nightcrawler

"Every. Night." He repeats, his tone and expression serious as sin. He can only maintain this solemnity for a split second before his mouth breaks into a goofy grin — a sight any Boobie Trap regular would find familiar. “Sorry for talking about dicks in front of your coworkers. That's probably super weird for you, being their boss and all. What's that thing big companies have? HR? It's probably not HR approved." There is no HR department at the Boobie Trap. Or, unsurprisingly, within the underground fighting ring. In either case, he's pretty sure he'd be unemployed if they did. Doubly so. He is, after all, standing here talking about dicks with a customer. However... "My name's Teddy," he says, reasoning that if they exchanged names, the Handsome Boss wouldn’t just be a customer, he’d be a friend. And talking about eating dicks with your friend isn’t weird. Well, not as weird. “Short for Theodore, although nobody's ever called me that. Or Theo. Or Ted. But maybe I'll give Ted a go when I'm, like, 40 or 50. It always sounded like an All-American, suburban dad name to me.” He extends his hand. It is big and slightly rough, his healing factor seemingly not deeming its many calluses a threat to his general health. After they shake, his eyes dart down to the man’s full glass and then back to his face. While Teddy wouldn’t describe the man’s expression as pained, it’s evident that he is, perhaps by nature, a tightly wound coil. There’s a subtle crease between his dark brows, small frown lines by the corner of each well-shaped lip, which were otherwise pressed together in a manner that, to the untrained eye, appeared neutral. The muscles beneath his nice shirt were taut at the shoulders. “You’ve barely touched your beer. Do you want something else? I could make you a cocktail. They’re not on the menu, but,” he shrugs and smiles.

“We’re friends now. So.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

"Okay." Minjun ended up saying, nodding quickly with his eyes wide. He most definitely looked (and acted) like a startled deer in that moment, staring up at the man and incapable of forming words. It was all a little overwhelming. The room felt hot, and so did the back of his neck. He laughed (tried to) anyways. "It's... definitely not, but..." his eyes strayed to the rag-tag bunch downing their refilled beers. "They say a lot of weirder stuff to me."

The amount of lewd jokes he was subjected to on a daily basis would have been enough to make a nun burst into flames. Not to mention the amount of times Minjun had to pull out the 'TMI' card on one of the guys was enough to fill several decks. But also, it made him incredibly jealous. Minjun did not have anyone to do TMI things with.

He sighed, and then promptly shook all of it off.

Minjun stared at the man for a long time, even cocking his head to the side. "You look like a Teddy," Minjun said eventually, shaking the proffered hand. Large, huggable, bear-like. The last bit was because there was something in the man's eyes that reminded him of Winnie the Pooh. But also, yeah, he was built to the point where Minjun feared for anyone who would ever possibly get into a fight with the guy. "I'm Minjun." He took out his business card from the pocket of his jacket, a customary habit, and handed it over. It was nondescript, all cream card stock and small black lettering. It was just his name, business email and his work number, but he was proud of it nonetheless.

At the mention of his beer, Minjun also found himself looking down. The glass, dripping with condensation, bubbles of froth slowly dying at the top, it should have looked appetizing, but Minjun had never been much of a drinker. The last drink he had had was with his father, the very last time he'd seen him, actually. They had shared a bottle of rice wine deep in the forests, bonding after years of separation. After that, he had never been able to drink, unwilling and unable to celebrate any moment without his parents.

"It's your birthday," Minjun said, nudging Souk, "the only talk there'll be is about how great your party is." He couldn't help it, coddling the younger man by bringing him in for a tight, one-armed side hug. "And bemoaning of where to put all of your presents." He added with a loud laugh.

But Minjun's mind was still not over the smoothie, the aftertaste still lingering in his mouth. Strawberry, Souk had said, but it tasted nothing like it. It tasted... it had been so long, centuries even, but he swore he knew that taste. He couldn't be too sure. But Souk's face was blank, passive and confused even, at Minjun's reaction. It still felt odd. He stared at Souk staring at him, and tried not to act too strangely about it. But his body was reacting on its own, his insides felt warm—even after that halfhearted sip he felt different. Like something was being lit from within. Uncomfortably so. His stomach made a noise like a displeased dog, begging for more food. His chest felt tight, as if he were suffering from heartburn, but magnified by a hundred degrees. Whatever Souk had brought was something that shouldn't be consumed.

