You froze, but the smile never left your face. Why, oh, why had Baekhyun left the bathroom?! These detectives were probably here regarding that man from the night before, and they might even be looking for him. For both of us, actually, you thought with an inward grimace as you remembered your little breaking and entering adventure. If you were arrested, then your father - both your parents, actually, were going to kill you. Maybe they’d take turns. Turning, you stifled your surprise to see Baekhyun in comfortable jeans, a loose tee shirt, a baggy crocheted cardigan - and no tail in sight. His hair and ears were also hidden by a black knit beanie. 

He walked over, and slid an arm around your waist, briefly smiling down at you before turning to look up at the detective in the doorway. 

Leaning against Baekhyun’s body, you tried to appear as relaxed and girlfriendly as possible. “These detectives have come by to…to…” Evincing a look of charming confusion, you pouted up at the detective in the doorway, and then slowly smiled. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we got that far?”

The detectives reintroduced themselves. 

Baekhyun’s smile was as sweet as yours as he asked, “How can we help you, detectives?”

“We’re investigating the battery of a man that occurred in this neighborhood last night.”

“Oh, no!” You frowned (but made it cute), put your hand over your heart. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll live,” Detective Jenkins assured you. 

“Oh, that’s a relief,” you said faintly, then frowned in earnest. “A battery? Here?! But it’s so quiet!”

“As you said,” Detective Park remarked, “You know how it is.”

“I guess…” you responded faintly.

“So, we do have to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.” Detective Park smiled as he took out a little notebook and a pen.

“Not at all,” you assured him.

“Did either of you see, or hear anything unusual last night, between the hours of 8:30 PM and 5:30 AM?”

“Whew, that’s a pretty big window,” Baekhyun remarked, as he tilted his head, seemingly in thought.

“Any information you can give us would be helpful,” Detective Park responded.

You pretended to think, as well. “Between 8:30 PM and 5:30 AM?” you asked faintly.

“That’s right, ma’am,” Detective Park said.

You looked at Baekhyun, and forced a blush to your face. “Unfortunately, we were celebrating, and were…a bit occupied for most of the night.”

Detective Park looked unconvinced. “For nine hours? That’s a,” he glanced over Baekhyun’s slight figure, which was barely larger than your own, “Pretty big window…”

Baekhyun responded with a boyish grin, and his hand lazily traveled up and down your waist. “Well, you know… Off and on…”

You lightly slapped his chest. “Oppa… Stooop…”

Detective Jenkins shifted to lean against the wrought iron handrail, her expression growing increasingly bored. 

Detective Park tapped his pen against his notebook with an easy smile. “What were you celebrating?”

“Our anniversary,” Baekhyun said confidently.  

This time, when the detective smiled, it looked slightly less amiable. “Right. You both…live here?”

“We do,” you assured him.

“Excellent,” Detective Park said, “Then, may I also have your names and dates of birth, so we can find you in case we have any other questions?”

You gave your information, then waited as Baekhyun gave his, surprised that his birthday would be in about a month. You’d have to do something nice.

“Thank you,” Detective Park said, snapping shut his notebook, and tucking it away, before producing a card, and handing it over to you. “If you can remember anything, anything at all - even if you’re not sure how it could be useful - then please give me a call.”

“Of course,” you murmured, looking down at the card before placing it in the receiving bowl sitting on the stand by the door.

“Have a nice day,” Detective Park said pleasantly before turning to join his partner in walking down the stoop.

“Thank you, and - Detective Jenkins?”

The woman stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned back.

“I just have to tell you… your hair is everything.”

Detective Jenkins gave you a slow, thoughtful half smile. “Clock it,” she said, quirking an eyebrow before turning and heading for the next house. 

You closed and locked the door, then walked back into your apartment, and sat down on the sofa with a huff as Baekhyun removed his beanie and stuffed it into his pocket. With a grimace, he twisted, lifting his cardigan and reaching down the back of his pants to thread his tail through the hole in his jeans before sitting down and leaning heavily against your side, plopping his head on your shoulder. “Oh, poor baby! Does it hurt,” you cooed, as you reached around his back to gently stroke his tail.

“It’s not the most comfortable, but I’ll be fine,” he sighed.  

When you deemed his tail satisfactorily petted, you readjusted his body and slipped further away on the couch, so you could rest his head in your lap and scratch around his ears. His sigh sounded like it came from his toes, and he relaxed completely. “Where are the clothes you were wearing yesterday?” you murmured. 

“In the bathroom hamper.”

“Blood?”

He shook his head. 

“Good. Still, we should get rid of them. I'll take care of it. What do you think that guy said?”

“Not much. I broke his jaw when he grabbed your ankle.”

“And it was dark, so he probably wouldn’t recognize us…” You sighed.

“Do you regret taking me?”

His voice was small, causing you to look down into his sweet brown eyes, and press your palm against his cheek. “Absolutely not. You saved me. And even if you hadn't, I still would have wanted you. I wanted you before you saved me.”

He nuzzled your lap.

Later that night, you contemplatively stared into the flames of the early-spring fire you had decided to light in the fireplace in order to ward off the night’s chill. Baekhyun once again had his head on your lap, though this time he dozed as you slowly stroked his back. You stayed awake late into the night watching the flames as they burned, until there was nothing left but glowing coals and then, dying ash. When you were young, you had wanted a sibling, but unfortunately, due to an injury that had rendered your father sterile, that dream was not to be.

Since you couldn’t have a little sister or brother, you figured a best friend would do, but having to move countries so much guaranteed that you were always the new girl - never able to grow close with anyone, or bond. You thought that you had found friends for life in college, and to be honest, you knew that you could call any one of them now, show up to their houses, and be welcomed, but friendships scattered across the country did little to alleviate the daily loneliness.

You supposed that you could have gotten a pet, and that would have helped, but it could never have compared to this. To this thinking, talking, sweetly responsive creature. It hadn’t even been 24 hours, and already Baekhyun had wormed his way around your heart. You would die to protect him.You would kill to protect him. There was absolutely no way that you would allow him to be incarcerated for protecting you. 

Slipping out from underneath him, you stood, slid a throw pillow under his head, and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to lay over him, cooing inwardly at the way his mouth silently worked in his sleep. Then, pushing back your sleeves, you quietly washed the fireplace with bleach, and flushed the cold ashes down the toilet. Finally, after washing yourself, you went to bed.

If, when on the cusp of sleep, you felt arms wrap around your waist, and pull you into a warm body, felt a cool, soft nose nuzzling against the back of your neck, felt the tug of fabric’s brush against fabric as sturdy thighs tucked under your own, you wouldn’t remember it in the morning. After all, there was no need to awaken, no need for alarm.

You were safe.

***

Your knuckles hovered tentatively over the bathroom door until your bladder gave another urgent pang, driving you to overcome your embarrassment and finally knock. “Uh…Baekhyun?”

“Hmmm?” His relaxed voice lazily drifted from behind the door.

“Are you almost finished?  I - ” Awkwardness made you fumble the words, but you tried again. “I…have to use the bathroom.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s alright; you can come in.”

Oh, thank goodness, you thought as you turned the knob. He already finished his b- You stopped short to find Baekhyun, not in his pajamas brushing his teeth, or combing his hair, but still in the bathtub, bird chest, and knobby knees sticking out of bathwater that didn’t have nearly enough bubbles for your comfort. 

He smiled sweetly.

“Why - uh - I thought -” 

“Go ahead,” he said, jutting his chin toward the toilet, “I don’t mind.”

Trying not to be weird about it, you closed the frosted glass shower door before sitting down to empty your tank. As you peed, you tried to look anywhere, but at the blurry shape of the naked hybrid who sat three feet away. Why hadn’t he been a girl? Having a male hybrid was so much more awkward. Even though you could tell from his shape through the glass that he wasn’t looking at you, once finished, you still asked him to turn away so you could clean yourself in private.

After you had washed your hands, you turned to tell him that he could resume his regularly scheduled lounging activities and noticed - even through the glass - that the skin on his back looked a bit off. “Baekhyun, what’s wrong with your back?”

“Hm? I don’t know. It has been itchy lately…”

Without thinking, you pulled back the door to see his skin more clearly. Red, angry welts and bumps covered his back, marring his otherwise perfect skin. Squatting, you reached out to touch it. “It looks like you have a rash.” Delicately, you ran your fingertips over his skin. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, cool droplets from his wet hair flying to mist your skin. “The more you touch it, the more it itches, though.”

“I’ll schedule a doctor’s appointment.”

Baekhyun moved, and you stood with alacrity, keeping your eyes on the space between his eyebrows as he turned to face you. “I don’t like going to the doctor.”

“No one likes going to the doctor, but we all have to.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a rash.”

“Yes, but what’s causing it? What if it worsens? What if it spreads?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Sighing, you squatted to his level, looked him in the eyes with a pout. “Puppy… Please?”

He mirrored your pout, but looked away with a long-suffering air. “Fine.”

Reaching out, you scratched behind his ears. "That's my baby. Thank you.” You stood, wiping your palms on your pants as you turned to leave the room. “Enjoy your bath.”

“You can leave the door open,” he called as you grabbed the knob.

“Uh…” your voice faltered. “Let me close it.” You smiled, “Don’t want to let out the heat.”

“That’s true,” he murmured before closing his eyes and relaxing against the back of the tub. “Alright.”

You escaped before the bubbles stopped upholding their side of the bargain.

***

“What’s wrong?”

Baekhyun wore a measured expression as he quietly sat with you in the doctor’s waiting room. “I don’t like it here.”

