âor else my leg- my legâll... youâll trap bacteria in me.â he should have taught jaeyong more. or he should have called a kang who actually knows what theyâre doing. seoyun wasnât thinking when he mashed the call button for this particular contact. heâll never be able to explain to himself what he was thinking, why he reached out to jaeyong of all people in this moment.
he could have been happy to keep avoiding him. maybe eventually he could have forgotten about him, both of them. seoyun couldâve let the sham that was their former relationship fade to nothing more than an old memory. he could have let go of the feeling of jaeyongâs hands, the sound of his voice in the morning, the way his own fingers would catch in his hair. he could have forgotten about huangjunâs gentle smiles, the way he handles his tea set like a loving mother, his quiet power that could stop a storm simply by asking. maybe seoyun would have met someone else, eventually. someone who would hold his heart gently, who would love his brokenness genuinely. maybe he wouldnât have really been happy, but he could have been content.
but the universe decides otherwise. she pulls them back together, again and again; no matter how far the tide strays from the shore it always comes back in. maybe there really was no one else he could have called other than jaeyong. maybe theyâre not friends, maybe they were never really lovers. maybe fate ties them together anyways. seoyun doesnât think this deeply on it in his fragile state; he canât. he can only focus on sensations, on clinging to every word as if itâll be the last heâll ever hear. if he steps too close to the void and could look in with a clear mind, he might have been able to see the patterns. he might have known that even if he never left, even if he stayed away, somehow theyâd always end up here.
âi donât wanna die,â the laugh he lets out is more like a series of pained gasps, though he still canât believe the words himself. âisnât that weird? i- i donât want to die.â itâs the best he can do to promise jaeyong that heâs working, heâs fighting the dark fingers that wrap threateningly around his vision, the coldness that dances down his spine.Â
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jaeyong laughs, and he hopes this small hint of their usual banter is a good omen for seoyun hanging on until he gets there. âi said the radio, not my music,â jaeyong points out. âbut youâre right, the radio usually sucks and i didnât bring my music with me, so i guess you just get to listen to the car. iâll try to keep talking too. shouldnât be too hard.â itâs true. jaeyong has always been good at talking; maybe now he can finally put it to use for a good causeâ give something seoyun to focus on aside from the white noise of the carâs engine and the bumps in the road.Â
jaeyong winces. it sounds painful. âokay,â he repeats, like earlier, same uncharacteristic gentleness that becomes more and more common for him by the day. âiâm on my way. iâm almost there, okay? hang on.â even if he doesnât want to hear it, heâs thankful for the sounds of seoyunâs agony, because at least he knows heâs still conscious.Â
he listens as seoyun lists off the injuries, lips settling into a small frown. he tries to picture the injuries in his head as he drives, and what heâll do once he gets there so he doesnât waste a single second. itâs already been too long. he accelerates a little more, and he prays for no traffic, just in case thereâs some higher power in the universe that hasnât already decided he belongs in the worst imaginable afterlife. (seoyun doesnât deserve that though, and maybe thatâs enough. seoyun deserves this life, and a chance to make it something he wants to keep.)
âalright,â he replies, and heâs as ready as heâll ever be. he keeps talking; he runs over the protocol for treating the injuries that he thinks he knows, and asks questions like should i clean the wounds the way they are or bandage them right away? am i going to need to give you stitches or will you let me take you to someone else?Â
heâs just about there, and when he pulls up to seoyunâs exact location, he sees a wolf laying in the middle of the street. he realizes then: this is familiar. jaeyong was also mauled by a wolf onceâ also just barely managed to kill it before it killed him, its teeth still buried in his neck even as he passed out from the blood loss. he sits at the wheel too long, staring, daeyongâs screams echoing in his head again, but he reminds himself that daeyong is fine. sure, daeyong is a werewolf; for a song, maybe itâs a fate worse than death. but he is alive, and it quiets the screams. he reminds himself there is someone else here who very well might not be alive if heâs too slow, so he reaches for the supplies in the passengerâs seat and jumps out of the car.
he needs to move the wolf. âit wouldâve been funny if i ran over you,â he says, because humor makes it easier when in reality he is afraid, irrationally so, not even of seoyun dying, justâŚhe doesnât know. he needs to move the wolf. âi can get it off of you but i donât want to make anything worse,â he admits, and he hesitates too much, god, he just needs to do it. he goes for its head first, opens its mouth to make sure it doesnât take any of seoyunâs skin with it when he pushes it off, and the wound looks gruesome. heâs afraid the wolf is putting pressure on the injuries, and that seoyun will only bleed more once the body is gone.
no, theyâll deal with it. he carefully lifts the great beast off seoyun, then turns and unceremoniously dumps it onto the ground beside them, kicking it for good measure. fuck you, dog. âokay,â he whispers, taking in the visual of the injuries heâs working with for just a split second before he unpacks the backpack with everything he thinks he needs. he brought enough to handle this (he hopes so, anyway.)
he gets to work on the leg first, because it looks worse, even if seoyun didnât confirm it was himself. âi can do this,â he assures seoyun before he expresses any of his concerns that jaeyong knows are coming. (maybe itâs a little for himself, too.)Â
the world is just starting to get dark, his eyelids getting a little too heavy. the rumble of a nearby engine rouses him somewhat, forcing eyes open and straining for only the smallest movements to see if he can catch a glimpse of jaeyongâs car. and if itâs not jaeyong... oh well. at least he wonât die here alone on the cold pavement. at least there will be someone here to witness his final moments, to lie to him and tell him it will be okay, or maybe freak out at the scene they stumbled across as if itâs worse for them than the bleeding man on the ground. at least heâll be in someoneâs stories, immortalized in their memory.
but it is jaeyong, not a stranger, and seoyun has slightly more confidence in his chances of survival. heâs no kang healer, but he learned quickly, and heâs here. heâs better than nothing. he hears him speak, but the words donât quite make sense. they donât process, stick in his mind as anything other than familiar sounds. seoyun isnât doing well, but heâs holding on. his grip on life has been weak for years, but suddenly itâs desperate, clinging to whatever threads are left. the ringing in his head and pulse beating in his ears certainly doesnât help either.
itâs not until jaeyong moves the wolf that seoyun has any sense of what heâs saying or whatâs going on. he doesnât move, not because his neck or back are injured, but to save what little energy he has left. heâd love to shift into a more comfortable position to die in, but not while he still has a chance at life. âiâll want my knife back,â he mumbles, tongue heavier in his mouth than it had been before, ââs my dadâs...â is he here right now? is seoyun close enough to that edge that if he looks around, heâll see him again? heâs afraid to; he doesnât know if heâd see the man or the pulpy monster he became.
he reaches for jaeyong, grabs his arm with the uninjured hand, to hold onto something of this world, something still alive. he doesnât know how to explain it, the constant exhaustion, the desire to give up, and the frantic need to live. he doesnât know if jaeyong would even get it if he could find the words. he knows he has to let go too, that his grip is probably weak enough to just gently tug out of. jaeyong needs both hands free to treat him, to actually bring him back closer to the side of the living.
âi didnât know if youâd answer,â he confesses, blinking away tears (of pain? fear? relief?) to save that hydration for his damaged body. heâll thank jaeyong if he actually manages to save him. and if seoyun can say it, and jaeyong can hear it. words between them are historically messy and less than truthful; even in his tired, disoriented state, seoyun knows he has to choose his own carefully. who knows what mistakes heâll make this time.
âfuck,â jaeyong mutters under his breath. of course itâs a werewolf. jaeyong is a song hunter; he is a warrior more than he is a healer. he would take tracking down and killing a wolf over patching someone up any day, but he doesnât have a choice in this. seoyun has no other help coming, even if he should, even if there are countless people better equipped for this situation than jaeyong, as much as he hates to admit it. surely seoyun knows at least one other kang hunter he couldâve called.
(part of jaeyong wonders if seoyun thinks heâs going to die, if he called him because he doesnât want to die with a stranger. jaeyong doesnât know how to feel about that possibility, about the chance that he might be the one seoyun chose to die with.)
