#blutsamt

            THERE IS NO RATIONAL EXPLANATION AS TO WHY IT TAKES FIVE TRIES FOR THEM TO SET UP A PROPER VIDEO CALL. All three of them are supposed to be professionals and not drag personal disputes into their work. In theory, that’s easy. But in reality? They’re a mess. “If any of you hangs up again, I’m doing this one myself,” Younghyun threatens, though it’s a weak threat. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he does need Dante and Kimoon. They’re both a lot more experienced, a lot more used to the entire scene than he is. He understands why they’d thrown them together in particular.

[yamato and soowon hi] ⁇ √ ☢

            MINATO COMES TO WITH A SPLITTING HEADACHE, body drained of all energy. The light overhead is too bright for his eyes, stinging now after who knows how long he’s been unconscious at this point. But it’s not the pristine, blindingly bright glow of a hospital lamp -- they must have taken him to their home instead. Minato exhales a breath of relief. They’d listened, and for that alone, he is more than thankful.             Still sluggish, he brings a hand up to his temple to rub against it with two fingertips. The memories are coming to him slow and hazy, nothing much but vague recollections of what happened in that alley. He only remembers pain and deep-seated anger in someone’s voice before he found himself alone again, bleeding out. The two strangers who rescued him only spied him much, much later, too intoxicated by each other and too busy losing themselves in a million kisses. Even now, Minato flusters at the image of it.             He tries to open his eyes again, and this time, the sting isn’t nearly as bad. A pained groan leaves him, nonetheless. His powers aren’t letting him die and he feels it, every fiber of his body working against death like liquid fire in his veins. Minato clamps a palm over his mouth and sobs into it, trembling with the knowledge that this isn’t the first nor the last time he won’t be allowed to leave this world.

            EVERY FIBER OF HIS BEING KNOWS THAT THIS IS A HORRIBLE IDEA. Standing in front of Jiwon’s apartment just like that, no prior message, no warning -- but what’s worse is the radio silence, not a single word from him ever since the lost tournament. Junsu hasn’t touched his phone in months, doesn’t know if Jiwon ever tried to contact him after, so deep in self-pity and regret and guilt that he couldn’t bring himself to care. As far as he was concerned, and still is now, his failure was the last straw. Jiwon wouldn’t want him like this. Nobody would.             But he loves him, still. Through months of silence and hating himself. Jiwon has been on Junsu’s mind more than anything else. More than taking care of himself (he’s a bit of a mess now, inwardly and outwardly; dark circles under his eyes just so concealed by makeup, fingernails chewed off to the point of bleeding, too much weight loss, too much disregard for his own well-being), more than fixing his career. His life.             His fingers shake as he curls them into a fist to deliver three knocks. Junsu doesn’t expect anything from this. All he wants is to see Jiwon again, to see if he’s fine. And maybe, maybe he hopes for him to have moved on, too, to find someone at his side now who makes him happy and doesn’t disappear on him before they ever properly began.             Despite everything, he somehow manages to quirk a smile when the door opens, although it’s weak and so, so sad. “Jiwon-ssi. Good evening.”

            THERE SHE IS AGAIN. Stopping by with cake and a smile on her face and Emraan can’t do anything but let her. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her no. Chihyuk would never let him hear the end of it, either. So he accepts her gesture, as he always does, and as always, something heavy settles in his gut. Almost like guilt, or a bastardized version of it. Emraan smiles through it.