VENI VIDI VICI

--

Hyungwon is fucked.

Well, not literally, though he wishes that were the case. Instead, he’s staring at a text from his mother informing him that no, they will not be paying for Hyungwon’s tuition next year because of his dreadful grades.

So, Hyungwon is looking at over twelve thousand dollars that he has to somehow scrape up over the summer.

“Fuck me,” Hyungwon says, laying across Minhyuk’s bed.

“I would, but I’m currently taken, sorry.” Minhyuk says, not looking up from his laptop, dutifully typing out an essay like Hyungwon should be doing. “What’s up?”

In response, Hyungwon lays his phone across Minhyuk’s keyboard, and Minhyuk sucks in a breath when he reads the text.

“That’s rough, man.” Minhyuk says, looking up then. “What are you gonna do?”

“Uh, I dunno? Cry a lot? Fuck.” Hyungwon buries his face in Minhyuk’s comforter, groaning, “This is the worst,” into the fabric.

“This is indeed the worst, I can’t even think of some cheesy line of garbage to cheer you up.” Minhyuk confesses, patting Hyungwon’s back. “We’ll think of something, I’m sure. Maybe you can wow your parents in these last few weeks, prove that you’re worth funding.”

“I fucking doubt it, but thanks.” Hyungwon returns to his own bed, pulling the covers up over his head and whining. He hears Minhyuk laugh at him.

--

“So,” Minhyuk begins, leaning into Hyungwon’s personal space as Hyungwon pulls his Subway sandwich free of its wrapper, “what are you willing to do to get that tuition money?”

“What do you mean?” Hyungwon asks, tilting his head up to look at Minhyuk and, as a result, bumping his forehead against Minhyuk’s chin. “Ow.”

“Sorry. But, I’ve got an idea of what you could do. Wanna hear it?”

“God, just spit it out.”

“Get yourself a sugar daddy.”

Hyungwon’s hands pause over his sandwich, fingertips lightly touching the bread. “What?”

“I said, get yourself a sugar daddy. Come on, you’re gorgeous, and probably a good fuck.” Minhyuk sits across from Hyungwon, resting his chin in his hands. “So, what do you say?”

“I say you are a crazy bitch,” Hyungwon says firmly, picking his sub up and taking a big bite of it. “Do you have the contacts to arrange this?”

Minhyuk waggles his eyebrows, and Hyungwon rolls his eyes. “I do, actually.”

“Hold the fuck on, that’s not me conceding to this.”

“It totally is! But, I’m supposed to meet Kihyun for lunch in a bit, I just swung by to propose that to you.” Minhyuk stands up, nudging Hyungwon as he passes by. “Think about it, dude.”

Hyungwon sighs and sets about devouring his sandwich in peace.

He ends up all but forgetting about the exchange until, exactly a week later, Minhyuk slaps a slip of paper down on the lunch table.

“The fuck is this?” Hyungwon asks, pausing with a chip resting against his bottom lip.

“That’s your daddy’s number.”

Hyungwon throws the chip at Minhyuk’s face.

“I’m serious!” Minhyuk says with a laugh. “I called the dude that Kihyun knows and told him about it and he was like, ‘I know just the guy!’ and gave me this number. So I’m giving it to you. Take it or leave it, negotiations are up to you and him, not me.”

Hyungwon studies the piece of paper, skimming the number, then reaches over and pockets it. Minhyuk grins, satisfied. “This isn’t me accepting this, by the way,” Hyungwon says, disgruntled.

“You’re desperate,” Minhyuk points out.

And, well, he is. So, later that night, he waits until Minhyuk’s gone to get something to eat and calls the number.

He’s really not expecting an answer, but. “Hello?”

Hyungwon has never claimed to be the most elegant of creatures, so he replies with, “Yeah, hey, who the hell is this?”

Thankfully, the guy on the other end laughs, a gentle chuckle. “This is Shin Hoseok, but call me Wonho, please. Who the hell is this?”

“Chae Hyungwon. Someone, uh, gave me your number and told me that you’re, uh- told me you could help me.”

“Oh, are you the one Hyunwoo was telling me about earlier? College debt, or something like that.”

“Yep, that’s me.” Hyungwon really cannot believe he’s having this conversation right now, talking to a potential daddy. He rolls over in bed and groans inwardly. “What, uh- shit, I don’t know what questions I should be asking.”

“Take your time, dearest.”

Hyungwon cringes. “I- how reliable are you? Like, how much of a risk is this for me. I’m not going to do this if you can’t fork over the cash.”

Wonho laughs again, louder this time. “I assure you, I’m very reliable. I’m sitting on an inheritance that’s five times what your tuition is, and slowly growing due to investments. There’s no worries there.”

Hyungwon feels a little lightheaded when he tries to imagine such a large amount of money. “Uh, okay, Jesus shit. Uh, where do you live?”

“Seoul, close to your college, I believe. Are you going home for the summer?”

“No, the college offers summer boarding and I really don’t want to listen to my parents bitch at me for three months. Fuck that.”

“Lovely, that means we can meet soon. Would you like to go out to dinner, just to discuss this more in-depth? You can make a decision then, there’s no rush.”

“... Will you be paying?”

“Of course, dear.”

Hyungwon hears footsteps outside and, fearing that it’s Minhyuk, rushes to answer. “Yes, yes, that’s fine, uh, god. T-Text me? Tell me where you want to eat and I’ll meet you there, uh, Saturday at…”

“Is nine good?” Wonho asks, and Hyungwon thinks it’s rather clear that Wonho has done this many times before, voice smooth as silk. It makes Hyungwon tingle a bit.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Uh, I gotta go. It was… nice to talk to you?”

“It was nice to talk to you as well, dear. See you then!”

Hyungwon lets his phone fall onto the pillow beside him just as Minhyuk opens the door, carrying a pizza box.

“Sup dude!” Minhyuk says, triumphantly holding the box over his head. “I’ve brought dinner.”

Hyungwon mimics Minhyuk’s victorious pose, hoping that his newfound nervousness doesn’t show too much.

God, what the fuck is he getting himself into?

--

Hyungwon had an idea of what Wonho must look like just from his voice, picturing some sort of smart 30-something businessman with a nice suit. The only part of that he gets right is the nice suit.

Wonho is tall, but not as tall as Hyungwon, with a long face and a dazzling smile, brown hair parted expertly to one side. He’s waiting at the door for Hyungwon and it occurs to Hyungwon that Wonho doesn’t know what he looks like, so Hyungwon cautiously approaches and asks, “Uh, are- are you Wonho?”

He was secretly hoping it wasn’t Wonho, really, because this man in front of him is far too beautiful and Hyungwon’s current outfit, made up of his nicest clothes, are a far cry from Wonho’s formal dress. Sadly, Wonho nods enthusiastically and gently takes Hyungwon’s hands in his.

“You’re Hyungwon, correct?” Wonho asks, just for clarification.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me. Hey. How are you?”

“Wonderful, and you?”

“I am nervous as all shit,” Hyungwon whispers, and Wonho’s face lights up with a smile. Hyungwon’s heart beats a little faster, and he curses inwardly. “This restaurant is way too nice for me. You’re way too nice for me.”

“Nonsense,” Wonho says, tucking Hyungwon’s hand into the bend of his elbow and leading him into the main dining room. “You’re fine, darling. Just as gorgeous as the rest of us.”

The compliment settles oddly on Hyungwon’s shoulders and he stares at his feet instead of at the people around him or Wonho, careful to stay close to Wonho lest he run into a table or some shit. Wonho eventually stops at a booth along the wall, gesturing for Hyungwon to sit, and Hyungwon slides into one side of the booth. Wonho takes the other, smiling at Hyungwon.

A waiter brings over two menus and asks for their drink orders. Wonho orders a glass of champagne, and even though Hyungwon hates the stuff, he follows Wonho’s lead and does the same.

“Uh, have- have you been here long?” Hyungwon asks, and Wonho shakes his head.

“No, not really. Just long enough to sort out our reservation.”

“Oh god, you made a reservation?”

Wonho laughs. “Of course I did. Order whatever you’d like, dear.”

Hyungwon makes a point of not looking at any of the prices, all of it astronomical to him, and does as instructed. He eventually ends up with a steak, something he hasn’t had in years, and downs two glasses of champagne just to feel like he fits in.

He thinks that this is a good experience above all else, being somewhat pampered for the night by a pretty boy who thinks Hyungwon is pretty. Wonho keeps talking to Hyungwon about Hyungwon’s college life, directing the conversation away from his own matters in a rather pointed manner. It’s a charming gesture and Hyungwon feels his face growing warmer, but he wants to blame it on the alcohol.

“So, do you like this?” Wonho asks once their plates have been cleared and they’re waiting on the check.

“Oh, hell yeah I do.” Hyungwon says, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, but Wonho just smiles and nods.

“I’m glad to hear that. Are you interested, then?”

Oh, yeah, that is why Hyungwon’s sitting in this five-star restaurant. “Uh. Can I have a few more days to think about it?”

“Absolutely! There’s no rush, I just wanted to see if you’d given it any thought yet.” Wonho reaches for one of Hyungwon’s hands, and Hyungwon gives it to him, smiling slightly when Wonho takes it in his gently. “In any case, I think I would genuinely enjoy being friends with you, if nothing else. I don’t think I can pay you for that, but if you decide this isn’t for you, feel free to save my number nonetheless.”

“Oh, I… yeah, yeah! Okay, that’s fine. Save mine too.”

“I already have.”

God dammit. “You’re too fucking smooth, I hate it.”

Wonho grins, running his thumb over Hyungwon’s knuckles. “Glad to know you like it.”

At the end of the night, Wonho walks Hyungwon out to his car, offering his suit jacket when Hyungwon complains of the cold.

“Oh, god no, that thing costs more than I can fucking imagine,” Hyungwon says, shaking his head fervently. “If I ruined it or something, I can’t pay for that.”

Despite his protests, Wonho still drapes it over his shoulders, and Hyungwon snuggles down into the warmth. God dammit.

“Don’t worry about returning it. Perhaps you can wear it for some nice occasion.” Wonho says, stopping at the side of Hyungwon’s car and waiting for Hyungwon to unlock it before opening the door for him.

“God, you’re so fucking nice,” Hyungwon groans, slapping his hands over his face. “Do you want to kiss?”

“Kiss?” Wonho repeats, and Hyungwon nods. “I suppose? If you want to, that would be fine, yes.”

Hyungwon puts his hands tentatively on Wonho’s shoulders and Wonho places a hand at Hyungwon’s waist, pulling him a tad bit closer and kissing him gently. It’s arguably the best kiss Hyungwon’s ever had, though most of his kisses are drunken and slobbery, and Hyungwon feels like he’s buzzing when Wonho pulls away.

“Get home safely, dear.” Wonho says, a soft smile on his face. Hyungwon nods, sliding into the driver’s seat and rolling the window down so he can wave at Wonho as Wonho walks away. Wonho waves back and, once he’s out of sight, Hyungwon takes a moment to let his head fall against the headrest and yell aimlessly.

The best date of Hyungwon’s life just had to be with a fucking stranger. God damn.

--

Hyungwon wanted to make a point not to tell Minhyuk a damn thing about his night out, but the instant Minhyuk asks him about the suit jacket (“You told me you had a date but I didn’t know there’d be suits involved!”), Hyungwon spills.

“Holy shit!” Minhyuk yells once he’s done, bouncing excitedly on his bed. “Holy shit! So, are you gonna do it?”

“It’s worth a try, I guess,” Hyungwon says, flopping down on his bed and sighing when Minhyuk squeals from the other side of the room. “Come on, Minhyuk, calm down.”

“No, this is huge! When have you ever taken my advice before and had a good outcome? This is such a success for both of us!”

“... True, true. But, I’m gonna call him tomorrow I think, and tell him that we’re on, just to try it out.” Hyungwon drags his hands down his face. “It’s really nerve-wracking, honestly.”

“It kinda sounds it. I don’t need that because I have an actual job and also a boyfriend. Maybe one day you will also have an actual job and a boyfriend.”

“Fuck off.”

--

Nervousness turns into excitement and boils down into heat under Hyungwon’s skin, Hyungwon crying out against Wonho’s skin and pressing his body flush with Wonho’s.

The first thing Hyungwon says after Wonho has collapsed beside him is, “Holy shit,” breathed out in a rush. Wonho laughs, reaching over to tuck some of Hyungwon’s hair behind his ear.

“Worth it?” Wonho asks, sounding as satisfied as Hyungwon feels.

“Hell yeah.”

Wonho smiles, curling himself around Hyungwon and pulling the sheets over them. “Sorry, forgot to ask if you were okay with cuddling.”

“Dude, I’m okay with anything. I’m pretty sure you just gave me the best fuck of my life, cuddling is nothing compared to that.”

Hyungwon ends up staying the night, waking to Minhyuk texting him frantically and essentially shitting himself when Hyungwon tells him to chill the fuck out. Wonho offers breakfast but Hyungwon explains he has a morning class (which, is not a lie, except it’s three hours from now and he could totally eat breakfast but the embarrassment).

It feels almost like his typical one-night stands, but the idea that it will, most certainly, happen again is very new. Mostly his drunken nights are unsatisfactory and, in the end, complete garbage, and Hyungwon barely talks to anyone he fucks after the fucking occurs. However, this is definitely something Hyungwon could get used to.

Wonho kisses Hyungwon’s cheek before he leaves and it makes Hyungwon’s chest feel warm in the weirdest way. He hates it.

--

The strange feeling of dirtiness doesn’t catch up with Hyungwon until he’s telling Wonho his bank account number for transfer purposes, and until he sees five thousand dollars in his deposit history.

“Oh my god, I’m a whore,” Hyungwon deadpans as he’s looking at his online bank statement, and Minhyuk snorts.

“Indeed. A monogamous whore, however.”

“God, shut up.”

--

In just a few short weeks, Hyungwon has more than enough to pay for his last two years of college altogether and it’s very, very scary.

“You don’t understand, I’ve literally never had more than a couple hundred in my account at any given time,” Hyungwon explains while Wonho peers at him over the rim of his glass, filled to the brim with a chocolate milkshake that they’re currently sharing. It’s a very cozy date in a local diner, more what Hyungwon is used to. He’s thankful for it.

“Do whatever you’d like with it,” Wonho says, setting the glass down.

“You do realize we were given straws to drink that with.”

“Fuck the straws. Fuck the system.”

Hyungwon chuckles and Wonho beams at him. “Sweet boy, fucking the system and straws and such. The perfect boyfriend.”

“Oh, so we’re dating now?” Wonho teases, and Hyungwon nods.

“We might as well be. But still pay me.”

“That’s not how dating works.”

“Fuck the system.”

--

Hyungwon stares out his frosted window at the city beyond the forest, skyscrapers reaching for the clouds and a haze of smog hanging high in the sky. He feels the chill in his house, hears the drip of water telling him that his roof is leaking again, and wishes that he was there instead of here.

But, living in the city for people like him means certain death; necromancers are not welcomed by the king, and even if they were, Hyungwon could not handle wary gazes and mothers pulling their children closer as he walks by.

He is not a necromancer by choice. Some are born with light in their souls, bumbling auras of tenderness and compassion, raised into healers and priests and medicinal workers. Others are born with darkness black as night hanging over them, pouring from their hearts and staining their lives with scorn and mockery. They are hated, exiled, told that their powers are a disgrace. Hyungwon remembers the look on his mother’s face when he first took the life of a bird by accident, first caused a plant to wilt by running his fingers along its stems.

That was years ago, before Hyungwon had even entered school. Now, he is older, and instead of abandoning his powers, he embraced and nurtured them. He thinks himself to be quite skilled, but everything is at a cost.

His hands tighten around the mug of tea in his hands. His eyes move from the horizon to something more immediate, closer to his house, a shrouded figure shuffling slowly through the underbrush.

Hyungwon thinks for a few long moments that it could, perhaps, be one of his many necromancer friends, those exiled as he is, coming to visit or bring him something or tell him of a new spell. But, as the figure rounds the corner of his house, he spots the insignia of the kingdom and his blood runs cold.

However, he remains at the window, sipping his tea until the knocks fall heavy on his door. And then he walks to his door, the picture of peace, and opens it.

He is expecting a letter from someone in the capital or a rogue guardsman come to kill him for extra credit, but the man at his doorstep is pale and, upon further inspection, bleeding very badly from a wound on his shoulder. And, while Hyungwon knows he should shut the door once more, his own personal morals will not allow it.

“Please,” the man whispers, voice shaking. So, Hyungwon steps to the side to make room for him to pass.

“What’s happened to you?” Hyungwon asks as he closes his door with his hip, latching it once more and taking a long drink of his tea before setting it down on the kitchen table.

“I- I was… attacked, by a beast of the forest, I-” The man is cut off when he collapses, passing out cold. His hand falls away from its place cradling the wound on his shoulder and that’s when Hyungwon notices that his arm is missing.

Hyungwon, surprisingly, does not feel a twinge of panic, or anything resembling fear or uncertainty. Instead, he stoops and presses his fingers to the man’s pulse point, checking for life.

It is there, faint, and then it is not. And then the twinge is there.

Hyungwon has never used his resurrective powers on a human being before. He’s done so on animals and plants, watched as they came back to life dull and colorless, entirely unlike the things his mother brought life back to. He rather thinks that death is better than that when a sentient soul is in play.

But… this is an opportunity, he believes, to see the full extent of his powers and their effect on human life when reversing death instead of causing it. And, really, what’s the harm? Based on the patch on the man’s cloak, he is just one member of the guard. He will not be missed by the government.