âokay,â he answers, and he finds the closest blanket. he doesnât want to ruin any by getting them covered in blood, but he knows huangjun wonât mind once he finds out why itâs gone missing. heâll buy them an even better blanket after this.
he keeps the phone against his ear, using one arm to sling the backpack over his shoulder, then pick up the blanket. he hears a noise on the other end of the line, but he hears seoyun speak, more distant now, before he can question anything. âyeah,â he replies; heâs still there, and he nearly asks are you okay? which is almost comical. what he means is what did you do with the phone? but there are more important matters at hand. âstay on the phone,â he reminds him, and he rushes out the door.
heâs in no state to wait for the elevator, so he takes the stairs, and itâs a near miracle he doesnât fall in the way he charges down them. when he gets to his car, he tilts his head, holding his phone against his shoulder with the side of his face as he takes out his keys. he throws the blanket and his backpack into the passengerâs seat, then hops into the driverâs seat.
he puts the phone on speaker, then sets it down on the carâs console. âwant me to turn the radio on for you?â jaeyong jokes once he starts the car, because he canât help it, because itâs the only way he survives moments like these.
itâs only now, when heâs at the mercy of the road, that the small voice of doubt speaks up in the back of his mind for the first time. seoyun could die. seoyun is dying, right now, on the other end of that phone. it almost gives him enough time to feel afraid, to feel powerless, but not quite. for now, jaeyong is still calm, even as he speeds down the road, takes every street he knows will have the least traffic.
âtell me what your injuries are,â jaeyong says, louder than before to make sure seoyun can hear him over the hum of the car. âand tell me what i need to do when i get there.â jaeyong has faith in his own abilities to treat seoyunâs injuries, but a refresher wouldnât hurt. more than that, he wants to keep seoyun talkingâ wants to give him something to tether him to the present and keep him from drifting off to somewhere unreachable.Â
stay on the phone, jaeyong says, as if seoyun had any thought of hanging up right now. heâs lucky the phone works at all after the thrashing the werewolf put him through. but thereâs no clever quip on his tongue, no angry remark back at jaeyong right now. just a quiet âiâm still here,â between gasps panicked gasps for air. heâs tired. heâs losing blood too quickly. maybe he should have called an ambulance, but what are the paramedics going to say about the corpse of a wolf in the middle of the city? seoyun doesnât want to open that can of worms. he just wants to survive this.
instead he tries to focus on the distant sounds of jaeyong on the other end of the line; the sound of doors opening and closing, unidentified rustling, car keys jingling. heâll be here soon, he keeps telling himself. just hang on. breathe. itâs still difficult, heart racing a mile a minute.Â
seoyun turns his head to look at the dropped phone when he hears particularly loud rummaging from it, and then jaeyongâs voice comes through again. âwant me to turn the radio on for you?â seoyun almost laughs, some unidentified pain killing the humor before it really finds a place on his face or in his voice. âno, your music sucks,â he manages, a tight gasp of pain coming shortly after. the adrenaline wore off some time ago; he feels the full pain of the impact on his torso in full now. âgod, it hurts.â he groans now too, a low sound of agony not unlike a dying creature.
he tries to take inventory of himself on jaeyongâs request. his head feels foggy, unfocused, and heâs not sure if itâs shock or blood loss getting to him. it scares him either way, completely helpless to prevent neither one nor the other. âlacerations... fucking dog bites... left forearm and right leg. the legâs worse, multiple wounds... theyâre deep. canine bites are always bigger under the surface,â he reminds jaeyong, and himself, that things are so much worse than they look. even if heâs not dying, he has weeks of recovery ahead of him. god, how is he going to attend his clinicals?
âi donât think... anythingâs broken...â he takes a particularly sharp gasp, pain shooting up his sides as he moved experimentally. âmaybe cracked ribs. fucking dog got me good...â he takes another breath, shuddering through the pain, trying not to shiver and disturb the same tender area again inadvertently. âiâm in the street... donât run me over when you get here.â or do, he thinks distantly, at least it will be over quicker than this.
maybe itâs fate that jaeyong has the night off. (jaeyong believes in fate more now than he ever has.)
his classes today were in the early afternoon, so he has some much deserved time in the evening to rest. jaeyong isnât as tired these days as he was a month ago, but he still feels it: the wear and tear of bouncing between classes and a job and hunting and time with his boyfriend. in some ways itâs unfortunate that tonight is his night off, because where jaeyong would usually like to spend time with huangjun, he has an appointment.
in the end, maybe that comes down to fate too, and when his phone rings, and he hears why, any of his prior disappointment vanishes.
when his phone rings, he wonders what seoyun wants. he wonders how long heâs been back since he left that note on his kitchen counter saying heâd be gone for a while. it shakes him out of his nearly-successful attempt to wipe the traces of seoyun out of his life, leaving him forgotten, some unfortunate and unneeded part of his past. because he and huangjun have built a life, and it is a life without the shadow of seoyun and his affections lingering over themâ or it was.
theyâre happy, or almost, and here seoyun is to saunter back in and ruin all of it.
jaeyong canât help but feel it, and yet he still doesnât hesitate when he answers the call, because part of him knows thereâs no reason for this. what reason does seoyun have for calling jaeyong, when seoyun was the one to turn his back on him the last time they saw one another? when seoyun was the one that left? when the last piece of contact was a âfuck youâ from jaeyong over text left unanswered?
maybe part of him knows thereâs something wrong. more than anything, he just wants to know.
âyââ he doesnât even get to utter the yes? he intended to before seoyunâs voice breaks on the other end of the line, and a small pit opens up in his stomach. âokay,â jaeyong replies, calm, almost reassuring, but he isnât, not really. why? why would seoyun call him? he wants to ask. why didnât you call a fucking ambulance, stupid? but it must be something seoyun doesnât want to explain.
he called him because he doesnât have anyone else. jaeyong knows. what he didnât know was that seoyun still had him at all.Â
he does. there isnât even a moment where jaeyong considers hanging up and leaving seoyun to die. maybe heâs still angry, or maybe heâs not, but itâs not enough to leave seoyun alone at a time like this. he doesnât want seoyun to die; he especially doesnât want him to die alone.
âwhat happened?â he asks, and he leaps into action. he finds his hunting backpack, dumps out most of the contents aside from the first aid kit, then raids the medical supplies he and huangjun keep at the apartment. itâs more now than ever, their silent understanding that it was just them now, that there was no kang healer on call for them anymore, that they needed to take care of each other because no one else would come. thereâs some irony in this, but it goes unappreciated as jaeyong shoves as much as he can into his backpack. âwhat should i bring, i mean. wellâ tell me that first, then tell me what happened. stay on the phone.âÂ
something is tight in his chest. jaeyong doesnât know how bad it isâ what exactly seoyun needs help with âbut it sounds dire. yet even then, if seoyun is on the precipice of death, jaeyong is still the one he calls, and he calls him jae. heâsâŚglad.
itâs not the same satisfaction as it once wouldâve been, knowing seoyun still relied on him this much, knowing seoyun had no one better to call, something about the power. no, it isnât that. itâs almost something warm, like itâs some kind of honor.Â
he didnât know that there was space for more fear until he feels the relief that is jaeyongâs voice on the other side of the line. the conscious seoyun couldnât think about the fact that he might not pick up, that the unanswered text on his phone was their final interaction. no, he would have known he was doomed if that had crossed his mind; he would have given up and been beyond saving even if some good samaritan did find him, broken and bleeding on the side of the road. seoyun tries to take a breath, cut very short by pain and shock and coming out as a tiny gasp instead.
âwerewolf,â his words are short, each one a labor of breath thatâs coming in increasingly shorter, shallower pants. âchewed up... i donât think-â he has to gasp for breath again, â-donât think that anythingâs broken.â not limbs, anyways. his ribs feel awfully bruised from the impact of the dead beast. he hasnât been able to move away from the corpse yet; it heightens the anxiety that already comes from shock. âbring a blanket. iâm in shock.â he can feel himself sweating now, the cold sinking in deeper.
i donât want to die, the thought still feels foreign in his mind, the words not finding shape on his lips through struggled gasps for air. he lets the phone fall from his ear, clatter against the pavement. he doesnât hang up, heâs just not going to waste his strength holding it in place. instead, he uses his good arm to try to apply pressure to the deepest gash in his leg. despite all his practice and training, his stomach turns. not just from pain, but from the way the flesh shifts more than it should under his palm, a subcutaneous layer ripped from the tissues beneath; itâs the perfect breeding ground for all of the bacteria living on the side of the street where he lay.
