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Chapter Text

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ADDRESSED TO: GO HYUNTAK
"you are cordially invited to the grand opening of la été, and its first establishment in south korea! a private dinner for guests will be served in the banquet room."
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
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└─────────────────┘

┌─────────────────┐
ADDRESSED TO: PARK HUMIN
"your services are requested."
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
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└─────────────────┘

┌─────────────────┐
ADDRESSED TO: GEUM SEONGJE
"it starts now."
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
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└─────────────────┘

┌─────────────────┐
ADDRESSED TO: AHN SUHO
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
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┌─────────────────┐
ADDRESSED TO: YEON SIEUN
"congratulations! you have been selected as the winner of our cuisine apprenticeship this upcoming winter! please attend the mandatory registration to confirm your acceptance at the address provided. we sincerely welcome you aboard!"
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
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└─────────────────┘

┌─────────────────┐
ADDRESSED TO: OH BUMSEOK
"seoul's annual college fundraiser has begun! please join us for some fun, and several chances to win cash prizes!"
2025.05.15, 00:00
131 NAMJEONG RD, NATIONAL CAPITAL, SEOUL
NO RETURN SERVICE REQUESTED
║▌│█║▌│ █║▌│█│║▌║
└─────────────────┘

Chapter Text

go hyuntak wears a long, thick black coat for the cold weather. underneath it, a low rise black blazer that reveals just the slightly smidge of his chest. the top is paired with black slacks and luxury dress shoes.
his dark hair is styled and parted at the side, with his bangs falling into his eyes slightly. stunning glimmers highlight his collarbones, eyes, and cheeks in the moonlight.
hyuntak, the youngest and most successful fashion designer out of south korea, is looking like perfection and ready for the grand opening.

geum seongje holds his favorite lighter in one hand as he walks the old and abandoned road to his destination. he carries a baseball bat with nails hammered on almost every part, tossing it up and down dangerously with the other and without looking at it.

with precise and rhythmic timing, seongje catches the baseball bat by its handle each time.
a revolver and a couple other weapons are scattered throughout his person.

the revolver was strapped behind his back. one handgun rests in the pocket of his black leather jacket alongside two more lighters and a crumpled up pack of cigarettes. he stores a folding knife in the small space of his right boot, and a swiss knife tucked away on his belt.

he is more than ready for tonight.

ahn suho stumbles into a parked taxi driver's backseat and points a .45 caliber automatic at the back of his head.

the poor man bursts into tears at the wheel and immediately put his hands up, and suho feels pity in his heart; he never liked doing things like this.

"t-take anything! just please don't shoot!" the taxi driver sobs. suho hears the faint sounds of sirens creeping their way up towards him, and has no choice but to drive the gun into man's head. "drive," he commands. "i will tell you when to stop."

the man trembles so much it was hard for him to grip the steering wheel. the glasses on his face fall clean off because of the sweat and nerves, and seeing him look for them on the car floor just makes suho more nervous. he cocks the pistol.

"drive! just drive, now!"

and the taxi skids off into the night.

park humin had just finished up his last beer out of the entire 6-pack he bought a couple of hours ago.

the bottle was inside a brown paper bag, which rhythmically almost falls out humin’s hands several times during the bumpy bus ride.

it was late and he was the only one left on the bus, so he didn't really know why he was concealing his drink. he was sure the busman's only concern was getting humin up and out of the transportation vehicle as soon as possible so that he could go home. humin was also sure he was irked at how the destination was the farthest stop the bus went.

humin has been drinking so much recently that the buzz was no longer doing a single thing to him. he wonders if he was only doing it to fall asleep was not wake up anymore.

he feels no desire to do anything. in what felt like a second, humin had lost everything he truly cared about. he knew nobody would believe a word that came out of his mouth, not after that happened, and that was what destroyed him.
humin wasn't even sure why he was even listening to this stupid envelope.

yeon sieun was so excited, he quit his job on the spot.

getting the apprenticeship for one of the best cooking schools in south korea was the one and only goal wooyoung truly wanted. he's worked so hard, burnt himself out in so many jobs to make his application look good, and now it's finally here.