Hyungwon is running out of time while he sits here, debating. So, he sits on the floor and takes a deep breath to steel himself, conjuring up his powers. It courses through his veins, thrumming dark and heady, and its heavy presence was once foreign but is now like the returning of an old friend. Hyungwon brushes the man’s hair out of his face and notes that he is quite young looking, and gorgeous.

Hyungwon cups the man’s face in his hands, running his thumbs across his eyelids, and then closes his own eyes. The release of power is almost sickening, pulling at Hyungwon’s stomach and heart, and what would have resurrected a dog or an orchid is not nearly enough. After the initial surge, it’s more like a wound oozing, easier than the first time. Hyungwon barely feels the blood dripping out of his nose, a sign he’s pushing himself too far, stores of magic not vast enough to handle the massive undertaking of bringing a human soul back from the great beyond. Especially not like this.

Hyungwon stops when his closed eyelids flash red, jerking his hands away. The sealing of his magic is almost as bad as the outpouring, nearly causing him to heave, and he hurries to wipe his face free of blood. His heart is pounding, and yet the heart of the man on his floor remains still and dead.

Hyungwon feels sad, almost, and he thinks it’s less disappointment over his “experiment” failing and more genuine grief for the life lost, the life he failed to save with the powers that were supposed to enable him to do so. He isn’t sure what to do besides sit here and stare at the corpse in his house.

The only sound for a long while is Hyungwon’s own steady breathing and the chirping of birds outside, soft and distant. As a result, Hyungwon is nearly scared to his own death when the man gasps in a desperate breath, sitting bolt upright, and then is thrown into a coughing fit.

Hyungwon reaches out to do- something, he’s not sure what, but his hands end up hovering uselessly in the air between the man and him. The man’s coughs eventually come to a shuddering stop, and Hyungwon hurries to drop his hands to avoid making it awkward.

The man remains pale, and his shoulder is still bleeding. He looks at Hyungwon, and Hyungwon is almost relieved to find that his eyes are warm and brown. “You,” the man whispers, and his voice is still high and shaky, “what did you do?”

Hyungwon is almost embarrassed to find that his hands are shaking. He stands and walks to the kitchen portion of his one-room house, taking a drink of his now-cold tea before he gathers bandages and alcohol to disinfect. “Do you not know what I am, dear?” He asks as he returns to the man’s side.

“N-No?” The man replies, hesitant.

“I am a necromancer,” Hyungwon says evenly, and takes small joy in the shocked look that crosses the man’s face. “Yes, dear, you died. Quite thoroughly, as well.”

“Oh my god,” the man says, and now he’s crying. Hyungwon sighs. “Oh my god, oh my god… how, how? How did you- how?”

“To tell you the truth, sir,” Hyungwon says, undoing the clasp on the man’s cloak so he can pull it away and get to his wound, “I’m not entirely sure myself. I’ve resurrected small creatures and plants before, but… never a human. I’m… surprised that it worked, honestly.”

The man appears to be in shock, at a loss for anything else to say. Hyungwon carefully removes his shirt, then asks, “What is your name, dear?”

“Oh, my name, it’s- you… you can call me Wonho.”

Hyungwon nods. “Okay, Wonho. You can call me Hyungwon.”

--

Wonho falls asleep almost the instant Hyungwon gets his shoulder bandaged. Hyungwon does him the service of moving him to his own bed, then sets about cooking him something good to eat. He’s not sure if those resurrected with black magic need to eat, but in any case, Hyungwon himself is hungry.

Wonho does not rouse until Hyungwon wakes him, placing a bowl of soup in his hands and a large mug of herbal tea on the side table. Wonho looks at him in seeming confusion for a long time, then casts his eyes to the bowl.

“What is this?” Wonho asks eventually, voice faint from disuse.

“Rabbit in broth, with some vegetables. Corn, peas, carrots, you know.” Hyungwon makes a vague gesture to imply more assorted garden bounty, and Wonho nods slowly.

“It- It smells great,” Wonho says, with all the enthusiasm of a small child. Hyungwon smiles.

“Well, let’s hope it tastes half as good. Come on, eat up.”

Wonho does as instructed, having most of the bowl devoured by the time Hyungwon has his own dipped and a chair pulled up to sit beside the bed. Hyungwon watches as Wonho drains the bowl of its broth and remaining peas before exhaling contentedly, sinking back into the mound of pillows created to prop him up.

“That was lovely,” Wonho says, turning his head so he can look at Hyungwon. “Thank you, so much, I don’t know how to repay you for anything you’ve done.”

“The good news is that you don’t have to,” Hyungwon says, pausing to sip his own broth. “I require no payment for spur-of-the-moment services, or something like that.”

Wonho nods simply, watching Hyungwon eat. Hyungwon lets him stare curiously without calling him out on it, knowing that the man can’t be expected to have perfect manners when he just lost and regained his life all in one day. After a long while, he begins quietly, “Your hands…”

Hyungwon shifts his bowl to one hand so he can extend the now-free one in front of him, studying his fingers. They are paler than the rest of his skin, veins dark, purple splotches like permanent bruises blooming across his knuckles and fingertips. Hyungwon closes his hand into a fist a couple times, then lays his hand on the edge of the bed.

Wonho takes the silent invitation and takes Hyungwon’s hand in his, pulling it up to his face for closer examination. Hyungwon sets about finishing off his soup while he does this. “Cold,” Wonho remarks. Hyungwon hums into his bowl in acknowledgement. “Is this from the, uh…”

“The necromancy, yes,” Hyungwon supplies once the bowl is away from his face. “You still have some tea. Drink it or I will.”

“Go ahead,” Wonho says, a smile coming to his face when Hyungwon shrugs and takes the mug for himself. Wonho closes his hand around Hyungwon’s and Hyungwon lets him hold it. “Is that blood on your face?”

“Most likely.”

“Mine or yours?”

“My own, probably. A side effect of overexertion when you’re a magic user is the bleeds.” Hyungwon takes a drink of the tea, setting it back on the side table when he’s satisfied. “It’s troublesome, but not too much of a worry. It’s simply… a warning, a sign you should stop before things get much worse.”

“Did resurrecting me cause that?” Wonho asks, and it seems like the words pain him to say. Hyungwon nods silently. “Ah… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Neither one of us knew you were going to die in my house tonight, and I didn’t know that I could resurrect someone so easily. I was expecting a lot worse, in fact, so a little blood from the nose and eyes is nothing.” Hyungwon smiles, then, after a moment’s thought, squeezes Wonho’s hand. Wonho squeezes back. “You should get back to sleep. The loss of a limb is a lot of physical trauma to recover from, not to mention the whole death thing.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?” Wonho asks, and Hyungwon thinks it’s a rather silly question.

“Of course, I’ve got nowhere else to be.” Hyungwon says, standing. He hesitates for a moment, then brushes his hand through Wonho’s hair. “Sleep, dear.”

Wonho does.

--

“What are you doing?”

Hyungwon sighs. “Always asking me questions, like a little child.”

“Well, when you haul a boar carcass in here without a word, put it on a spit, and then start draining it into a glass jar, I’m bound to have some questions.” Wonho replies from his current position sitting in the floor, watching Hyungwon do the aforementioned.

“Point taken,” Hyungwon says blandly. “It’s not any old boar, dear, it has the brand of Hecate on it, which means it’s from the temple down south. We’re going to get a lot of money for this jar of blood.”

“We’re?” Wonho repeats. “Since when is there a we?”

“Since you bled all over my front stoop,” Hyungwon replies. “Admit it, there is no way you can ever go back to the capital. It’s been weeks, they’ll have already held a funeral for you. If a search party came through, I can guarantee they did not go deep enough into the forest, lest they end up like you did.”

Wonho looks rather crushed for a moment, but Hyungwon puts it aside in favor of quickly switching out jars, as the first is getting too full. Blood splatters onto the hardwood floor and Hyungwon makes a face of distaste, hurriedly positioning the jar beneath the throat of the boar and sealing up the other one. Wonho remains quiet for a long while before quietly asking, “How much money will we get for it?”

“At least twenty thousand pieces of gold, maybe more,” Hyungwon says, and he smiles when Wonho’s face lights up. “More than you would have made in a year working for the capital as a common guardsman, right?”

Wonho nods eagerly. “Definitely. Do you always do stuff like this?”

“Not always, but frequently. I have many friends at the marketplace.”

“There’s a market for things like this?”

Hyungwon laughs. “Dear, you have so much to learn about the exile community. Only fitting, since you’re now one of us.”

“... One of you?” Wonho repeats, voice small. “But, I’m not-”

“I know you’re not a necromancer,” Hyungwon cuts in, pausing to wrap his hands around the boar’s neck and wring it to squeeze any last drops of blood out. “But you were resurrected with black magic, and that means the kingdom no longer wants any part of you. You’re just like the rest of us out here in the deep forest, now.”

Wonho doesn’t say anything more, seemingly taking in the information. Hyungwon sets about disposing of the boar, knowing the meat will probably turn out dry and tasteless now that there’s no blood to it (and he doesn’t have a particular liking for pork, anyway). When he comes back, he sees that Wonho has already sealed the second jar for him, and he nods to him in silent approval.

“We’ll take this and some other wares to the market tomorrow,” Hyungwon informs as he scrubs his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe while we’re there. Nobody will be able to tell you’re a capital boy.”

“How do you know?” Wonho asks, rising and coming to stand beside Hyungwon. Hyungwon finds that he is slightly taller than Wonho.

“Because you smell like I do, now.” Hyungwon replies. “Anyone around there with their devilhounds sniffing for rats will only find the stench of darkness.”

“You know, I really don’t understand half of what you say,” Wonho says. Hyungwon cackles.

“Devilhounds are beasts bred to pick up specific scents,” Hyungwon explains, hefting the jars up onto the counter. “The government used to use them, but now they’re more of an underground thing. They sniff out people from the capital trying to find dirt on the exile community.” Hyungwon leans down, pressing his forehead to Wonho’s and whispering, “And then they eat them.”

“Oh,” Wonho replies lamely. Hyungwon smiles and straightens, brushing past Wonho’s good shoulder and coming to sit on the couch. Wonho sits beside him. “So, do humans trade at this marketplace?”

“Well, that depends on your definition of a human. I’m a human, you know.”

“You know what I mean.”

Hyungwon pats Wonho’s knee. “I do, I do. Yes, they do trade at the market. Lots of local women make their living at this market, selling food and medicine to exiles. It’s a good business. I sell potion- and spell-related things, like the boar blood. I’ve also got some old spellbooks to put up for trade, I’m hoping someone will have some newer collections to give me in return. And other miscellaneous things that we’ll sort through in the morning.”

Wonho nods. “Okay. I’m… I’m excited.”

“It is rather exciting, I suppose. I was exiled at a young age, so the market almost raised me.”

“How old were you?”

Hyungwon debates whether or not it’s wise to share personal details. Then, he decides that Wonho will probably spend the rest of his life in this community now, so Hyungwon has nothing to lose. “I was fifteen,” Hyungwon says, looking away from Wonho and at the floor. “My mother tried to steer me away from black magic, because she and my father both were white magic users. My father was a doctor and my mother worked as his nurse. I outright told my mother that this is what I wanted to do, this is the life I wanted to pursue… so she told me that I got what I deserved and turned me into the local guardsmen. I was exiled within the month and an old lady gave me this house. Said she was going to die soon, so someone else deserved it. I’ve lived here ever since.”

“How old are you now?” Wonho asks, voice soft.

“Twenty-four.”  Hyungwon replies, matching Wonho in tone. It’s an oddly intimate moment for Hyungwon, as he doesn’t get to share much about himself with others very often for fear of being shunned even further than he already has been. It’s apparently not just him, however, because Wonho offers his hand for Hyungwon to take. Hyungwon does, their fingers slotting together easily.

“Are you adjusting well to having only one arm?” Hyungwon asks, laughing when Wonho shakes his head exaggeratedly.

“No, heavens no… it’s so difficult. I sometimes think that staying dead would have been better than having to live with only the one arm.”

“I can always kill you again,” Hyungwon teases in a sing-song voice, and it’s Wonho’s turn to laugh now. “Here, tell me something about yourself, in return for all that I spilled to you.”

“Oh, dear… there’s nothing special, nothing to match what you told me.” Wonho seems a bit embarrassed, cheeks coloring. “I’m just… the son of a guardsman, fourth generation. There won’t be a fifth, I suppose. And now I guess I’m… a necromancer’s assistant.”

“Isn’t that a lovely title,” Hyungwon jokes, but Wonho nods.

“It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? I like it.”

Hyungwon thinks for a moment, mulling it over in his head. A necromancer’s assistant. Interesting. “I like it too,” Hyungwon says eventually. “But, it’s late. We need some sleep if we’re to get up early tomorrow, the market closes early. Come on.”

Hyungwon stands and pulls Wonho to his feet, not letting go of his hand as he leads him over to the bed. Hyungwon long since abandoned any chivalrous acts of sleeping on the couch for Wonho’s comfort since Wonho’s shoulder has healed enough to not cause horrible pain if accidentally bumped in the night. Wonho has, thankfully, embraced this in more than one way, Hyungwon waking up frequently with Wonho nuzzling into his neck or holding onto his hand. It’s quite endearing.

Once they’re settled in bed and Hyungwon thinks Wonho has dozed off, Hyungwon whispers to himself, “I’ve missed company so badly.”

And, a few moments afterwards, Wonho whispers back, “I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

--

In the morning, Hyungwon rips the kingdom insignia off of Wonho's cloak and scrubs the blood out of it.

"Here," Hyungwon says, handing it to him. "Good as new."

Wonho tries to put the cloak on by himself, but ultimately fails, looking to Hyungwon for help. Hyungwon smiles and drapes the cloak around Wonho's shoulders, gently fastening the silver clasp on the front. Wonho returns his smile and they set about packing up all their wares for the market.

The market is bustling as usual, in its regular place towards the deepest section of the forest in a long cleared-out field. Hyungwon has always shared a stall with one of his old friends, Kwangji, and Kwangji calls out a happy greeting as Hyungwon and Wonho approach.

"Hyungwon!" Kwangji says once Hyungwon is behind the stall, helping him unload his things. "And who is this?" Kwangji asks, directed towards Wonho.

"This is my new friend, Wonho," Hyungwon says, figuring that it's alright to toss out Wonho's name since Wonho is a nobody around the capital and will now be a permanent fixture at the market just as Hyungwon is. "He's new to this line of work, and has no magical abilities."

"Ah, well, we welcome your presence nonetheless." Kwangji says warmly, and Wonho matches the sentiment in kindness.

Expectedly, the boar blood is picked up for twenty thousand pieces of gold a jar, and the herbal tea bags that Hyungwon prepared himself go for ten pieces of gold per box of twenty. Hyungwon goes home with the same exact spellbooks he came with, but he decides it's a good outing nonetheless, and gives Wonho a thousand pieces of gold to spend around the market for himself.

Wonho returns with two cinnamon buns and gives Hyungwon one of them while Hyungwon is discussing corn prices with a stall owner. Hyungwon makes a noise of surprise, then pulls the bun from Wonho's hand and takes a bite. It's warm, very sweet, and honestly tastes like a little piece of heaven.

"Thank you, dear," Hyungwon says over his shoulder, and the stall owner, Jinye, giggles behind her hand. "What?" Hyungwon asks, directed at Jinye since Wonho is off again to find more things to buy.

"You don't call anyone 'dear'," Jinye says, tying bushels of grain off with twine. "What's so special about him?"

"He's... he's my friend." Hyungwon replies, taking another bite of the cinnamon bun in his hand. "It's... you don't understand how lonely I get in my house, Jinye. He helps fill the space."

"Oh, so he's living with you?" Jinye asks, teasing edge to her voice.

"Yes, the same way Solbin lives with you." Hyungwon says, and watches with satisfaction as a fluster rises to Jinye's face.

"Come on, Hyungwon," Jinye whines, and Hyungwon grins.

"Alright, fine. Here, give me some of that dry oatmeal. I'll feed it to Wonho." Hyungwon digs up fifteen pieces of silver, the price that it's always been for oatmeal at Jinye's stall, and Jinye takes it gratefully. She hands over the tin of oatmeal with a bright smile and Hyungwon returns it, waving as he moves on to the next stall.

In the end, they return home with the oatmeal, another few cinnamon buns, a large assortment of vegetables, and some first aid supplies to replenish the stores that Wonho depleted when his wound still required more attention.

Hyungwon puts the rest of the gold they earned today in the same urn he puts all his other money and sets it on the top shelf of his herb and spice cabinet. He turns to Wonho with a satisfied smile.

"A great day's work!" Hyungwon says proudly, feeling light and happy for the first time in a long time. "But, here, I want to see your shoulder for a moment."

"Alright, let me just sit down..." Wonho does sit, on the couch, and Hyungwon sits beside him. "I think it was too much excitement, I feel so sleepy."

"Entirely possible. You can take a nap after I fix lunch." Hyungwon carefully removes Wonho's cloak, hiking his shirt up and not missing the bumps of muscle beneath his fingers when his hands run up Wonho's torso. He tries his best to ignore it in favor of the task at hand, tearing away the bandages carefully to reveal the freshly scarred skin beneath, some dark scabs still lingering in places. Hyungwon gently touches it, feeling the odd bumps hidden beneath the skin, and he remembers seeing Wonho dead on his floor, remembers his soft, pale cheeks beneath his hands.

Wonho's cheeks are still soft and pale and there are hollows beneath his eyes that reflect the ones under Hyungwon's. Hyungwon cups Wonho's face in his hands and looks into his eyes, searching for- something, something, he's not sure what.

Wonho mimics Hyungwon as best he can, thumb rubbing the soft skin beneath Hyungwon's left eye. Then, he says softly, "You were lonely, weren't you?"