Souk just watched the elder, waiting to see him drink his smoothie. No one could dare say he wasn’t caring and loving to his family. Look at him, adorable and thoughtful, he wasn’t at all the youngest. This was more mature. Sonu was certainly not looking out for their uncle.

He smiled a calm disarming smile at the question of the sogginess. Well yes, the hearts were already mixed up. “There’s whole pieces on top to make it cute and have chunks to chew. A nice burst of the sweetness. Drink it before even it goes mush”, he says then takes a healthy sip. That would certainly have given a brain freeze if his damn brain wasn’t constantly healing. He wondered what it felt like. “Uncle, is a brain freeze like a zap or numbing thud?” he wondered then looked at the remainder in the container.

There was a particular lump that looked far too flesh like to be strawberry, it poked out from under supposed fruity ice. He chuckled, and shook the container, burying the chunk of heart into its juices. 

“Anyway”, he began. “I’m going to have a small dinner for family for my birthday. I actually want to see everyone”, he says knowing that everyone would not include Sonu. “Everyone who gives a shit about me enough to come”, he scoffs. “Knowing Kang though, he probably knows how to park a planet so I’m sure getting to your gift will be easy as cake” His teeth flash, he’s so pleased with himself. “And as for cake it has to be Devil’s Food or a very nice strawberry”, he beamed, amused at his little joke. It would certainly not be fucking strawberry. 

 His eyes narrow at the elder, behind his perfect row of teeth he is yelling, UNCLE DRINK THE FUCKING SMOOOOTHIEEEEEEEEE! He blinks, calm. He is calm.

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Minjun stared between Souk and the smoothie for a long while, eyes going soft. Yes, Souk could be a sly little devil, but above all else, he cared. Regardless of that hardened exterior, there was a charm to him. After all, he was still a baby.

He even had to hold himself back from pinching the young vampire's cheek as he smiled, because he knew Souk would hate the action and swat him away.

"Alright," Minjun snorted instead, grabbing for the smoothie, "no need to rush me." He still couldn't get over that light, lingering scent. It also looked unusual, though maybe special was a better word for it. The world was changing so fast around him—it would only be a given that food habits changed as well. Organic smoothies filled with protein powder and things similar to that were all the rage. Minjun had seen the pictures on advertisements and menu boards. They all looked odd one way or another. He twisted the straw around, twirling the contents inside out of habit.

"Don't worry about the gift so much." Minjun joked, poking at the younger. "But a dinner, you say? Where?" Almost absent-mindedly, Minjun lifted the straw to his lips, too deep in thought about the logistics of Souk's birthday dinner that he didn't process the taste.

...

He had gone through half of it before he realized.

⋆୨୧˚૮ ＾ﻌ＾ა˚୨୧⋆

Soojin strolls by with the other beers, giving Teddy a passing glance that portrays her amusement. The young man who’s already finished his beer signals for another. Soojin takes his empty glass and returns to the tap to refill it. 

“That sounds nice,” Teddy says with a soft hum, “We don’t do company dinners here. Well, unless you consider being given the reject chicken wings and unfinished leftovers a company dinner. In which case, we’re having company dinners every night.”

His eyes drift over the handsome, bookish man’s shoulder, blurring as he summons a recent memory. And when it comes to him, his gaze snaps back to the man. “The chicken wings are usually rejected because they look like dicks. It happens much more than you think it would.” Teddy leans over the bar, drawing closer to the other man as if the two are discussing something confidential. “I know what you’re thinking: why would the Boobie Trap care if their chicken wings looked like dicks? I had the same question.”

“But, as Hajoon said —Hajoon's the owner— He said: Just because we have Boobie in our name doesn’t mean we’d stoop as low as serving chicken wing dicks.” His impression of the gruff, tatted-up proprietor is spot on, though only Soojin can appreciate it. Teddy gives a casual shrug. “But it all tastes the same, so I don’t see why it matters.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Amidst the sudden whooping and hollering as everyone reveled in getting their drinks, Minjun's corner suddenly felt very silent.

"Um."

Minjun swore that his eyes were bulging out of his head.

And his face felt hot.

Decidedly, he ignored both those facts, because no one seemed to have caught on to his reaction (for the love of everything that was good, please let it be true), so he ended up clearing his throat, intent on not choking and dying right then and there. Minjun could not have anyone else seeing him lose his mind, not when they all had to see each other again the next day, and every working day after that.