“I’m sorry…” you responded soothingly. “But it was necessary. You know that, right?”

“I’m here for you. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be.”

You laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

That seemed to calm him, take some of the tenseness from his shoulders.

“Byun.” A small, smiling nurse with shining black hair pulled back in a low bun, stood in the doorway, looking around expectantly. 

As Baekhyun stood, you reached over to take a magazine from one of the side tables to pass the time. Before you could touch it, he grabbed your wrist, tugging you to your feet. “Wait, what?”

He began to pull you toward the door.

“No, it’s okay, you can go alone. I don’t mind waiting here.”

“I want you to come,” he said stubbornly.

“But this is a full check-up,” you protested, voice cracking. 

“So?”

You swallowed uncomfortably, but allowed him to pull you through the corridor into the examining room, which you were gratified to find was bisected by a curtain, behind which sat a chair. 

While you settled, Baekhyun was whisked away by the nurse to have his height and weight taken, and was also given a brief eye exam. After they both returned, she gave him an ear exam (both sets), and took his temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure. 

As she stood to leave, Baekhyun hesitantly reached out and touched her wrist. “Wait.” He looked at you, seemingly a bit uncertain, before reaching up to remove his earring. “Could you…update my microchip? With her information?”

So, he had made his decision.

The nurse smiled, accepting the earring with a soft, “Of course”, and sitting back down to scan it. After his file loaded, she input your name, email, phone number, and address, before returning it to Baekhyun, who threaded the snug hoop through his ear, and closed it with a small click. The tiny feather that housed the actual microchip dangled from the hoop, briefly catching the light. That done, the nurse stood, gave you both a brief smile, and left.

“Are you sure?” 

He nodded. “I’m sure.”

There was more you wanted to say, but just then a quiet knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” Baekhyun called.

A tall, uncleish-looking man with greying hair and silver-rimmed spectacles entered. “Good morning, Baekhyun, I'm Dr. Sanchez.”

“Nice to meet you,“ Baekhyun responded. 

“And this is Miss Owner?” Dr. Sanchez inquired, peering at you over his glasses.

You stood from the chair beside the examining table to introduce yourself, shaking his hand with the mild correction, “I'm his guardian, yes.”

“A pleasure,” the doctor said noncommittally before perching on the stool in front of the computer. “Let's see…” he began, perusing Baekhyun's electronic chart. “Have you eaten anything today?”

Baekhyun shook his head.

“Good. Then we'll take blood samples before you leave.” He stood and blew on his stethoscope. “Lift your shirt.” Baekhyun did so, allowing the doctor to move the stethoscope around his chest and back, occasionally murmuring, “Inhale. Exhale,” before removing the buds from his ears. He took a pen light from his coat pocket. “Say, ‘Ah’”. The doctor examined Baekhyun’s throat, then his ears, after which, he rubbed his hands together to warm them before checking Baekhyun’s lymph nodes. “Good, good,” he murmured. “Lie down.” Once Baekhyun complied, the doctor lifted his shirt and pressed gently against his abdomen here and there, then lowered his shirt with a nod, and told him to sit up. 

After Dr. Sanchez tested Baekhyun's reflexes, he sat back on the stool. “Well, everything appears to be in order, though you are a bit underweight.”

“We're working on that,” you interjected. “He was malnourished for several weeks before he came home with me. I started him on rice porridge, then we moved to soup, and he has been eating stews for a couple of days. I just didn’t want to overload his system.”

“You’re doing well,” the doctor allowed. “No stomach trouble?”

Baekhyun shook his head. 

“Then, I think that he can start on solid food, maybe starting tomorrow. Make sure he gets plenty of protein, and vegetables.”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed.

“Excellent. Now,” Dr. Sanchez said, slapping his thighs, and looking at you over his glasses, “Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss?”

“Yes, sir, he-”

“Go ahead.”  

A bit taken aback at the interruption, you hesitantly continued, “He has this…rash on his back.”

The doctor looked up, his expression a bit surprised. He turned to Baekhyun asking, “Do you mind?” before proceeding to lift the back of Baekhyun’s shirt. “Ah, yes, I see… Does it hurt?” 

Baekhyun shook his head. “No. Just itches.”

The doctor gently palpated a particularly large welt. “No broken skin, no weeping…” He pulled down Baekhyun’s shirt. “It looks like contact dermatitis - an allergic reaction to something. Probably something new in his environment, like a soap, laundry detergent, or fabric softener. I’d recommend buying some sensitive skin, fragrance free personal hygiene products, and gradually reintroducing your normal products one by one until you figure out which one is causing the problem.”

“Alright,” you agreed. 

“In the meantime, I’ll prescribe an antihistamine cream.” He looked at you. “You’ll have to apply it twice a day, along with a moisturizer.”

“No problem,” you nodded.

“Wonderful.” Dr. Sanchez stood then, looking at Baekhyun, and gesturing to a hospital gown left on the examining table by the nurse. “I’ll leave the room while you put that on.”

Then the doctor was gone, and you were left with a rapidly disrobing Baekhyun. Hurriedly, you closed the dividing curtain just as his thumbs hooked into the waistline of his pants. There was the soft susurration of fabric, and then he pulled back the curtain. You jumped slightly, but he was already in the hospital gown, looking at you placidly before he walked back to climb onto the examining table, and pull the little paper blanket over his lap. 

Dressed in the hospital gown, he looked even smaller, and your heart felt squeezed. Suddenly you wanted to protect him. 

Another soft knock at the door alerted you to the returning doctor, who strode in, pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box stuck to the wall, and then slid them onto his hands with a couple of sharp snaps. “Alright,” he said. “Just jump down, bend over, and we’ll start the prostate exam.”

The world blurred, and then you were outside, feeling slightly dizzy from how fast you had moved. Your heart was pounding from the alacrity with which you had teleported, and you leaned heavily against the closed door, pressing your hand to your chest. “I’ll…uh…wait out here,” you called softly through the door. “You just…call me if you need me.”

You hoped with all your heart, your brain, your appendix, and your spleen that he would not need you. 

Silent minutes lollygagged by as you paced outside of the door like a young father awaiting the birth of his first child. Finally the doctor exited the room.

“Well, he’s perfectly healthy,” he said, his smile avuncular. 

You didn’t realize how tense you had been until you relaxed at his words.

“In addition to the antihistamine cream, I’m prescribing a multivitamin,” He handed you a piece of paper. “Give this to the nurse on your way out.”

“Alright.”

“Did you have any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you answered. 

“Are you sure?” Dr. Sanchez stared at you meaningfully.

You squirmed. “Um…ye-es?”

“Alright.” He sounded unconvinced. “Well if you think of any, just leave a message with the front desk staff, and I’ll get back to you. If nothing changes, then I’ll see you again in six months.” 

“Okay.”

With a perfunctory nod, he turned and walked away.

He had only taken a few steps when something did occur to you. “Oh, wait!  Dr. Sanchez!”

The doctor turned, his expression unsurprised. “Yes?”

“He said that he takes hormone blockers, but he’s probably almost out, I think. Um, could you write a new prescription?”

Dr. Sanchez stared at you for a few moments, his expression unreadable, then nodded before walking back, taking the piece of paper from you, and writing something. “Refill on hormone blockers. There you go.” He smiled at you thoughtfully. “Have a good day.” With that, he turned, and walked away.

After a few moments, Baekhyun exited the room with an amused smile.

“Glad that’s over?” you asked, heading toward the exit nurse.

“Are you glad it’s over?”

“What? I just wanted to give you a little privacy.”

“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast.”

“If I take you for ice cream after we pick up your prescriptions, will you stop teasing me?”

“Absolutely.”

As you snuck into the yard later on one twilit Friday evening, you knew what you were doing was wrong. Trespassing. Breaking and entering. Real crimes that could come with real jail time. But, taking into account the state of the overgrown yard, and the peeling paint (as well as the fact that one of your surreptitious morning peeks inside had shown the rooms to be devoid of easily portable property) you doubted that the house had an alarm, so you probably wouldn’t be caught. Furthermore, you didn’t plan on taking anything, so…what the property owner didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right? Right?

Still, to prevent detection from the street, you wended your way through the overgrown shrubbery to circle toward the back of the house. Fortunately (or perhaps foolishly), the windows were open - though there were screens in place - so it was the work of a moment to pop out one, and climb into the shadowed interior. 

The floor was hardwood and creaked as soon as you shifted your weight onto the foot gracing its polished surface. You winced, but when you weren’t descended upon by a million howling police officers, you slipped inside. Inside the house it was dark, darker than you’d like, darker than comfort would allow, a downright oppressive dark that felt almost physical. The nearly palpable sensation made you want to climb right back out of the window, and return home to your cosy little brownstone where there would be light, familiarity, safety. To be honest, you had never been particularly brave, but you were stubborn, and now that you were finally inside the gorgeous house that had been the setting of a sizable portion of your daydreams, you weren’t leaving until you had explored everything you wanted.

Due to the open windows, you couldn’t turn on your phone light, so, considering the miasmic atmosphere, you decided to keep your nosiness short-lived and headed upstairs to begin your exploration. The layout of the house was fascinating, with a number of interesting nooks, and intersecting rooms. Moulded wood paneling, silk wallpaper, stone fireplaces, and even a walk-in pantry all took their fair share of your attention, and you hoped that the police would never have occasion to dust the place, because you just had to touch everything. Just had to sit on the edge of the porcelain tub, had to lovingly caress the brass light fixtures, stained glass windows, and copper door knobs.