"Very," Hyungwon agrees, sliding his hands down to rest on Wonho's shoulders, then to push his shirt back down. "I... I don't know how to explain it. I feel better with someone here with me."

Wonho nods. "I'm glad I'm not alone in the forest. Or dead. Or... even if someone from the capital had found me, I would have been discharged from service... given some kind of badge of honor or something even though it was my own stupidity that lost me my arm. Being useless is worse than being dead."

"You won't be useless around here, I always need someone to help me but I've never had the help." Hyungwon feels a little sad at the admission, like it's been sitting heavy on his heart for a long while. "I've been by myself for years, so I never thought it would bother me, but... I just..."

"You don't have to make excuses for it," Wonho whispers, and then he kisses Hyungwon, just like that, gentle but all in a flustered rush. And then he kisses him again, and again, and again, and Hyungwon can taste the faint cinnamon from earlier in the day on his lips.

--

So, Hyungwon still lives in the forest, and still stares at the capital on the horizon. But now he has someone to share the chill with him and hear the dripping of his roof leak, someone to hope and dream with, someone to teach and help, someone to love.

Wonho’s slender fingers drip with ink, and instead of writing the rune Hyungwon told him to, he writes Hyungwon’s name. Hyungwon dips his own fingers in the inkwell and writes Wonho’s name on the papyrus too.

--

“Tell me what happened.”

Sehyuk stiffens, just a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Sehyuk,” James says, sitting on the edge of Sehyuk’s desk, “I know something had to have happened. You haven’t told me anything at all about what you used to do, you just told me you were into some bad stuff and then moved over here. But, like… it had something to do with Dongsung, didn’t it?”

Sehyuk sighs, closing his textbook begrudgingly. “God. I didn’t want to tell you because I still have to spend two more years with you and I didn’t want you to think I was… I don’t know. A monster.”

James looks offended. “Do you think I’m that much of an ass that I’d write you off just on your past? Tell me what happened, I wanna know.”

Sehyuk takes a deep breath, leaning back in his chair. “There’s sects over here, right?”

“In some of the big cities, yeah.”

“I was the leader of one, one of the… not biggest, but most famous ones in Seoul.”

“Holy shit, dude.”

“And I was a shitty leader,” Sehyuk says, with the intent to squash down any awe James might be holding. “Dongsung… god, I don’t want to tell you what I did to Dongsung.”

“Well, better now than later. Might as well just say it.” James is quiet for a moment, then he sighs and says, “Come on, man, really. I’m not going to think less of you for anything you did like, what, fifty thousand years ago.”

Sehyuk smiles, barely. “I destroyed him. I did things to him that I shouldn’t have and stripped him down into the ideal person that I wanted at the time. He protected me, kept me safe. For a long while he was… all I had, and when he slipped away I panicked and ruined things even more. Sorry doesn’t cover anything I’ve ever done to him but he still accepts it, he still…” Sehyuk trails off, pressing his fingertips to his eyelids to ward off tears. “I ruined his fucking life and he still loves me.”

“Is that why you cried, then?” James ask, then clarifies. “I mean, when he texted you ‘I love you’ a couple months ago. You were a mess, dude.”

Sehyuk nods, laughing. “Yes, that’s why. I couldn’t believe it, I mean- I suspected, I suspected that he was still… not right. That’s the only reason why he feels like this, still, and I’m sure of it. Give him some years and he’ll be over it, he’ll- he’ll remember why he wanted to kill me in the first place and we’ll be done again.” Sehyuk lets his hands fall away from his face, staring up at the ceiling instead of at James. “Maybe that’s best.”

“Yeah, maybe so, but you’ve got this for now. You’re going back to Korea to see him next month, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I promised him I would, and I don’t want to disappoint him anymore than I already have throughout the years.”

James is silent, thoughtful. “Did you mean to?” He asks, eventually. “Did you mean to ruin him?”

“Oh, definitely, at the time.” Sehyuk replies, and the words seem far too casual to his ears. “I had unrealistic expectations of what my sect members should do and be for me. I shoved Dongsung into that mold and he filled it out perfectly within a few years. And I feel so fucking bad.”

“What was he like, before? Do you remember?”

“Mean.” Sehyuk taps his fingers on the edge of the desk, trying to remember, thinking back to the young man with the bright blonde hair, fire burning in his eyes. “Loud, and inappropriate. A good cook. He tried to kill me the second day he was there… I told him myself to kill me within the first month he was there. He didn’t do it either time, as you can see.”

“Mmhm. And… what is he like now? I mean, I’ve talked to him before when you’ve been on call with him, but I just… y’know.”

Sehyuk can’t even think of the words to describe it, too many he could say sitting in the back of his throat. “Sweet,” he settles on, at least for starters. “Devoted. To me, the wrong person. He’s… happy, he’s happy. And I don’t know how he is when I’m still here, in his life.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop wondering those kinds of things,” James offers. “Stop thinking you’re the worst person on planet earth. A man cannot become trash as long as he lives.”

“You stole that from a fucking manga.”

“It serves its purpose, Sehyuk.”

Sehyuk chuckles, holding up a fist. James bumps it with his own. “Thanks, for not killing me.”

“It seems like you got plenty of death threats in the past, you can do without my contribution.”

James goes back to his own work, which proves to actually be texting his girlfriend and not any real work. Sehyuk opens his textbook again, staring at the marked paragraphs that his professor said they all had to read. The ink has smudged into the yellow highlight a little bit.

“I wish I’d never turned out like this,” Sehyuk whispers to himself. James, thankfully, isn’t paying enough attention to hear.

During his flight, Sehyuk reads through his and Dongsung’s conversations.

Sehyuk deleted every single text from everyone when he moved. He kept his number the same but nobody bothered to text or call him, most likely figuring (correctly) that he wouldn’t answer. So, the first text from Dongsung is,

Dongsung: It was nice talking to you tonight I hope we can do it again soon

Sehyuk still remembers it, the awful burning in his chest when James tapped him on the shoulder and told him some dude named Dongsung called you. Beyond that, he remembers seeing Dongsung while he was browsing for a register to check out at, seeing Dongsung with newly cut and dyed hair hidden beneath a hat bearing his company’s name and resolving to talk to him, just once. Sehyuk knew it would have been better, in the end, if he had found another register and left the store without Dongsung ever knowing he’d been there, without him ever knowing that Sehyuk had even been back in Korea. But Sehyuk was very near desperate to know if Dongsung was doing okay, if he was healthy and safe and happy.

Once upon a time, Sehyuk didn’t care about any of that, not even for himself. Now, it’s all he wants for everyone around him. (But maybe still not for himself.)

Their conversations are awkward, clipped, single word responses most of the time. The majority of the messages from the past few months are asking nothing but ‘are you free?’ and ‘can I call you?’.

Conducting most of their conversations over video call is somehow harder for Sehyuk, because even through a grainy camera he can see the way Dongsung looks at him. It… complicates things, to say the least. Sehyuk had no problem with being friends with Dongsung, truly wanted to because he still wants to make sure Dongsung is doing well, but Dongsung loving him twists the knife in deeper for both of them. Even if Dongsung doesn’t know it yet, Sehyuk already does.

Sehyuk knows a lot about Dr. Lee Seoyoung, just from Dongsung. Dongsung goes to a therapist, because of Sehyuk. He tells Seoyoung about the things Sehyuk did to him and how Dongsung is moving on and coping with it. He tells Seoyoung about how him and Sehyuk are friends now. Seoyoung tells him it’s a bad idea. Seoyoung is right.

But Dongsung always did listen poorly before. Sehyuk shouldn’t have expected anything more from him now.

Sehyuk and Dongsung are friends. Sehyuk still has not told Dongsung that he loves him, even though as of recent that’s all Sehyuk can think about. He has always loved Dongsung, and always wanted Dongsung to love him back, but the shred of love that bloomed that night in the market is something Sehyuk put there himself a long time ago. There’s no way that it’s anything but that.

Or, maybe Sehyuk is still dwelling on the revelation that he had when his bravado first split. Stripping all the walls he’d put up to keep people out and to keep himself in check left him with only the fact that he was never deserving of what he thought he was and spent his whole life trying to prove to himself and everyone around him that he was.

Sehyuk almost chuckles when he thinks of what James told him. A man cannot be trash as long as he lives. It’s easier to tell himself that he is than to tell himself that he isn’t.

--

The first thing Dongsung does when he sees Sehyuk is pick him up, easily lifting him into his arms and kissing his cheek as fervently as he can. It honestly scares the shit out of Sehyuk and he scrambles to hold onto Dongsung’s shoulders, laughing nervously.

“I’m so glad you came,” Dongsung says, loud enough that Sehyuk can hear him over the din of the airport lobby.

Sehyuk waits to reply, Dongsung’s hold on him tightening slightly. “I am too,” Sehyuk says eventually. Dongsung’s face lights up with a smile.

Sehyuk is staying at Dongsung’s apartment because Dongsung told him not to bother finding someplace to stay for a month and a half when he could just as easily stay with Dongsung for free. Sehyuk was wary at first, but in the end decided he’d rather not spend his money on housing when he had an offer open for him right fucking there.

Dongsung catches Sehyuk up on what he’s been doing as they drive over, which ends up being not much. Dongsung still works at the same place after two years, he’s friends with Sehyuk’s old friends in the South Sect now due to Yoori, and he talked to Hansol the other day.

Sehyuk offers a briefing of his life in return, talking about tests he passed and failed and his new lab partner and how he’s on the dance team now. Dongsung is absolutely enthralled and calls it exciting. Sehyuk laughs.

Dongsung explains that he has no guest room once they get to his apartment and Sehyuk tells him it’s fine. He’s not opposed to living out of his suitcase for a month and a half, and also not opposed to the couch.

Despite it all, it feels familiar, even though Sehyuk’s never been in Dongsung’s apartment before now. Maybe it’s because of Dongsung himself: bangs grown too long and hanging in his eyes, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his coat, mouth quirking up like he’s about to say something.

They’re things Sehyuk remembers from before. He remembers cutting Dongsung’s hair so it wouldn’t block his view and remembers folding their hands together so Dongsung would stop moving them and remembers telling Dongsung go ahead, dear, say what you want.

It hurts.

--

“Can I…” Dongsung says, almost too quiet for Sehyuk to hear. They’re watching a movie together and Dongsung’s hand is hovering above Sehyuk’s head.

Sehyuk figures that Dongsung wants to pet his hair, so he nods. He was right, and Dongsung sets about stroking Sehyuk’s hair gently, pausing to pull through tangles or rearrange it slightly.

“Your hair is so long now,” Dongsung says simply, twisting a bit of it around his finger. “It looks good on you.”

Sehyuk smiles. “Thank you. James keeps telling me to get it cut.”

“Don’t,” Dongsung whispers.

Sehyuk stays silent, focusing his attention on the movie they managed to catch on TV. It’s some sort of horror flick that Sehyuk thinks he’s seen before. As the heroine is hiding in a closet from the killer, Sehyuk says quietly, “Why don’t you hate me?”

Things stay quiet, for a long while, as the heroine is injured badly and stumbles out of the room. She searches for her love interest, who was shown half-dead in the garage a few shots ago. Dongsung’s fingers pull stray hairs away from Sehyuk’s neck.

“I don’t know,” Dongsung replies eventually. “I- I was sitting here, trying to really think of a reason that would… make sense. … I guess my reason is that I don’t want to.”

The heroine finds her dying lover. She cries. “You should,” Sehyuk murmurs.

“I know.”

The love interest dies with final words on how to defeat the killer. “Why don’t you want to hate me?” Sehyuk asks. “Even- Even if you couldn’t, in any way, you should still want to, I think. So why?”

Dongsung gathers Sehyuk’s hair into his hands, like a ponytail. He holds it for a few moments, then drops it. The surviving characters band together again and work off of aforementioned dead lover’s dying sentiment on how to destroy the axe-wielding serial killer who’s been plaguing them. “Because I don’t have anyone else, Sehyuk. I mean… sure, I have friends, I talk to them and everything, but… even though the circumstances were worth hating, we’ve known each other for long enough that I can’t- I just can’t.”

Dongsung is quiet for a few beats. He starts fiddling with Sehyuk’s hair again. Sehyuk keeps his eyes on the screen. “You want me to hate you. Is that it?”

Sehyuk closes his eyes. They burn, and he’s not sure if it’s hot tears or from lack of blinking. “I do, yes. Not because I don’t want to deal with you, but because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Screaming from the surviving characters. Something that sounds like the rush of a fire. “You won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t,” Dongsung repeats firmly. Then, softer, “Were you always like this, on the inside?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sad. Small. Convinced you’re… I don’t know. Convinced you’re worthless.”

Sehyuk bites his bottom lip and wills himself not to tear up. “Yes. Yes, I was. Confidence was always an act, on my part.”

Dongsung seems to bypass everything else he wants to say and instead says, “I love you so much.”

“And that’s because I forced you to,” Sehyuk replies. Dongsung tugs at a bit of hair near the nape of his neck in response.

“Don’t say things like that. It’s because I want to. It’s- It’s because I always have.”

They’re speaking in circles. Sehyuk opens his eyes, and his vision swims, but he can still see the heroic death of one of the main character’s best friends. The serial killer’s house is up in flames. The heroine is still alive. “I’m sorry.”

Dongsung puts his arm around Sehyuk’s shoulders and pulls him closer, tucks him against his side. Sehyuk puts a hand over his face and chokes down a sob. “I’m sorry,” Sehyuk repeats, “for everything, for everything I’ve ever done. I wish I hadn’t, I wish I could take it all back and be- be something better.”

Dongsung kisses the top of Sehyuk’s head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me anymore. You won’t do it again, right?”

Sehyuk does sob, then, hand falling away from his face. He wipes it on his pants. “God, god no. I would never, you- you’re doing so- so well, even… even with me here, me still in your life. I feel so bad.”

Sehyuk curls in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. “I can’t leave it behind, Dongsung, it’s been almost three years and I still- god, I think about it all every day, every single fucking day. I just want to get over it but I can’t, I’m so…” Sehyuk covers his face with his hands again, trying to stop the flow of tears and failing. “Shitty, I’m so shitty. I’ll never stop being shitty on the inside, Dongsung, I’m so horrible. I could do something horrible again at any moment because it’s what I’m still used to and I’m so scared of that. I’m so scared.”

Dongsung stays quiet, letting Sehyuk’s muffled rambling carry the conversation. He does, however, pull Sehyuk closer.

“I’m sorry,” Sehyuk says again, then adds, “for crying, this time. I’m a mess. Do you want to love a mess?”

“I already do,” Dongsung replies quietly.

Sehyuk takes a deep breath, resting his hands on his knees. The credits are rolling on-screen, names Sehyuk doesn’t recognize. “I love you too. So, so goddamn much.”

Dongsung brushes his hands through Sehyuk’s hair, then takes his face gently in his hands and wipes his eyes with his thumbs. “We’ll be okay,” Dongsung says softly, shifting so he can kiss Sehyuk’s forehead. “I love you.”

Sehyuk nods, snuggling into Dongsung’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. Don’t be.”

Sehyuk’s not sure if he will feel any better in the long run, but for now, he does.

--

Sehyuk spends three weeks of his time getting over himself, and then he calls Sangdo.

He uses Dongsung’s phone because he’s not sure if Sangdo would pick up if he called from his. Sehyuk stares at the wall as the phone rings, and he kind of wishes Dongsung wasn’t at work right now. He could do with a hand hold, maybe.

“Hello?” Sangdo answers, eventually.

“Hi,” Sehyuk says, meek.

A long stretch of silence, then, “Sehyuk?”

“Surprise,” Sehyuk replies with a weak laugh. “I called from Dongsung’s phone because I didn’t know if you would answer if I called from mine.”

“Holy shit, alright. I- I mean, I would have, but I understand. Uh,” Sangdo is quiet for a moment, “how are you?”

How is he, indeed. “Fine, I suppose. How are you?”

“Alright. Dealing with my ungrateful kids that can’t even take out the trash.” Sangdo laughs, then inhales, shaky. “Where have you been?”

“Has Dongsung not told you?” Sehyuk asks.

“No, he hasn’t told me anything. He told me that he saw you, but that was last year… I didn’t know he kept in touch.”

“Ah, well. I’ve been in America, Sangdo, I- I’m one year away from graduating. From college, I mean.”

“Holy shit,” Sangdo says, and there’s an emotion in his voice that Sehyuk can’t quite place. “Wow, Sehyuk, that’s- god, I’m so proud of you.”

Ah, that’s what it was. “Really?” Sehyuk asks without thinking.

“Yeah! I’ve- I’ve been really worried about you, Sehyuk. I know that sounds silly, taking into account everything you’ve ever done to me, but I- I don’t want you to be unhappy, Sehyuk, I was really hoping you would… do exactly what you did. Clean yourself up and make something of yourself.”

Sehyuk feels a pleasant emotion settling in his chest. He’s not sure what it is. “Well, I’m getting there. I’m- I’m going to be a businessman. I’m doing well in college… I had a job but I lost it a couple months ago, n-not because of me! The diner went under.”

“Aw, man. I’m still- god, Sehyuk, I’m really just… so proud of you.” Sangdo sounds almost a little tearful. “I’d- uh, I’d really love to meet up with you, how long are you going to be in town?”

“For another week or so. Um… this weekend, maybe?”

“Sure! This weekend sounds good.”

--

So, this weekend it is.

Sehyuk asks Dongsung to put his hair up, and he’s surprisingly good at it. Sehyuk can see both his and Dongsung’s reflections in his phone screen and Dongsung looks very content, pulling Sehyuk’s hair up into an artful bun. It seems like Dongsung is going for messy-but-not-too-bad, and Sehyuk likes the way it looks on him.

