#the answer

Unsurprisingly, Hongjoong and Seonghwa are both still awake. Seonghwa sits on the couch with an ice pack pressed to his face, his cheek nearing a plum purple already. He doesn’t even look at San, keeping his eyes trained on Hongjoong.

He sits next to Seonghwa, legs crossed, arms resting along the back of the couch. He’s wearing his glasses.

One of his hands goes to the back of Seonghwa’s head, his fingers lightly playing with the hair that falls across the nape of his neck.

“I’ll let you ask that question again, but only once.” Hongjoong watches his hand in Seonghwa’s hair, not even deigning to look at San’s face. 

San is still seething from the betrayal he had experienced not even an hour prior. He hadn’t had the chance to get an ice pack for his own face, instead having to spend his time begging with (Y/n) to open their door, to no avail. 

After shit had hit the fan, Hongjoong had swept her up without another word, taking her out of the barn without so much as a glance in San’s direction. He had tried to follow them, but Jongho held him back, not letting him gain even a foot before tugging his shoulder, keeping him in place.

San was barely coherent, his ears ringing from the couple of hits Seonghwa had managed to land, his vision swimming from dizziness or tears, he wasn’t sure. And it didn’t matter. What did matter was the complete and utter betrayal Hongjoong had delivered to him, the gut punch of a surprise that he would let (Y/n) know the truth. About Haseul. About the stupid fucking escape plan. About any of it. 

What he really couldn’t make sense of, though, was why he was so upset about her. Why did his stomach twist with guilt when she had looked up at him, her face paler than he had ever seen it, the tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion? Why did he immediately try to defend himself, to convince her that he hadn’t done anything? Why did it feel good when she hit him, when she screamed at him? Why did he feel like he deserved it? 

Sure, they had gotten close, spending so much time together, but its not like he actually cared about her. It had been clear to him from the moment that Hongjoong told him they would be living together what his objective was: tip her over the edge. Make her believe. Do anything Hongjoong said to make it happen. And he had tried! He did everything Hongjoong had asked, and to the letter, so why did he feel so horrible? 

And why had Hongjoong betrayed him? 

Did he think that San hadn’t done a good enough job? Was San really still on thin ice? Even after doing such a good job with her? He couldn’t make any sense of it, none at all. He did everything that Hongjoong had asked. The only thing that hadn’t been perfect was… well, the relationship. But Hongjoong had to understand, he knew it would happen, he wanted it to happen, he couldn’t blame San for admiring the goods, could he? It’s not like he actually had feelings for her or thought the relationship could go anywhere, no— San resents that idea, Hongjoong has to understand that he’s devoted to him… right? 

San’s head is still spinning. Either with confusion or from the concussion Seonghwa might have delivered him, he had no idea. All he knows is that his feelings of betrayal have turned to rage, his anger burning white hot throughout his body, the need for confrontation making his hands shake at his sides. Forget sucking up to Hongjoong, he can do that later, he can even try winning (Y/n)’s favor back later, but this anger demands an outlet. And an answer.

San swallows, hard. His lips are swollen, his eyes burning.“That wasn’t the plan, Hongjoong.” 

Hongjoong shrugs his shoulders, barely glancing at San. “It was my plan.” 

San can’t keep himself from scoffing, crossing his arms over his chest. “How? Why? You wanted her to find Haseul? And you, what, set me up? What could you possibly gain from her not trusting me anymore?” 

He sighs, glaring at San through his eyebrows. Why is it that no one can ever understand him? 

“I’ll admit, San, you did a very good job with your end of the bargain,” Hongjoong says. “But you’re lacking the ability to see the bigger picture. Seonghwa, why don’t you explain?” 

Seonghwa makes eye contact with Hongjoong as his grip in his hair becomes less than comforting. He had been holding his breath, hoping they would both forget that he was there in the first place. 

When Hongjoong had carried (Y/n) away, Seonghwa had gone on crying, blood from his split eyebrow leaking into his eye and diluting with his tears. San was a fucking asshole, he always knew it, but the charade that the night had been had proved it ten-fold to Seonghwa. He stayed on the floor of the barn, crying for himself and Hongjoong and Haseul and (Y/n). How on earth had this become his life? He could hardly understand it. 