You could definitely see yourself living here. Lounging problem-lessly in that giant claw-foot bathtub, luxurious bubbles piled to your neck, the soft, flickering light from an imprudent amount of candles casting the room in a golden, expensively-scented glow. Slinking down that curved wrought-iron staircase, the train of your silk robe billowing dramatically. Taking a lazy brunch in the breakfast nook between the kitchen and the dining room as you gaze out over the choppy steel-grey waves of the bay. You could plant a garden just outside that nook, of tomatoes, and squash, and beans. Basil, rosemary, and oregano. Truthfully, you had an assassin’s thumb, but anything was possible in the world of fantasy. 

Sighing wistfully, you were turning in the foyer to give the room one last look in the bright silvery moonlight when a door, hitherto unseen, caught your attention. You walked over to peek inside. A closet, perhaps? 

The door opened with a rusty, protesting creak, unearthing the impenetrable darkness that lay beyond, like the yawning maw of a great beast. Staring down into that dark abyss was terrifying, but long-denied curiosity overwhelmed good sense. As you took the first step into that black basement, you noticed pale light filtering in from a number of ground-level windows, and after a few seconds, your eyes adjusted just enough to be able to barely see the outline of shapes in the darkness - what looked like furniture covered in sheets, possibly. Probably. As you continued to descend the stairs, you contemplated turning on your flashlight - after all, the windows faced the side yard, and anyone who noticed the light from your phone would have to be trespassing themselves.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, a quick, soft noise drew your attention, and you paused. Ears straining in the silence, you suddenly heard something that made your pulse quicken. 

Breath.

Fumbling with your phone, you tried to turn on your flashlight, but your fingers were slow, clumsy. Finally abandoning the idea of turning on the LED, you turned your phone to face where you had heard the sound, cursing your affinity for dark mode. 

In the shadows, one, then two barely visible lights (eyes?) blinked into existence, and an almost impossibly deep, all-encompassing growl - so powerful that it vibrated in your own chest - resounded throughout the room. As the glowing pupils drew closer, the rumble intensified, and your legs suddenly grew weak, causing you to trip over your own feet as you hastily backed toward the stairs. As you fell, the heat of the thing’s breath wafted over your skin, and the overwhelming combination of the approaching eyes, the atavistic growl, and the suddenly claustrophobic dark conspired to -

Your return to consciousness was slow, a gradual rising through the layers of insensibility with no particular urgency. No thoughts plagued your mind as your senses one by one clicked back online. Your head was on something warm, soft, but firm, and a gentle touch rhythmically brushed over the top of your head. As awareness returned, you realized that, despite the sensation of comfort under your head, something sharp and hard was digging into your back, into various places down the backs of your legs. Curious, you opened your eyes to investigate, but froze.

A pair of cool brown eyes calmly returned your gaze. Immediately alert, you took a quick stock of your surroundings only to realize that you were lying on the steps of the basement with your head…your head…

Lying in the lap of a strange boy whose hand currently rested lightly upon the crown of your head. Fear spiked, and you practically levitated before whirling around to face him. Realizing that he was now between you and the door, you crouched, snarling like a cornered animal. He merely surveyed you placidly before slowly, carefully raising his hands, palms outward in the universal, “I am not a threat,” gesture, and pointing to the top of his own head. 

From the thick mass of white-golden waves, a pair of matching floppy, furry ears lifted slightly, twitching in your direction at the sound of your harsh, staccato breathing. Immediately, relief drained through your body, making you weak, threatening the possibility of another faint. Desperately, you grabbed the banister, before taking a hold of yourself. 

A hybrid. He was a hybrid. Not a monster.

“Oh my goodness!” you gasped in relief.

He tilted his head, and behind him, something moved cautiously in the dark.

Clasping your hands to your heart, you regrouped. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I scare you?”

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounded rusty from disuse.

“What are you doing here?” you countered. “Why are you all alone?”

“I live here,” he said simply.

“Oh… Did you break in when the people moved out?”

He frowned, seemingly affronted. “You broke in. I live here.”

“By..yourself?” you asked doubtfully.

“My guardians…” He faltered.

“Moved out,” you finished, whispering. Upon second glance, though his cheeks were boyishly full, his clothes hung off of his slight frame. Tilting your head, you frowned. “When did you last eat?”

He visibly swallowed, but his words were defiant. “I get by.”

You thought for a moment, and then asked, “What’s your name?”

His expression was almost stern as he answered, “Baekhyun.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Baekhyun. Are you hungry? Would you like to come home with me?”

Behind him, a long golden tail cautiously wagged, but he looked away. “I’m fine here.”

“All alone?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“The house is for sale...” 

His lips thinned. “I’ll…figure something out.”

You nodded, albeit somewhat doubtfully. “Alright, alright. Well, then…” you gestured to the stairs, “will you let me by?”

A stubborn expression flashed over his face, but was gone within a moment, replaced by studied nonchalance. He slipped to the side, freeing a space barely wide enough for your foot, as he seemingly examined the suddenly fascinating wall.

You started to creep past carefully - not wanting to lose your balance, and fall either back down the stairs, or onto him - but briefly stopped to trace your fingertips over the side of his face, lightly cup his jaw. 

Almost instantaneously, his eyes slid closed as he leaned into your touch.

Smiling, you reached up to scratch his scalp, lingering for a few moments before gently patting his cheek. “Goodbye, Baekhyunie,” you murmured before bounding up the stairs. 

But before you could step through the door, a large black mass appeared in the doorway, blocking your way. An explosion of pain bloomed against the side of your face, and a sudden force shoved against your chest. 

It was surreal, falling down the stairs. It felt like time was moving simultaneously in hyperspeed, and slow motion, and all you could do was try your best not to let your head or neck hit anything on the way down. 

Suddenly, your progress was halted as you hit something firm, but yielding. You looked up from Baekhyun’s arms to see an enormous man descending the stairs, hands already casually undoing his belt buckle, but before he could reach where you lay, you were swept up, and lightly tossed over the banister onto a pile of what felt like fabric. You turned around to see the boy sprinting up the stairs, but spots swam in your vision as you tried to stand, and - 

This time regaining consciousness hurt. You were warm - surrounded by warmth, actually - and lying on something nominally soft, but your head was killing.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” a husky voice murmured - soft, warm breath gently wafting past your nape. 

In too much pain for alarm, you carefully squinted open one eye to hesitant, grey, pre-dawn light, before your gaze fell on the figure of a large bald man crumpled on the floor in the middle of the room. You froze, headache greatly lessening in relevance as your blood ran cold, and your heart began to pound.

A hitherto unnoticed weight that had been draped over your waist disappeared, and the body behind you shifted as Baekhyun’s face came into view. “You’re alright,” he said softly, his gaze calm as he reached up to pet your hair in a gesture oddly reminiscent of how you had touched him last night. “His legs are broken, and he maybe - probably - has a concussion, but he’s alive.”

You sat up abruptly, only to immediately regret it, burying your face in your hands as your head throbbed. “Oh, no! What am I going to do?!”

“We-ell,” Baekhyun said hesitantly, “is that offer to take me home still open?”

You parted your fingers just enough to glare at him with one eye, but his grin was unrepentant and his tail began a cautious wag as soon as you made eye contact.

He gestured to a large trunk that looked large enough to hide a couple of bodies. “I’m all packed. We could just…go to your house… You can feed me.” His sudden pout was lethal. “I’m very hungry.”

“What about him?!”

His shrug was negligent. “His arms are fine. He can figure it out.” He stood, and then carefully helped you to your feet. “Come on, while it’s still dark.” 

Baekhyun started to guide you past the man, but before you were completely beyond the prone figure, he groaned. Lifting his head, he gave it a shake before fixing you with a bleary eye. “You bitch,” he rasped, his hand shooting out to grab you by the ankle. 

Before you could react, Baekhyun stomped on the man’s arm where it met his shoulder.  There was a sharp crack, and when the man began to bellow, Baekhyun simply kicked him in the face. The man's head snapped back, and his body relaxed. When he subsequently didn’t move, or make noise, you looked up in alarm at Baekhyun. 

“He’s not dead,” he said lightly. “And he still has one good arm. He’ll be alright; come on.”

He carefully guided you up the stairs, out of the basement, and through the house before sitting you on the sill to the window that you had climbed through at the beginning of this little B&E. “Stay here; I’ll be right back.” Within a minute or two, he returned, along with . He quietly eased it out of the window, climbed out, and then reached inside, effortlessly lifting you through before setting you on your feet. He gestured in the general vicinity of the street. “Lead the way.” As you started down the stairs and crept through the bushes he whispered, “Is it far?”

“Not far,” you whispered back, grimacing through the pain of your headache before powering through. “Only a few blocks.”

As soon as you reached the sidewalk, he pulled up a telescoping handle to his trunk, and began wheeling it down the street, even as he reached out with his other hand to help guide you. 

You wanted to protest that you didn’t need to be helped, but the throbbing in your head convinced you to shut up for once. As predicted, it didn’t take long to reach your house, although the brief walk up the stoop to get to your door was torturous. You almost dropped your keys, but when you finally slipped the key into the lock, and turned the knob, the sweetness of the door opening into your own cool, dark entryway was borderline blissful. 

Baekhyun followed you into the entryway, quickly toeing off his shoes, and setting down his truck before moving through the living room on his way to the kitchen, exploring. He looked at everything, opening doors and cabinets, and peering inside. Finally, he peeked into the bedroom off the kitchen, then looked back at you. “This is your room?”