âjae?â he doesnât know if jaeyong is still on the phone, if he can even still hear him from where it lays just a couple of inches from his head. âare you- you still there?â am i going to die alone? at least his rings arenât burning him, silver still sitting comfortably on his skin a sign that despite the attack heâs still very much human. âhurry.â
he shivers. itâs the shock, the last cool breeze of winter not quite ready to surrender to spring, the puddle of blood rapidly cooling around him, his own sweat against his skin. heâs brought hunters back from this state dozens of times but he hasnât experienced the helplessness of it himself until now. heâs frustrated despite the fog creeping into his head. seoyun knows exactly what to do, exactly where his kit is and which antibiotics and painkillers he would bring. he can imagine his own hands, steadier and with much more strength than the ones he currently possesses, dragging a surgeonâs needle and thread, closing the wound. will jaeyong know to leave a gap unstitched for drainage? will he rinse out the injuries with saline for any debris before he gets to work? seoyun taught him some things, but itâs been a long time.Â
the fact that his life is now out of his own hands terrifies him all the more.
tw: blood, npc death, mentions of suicidal thoughts
@feyjaeyong
the snarl that echoed off of dark buildings made his blood turn to ice, freezing him in place. itâs the sound of seoyunâs nightmares, those horrible growls, screams, wet muscle and cracking bone sounds that have haunted him so many years later. in that moment, he forgets everything that isnât raw, uncompromising fear.Â
he knows the feeling of a silver blade in his hand, a tool that was taught to him as a child. but it wasnât the one that was drilled until it became instinctive. no, the kangs studied the needle and scalpel more diligently. seoyun had been a fair hunter, competent enough when heâs prepared and focused. but this is an ambush. no time to build up his courage, to decide what weapon is best for the enemy at hand, to brush up on skills that he doesnât practice nearly as much as he should. this is a test of improvisation and seoyun has never been very good at working on the fly.
heavy footsteps pace around him, a slow circular arc. werewolf. he knew it already, but seeing the massive furred body out of the corner of his eye brings a new panic to his chest. this isnât the full moon, the werewolf shouldnât be so aggro on a normal human. but it still circles him slowly, hackles raised and lips curled back in a savage snarl. seoyunâs brain starts allowing him to think coherently again just for a moment to realize that the beast is sizing him up, testing just what he is. it should have occurred to him that letting a couple of werewolves live in his home would get their scent all over him. he never thought that heâd be mixed up in the middle of the so called werewolf war.
carefully, he reaches behind him, fingers finding the knife he wears on the back of his belt. even if he hasnât seen live combat in months, his fatherâs voice echoes in his head, never leave home without it. itâs silver. it will do against this monster.
heâs slower than a werewolf. heâll never be as strong. but when the beast finally lunges at him he forgets how powerful they really are, how it only takes a blink of the eye before he can feel the beastâs breath against him. seoyun only gets half a moment to act; old training comes back to him, protect the chest, face, throat, arms up in guard, left arm in front to save his dominant arm from the worst of the attack. he feels teeth on his forearm and seoyun strikes, letting the blade flash against the thick skin of the werewolfâs shoulder.
it makes the beast back off, if only for a moment, but he can feel the punctures in his arm. the wolf mustâve tasted his blood the same way the blade did. they eye each other, size each other up. the creature lunges again, and again seoyun is too slow. it feints, what he thought was going to be another lunge for his neck goes to his leg instead, teeth tearing through his jeans and into the flesh below. he panics. the blade flashes again, this time only glancing off the maw in a shallow cut. the wolf snarls his pain but doesnât let go. he shakes and seoyun can feel his flesh being ripped from muscle, teeth sinking deeper into his limb. he screams, agonized.
the creature doesnât let go for more than a moment. it finds another place on his leg to bury its teeth and shakes again, tearing seoyun apart like a dog toy. he canât breathe through the pain, through his own screams. seoyun realizes he could die like this, in the jaws of a monster. maybe itâs because itâs a werewolf, or because the pain is too intense to let him go quietly, peacefully. he realizes, despite everything, he doesnât want to die. at least not like this. he reaches for the werewolf, his blood staining the beastâs fur as he wraps his fingers around the creatureâs ear. with a mighty effort, he rides the next great shake, the force rattling the teeth in his head as he wrestles with his own strength to hang onto the monster. with a pained cry, he drives the knife into a yellow-gold eye. the painful howl hasnât left the werewolfâs lips as the light in the remaining eye goes dark, the brain of the beast irreplaceably damaged by a silver blade.
seoyun can only lay there, his blood mixing with the monsterâs as he tries to catch his breath. the wolf still has its mouth around his leg, no life left in those jaws to bite down again. but the last of seoyunâs strength had gone into that final blow, a lifesaving measure that he wasnât sure he had in him.Â
he realizes then that no one is coming for him. no one will look for him if heâs not home for dinner in an hour. not even daeyong or the new werewolf he keeps bringing around. no one answered his screams, made to stop the savage animal attack on the college kid just trying to take a shortcut home. he could die here, he realizes, bleed out before anyone even knows heâs gone. the thought terrifies him in a way that it hasnât in a long time.
with his good arm, he fishes through his pocket. by some miracle, his phone is still there, albeit with the screen shattered at some point in the skirmish. at least it turns on. location, he thinks first, unsure if heâll be able to give directions even if someone picks up his call. he shares it. and then mashes the call button. he can feel the cold setting in, his heartrate picking up. shock. this isnât good.
âjae?â he doesnât wait for a voice on the other end, speaking as soon as the ringing stops, âi need- i need- help-â
just get away. anywhere, it didnât matter, as long as he was far enough that he could stop thinking, put everything out of sight, out of mind. itâs how he finds himself on a beach in the middle of february surrounded by sand and the quiet roar of waves licking greedily at the shoreline as if trying to swallow up the earth. far from seoul, from the illicit surgery in his late fatherâs house, from the people who haunted him there. far from his own mistakes. he had already gone this far when he realized he couldnât outrun them, that his own consciousness was sure to torture him regardless of the environment. the epiphany hadnât motivated him to give up and go home, but it did stop him from going any further.
seoyun has come to sit on this beach every morning since arriving here. he watches the sun rise on the worst of his sleepless nights. other times he sets an alarm just to make sure he can come see it. thereâs no one out here at this hour except for the stray seabird. he watches one now as she hops around, digging her beak in the sand looking for something to eat. he wonders if she has a family, a flock somewhere nearby, or if sheâs just as lost and alone as he is.
heâs had time to reflect. heâs examined every interaction that lead up to this moment, years of an emotional rollercoaster coming to a crashing halt. he wonders what he could have done to prevent this, how he could have kept a tighter leash on his own heart and mind. or maybe this was inevitable, another cruel game that fate wanted to play with him. maybe heâs really destined to suffer, to lose everyone he has ever touched. heâs trained his hands to heal since he could hold a pencil steady and yet everything has fallen apart within them. the things that he still holds together are crumbling at the seams; as much as they pretend not to, seoyun sees it. itâs the horrifyingly familiar dullness he sees in kyuhwanâs eyes when they hang out between classes; itâs daeyongâs familiar quips to distract from the fact that thereâs the stiff hint of fear in his movements that was never there before.
is he a bad person for leaving them back home? he had fled without warning, without telling either of them where he had gone. that horrible little voice in the back of seoyunâs mind tells him that they might be better off without him. itâs gotten harder to tune that out lately, louder and unignorable every time he walks over a bridge, takes his medication, holds a knife in his hand as he prepares a meal. no one will miss you, it hisses in his ear. like kids at a cafeteria table reacting to a dare, it chants to do it, do it, do it.
seoyun doesnât. not today, at least. not in a strange place where no one will care that heâs missing, not by the ocean where a corpse can be swept out to sea never to be seen again. heâs survived this once, at least.
he remembers the moment he thought he was in love. tired, sweaty, and sore in the best possible ways while his breathing recovers to a normal pace slowly. the body next to him was hot and incredibly uncomfortable to the touch but for some reason, he still was reluctant to let go. they had been younger then, jaeyongâs hair much shorter. no less beautiful. they knew each others bodies by touch, seoyunâs fingers tracing over a scar on jaeyongâs arm, quietly memorizing all of the bumps and ridges of the old wound. jaeyongâs hands had found his own, tracing down his palms slowly until lingering on the deformities in seoyunâs own skin.