But the man was right. Wings were still wings, and the name of the establishment, if anything, meant that that particular hiccup should be more than acceptable. A selling point, even. He remembered that very momentary trend of... phallic-looking waffles floating around somewhere on the internet. None of this he mentioned. Again: he didn't need anyone to stare at him weird and then let himself be seen at work. He would rather dig a hole in the dirt and live in it for the rest of his miserable, immortal life than to deal with that.

A laugh somehow escaped him all the same, but the sound was something more similar to a balloon suddenly releasing air. Suho turned to stare at him.

He was not playing it cool at all.

It got so much more worse.

"So you have to eat dicks... every night," Minjun repeated, and in the same moment the words left his mouth, he was slapping both his hands over his face, his head falling onto the bar.

Sipping the concoction, he half sulks, a bratty thing, questioning the seriousness in that tone. He looks from the table to the elder, eyes keeping his act going. A cute lil baby, can’t get mad at a baby. His teeth had barely set.

Now that was a lie. But really, if it works, go with it.

“80′s”, he repeated then laughed. That was such a vague statement with no context to the century. That was what it was like with beings who didn’t question time, didn’t fear its passing. To the immortal, time was like the weather, like the seasons, just moving and of little consequence to anything. “I have these leather journals that would look very nice on top of it”, he says then sips the smoothie. He leans back in the couch then pokes the elder’s side. Playfully he chuckles and rolls to the other side.

“Smoothie”, he answers. “Tastes pretty good. I should have gotten a third. I think my cravings for sweet things are getting ridiculous. Ice cream, cake and smoothies”, another sip. It was half way gone. 

“Maybe I’m becoming more like you", he says then looks at the elder, noting his frame, then his face. “In some ways”, he concludes. “ I’m taller”, he says then grins before sucking on the straw loudly, slurping the red goo up in the straw. “Juicy fruit, fresh too. Uncle don’t make me drink yours too. Taste it before it gets all soggy. Strawberries aren’t good soggy”, he says, ready to open the lid and toss the contents into his mouth. 

Nope not yet. He isn’t that off his game to miss the smell. Souk looks into his eyes and wonders if he can tell what he’s up to. He wonders to what side of the apartment will he have to chase him to. Or, maybe he will get tossed. Nah. 

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

"You're going to get a stomachache if you only eat sweets," Minjun chastised, even though he made no move to do anything about the situation. It was no wonder why Minjun was wrapped around Souk's finger—the vampire was charming with his puppy-dog-eyes and pout. Minjun was fond of babies, and Souk was the epitome of that.

And he knew that Souk was smart, and that Minjun shouldn't coddle him, but how could he resist not giving him everything that he wanted? He would try and add that as long as it was within reason, but even then... Minjun would have to try very hard to not give Souk what he wanted. The joke about giving him a planet was just an example of that, and the only reason why it hadn't come into fruition was that there was simply no real reasonable way to purchase a planet. If he wanted to buy Venus, who the hell would he send the money to?

Minjun patted Souk's head, careful not to muss it up too badly as he concurred. Souk had grown well, which delighted the old fox immensely. Even the dig about his height washed right over him as he took the younger in. "Of course you are. I can barely see the top of your head now."

"I suppose donators could be screened for impropriety,” Danika speculates, “but I’m not sure how reliable that would be. No matter. I have some contacts in Sweden who are pioneers in the arena of end-of-life care. We can initiate the conversation and go from there.” She scribbles this on the notepad as a reminder to make that phone call. She believes her Swedish connections will be overjoyed at the news. It’s a one-of-a-kind circumstance. Danika has the impression that there aren’t a lot of gumiho on the planet. Minjun is the first of his kind that she’s met, and she’s been around for a long time.

His change in expression relieves her, as she was worried he’d begin mopping again and she had already reached her quota for mopey men for the day. “Wonderful. We can do some tests at my lab. I work primarily out of Gyeonggi, but I don’t mind coming to the Seoul location if that is more convenient for you.” 