You followed at a much more lethargic pace, slowly scrubbing your hair back from your face, and nodding before gesturing back toward the bedroom off the living room. “The first one is yours. It’s a glorified guest room right now, but we can decorate it to your liking.”

“Mm,” he said noncommittally, staring off into the middle distance before his head snapped toward you. “I’m hungry,” he said quietly.

You crossed your arms around your middle, and through your headache tried to smile, though it felt wobbly. “Why don’t you take a shower while I make you something to eat?” He nodded, heading back to the entryway to grab his trunk, and roll it into his room. 

While he showered, you tried to think. It was quite apparent that he hadn’t been eating well, as, despite having boyishly plump cheeks, his body was very obviously underweight, and you didn’t want to overwhelm his system with food that he would have trouble digesting. Furthermore, given the state of your head, you were in no position to make anything elaborate, even if you tried. So, you settled on juk.

Scraping out the rest of some leftover rice from the rice cooker, you added it to a pressure cooker along with frozen peas and carrots, a can of corn, and a generous amount of chicken bone broth, and set it to boil before pouring yourself onto the couch to rest while it cooked. It didn’t take long before the porridge was done, and you were just setting it on the table, along with a spoon and a bottle of banana milk, when Baekhyun emerged from the shower, looking innocent and freshly scrubbed. 

Responsibility discharged, you tiredly gestured toward the food before starting for your room, but Baekhyun stopped you with a light hand on your wrist, and pulled you back toward the kitchen table. “Please, I’m tired, and my head is killing me,” you complained.

“Here,” he said quietly, holding out his hand to show you a couple of aspirin in his palm. “I found a bottle of these in the bathroom.” 

You blearily stared at the pills, before murmuring, “I always forget about those,” as you took them from his hand, and put them in your mouth, grimacing at the flavour. 

He opened the banana milk, and handed it to you.

“This is for you,” you said, and started to stand to get a glass of water.

Baekhyun put his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back into the chair. “I’m fine with water.”

“This is for you,” you repeated, this time a little more forcefully as you held it out to him. 

“Do you have another one?”

“Ye-es,” you answered reluctantly.

“Then drink it.”

Sighing, you took a few sips, grateful for the sweetness that washed the bitter from your tongue, before moving to place it on the table.

Baekhyun tsked. “Drink it all.” 

As you once more lifted the milk with another sigh, and wearily began to drain the bottle, Baekhyun returned to the bathroom, only to reemerge with your first aid kit, and a soapy cloth. He set it on the table, before carefully taking you by the chin - his fingers cool and clinical as he gently lifted your face to the harshness of the kitchen light. You grimaced, and tried to pull away.

“Ah, ah, ah…” he chided softly. “There’s some pretty bad bruising on your cheek,” he gestured to your temple, “and a cut. You have pretty skin. You don’t want it to scar, do you?”

“No,” you answered morosely, feeling pitiful.

“Then let me take care of it.” He didn’t take long, quickly washing the bruised half of your face - despite your protests that you could do it - before dabbing ointment onto the bruise with the tip of his finger. He was especially tender as he cleaned the small cut with a q-tip soaked in iodine, humming sympathetically as you winced at the sting. He finished by applying a couple of butterfly strips, and then reached up to pet the top of your head the same way he had back at the pink house. “Very good,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes with a relieved sigh. “Thank you, but...I’m dying. I have to go to bed.” With that, you headed to your room, where you tied up your long hair, washed the other half of your face, and changed into the first pair of pajamas you touched. When finally you were able to crawl into your nice, cool bed, it was with a heartfelt groan of gratitude. 

After a few moments, you felt the covers lift, the bed dip, and you opened your eyes in alarm. “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun froze, one knee on the bed. “Going to sleep,” he answered, as if that explained everything.

Your head felt muddled, but you still had the presence of mind to point to the other bedroom. “Your room is on the other side of the bathroom.”

He pouted. “I’ve always slept with my owner… I’m a hybrid.”

That’s right. He wasn’t a man, just a hybrid. It was fine. Still…it felt weird. But…maybe that was just your outdated notion. There was nothing wrong, or odd with a hybrid sleeping in the same bed as their guardian. You had just…never thought about doing it, personally.  Even though he was a boy - a skinny boy - not even a proper boy - a hybrid boy - it still felt a bit… But as you looked up at him, at his disinterested expression, and neutral gaze, you realized that you were the only one making it weird. Besides, this was his first night in a new place after having been abandoned by his guardians and left in that house alone to fend for himself for who knows how long. Not to mention the fact that hybrids were bred for companionship, and dog hybrids were known to be especially social. “Fine,” you muttered. Deciding one night couldn’t hurt, you turned over, and curled up. “Just for tonight, though, and stay on your si-”

Before you could even finish the sentence, he had already slipped under the covers, and tucked his body around yours, sliding one arm under your neck, and wrapping it around your shoulders while the other arm lay heavy and warm around your waist. He sighed into the back of your neck.

You laid there, stiff and awkward, until the rhythm of his soft breath blowing over your shoulder began to calm your nerves. As you started to relax against his warm, solid body, a feeling of comfort bloomed under your skin . Sleep drifted in as your headache melted away, and the next thing you knew - 

It was morning.

“Alright, let me go make breakfast. Nothing too heavy. Is your tummy okay after last night’s meal?”

“Mm.”

You stood and headed toward the kitchen, gratified to see that he had washed the dishes used the previous night, and placed them in the drying rack. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten properly?”

He followed you, flushing. “My owners…moved out about six weeks ago. There was enough food to last a couple of weeks, but after that… I mostly caught fish, and ate mussels that I found, but…they weren’t too good without salt. Or cooking.”

You looked over your shoulder from where you had begun to rinse rice for the juk. “You ate them raw?!”

He shrugged. “There was no power, so… Raw isn’t so bad…I like hweh. But I didn’t have any sauce, or any way to fillet them, so…I just ate them whole.”

“You’re stronger than me,” you shuddered as you put the rice onto low heat for a quick soak while you chopped vegetables. “Do you want to talk about them?”

A faraway look came into his eyes. “What is there to say?” he muttered quietly.

“Well, you don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to, but do know that I will be insulting them at every opportunity,” you declared, pulling carrots and mushrooms out of the fridge, and taking an onion and a head of garlic from the basket beside it.

He grinned slightly. “Noted.”

“I mean, how could they leave a poor hybrid boy alone to fend for himself?!”

His left eyebrow quirked. “Hybrid boy?”

“Well then, are you a girl?” you countered.

Baekhyun paused, tilting his head, and peering at you curiously. “How old do you think I am?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you answered while rinsing the vegetables. “20? 21?”

“I’m 28.”

“Oh, dang!” you exclaimed, clutching dramatically at your chest. “How are you older than me?!”

He chuckled.

“Okay, first of all, I need your skincare routine.”

He sighed. “It’s the hormone blockers.”

“Hormone blockers?”

Baekhyun blinked at you, then narrowed his eyes slightly. “Do you…know anything about hybrids?”

“Oh, sure,” you answered nervously, turning away - ostensibly to begin dicing the vegetables, but really because you didn’t want him to see just how little you did know. “You guys are 50% animal, and 50% human, and…you were initially created by scientists in Japan for companionship, and…” you wracked your brain. “Um…different hybrids have different temperaments, and…well…you know...”

“I do know,” he said mildly. “But do you?”

“Well,” you hedged, putting the pressure cooker on the stove to heat, “um…no.” Confession broached, you turned to face him. “Not really. I know that you guys are friendly.”

“Mostly,” he conceded,shifting in his seat. “So, I have to tell you, we’re not 50% animal.”

“No?”

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “Think about it, if I were 50% dog, would I look like this?”

“No, I guess not,” you answered faintly.

“I’m 99.97% human. Hybrids basically have just enough animal DNA for these,” he said, pointing to his ears, “and that,” he finished, jutting a thumb at his tail. “I’m a bit stronger…a bit faster. I can see well in low light, and hear a bit better…and okay, well, I do have a nose like a bloodhound - ” here Baekhyun fixed you with a look, “- a proverbial bloodhound - but that’s it.” He scoffed, quickly rolling his eyes. “50%.”

“I didn’t know,” you protested. “That’s just what I heard. Well then, if those are the only differences, then why are you taking hormone blockers? What hormones are they blocking? What would happen if you stopped taking them?”

He gestured toward the stove. “Pot’s overheating.”

“Shoot.” Running over to turn down the heat, you picked up the pot, and waved it around to cool faster, and dissipate the smoke. After a few seconds you put it back on the eye, added a couple of tablespoons of sesame oil, drained the rice, and put it in the pot to stir fry. While it was sizzling, you took a rotisserie chicken from the fridge, and began to strip the meat into the pot that had previously held the soaking rice. You couldn’t remember where you had left off in the conversation, so you asked another question. “So, what was baby Baekhyun like?”

His expression became distant. “I was sent abroad when I was six years old, and adopted from a hybrid facility when I was 10.”

“By the - ”

“By the Wakefields, yes. I was…adopted to be a protective companion for their daughter.”

“At 10?!”

“Stronger. Faster,” he reiterated.

“True, true, I guess, but still…” You turned to pour some chicken stock over the rice, and then scrape the vegetables from the chopping board into the pot. “So…sent abroad? So…Baekhyun…are you…hangukin…ibnikka?”

His eyebrows disappeared behind his messy fringe as he looked you over. “Are you?”