âhowâd you get these?â
seoyun knew that jaeyong wanted a war story, blood and glory carved onto his skin in matching patterns to his then-loverâs. the song clan was known for their violence and jaeyong certainly lived up to the reputation in a hunt. these marks were far from boastful, no dark enemy slain in return for the injury. âi tried to kill myself,â he had whispered in quiet confidence, a story from not nearly long enough ago left unspoken on his lips.
the quiet between them had gone on for nearly too long, though it had been only a short moment overall. jaeyong shifted positions, proudly displaying the marks on his own arm next to seoyunâs wrist. a comparison, seoyun had realized. âit might actually be a better battle scar than mine.â
seoyun didnât know what to do other than kiss him in a desperate attempt to tell him what those words meant to him. he didnât know his heart could feel so full, so warm and safe in his chest.
the memory is ruined by what happened later. seoyun canât pinpoint when he realized what was happening, when the way jaeyong got under his skin stopped being pleasant and endearing and was turning him into a person he didnât recognize. all he can do is be proud of himself for being the one to end it first, for taking a stand for himself and his own wellbeing at that time. it was in the time spent away from jaeyong that he realized that none of it had been real. that love, that care, that warmness in his chest had all been part of some game that the song hunter was playing with him. seoyunâs fury had known no limits at that time. he cursed song jaeyongâs name, promised himself that no matter what happened he would leave him bleeding in the streets if it came to it.
but that never happened.
he stopped counting how many times he found himself in jaeyongâs bed, or jaeyong in his, even when his anger was at its peak. there was no love left in the way they touched each other, but god was it hot, and inexplicably more fulfilling than the nameless strangers that seoyun would otherwise seek out. all of them, jaeyong included, were a way to keep the nothingness at bay. falling asleep to the contented sound of another body breathing made the nights go by easier, made him feel more real in the moments when he doubted just that.Â
maybe song jaeyong was his addiction. why else would he have sacrificed a promising new relationship for one more night with his ex? seoyun still wonders what self-destructive demon had possessed him to do such a thing but that hurt had only manifested into more hatred for the man who had tempted him to begin with.
things had changed when huangjun appeared. seoyun canât explain it no matter how hard heâs tried. he asks the same questions over and over again: why was he a game but huangjun so precious? what does he see in jaeyong? why is he jealous? who is he jealous of? the inquiries had become cyclical, repeating over and over in his head the more often he was subject to proximity with them.Â
the first time feels like ages ago, just after halloween night after a long hunt spent inexplicably at jaeyongâs side. he got the call not too long after the event had ended. huangjun needs help. seoyun didnât want to go, but he also didnât know jaeyongâs new boytoy at the time. he hadnât officially taken any oaths yet but he could hear his fatherâs training in his mind. so seoyun had grabbed his kit and ran.Â
somehow he became their personal nurse, taking turns with jaeyong to mind huangjun, feed him his medicine and monitor his sleep. somehow he had been taught how to make tea by the tall, gentle-eyed stranger. seoyun wasnât very good at it, even after all of huangjunâs patience and silent instruction. somehow he forgot that he didnât belong there, that he was only a temporary aide in someone elseâs life. there were brief moments in time where he caught himself staring, enchanted by the strange and lovely creature that was huangjun even in his weakened, injured state. but no one said anything about it, so seoyun thought it had gone unnoticed. that was fine; it was better that he didnât forget that these arenât really his friends anyways. heâs only here to heal, and then theyâll be done with him.
it had happened during a regular checkup, seoyun gently testing the swelling around his patientâs neck with his fingertips and coaxing him into conversation, just to check the progress. it was only because huangjun didnât move want to move his neck, heâs sure, but seoyunâs heart may have traitorously skipped a beat when the other man looked up at him through his lashes. âyour tea is getting better.â
seoyun had only half-laughed, pushing away the budding awkwardness with a joke instead, âi appreciate the lie, thank you.â
"it's not a lie, I mean it. it'll go well with your bed..." huangjun had seemed to search hard for the word, fatigue and the drugs seoyun had prescribed slowing his words and weakening his grasp of a second language. "bed manners?"
âbed manners?â seoyun echoed, nearly burst out laughing again just thinking of the strange reactions he might get if he started making those one night stands stay for tea first. âi donât think anyone in my bed really cares about my manners.â
"ah, that's not..." he has the brief thought that huangjun looks cute when a bit flustered, "but seoyun-ssi, you should have manners when you're in bed with someone, that's very important."
âyouâre so old fashioned.â
"i am? well i guess it's not the first time someone's called me that..."
seoyun thought he caught the hint of coyness in huangjunâs smile, the slightest invitation. it made him look closer, more carefully when the other man looked at him again through his lashes, still speaking softly: âI hope you don't treat me like an old ahjussi just because I'm injured and old-fashioned."
âi donât.â it was all seoyun could promise, some unnamed desire building in his chest. huangjun saw it too.
"good, I'm still a young man, you know- ah... seoyun-ssi, is everything...?"
he had been so careful, asking for permission with every movement. back then, he doesnât think it was official between jaeyong and huangjun. but it may as well have been. they were probably exclusive and he was bursting into that territory. huangjun did not stop him, and seoyun would have stopped if he had so much as said the word. one gentle hand on his face, one careful lean toward him. huangjunâs lips parted, their eyes locked.
seoyun kissed him.
it only lasted a brief moment, huangjunâs response minimal but not missing altogether. seoyun broke away with an apology on his lips where a person had just been, ducking out of the room carefully. at least that time he had come back with tea on a tray, a peace offering. or maybe a bribe to keep this quiet.
jaeyong had returned not twenty-four hours later, back red and blistered from some horrible treatment his family had subjected him to in the name of training. seoyun did what he always has: sat jaeyong down and tended the wounds. what he hadnât expected was coaxing tears out of jaeyong, a breakdown right under his own hands and words. all he could do was kiss him, to try to comfort him in the only way he knew how. and jaeyong kissed back, and seoyun felt that same traitorous bubble in his chest.
they didnât need him any more after that. he packed his kit and left and didnât speak to either of them for weeks after. he was sure that he wouldnât be missed.
if only the story had ended there. if only running away the first time had solved this situation before it had gotten out of hand. but it hadnât. somehow he was called back, not for medical treatment but as a friend. and for some reason⌠seoyun went. and kept going back. even if he argued with jaeyong almost every time, still stubbornly claiming to hate him. even if he couldnât help stealing glances at huangjun. even if he couldnât stop some tiny green monster from growing inside of him whenever the pair touched, kissed, held hands in front of him. it grew harder and harder to tell why exactly it was gnawing at his chest.
seoyun saw them again on christmas. he accepted the christmas gift from jaeyong, one of a set of three ancient rings won at a vampire gala that he really shouldnât have been at in the first place. this stone changes color when the wearer is injured or ill. fearful of what it might tell him, seoyun didnât put it on until much later, in the safety of solitude. the blue stone had darkened almost immediately.
not a week later, on seoyunâs birthday of all days, he got the call for help again. jaeyong again this time, but rather than burns it was cold. tied up and exposed to the elements, left there only for huangjun to find him and rescue him from the otherwise empty warehouse. of course they called seoyun first, of course he came running.Â
what he didnât expect was a nearly-incoherent jaeyong babbling apologies to him through chattering teeth. jaeyong has never apologized to him for anything. it was just the cold, just decreased blood flow making his mind funky and not in its right state. seoyun taught huangjun how to warm jaeyong up slowly, careful not to burn him or shock his system as they go.
it was the next day that jaeyong comes to properly. seoyun was there, watching as he sits up in bed much too quickly and regrets it. he held him steady, a hand on his back, offering him water and not bothering to urge him to rest. jaeyong wouldnât listen to him anyways. jaeyong cursed, hands pressed into his face while he collected his bearings. âiâm sorry,â was the first thing heard from his lips
seoyun had heard the word before, though rarely from jaeyong, unless he was using it to extort something else. but without context, without knowing what was on the other manâs mind, he had to question it. âfor what? i'm pretty sure you didn't tie yourself up in that warehouse.â
jaeyong laughed. it sounded hollow. âit was your birthday. and i always need your help. i know i donât deserve it.â
he didnât think that jaeyong remembered that. their relationship had been so long ago, so short overall. and it had long been established that jaeyong never really cared for him. seoyun could only shrug the apology off, the truth of the matter falling easily off of his lips. âit's not like i was doing anything else. i didnât think youâd remember my birthday. and i kinda wish you didnât need me so much.â he can keep it light, joking. he knew better than to get in too deep with song jaeyong again.
âi'm sorry. for everything. for how i treated you back then...for not meaning any of it.â he laughed. seoyun didnât know how to respond. âhuangjun told me to apologize to you a long time ago, but i decided i wasn't going to until i actually meant it. i guess now i do.â
naturally, he couldnât believe that. silently, carefully, he took jaeyongâs pulse. seoyun looked into his pupils, tested their reactivity before he could be confident that there wasnât any significant brain damage prompting this sudden apology. there was no physical symptom. it didnât make sense. less sense still with the way jaeyong smiled in some amused way through the exam.
âare you being serious right now?â
âyou don't have to believe me, but i'm sorry.â
a long silence sat between them. seoyun couldnât it trust it, not yet. he couldnât even believe that jaeyong would ever feel remorse for what he had done to him; it would take him understanding how much it had hurt to figure it all out. it would take guilt, a sensation that seoyun didnât believe that any of the song family had ever felt a day in their lives. but there was no reason for jaeyong to lie anymore. so seoyun didnât know what to do other than to hold onto the apology for now, and accept it when heâs ready to.