sieun realizes that the address provided was pretty far away, and he had to get there within the next twelve hours. with quick (and probably inaccurate) math, sieun calculates that he would be there by around midnight to avoid most of the traffic, and instead sleep in his car for the night or else risk being late; and that was not an option.

sieun packs an overnight bag immediately, locks his apartment, and gets in his car.

oh bumseok ignores the blinking light on his car dash. something has been wrong with it for so long, but he doesn’t have enough money to fix it.

drowning with debt. that's exactly what bumseok’s situation is. he hasn't spoken to his family in years, which left him to figure out his own way to afford university. being truthful, bumseok was tired. he was extremely, extremely tired. of everything.

bumseok had burnt out of college long ago, but had already taken out way too much money. he needed this degree in order to get a job that would allow him to repay his loans. as much as he hated it, dropping out was not a smart option. besides, he was almost done. a couple more months and it would all be over.
this obviously goes without saying, but bumseok needed as much free money as he could get in order the minimize the business he had with the bank.

if there was some weird college fair on the other side of town to win cash with no strings attached, bumseok was going to be there.

Chapter Text

"what the hell is this?" hyuntak mumbles to himself, turning his car off. everything is so dark. the addressed building looks horrendous. this is not la été at all.

trees grew all around the building that it was almost completely concealed by them. around him are old and empty lots, signaling that this was most likely part of the city that had been abandoned. hyuntak steps out of his car to stretch his legs, pissed because he most likely got the wrong address and now he was going to be late—- he was actually planning on showing up to one of these things tonight. hyuntak pulls his phone out of his velvet pocket alongside the slightly crumpled envelope to check the location he was given.

hyuntak's eyebrows furrows; his address is correct.

the sound of footsteps approaching catches hyuntak's attention. he looks up from his phone to see headlights in the distance. contrary to popular belief, this mystery person arriving actually makes him feel a little bit more relaxed.

hyuntak smiles a little as figure continues to approach, but hyuntak’s face contorts to one of pure confusion.

he's so... underdressed.

the man takes a small bow and shakes hyuntak's hand. "so, what did you need done?" he speaks in calm and smooth voice, formally as well. he is polite, all the factors that only perplex hyuntak even more. "uh, i don't need anything from you? i'm not even sure of your name."

"oh! my apologies.." he bows again, a little longer this time. "i'm park humin."

hyuntak sighs. "sorry. your name doesn't ring a bell. but my name is go hyuntak." he adjusts his coat awkwardly. "by any chance, do you know if this is the right place for the grand opening?"

humin feels his shoulders freeze. "um.. i didn't know there was a grand opening here."

out of both of them, humin is the first one to realize that he has been lied to. under any other circumstance, he would've immediately left. but since his clients are typically always rich and well-dressed men, for hyuntak to not know who he was couldn't be possible. humin's ip address and footprint, both physical and digital, are untraceable. for someone to send him the envelope to his exact location and with his full name is highly concerning. this never happens.

hyuntak still doesn’t catch on. he continues checking his phone to see where exactly he is. It’s like being in the middle of an old and dark road with an eerie building on the other side of them isn’t worrisome to him.

'the pretty ones are never smart..' humin thinks briefly, before immediately taking the envelope out of his pocket. he opens his passenger side door and sits there to stare at it, trying to find any other clue that could point to who sent this. there is a barcode at the bottom, but humin had already scanned it. all it was was a map that pinpointed the location.

"wait.." humin mumbles to himself before speaking up. "hey, uh, hyuntak, was it? how did you know this was the place for the grand opening?"

hyuntak remains fixated on his phone, and could only boredly nod at his direction. "uh, i got an invitation in the mail? that's usually how it works." hyuntak laughs, but red flags are rising in humin's head. "do you happen to have the invitation?"

"well i mean, yeah," hyuntak finally looks at the stoic humin. "you need the invitation to enter... what's with all these ques-" "can i see it?"

the look in humin's eyes makes hyuntak hand it over without another comment.

hyuntak's invitation looks exactly like humin's. in everything, even the barcode at the bottom. the only difference is the message written to them.