“My mom’s from Yongsan. My dad’s from Atlanta. They met while he was stationed there.”

“Hanguk mal-i-e-yo?”

You pinched your fingers together and squinted. “Chooogum…”

“Ah,” he nodded, gesturing toward you. “That explains why your skin is so - “

“Dark?”

“- pretty,” he finished.

“Oh.” Turning to hide an awkward chuckle, you flipped the chicken from its pan into the pressure cooker, covered it with the lid, and locked it into place before turning up the heat. You really needed to find a boyfriend if a simple compliment from a malnourished hybrid made you flustered. “Okay, so…do you want to go wash up first, or shall I?”

“You go ahead. I’ll watch the stove.”

You started for your room, giving directions as you passed him. “When it starts whistling, please turn it down to medium heat. If I’m not out by 20 minutes after that, then please turn it off.” Almost at your bedroom door, you paused. “Wait, can you tell time?”

His expression was amused. “Ye-es! And I can read, too! Medium heat when it starts to whistle, off 20 minutes after turning it down,” he recited.

You felt properly chagrined. “Sorry. I just heard that some people - ”

“Some people don’t. But the facility had a…school, and then the Wakefields made me study online so that I would be able to help their daughter.”

“What’s her name?”

A host of conflicted emotions passed across Baekhyun’s face in quick succession before it settled on nostalgic affection. “Elisabeth.”

“Elisabeth,” you echoed. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat.

Realizing that he didn’t want to talk about it any more at the moment, you cleared your throat. “Okay, well…I’m going to…go… Do you want to watch TV while I’m in there?”

“Actually, I might as well unpack.”

“Right. Well. Enjoy your unpacking.” That brilliant turn of phrase haunted you for the next half hour as you showered, and brushed your teeth. “Enjoy your unpacking,” you mouthed at the mirror as you aggressively applied your skincare. “Can you read? Ugh! Idiot! He’s probably going to be gone by the time you get out,” you told your reflection.

But, when you left the bathroom, Baekhyun was still there, popping his head out of his room as soon as you opened the bathroom door. You gestured to where you had just left. “Bathroom’s free.”

“I think that I’d like to eat before I wash up,” he said, eyeing the pot on the stove.

“Alright,” you agreed. Seeing that the safety lock on the pressure cooker had disengaged, you unlocked the pot, and leaned back as a wave of chicken-scented steam wafted upward. When you turned to grab a couple of bowls, Baekhyun was already sitting at the table, perched on the edge of his seat, practically vibrating, an expression of pointed concentration on his face as he stared at the pot. You made sure to pour him more food than you had last night, since he had done so well, already.

Still, you didn’t want to risk his stomach rebelling, so you decided that it was juk for the next few days, and then you would see if he could tolerate soups. That thought made you think of doctors, and that thought led you to ask, “Are you…microchipped?” as you handed him his bowl, and a spoon.

“Mm,” he said, reaching up to carelessly pinch a small silver earring dangling from his left earlobe.

You pulled out a can of grape Sacsac from the fridge for him, and a bottle of sparkling water for yourself, and set the drinks on the table pensively, staring at the space over his head as you pondered. “Do you…want to be?”

Baekhyun paused in the act of opening his drink. “Do I…want to be microchipped?”

“Well, we can’t leave the account in the Wakefield’s name. I can have guardianship transferred into my name, or…if you’d rather not be chipped at all, then you can just…take it out.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to be chipped?”

“I don’t know,” you confessed as you filled your bowl and returned to the table to sit across from him. “Why would you want to be? Seems to me that I don’t think that I would like it. But…my opinion may not be your opinion. I think that we should do what you want.”

He dipped a spoon in the porridge, distractedly pushing aside a piece of chicken. “I don’t know. I’ve never… Can I…think about it?”

“Of course. Just let me know. We’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Of course.”

At that, Baekhyun stood, picked up his chair, and moved around the table to sit by you. “Like this?”

“This is fine,” you laughed, reaching out to pet him.

With a shy expression, he allowed it for a moment, drawing closer before abruptly shivering all over, and pulling back.

“Cutie,” you teased, then gestured toward his bowl. “Eat.”

After giving you a sweet smile, he began to eat in earnest while you sat and watched, happiness filling your chest.

Finally, he looked up to find you staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “I’m just glad that you’re here. I’m happy.”

He chuckled softly. “Eat,” he said, imitating you by gesturing to your food. You obeyed, the both of you eating in silence, until finally Baekhyun lifted his head from his bowl, cleared his throat. “I do have some…questions.”

You leaned back from your bowl, pushed it away slightly. “Shoot.”

“Why did you break into the house?”

Leaning forward, you put your elbows on the table, laced your fingers together. “Do you like games?”

Expression cautious, he leaned back in his chair, one hand lightly tapping the table by his bowl. “Depends.”

“So, the thing is, I’m willing to answer almost anything you could ask me. And I know that I probably shouldn’t pelt you with a million questions, but, as you could probably tell when I broke into your house - I’m just so darn nosy - so!” Pushing your chair back from the table, you walked to the fridge and pulled out a jar of pickled jalapenos. “How about we play a game of Truth or Jalapeno?”

Baekhyun raised a dubious eyebrow. “What?”

“So like, you can ask me anything, right? And I’ll tell you the answer. But if, for whatever reason, I don’t want to say, then I have to eat a jalapeno.”

He shook his head lightly. “I’m not good with spicy food, though?”

Lightly tossing the jalapenos back in the fridge, you pulled out another jar of pickles. “Truth or Pickle?”

Baekhyun lightly rolled his eyes, but gestured for you to return to the table. “Alright.”

You pulled a couple of forks from the utensil drawer and walked back to the table in triumph, setting the jar firmly on its surface, and plopping yourself back into your seat with a grin. “Okay! So, to answer your first question, I have loved that house ever since I set eyes on it. I think that it’s gorgeous. You hardly ever see old architecture like that around here, nowadays. Also, I like historical dramas, so I always wondered what it looked like inside, so when I saw that the place was vacant…as far as I could tell, I couldn’t ignore that opportunity. I figured that it wouldn’t hurt anyone…I could just go in, look around, and leave, and no one else would ever know.”

“Actually, I heard you when you first broke in.”

“Why didn’t you come up?”

“Why would I? There was nothing left to guard. It wasn’t until you invaded my space that I felt the need to respond.”

You frowned, chagrined. “Sorry about that. Had I known anyone was still there - “

“Then I would still be there, alone, choking down raw fish - scales and all - and waiting to be kicked out of the house by whomever purchases it, or sent to a shelter, instead of having a warm breakfast with you,” he stated.

“I guess.” Your agreement was lackluster. “I just kind of feel like the situation low-key forced you to come with me.”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s very difficult to get me to do anything that I don’t want to do.”

“Oh, so you’re stubborn.”

“Yep. And yours, now.”

“Well, I don’t own you. Think of me more as…a guardian.”

“You’re my guardian?” he teased.

“Then are you mine?” you shot back.

“Well…yeah.”

“How so?”

“Pretty sure there’s a guy with a couple of broken legs who's probably in the hospital right now, who would say so.”

“That’s just because I passed out.” Your riposte was quick, and you negligently waved a hand as if to wave away his assertion. “If I had stayed conscious, then I totally would have handled him. I was just surprised.”

“Uh huh.” His tone was dubious.

“Glad you agree,” you said, before sticking out your tongue, and smiling at his chuckle. “Anyway, I believe that it is my turn. So, let’s see…” you sobered as you looked at him. “Did the Wakefield’s treat you well? That is, until…”

His expression grew sorrowful. “Well…aside from the underground fighting ring - “

“They put you in an underground fighting ring?!” you screeched.

“No.” His perfectly straight face broke when he ticked an eyebrow and grinned.

Your face flamed, and you grabbed the jar. “I ought to throw a pickle at your head.” Gripping the top of the lid, you started to unscrew it. Or at least tried to. Baekhyun watched in interest as you glanced at him before trying again, this time putting a bit of muscle into it. After a few seconds, nothing. You cleared your throat, and he looked on politely. Putting your feet flat on the floor and shoulder width apart, this time you put all your strength into it, grunting a little, your head trembling as you applied all your strength to the recalcitrant jar.

Nothing.

Huffing, you set it back down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

Reaching over, Baekhyun picked up the jar, and popped off the lid before setting it down with exaggerated care in front of you. “Yes, I totally believe that you could have handled that guy on your own,” he said, his face straight, his tone neutral.

“As long as he didn’t have a jar of pickles, I would have been fine,” you said loftily. “Anyway,” you added, waving a hand at the jar, “I loosened it for you.”

“My turn?” he asked, unsure.

“Uh…I don’t know. I guess so. Shoot.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a financial administrator for the local Parks and Rec department.”

“Oh. That sounds…”

“Boring?”

Baekhyun took a big bite of porridge. “Mmmm…” he hummed with an exaggerated smile. “The chicken is so tender!”

“Hahaha,” you mock-laughed, then sighed. “It is boring. I’m very good at it, so it’s nice to be able to clock in, not work too hard, and clock out. I don’t do weekends, I rarely do overtime, and I get to telework twice a week, if I want.

“So, you’ll stay home twice a week?” His tail started a cautious wag.

“Do you want me to?”

He looked shy. “Yes…”

“You sure you don’t want the place to yourself?”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know. Watch TV and eat bonbons?”

“Do you have bonbons?”

“... No.”

He just shook his head as if he were horribly disappointed with you. “Wah… The deception…”

You stuck out your tongue. “My turn. Mmm…why did the Wakefields leave?”