âiâll think about it. thank you.â
jaeyong laughed again. seoyun frowned.
he thinks that heâs accepted it by now. maybe not forgiven, not yet, but the rage faded away. those constant arguments had become less heated, maybe lacked some of the previous passion. he doesnât even want to fight anymore, not when jaeyong was acting so sincerely like he wanted to be friends.Â
except. seoyun didnât, and still doesnât, want to be friends.
heâs never been friends with jaeyong. they were strangers, distant acquaintances through the hunting community at best, and then lovers, then enemies. even now, with the animosity mostly put behind him, seoyun finds it⌠unsatisfying. those secret looks at huangjun are no longer so exclusive, now finding himself sparing them on jaeyong every now and again. he didnât understand it at first. heâs known lust for multiple people before, but that was fleeting, sometimes acted upon and then forgotten. this was new. this was craving affection, for those looks to be returned, for more than just one night of being used and then tossed out unceremoniously. seoyun wanted to belong there as more than just a third wheel, as more than just their medic.
he feels so stupid now. he tastes salt on his lips and wonders if itâs the ocean air or a stray tear. it was foolish to think⌠what did he even think? that jaeyong would be okay with sharing? that even if he did want to indulge seoyunâs stupid little crushes that it would be genuine this time? no, seoyun knew that this was always going to be the outcome. that was why he kept it so close to his chest, a secret that he never intended to let out. it had been budding, growing there for months. and with constant exposure to the objects of his affections it never had the chance to go away.
it all came to a head that night jaeyong had won his freedom from the song family, when the pair of them had arrived broken and bruised on the kang family homeâs doorstep yet again.
seoyun had made them come here. as much as jaeyong wanted to stay in the comfort of huangjunâs apartment, it was much easier and more effective to treat them where seoyun had access to all of his medicines and tools. he addressed them one at a time, putting them back together piece by piece until he was satisfied enough with his work to let huangjun slip off into dreamland. sleep is healing. seoyun knows that the other man has been suffering much like he has, nightmares and the waking worldâs stressors stealing away his rest. the best thing he could do now is simply sleep, dream peaceful dreams.
jaeyong was still awake. he apologized for the second time, this time for needing his help again, taking up so much of his time, letting huangjun get hurt. seoyun, tired and frustrated, didnât want to hear it. he didnât want to know about how this was the last time, that they wouldnât call him again. it hurt to think about how they wouldnât need him, how eventually theyâd leave him altogether. it just happens.
âi donât want to hear that youâre sorry.â
âthen what do you want to hear?â
âi donât know.â he may not have known the exact wording, but seoyun had an idea. not that heâd ever share it.
"what, no 'i want to hear you shutting up?' or something like that?" jaeyongâs laugh sounded tired. seoyunâs chest had formed a dull ache.
"i don't know."
"it'll be better now. they won't hurt us anymore...so you don't have to worry so much. i'll do a better job of protecting him. and i won't be so stupid. i promise."
seoyun had to swallow down a lump in his throat. that was the opposite of what he wanted to hear, a confirmation of the prophecy of his own slow and inevitable discontinuing. he swallowed down shouts begging for someone, anyone, to care about him that much, to not leave him alone, to protect him too. he felt the telltale sting in his eyes, he ducked his head quickly so jaeyong wouldnât see the mistiness there and question why he was on the verge of tears.
jaeyong grabs his hand instead. the one with the ring, where it had stayed on his finger since christmas. he couldnât bring himself to take it off, not evern when he found himself most frustrated by his ex. it was still dark and cloudy, still a grim indication of his own lack of wellbeing.
"i could tell you to take care of yourself but...i don't think we really give you time for that, do we?" jaeyong laughed again. the sound seemed to pierce right through seoyun. "but...we want you to be okay. i know huangjun does too, but maybe i shouldn't speak for him, i don't know. i want you to be okay. how about that."
âstop it,â seoyun snatched his hand away. he had to wipe at his eyes while acting like those words didnât go straight into an aching heart. he knew that jaeyong didnât mean them, not in the way he wanted him to. he knew that he shouldnât listen, to put any thought or weight into anything. because at the end of the day seoyun is still alone. jaeyong and huangjun will have each other and they wonât need him any longer.
âiâm not going to be okay,â it took everything he had not to let a sob escape him. he wonât spill his guts to jaeyong, not when heâd been holding them in so tightly.
in the silence that followed, seoyun had almost found hope that he could escape the conversation unscathed. but jaeyong persisted, even through his obvious exhaustion. it was light nonetheless, âyou don't know that. don't give up on me.â
if only jaeyong knew that was the opposite of the problem.
he was miserable. he wanted to sob, to tell him everything and beg him to let him stay, let him be a part of something, let him make them his family all but officially. but to do so would be humiliating and seoyun had spent years preventing just that sort of thing from happening. all that came out was a wretched, desperate âwhy couldn't you just leave me alone?â
seoyun didnât want an answer. jaeyong gave one to him anyways.
"because⌠i'm sorry.â the pause stretched on for what felt like minutes. âdo you want me to stop calling? really?â seoyun couldnât find his voice to respond. jaeyong made up his mind to speak again anyways. âit doesn't seem right⌠to leave someone that's not okay alone, and i'm trying to be a better person.â
he still canât fully explain what overtook him. it was desperation, the fear of being alone, the thought that jaeyong really might never call again and⌠then what? after weeks of keeping everything stuffed inside, seoyun split at the seams. but his lips seemed to forget all of their words and took action instead, finding jaeyongâs mouth and desperately telling him everything he could never say. please love me. please care about me. please let me belong to something. his face is wet with tears when he finally pulled away, tongue still stuttering and slow to find an explanation to accompany the sudden act of passion.
âi don't.. i'm sorry.. i don't want you to go just.. with both of you.. i don't know jaeyong, i'm sorry.â
jaeyong was confused. of course he was, seoyun had done such a good job of acting like he still hated him. he had kept his secrets so precious. âwhy did you do that?â
âi don't hate you, and i like him, and i'm jealous of both of you at the same time... sorry, i'm sorry, forget it.â
he wanted to run then. but he also couldnât move. jaeyong turned away, no doubt processing the ill-timed confession. and then he apologized. and the world around seoyun came crashing down like a ton of bricks. he wanted to vomit from the anxiety, from the cold, sad, dread that settled in his stomach. he knew what the few words meant: rejection. and while he shouldnât have expected anything else, he still felt something shatter in his chest.
they separated without another word. that night seoyun had packed his bags and booked the trip. he left the ring on the kitchen table with a note asking huangjun and jaeyong to make sure the door was locked behind him when they left.Â
in his rush he forgot his phone. when he came back, hours later after dreading running into them again, he found a missed call, texts asking how long heâll be gone, and then cursing him out for upsetting huangjun. he felt bad, but he had to go. it was too late to change his mind.
seoyun digs his fingers into the cold sand, feeling the grit until either his fingers go numb or the sediment warms around them. heâs texted kyuhwan and daeyong at least, letting them know heâs not dead and even inviting kyuhwan to come spend a weekend up here where the people are fewer and further between and the air smells cleaner. but those messages from jaeyong and huangjun remain unanswered, untouched after he opened them if only to clear the notification. he doesnât know what to say to them. as much as it still makes his chest ache, maybe itâs better if they hate him. maybe theyâll call someone else next time they need help. because jaeyong will always need help, whether he admits it or not.
heâll have to face them eventually. the semester will start again soon and heâll have to leave the safety of the empty beach to show up at his classes, to continue to convince kyuhwan that he doesnât need to drop out. heâll even start clinicals this semester, one more step closer to his official medical license. thereâs things to look forward to back in seoul, but not enough to offset his dread.
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âthat bad, huh?â jaeyong chuckles. it must be, for him to receive this sympathy from seoyun, more unexpected to jaeyong today than most days. maybe he expects a youâre fine, or a scolding, and really, âit doesnât feel that bad.â it hurts, sure, but give it some aloe and a few hours and he could get back to training if need be. he was trained to endure pain, how to fight through it, how to not be slowed down by an injury, how to survive even with odds stacked against you. sleeping on it tonight might be a bitch, but heâs been through worseâ physically, at least.Â
so yeah, seoyun is right. he is lucky itâs only this. at the same time, howeverâŚif only seoyun knew. itâs far from only this. âitâs not that bad,â he repeats. âwell, youâre the medical expert, so i guess it is, but it doesnât hurt that bad.â maybe itâs just typical jaeyong bravado. truthfully, he doesnât know. part of him feels numb at his core now, physically, emotionally, jaeyongâs mind shutting down after the tribulations of the day.
he doesnât have the energy to argue, and maybe thatâs indication enough of his true struggleâ his exhaustion, his demoralization. he sits as seoyun demanded. when he returns with pills in hand, jaeyong takes them with a smile thatâs small, all silent gratitude. he swallows them, and ignores the pain of this movement alone. a cool cloth. jaeyong gives seoyun a single nod of approval, because he knows how these things go. he and daeyong would help each other like this, back when these burns were shared.