Seonghwa still couldn’t understand why he wasn’t enough for Hongjoong. He probably would never understand. But he couldn’t help the soft spot growing in his heart for (Y/n). She had been so genuine, holding his hands and telling him that they could leave together. Urging him to leave it behind. So he cried for her, for her heart and her kindness and her life before this place. He cried for the innocence lost tonight and for the innocence he had lost many years ago. 

How long he stayed on that dirt floor, Seonghwa had no idea. All he knew is that Hongjoong eventually returned, kneeling at his side, stroking his filthy hair. 

“I’ll never forgive San,” he said, “roughing up both of my angels.” 

And that made Seonghwa cry harder, his sobs bouncing off the walls of the barn, mingling with the animal noises in a horrible cacophony. He reached out for Hongjoong, propping himself up so that he could rest his head in his lap, his arms wrapping around his waist, squeezing him close. He had bitterly regretted swatting Hongjoong’s hands away earlier, before he left with (Y/n). He wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. 

Hongjoong had cooed, his hand never leaving Seonghwa’s hair, petting him until he was beyond tired. When it seemed like the last of his tears had been shed, Seonghwa finally sat up, tentatively grabbing Hongjoong’s free hand. 

“Let’s get you an icepack,” Hongjoong grimaced, seeing Seonghwa’s face fully for the first time, slowly standing and tugging Seonghwa up behind him. “I have a feeling we’re in for a very entertaining conversation, soon.” 

And so it appears that they are.

Seonghwa remains beyond upset. He can barely stand to be in San’s presence, not when he’s talking about (Y/n) like she’s not a real human being, and especially not when he’s hurling such harsh words at Hongjoong. Seonghwa can forgive Hongjoong for not feeling empathy, but he can’t forgive San for this. Even if it had been Hongjoong’s request. It was wrong to trick her, it was wrong to give her such a false sense of hope, it was wrong for him to, to— Seonghwa doesn’t even want to think about San’s hands on her, defiling her— use her, to make her think that he cared, it was all disgusting and wrong to him. And he fucking hit him! San! 

Despite his anger at San, Seonghwa listens to Hongjoong. And Hongjoong told him to explain.

He takes the ice pack off of his cheek. “Now that (Y/n) has no one to trust, she’ll be desperate. She’ll come to Hongjoong.” He rubs the back of his finger across his cheek, feeling the cold spot. Hongjoong doesn’t release his hair. “Hongjoong is the only person that hasn’t lied to her, at least, that she’s aware of.” 

San doesn’t bother to control his expression. He laughs, biting his lip as he looks up at Hongjoong’s ceiling. “You guys are dreaming if you think she’ll ever trust you like she trusted me. Especially after this.” 

Hongjoong removes his hand from Seonghwa so that he can cross his arms himself. The smile on his face is anything but kind, his hatred for San slipping through. “San, you know nothing about the human condition. I’m all she has left.” 

“Mingi? Wooyoung? Nayeon?” San lists, defiantly.

He rolls his eyes, “it’s a waste to explain this all to you, really. You don’t have to bother yourself with her anymore, San. Just let her go.” 

“Just. let. her. go?” San repeats, incredulous. 

Seonghwa nods along with Hongjoong, turning his eyes to San, pleading with him to just agree with their leader. 

He shakes his head. “No, I’m not letting this go.” San takes a few more steps into the room, making Hongjoong angle his head upward to look at him. “She’s mi—” San can’t even finish his sentence before he’s cut off. 

“Oh?” Hongjoong laughs. 

His laughter bounces off the walls as Seonghwa and San are forced to uncomfortably listen. Seonghwa stops breathing again. San is really fucking asking for it now.

After what feels like minutes, Hongjoong finally quiets down. He reaches for San’s hand, grabbing it between both of his own. “I think you’ve forgotten yourself, San.” 

San tries to pull his hand from his leader’s grasp, to no avail. Hongjoong’s hands are hot, burning, even. 

“Listen very closely, because I’m only going to say this once.” Hongjoong’s voice is uneven, his face pinched even as he tries to remain calm. “You are nothing. She is everything. You played your role dutifully, and it’s for that reason alone that I won’t end you where you stand. She’s not yours, she never was yours, and she never will be yours. I don’t care what sort of feelings you harbor for her, but you will stay away from her, from this moment onward. You’re done.”

