#p:aftermath

starter for @rkleedongminie

siyoung bounce of the staircase, his adrenaline rushing faster than ever. it was the first in time in almost 2 years since he was last performing on a stage in seoul. a performance that he was please with. dongmin and siyoung had never perform on stage together before. it didn’t have to be a perfect stage but it was a lot better than he had expected. siyoung had always perform solo, i guess you can say that he likes to claim the stage to himself. however, things had changes since he was last in seoul.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing it. He knew it while his hand was on his wand, constructing the protective barrier between him and the device. He knew it while he watched parts fit together, watched the dim light of the charms encircle the thing that looked most unnatural. He knew it while wires fit to wires, while red digits rolled around in their counters, while sparks flew from the connections, ambiguous as to whether the electricity produced was magic or muggle.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing it. But he did it anyway.

Because there was something enchanting about the feeling that had overcome him, far more mystical and deeply threatening than any magic he had learned in school. He belonged, and his belonging was so much deeper than simply being accepted; it was the knowledge that he fit somewhere, that he could use his talents to create something powerful, and fascinating, and beautiful.

The construction itself had come and gone in a blur. Days passed. He strode down the street, head in the clouds as if intoxicated. A dazed smile played upon his lips as he caught the eyes of passers-by. He wore the scar on his arm like a badge of fucking honor.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing it. But he did it anyway.

He was floating for what seemed like forever. There was pain, and a lot of it. But after an eternity the pain subsided, and voices were muffled. The darkness was pulling him down, down, down, drowning him and it was nearly two entire days before he resurfaced. It felt like he’d broken the surface, taken in a heaving gasp of fresh air. His eyes fluttered open and the first thing he noticed was that the pain was gone and the burnt smell was still there. He was still at home. Was Aspen still there? With a gravelly voice he croaked, “Aspen.”

The sound of Malachy’s voice broke the silence that’d been sitting over the room like glass, shattering the past two days’ tension. It felt like Aspen could breathe again, like all the air he’d been taking in thus far wasn’t nearly adequate. Though every cell in his body yearned to rush across the room and cup the other’s face between his fingers, see the light return to his eyes — he’d prepared himself for this, knowing it best not to rush him. “Right here, babe,” he murmured, taking a sip from his coffee and frowning at the bitterness.

Malachy’s body was stiff, it took a lot of energy for him to turn his head to face Aspen. There was a crick in his neck and his joints felt like old brackets, old and rusted levers and screws. That was probably the dehydration from the heat. “Why’re you—” his throat was dry. “Why’re you all the way… Over there.”

Mouth twitching into a grimace, Aspen carefully sat his mug on the coffee table that separated them and curled in on himself a bit, expression wavering between confusion and sadness. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea for me to be much closer,” he replied, voice soft as if he was speaking to a small child. The idea that Malachy might not remember what’d happened terrified him — explaining, he thought, would be the worst part. Wondering where they would go from here. “I can’t imagine why you would /want/ me any closer.”

Malachy offered Aspen a weak smile, one that quickly faded once he tried to sit up. He felt like his bones were creaking wearily and he himself groaned. “Come help me up. — Did Bennie fix the burns?” He inquired, choosing to ignore Aspen’s statement. He couldn’t be angry with Aspen, he’d pushed him to anger, driven him to violence by attacking the one thing that meant everything to him. Malachy now knew that he would never, ever be able to compete with the clan. If it was between him and the Elders… Well, the choice would be obvious.

Hesitating a moment, not trusting his hands to be gentle enough with the boy he’d just injured so badly, Aspen stood and crossed the space slowly, perching himself on the very edge of the couch. His hands moved to bracket Malachy’s chest and back, easing him upwards with a slowness he’d never taken the time for in the past. As soon as he’d aided Malachy, he dropped his hands to his lap and focused his gaze on them; this wasn’t a feeling he was accustomed to, guilt after hurting another person, and it made his bones seem heavier somehow. “I tried to stop,” he sighed, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

"No, don’t blame yourself," Malachy sighed, grasping Aspen by the hand and squeezing gently. "It was my fault, I wouldn’t stop pushing. I know how much it means to you and I was just shitting on it." Okay, now his throat was burning and he could barely speak. "Help me to the kitchen babe?" He asked weakly.