âalmost died today,â he chuckles, as he always does, even as his throat grows tight. âtwice actually, i think,â he says, voice strained. what a way it would be to go: in training of all things, alone. sometimes, he thinks the best thing that couldâve happened was him dying alongside daeyong. (daeyong who didnât actually die; maybe death wouldâve been better for both of them.)
he was never supposed to be alone like thisâ alone but not alone. he still has people. he still has a life; he is still social and exuberant, both sincerely and embellished, but everything is different. he thought he filled the emptiness daeyong left with other things: recovery from an injury, training to get back in form, band practice, more hunting, huangjun. yet there is still something missing that he now knows he will never really replace. heâs felt it ever since the head hunt, feelings he never dealt withâ that he never felt. it was like everything with daeyong was synchronizedâ like he had to learn how to walk again, how to breathe again.
he feels that now too, and he wonders if thereâs something wrong with his lungs today, because he can never seem to get quite enough air.
âif it was just a little worse iâd be sending you to the hospital,â seoyun doesnât sugarcoat things, he doesnât make the situation out to be anything more or less than what it is. jaeyongâs back is bad. how he got to this point seoyun doesnât know; he doesnât think he wants to know either. âiâm not a real doctor yet. theyâve got people who specialize in this sort of thing.â heâs been setting bones and sewing up skin for as long as he can remember; sometimes the people around him have to be reminded that he canât bring them back from the dead. as much as he claims to hate jaeyong, he doesnât actually want to see him dead.
seoyun just doesnât know how he can laugh like this; surely every breath, every tiny pull of his lungs expanding under his skin, hurts anew. this is torture, plain and simple.
he dabs the cloth carefully across jaeyongâs tender flesh, trying to suck away as much of the heat as possible, and trying to recall what he had been taught; bandages should be the nonstick kind, donât leave it uncovered, but clothes will irritate the blisters. he doesnât have his full first aid kit with him, he doesnât have the right kind of bandage. better to leave it uncovered than something get stuck to the irritated area.
âwas it your parents?â he only knows a little about the song familyâs training regimen, just the bits and pieces that jaeyong had once confessed to him. it feels like a lifetime ago, back when seoyun thought that he meant something to someone, that it was trust that made jaeyong tell him these little truths and not some cruel manipulation. the memories are all tainted now; every gentle word and kind touch turned to poison in seoyunâs mind. he knows there was some truth though, just none of the feelings were real.
a short sigh escapes him, setting the cloth down across as much of jaeyongâs back as possible. âdonât move,â he instructs the patient, leaving him briefly to search through what he and huangjunâs medicine cabinet might be able to come up with. he comes back with a bottle of water, placing it in jaeyongâs hand with the silent command to drink. âi donât have any burn cream on me. donât put perfumed aloe on that, itâll do more harm than good.â
seoyun knows. of course he does. jaeyong lets out a breath of amusement, because of course seoyun knows. jaeyong wonders where he went wrong, to let someone know him as intimately as seoyun doesâ still does after more than a year without him. (without, but still with, between his sheets, beneath his hands.)
maybe it was too much honesty, betraying jaeyongâs preferred mystery. maybe he liked seoyun back then, somewhere within his game of apathy. did he care for him, even with intent to hurt him all along? does he care for him now? if seoyun hadnât broken up with him, where would they be?
he doesnât know the answer to any of those questions. (he thinks about them too much to still not know.)
they would be a trainwreckâ a house fire, surely, as they always were. sometimes he misses it: the volatility, the detonation of it all.Â
maybe they trained a part of him to like the burning.
but his back still hurts, even if itâs all familiar: seoyun, the pain, like deja vu even if heâs never quite been here before. itâs familiar when he mutters, âyou just want me to take my shirt off,â too, even if it lacks its typical cocky fire. he wants to maintain normalcy, but seoyun already knows, and jaeyong canât breathe. he feels like heâs drowningâ like heâs still stuck at the bottom of the sea, still weighed down.Â
(they put him in a box todayâ an unceremonious version of a coffin. he climbed into it without a fight, knowing he would lose, knowing if he resisted it would be worse, knowing he needed this. he is fearful again. he is shakable, unsteady, unreliable, and they need to fix it. he knows. he let them bury him underground, an experience that wasnât new, but wasnât the same without his twin brother holding a shovel above him. this time, it was his sister, still strong, still trustworthy, but not daeyong. not daeyong. he clutched the walky talky they sent with him, and listened as his sister spoke over the line.
this time, he needed to solve a riddle before they would dig him up. he needed to prove he could keep his wits about him even in his nightmare scenario, even terrified.Â
âwhat disappears as soon as you say its name?â
âair,â he tried.
âthatâs not it.â
it was true, though. with every word jaeyong spoke he lost air. his breathing quickened despite his best attempts at composure, thoughts raced. wind. no, that wasnât it.
âwhat disappears as soon as you say its name?â jaekyung repeated, and he heard something familiar over the static. he swore he heard his voice.
âdaeyong?âÂ
âwhat?â
âdaeâŚâ voice small, broken. he didnât know if his throat felt tight from fear or the memory of him, the lack.
âjaeyong,â jaekyung says over the walkie talkie.
âi know!â he fired back. what disappears as soon as you say its name?Â
âa dream,â he tried. he knew it wasnât it, but he needed to try. he couldnât breathe. he pounded against the top of the box with his free hand, like that could do anything to save him. he could still hear his voice saying his name.
âjaeyong.â
âdae?â
âjaeyong, no. please,â jaekyung hissed over the line.
âdaeyong!â he yelled anyway, finger still pressed on that button to speak his family on the soil above him.
âjaeyong, heâs gone,â his sister pleaded. he could hear the grief in jaekyungâs voice, tooâ the fear, the pain. âjaeyong! come on!â he heard her breath catch, and he wondered if she felt it tooâ that choking feeling. âfocus! what disappears as soon as you say its name!â
jaeyong sobbed. he couldnât breathe. âdig me up,â he begged. âi canât do it. dig me up.â
âyes you can!â jaekyung argued. âjaeyong, you can do this. i know you can.â she spoke quickly, but somehow still firmly, even with the tears he could hear in her voice tooâ just like a song. âwhat disappears as soon as you say its name?â
âuhhhh,â and he stared listing off names, anything he could think of that might even come close, and jaekyungâs silence indicated his failure. then he got it. âsilence! silence.â
âyes! thatâs it!â jaekyung exclaimed. âdig him up! please!â he heard her yell.Â
âjaeyong,â she returned her attention back to him. âyouâre okay. youâre going to be okay. â
âjaekyung,â he whined, but he couldnât find words. i want to see him. i miss him.Â
âiâm sorry,â she replied, a quiet sob over the line.Â
he sprung up as soon as he was able, out into the fresh air, the wind blowing so welcome, and then immediately collapsed onto the ground, weak and lightheaded, only realizing then how tear-streaked his face was.Â
he half expected his brother to greet him, that panic in his eyes reserved only for jaeyong, disappearing and replaced by the nonchalant confidence the song twins shared in the face of anyone else. instead, it was just the faint sound of jaekyung sobbing as she crawled across the dirt toward him and put a hand on his back.
then came the shower. for screaming. for giving up.)
he takes his shirt off as requested, and turns, showing seoyun his back. itâs just short of blistering, still red and angry. âso, docâŚâ he croaks, but he smiles anyway, even through the pain, even if seoyun canât see, and even if itâs exhausted. âhow do i look?â
seoyun frowns, biting back some retort about how jaeyong never has to be asked more than once to strip. itâs not appropriate right now and seoyun knows a song distraction when he hears it. if he argues with jaeyong now, heâll never see the injury. and if he never sees the injury, who knows what dumb thing jaeyong might do. he taught him a little bit once, but seoyun knows better now than he did a year ago. about healing and medicine as well as other things.
he lets out a quiet hiss of sympathy when he finally sees jaeyongâs skin. he lets one hand hover above the tender flesh, not touching but feeling the heat roll off of it feverishly, even now that the source of the burns is likely long gone. any larger or any hotter and itâd be beyond what seoyun feels capable of treating at home; heâd cart jaeyong off to the burn unit himself in that case. but this much is manageable, though likely horribly painful. even peeling off his own shirt mustâve angered jaeyongâs poor skin.