She rips the note from the pad and sticks it to her clipboard. It contains a brief scrawl of their tentative game plan, a last-ditch attempt to rejuvenate the disappearing fox. At that, Danika drags her gaze up and down Minjun’s frame. “Mr. Han, I reiterate, you are looking a little worse for wear. I only say this because I’m sure those in the office will soon notice. It might be a good idea to devise a strategy for dealing with that.“ She has no idea why she is offering him this advice. What he did outside of her care was none of her business, but she was aware of the emotional strain this was going to place on Soa. The longer he drags this out, keeping it hidden from his loved ones, the more difficult it will be. “People will also begin to question why we are working together, so please inform me what you would like me to tell them when that time comes. It doesn’t have to be now, but consider it for our next meeting.” 

From the depths of her lab coat pocket, she retrieves her cellphone. She had Minjun’s contact information, just as she had the contacts of everyone at Guan Corp, but they had never had a reason to privately engage before this. She sends him an email outlining potential meeting times. She stows the phone back in her pocket.

"I believe we’re nearing the end of this appointment. I must admit that it was far more interesting than my usual check-ups,” Danika says, “Now, unless you have any further questions, you are free to go. I’ll collect your blood sample at our next meeting. It will be far more useful to us then.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Biting his lip, instead of answering, he ended up casting his glance to the side with a small nod. It was a lot to process all at once, the fact that maybe there would be a way out of this vicious cycle, and somewhat (?) ethically. The world had changed in the centuries he'd walked its ground, and while he had been aware of it, he couldn't believe that they were now in a place to have such options. It was a weight in his chest, but whether good or bad, he couldn't tell quite yet. Even his quavering ideals and the civil war being waged between all of his emotions were no match for this place. He would probably (most definitely) go home and worry the subject in his mind all night.

It would take a long time to get over everything that was happening. Old habits died hard, it was a cliché for a reason. But maybe this search for a "cure" or whatever this could be called would help him reach a solid conclusion on his stance on the whole thing. This was day one, and he imagined what would have happened if he had stepped into this office sooner than he had. Maybe they would have already found a solution, but a Minjun even a few years prior would have broken down so quickly in front of Danika. He would have walked out of that office with less of a fight and a disappointed doctor staring holes into his back. But he had realized sometime between then and now that he had some place in the world standing next to Roga's side, next to the Guans. Roga's absence had reminded him just how much he needed the Guans, and maybe just how much they needed him.

"Anywhere works for me. I don't mind travelling either." He gaze drifted to a window in the room. "Maybe getting out of the city more often would be nice."

Minjun immediately turned back to Danika, eyes wide. In his moment of surprise, he had all but forgotten. What to tell the others? Though they were still very busy both within the sphere of the company but also within their own personal endeavours, people would question why he, who had avoided the medical plaza like it itself were the plague, was suddenly the doctor's shadow. Up until then his excuse was that he was never injured enough or that he was too old to need a check-up. It was a shoddy excuse at best, but they must have chalked it up to him just being old and hating getting check-ups. Lots of people didn't like doctor's appointments, what's to say that he didn't either? "I'll... definitely have to think about that," he hummed, squeezing at his own hands.

"I, um," he paused, standing up as soon as she had hinted at the fact. "I don't have any questions right now." His brain had shut down from the sheer load of information and emotional unhashing he had done over the course of the visit. It had probably been less than an hour, but it had felt long enough that maybe he had grown an extra tail. "But I might have some when we next see each other." The doctor had picked up her phone, eariler, which had reminded Minjun that he'd left his at home again. He never checked it, and anyone that needed him would drag him away personally or not at all. A habit that he had been trying to fix, but again: old habits.

"But I did want to thank you. For everything. And I apologize again for being vague and causing a ruckus... I know that you operate with a more... direct approach. And I'm sure you weren't prepared to give me such a talking to." He let out a soft, nervous, huffing sort of laugh.

"Okay,” Danika says, taking a step back. She drops her radiating intensity. She’d only donned it to get an answer from the evasive man, and she’d obtained it, although it’s not precisely what she was hoping to hear. Not because of the decision he made, but because he remained reticent about possible solutions. But it’s something she can work with. “And I believe you. I can finally hear the conviction in your voice.”

Dragging open a drawer, she retrieves a pad of paper and a pen. “Now we can talk about what can be done.” This was a much more pleasurable spot for Danika to be in. She loved a good problem to sink her teeth into, the more challenging the better. These were the kinds of things that enriched her eternal life. If Minjun’s sad puppy (or sad fox, as the case may be) routine had continued for a minute longer, she might have bit his head off. She despises the victim mentality, particularly when it comes from a man.