Aspen frowned, fingers not quite returning Malachy’s grip. Over the past two days he’d been thinking considerably on the words that Mal had thrown at him, trying to wrap his head around all the words thrown at him while they argued, trying to make sense of how he could think that way. “You just need to understand,” he sighed, pulling his hands back to his chest slowly. “There’s never been a reason for me to question how my life is. I… Never mind.” Dropping the subject seemed like the best idea at this point, and Aspen focused himself on lacing an arm around the other’s waist, tugging him to his feet as gently as possible.

"I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up anymore," Malachy promised. His bones protested as Aspen helped him stand, and he couldn’t help but sigh wearily once more, beginning to trudge into the kitchen area, which wasn’t too far away as the apartment had an open floor plan.

Aspen matched Malachy’s pace, refusing to hurt him even the tiniest bit more; they wobbled into the kitchen as a pair, his mind wondering to why Bennie couldn’t have fixed the aches and soreness he obviously felt as well — maybe she thought he deserved to watch his boyfriend in pain. “I just don’t understand why you kept pushing it like that,” he muttered, half-hoping the other wouldn’t hear it.

"I don’t know," Malachy replied absent-mindedly, more focused on grabbing a glass and filling it with water than opening his mouth and filling the space with conversation. "I have my opinions. We both feel strongly about the clan and it’s ways and now I know just how strongly you feel about it. But I never once lied to you," he finished looking over at Aspen briefly to make sure he understood. Aspen had lied thus far more than Malachy had in the relationship. He gulped his water down, filled the cup up twice more before his throat began to return to normal.

Aspen’s brows knitted, face turning dark and unreadable again as he stepped away from the other boy, disconnecting himself. “You know if you leave, they’ll send me after you,” he reminded him. “Me or Bennie. Someone you trust. And they’ll have you killed.” Before he could say anything else, he clamped his teeth shut with a force loud enough to make a noise; he’d been about to remind Mal of the fact that Aspen’s power was one of their favourites for watching traitors be eliminated — they loved to see their enemies burn. There was so much more he had to say: how could Malachy betray Enmity? His father’s money all came straight from the clan. “If you’re going to hate my loyalty and what I do for my people, I don’t see how this will work.” A strained, resigned tone took hold of his voice.

"I don’t hate it," he snapped, putting the glass down rather harshly. It was a wonder it didn’t break. His jaw clenched as he carefully thought out his next statement. Already they’d had too many fights and arguments, too many lies and secrets revealed, too many differences they hadn’t as friends shown. It upset Malachy, the fact that they clashed so violently yet fit so well together. "I don’t hate your loyalty, I don’t hate your obedience, I don’t hate anything about you. I can’t hate any of you. You’re my family," he admitted through gritted teeth. "Besides, I can disappear, I’m good at that. I can charm people into forgetting I exist, charm them into remembering me differently, tell them I’m going a different way than I really am. They can’t reverse the effects so in essence, they can’t find me." Malachy sighed, knowing his powers wouldn’t work for long, that he’d live his life constantly in fear, constantly on the run, jumping from country to country. "But I won’t run. When the time comes I have to fight alongside you, right?" He chuckled bitterly, the mere thought of having to kill if the Elders ever declared war unsettling his stomach.

Aspen flinched, hating how volatile and upset Malachy had gotten so quickly. He listened in silence, considering the possibilities of all these things in the future. “You wouldn’t make me forget you, right?” he asked, tone hushed. The idea of having to swallow down all those memories, of being unaware he’d ever know Malachy but having an empty hole in his chest where he knew something was missing — it made him sick. At this point, he’d rather loathe Mal for being a traitor than be unable to remember the time they’d spent together. “If you run, I’ll know where to find you.” He was bluffing, always bluffing to keep him around. “And I /will/ find you.” It wasn’t a threat, but a promise.

Malachy looked up at Aspen. Many, many times he’d contemplated leaving. Many times he’d wondered if his power would be enough to hide him, to start a new life. His bones growing less stiff since he’d been standing, he stood in front of Aspen and cupped his face in his hands, allowing his thumbs to stroke his cheekbones. “No,” he finally answered. “I would rather you kill me knowing all my secrets, remembering the way my voice sounded whispering your name and remembering the way my lips felt on your skin. I don’t want to die a stranger, not to you.” Aspen’s declaration almost made him chuckle. He could easily call his boyfriend’s bluff. “We don’t know each other well enough for that yet,” he said with a wry smile. “Is that a promise?” He asked, his face moving ever closer to Aspen’s as he spoke. “And what will you do once you find me? Kill me straight away?” He murmured, nudging his nose against Aspen’s and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Aspen leaned into his boyfriend’s touch, feeling starved of skin-to-skin contact after the past few days. A shudder traced his spine at Malachy’s words; the fact that he’d rather die by Aspen’s hands than have him be a stranger made his heart feel too big for his chest, like it could simply burst. “I’d rather you kill me than charm yourself out of my life,” he breathed, watching the other get ever-closer, warm air brushing his face. It took a lot of Aspen to choose death; he constantly felt as though he still had things to do, places to go — but those seemed purposeless without Malachy. Frowning into the kiss, he replied, “I’m one of the best non-specialised trackers we have,” in reference to the clan members who had abilities that allowed them to follow a trail, “I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll drag you back to New York, and I’ll make you my personal sex slave as punishment.” His lips wandered to Malachy’s forehead, the few extra inches of height Bennie’d given him a great advantage as he pressed his lips there. “You can consider that a promise.”