Baekhyun looked conflicted for a moment. His mouth worked a bit, and then he looked off to the side before turning to you with a somewhat artificial smile, and stabbing a pickle with his fork. Bringing it to his mouth, he took a big bite, and then cringed. “Ugh…so sour.”

“Pickles tend to be,” you said lightly, reading his reluctance to answer, and dropping the question. “So…what did the Wakefields do?”

“Ahhh, that’s two questions in a row - eat a pickle!” he crowed.

“When did we make that rule?!”

“Right now,” he said, reaching for your fork and stabbing another pickle.

With a sigh, you took the fork from him, and made quick work of the pickle, to his overt horror. “What?” you asked as he stared at you, mouth open in an exaggerated frown. You shrugged. “I like pickles.”

“Okay…”

“Anyway… Now may I ask the question?”

“No. It’s my turn.”

“Aww!” you squawked.

Baekhyun put on a show of rubbing his chin and looking heavenward while he pretended to think. “Have you always wanted a hybrid, or…?”

“Hm… I can’t say that I have always wanted a hybrid, specifically, but…I don’t know, when I saw you, I just wanted to take you home.”

“Actually, when you saw me, you screamed, and did some sort of weird kung fu move with your hands -”

“I don’t - I don’t recall that -“

“You were like, ‘Ahhh,’ and then you were like,” he flailed around dramatically.

“Poor thing. So old and malnourished, his memory is going. Sad. Harabeoji,” you said, raising your voice as you reached out to exaggeratedly pet his hair, “it’s going to be okay!”

“A little to the right,” he muttered, turning his head into your hand.

Chuckling, you began to scratch his scalp in earnest. “So…the Wakefields?”

His voice was dreamy as he said, “He’s a diplomat to South Korea, and she’s a psychiatrist.”

“Mm.” You silently scratched his scalp and behind his ears for a long while, suddenly no longer interested in asking him questions. After a while, you gave his head a couple of pats and sat back.

When he opened his eyes, they were hazy.

Smiling softly at him, you glanced down at his empty bowl. “Do you want some more?”

“No, thank you,” he sighed.

“Are you ready to wash up, then?”

He nodded adorably. “Okay.”

You reached for his bowl, but he gently wrapped his hand around your wrist. “Leave that. I’ll wash the dishes when I get out.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Nah…you cooked, so I clean, right?”

“Well…” that actually sounded pretty tempting, so you just nodded. “Alright.” Your chest welled with affection, and you smiled as you watched him shuffle off to the bathroom.

Returning to your bedroom, you made the bed, and then returned to the kitchen to take out some scallops to thaw for Baekhyun’s lunch.

There was a knock at the door.

There was a knock at the door, and that was odd, because no one ever knocked on your door, save for people making deliveries.

You hadn't ordered anything.

Curiously, you silently walked to the door, and peered through the peephole.

Two police officers waited patiently on the other side.

Eventually, spending so much time in manskin--thinking, and talking--changed them.  Turned them.  Oh, they were still vicious.  Still endlessly hungry.  But now, they walked on two legs more often than four.  And they too, stole.

But these wolves who walked, walked on two legs when the moon hid her face, were no longer interested in stealing only chickens, and goats.  These wolves were cold, so cold without their skins, and without their lupoaica, and so they began to steal things far more precious, things irreplaceable.  Things that could keep them warm at night.  

They were so, so hungry…

Once upon a time, long long ago, and far, far away, there was a sweet young girl.  A girl exceedingly young, and exceedingly beautiful, a beauty so entrancing that all the young men of the village yearned for her hand.  At night, they would lie in their beds, and think of blessings for their mothers, and their fathers, their sisters, and their brothers, but most of all, they would breathe gratitude, thankfulness for being born men that could love her.  

And truly was the girl a beauty, with rippling hair, thick, and brown as bear skin, chestnut eyes--welcoming and warm as woodland pools, a pink mouth wide with smiles, mobile, and expressive, and skin as pale as winter’s frost.  Truly, she was altogether lovely, but her beauty was of the lotus in mud, for her parents never saw her beauty--inside or out--only what it could bring.  

Her father was a hunter, poor and parsimonious, and her mother no better.  Together, they lamented daily over having been cursed with a daughter.  Every day, her father longed for a son who could take over the hunting, and ease his burden.  Every day, her mother pined for a son who would take care of his parents in their old age.  

Never mind the fact that it’s not the sons who take care of aging parents, but their wives…

Father, Mother, they were never cruel…

But they were never kind.

The girl knew no birthdays, no gifts, no soft words, no gentle hands.  She was fed, and clothed, but she wasn’t loved.  She wasn’t cherished.        

They did their duty.

One day, her father said to her, “Come fiica, it is your birthday, and you are now a woman grown.  I have done right by you, and now have a boon for you.  Here.  Take it.”  He handed her a parcel, wrapped in brown woolen cloth, and tied with twine, and she unwrapped it to find a fine velvet cloak, heavy, lovely, and scarlet as blood.  “This is to be your bridegift, as I have promised you to the butcher who lives in the woods.”  Into her soft arms he pressed a covered wicker basket, heavy and rough.  “Take this basket, and take yourself, hie hence to him, and return no more.  You would have been better a son, but he has paid a generous brideprice to have you, so at least your mother and I have that.  Wear the cloak that he may know that his bride approaches.”

“The old butcher,” she murmured, “who has buried three wives, and none of them easy?”

“The very same.  Surely a man who has been a husband so often knows how to do it well.”

The girl lifted the heavy fabric that covered the basket to find it filled with cake and wine.

Her father gestured to the basket with his chin.  “Your wedding banquet.  Mind your manners, and take care not to eat it unless invited.  It would not do for your new husband to think we have taught you no better.  Behave yourself on the way, and do not leave the path, or you may fall, and then there would be nothing left for your new husband.”

She promised to obey her father.

Her mother was nowhere in sight.

The girl took her basket, and a bundle of her things (there weren’t many), and started on her way.  Her heart was heavy, for though she had never been loved, at least she had been known.  At least she knew the shape of her home, the scents, the sounds.  But she knew better than to complain, for what alternative was there?  She had been sold to the highest bidder, and now there was nothing left but to walk the slow steps of her fate as she left the village to be swallowed by the woods.  

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

Three steps into the woods, it was dark.  Six steps in, she could no longer hear the village.  Nine steps in, and she was all alone.  Eventually, though, her eyes adjusted.  Eventually, though, she began to hear the songs of the birds.  Eventually, though, she was surrounded by life, small, furry, and curious.

And something not so small, and not so furry (not now), but infinitely more curious.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy of the leaves, golden and warm, as the scent of daffodils filled the air.  The girl walked on, trying to enjoy, trying to remember every moment to fill her heart for later.  For later when there would be no warmth, no sweetness.  

Only duty.   

Presently, she realized, however, that she was not alone.  A man walked alongside her, silent and graceful as a leaf falling to the ground.  She looked up, but was not startled.  He looked too easy for fear, his smile too warm, too inviting.  She was not afraid of him

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, back,” he responded, his full mouth tilting in a very nice smile, with very white teeth.  

He had dimples.

“The day has proved fine,” she said.

“And has become infinitely finer,” he observed.  “Where are you going, Little Red?”

“To see my husband.”

“Your husband!  Is he a good man?”

“I know not.”

“You know not if he is good?”

“I know not my husband.  I go to meet him.”

“To meet your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Whom you have not met before?”

“No.”

“Then he is, as yet, not your husband, no?”

“He will be,” she assured him.

“Oh?” he inquired politely.  “And why is that?”

“I have been promised to him.”

“Been promised?”

“Oh, yes.”

“By whom?”

“By my father.”

“And…?”

She looked at him, confused.  “And what?”

“Anyone else?”

“My mother, I suppose.”

“I see.”  They passed a patch of narcissus, and he reached down and plucked one, deftly placed it behind her ear.  “Tell me of this…husband.”

Little Red blushed, the sweet scent of narcissus filling the air.  “He is a butcher.”

“A fine profession.”

“He is…” she faltered.  “Very wise…”

“Very old, you mean?”

“Just so.  And…very experienced in matters of the heart.”

“I see.  How experienced?”

She hesitated.  “Three times the experience of most husbands,” she finally answered.

“And we hope that the fourth time is the charm,” he said with an enchanting smile.  When she didn’t answer, he turned his attention to her basket.  “What do you have under your apron?”

“My wedding meal of cake and wine to…fortify him to do his duty.”

He looked over her, from top to bottom, and his smile widened.  “Little Red…where does your husband live?”

She  stopped.  Looked at the man.  Looked at his pretty, golden eyes, and his too-white smile.  

His ears were slightly pointed.

Little Red thought about the butcher, with his sun-red skin, wine-purple nose, scanty patch of snow-white hair, and big belly.  His hands, large, and rough, with blood ever flaking from the creases, limning his cuticles, tracing red under his bitten nails.  “What big eyes you have,” she murmured.  

“What’s that?” he asked.

She began to walk once more.  “Her house is a good quarter hour from here in the woods, under the three large oak trees. There's a hedge of hazel bushes there.”

“How wonderful,” he mused.  ‘It sounds like a lovely place to raise a family.”

“It does,” she allowed.