“What are your thoughts on a donated soul?” She inquires, scrawling on the pad. “That is to say, someone who offers their soul willingly for your consumption. Does illness have an effect on taste? This could be an interesting option for patients with terminal illnesses as well. Many people are changing their minds about end-of-life care, and some believe that electing to die via euthanasia or another manner of assisted dying is a form of reclaiming their agency.”

"There’s also the option of looking for a soul alternate, perhaps on top of suitable supplements. I’d have to do more research on the subject. The soul is such an enigmatic substance and science has yet to unravel its mysteries. Or, in the case of human science, even prove that it exists. Perhaps you can assist me in this matter. Given that you have previously consumed souls, you must recall some of their characteristics.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Still utterly terrified, his damp palms were clasped together back in his lap, fingers tapping off rhythms to the beat of his shaking heartbeat. Her eyes were softer now, but they were still hard, and he found himself still unable to look her in the eyes. Even as she sat across from him, he shifted in his seat. "Well first of all, are—Are there...?" Minjun trailed off, cocking his head as his face screwed up in confusion. "Donated souls...?" The odds of there being such a system seemed implausible. "I mean... if they knew exactly what they were getting into, I think it would be okay but would they... be okay? With that?" It was something to think about; he wasn't sure how to feel about that aside from the general confusion.

"Illnesses or anything physical don't have an affect on the taste, I don't think—but I've tasted some bad souls. It wasn't horrible, by any means, but unpleasant." It lingered, like off-meat or unripe fruit, but he had never been one to be choosy in such a situation. "That's really... something to think about." It was upsetting, mostly, and definitely something he'd think about in his room in the dark hours. But voicing such things probably wouldn't fare well in terms of his standing with the doctor.

"You are a gumiho. You must feed on souls. That is an essential part of your existence. A non-negotiable,” she states flatly. “You come here, speaking in vague terms about your symptoms, seeking assistance in dealing with the consequences of your own actions, which, might I add,” her brow darkens, “you are not even man enough to admit." 

“I assure you that your rectitude is not lost on me, Mr. Han.” Her heels tap against the tile as she closes the gap between them. “While I may not share your perspective on death, I can respect your commitment to your personal ethics; what I cannot respect is your utter lack of conviction. I know that you’re not inept, and that you understand there is no real cure outside of consuming souls, which you seem determined not to do. Perfectly fine. But do not play the victim. Not in my office.”

"You and I have been on this planet far too long to despair over its unfairness. At this age, you must realize that there are only two options: get over it or make it fair. If you want to survive, you must feed on souls or find a suitable replacement. However, as far as I can tell, you appear perfectly content to waste away in voluntary solitude and misery, as if it were some noble act of self-sacrifice. There is no such thing. From the moment we are born, we take. We take because that is what it means to be alive. You cannot live a life free of consequence or harm. Do you believe that your inevitable demise will not harm your loved ones? Is this yet another sacrifice you’re willing to make?” 

“I’m not trying to persuade you in either direction. If you truly believe that you have no right to take someone’s life, that is your prerogative. And we both know that unless you find alternate nourishment, you will die. Is this what you’re seeking? An end to the guilt and pain of existence? If that’s the case, I’d prefer you tell me now so we can devise an adequate plan to manage your suffering as much as possible before you pass. Or would you like to live? And I don’t mean like this,” she gestures towards him with a hand, “this is pathetic. This is not living.” She bends over slightly so that their gazes would be level. Her face is mere inches from his. 

“Make your choice, Mr. Han. Make your choice and own it.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

In all his years, he had never been spoken to in the way he was currently, again, he felt like a child being scolded, except everything she said was true. His face was red with embarrassment, because he could feel that in her eyes, he was just that. A child, whining about the circumstances while unwilling to negotiate a way out of it. The realization hit him quickly, but it hit him hard. He had no conviction. He lived in a grey state, unwilling to live yet unwilling to die, and with no means to an end either way, left with no choice but to suffer the consequences. And when the consequences lived in him everyday, manifesting in pain, he decided to leave it be.

He was dooming himself, and as she said, he was dooming all those that he loved by continuing to live selfishly. That weak spot in the fortress would be found one day, and be used as leverage, or a means of barging in and ruining everything that had been built. Everyone would suffer with him. It made his shaky resolve crumble, fall around him in pieces, and whatever bravado, that false mask of surety that he thought made him brave had truly been nothing, it seemed. It was a fact, and while he was staring it straight in the eyes, it still did not fully register in him.