âyouâre lucky itâs only this,â he explains, taking his hand back and frowning rather seriously. âi know it hurts. burns are a bitch.â slow, sensitive. they seem to hurt forever.
the med kit he brings with him to huangjunâs place isnât properly equipped for treating burns, but itâs better than nothing. âsit down and donât move,â he instructs his latest patient, a firmness in his voice that has nothing to do with the person in particular in front of him and everything to do with slipping into the mature, confident young man he needs to be when treating hunters two or three times his age in the surgery at home. he leaves no room for argument, though heâs sure that jaeyong will find a way to argue anyways.
after grabbing his kit and a few makeshift supplies from huangjunâs medicine cabinet, seoyun joins jaeyong again. he surveys the burns again, still frowning to himself as he imagines what they must feel like. certainly not good. âtake this,â he hands over a couple of ibuprofen pills and a glass of water, more for swelling than the pain itself. âiâm gonna put a cool cloth on you, okay?â it should ease the sensation, though he doesnât want to startle jaeyong into jerking away and hurting himself more.
seoyunâs subtle petulance is amusing, even as he steps back to watch huangjun like the attentive caretaker he is. huangjun wears the faintest smile to match as he carefully sets his tools across the counter: tray, cups, pitcher, daiwan, towel, all laid out with practiced ease. but even in his gentle, focused calm, he doesnât hide the small disappointed pout that crosses his lips at the mention of the microwave, his eyes flickering to seoyun as if to indicate he should never mention the microwave and tea in the same breath again, before returning to the task at hand.
he is smiling again when he nods in response to seoyunâs inquiry, his expression warming up visibly. it is hardly an exaggeration, his love for tea, for the tradition and artistry behind it, for the end result of a complex and unpredictable set of flavors and aromas, for the history sculpted into the dishes and steeped in the leaves. he understands why witches operate with herbs and steam - to craft a proper batch of tea is almost like crafting the nectar of time itself.
he accepts the filled kettle from seoyun with a thankful nod of his head before placing it back on its base and setting the temperature display to read ninety-seven celsius.Â
after taking a moment to confirm the water is heating, huangjun turns back to open an overhead cabinet, contemplating a colorful and generous selection of teas in various containers before pulling out two types of oolong, weighing them carefully against each other, one bag in each hand. he pauses, turning to survey seoyun curiously, eyes mildly intense and narrowed just slightly, as if he might read seoyunâs mind if he thinks hard enough.
the amount of honey in his original cup of tea was overwhelming, indicating, perhaps, an unexpected sweet tooth in his taciturn companion, and seoyunâs knowledge of tea is minimal, suggesting anything too bitter might turn him off of tea completely. so huangjun selects the bag in his right hand, a loose leaf ginseng oolong, one of his favorites, before returning the other tea to its spot in his collection and shutting the cupboard gently. he takes a moment to open the bag and smell it himself, a silent moment of indulgent appreciation for himself before he offers it to seoyun with a soft smile, indicating he might try the same, should he feel so inclined.
one moment huangjun is silently threatening him to never use the microwave to heat water again (which seoyun absolutely will, just maybe not in huangjunâs presence) and the next heâs smiling, visibly proud that his affection for the hot left water has been noticed. seoyun still doesnât get the appeal, but whoâs he to knock someone elseâs passions? at least itâs tea and not, like, serial murder. jaeyongâs had his claws in huangjun for a while but thereâs still a gentleness to the other young man that seoyun wouldnât have expected to see there.
he watches with quiet curiosity of his own as huangjun rummages through another cabinet, a measuring glance spared in his direction. he understands heâs being read, predicted, but seoyunâs more fascinated than self-conscious; itâs like taking a buzzfeed personality quiz without having to put in any of the effort of actually answering any questions. he finds himself even anticipating the results. is one of huangjunâs hidden talents being able to match any person, even an avid coffee-guzzler like seoyun, to a tea?
finally, one is chosen. seoyun, used to the more dilute smells of the cheap, stale teabags buried somewhere in his kitchen, takes a big sniff when the opportunity is presented to him. itâs not a bad smell, but his nose isnât prepared for the strength. the tickle in his throat has him coughing into his elbow, hurriedly followed by an apology: âsorry, it doesnât smell bad, i just wasnât ready for it!â that was the rudest thing he could have possibly done, though entirely unintentional. before huangjun can change his mind about the tea, seoyun assures him that itâs really not that he doesnât like it. âit smells nice, i promise.â
seoyun isnât all that good of an actor anyways. surely huangjun has to believe him.
âwhat is it anyways?â heâs familiar with the hints of ginseng, an herb that seems to be a cure-all for any ailment, but he doesnât know his teas well. if itâs ginseng, he wonders if itâs medicinal. probably good for huangjunâs throat in any case; a good choice.
no, itâs mainly his back, burned by scalding hot water today, forced to withstand it as punishment for lacking in training. thereâs that, and the fact that it shouldnât hurt this much. it didnât used to hurt this much, back when it was him and daeyong, when it was a hellish shower every time they screamed, because it would alert more enemies, they said. because you must remain strong.Â
jaeyong still believes his parents just want to make him stronger. he believes, that over the past months, he mustâve atrophied. he believes he needs this training too.
but everything hurts, even beyond the physical.Â
the other day, they took him to incheon, tied sandbags to his feet and threw him off a boat. itâs a recreation of an old exercise, one he used to perform with daeyong, teamwork for the pair destined to be hunting partners for the rest of their lives. he sunk, forced to undo the ropes and free himself, and when he hit the bottom, he had never felt more alone.Â
something in his soul hurts too, something unleashed with the help of love, something in him that wonât stop screaming, but he never knows why. he doesnât know what it is, or what to do, but it hurts.
he knows, if he sees huangjun, that heâll know something is wrong if he doesnât play his cards right. itâs enough to almost make him return back to his own house for the night, but that would only cause even more suspicion, and unnecessary worry for huangjun.Â
he picks a time when huangjun is commonly asleep to arrive, hoping it gives him more time to settle into a routine of acting capable and perfectly fine. when he opens the from door to huangjunâs apartment, there is no one to meet him there, and even though jaeyong always wants to see huangjun, in this case, heâs relieved not to.
he makes a careful b-line to the bathroom to find the aloe there and apply as much as he can to his burning skin, but a figure emerges, and jaeyong jumps, still on edge, still a little anxious, still that undistinguishable feeling.Â
itâs seoyun, he realizes quickly, but even the tiny startle caused his shirt to rub against his skin, and jaeyong inhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, both because of the pain and because seoyun likely already knows, even from this much, that something is wrong.
because as much as jaeyong will claim otherwise, seoyun knows him.Â
seoyun is always here now, helping to take care of huangjun, and jaeyong doesnât know how to express his gratitude, or how heâll repay himâ knows he likely wonât be able to, even if his pride would allow it. itâs not every time jaeyong looks at him, but sometimes, he wonders whyâ why heâs in love now, and he wasnât with seoyun. why it was all a game to him back then, why it changed this time, whatâs different, and he wishes he could remember what it felt like to be with him. he wishes he could remember, so he could compare those feelings or lack-thereof to now and knowâ really know âthat he didnât love him.
seoyun knows about his training too, even if jaeyong skimped on the details. still, he told him the truth to gain his trust. sometimes, honesty really is the best policy.
he doesnât know if itâs better or worse than it was years ago, back probably bright red and irritated, maybe severely burned. he probably needs seoyunâs help, especially if he doesnât want huangjun to know heâs hurt.Â
he simply sighs and opens his eyes again, and maybe, for just a moment, all of the pain is in them. he musters up strength, and itâs gone in a flash, replaced by a smile nearly perfected, so close to meeting his eyes. âhey seoyun,â but he doesnât have a quip on hand this time. âmove, i need to go to the bathroom.â
    ââââââââââââââ @feyseoyun âââââââââââââââ
he had tried to sleep at first. huangjun doesnât need constant supervision anymore; seoyunâs at liberty to doze off for more than a few moments while keeping him company now. honestly, heâs probably not needed here anymore at all. after the week has run out, heâll probably tell both his patient and his ex-boyfriend that his last visit has come. part of him will be glad to go back to an old habit of avoiding jaeyong. part of him will miss the company.
the couch was surprisingly comfortable, but still sleep did not come. so he passed the time with podcasts and a weird chain of youtube videos that lead him to a poorly drawn stick figure talking about historical non-water floods. itâs between clips that he hears the door open. somehow he still knows this sound, the heavy fall of footsteps that land just a little too hard, tired despite their confidence. somehow he still remembers a time when heâd stay up on purpose, waiting for those feet to come in his door; a time when heâd be the one to meet him at the door with a kiss and a soft smile.