“But, the woods are lovely too,” he said, turning to walk backwards, lifting his arms to indicate the beauty all around them.  "Look!  There are pretty flowers blooming.  Why not take the time to smell them?  To gather them for your wedding bouquet?”  He stopped, and as she walked past, slowly walked around her, crouching slightly to murmur in her ear, low, and melodious.  “Listen… Can’t you hear how beautifully the birds are singing?”  Long-fingered, calloused, too-hot hands slid down her shoulders, gripped her basket and parcel, pulled them from nerveless fingers to set on the ground.  

“What large hands you have,” she murmured.  

“The better to hold precious things,” he said, on the very edge of hearing, his words ghosting delicately past her ear.  “What are you doing, hm?  Why are you walking along like a schoolgirl on her way to a test when it is so very beautiful in the woods..."

Sunlight beamed through the trees, illuminating a soft woodland covered with exquisite flowers. 

A butcher’s wife didn’t know much beauty.  

And so, for the first time in her life, Little Red turned.  Turned from the path, took a step into the woods.  

There were so many flowers!  Each time she picked one, there was another even more beautiful one that she must have (for when would she ever see beauty such as this again?) a little way off, going further and further into the woods.

But after a while, sunlight faded, and as twilight fell, the woods truly grew lovely, dark, and deep.  Little Red, who had spent the day gathering flowers, and now had as many as her arms could hold, once more turned toward the path that led to the house of the butcher, steps slowed, cheek pale.

When she arrived, she found, to her surprise, that the door was open. She walked into the parlor, noted the fire long gone cold in the grate.  She set down her basket and parcel, flowers falling from her arms as she walked through the room.  The butcher’s house was surprisingly neat, though while she could see no evidence of his trade, she could certainly smell it.  The scent of blood hung thick in the air, like iron coating the back of her tongue.  

It was oddly sweet.

The cottage was small, parlor on one side, kitchen on the other, and a door that led to what could only be the bedroom.  “Perhaps he sleeps,” she murmured to herself, wrapping her hand around the knob, opening the door.  

A giant bed stood in the corner, shrouded with curtains of heavy velvet, as scarlet as her cape.  The air hung still, expectant, as if a great beast held its breath.  Little Red heard her heart beating in her ears, felt her palms prickle and tingle.  Shadows hung in the room, obscuring shapes, long, and reaching. Slowly she approached her marital bed, then, gathering her courage, boldly pulled back the curtains. “Oh!  What big eyes you have!”

Slowly, he moved forward, gently lowered her hood from her dark hair, unclasped her cape.  

It fell to the ground in a pool of red.  

“The better to see you with, my dear,” he murmured.  He leaned forward.

“Oh!  What big ears you have!”

Lazily, his hand skimmed down her skirt, pausing to gather the fabric in his fist, slip his hand inside.  

Warm fingertips trailed up the inside of her thigh, and she gasped.

He nuzzled his face into the sensitive crook of her neck, breathing deepling, exhaling with a soft sigh.  “The better to hear you with, my dear…”

Gently his hand stroked, and now it was her time to sigh.  “What big hands you have…”

Wrapping his other arm around her waist, he easily lifted her into the bed, laid her down among the roughspun sheets, looking deeply into her eyes as he unlaced her stays.  “The better to hold you with my dear…”

Little Red looked up at the man in fascination, at his wolfish face, smile as white as bone.  “Oh!  What big teeth you have!”

“Ah!” he said, leaning down to whisper, his head tilted, mouth brushing against hers with every exhale as he lifted her thigh to rest on his hip.  Slowly, lazily he began to place hot, wet, suckling kisses down the front of her neck, down her chest as he lifted her skirt.  

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

@leewalberg Happy (Belated) Birthday!

I knew what you were, then.  I knew, and I didn’t care.  I had to go, I knew this, but to be given a choice on how…that was a gift.  “Take me with you.”

You smelled like earth, and grass, and sweet musk as you lifted me into your arms.  I know that I had wasted away to much of nothing by then, but even so, the ease with which you lifted me was the most comforting feeling of my entire life…  And you carried me, in my nightdress, in my bedclothes, down the cobbled streets of le carre, and the cool night wind kissed my cheeks, and not a soul graced the streets.

We didn’t fly--not quite--but it felt like flying in your arms.  It felt like freedom.  It felt like joy, and wildness, and safety.  You took your time carrying me back to the manor.  I don’t know how long you walked the streets with me in your arms, but it seemed like forever.  The implacability of your unmoving arms beneath me, the strength of your shoulders under my hands, I savoured these sensations.  Savoured the way your muscles glided under your skin, the soft humming that invited me to rest my head in the crook of your neck.

I still remember the way the candlelight made the rooms of your home glow.  How you carried me from room to room, infinitely patient as you showed me everything, as you told me stories of your long-lived life, of your travels, of how you came to be here in this piece of Paris in the New World.  And then, when you finally laid me down in a luminescent patch of moonlight gracing the chaise in the library, I felt that you had paid me a thousand times over the simple need you had of me.  As I looked out the window, and once more saw the stars, I felt no fear, only longing.  “Here?”

The soft hunger in your great, dark eyes made me want…so many things.  “You look the most beautiful by moonlight.  I want to remember you just like this.”

I had never known true love until you killed me.

Sincerely,

Yours

***

January 7th, 1751

Mine,

I find myself thinking often…to the night that we met.  You were so beautiful.  As you remain.  I’d like to think that you will be forever.  The sensation of your heartbeat beneath my palm as I drank, the whisper of breath in your delicate throat, your hands in my hair, around my shoulders, pulling me closer…  The way you trembled and fluttered like a little bird.

When your heart finally stopped, when sweet exhalations no longer passed rosy lips, I regretted my greed.  Silent and mournful, I decided to bury you in the garden beneath my bedroom window, where you could bathe eternally in the moonlight that kissed your skin so lovingly.  The roses would bloom over where you lay, and I could look upon where you rested, and remember our night.  

I dug your grave slowly.  I wanted to suffer for having taken you so precipitously.  I buried you in my own coffin.  Nestled in the crimson velvet, you looked so fresh and perfect.  Still unable to control myself, I leaned over and stole a kiss as easily as I had stolen your life.  And then, with regrets, and recriminations, I laid you to rest, gently shoveled the dirt over the polished rosewood, each soft patter of earth rebuking me for my haste.  But we had spent most of the night together, and the arrival of the sun took me off guard, forced me back inside the manor.

With the next night’s moonrise, unwilling to let go, mourning, craving, instead of finding another, I stood over where you lay, deep underground.  Finally, as dawn began to lighten the sky in the east, I turned toward the manor, took a step, and suddenly--there was movement.  Down, deep within the earth.  The quick, terrified inhale.  The soft scritch of nails against velvet.  

I knew that I hadn’t changed you, and I will admit that--in that moment--I knew fear.  But then…I heard it--the sweet song of a powerful heartbeat.  And breath…no longer stilted, pained, cut short--but full and desperate.  I took the shovel, and dug like a madman, then--at the end--abandoned the tool to dig like a dog.  When I tore open the lid--wood splintering, fabric ripping--you flew into my arms, terrified, desperate, crying, clinging to me like a child.  

Under my hands you were warm, alive--there could be no doubt.  You were not like me, but you were no more as you had been--an enervated, delicate flower presenting frail, trembling petals before its consignment to earth--no, you were whole; you practically vibrated with good health, and I had never, in my centuries of living, felt so grateful.  I realized then, what you were--what you had to be.  An immortal.  

My immortal.

Mine.

My own.

May I never forget the night that brought you to me, mine.  My love, my sweet.  My endless nights are as soft as spring dawn with you by my side.  It’s so natural to love you.  I felt it from the first moment I laid eyes on you.  When I held you in my arms, when I pulled you from the earth, I knew that, for a long time, I would love you.  Like the flow of the seasons. Like as spring passes and summer takes its place...unchangeable, intractable, eternal is my love for you.  

I hear your light, quick footstep on the stair.  I must end this letter before you catch and tease me.  I am, as ever,

Yours,

Your Own Junmyeon.  

***

October 10, 1926

My Dearest, Junmyeon,

I miss you.  I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.  Where are you?  Come back to me, my love, from wherever you are.  I will never turn you away.  You have been father, brother, friend, husband, lover…  Simply put, to me, you have ever been everything.  

Do you remember the first time that you saved my life?  It would be a small matter to die endlessly, only to return to you, but that man brought true death.  1760…or was it ‘63?  Algiers…  We had only been together a mere decade, but the years do blur…  You heard him before I did, that immortal who had recognized what I was in the night market, and followed us back to our home.  I had felt this queer, inner vibration upon seeing him, but as yet did not know what it meant, only that it made me restless.  He came to kill me, to take what little power and strength I had for his own, but he didn’t expect you.  

You never even gave him the chance to lift his sword.  You were…masterful.  So powerful.  Deadly.  Prior to him, I had never seen you hurt anyone, but I realized in that moment that my beloved was a predator.  I had only ever seen the gentle, the sweet; I had never even heard you raise your voice in anger.  

When you came to me, covered in his blood, your eyes were soft, regretful as you informed me that I must take his head.

“Take his head?!”  I felt so dizzy.  “I can--I cannot kill this man!”

“If you do not…then he will kill you.  That is the curse of your kind.  There can be only one.”

I looked at the sword--a heavy, brutish thing that looked like it belonged in some medieval chieftain’s burial mound.  I didn’t want to die, but…to take someone else’s life…

You saw my indecision.  You have always known me better than I know myself.  “If you do not…then he will return.  He will take you from me.  You would leave me…all alone.”

Your eyes…your infinite eyes…  How could I ever leave you?  My beloved, my life?