“Thank you,” Sehyuk says once Dongsung is done. Dongsung leans over to kiss the top of his head and instead of a stab of hurt, Sehyuk feels only fondness.

For all Sehyuk looks nice, Sangdo looks nicer, dressed casually but elegant. After all these years, Sangdo is still better in the end. It’s stopped bothering Sehyuk at last.

Sangdo stands as Sehyuk approaches and, surprisingly, wraps him into a hug, holding him tight to his chest. Sehyuk, for once, hugs him back with just as much intensity.

They sit down and Sangdo looks so thrilled. Sehyuk feels almost the same.

Their conversation is much the same as the one they had the other day, a rehash of their individual lives over sandwiches, which both turn out to be fairly boring. Sehyuk eventually cuts away from the small talk and says, “I- I was wondering if you could pass on a message to your sect,  um- Hyosang, in particular.”

“Mmhm, what is it?”

“Uh… just an apology. Sorry will never suffice, so I’ve got… a lot more to say, but in the end…” Sehyuk looks down at the table. “Just, sorry.”

“Well, you could tell them- him- yourself.” Sangdo says, and Sehyuk feels his eyes grow wide.

“No, no, I- I would never do that to Hyosang, he-”

“He’s fine, Sehyuk.” Sangdo interrupts. “I would have to call ahead, but he- I’m certain he would be able to handle it. Maybe not without a few choice words, but he would.”

Sehyuk inhales. “Could we do it today?”

Sangdo shrugs. “Depends on who’s home. I know Hyosang will be, and chances are Jiho and Hojoon are as well, but Byungjoo is gone most of the time and I have no clue if I’ll be able to get Sanggyun over on such short notice. You know, since he got married, he’s gotten so damn dodgy of parties and dinners and the such.”

Sehyuk snorts. “Just like a young married couple, always absorbed in themselves.”

“Definitely.”

The joking reminds Sehyuk of a time long, long before, when they still talked to one another like this, all smiles and kind words. Sehyuk’s chest aches.

“I’ll call around, then, give me a few minutes.” Sangdo says, already digging his phone out of his pocket.

Sehyuk watches as Sangdo calls various sect members, confirming locations and giving a reason for congregation at the sect house. After a few minutes, Sangdo sets his phone down and sighs.

“Well. Byungjoo didn’t answer, but the rest did and agreed. Sanggyun seemed a little too excited, I think he might have plans to beat your ass.”

There’s a joking edge to Sangdo’s voice. Sehyuk shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, come on. You know he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Sehyuk’s not so sure, but he accepts it.

Thus, Sehyuk ends up sitting in the same place as the last time he was at Sangdo’s house, on the center cushion of the couch closest to the wall, except this time there’s significantly more people.

Sanggyun is the last to arrive, so he is doomed to sit beside Sehyuk. Sehyuk waves slightly at him as he walks in, and Sanggyun fixes him with an even stare. Then, “Will you kill me if I sit on you instead of beside you?”

“Depends on how heavy you are,” Sehyuk says easily, and Sanggyun sits on him. “Jesus. What has Yoonchul been feeding you?”

“Love and kindness,” Sanggyun shoots back. Sehyuk snorts.

“So,” Hojoon begins. Sehyuk leans so he can see around Sanggyun. “The fuck are you here for?”

“To apologize to all of you.” Sehyuk says. His voice echoes a bit in the large room. “I’ve apologized to Sangdo many, many times, but I’ve wronged many more than just him. You’ve all been hurt by either my… desperate acts, or repercussions from my decisions, or direct insults and remarks. And sorry will never cover it, not ever, but it’s better than trying to ignore it and pretend it never happened. So,” Sehyuk pauses to take a breath, “I would appreciate it if you would at least keep an open mind concerning me.”

Surprisingly, Hyosang is the first to speak. “Dude.”

“Yes, dude.” Sehyuk replies, to urge him gently.

Hyosang takes a deep breath. “You’re one of the most fuckin’ vile people I’ve ever met in my goddamn life and yet you’ve got the fuckin’ nerve to sit there and say all this shit. You’re damn fuckin’ right that sorry doesn’t cover it, if- if it hadn’t have been for you, I’d be married right now. I’d be able to get a decent night’s sleep. I’d be able to leave my damn house!”

Sehyuk can’t keep himself from flinching. It’s not like he expected anything but this, but it still settles a heavy, guilty feeling in his chest. Sanggyun moves out of his lap and sits beside him, instead.

“So, if you think,” Hyosang continues after a pause, “that I’m going to forgive you in a million goddamn years, you’ve got to be out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” Sehyuk says, and he manages to keep his voice from wavering. “I’m doing this for myself. Like I said, if I had avoided doing this, it would have made me feel like I was pretending I had never done it.”

“You deserve to be reminded every single day just like I am.” Hyosang says darkly.

Sehyuk looks away from Hyosang’s eyes, instead at his cheeks, at the thick scars that creep back towards his ears. “I am.” He replies. “I don’t need your damning because I’ve already condemned myself. I’m never going to be happy.”

“And you don’t deserve to be.”

“Hyosang,” Sangdo says quietly.

“No, you know what? Fuck you, with your pacifist bullshit,” Hyosang says, and Sehyuk’s eyes jump to Sangdo, who looks rather shocked. “Do you know what the fuck he’s done to us? And yet you’re still going to treat him like he fucking matters, like you give a damn about him.”

“Because I do give a damn about him, I’m not going to make him feel even fucking worse when he does enough of that himself.” Sangdo replies, voice rising in volume. “He wanted to apologize and we don’t have to accept it but we can thank him for trying, can’t we?”

Hyosang stands up in response, walking swiftly to the stairs and taking them two at a time. Things grow silent. Sehyuk’s heart is pounding.

“It’s alright,” Sehyuk says after a few long moments. Sangdo looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. “He can be angry at me. I wasn’t expecting any different from any of you.” Sehyuk stands, scanning the room. “Thank you for listening to me, at least. Take care of yourselves.”

“You too, man,” Sanggyun says. “Heard you were going to college, that’s pretty neat.”

Sehyuk smiles. “It is pretty neat. I’ll be gone again in another week or so, however, and I’m not sure if I’ll be coming back. Does anyone else want to say something to me?”

“You look cool with long hair,” Jiho offers. Sehyuk nods in thanks. “And uh… yeah. Take care of yourself.”

Sehyuk waits a few more moments, then waves and starts for the door. Sangdo rises to see him out, smiling apologetically at him as he opens the door.

“Feel free to call me,” Sangdo says, after a moment of deliberation. “I- I promise I won’t let your call bounce.”

Sehyuk laughs slightly. “Thanks. You too, though. My schedule is weird when I’m in the States, but I promise I’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“That’s not a problem. Have a good time for the rest of your stay. It was nice seeing you, really.”

Sehyuk nods. “You too.”

--

Sehyuk doesn’t sleep on the couch that night. He blames it on the cold, but really he just feels better in Dongsung’s bed on a rare night where he’s not scheduled for the night shift.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” Sehyuk whispers as Dongsung rubs circles into his back, holding Sehyuk close to his chest.

“About what?” Dongsung asks.

“About… everything. Loving me, forgiving me, all the things you tell me… they’re not lies to just get me to feel better, are they?”

“I would never do that to you,” Dongsung says, kissing Sehyuk’s forehead gently. “I believe and mean everything I tell you. I love you very, very much.”

Sehyuk nods, pressing the side of his face against Dongsung’s chest. He can hear Dongsung’s heartbeat. “I love you too. I… thank you, for everything.”

“It’s not a problem. Go to sleep, Sehyuk.”

Sehyuk does.

--

Byungjoo tries to convince himself that he doesn’t know what these sharp looks are for.

No, he knows, of course he does. It’s jealousy, betrayal, something he doesn’t know how to soothe so he ignores it. Really, it’s not his job to soothe it; it’s not like he was ever anything particularly important to them.

Them, of course, being Jiho and Hojoon.

Part of ignoring it is keeping himself from bringing it up just to get it over with, because if he ignores it they do too. But, one day, it just… slips out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Byungjoo asks, interrupting Hojoon in the middle of a story. They both pause, looking to Byungjoo from across the table, and Byungjoo makes a hand gesture like, well?

They share a look then, and Hojoon is the first to speak. “We’re just wondering why the hell you’re bothering to hang out with that shitstain when we’re right here, that’s all.”

“Mmhm, yeah, and I’m wondering why you two are so up in arms about it when you never really pay attention to me anymore anyways.” Byungjoo replies swiftly, almost surprised by how strong his voice is. Generally, he tends to waver in the face of confrontation, preferring to avoid it if he can help it. But not today.

Jiho and Hojoon know that, as well, and it seems to shock them briefly. “We don’t- we pay attention to you,” Jiho says quietly, and Byungjoo does nothing but smile while he sorts through all the things he could say in response.

“I fixed myself,” he says in the end. He receives questioning looks in response. “You- you two were there for me when I was still- still broken, when I couldn’t go a night without crying and had nightmares all the time. But, after that was over you guys just… pulled the rug out from under me.” Byungjoo laughs then, raking a hand through his overgrown hair. “Telling me all this shit about us being in love, being there for me forever. It didn’t mean a damn thing in the end, did it?”

It’s clear that they’re struggling for something to say, Jiho in particular, and Byungjoo stands up. “But, it’s not a problem, as long as you two stop being fucking jealous over something- someone- that you have no damn right to be jealous over. Get over yourselves, ‘cause I have.”

Byungjoo pushes his chair in with his foot and finds his hands to be shaking, an effect of his inexperience with being strong, not letting his voice quiver when he speaks, standing up for himself and who he is now. It feels good, but also bad, because he’s sure neither of them really meant to make him feel this way.

Byungjoo previously told Hansol that he was just an add-on, and that was true. Less of a lover, more of a child, a burden, something they needed to take care of. Now Byungjoo doesn’t know what he is, exactly, what purpose he serves in this sect. He wants to leave, like he told Hansol. He wants to leave so badly.

Byungjoo goes upstairs to his room, across the hall from Sangdo and Hyosang’s, and he makes a point to slam the door. He flops face down into the bed and groans, muffled by the comforter.

There is nothing but the pounding of his own heart and muffled talking from downstairs before there’s a knock on his door, then the squeak of the hinges as the door opens.

“Byungjoo?” comes Sangdo’s voice, and Byungjoo is moderately surprised. He sits up quickly, flipping to face Sangdo, and sees that his face is full of concern. “Are you alright?”

Byungjoo nods. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s… I can handle it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sangdo asks, coming to sit on the edge of Byungjoo’s bed. He reminds Byungjoo so much of what he’s learned a parent should be, and Byungjoo almost wishes he had this growing up instead of the streets.

But, now isn’t the time for that. “Not really,” Byungjoo replies softly, and Sangdo pats his knee in response.

“That’s fine. Whatever it is, I hope it works out alright. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here.” Sangdo’s voice is low, calming. Then, “How is Hansol? How are things with him?”

This is the first time Byungjoo’s been asked about Hansol in a positive way. “He’s… he says he’s alright, but I know he’s still dealing with things.” Byungjoo pauses, looking down at his lap. “I worry about him a lot. He’s… very different now. More emotional, he cries a lot.”

Sangdo nods knowingly, hand going back to Byungjoo’s knee. A calming dad touch. It makes Byungjoo smile slightly. “I would imagine that is difficult for him. He knew what he was getting into, but I don’t believe any of us truly realized the extent of Sehyuk’s… I’m hesitant to say madness, that’s not what it is. But, whatever it was, it ate away at everyone in that sect and I’m glad it’s gone.” A pause. Sangdo exhales. “I hope Sehyuk is doing okay.”

“Me too,” Byungjoo agrees, and almost surprises himself. “I think he was just… deluded, that’s what he was. Wherever he is, dead or alive, I just hope he’s doing better.”

“Yes, definitely. We’ll all be okay in the end, Byungjoo. Just remember that. No matter what we may do or what may happen to us, we always end up okay, even if it’s in death.”

Byungjoo didn’t know Sangdo was capable of such profound words, but they resound somewhere deep within Byungjoo. We always end up okay.

Sangdo stands up and leaves with one last smile and a remember you can talk to me!, door shutting softly behind him. Byungjoo drops his gaze back to his lap.

After just a couple moments of deliberation, spent listening to distant words, he digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Hansol.

Hansol answers almost immediately, like always. “Hey,” he greets amicably, sounding sleepy.

“Hey, sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Kind of, but it’s fine, I needed to get up anyway. What’s up?”

“Can we go out somewhere?” Byungjoo asks, curling a piece of hair around his finger. “I- I need to get out and I don’t want to go out by myself.”

“Sure, sure. Let me get dressed. Where do you wanna go?”

“Regular place, I guess. I’ll wait there.”

“Cool.” Pause. “Love you, stay safe.”

Byungjoo’s cheeks burn. “Y-You too.”

--

Jiho texts Byungjoo while Byungjoo is sitting in the lobby of the apartment building waiting for Hansol.

where are you?? call me, please

Byungjoo rereads the message a couple times before switching his display off and shoving his phone back into his coat pocket.

Hansol appears within a couple minutes, looking like a perfect mess, hair uncombed and shirt only half-tucked into his jeans. Byungjoo stands as he approaches, unable to keep himself from snaking his arms around Hansol’s neck and kissing him.

Hansol kisses back, of course, nibbling at Byungjoo’s bottom lip before he breaks away. “Hey,” Hansol breathes, and Byungjoo grins.

“Hey. Did you bring your cigarettes?”

“‘Course I did, why?”

“Think I kinda need one.”

Hansol snorts, stepping away from Byungjoo and heading to the stairs. “Why should I waste a cigarette on you? You can’t handle it.”

“Past all the coughing there’s got to be some kind of reward, right?” Byungjoo asks, following Hansol up the stairs, closing the door to the stairwell behind him.

“Well, for most people, I guess so. Why, you stressed or something?”

“I just want to make myself feel better,” Byungjoo says, almost hoping his words will be drowned out by the sounds of echoing footsteps.

They aren’t. “If that’s what you want, you should probably get a hold of some liquor.” A pause, then, “Ugh, seriously, what a bad influence am I.”

“I would be fine with that, I think.” Byungjoo says, skipping a step in order to get closer to Hansol. He smells like cologne and smoke.

“What’s got you so upset?” Hansol asks, rounding the corner of yet another landing and hopping the final few stairs up to the door to the roof.

“Being lied to,” Byungjoo says simply as Hansol unlocks the door. “Why do you have keys to this place, anyway?”

Hansol shakes his head. “Not the whole place, just the roof.”

“Still.”

“I’m friends with the owner of this place- or, rather, he… owed me a favor. He knows I need the roof, so that’s his favor to me.” Hansol stuffs the keys back in his pocket before he opens the door, a chilly gust of wind causing both of them to inhale sharply. “Well, shit, looks like I should have brought my jacket after all.”

“My hoodie isn’t big enough for the both of us,” Byungjoo says, and Hansol smiles at him.

“We’ll see. Come on.”

They end up sitting on the ledge, Byungjoo letting his feet dangle and Hansol crossing his legs. They sit in silence until Hansol lights a cigarette, hand shielding the flame of his lighter from the breeze.

“Here,” Hansol says, holding the cigarette out to Byungjoo. “This is why your sect hates me, I’m teaching you bad habits.”

“I’m letting you teach me them,” Byungjoo responds, putting the cigarette to his lips and taking a draw off it before he can think much about it. He chokes the subsequent coughs down, causing smoke to come out his nose. Hansol thinks that’s rather funny. “What?” Byungjoo asks, eyes watering.

“Nothing, it’s just… you can tell you don’t do this often. Here.” Hansol reaches for the cigarette and Byungjoo lets him take it, watching as Hansol takes a long draw off of it and then motions for Byungjoo to lean in closer.

Byungjoo does so and Hansol seals their mouths together, filling Byungjoo’s mouth with smoke. It’s strange and Byungjoo almost wants to pull away, but there’s something about it that’s so nice. Byungjoo pulls the smoke into his lungs and it seems easier to avoid coughing this way, maybe because of Hansol kissing him fervently. Maybe just because of Hansol himself.

Hansol breaks away but stays close. “Do you want to talk more about what’s got you torn up enough to risk future lung health?”

Byungjoo snorts. “Sure. It’s just… god, those two. Jiho and Hojoon.” Byungjoo leans forward to rest his forehead on Hansol’s shoulder, and based on the way Hansol stiffens, Byungjoo thinks Hansol’s still quite unaccustomed to pleasant interaction. Byungjoo really wants to get him used to it. “Everything they ever told me was just… like… momentary reassurance. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Hansol replies, tentatively reaching up to pet Byungjoo’s hair. “Like, they knew you needed it, so they said some shit they didn’t mean just so you’d straighten the hell up sooner.”

“Exactly,” Byungjoo says, muffled in the fabric of Hansol’s shirt. “Some bullshit.”

“Probably doesn’t mean shit,” Hansol says quietly, words almost carried away in the wind, “but I’d never do that. I haven’t done it before and I won’t now.”

Byungjoo stays quiet, absorbing the information. He sees Hansol putting out his (their) cigarette out of the corner of his eye, putting it back in the pack to finish later. “So…” Byungjoo begins, sitting up so he can see Hansol’s face. “Does that mean, earlier, you- you said that you loved me, is that not some shit you don’t mean?”

Hansol seems to pick his words carefully, averting his gaze for a few moments. Byungjoo shrinks closer to him when the cold breeze returns. “I- I don’t know how deep,” Hansol says at last, “but I do mean it. I care for you very much, Byungjoo, and I think I always have even if I didn’t have the, uh, the right state of mind to show it properly. I just… want you to be happy. And safe.”