seoyun stays in place for now, stubbornly finishing his video before he rises from the couch. this isnât his home, heâs not obligated to welcome jaeyong into the apartment. but he does recognize a gingerness in the sounds of the boyâs movement, an odd pattern where he opts to go for the bathroom instead of his boyfriendâs bed. seoyun knows something is wrong before he even approaches. he just knows jaeyong, despite how often he claims he wishes he didnât.
he doesnât say anything when he makes his presence known. he sees jaeyong startle, catches the slightest wince and following deep breath. pain. he studies the otherâs posture, looking for the source. what has he done now? seoyun guesses itâs his back; the stiffness in his shoulders and the careful lack of movement give it away. that upright posture doesnât come naturally to anyone who isnât trying not to irritate something.
lips part, ready to demand to know whatâs wrong, but he catches jaeyongâs eye before any words can make it out. he sees it, so quickly that if he blinked he would have missed it completely; gone so soon that he doubts if he ever actually saw it in the first place. pain. something beyond physical, though surely thatâs ailing him too. it makes him pause long enough for jaeyong to beat him to speaking, pretending everything is fine with that frustratingly easy smile. seoyun can only frown, brow furrowing in careful consideration. how does he approach this? why does he even care to worry about tact?
âshow me,â is all that he says, not moving from his spot or letting jaeyong disappear into the bathroom. sure he taught him a bit of first aid once upon a time, but seoyun knows more now than he did then. heâs already here, he may as well help. âi know youâre hurt.â
his sleeps are no longer restless, made still as death with the help of medication provided by seoyun. nobody talks about where the small pills come from, and it isnât difficult for huangjun to deduce itâs nowhere legal. but his nightmares are lesser now, less concentrated, less vivid, so he doesnât complain. there is no more waking up in the night convinced his blankets are trying to strangle him, no more peering through the darkness at a face that he only recognizes as jaeyongâs after several long moments of being sure it is another phantom come to end him.
huangjun is endlessly grateful for seoyunâs expert care. there is tension lingering in the air between seoyun and jaeyong, but tension seems to be a permanent fixture in his life since he began pursuing a life of monster hunting. jaeyong is more tender now, in his demeanor, in his touches, but he is still jaeyong and there will always be a sheen of chaos and destruction radiating off of him, in spite of his apparent newfound softness. seoyun has the bedside manner of a professional, albeit a bit young and a bit crude, unrefined, smudged by the fact that his experience comes from sewing up werewolf bites and replacing blood stolen by vampires.Â
and huangjun is nothing if not polite, so he gives no indication of reluctance when seoyun offers him a freshly made cup of tea. he can tell almost instantly that itâs wrong, in the way it looks and the way it smells, the way even the mugâs handle is hot to the touch, a telltale sign itâs been in the microwave. but he gently blows across the surface and takes a careful sip anyway, doing his best to smile softly. but the smile quickly melts into what can only be described as a grimace as huangjun silently sets the mug down again (oversteeped, too sweet, irradiated water, itâs all wrong, so very wrong). and then, without any further ado, he stands, touching seoyun on the shoulder in indication that he should follow him back to the kitchen.
heâs encouraged not to speak for the sake of his recovery, which is an easy feat for the young man who spent his early teenage years mute. he is experienced in communicating clearly without words. so he says nothing as he begins to pull one of his more treasured tea sets from the cupboards, a more traditional set made of glazed, painted clay, one of halmeoniâs: a small green teapot with a weave-wrapped handle and four modest half-circle teacups, all decorated with faint black foliage and balanced on a small wooden tray.
then he makes a show of retrieving the electric kettle from its perch in the corner, lifting it deliberately to show seoyun, and moving toward him to slip it into the caretakerâs hands with a soft, knowing smile, his eyes flickering indicatively toward the sink.
the quiet doesnât drive him as crazy as he thought it would. maybe itâs because seoyun is used to it, having lived alone in a large house for a couple years now. maybe itâs because he never feels like he has to guess what huangjun is trying to tell him; even without words, he can understand him as clearly as if he could speak right now. itâs how he knows that his tea is decidedly not good, even as he watches huangjun try to smile through it. how he lies without ever opening his lips.
âit canât be that bad,â he protests, still convinced that nothing he did was actually wrong. it works fine for his cheap instant coffee every morning, why wouldnât it work for tea? huangjun gets up and walks away, and seoyun takes a sip out of the mug himself. he doesnât like tea to begin with, but the honey makes it taste alright. just what was the other complaining about?
he follows huangjun into the kitchen anyways, just a beat behind, and watches as piece by piece, the tea set is pulled out from storage. itâs pretty, seoyun has to admit, but also seems impractical. or maybe just a little dated; no one their age is going out to tea parties. thereâs a joking complaint about huangjun turning seventy next year that never quite makes it off his tongue, still a little unsure of what sort of friendship theyâre supposed to have right now if any at all.
âyes, i know what the electric kettle is,â he understands the show, the fact that huangjun is scolding him for overlooking the little appliance in the first place. in seoyunâs defense, this isnât his home, isnât his kitchen, and he has no idea where anything is. itâs rude to rummage through cupboards and drawers. âwhatâs the difference anyways? the microwave made the water just as hot.â
seoyun does as heâs âtoldâ anyways, taking the kettle from huangjunâs gentle hands and filling it at the sink. he puts it on without having to be told. âyou really do love tea, donât you?â seoyunâs not even sure he has two matching mugs in his home, let alone a complete tea set. heâs never needed one, let alone wanted it.
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thereâs no reasoning to his actions. his impulses drive all his little whims and wishes, and heâs just along for the ride. so yes, he sleeps with people he finds attractive, but there isnât anything more to it but that. heâs not looking for a relationship even if heâs gotten with his past partners, it was only because it was easier to agree than to reject them. itâs actually surprising the amount of people who fall in love after just one night together. sang canât imagine having a heart that troublesome.
so when seoyun seems to be content with a simple arrangement, itâs sangâs dream come true. thereâs a level of trust heâs put into the man to keep it that way, and so far itâs been rewarded. waking up next to a beautiful face is a luxury in of itself, and heâs happy to provide.
the thought makes him laugh a little, rolling to lay on his side with the blanket tucked beneath his arm. itâs a little chilly with the gap between them, so he snuggles in closer and shuts his eyes again. no use waking up this early, but habits remain habits even after years. he wouldâve gotten up already and started on breakfast for the two of them, but sloth has an iron grip on him this morning. heâs sure seoyun doesnât mind, though.
he falls back into a light sleep, suspended between daylight and slumber. his hand rests gently on seoyunâs waist as if to secure his place, tethering himself to the peaceful moment he couldâve only dreamed of in the past. ah, he could die right now satisfied.
his peace is broken when he hears seoyunâs voice and feels him shifting beside him. sunlight filters into his vision and he pulls away from seoyunâs back to look at him.
âmmâŚno,â he answers before burying his face into the blanket. it smells like them. gross. âgo back to sleep.â
he likes sang. he likes the way he snuggles closer to avoid the morning chill even if he canât stand the feeling of cold fingers and toes creeping up on him. he likes the hand on his waist tethering him to another human being, keeping him locked in this moment for just a little longer. mostly he likes how uncomplicated it is. sometimes seoyun thinks sang is perfect; on the nights theyâre together he can reap all the benefits of the boyfriend experience without actually having to put the time or emotional energy into keeping one.
unfortunately for sang, seoyun doesnât fall back asleep once heâs awake. thereâs no going back to the peaceful darkness, not when the sun is up and thereâs bad coffee to be made and cold cereal to eat. he smiles anyways at the antics sang pulls, groaning and requesting a little more rest that seoyun simply cannot provide. though he does allow himself to lay there for a few more minutes before he decides to reach over the bedside table for his phone, taking the covers with him less for modesty and more to keep their warmth. and maybe also to steal them from sang just a little bit.
on a whim he decides to snap a picture of his friend and bedmate before scrolling through whatever messages and news he missed overnight. no one would ever know itâs sang with his face buried away like that, but seoyun finds it cute enough to keep. he doesnât do it often enough, but thereâs something to capturing these comfortable moments to save for a not so good day. something he can look at later and hopefully still smile. satisfied with his scrolling through posts he doesnât care about for now, he drops the phone back where he got it.
âcâmon, get up,â he nudges sang with a foot under the covers, prodding him for signs of life. âiâm bored. i canât believe iâm not getting breakfast in bed right now. whyâd i invite you over again?â itâs a joke said through a smile, punctuated with another poke. though he really could go for coffee right now, if it just happened to appear in front of him.