Taking his head was unpleasant, but the Quickening...to this day it’s still indescribable.  Taking on centuries of knowledge and strength in mere moments…  Do you remember?  That was the first time that I was the one taking you to bed, and when dawn arose, you were the one who needed rest.  Of course, by the next night, we had to flee into Morocco, as the townsfolk, having seen the lightning storm, thought us to be djinns, and burned down our home.  But it was an adventure!  Every day with you was an adventure.  

You taught me the rules.  Engaging in combat on Holy Ground is forbidden.  I had to take their heads.  In the end…there can be only one.  

There can be only one.

I miss you, so.

As Ever,

Yours.

***

October 30, 1925

My Dearest, Junmyeon,

What would I ever have done without you by my side?  Because of you, I never needed to fight.  I never wanted to fight, really, but I suppose I had to, considering the never ending stream of immortals eager to play the Game. To take my head.  But they paled in comparison to you.  You were always so much faster, so much stronger…  You have always made me feel so very safe, made me feel as if nothing in this world could touch me.  Because of you, I never had to strike more than the final blow.  

Do you remember that immortal who challenged me in daylight?  I suppose he had heard about you, and the old bullfrog tried to catch me off guard while you slept.  He was so ancient--and he almost had me, even though I had become ever so much stronger since my first.  Even so, he was older than any that had previously come for my head; full of tricks.

Little did he know that you would crawl from the grave to come save me.

I had to die night after night after night to give enough to make you whole.  But I would do it again.  And again, and again, and again.  

I would have died a thousand times to save you.  From the first night, you were more precious to me than my own breath.

I remember lying in your arms when the last of the burns had faded, my head in your lap, your gentle hand in my hair.  “Junmyeon?”  

“Mm?”

“What happens when there is only one?  What happens if I am the last?”

Your hand stilled, and a shadow briefly crossed your face.  You gave me a small, rueful smile, bent down to sweetly touch your mouth to mine before straightening and resuming your caress.  “When you are the last…you will win the Prize.”

“And…what is this…Prize?”  

You paused for so long, I began to wonder if you had decided not to answer.  Then, just as I was about to ask again, you said, “You become mortal.  You will--you can…have children, if you want.”

“Mortal?  …Mortal…  Wait--children with you?”

Your expression was pained.  “No, my dove…  In the future, as now, I will never be able to give you children.”

“Then…you will change me?”  

My eyes caught yours, caught the quick flash of desire, though your hand was gentle as it moved from my hair to my cheek.  “Would you really want that?  To only live by moonlight?”

“To live with you is all that matters.”

“Then I will live with you, until the end of time.”

Junmyeon, beloved, you promised.  You promised to live with me evermore.  Why are you missing from me?  Where are you now?  The night’s are so cold without you.  The day’s, so long.  Come back to me.  Come back, come back, come back…

Tenderly,

Yours

***

January 22nd, 1901

Mine,

I am so sorry, my love.  I have failed you. I do not deserve to be--

Yours,

Junmyeon

***

December 10th, 1901

Mine,

I do not deserve to call you that.  Not after what I’ve done.  I hope that this letter never sees moonlight, but as you sleep so sweetly in our bed, I simply must express these thoughts, or I fear that I shall go mad.  

This is all my fault; all of it.  You were so innocent, so trusting.  I thought--I thought that, if we didn’t actively seek other immortals, if we didn’t kill too many, maybe…  I foolishly thought that we could circumvent the rules--that you were too precious for them to apply to us.  

I didn’t teach you…everything.

You cannot fight on Holy Ground, yes, you must take their heads, yes, and…and…

There can be only one.  Yes.

However, I never told you…that immortal combat is meant to be…one on one.  

But how was I to allow you to fight?  To risk losing you?  To watch you be beaten, bruised, torn--no!  Even the mere idea--it is too much!  I could never allow anyone to lay a hand on you.  I would die first.  I would gladly die before I let anything harm you.  

But it is not I who has been judged.  Who has been punished.  How I wish that I were the one who had been punished!  You didn’t deserve…  You could never deserve…  

I am haunted.  I am haunted.  The sound of your screams…  The sight of your small body collapsing to the ground.  I saw the strength leave you.  When I took you into my arms, you were so frail, so weak.  Delicate.  And…I feel the deepest shame in admitting it, but even then…

I wanted you.  

You had never looked more like you did that first night we met.  Helpless.  Vulnerable.  More fragile in my hands than the finest porcelain.  Even as I mourned the loss of your vitality, I craved the feeling of you once more underneath me, trembling and clinging.

If you had stayed like that, I wouldn’t have moved.  If you had remained as you were, I would have stood still.  But I have watched you, my life.  My love.  I have watched you night after night, for countless nights, and I see you grow ever weaker.  I fear…

I fear.

I am so sorry, my love.  

I will fix this.  I will make this right.  

Even if I have to search the ends of the earth, I will find a cure.  

I will never leave your side.  

I will toil until I once more am worthy to be--

Yours,

Junmyeon

***

October 2, 1924

Beloved,

“Tonight I can write the saddest lines.  Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.'  The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.”  

I am…bereft.  I am bereft, I am bereft.

You, my love, are too cruel.  

“The same night, whitening the same trees,” but I am no longer the same.  You…took everything from me.  My very brain is aflame, and I wish, oh, how I wish that I could hate you for what you've done.  

But I love you still.  

My beautiful tormentor.  

I want to cry, I want to weep, I want to rage, yet here I sit, writing, because even more than these, I desire to consign my memories of you to the page, in order to never forget them.  I must remember every detail of us before one moment of my moments with you is lost to the sands of my eternity.  

The french doors were open to the night when you came to me.  The pale, sheer bed curtains shifted and billowed in the cool breeze, as you watched me, head tilted, now obscured, now revealed as you slowly circled our bed.  I loved to watch you watch me.  Weak as I was, I never felt more powerful than when your eyes were on me.  

Finally, you spoke.  “You are beautiful in white.  The contrast with your skin.  The purity…”

Even now, I can feel the sweet languour stealing over my limbs at the memory of your soft words.  “You’re beautiful in everything.”  I turned toward you like a sunflower following her beloved, rested my head on my palm.  “But best, I think, in nothing.”

Your laugh.  How it hurts now to think of your laugh.  You parted the curtain, then, let me see you properly.  Though your smile remained in place, it looked strained, and I held up my arms--longing to comfort you.  You took a knee, leaned over to trace cool fingertips down the side of my face, across my jaw.  The sensation of your fingers on my skin…indescribable.  Not even the Quickening can compare.  Within a heartbeat, I was in your arms, your grip steady around my waist, your lap cool and firm beneath me, your palm cupping my cheek.  “Do you know what tonight is, my love?”  When I shook my head, your eyes, my darling, your eyes grew so sad.  “Tonight is the Hunter’s Moon.”

Your expression looked so serious, I felt I must whisper.  As if speaking too loudly were wrong, somehow.  “What does that mean?”

But then you kissed me.  Long, and slow, and sweet.  Forgive me if I no longer thought of the moon.  When we parted, your thumb brushed my cheek, achingly gentle, the callused pad rasping softly over my skin.  

Forgive me, if I no longer thought of the moon.  

“Do you love me?”  You looked into my eyes, and I was lost.  Your eyes, so warm and dark, eyes that have seen the secrets of my soul, and have never found me wanting.  I could feel the beat of your heart against my ribs, your grip around my waist almost bruising, but welcome.  

Forgive me, if I no longer thought of the moon.

“I love you more than my next breath.”

Why, my love, why did your gaze grow pained?  I know now, but then…

You laughed again, but it sounded wrong.  Broken.  Before I could speak, you guided my head to your shoulder, and began to stroke my back.  “Do you love me best?”

I was so foolish.  I thought that you had grown melancholy, bored with this country, and ready to move to another.  “You know that there is no one in this world whom I love more than you.”

Your fingers slipped into my hair, gently stroking my scalp as you hummed a soft lullabye.  “Do you remember…the time I came for you in the sun?”

I have never known anything more comforting than being in your arms.  Being held, being softly stroked and petted as you gently speak to me.  In those moments, I felt as if our hearts beat as one. “Of course.  You were marvelous.  My beautiful monster.”

“You gave your life for me…night after night…until I was whole.”

“Of course.  And I would do it again.  And again, and again, and again.  I would die for you a thousand times.  I want nothing more than to have you by my side for the rest of our lives.  Until the world falls away.  Until time’s end.  Do you remember what you told me our first night?  When you carried me before that old sleepy parish priest?  We are one…”  

You sighed then, a sound so long, and pained, and forlorn.  I didn’t understand.  How I wish that I had understood!  “The night is pleasant.  Why don’t we spend it on the verandah?”  

“Mmm, but I want to spend some time with you here…”

“There will be plenty of time for that, my dove  After.  We have our whole lives…”

But you lied.  You lied… you lied…  

“As for tonight…I want to see you by moonlight.”  You lifted me in your arms as if I were weightless, the silken chiffon of my dress whispering in the breeze as you carried me outside.  “I’ve always felt that you were most beautiful by moonlight.”

We sat together, then.  We talked about our lives.  We talked about our future. 

You lied to me.  

I was so tired.  I fell asleep in your arms.  

When I awoke, the dawn had just broken over the horizon, and by the time I turned to you, it was already too late.  

I’ll never forget…the last words I ever heard you say.  The words I heard as my strength returned while my heart died.

“I was wrong.  You are even more beautiful…in the sun.”

Junmyeon, my darling, my life…

How can I be only one?