San’s face burns with equal parts embarrassment and anger. He doesn’t have feelings for her, what kind of ridiculous accusation is that? Everything he did, he did for himself… in a vain attempt to appease Hongjoong.

Or so he will continue to tell himself. The guilt continues to simmer in his stomach. 

As much as he doesn’t want to accept that this conversation is over, San knows better than to argue any further with Hongjoong. He’s pushing his luck already. His adrenaline is waning, the effects of being awake for over 24 hours starting to catch up with him. 

He tugs his hand again, and Hongjoong drops it. “What am I supposed to do now?” 

Hongjoong smiles, teasingly, “I’m sure that I’ll find something fit for you. For now, go bother someone that cares.” 

San spares a glance at Seonghwa, who, to his horror, gives him a sympathetic look. As if he needs his pity. Scoffing, he turns on his heel, face still hot, and storms out of Hongjoong’s apartment. 

Seonghwa flinches as the door slams shut behind him, the apartment startled into silence. 

Hongjoong stands, then, clearly agitated. Seonghwa watches him walk to the window, splaying his hands on the sill. 

Over the course of their relationship, Seonghwa has learned when to keep his mouth shut, and now is certainly one of those times. He has no idea what could be going through Hongjoong’s head. Is he thinking about (Y/n)? San? Is he mad? Pleased? 

The night had gone… perfectly for him. Seonghwa couldn’t see why he would be remotely upset, besides the fact that (Y/n) hadn’t decided to come back on her own free will. Besides that little hiccup, nothing could have gone better. 

He presses the ice pack back to his face, appreciating the numbness seeping into his skin. Who knew San was so strong? Seonghwa can’t even find it in himself to feel even a little bit good about the bruises that had been blooming on San’s face, or the fact that his eye looked like it might swell shut. 

It all feels… well, pointless, now. How had he let (Y/n) goad him into attacking her, he had no idea. And, frankly, he hasn’t stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. Surely Hongjoong won’t be letting it go, not after how many times he’s reiterated that they’re not to touch each other. 

Hongjoong spins back around, face pinched in thought. “I don’t need him,” he spits, “I should’ve killed him for speaking to me like that.” 

Seonghwa follows Hongjoong with his eyes as he paces to the door, but then stops, hand barely outstretched towards the handle. He twists on his heel, his outstretched hand reaching toward Seonghwa, his gesture changing to point at him instead. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You seemed to have it under control,” Seonghwa’s voice is meek. 

Hongjoong sneers, his hand dropping back to his side. “Obviously.” 

There’s a brief moment where Seonghwa thinks that he might say more, but he never does, opting instead to return to the couch, dropping down onto the cushion unceremoniously. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

Days later, when San’s bruises are finally starting to yellow, Mingi finally manages to find him.

It hadn’t taken long for word to spread around the farm, the fact that San had decided to leave (Y/n) despite the necessity of their connection in Universe One. He had shamed not only himself, but Hongjoong and (Y/n) as well. Mingi hadn’t even seen her since they had briefly spoken the night of the Harvest party, which, admittedly, was only a week ago. To Mingi, though, it felt like eons had passed. 

He had tried to see her, asked Hongjoong for permission, but he said that she was far too fragile. The sting of San’s betrayal wouldn’t lessen for some time, he had said. Mingi didn’t want to make things harder for her, so he didn’t push the subject. He would see her when she was ready to see him, easy. 

Especially after the cold shoulder he had been giving her, Mingi felt that it was only appropriate to give her space. Although they had seemingly ended up back on good terms with each other, he still felt bad for the silent treatment he’d given her. 

San, it seemed to Mingi, had been hiding his face in light of everything. He still saw him at the morning service, but rarely was he in the cafeteria or out and about. San moved like a ghost, barely speaking unless spoken to, his demeanor completely opposite to the man Mingi had argued with however many weeks ago. 

Finally, though, after days of waiting to catch him, Mingi finds San walking through the men’s floor, moving without an ounce of purpose. It almost makes him smile, seeing San brought so pathetically low, disgraced by Hongjoong and the others, but he doesn’t smile, instead, he steps in front of San, blocking his path down the hall.