“You too,” Byungjoo says, feeling a little tearful. “You’re- you’re like, all I have, and it’s so weird. Comparing this to like, what, almost three years ago now…”

“I agree, it’s damn weird. Really, I never thought I’d ever be out of the sect, let alone three years clear.” Hansol makes a noise of disbelief, then shivers as another rush of cool air passes them.

“Here,” Byungjoo says, lifting his hoodie over his head before Hansol can protest and tossing it at him. He has a long-sleeved shirt on underneath but it does little to protect him. He holds back his shivers for Hansol’s sake.

Hansol looks at him for a moment, like he wants to argue, but then pulls the hoodie on and snuggles down into it. The hoodie is big on Byungjoo and nearly swallows Hansol whole. Byungjoo quickly decides that it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

Hansol pulls the hood over his head and then turns his head to inhale. “Can I keep this?”

“Yes,” Byungjoo replies without a moment’s hesitation. It’s just a gray hoodie, it’s not like he can’t get another one.

Hansol looks absolutely delighted. “I would say I’d give you something in return, but all my stuff is probably too small for you. Maybe one of my big shirts will fit. We’ll see.”

Byungjoo nods, feeling warm despite the chilly air. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

--

“Didn’t you have a hoodie on when you left?” Sangdo asks, and Byungjoo jumps. Sangdo had previously been sitting across from him reading a book, quiet as can be.

“Uh, yeah, I… I gave it to Hansol,” Byungjoo says quietly. Sangdo nods.

“That’s cute. Was he cold?”

“Mm-hm, he forgot his jacket. I told him he could keep it and he said he’d give me something in return.”

Sangdo smiles, putting a bookmark in his book and setting it on the table. “Very cute. You two seem like you’re doing well, is there any… tension?”

“Not really. It’s more like… mutual confusion? We’re both in awe that we’re… like this. We’ve been proper friends for over a year now, and now I guess we’re… something.”

“Something?” Sangdo asks. Byungjoo sighs.

“Something.”

Byungjoo is somewhat expecting a short lecture about how Byungjoo should be careful, but all Sangdo does is flash another smile at Byungjoo and go back to reading.

--

“H-Here,” Hansol says, sounding almost shy as he holds out a neatly folded shirt. “I haven’t worn this in years, I- I bought it a long time ago. I hope you like it.”

Byungjoo takes it from Hansol’s hands, holding it up by the shoulders so it unfurls. It’s a baggy black shirt with cartoonish bats on the front. It makes Byungjoo smile, holding it close and finding that it only smells like closet. A slight disappointment. “Thank you, it’s really cute. Can I, uh, can I go put it on?”

“Oh, sure! If, uh- my bathroom- well, you know where it is.” Hansol laughs, awkward, and Byungjoo holds back his urge to call Hansol cute.

He does know where Hansol’s bathroom is and heads down the hall towards it, finding that Hansol has cleaned the last time Byungjoo’s been in his apartment. Byungjoo looks at himself in the mirror, takes in the dark circles under his eyes that won’t go away, the way his fluffy hair frames his face. He probably needs a haircut.

He takes his shirt off and slips the one given to him on, fiddling with it so it will hang correctly. It fits just well enough that it won’t completely drown Byungjoo in fabric, but it does hang off one shoulder. Byungjoo decides to leave it that way and folds his other shirt up haphazardly, emerging from the bathroom to Hansol standing anxiously in his living room.

“Oh!” Hansol says as Byungjoo comes into view, a smile breaking over his face. “It looks better on you than it ever did on me, I love it.”

Byungjoo smiles in return, nodding. “I love it too, thank you.”

“I, can I just-?” Hansol makes a vague gesture with his hands, leaving them hovering in midair.

“I dunno, can you just?” Byungjoo asks in turn, and Hansol sticks his tongue out.

“So mean. Come here.” Hansol says, hands reaching out to touch Byungjoo as soon as he’s close enough, brushing his hands through Byungjoo’s hair. “You’re just…”

“Just what?” Byungjoo asks as Hansol drags his fingertips down the sides of his face, a thumb brushing across his bottom lip.

“Just… so pretty,” Hansol says eventually. The compliment makes Byungjoo’s cheeks burn. “It takes my breath sometimes.”

Byungjoo turns his nose up. “That’s gross.”

“I know.” Hansol replies with a smile, pulling Byungjoo down to peck his lips. “I love you, I really do.”

“I love you too. But, hey… do you think I need a haircut?”

Hansol shakes his head, running his fingers through the longer bottom layers of Byungjoo’s hair. “It looks good on you, I like it. You can get it cut if you want, but I’ll miss it.”

Byungjoo has his answer, at least. He nods and kisses Hansol again. “You know, you’re, uh, you’re pretty too,” Byungjoo says quietly, hopelessly shy and awkward.

It apparently still has the same effect, no matter how awkward. “Thank you, I try my best. But, you know, my concept is supposed to be more, uh… badass goth.”

Byungjoo snorts, stepping away from Hansol to sit on the couch. “Badass goth,” Byungjoo repeats once he’s sat down, Hansol sitting beside him.

“Yes. And your concept is like…” Hansol looks over him carefully, mouth twisting in thought. “Fluffy chicken.”

“What the fuck.” Byungjoo deadpans.

“You heard me.”

Byungjoo rolls his eyes. “Awful. I’m thinking it’s more like… delicate child.”

“Uh-huh, okay. Or maybe it’s like… delicate boyfriend.”

Byungjoo pauses, staring at the far wall. “Was that an attempt at being damn smooth?”

“It was, actually, thanks for pointing it out and ruining the whole thing.”

Byungjoo grins, then, “Is that, like… a hint…?”

“You can be my delicate boyfriend and I can be your badass goth boyfriend,” Hansol says firmly, holding one of Byungjoo’s hands.

Byungjoo’s heart lurches. “So- I- we’re, we, I…”

“Do you not want to?”

“No, no! I mean, yes, I- fuck. I- god dammit. I want to date you. I want to date you, yes.” Byungjoo repeats it for thoroughness, to solidify it. “Yes.”

Hansol honest-to-god giggles, turning to press his face into Byungjoo’s arm. “I feel like I’m sixteen again,” he confesses, “except with less angry parents and less shitty boys.”

Byungjoo laughs. “We should probably do like… boyfriend stuff, then.”

“What is that?”

“Like kissing and stuff.”

Hansol takes a deep breath, sitting up properly and fixing Byungjoo with an even gaze. “Bring it the fuck on.”

--

There is a point in time where sick fascination either morphs into obsession or revulsion.

Taeyang knows that they’ve already gone their separate ways long before Taeyang actually brings it up. Sangwon is obsessed, and Taeyang is repulsed.

Taeyang tells him in public, because he knows Sangwon won’t do anything if there’s people around. He has some semblance of dignity. “I’m leaving.”

“Hm?”

“I’m leaving,” Taeyang repeats, unfolding and refolding the napkin before him. “Not here, just you.”

It takes a few moments for it to sink in, of course, because Sangwon never believes anything Taeyang says. Taeyang has said something similar before, then never did it. But this time, the door to the cage is wide open and there’s nothing stopping him.

Sangwon has a sweet smile on his face when Taeyang bothers to look up. “Why?”

Taeyang says in his most polite voice, “Because you are fucking unhinged. You always have been, sweetcheeks, and you always will be. I thought maybe I’d stick around after the sect dissolved just to see if you’d, I dunno, get a fucking grip? But you’re still, god, I don’t know- killing birds and preserving fingers. That’s bullshit.”

“You never thought it was bullshit before,” Sangwon says, mimicking Taeyang’s sweet tone in the most irritating way possible.

“That’s because I didn’t have a choice.” Taeyang lays his hands palm-down on the table. Sangwon goes to put his hands over his; Taeyang pulls his hands away. “My informant group never cared about me or what I did. The attention was nice and appreciated but you are a fucking mess.”

“What, like you aren’t?” Sangwon snarls, like he always does when Taeyang criticises him, because he can’t take it.

“You’re a baby, Sangwon. Throwing fits and trying to bend everyone to your will.” Taeyang layers the politeness on extra thick, clasping his hands in front of him. “Now, let’s have a nice meal.”

Sangwon, in turn, stands up. “Nope. Have a nice meal by yourself.”

Taeyang shrugs, watching as Sangwon walks away. “Suit yourself. Dickhead.”

--

Once Taeyang realizes he really isn’t scared of Sangwon anymore, he finds out where he lives (through an awkward conversation with Hansol) and goes to get his things.

Sangwon still has many of Taeyang’s possessions as a result of Taeyang only taking his clothes and just leaving. Taeyang thought that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bother, but after moving out of Yoonchul’s house and getting his own place, he found that he missed his books most of all.

His original intentions go out the window when he sees Park fucking Sehyuk sitting in Sangwon’s living room, however.

“Taeyang!” Sehyuk says, visibly surprised, and Sangwon’s head whips around.

“What the fuck are you here for?” Sangwon asks, and Taeyang disregards him deliberately.

“Sehyuk, where the hell have you been?” Taeyang asks, stepping into the living room, and Sehyuk exhales.

“America! I’m going to college, it’s very fun. I’m- I’m on break right now, I was coming to visit Junhee but decided to come visit everyone else…” Sehyuk shrugs, raking a hand through his hair. He looks good with long hair, Taeyang decides. “I dunno.”

“What are you here for?” Sangwon repeats, and Taeyang tsks, turning his attention to Sangwon.

“Impatient ass, I’m here for my shit.”

“I sold it all,” Sangwon shoots back, lip curling up in disdain.

Taeyang turns to Sehyuk. “Can I beat his ass, right here, right now?”

Sehyuk looks alarmed for a moment, looking between the two. “I- if you think you can not get totally fucked, then, I guess?”

“Okay, cool.”

And it’s very clear Sangwon didn’t think Taeyang would do it, based off of the fact that he could have easily blocked Taeyang’s fist and didn’t. Nothing cracks, Sangwon barely falters, but there is such satisfaction blooming in Taeyang’s chest.

That is, until Sangwon counters, and there is definitely a crack and definitely a falter.

“Jesus!” Sehyuk yells, rising to his feet. Taeyang waves a hand to calm him down, steadying himself and holding his nose. He doesn’t know if it’s bleeding, but if it isn’t currently, it will be soon.

“Don’t worry, he’s done this before,” Taeyang says, voice coming out nasally. “Haven’t you, sweetcheeks?”

“Shut the hell up,” Sangwon says, and Taeyang notices with increasing joy that there’s a red spot high on Sangwon’s cheek. Taeyang hopes to God it bruises. “The fuck do you think you’re doing? This is my house, and you just-”

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, Sangwon,” Taeyang interrupts, feeling unusually daring, “but you’ve done a whole lot worse to me than punch me. Fucker.”

Taeyang spares a glance to Sehyuk, seeing that he looks horribly scared. It’s strange, because Taeyang always thinks of Sehyuk as a strong figurehead, even now. He wonders briefly if this is what Sehyuk was like before sect life.

That is, until Sangwon starts spouting his bullshit again. Taeyang tunes him out until he starts flapping his arms.

“Will you calm the hell down, you big baby?” Taeyang asks, venomous, and Sangwon surprisingly does. “God. If you have anything of mine left, go get it.” Taeyang waits a few moments, filled with Sangwon looking at him with all the rebellion of a problem child burning in his eyes. “What are you waiting for? Go!”

Sangwon jumps, striding out of the room, and Taeyang finds that the eyes that are on him are incredulous.

“How did you do that?” Sehyuk asks, blinking at Taeyang. “And, are you okay?”

Taeyang pulls his hand away from his nose, raising his eyebrows at the blood collecting in the creases of his palm. “I guess so. As for the first question, I stopped being scared of him. He’s just a big fucking baby and he’s not going to kill me, I know that, because he still likes me. So whatever.”

Sehyuk shakes his head in wonder. “I could never. Even when I was his superior, he never listened to me outside of missions. Jesus.”

Taeyang smiles, wiping his hand on his pants leg. “Pretty cool, right?”

“God, I guess.”

Sangwon comes into the room again, a box of stuff in his hands. He sets it down beside Taeyang and grits out, “Now, leave.”

Taeyang turns to Sangwon, giving him his most pleasant smile as he takes the box up and holds it under one arm. “Thanks, dear. See you both. Stay safe, and in touch, Sehyuk.”

Sehyuk nods, raising a hand in goodbye as Taeyang walks out.

--

“Can I try?”

Hansol looks from Byungjoo to the cigarette in his hand, then back again. “No. You will die and fall off this fucking roof and it’s gonna be my fault.”

“Come on, just once.” Byungjoo whines, squinting when the wind blows his hair into his face.

Hansol sighs. “Am I a bad influence or what,” he mutters to himself as he extends his hand, letting Byungjoo take the cigarette from between his fingers. “Sorry, I’m not lighting another one just for you.”

“That’s fine, I didn’t expect you to. Do I just, you know… go for it?” Byungjoo asks, turning his head to look at Hansol. When Hansol nods, a smile playing across his lips, Byungjoo puts the cigarette between his lips and inhales.

As expected, he does nearly die and fall off that fucking roof, coughing out puffs of smoke. He hands the cigarette back, eyes watering, and Hansol can’t keep himself from grinning.

“There, you tried, just once.” Hansol says, taking a draw off the cigarette himself. It stings a little down his throat, like it usually does. He blows the smoke in Byungjoo’s direction and doesn’t miss Byungjoo purposefully inhaling when he does.

“It smells weird. I’ve smelled cigarette smoke before and it didn’t smell like that.” Byungjoo says, still looking at Hansol.

“They’re menthols. That might be why.” Hansol replies, returning Byungjoo’s even gaze.

“You look really cool like this,” Byungjoo says suddenly, mouth quirking up at the corners. “Smoking on a rooftop, leather jacket, moon high in the sky behind you… I wish I had a good camera.”

Hansol smiles, feeling somewhat shy. “That’s… sweet, Byungjoo. I wish you did too, I’d love for you to take pictures of me.”

A pleasant silence settles around them. Hansol finishes his cigarette off before either of them speaks, and then it’s Byungjoo.

“Those things you said to me, about me… did you mean any of them?”

There are lots and lots of things that Byungjoo could be referring to. Hansol asks, “Which things?”

“About nobody caring if I was there or not, being useless, those sorts of things.” There’s a sadness lurking beneath the surface, and Hansol can see it rising, see it sitting in Byungjoo’s eyes.

Hansol shakes his head. “No. It- It makes me sound like an asshole to say, but I viewed you as a burden, then. I was… in a bad place. You couldn’t have known because I never told you anything, but things were bad for me. They still are.”

“Tell me now,” Byungjoo says, scooting closer. “What’s wrong?”

Hansol lights another cigarette, looking out over the city instead of at Byungjoo. “The things I told you were moreso describing myself. Nobody cares if I’m here or not, and with plenty of good reasons. I’m a dickbag. There’s really no fixing it, but whatever.”

“I don’t think you’re a dickbag,” Byungjoo says after a few long moments of silence, resting his head on Hansol’s shoulder. “You’re cool and mysterious and probably, uh, really- really talented, in some way.” When Hansol remains silent, Byungjoo keeps talking. “I- I was homeless. Sehyuk just… took me off the street and I thought maybe that he was going to do some good for me, but, you know. You couldn’t have known that either, though, because I never told you anything either.”

Byungjoo reaches for Hansol’s hand. Hansol turns his hand palm-up in silent permission, and Byungjoo twines their fingers together. “That made everything you said hurt a lot worse, I think,” Byungjoo says, thumb rubbing one of the scars on the side of Hansol’s fingers. “I don’t want to hold anything against you, though. If I do, you’ll never get better.”

He’s right. Hansol presses his fingertips into the back of Byungjoo’s hand, squeezing tight. “It’s okay,” Hansol says quietly, holding his cigarette between his teeth. “You don’t have to forgive me just for my sake.”

“It’s for both of our sakes,” Byungjoo replies, turning his head slightly so his face is pressed into Hansol’s upper arm. “If I keep holding onto things that happened while I was part of that shitty sect, I’m never going to move on. We can move on together.”

Hansol simply nods, willing to let the subject drop. He feels his phone vibrate in his pocket; he ignores it and instead looks at the polish flaking off of Byungjoo’s fingernails.

“What about you?” Byungjoo asks, and then clarifies, “I mean, what did you do before sect life?”

Hansol finishes off his cigarette in nearly one go, holding back a cough for pride’s sake, then flicks the butt off the side of the roof. “I joined when I was sixteen. I got kicked out of my parents’ house because I was dating this boy and they didn’t like it. I told them I broke up with him but I still snuck out and saw him and they just… you know.”

“That sucks. Tell me about him, what was he like?”

“He was cute, nice, he had a great smile. His name was Hyeontae. I think he might have loved his cats more than me.” Hansol sighs, pulling his hand away from Byungjoo’s briefly to wipe it on his pants. Byungjoo is quick to take it back into his, holding tight. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I knew Hyeontae wouldn’t give up his life just for me, so I broke up with him for real. I did the only thing I thought would work for me, which was joining a sect.”

Hansol sighs again, dragging a hand down his face. “The North Sect rejected me, West Sect’s applications were closed, so there was only Shitlord McGee left. He was short on manpower so when I told him I had martial arts training he was all for it.”

“We’re both just burdens on everyone, then, aren’t we?” Byungjoo asks, tone stabbing for lighthearted.

Hansol nods in agreement, close to smiling. “I guess so.” Then, “You’re not a burden on me anymore. I love spending time with you now, I- I don’t know if it’s because I have nothing else to do, or what, but…”

“You’re not a burden on me either,” Byungjoo says quietly, rubbing the back of Hansol’s hand absently. “You never were, I was just… sad because you never paid attention to me. I know why, now, so it’s less awful.”

Hansol takes a breath, and says, “I’m sorry.”