A thousand years of life, not having been lived in so long, had made him a husk, he realized. Old habits died hard, and it would be a lonely death either way. If he continued on like this, he would be no better than a lonely fox, left for death in the woods, scent of ash and fire choking him.

Again, it was that ultimatum, still waiting, though not patiently. There was no time left to think, he feared. This moment would be a catalyst either way. Anxiety had sweat forming on his brow, and he peered helplessly into the icy sharp blue of her eyes, and was reminded of that memory of the last soul he had taken. Live or die. A decision he had been putting off for so long, and now it felt as though he only had seconds left to choose.

A world without him would still turn, and he had been around for long enough, but not long enough—he still had his get-togethers with Soa laid out in his calendar. Souk needed someone to be there and brave his anger. He was waiting for Roga to awaken so that he could greet his friend again. Sometimes, the best decisions were made under duress, a choice that one had known was always right would be made under pressure.

⋆♱✮♱⋆

"It is impossible,” she repeats. And that’s all there is to it. Danika isn’t a stickler for the rules (how could she be? She actively breaks Korean law whenever it suites her), but when it comes to her job, she is unyielding. Especially in this case, where she believes he is being unreasonable. He has to realize that he is far more than a regular Guan group employee. He is Roga’s best friend, his closest confidant outside of his own blood. While the goal of these check-ups is to ensure that employees are healthy enough to perform their duties, it isn’t so simple for Minjun. While Danika is bound by patient-client confidentiality, she couldn’t help but think that by keeping this information private, he is punishing more than himself.

She is becoming increasingly irritated by his evasion of the truth. His refusal to be up-front about what is wrong with him is especially frustrating, but she retains a placid expression. She despises self-pity in general but finds it especially distasteful on an elder like Minjun. They are both far too old for this despairing attempt at sainthood; martyrdom is for the young. 

Danika may be too hardened, too clinical; she knows this. But she’s always considered her existence to be both a blessing and a curse, but no more than any other being. The benefits and drawbacks of vampirehood had to be balanced, and accepting these benefits necessitated recognizing and learning to live with the limitations. And if she is ever unable to deal with these disadvantages (whether physically or mentally), it would almost certainly spell the end of her existence. There are hard decisions to be made in such dire circumstances. While Minjun may believe he has made his decision, Danika could not agree. He is simply putting off the inevitable. 

“It is only hopeless if you allow it to be,” she says. “Your pain management options range from deep breathing exercises to the use of biofeedback. We may also discuss the boundaries of your ethics and where exceptions may be permitted. Would you object to eating, say, a serial killer? Is your aversion to consuming higher life forms a hard and fast rule?" 

After a brief moment, she reaches over and switches off the computer monitor. She rises from the stool, gazing at him with meaningful intensity. "Mr. Han, may I speak with you candidly for a minute?”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

"I figured as much." He sighed.

One day, he would have to face the truth of it all. He couldn't keep hiding it from himself and from everyone else. He was a gaping weak spot in the fortress that was the Guan family empire. He was not looking at things objectively, merely living in his own selfish delusions, he knew that. In their mind, he was keeping the Guans safe, better he be at their side than someone else was how he thought of it.

There was a shift in the air. And there was an ultimatum, hanging on a thread right in his face, like a pendulum swinging back and forth, held between the fingers of the elusive doctor. He had expected her to let him down easy, and she had, but he still hadn't been able to handle it.

"I—" Her asking had him lost in another bout of memory; when he was young, just after his village had burned and he had gone about gallivanting as some Robin Hood-type of vigilante, hopping from village to village. Naive, young, full of rage. He only had that one tail back then, the pain of another growing just beginning at that time. He remembered briefly the face of a corrupted lord, who had pilfered the meager earnings of the village people and withheld provisions for compensation.