When San tries to sidestep him (all while avoiding eye contact), Mingi follows his movements, caging him into place.

San finally looks up at Mingi’s face, trying yet failing to look tough. “Excuse me.” He grits out, his swollen eye twitching. 

Mingi shakes his head, taking a step toward San. “No, we’re gonna talk.” 

With a scoff, San tries to step around Mingi once more, but Mingi throws a hand out, catching San in the chest. One small push later, San is back where he started, huffing in front of Mingi. 

“Don’t put your hands on me,” San smacks the hand off of his chest but doesn’t try to move again. 

They stand in a momentary stalemate, Mingi staring down at San as his mind runs wild with the accusations, the insults, the anger he could fling at him. The last week had been full of imaginary conversations, one-sided arguments in his room as he had fantasized about confronting San once and for all, and here that moment was. How could he possibly choose one place to start?

“I knew I had it right about you,” is what he lands on. 

San has the audacity to look confused, his face twitching before he remembers their previous argument. “Oh, did you?” He scoffs, preparing to slide past Mingi once again. 

Mingi isn’t having it. He slides into San’s path again, grabbing onto his shoulder before tossing him towards the wall. San grunts as his back hits the wall, face twisting in growing anger. “You hurt her.” Mingi advances on him, gripping the shoulder of his shirt tight to keep him from moving. 

“You don’t understand the half of it,” San tries pulling his shirt out of Mingi’s grasp, but to no avail. “You should be thanking me; if it weren’t for me, she’d be long gone by now.” 

“I understand perfectly fine,” Mingi grits, barely resisting the urge to grab onto him with both hands. “You betrayed her, like I knew you would, and I told you that I wou—”

“Kill me? You’re gonna kill me?” A smile breaks across San’s face, though he winces in pain as his face stretches. “Like it or not, Mingi, I’m still important to Hongjoong.” 

Mingi mirrors San’s smile, feeling loopy with the adrenaline coursing through him. “Really? Doesn’t really seem like it. I’m sure he’d forgive me.” 

And, in that moment, Mingi really is sure that Hongjoong would forgive him if he got his hands dirty. The fallout of San’s actions had clearly affected everyone; Hongjoong barely seemed capable of caring about anything other than (Y/n) these days, what’s one dead guy to worry about? Especially if he’s the cause of everyone’s pain? 

A flicker of fear passes over San’s eyes as he comes to a similar conclusion. Mingi has the upperhand, both in this situation and in general, he probably could beat San bloody.

“What would (Y/n) think, Mingi?” San tuts, attempting to keep his voice as steady as possible as he thinks a way out of this. “She doesn’t have the stomach for violence— think you’d still have a chance with her if you killed someone?” 

Mingi scoffs, finally bringing his other hand up to grip the opposite side of San’s shirt. “I don’t think you know her well at all.” 

(Y/n) was no stranger to Mingi roughing people up. Not that he made a habit of it, of course, but he wasn’t afraid to get physical, especially where she was involved. More than once he’d brought her home, carefully holding her hand to keep her skin away from his bloodied knuckles. 

San’s eyes widen as Mingi’s grow more excited, his hands almost trembling where they hold onto San’s shirt. “This is pointless, anyways.” San’s voice waivers as he says it, shrinking ever so slightly into the wall. “She wants nothing to do with me.” 

Mingi squints down at San, not surprised that he’s lost his nerve so quickly. All bark and no bite, this one. Pathetic, really. But Mingi isn’t done having his fun. “You think I give a shit? I couldn’t care less what (Y/n) does with you, I care that you,” Mingi pushes San’s back flatter into the wall, “hurt her. I don’t care if she runs to me or to someone else, either way my issue is with you.”

“Mingi, really, think rationally,” San stutters, reaching up and grabbing one of his wrists, attempting to tug it away. “I have to stay away from her, Hongjoong said so, and I am not disobeying him anytime soon.”

He can’t help but smile as San grows more desperate, his hands in a death-grip around Mingi’s wrist. “It’s a little bit late for that.” 

San frowns as he flounders for anything else to say in his defense, but he’s saved when, in that moment, Yunho rounds the corner of the stairs, stepping into the hallway before halting at the confrontation. 