Byungjoo nods. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too.”

Hansol pulls his phone out of his pocket, mostly to check the time (2:37 AM). Once he sees that Sangwon was who texted him earlier, however, he unlocks his phone, curious.

“You still talk to Sangwon?” Byungjoo asks, scooting even closer to see Hansol’s phone screen better.

“More like he still talks to me, I never text him first.” Hansol shrugs, replying to Sangwon’s request for Hansol’s extra ammo with we’ll talk later, I’m busy.

“You consider this busy?” Byungjoo asks, teasing edge to his voice.

“I consider this very busy,” Hansol replies, setting his phone aside and smiling. “I really missed you, Byungjoo,” Hansol continues, growing serious. “I don’t guess we knew each other well enough for me to deserve to miss you, or something like that, but…”

“No, I understand.” Byungjoo says, releasing Hansol’s hand at last in favor of wrapping his arms around Hansol. “I missed you a lot too, even though you were a shitbag and I also threw stuff at you when you tried to visit me before.”

“With good reason,” Hansol adds.

“Yeah, I guess. I still should have tried to… I dunno. But, whatever.”

Hansol puts his arm around Byungjoo’s shoulders, tentative. Byungjoo settles against his side. “Whatever, right. We’re good now.”

Byungjoo nods. “Yeah. We should probably go home. Where are you living, now?”

“Oh, in an apartment on the north end… why?”

“Invite me over sometime,” Byungjoo says, pulling himself from Hansol’s hold and smiling. “You’ve got my number, y’know. I don’t do much, so. Any time.”

Hansol nods, watching as Byungjoo stands and offers a hand. “Nah. I think I’m gonna stay up here a bit longer. Be safe going home, Byungjoo.”

Byungjoo smiles, patting the top of Hansol’s head. “You too, man. It was nice spending time with you like this.”

Hansol turns to watch Byungjoo walk away, smiling and waving back when Byungjoo stops at the door to the roof and waves. He can hear Byungjoo’s footsteps echoing in the stairwell, and then nothing but wind and his own breathing.

This truly is the most bittersweet thing Hansol has ever experienced in his life. It’s so nice to be friends with Byungjoo, finally, but he’s so scared. Scared of himself, mostly.

Hansol hears his phone buzz from beside him. He ignores it and lights another cigarette.

--

“It’s not the nicest place,” Hansol says as he steps into the hallway, flicking the light switch as he passes it. Byungjoo follows close behind once he’s kicked off his shoes, looking around the small apartment as he does so.

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s cozy.” Byungjoo says, heading to the couch and flopping down on it like he lives here. Hansol responds by sitting down on Byungjoo’s stomach nonchalantly. “Ah, no, fatass, get off me!”

Hansol grins, reaching over and patting Byungjoo’s face repeatedly. “Since when can my couch talk? I didn’t sign up for this when I bought it.”

Byungjoo giggles, the most precious sound, and grabs Hansol’s wrist to cease the patting. “Since right now, your couch is possessed. What will you do?”

“I have to call an exorcist right now.” Hansol says sagely, standing up and digging his phone out of his pocket, pretending to dial some numbers and holding up to his ear. “Hello, is this 1-800-EXORCIST? I need some help, right now, my couch is talking.”

There is such pure joy on Byungjoo’s face and it twists Hansol’s chest strangely. Byungjoo takes the phone away from Hansol and puts it to his face, pitching his voice down when he does. “There is no need for assistance! The reign of terror has begun in the Kim household!”

Hansol makes an exaggerated noise of despair, putting a hand to his forehead. “No! What will I do!"

Byungjoo tosses Hansol’s phone to the couch, reaching up and pawing at Hansol's clothes, most likely trying to emulate some kind of hell creature. Byungjoo stops when he reaches Hansol's face, fingertips barely touching his skin.

"Oh, I- sorry, sorry," Byungjoo says, letting his hands fall away from Hansol's face.

"No, it's-" Hansol replies, taking Byungjoo's hands in his and laying Byungjoo's palms on his cheeks. "It's fine, you- I won't-" Hansol struggles for what he wants to say. He remembers dimly that he used to shout at Byungjoo if he got too handsy without permission, and Hansol figures that is the root of this gentle apprehension. He wants Byungjoo to touch him, now.

And Byungjoo does, fingers ghosting across Hansol's face, catching bumpy scars and old scabs with his fingernails. "You're- uh, god, you're very pretty."

The compliment burns in Hansol's chest. He smiles and mimics Byungjoo, hands cupping Byungjoo's cheeks. "You are too. I never told you how beautiful you are."

Byungjoo turns sheepish, cheeks tinting. "I'm gonna be yelled at for this," Byungjoo says, letting his hands drop.

"By who?" Hansol asks, feeling a little sore that someone would reprimand Byungjoo for friendship. Then Hansol remembers who exactly Byungjoo is and who exactly he himself is and understands.

Byungjoo is loved and surrounded by people who want to protect him from remnants of the past, and Hansol is just one of those.

"Nevermind," Hansol says once he notices Byungjoo scraping for something to say. He takes a couple steps back and doesn't miss the way Byungjoo lifts his hands, like he's going to stop him. "It's fine, I know. Your sect members, they're just... trying to protect you."

Byungjoo looks sad, standing from his place on the couch. "I don't need to be protected from you, though... I can take care of myself. We're friends, Hansol."

There's a hint of desperation in Byungjoo's voice. He seems so eager to reassure Hansol when he's not even worth the trouble.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to cause any... strain." Hansol says, running a hand through his hair and looking away from Byungjoo's face. "I'm sorry."

Byungjoo is pouting when Hansol looks up. Hansol wants to kiss him. "Don't say stuff like that. You aren't straining anything, I was always just... an add-on, anyway." Byungjoo shrugs. "I don't feel like I belong in a sect anymore but I have nowhere else to go and I... I don't want to disappoint."

Hansol feels almost honored, because he's certain Byungjoo hasn't told anyone else this. Byungjoo is too shy. Hansol opens his mouth to speak but realizes he has nothing to say.

"I- I don't want us to be like this," Byungjoo says suddenly. "I want us to be friends and I don't want to worry about what other people think because they- they don't know you."

"You don't either," Hansol adds quietly.

"But I want to," Byungjoo whispers.

Hansol nods. "Okay. Okay."

--

The roof of the apartment in the west side is their spot in the end. Byungjoo still doesn't know how Hansol got the keys to the roof but he decides that it doesn't really matter. He gets the feeling that Hansol could talk his way into or out of anything.

Byungjoo still feels very awkward around him, mostly because he constantly feels like he's doing something wrong. Hansol is still very closed off, despite his promises to open up and let Byungjoo know more about him. It doesn't really bother Byungjoo, not bad enough to get upset over, but still.

They watch the sunrise, hands clasped together as they're bathed in colored light, brilliant shades of orange and pink splashed over the horizon.

Byungjoo turns to Hansol to make a remark about how beautiful it is, wonder hot in his chest, but he stops short when he finds that Hansol is watching him, not the sky.

"It's prettier in your eyes," Hansol whispers, by way of explanation.

It's so damn cheesy that Byungjoo can't help but laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. "Don't ever say anything like that to me again," Byungjoo says, joking edge to his voice.

Hansol laughs as well, looking away. There's a blush on his face. "I know, I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

Byungjoo feels something rising, what he pins down quickly as affection. He wants to kiss Hansol. He weighs pros and cons for a moment, which proves to be a useless venture when Hansol speaks.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes!" Byungjoo replies, a little too eager. He clears his throat and presses a hand to his chest. "Excuse me. I mean, yeah, sure."

Hansol laughs, endeared, and scoots closer. Byungjoo doesn't think he's ever been more nervous in his life, no matter how stupid that seems considering everything else that's happened in his life.

The kiss is different than any kiss they've ever had before. Byungjoo remembers that used to Hansol taking control, rough and  commanding. This is soft, Hansol's hand coming up to touch Byungjoo's face gently. Their faces stay near even after Hansol pulls away, and Byungjoo licks his lips, tasting cherry chapstick.

"Uh, can we do that again?" Byungjoo asks, putting up some kind of aloof bravado that Hansol breaks right down with his next kiss, more emphatic.

Byungjoo thinks that surely this sort of stuff only happens in movies. Kissing your ex-something on a rooftop with the sunrise shining on you. It's just too cliche.

And yet Byungjoo thinks he could sit here all day, just doing this.

--

It takes another year for Dongsung to move out, for him to feel okay, for him to stop searching, for him to get a job, and for him to remember that the code for a spill is not 546, it’s 564.

And then.

He’s looking down at his hands when someone comes to his register. He was hoping he could make it to break without another customer, but since he’s working the ‘20 items or less’ line tonight, it can’t be that bad.

“Good evening, how are you today?” Dongsung asks conversationally as he flicks the switch to get the conveyer belt to bring the bag of dog food and box of mac and cheese closer to him. He raises his eyes from the items to the person still unloading things from their cart. And his heart sinks.

“I’m fine,” Sehyuk says, after maintaining eye contact for a few beats, “and you look good in that hat.”

Dongsung scans the dog food, heart pounding in his chest. “Thanks. You look good with long hair.”

He catches a glimpse of Sehyuk’s smile as he turns to open up a bag from the carousel and place the dog food in it, putting the mac and cheese in as well. “Do you have a dog now?” Dongsung asks, and Sehyuk shakes his head.

“No, I’m just… in town, visiting Junhee. She asked if I would run some errands for her sect, which consisted of food for all the kids, human or otherwise.” Sehyuk tucks some hair that’s fallen out of his ponytail behind his ear. “Yoori has a daughter now, almost two years old. It’s amazing, it doesn’t feel like I’ve been gone that long.”

Dongsung’s throat feels dry. He’s not sure what to say. “You, uh, you look- ah. Are you, uh-”

He cuts himself off when Sehyuk starts laughing, reserved and behind his hand, but it’s so jarring because it’s genuine. He’s never heard Sehyuk laugh in anything more than scorn or spite, and it’s honestly cute. It brings something to the surface.

“I’m healthy and I’m doing well, if that’s what you were trying to go for.” Sehyuk says, a smile still on his face as Dongsung bags up the rest of his groceries. “How about you?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m… I’m fine, I guess. Uh, your total is 10.27.” Dongsung keeps his fingers from brushing Sehyuk’s when Sehyuk hands over the money.

“You guess?” Sehyuk asks once Dongsung has ripped the receipt free of the machine and handed it to him.

Dongsung nods. “I guess.”

Sehyuk smiles again, stunning. “It was nice seeing you again, Dongsung.” He says, voice soft, fond.

Dongsung bites his bottom lip hard, willing himself to stay silent as Sehyuk puts his bags in his cart. He can’t. “My break is in five minutes,” he breathes, and Sehyuk pauses. “Please, stick around.” Sehyuk opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Dongsung presses on. “Just once. You said you’re in town, visiting Junhee, so you’ll be gone again soon, right? So just once.”

Sehyuk closes his mouth again, eyebrows coming together. He looks impossibly sad, and it breaks Dongsung’s heart. “Alright. I’ll wait at the front.”

Nobody else comes through his lane in those five minutes, but Dongsung still has to wait until midnight precisely before he can clock out for his fifteen minute break. As soon as he does, he practically runs to the front area, where there’s a couple benches and Sehyuk, sitting on one of them and staring down at his lap.

“Hey,” Dongsung says, mostly to get his attention. The look Sehyuk gives him is almost relieved. It hurts Dongsung to think that, maybe, Sehyuk thought he wouldn’t hold to his word. Dongsung sits down beside him, pushing his cart out of the way slightly so he can slide in behind it. “So… Sehyuk, where have you been?”

Sehyuk sighs, going back to staring at his lap. “America.”

“Really?”

Sehyuk nods. “I… I’m going to college, things are better. I have a job.” He brushes stray hair away from his face, and when his hand falls, Dongsung takes it in his. The weight is familiar, comforting.

Whatever rose earlier bubbles over in the form of tears. “I’ve missed you so much,” Dongsung whispers, holding onto Sehyuk’s hand tightly. “I don’t know why, I’ve just missed you so much.”

Sehyuk leans over onto Dongsung, resting his head on Dongsung’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, Dongsung. Despite everything, I feel so alone without you.”

Dongsung half-turns to face Sehyuk, kissing his temple first, then his cheek, then his lips when Sehyuk turns his head. He peppers kisses over as much of Sehyuk’s face as he can, drawing an elated giggle from Sehyuk as Dongsung moves down his neck, finding bumpy skin and kissing it.

“Did I do this, here?” Dongsung asks, sitting up so he can look at Sehyuk’s neck. Yes, there are scars there, lumpy and irregular. Dongsung drags his fingertips over them.

“Ah, yes, and this one too.” Sehyuk lifts his left arm and pushes up his sleeve, revealing a slightly indented portion of skin, a lighter color than the skin around it. “Always biting me. I miss it.”

Dongsung’s chest hurts. “I need to go soon, and you do too, right?” Sehyuk nods. “So. This time, you came to visit Junhee. Next time, come to visit me.”

Sehyuk’s agreement is wordless, a kiss to the corner of Dongsung’s mouth. Dongsung kisses him proper before he returns to work, whispering against his lips: “My number is still the same.”

Sehyuk shakes his head. “I won’t call you, you call me. My number is still the same too.”

--

Dongsung keeps it a secret.

He’s almost bursting with happiness, and if he knows well and truly that he shouldn’t be, then everyone else will too. He doesn’t want to hear everyone’s reasons for why this is a horrible decision. In the end, this is his mistake to make.

And make it he does. It takes him a week but he does.

It mostly takes him a week because it is so, so hard to remember Sehyuk’s cell phone number. He was told it when he first joined the East Sect and he only ever called it twice, so it occurs to him that maybe Sehyuk was banking on him being unable to remember his number and therefore being able to live his life in peace. But, not so lucky, because Dongsung ends up typing in the digits with next to no problem (the 6 is first, not the 1).

It’s half past midnight on a Tuesday and Dongsung has the night off from work, so he figures now’s the perfect time provided that Sehyuk doesn’t have morning classes.

The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Dongsung stares at the opals on his finger.

The light catches the opals, they sparkle. Someone picks up the phone, answering in English. “Hello?”

Dongsung feels his throat tighten. He can’t tell if it’s Sehyuk or not, and also wasn’t prepared to use his limited English, so, “Is- Is Sehyuk a… around?” Then, he adds quickly, “Do you s-speak… speak Korean?”

“Yes to both,” the stranger replies, switching to Korean. “Sehyuk’s studying so I was in charge of answering his phone, but uh, here.” There’s somewhat distant speaking, and then the person comes back on. “What’s your name?”

“Uh- Dongsung, tell him it’s Dongsung.”

The person does as instructed, and there’s an audible oh my god, then, “Dongsung?”

Dongsung hadn’t actually planned out what he was going to say, so he figures he should start from the basics. “Hey.”

“Oh my god, alright, hi. Let me, uh, let me-” There’s the squeak of what Dongsung thinks is a desk chair, the ruffle of clothing. “Okay, okay. I’m outside now, in the hall. That was my roommate James, by the way.”

Dongsung hums in response. “He sounds nice. Are you friends?”

“Yes, it’s- it’s very surprising, I wasn’t expecting to become friends with him but he’s liked me since day one.” Sehyuk sighs, and it sounds shaky. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dongsung says, and he keeps himself from adding I guess. “How about you?”

“Oh god, I have a final this afternoon and I’m dying. I- I didn’t tell you because I didn’t get the chance to but I’m majoring in business, logistics, and this is a- it’s a big test. And I didn’t study for it.”

“Business,” Dongsung repeats, latching onto it. He wants Sehyuk to tell him about his life overseas, what he does, what he’s been doing, what he’s planning on doing. He wants to be friends so badly. “Why that?”

“Oh man, so many reasons!” Sehyuk says, and the pure excitement in his voice tugs at Dongsung’s heart so painfully. “I mostly just want to lead people, my end goal is to be the head of a department, but… you know, little steps. So my first little step is getting an internship with a logistics company and going from there! It sounds so boring but really it’s… it’s so exciting.”

“It’s not boring when you talk about it,” Dongsung says, rolling over so he’s laying on his back on the couch. “Tell me about logistics.”

So, Sehyuk does, detailing the basics and then delving more into what he’s planning on doing specifically, which is simply heading a logistics department within a company. Truthfully, it does sound like a hideously boring career, but Dongsung loves laying there listening to Sehyuk speaking to him, so thrilled that Dongsung would care enough about him to ask about it.

“I’m sorry, I’m just- I’m going off on a tangent, I have so much I could say.” Sehyuk sighs, and there’s a stretch of silence. “It’s late over there, huh? You should probably go to bed.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” Dongsung replies, and really he kind of isn’t. His eyelids are drooping and he knows he’s close to falling asleep, but he doesn’t want to stop talking to him.

“Dongsung,” Sehyuk says his name so softly that it almost makes tears rise to Dongsung’s eyes. “If you’re tired, you can go to sleep. Call me tomorrow, about the same time, I have no classes tomorrow.”

Dongsung thinks about it, staring up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes. “Okay, okay. I’ll go to sleep. I- Good luck on your test, Sehyuk.” He tries his hardest to speak as fondly as he can, hoping to convey almost two years of tumultuous emotion in just a few moments.

“Thank you. Sleep well, Dongsung.” A pause. “Thank you for calling.”

“No problem.”

“Goodnight, Dongsung.”

Sehyuk hangs up and Dongsung lays there, phone still pressed to his face, mulling over everything. He knows he will be yelled at if he tells anyone, but he wants to, so badly. So badly.

--

So, he tells Taeyang.

It’s been quite a while since he’s spoken to Taeyang in person, so he takes him out to lunch.