"are you okay?" hyuntak crosses his arms. "you look like you've seen a ghost." humin shakes his head. "no.. no, i'm fine. but i'm keeping this." he holds up hyuntak's invitation.

"but i need it for the grand opening!" hyuntak tries to take it back out of humin's hand and fails horribly, almost stumbling to the ground. humin raises an eyebrow at the way hyuntak is speaking to him, but gets up and out of his passenger seat. "i don't know if you're joking, or if it wasn't a joke in the first place, but there isn't a grand opening here. or at all for that matter," humin does a quick type on his phone. "la été isn't even an actual brand."

hyuntak looks so offended. "what!? then who would lie to me?" he huffs, running a careful hand through his styled hair. "aish, seriously? do these people even know who they're dealing with?"

humin could not help but let out a chuckle, "sorry. but i mean, didn't you think to check before coming? or do you just always follow anonymous mail instructions?"

hyuntak's eyes narrow further. "didn't you think to check? i am one of the richest people in south korea. i have people to do that for me."

"well, i came under very different impressions that matched with this location. so yes, i did check." humin walks towards the driver's seat.

"stop talking to me like i'm a child, you- hey, wait! where are you going?" hyuntak watches humin zip his sweatshirt all the way up and move farther away. "home. i keep telling you, we were tricked. does this place look festive to you right.. now.." humin's voice fades when he spots something in the distance. the silhouette is so faint, but the movement of walking catches his eye.

right after spotting the figure, humin realizes that there are actually two separate cars parked next to the building. it was so dark and he was barely seeing them now; all the more of a reason to leave. "get in your car, it's not safe." humin orders, but his voice is something mere in hyuntak's head. when humin takes his eyes off the hidden cars, he looks back to see hyuntak walking towards the shadow.

humin has never facepalmed so hard in his life.

he wants to go get hyuntak, but he was hidden right now and is not going to jeopardize that. humin briefly wonders what the hell is going on in hyuntak's mind as he begins to back away. he decides he’ll stay to see hyuntak's interaction with the mysterious figure, in case he were to need help. humin had known hyuntak for all about 35 minutes. he was ignorant, unaware, and kind of narcissistic. 

humin doesn't know why he cares for him already.

needing backup right now is the least of hyuntak's concerns—- he knows that conniving shadow anywhere. 

"... what are you doing here?" the voice is dripping in annoyance, and it makes hyuntak further furrow his eyebrows. "i could ask you the same thing. although, i'm sure anyone could've guessed you'd end up finding work in dirty alleys." hyuntak smirks seeing the fury rise in this stranger. he swings at hyuntak with the nailed bat in his hands, and hyuntak is barely able to dodge him. but of course, that doesn't stop him.

"still as feisty as ever, geum seongje." hyuntak's words come out like poison. "i thought the mountains of pills you need to live on would've calmed you down at least a little, but i guess not."

"i can kill you right now if i wanted to." seongje speaks so softly, like he's preparing to sing you a pretty lullaby to sleep. it could send a chill down anybody's spine. it was as if what he was saying had no meaning at all. because to him, it didn't. 

because to him, hyuntak was nothing.

there was abruptly a gust of wind circling around him that is so strong, seongje is forced to shut his eyes. he couldn't see or hear anything over the air completely thrumming in his ears. just as sudden as the wind starts up, it stops. and when seongje opens his eyes back up, hyuntak is gone.

seongje lets out a hearty laugh. the two had known each other all of their lives. and as much as hyuntak hated it, seongje knew how predictable he was. so before hyuntak could even do anything, seongje turns around and punches him square in the face. hyuntak falls backwards because of the force; he had to admit seongje had gotten way stronger.

humin watches on from his distance as the two continue to fight, bewildered at how hyuntak seems to create the gust of wind and control it. not to mention how he moves locations within the blink of an eye. what was more unnerving was how this other person could tell so easily where hyuntak was, despite him moving so quickly. he feels the hot sensations throughout his body that he hasn’t felt in such a long time, and it was getting harder and harder to control them.

it gets to the point where humin just wants to leave before he does anything to expose himself. he doesn't particularly enjoy the heaviness in his heart when thinking about abandoning hyuntak like that, but nobody told him to charge towards a shadow in the middle of a dark and abandoned road. besides, from what humin could gather on their loud voices, they knew each other pretty well.