(His soul had tasted exceptionally bitter, and he had been messy and cruel in his theft of the man's energy, watching the light in the man's eyes fade while his bead glowed blue. He had held it in his hand for a while, twisting and turning the thing every which way, watching the way the light reflected off that energy like waves in the early morning. "Pretty," he had mumbled to himself. But the taste in his mouth had turned sweet, and he had turned, meeting the eyes of the man's wife, pushing open the door to his chamber. She had been ill, he had seen the gauntness in her cheeks and the way she hobbled over to the man, until she was crawling to him. Did any one life mean more than another? He had wondered suddenly, having snuck out of the low window and watching her through the partition. He had always felt guilty for eating, first from watching his mother struggle, portioning out the hunts she would go on so as to not draw suspicion, and then having lived in a world of dog eat dog, everyone fighting to live, just as he.)

"I tried something similar when I was younger, but I had thought that it was not fair, that one person died while I continued to live." He mumbled, so quiet it could almost have been for himself.

Danika observes him for a moment in silence. In the privacy of her mind, her professionalism slips and she allows herself to see him for what he truly is: a tired, old man. An ancient soul. Not much different than herself in many ways. It didn’t matter that they were immortal beings or that they did not physically age; time takes its toll in other ways. 

"Only medical professionals,” she says, “though I won’t lie and say those at the highest levels of Guan corporate couldn’t find a way to gain access if they really wanted to. As you’re probably aware, the Guan siblings are rarely told no.”

The fear in his eyes holds her attention, and her own senses go into primal alert. Pupils dilating, ears pricked to pick up on the smallest of sounds. It was the kind of organic, animal fear that struck the deepest pits of her being, told her that something was coming and they needed to brace themselves for impact. She swallows it down as best she can. “Hypothetically, it’d be easier for me to answer that if you tell me your symptoms. Hypothetical symptoms,” she corrects herself. She usually didn’t care for these types of games, especially when she was working, but this was the one time she was willing to play.

“I do not wish to raise your hopes, Mr Han,” she continues. “Fix… is not a word I like to use when discussing what is clearly a chronic issue. We can try to mitigate symptoms. Manage pain. If we’re talking about what I believe we are, I am not sure there is an ‘ethical’ cure. I am sure that is not what you want to hear. I’m sorry.”

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

The doctor was right: it was a matter of if, not when, when it came to the Guans. It should have been obvious, given the fact that even Minjun had a hard time telling them no. But he gnawed at his bottom lip, worrying it until it threatened to bleed. "Is there any way to... omit them from finding that bit of information?" Medical malpractice, maybe. Minjun felt horrible for asking as soon as the question left his mouth, and he shook his head. "I apologize... And besides, it'd be impossible. Nevermind."

And then the main cause of his concern was brought up. "No ethical cures". He knew she was trying to be gentle when dropping that bomb on him, but it felt just like that. It landed square in the chest and rested heavily in his bones. He knew that that would be the case, but hearing it aloud was... any sort of hope he'd strived for upon meeting the doctor dissipated. He felt disappointed. Not at the doctor, but just... disappointed. "That's what I expected." No emotion leaked from his voice, but it was still quiet. Minjun felt like a child, pouting when they couldn't get what they wanted. It was ridiculous. It still hurt him regardless.

Waving a hand, he scrunched his nose, trying his best to be unaffected. He wanted to go home. Lay down and watch Tim meander around his house. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, thinking about it made his head hurt. Everything ached. It was his own fault. "Right." Hypotheticals... he could work under the delusion of a "maybe" or a "what if". It would make him more honest. Depersonalize, rationalize, stare into the face of death and give it a name. Was that what he was doing? He shook his head. Where would he start on his made-up list? If he had to really think about it, it would look something like:

1.) The headaches. It had been a long time having to live with those. Not the worst thing to deal with but constant. 2.) Lack of energy. His legs felt like logs and his knees constantly felt like they were about to give out. He could barely sleep, but still... that shouldn't affect him the way it did. 3.) His throat. It was a strange, indescribable feeling. Not burning and not aching, but feeling empty. Sort of in the same vein as rattling around the glass bead in an empty bottle of Ramune. If it also felt like choking on something that went down the wrong pipe.

And then the other things. The constant feeling of cold, the fainting. Those things, the latter of which he hesitated to add to his list. But they were still discussing in hypotheticals. He did not want anyone thinking a soft wind would knock him over—that was the last thing he needed.

But in the end, it would be all for naught anyways. As she said, there was no good, clean way of fixing what was going on. "It's all a bit hopeless, isn't it?" Minjun snorted. "But I've lasted this long. So, I guess now, with your direction, I could find a way to mitigate the symptoms?" He would not even begin to think of entertaining a route in which he took the easy way out.