"So," Malachy mused, his hands swiftly dropping to Aspen’s wide hips and picking him up. The action didn’t last long though, as he put him atop the counter and rested his hands on either side of the boy. "You’re assuming you’ll figure out I’m gone before the Elders do, and you’ll have a chance to leave before they call upon you, and you’ll be able to bring me back and make me your sex slave without them having realized I left in the first place, or at least be able to call upon their mercy and prove I’ll never be able to run away again." Malachy smirked at the thought, running his nose along Aspen’s collarbones. "You know, I don’t like this newfound height of yours. I liked you being smaller than me." But back to the topic at hand. "You know, if you hunt me down and find me, you might as well just stay with me for a bit. Make it seem like you’re going to the ends of the earth to search for me when really you’ve been by my side the whole time." There was an idea. But Aspen would never go for it. If ordered to find and kill him, he’d carry out his duty more than obediently, no matter how deeply they felt for one another.

A gasp left his mouth as Malachy picked him up, the action completely unexpected and leaving him wide-eyed. His legs wrapped smoothly around the other’s waist, pulling him closer as his hands ran down his chest. “I’m assuming you wait until you become an Elder to leave, you shit,” he mused, flicking Mal on the nose before he continued. “Or at least that they send me after you, if you can’t wait. I can be patient. Then, I go and track you down — no waiting, that’s not what they’d tell me to do — and drag you back by your hair.” His eyes wandered as Mal nosed at his collarbone, fingers running absentmindedly through his hair. “Then, I tell them I’ve tricked you into charming yourself using nothing but a mirror and sheer wit.” Tipping Malachy’s head up by his chin, Aspen took a moment to lick into his mouth, possessive and needy. “Get used to the height, or I’ll get Bennie to make me 6’4.”

"Perhaps I can wait until we’re Elders. But if you’re going to hunt me down anyway, we could just take extended vacations, hm? How does that sound?" His fingers slipped up under Aspen’s shirt, once again familiarizing themselves with the feel of Aspen’s skin underneath them. "Monthly excursion out of the country for my sake, just so I don’t go crazy in this shithole. And you’d still have your title and run your city," he sighed, allowing Aspen to take over his mouth and shut him up. His tongue ran teasingly over the other’s bottom lip as he lost contact, his eyes fluttering open as his smirk melted into a fond smile. "God no. I can’t fuck someone whose legs are longer than my whole fucking body."

Aspen leaned into the touch, avoiding the other’s eyes while he pondered that option. “Extended vacations sound nice, yeah,” he hummed, fingers cupping the back of Malachy’s neck and kneading at the skin there. “A weekend or so here and there, so you don’t off me and run off with a stripper, yeah?” The corners of his mouth turned up into an impish smirk, the idea completely preposterous. “Then leave my height alone. I didn’t want to be five-seven forever, asshole.”

Malachy threw his head back, eyes fluttering shut once more as a breathy laugh escaped him. “I wouldn’t leave you for a stripper, least of all run away with one. Not with this ass crawling into bed with me at night.” His eyes twinkled fondly as he slid his hands up to feel at Aspen’s ass, a real treasure. “Fine, stubborn ass.”

The door to her room slammed shut behind Jayme, but she barely heard it over the sounds of her tap running. She had never felt such hatred for her condition, even when she could see blood running down her hands from scrubbing too hard, and even when she could feel the rough scabs on her hands against the smooth skin of her arms and wrists, but now... now, she longed to be okay, to be able to be close to Carson without the urge to run and clean herself. She had disliked herself when, after hanging out with Carson, she would spend longer than usual in the shower, the water scalding her skin. But this... this was so much worse.