“You look good,” he tells Taeyang quietly, and Taeyang smiles.

“Thanks, you do too. How are you holding up?”

Dongsung nods as he answers. “Good, good. But, uh, guess what happened last week.”

“Hm?”

Dongsung inhales, preparing himself for whatever Taeyang could have to say. “Sehyuk was in town.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I know,” Taeyang repeats, propping his elbow up on the table and resting his chin in his hand. “He came to see Sangwon, and I was also there to see Sangwon.”

“For what?” Dongsung asks without thinking.

“For my shit,” Taeyang says, an edge of bitterness to his voice. “He kept everything of mine and I wanted it back. He sold most of it but I was able to get my books back, at least, and one of my guns. Good enough, I guess. Anyway. How did you know? Surely he didn’t come to see you.”

Dongsung shakes his head. “No, I work at the supermarket, you know. He came by to buy things for Junhee, he said, and we- we talked briefly. He told me his number was still the same so I called him last night.”

“Damn. Was it pleasant at least?”

Dongsung doesn’t know how to properly express just how pleasant it was, so he just nods. Taeyang smiles.

The rest of their time together proceeds mostly in silence, because they never had anything to say to one another before and they certainly don’t now. When they do speak, it’s mostly just small talk and Taeyang occasionally going off on a rant about how shitty Sangwon is (which Dongsung still doesn’t know the full details of).

They part amicably. Dongsung is almost glad Taeyang didn’t try to dig too deep, because Dongsung doesn’t know if he’s ready for that. He also doesn’t know if he’s ready to talk to Seoyoung this Saturday.

--

He was not.

“Dongsung,” Seoyoung says after he spills the beans, sounding like a disappointed mother.

“Okay, yes, yes, I know.” Dongsung says, feeling like a chastised child in turn. He repeats his resolve from earlier in the week. “It was my mistake to make, Seoyoung.”

“Yes, Dongsung, but it’s not one you’re going to benefit from.” Seoyoung says, the strictest Dongsung’s ever heard her sound. “You may feel happier now, Dongsung, but you’ll quickly find that things you never got over are going to come back, and they will come back with a vengeance. I told you before that you cannot possibly be friends with him in a way that will benefit both of you at the same time, it will end up uneven and most likely unhealthy.”

Seoyoung is right, as usual. Dongsung doesn’t want her to be. “Okay, Seoyoung, you’re right. You always are right. But it’s still my mistake to make, like I said, and all I can do is try. I want to try.”

Seoyoung takes a deep breath, raking her hand through her bangs. “This could end up undoing everything you’ve done, Dongsung, everything you’ve done to get to this point of stability-”

“And it’s this point of stability that’s helping me realize that it is a mistake, Seoyoung,” Dongsung interrupts, trying to keep his voice steady. He can’t afford to get mad, or even worse, cry. “If I was still- still like I was, I would see no risk in it, and you know that.”

Seoyoung licks her lips, fixing Dongsung with an even gaze. “Alright, Dongsung. Like you said, it is your mistake to make. Remember that you have my personal number. If something goes very wrong very quickly, call me as soon as possible.”

Dongsung doesn’t think they will, but he nods in agreement anyway. Maybe he’s just trying to desperately delude himself into thinking this is okay, into thinking he’s going to be able to protect himself and not get hurt.

Maybe he’s wrong, maybe he’s right, but either way, he’s going to find out.

--

A month of hour long conversations at midnight bring them to this- a video call, with flipped roles. This time it’s Sehyuk half asleep and Dongsung sitting at his kitchen table, sunlight streaming in through the window.

“Are you sure James is alright with this?” Dongsung asks, and Sehyuk nods.

“Yeah, he does this to me with his girlfriend sometimes, so he can deal.”

There’s a muffled shut up from the other side of the room and Sehyuk laughs, eyes crinkling up in the most beautiful way. Dongsung’s chest hurts.

Time passes mostly in silence for a while, the two of them content to simply look at one another and hear each other breathe. It makes Dongsung feel so warm.

Dongsung goes to scratch his cheek and Sehyuk says, “What’s that?”

Dongsung looks at his hand and sees it, the opal ring around his finger. “It’s- it’s your ring, the one you used to wear- you know. Sangwon was going to sell it.”

“Why are you wearing it?” Sehyuk asks, incredulous.

“I- it’s pretty, and…” Dongsung feels almost embarrassed. He could confess to Seoyoung why it mattered so much to him, but now that it’s Sehyuk asking, it feels so flimsy and almost pointless to say. “I- one of the only things I remember, you know, from then, is you holding my hand. I always liked it.”

“Oh, Dongsung…” Sehyuk says quietly, like he’s horribly endeared. “I’m just- Dongsung, I’m just worried. I don’t want us talking to dredge up things that should be left alone.”

Dongsung nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m kind of worried, too. I… I want to talk to you, though.”

Sehyuk smiles, seeming a little awkward. “I want to talk to you too. We’ll… just… play it safe, you know? Friends, Dongsung, we’re friends.”

Just those words are enough to kick Dongsung’s heart rate up, tears welling in his eyes. Friends.

“Friends,” Dongsung repeats, hoping his slightly pixelated camera is enough to keep Sehyuk from seeing the tears in his eyes. “Friends, okay.”

--

Dongsung doesn’t know what it is about his problems always finding him at work.

He’s checking out a lady (not that sort of checking out), making amicable chit-chat with her, when she suddenly says, “Oh, you’re Dongsung?”

Dongsung thinks that maybe he’s garnered a reputation for being the kindest employee or something, but then the lady taps her top lip and Dongsung tries to discreetly feel his own with his tongue. It’s the scar, the one he’s had for so long now, from where- well, he lets that die in his mind. “Um, yes? That’s me.”

The woman offers her hand, leaning across the conveyor belt to do so. “My name is Yoori, I’m part of the South Sect. Sehyuk is great friends with my sect leaders, I- he visited earlier this year and talked a lot about you.”

Dongsung’s heart still leaps at any mention of Sehyuk, but he keeps an even smile on his face and shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Yoori. He mentioned you had a daughter, now, where is she?”

“Ah, she’s at home. When someone offers to watch your child for you, even if it’s just for a run to the store, you take it.” Yoori smiles, tucking some of her dark brown hair behind her ear. “It’s very nice to meet you, I’ve… I’ve really wondered about you.”

Dongsung tries to imagine what sorts of things Sehyuk could have said about him to make him so marvelous in Yoori’s eyes. Once he’s finished bagging the refrigerated things, he can’t keep his curiosities at bay anymore. “If you don’t mind me asking, I- What did he say that made you wonder so much about me?”

“Oh dear, all sorts of things…” Yoori digs her wallet out of her purse, swiping her card before Dongsung gets the chance to read her the total. “He talked a lot about how much you protected him, kept him safe. How much you made him feel safe. I know what he did to you is… well, you know, but-” Yoori pauses, fingers pressing keys on the keypad as she’s prompted to input her PIN. “He’s a good man, that Sehyuk. While he was driven by selfish desires, he certainly wasn’t, but… he’s so happy now.”

Yoori’s voice has gone fond, and it makes Dongsung feel awkward. “He kept saying,” Yoori continues as she loads her cart down, “that he didn’t deserve anything. None of the kindness we showed him, none of the mercy you did, it was… heartbreaking. I hope he’s well and truly doing better.”

Dongsung hopes the same. He hopes Sehyuk is doing as well as he claims to be.

--

“Did I ever tell you I loved you?”

The question is sudden and makes Sehyuk stop short, hand hovering in mid-air. (Dongsung has discovered that Sehyuk talks with his hands a lot. It’s adorable.) “Not… Not that I can remember, no, why?” Sehyuk’s stature is tense now, like he’s nervous. His camera goes fuzzy for a moment, and he rushes to fix it.

Dongsung shrugs. “I- I was curious. I couldn’t remember.” Things sit in the back of his throat, things he could say, caught somewhere between his head and his mouth. They’re uncalled for and maybe insincere, but he wants to say them. He sorts through them and says one that he thinks he might be ready to tackle. “It’s… It’s like we’re avoiding the camel in the room, right?”

Sehyuk snorts through his nose, eyes crinkling. “Camel? Dongsung, it’s supposed to be elephant.”

“Oh. Wait, really? I- Really?”

Sehyuk bites his lips, visibly trying to hold back laughter, and nods. “Yes, dear, it is.”

Hearing the petname fall from Sehyuk’s lips brings something crashing back into Dongsung’s head, snapshots of Sehyuk stroking his cheek and calling him all sorts of things. Dear, darling, sweetness, honey pie, buttercup. It’s so sudden that it almost hurts. “You used to call me things like that all the time,” Dongsung says quietly, almost sad.

“I did, didn’t I?” Sehyuk replies, raking a hand through his hair. He looks so beautiful with his hair down, almost long enough to touch his shoulders now. “I can start doing it again.” And then, he tacks on a, “Darling.”

Dongsung gets the feeling that Sehyuk only used them back then to be condescending, exerting force in every area he could. But now, his eyes are soft and he sounds so genuine, the words filled with affection. Dongsung could almost cry.

Dongsung decides to try it out. “Okay, dear.” He whispers, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

Sehyuk smiles, but the weight of these past years shows through. It makes him look exhausted in a way Dongsung’s never seen before. “But, back to your original sentiment,” Sehyuk says, pulling Dongsung out of his thoughts. “You’re right, we are trying to ignore it. It’s not like we haven’t addressed it already, but it’s certainly best to… either put it behind us for good or let it end us on good terms. Don’t you agree?”

Dongsung does agree. They’re silent for a few moments, looking at one another, and Dongsung can’t believe that this tired-eyed man is the one that pried him apart and pieced him back together like this. He looks far, far away from Park Sehyuk, the leader of the East Sect. Now he’s just Park Sehyuk, a logistics major, sitting up late on a Saturday night talking to one of his friends half a world away.

“I suppose there’s no explaining on my part that I can really give you,” Sehyuk says, propping his phone up on something so he can pull his hair up messily, smoothing it back as best he can. “Nothing that will be sufficient enough, anyway.”

“It was selfishness,” Dongsung says quietly, watching as Sehyuk redoes his hair, as it’s come out unsatisfactory. “It was selfishness on both our parts. I wanted the world and you did too, but instead of us both getting it, you got… a fractured part of it and I got nothing.”

Sehyuk rubs his eyes sleepily and it’s the cutest thing, alleviating some of the negative emotion brewing in Dongsung’s chest. “Yes, and like I said, there’s no explaining for that selfishness that I can give you.”

“You can try. I can try too.”

Sehyuk inhales deeply, looking away from the camera. “It was a desire to be the best, when I wouldn’t have been the best anyway. But, I really could have been something had I not fucked it up, fucked everything up.” Sehyuk returns his gaze to Dongsung. “I’m not sure if you know this or not, but Sangdo and I went to school together. He was well liked, successful, had lots of girl-and-boyfriends. And I was just… nothing. It killed me to not be the center of attention so I turned out like this.”

There’s heavy silence, Dongsung sorting through all the things he could say in response, the things he could say to explain his own reasons. In the end, he chooses, “That’s- That’s why I never killed you.”

“Hm?”

“I never killed you,” Dongsung says slowly, pausing to gather his words, “because I- I saw that. Before when you told me to kill you, it was- it was a test. Just to see if I would do it. But there at the end…”

Sehyuk looks supremely wounded and Dongsung wonders if he’s gone too far. But- “Yes, and I thank you for that. You’re a good man, Dongsung, and I have far too many regrets concerning you that I’m never, ever going to get over. I told you this two and a half years ago and I’m telling you again, there is no forgiving me.”

Dongsung doesn’t know how to tell Sehyuk that he already has. Every shred of his conscious mind, every part of him that he can control without any influence, all of it has already let go of the bitterness, the anger. And maybe it was too short of a time, after four years of abuse and that aforementioned prying apart. But the fact remains.

Dongsung’s chest is burning with things he could say, jumbled emotions that he can’t figure out. It ends in tears and a quivering voice. “S-Sehyuk, I- I already have.”

It looks like Sehyuk’s going to protest, argue with Dongsung about things he already knows, but in the end he just nods curtly, a soft movement. Everything about Sehyuk is so soft now, careful and measured.

“You’ve changed so much,” Dongsung whispers. His chest hurts when Sehyuk’s face lifts in a smile.

“Is that a good thing?”

Dongsung nods emphatically, holding his phone a little tighter. “It’s a very good thing.” I love you so much.

“You’ve changed as well.” Sehyuk adds, giving Dongsung that terribly fond look that Dongsung thinks can’t really be conveyed through cloudy lenses. “I’m glad of it. But, dearest, it’s almost three AM, I really need to go to sleep.”

“Oh, yes, please do,” Dongsung says, and then, “darling.”

Sehyuk just looks so thrilled. It’s adorable. “Sleep well. You have work tonight, correct? Good luck with that.”

“And you have class in the morning, so good luck with that,” Dongsung replies, and Sehyuk nods.

“Will do. Goodnight, dear.”

“Goodnight.”

--

Sehyuk asks for Dongsung’s address one week, and then in another couple Dongsung is getting a package.

Dongsung holds the brown box in his arms, warm because of the sunlight it had been sitting in. He’s so excited that he feels like a child again.

He gets a knife from the kitchen and slices the tape with it, laying the knife aside and opening up the flaps. Within, there are various well-packaged trinkets, a couple packages of hard candy that is no doubt half-melted, and a letter laying in the bottom.

Dongsung starts from the top, pulling at bubble wrap to reveal the things inside. These turn out to be very New-York-specific things, magnets and shot glasses and one adorable apple made of crystal. Dongsung pauses halfway through to text Sehyuk, letting him know that he got the package and that he loves everything in it.

He fishes the envelope out of the bottom of the box and pulls the flap up delicately, pulling out what appears to be a Christmas card. He snorts, knowing full well that Christmas is almost four months away, and opens the card.

An honest-to-god Polaroid picture falls out and Dongsung catches it before it hits the floor, peering at it. It seems to be Sehyuk and James, though Dongsung has only seen James clearly once in his life, in a clothing store. James’ smile is dazzling, but Dongsung is only interested in the way Sehyuk’s nose is curled up, peace sign pressed against his cheek.

Dongsung holds the picture to his chest for a few moments, then lays it on the table in favor of reading what’s in the card.

The pre-printed message reads, Wishing you a happy holiday season! The words that Sehyuk wrote himself in his swirling script, however, read, Christmas is four months away and I don’t care. It was glittery so I bought it. This thing cost me six dollars I hope you like it. (Seriously, wishing you all the best. I just wanted to send you something. Hope you like everything!) - Sehyuk

Dongsung feels like he could cry, but keeps himself together long enough to unlock his phone and type into the new message box on Sehyuk’s still-open chat window, I love you so much.

There’s time to backspace it, time to delete it, time to regret it. Instead, Dongsung locks his phone again and sets about finding a place to put his new crystal apple.

Dongsung never thought that he would need a therapist.

He feels so strange, sitting in the leather armchair across from this woman. Dr. Lee Seoyoung, with a face that seems too young to be out of college already, dressed more casually than Dongsung would have imagined a therapist’s style to be.

She’s only just sat down, but she’s already writing things on her large notepad, pink pen moving swiftly across the paper. She then raises her head, smiles, and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kim. I’m sure you already know my name, but I’m Dr. Lee Seoyoung, and I hope I can give you the care you need and deserve.”

Dongsung nods, awkward. “Um, call me Dongsung, please.”

Dr. Lee smiles. “Call me Seoyoung, then. I’ve been friends with Yoonchul for a very long time, so I was glad to accept one of his friends as my patient. What’s the reason for your visit today, Dongsung?”

Dongsung licks his lips, searching Seoyoung’s soft eyes for a moment. “Everything. Everything that’s going on, it’s just…” He lets his gaze drop from Seoyoung’s face to the floor. “It’s all too much.”

“I understand. What’s got you most overwhelmed?”

“Dealing. Coping with the things that’s happened to me, and… just. Everything.”

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” Seoyoung’s voice remains gentle, pleasant. It’s nice to listen to.

Dongsung closes his eyes. “I used to be part of a sect. I’m… I’m sure you heard, it was the East Sect.”

“Mmhm. But, tell me anyways. In your own words.”

Dongsung exhales. “The leader, Sehyuk…” Saying his name pulls at Dongsung’s heart, and he pauses, focusing on his breathing. “He broke parts of me. On the inside. He made me forget who I was, I… I still don’t remember a lot about who I used to be.”

He hears the rustling of paper, the scribble of Seoyoung writing something down. “Okay. If you’re done, I’d like to ask you some questions, Dongsung. And if, at any point, it gets too personal, tell me and we’ll stop.” Dongsung makes an affirmative noise, so Seoyoung continues. “What was your motivation for joining a sect?”

“... Angry. I was… I was angry because I felt like the world owed me something.” Dongsung opens his eyes, seeing Seoyoung looking at him intently. He doesn’t look at her directly, instead eyeing the way her dark red hair falls over her shoulders. There’s a frizzy bit caught in the strap of her dress. “My plan was to kill Sehyuk and take the sect for myself. I… I had my hands around his throat, and a knee in his stomach, and I could have killed him then. That was the second day I was there. But he didn’t struggle, he… he held onto my wrists and I saw something in his eyes, I don’t know what it was.”

“Vulnerability?” Seoyoung suggests, and Dongsung nods.

“I guess… it made me feel like he- he understood, somehow?” Dongsung presses his fingertips to his temples, feeling a headache coming on. Digging that far into his memory is painful. “He didn’t know why I was there past wanting to take over, but I think he didn’t get what he wanted from the world, either. It... it makes more sense, too, with what he told me recently- well, not recently… almost a year ago?”

“Would you care to tell me what he told you?” Seoyoung asks, and Dongsung thinks it over.