“Mingi?” He calls, getting the taller man’s attention as San says a silent prayer of thanks. “Come on, Mingi, you can’t do anything worse than he’s done to himself.” Yunho reaches for Mingi’s closest arm, tugging it away from San. 

Without much effort on Yunho’s part, Mingi releases his grip on San, though the smile on his face goes nowhere. San barely can restrain a sigh of relief, stepping away from the wall and back towards freedom. Yunho’s hand lingers on Mingi’s arm as they seem to have a silent conversation, lost in thought. 

While they’re distracted, San slowly starts inching back to the stairs, hoping that neither of them will say anything before he slips away. But, of course, luck isn’t on San’s side, lately. 

“San,” Mingi’s voice freezes him in place. “Stay away from (Y/n) and we won’t have a problem.” 

Though San’s eye twitches with anger at the way Mingi has decided it’s okay to speak to him, San doesn’t quip back. He simply bites his lip, swallows his pride, and nods before starting back for the stairs, barely able to control his speed. 

“What the hell, man?” Mingi turns his attention back to Yunho, his smile completely gone now. “You should’ve at least let me hit him.” 

Yunho rolls his eyes, using the hand on Mingi’s arm to spin him in the opposite direction from where San had run off to. “Like I said, the consequences of his actions are far worse than anything that you could’ve done to him. Think about how he must feel, being cast out of Hongjoong’s good graces.” 

“It would’ve made me feel better, though,” Mingi grumbles, letting Yunho tug him further down the hall. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

Hongjoong paces his kitchen, thumb nail pressed between his teeth as he thinks. 

Perhaps he miscalculated. Maybe he shouldn’t have let you find out about Haseul. It had seemed logical at the time, of course, you had disobeyed him. He could’ve just let you grovel at his feet again, you didn’t need to know about Haseul. San was an entirely separate thing, he had to punish San, too, which you couldn’t have escaped from. But Haseul…

He had no idea that you would react like this. An oversight on his part, he must admit. He does have a hard time remembering how certain emotions affect people. And grief— he hadn’t seen grief in… as long as he can remember. He should’ve expected it, should’ve known that it would be coming, but he had completely forgotten.

He thought that you would be angry. That you’d need comforting. That you’d be upset, but that it would pass in a day or two.

But it had been weeks. The season is really starting to turn, the air growing frigid, the remaining leaves having fallen and shriveled since you’d been locked away. You’ve barely spoken. Barely eaten. Barely moved from one spot on the floor of your bedroom.

He was starting to feel… concerned. 

Not for your wellbeing, no, for his own selfish reasons, he’s concerned with the lack of progress that this seems to have made. Like he explained to Seonghwa and San, this was supposed to drive you closer to him, but it doesn’t seem like the intended effect is going to pan out anytime soon. 

That first night had been promising, he thought. You were upset, certainly, but you had fight in you. You tackled San! You got Seonghwa to attack you! It was incredible, watching you process the emotions as they came all at once. You asked him to kill you, had pleaded with tears in your eyes, but then let him take you into his arms, had watched as San and Seonghwa fought over you… It was all he had wanted it to be.

So how it ended up like this, he doesn’t understand. He thought that, surely, this was it, you would fall into lap and finally bend to his will, finally accept your place in his religion, stop fighting your fate… but no. 

You’re hardly a shell of a person, now. 

He’s tried everything that he can think of, to a reasonable point. Sent just about everyone to talk to you, even talked to you himself, and you barely gave him anything. Not even anger, not even accusations or pain or cursing or screaming or tears or anything. You seemed…  

Broken. 

Hongjoong abruptly stops pacing, closing his eyes to focus. Someone has to be able to snap you out of this. 

He might not understand the grieving process, but he knows that it can’t last for the rest of your life. You’ll have to move on at some point. Why not now? Who hasn’t been sent to you, that might be able to make you see? 

Why can’t he just think of something! Hongjoong curses under his breath, feeling a headache coming on. He had devoted hours to this problem. Days, even. Very rarely did he find himself as… helpless. Is that what he is? Helpless? Kim Hongjoong? God? The thought is actually enough to make him crack a smile. How absurd all of this is. How much trouble he was willing to go through for one woman. 

Hongjoong would think of something, he knew it. Someone would pop into his mind… maybe something would even come to him in his dreams.