“He apologized a lot, and told me it wouldn’t fix anything- which, he’s not wrong, it really didn’t, not practically. But it… I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” Dongsung puts his hands over his eyes, shutting them tightly. “He told me to kill him. It wasn’t… it wasn’t a demand, like- he always told me to do things in that tone, that sort of tone that you’d use with a dog. That’s what I was, I was a dog, he owned me and made me into who he wanted me to be…” He opens his eyes, peeking out from between his fingers. Seoyoung is writing in her notepad, chewing the inside of her lip as she does so. “I still think about him, a lot. Is that wrong of me?”

“Depends,” Seoyoung says, without raising her gaze from the paper before her. “In what way do you think of him?”

“I- I think about his voice a lot. I liked it a lot better when he… when he was talking to me like I mattered.” Dongsung closes his eyes again. “Near the end, yeah. He talked to me like that because I held his life in my hands and I- I just let him go, I let him live, because I didn’t want to do what he told me anymore, but… also because I didn’t want to be the one to kill him.”

“Were you fond of him, Dongsung?”

Dongsung pauses. “He tried to make me love him.” He says after a few moment’s thought.

Seoyoung makes a soft noise. “I didn’t ask if you loved him, Dongsung. I asked if you were fond of him, like… did you care about him? Or was it all just about spiting him?”

Dongsung inhales deeply, exhaling an answer. “Yes. I cared about him, I- I still do.” He drops his hands suddenly, letting them hit his knees. “I want to just, touch him, most of all. I want to hold his hands in mine. His cheeks were soft.”

Seoyoung doesn’t respond.

“I want to kiss him again.”

Seoyoung nods, setting her notepad aside. “I believe, from everything you’ve told me today… you need assurance that this is okay. And it is. You’re not going to come away from this unscathed, Dongsung, and you might not stop thinking about it, about Sehyuk himself, for years to come. He made you a completely different person, so it’s likely his power over your life will not disappear, only diminish.”

“It’s okay for me to miss him?” Dongsung asks, suddenly feeling a sharp stab of desperation.

Seoyoung nods. “Certainly. Especially if he attempted to condition you to love him, there’s probably some part of you that still genuinely does. And you do like him an awful lot, it seems. Do you not hate him at all?”

Tears well in Dongsung’s eyes, so he puts his hands over his face again. “Whoever I used to be hates him. It’s deep in there, but it’s- it’s not all of me, it’s not big enough to matter.”

“But it would cause problems if you were friends with him, right?”

Dongsung swallows hard. “Right.”

“And that’s the thing- forming relationships with past abusers, whether they abused you or someone else, it rarely works.” There’s the sound of Seoyoung picking up her tablet once again. “I can’t say that it would be a total failure, but if there’s even that little bit of total hatred, a grudge buried deep… it’ll come out sooner or later, and it’ll make both of you miserable.”

Dongsung tries to discreetly wipe his tears away, but he’s sure Seoyoung has noticed. “I just miss him.”

“It’s understandable. It may go away with time, or it may always be this ache in your chest and thoughts in the back of your head. But either way, it’s best to find a way to cope with it.”

Dongsung takes a deep breath, uncovering his face in favor of wiping his eyes with his sleeves. “Can we stop for today?”

Seoyoung smiles, warm. “Of course. My cell phone number is the second number on my business card, you can text or call at any time. Keep yourself safe, Dongsung.”

Dongsung nods, standing. Seoyoung follows suit, and even with her tall heels, she’s still a head shorter than him. “Thank you, really,” Dongsung says, and Seoyoung smiles.

“It’s not a problem, dear. I hope you’ll be okay soon.”

Dongsung does too.

--

Seoyoung looks good with her hair up.

“It’s been a bit since your last visit,” Seoyoung says, crossing her legs. She’s in a pantsuit today, the legs of her pants too long for her short stature; one of the hems is currently caught under her heel, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “How are you?”

Dongsung shrugs. “I’m fine, I guess. I keep having weird dreams.”

“Weird how, exactly?”

“It’s always sunset, and there’s always someone with me. No matter who it is, they’re talking to me and they hold my hand.” Dongsung looks out the window, at the late morning sky turning a rich blue. “I thought it was a Sehyuk thing, because the first time I had it, Sehyuk was the one there. But there’s been my brother, and Hansol, and Sanggyun, more recently… So, I dunno.”

“It’s most likely a manifestation of some subconscious thoughts. Worries, maybe. Can you remember what any of them say to you?”

“Well, that’s the thing…” Dongsung brings his eyes to Seoyoung, who’s chewing on the cap of her pen. “I know they’re talking to me, but I can never hear them. It’s usually like, right before I wake up, and then suddenly I just hear this one thing. I think about it for days afterwards.”

“What’s been the most impactful one?” Seoyoung asks, not moving her pen away from her mouth.

“The first one. It was, I miss you too, Dongsung.”

Seoyoung nods slowly, reaching for her notepad. Dongsung waits until she’s finished, then asks: “Can I see that?”

“Of course,” Seoyoung says with a smile, handing the notepad over. “I keep one special for each patient, so it’s fine.”

Dongsung takes it from her, flipping through. It’s mostly condensed versions of everything Dongsung’s told her in their three visits, with some directly quoted and noted as ‘worrisome’ or with an indication to ‘watch out for more comments like this’.

“As a disclaimer,” Seoyoung begins as Dongsung flips to the front to read her initial evaluation, “the first page was all from our first visit. You haven’t been diagnosed with anything, so that’s why everything is phrased as ‘tendencies’ or ‘possibility to develop’.”

Dongsung reads through everything, scribbled in various colors of ink, then hands back the notepad. “You’re a good person,” he says, prompting Seoyoung’s eyebrows to rise. “Not just good at what you do, you’re just a good person.”

Seoyoung smiles, shutting the notepad and setting it aside. “You’re a good person too, Dongsung. I’m certain you were good before, and you’re good now.”

--

Seoyoung dyed her hair. It falls wavy black around her shoulders and Dongsung stares for a few moments before saying, “It looked better red.”

Seoyoung smiles, twisting a lock of her hair around her finger. “You think so? My boyfriend told me it looked good this way, so I dunno.”

“Oh yes, the boyfriend. He knows best.” Dongsung says, smiling.

Seoyoung nods. “Certainly. But, onto more serious matters.” She picks her pen up from where it lays beside her, resting between her leg and the couch cushion beside it. “You’ve been seeing me for nearly a year now, once a week. Compare your current state- emotional, physical, mental, etcetera-  to your state eleven months ago. Has it improved or deteriorated?”

Dongsung does as he’s told, looking off to the side as he thinks. It’s… tricky, to say the least, pushing through his muddled thoughts and memories as thoroughly as he can to pick out which answer fits best. “Both. I really feel like it’s both.” He says at last, bringing his eyes back to Seoyoung.

And, of course, the next question as usual is, “And why do you feel that?”

“It’s improved because you’ve helped me accept things, I guess.” Dongsung swallows, looking at the floor. He wiggles his toes in his shoes. “You’ve helped me… recognize that everything is… valid? But also made sure I didn’t… delude myself into thinking I was okay. I think that’s the reason why I’m also worse, now, because realizing that I’m not okay even though I thought I was really kicked my ass.”

Seoyoung hums, tapping her foot on the floor idly as she writes. She then flips through her notebook, pages making soft noises as she does so. “Eleven months ago, you told me the most prevalent feeling was sadness, followed by confusion. What is it now?”

“Anger,” Dongsung answers almost immediately. He doesn’t give Seoyoung time to follow up with the and why question. “I’m just- I’m mad at a lot of things. I’m still mad at myself. I’m mad at Sehyuk,” and it’s still no easier to say his name, “for different reasons now.”

“What are they now?” Seoyoung asks, voice gentle.

Dongsung puts his hands over his face, sighing. “For leaving me alone. I still have Yoonchul and Sanggyun, and Taeyang still talks to me even though he got his own place a few months ago. But they… they don’t understand. It’s not like Sehyuk would really understand either, but at least he… he- I don’t know.”

“It’s alright, Dongsung,” Seoyoung says, couch creaking when she shifts. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Take things as they come. It’s one day at a time, darling.”

Dongsung exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I just miss him.”

“Do you still wish you could touch him?” Seoyoung asks, and Dongsung knows she’s reading over session reports from months ago, asking him things for clarification, seeing if anything has changed. Seeing if Dongsung is getting better.

“Yes.”

--

“You got a haircut,” Seoyoung observes, a positive lilt to her voice.

Dongsung smiles, fingertips teasing his now-short hair, cropped close and dyed black again. “Yeah. I haven’t cut it this short since way before I joined the sect, I figured it’d be a good change.”

Seoyoung nods in agreement. “Yes, it is. It looks good on you.”

“Oh, before I forget, look.” Dongsung holds out his hand to Seoyoung, and Seoyoung leans over so she can see what he’s referring to- a ring, sitting snugly on his index finger, with a tarnished band and inlaid with sparkling opals.

“How pretty,” Seoyoung marvels, taking Dongsung’s hand in hers gently, so she can turn the ring towards the sunlight.

“Sangwon gave me a box of things he didn’t want from the sect house. This was one of the things in there.” Dongsung rubs his thumb across the ring once Seoyoung relinquishes his hand, sighing. “It was one of Sehyuk’s rings. He wore it a lot in the first few months I was there, but by the time the sect dissolved, he never wore it. I don’t know why.”

“Ooo, I see. Though, Dongsung, are you sure it’s a good idea to keep things of his?” Seoyoung’s voice turns up in concern, a frown on her face. “It may end up causing more harm than good.”

“I… I remember holding his hand and feeling his ring against my hand.” Dongsung says quietly, staring down at the stones shining around his finger. “It’s one of the only things I do remember. You know, how most things I remember from those days are just feelings, general ideas, that sort of thing? I remember this perfectly.” Dongsung looks to Seoyoung, pausing for a few moments. “So I wanted to keep it.”

Seoyoung nods, writing this information down in her notebook. “Alright, I understand. Let me know if you remember anything else like that, okay?”

Dongsung nods. Truth be told, he already remembers lots of things similar to that, and all of them relate to Sehyuk. However, some of them are things he doesn’t want Seoyoung to know, things he clings to in an attempt to bandage wounds and bridge gaps that they aren’t quite qualified to bandage and bridge. It’s better than nothing.

--

“Dongsung, your therapist is kind of hot.”

“Sanggyun, do you forget that you’re married?”

Sanggyun’s cheeks flare and he pushes at Dongsung’s shoulder. “Not like that, not like- not like I think she’s hot, she’s just- she is.”

Dongsung nods. “Mmhm. Sure, okay.”

“No, Dongsung, listen. I am, I am gay. I am the gayest. I-” Sanggyun spots Yoonchul coming into the room, holding a mug of coffee in his hand. “Look! There, there he is, that’s my husband, right there. Dongsung look.”

Dongsung does look, taking in Yoonchul’s bewildered expression. “I think you may be alarming your husband, Sanggyun.”

“Yes, definitely,” Yoonchul concurs as he sits down on the couch opposite them, still staring at Sanggyun with a strange expression on his face.

“No! No, Yoonchul! You agree Dr. Lee is kind of hot, right?” Sanggyun asks, something like desperation sinking into his voice.

Yoonchul shrugs with one shoulder, taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t know, she’s not really my type.”

“Your type is sharp cheekbones and Cheeto fingers, right?” Dongsung supplies, and Yoonchul nods with a grin.

“Definitely.”

--

Minkyun isn’t quite sure what to make of Yoosu’s best friend.

His name is Kwangji and he has a loud laugh and a deep voice. He speaks politely to Minkyun but tosses jabs at Yoosu and steals food from his plate. It makes Minkyun feel, strangely, like he’s intruding on something.

Kwangji invited Yoosu out for dinner, and Yoosu made Minkyun come too. Minkyun was concerned about being unwanted until Yoosu informed him that Kwangji would like him and won’t mind. And, really, it seems like Kwangji doesn’t mind whatsoever, it’s just…

Minkyun doesn’t need to eat regular food, and even if he did, he’d just throw it up later anyway because his body can’t process it. So, he pushes his rice around on his plate, forlorn, remembering the times where he could eat it, remembering eating ramyeon with his friends on the weekend and watching movies with a bowl of popcorn in his lap. He misses it dearly.

Minkyun squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to cry here, he doesn’t want to be a burden. He keeps them closed until he hears the squeal of a chair being pushed back and looks up, seeing Yoosu headed in the direction of the bathrooms.

Kwangji immediately turns his attention to Minkyun, almost alarmingly so. “I’ve noticed something in our time together, here.”

“W-What?” Minkyun asks, fidgeting with his chopsticks nervously.

“You’ve really smoothed Yoosu out.” Kwangji takes a sip of his drink, smiling fondly. “He used to be, you know, all sharp edges and blunt words. He never asks me how I am if something hasn’t happened recently, just as small talk, but he did it tonight.” Kwangji sets his drink back down, looking at Minkyun. His gaze is soft. “The way he looks at you is adorable.”

Minkyun feels a rush of embarrassment, a need to hide his face even though his chagrin won’t show. Kwangji picks up on it and laughs, shifting in his chair. “You’re good for him,” Kwangji says quietly. “I’ve known him for almost five years and I’ve never seen such genuine smiles on his face. Take your time with him, he’s worth it.”

Yoosu comes back then, both of their attentions moving back to him as he does. Yoosu flicks his gaze to Minkyun for a moment, corners of his mouth turning up, and Minkyun sees it there- a burning affection, love, deep in his eyes.

Minkyun returns his smile and then ducks his head, feeling like he’s going to melt.

--

“What’cha reading?”

Minkyun turns his attention from the book in his hands to Yoosu, who’s curling up beside him in bed and nestling his head on his shoulder. “It’s just… a book I found on your shelf, it’s interesting.”

Yoosu smiles, tilting his head up to kiss the side of Minkyun’s neck, lips lingering on the scars there. “Hey, that reminds me. Is it way too early for me to be curious about how you died?”

Minkyun tenses. He feels like that’s probably important to know, maybe, but he’s- he drops his focus to Yoosu’s face, still pressed into his neck- he’s scared of remembering what happened.

Yoosu notices his discomfort and raises to kiss his cheek, gentle. “I didn’t say you had to tell me, only if you want to. I wanna know, though.”

Minkyun sucks in a breath, fullness in his lungs calming him slightly. “I… god, I want to tell you but I don’t want to think about it…”

“Shh. Don’t, then.”

Minkyun takes another breath. “No. It… it was dark.”

--

It was dark and I was alone. I was in college, you know, I wanted to be a singer… my night class had just ended and I- I wasn’t scared, not really, because I’d walked the same street for almost a year at that point and nothing had ever happened. Nobody had ever died from my college, that side of the city is- it’s supposed to be okay.

But- I guess there’s a first time for everything, or something like that. I… I can’t remember what they looked like, I only- I can remember how cold their hands were. One of them had bad breath. It was… ah… the woman, she was the one who- mmm.

(“Take your time,” Yoosu whispers, fingers soft on the inside of Minkyun’s wrist.)

She killed me, and turned me. She told me she was, uh, giving me new life or whatever. I just remember being so scared, so so scared, and cold.

I… I don’t know how much time passed, how long I was out, but when I woke up I wasn’t in the city. It was… a field, and I remember that everything was so overwhelming. I could hear birds’ wings overhead and I could smell things I don’t think I’d ever smelled in my life, fresh grass and something from far away… The stars were so bright.

I thought it was almost- almost cool. And really, it was, until- you know. I must have killed twelve people, m-maybe more, I don’t- I don’t remember. I don’t remember what they looked like or how I did it but I remember that it was four days of nothing but, just, grabbing people off the streets and, just, god.

(Yoosu reaches up to catch tears before they fall.)

Once I snapped out of it, everything calmed down, but I remembered killing people and it crushed me. I couldn’t stop crying, and that just- it made everything worse. Wonho… I don’t remember how Wonho found me but I know that he helped me. He fixed me and got me to stop crying but he couldn’t get me to hunt, feed, nothing that wasn’t out of a bag.

--

“But,” Minkyun stops to take a breath, just to calm himself, “now we’re here.”

“Now we’re here,” Yoosu echoes, kissing the side of Minkyun’s nose like he likes to do so much. “What do you miss most?”

Minkyun’s sure Yoosu is expecting something like the ability to eat or college classes or his friends, but- “My heartbeat. I miss my heartbeat.”

Yoosu nods, understanding though not quite. He’s never going to go through this. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s- I don’t know. I don’t want to say that it hurts less now because it’s- it’s only been nine months.” Minkyun laughs, though it sounds sad and hollow to his own ears. “Wonho calls me a baby. He’s almost two hundred years old, did you know that? It’s incredible.” Minkyun closes his eyes, finally letting the book drop from his hands and thumping his head against the wall. “I don’t know if I want to live that long.”

“I’ll live that long with you,” Yoosu whispers. “You know, being a carton of half-and-half has its perks.”

Minkyun can’t help himself- he bursts into laughter, giggling behind his hand and turning to look at Yoosu. “Half-and-half?” He repeats.

“Yeah! I mean, I’ve been called a half-blood more times than I can count, so I might as well own up to it and be a delicious creamer.” Yoosu shrugs, and Minkyun snorts. “It’s never really bothered me. I know there are some hybrids that I used to, uh, work with, I guess, that got really upset by the things they were called. I just used to keep a little list of them. My favorite was mutt, that was cool.”

Minkyun whines, turning his head to kiss Yoosu’s forehead. “You’re fine, just the way you are.”

“Oh, I know I am. But thank you.”

Minkyun rolls his eyes. Yoosu grins. “You’re too much sometimes.”

“That’s my job.”