distracted by worriedly looking over at hyuntak, humin misses the figure getting out of one of the cars parked next to the old building. he is a near distance from humin when he finally notices, and as a result he lunges backwards in both surprise and hostility. his phone falls from his hand and it's too dark to try and find it. that fiery spark abruptly clouds his vision as he calls out, "who are you!?"

the approaching silhouette in question raises his arms up, a certain look in his eyes that only alarmed humin further. "i-i'm sorry! i didn't mean to startle you, my name is sieun." his voice sounds just as panicked as how humin internally feels, but there’s something that just seems off. sieun is slowly nearing humin, and it only continues to heighten his senses. "don't get any closer!" humin puts his hands to his cheeks and tries fighting the burning, growing sensations pulsing through his veins. he doesn’t want to do this here. or at all for the matter.

another gust of wind comes from hyuntak and seongje's direction, and this time it is much stronger. the trees around them rustle violently and debris flies into the air, evidently distracting humin as he fails to see sieun lunge at him.

a hand grabs onto his forearm, and humin feels a prick of pain where he was touched. 

"i said get away!" a spiral of red-orange fire ignites from his palm, twisting upward like a living flame. without hesitation, he hurls it straight at sieun’s face.

but sieun doesn't flinch.

with terrifying ease, he mirrors humin’s fire, an identical spiral erupting from his own hand, swallowing humin’s attack mid-air. the flames vanish into a cloud of smoke.

humin staggers back, stunned. his mind flashes to sieun grabbing his arm. did he copy my power? but there’s no time to think.

they collide.

blow after blow, fire crashing against fire. sieun counters humin’s every move like he’s looking into a mirror—one perfectly timed block, one precisely angled deflection after another.

it's inhuman.

off in the distance and watching with panicked eyes, is another person that had gotten out of the second parked car next to the old building. he’d been sleeping in there, waiting for morning to come, when the shouting from outside jolted him awake. 

he watches as the strangers on the right throw literal fire from their hands at each other. he watches as the strangers on the left creates horrible winds and audible punches, even from where he's standing. he is overstimulated, afraid, and so confused. he has absolutely no idea what is going on, and it is terrifying him.

"you're seeing things, beomseok." he whispers to himself. it makes him feel pathetic, praying to whatever's out there that this is just a horrible nightmare —- that he would wake up any moment now, and this would all be over.

but as if on cue and he was in some sort of horror movie, beomseok spots something darting between the trees around him.

"of course you got the wrong address, ahn suho." he mumbles to himself and snatches stray leaves off of his dark clothing. he spots beomseok standing by the car, and the two freeze at the same time. it was as if time had stopped, and as much as beomseok wants to jump back into his car and speed away, his legs are paralyzed. it's so dark, they could barely meet eyes, but with fire flashing rapidly from the others behind them, beomseok begins to see the other person’s eyes glow an unnatural, freakishly bright amber.

and then, another set of eyes come to beomseok's view, next to the first. these new eyes appear lower, somewhat at torso-level and beomseok feels his heart stop beating in his chest, because another flash of fire illuminates exactly what beomseok is looking at—- a man, dressed in all black. and probably the biggest lion beomseok had ever seen in his life.

come to think of it, it could've been a tiger too. or a bear. maybe a coyote. but it was so dark that he only saw the animal for a few brief seconds to really see what it was.

"stay back!" beomseok's voice quivers, and he feels that specific, flaring burst of energy begin to thrum all inside of him. goosebumps cover his skin entirely, and he feels a warmth spreading to his extremities.

and beomseok doesn't have time to think about what to do next. the only thing he knows is he has to protect himself, right now. all of the sudden, the world around beomseok stops. he shuts his eyes. his breathing quickens, his chest tightens, and sparks of purple fly out of his arms. beomseok swats the sparks away in a feeble attempt at stopping what was about to come, whether he wants it to or not.

the purple electric spirals begin to roll off of his arms like waves. they lash out of his arms like they have a mind of their own, creating some sort of meshwork around beomseok.

the lion glowers, and in a fraction of a second—- it charges towards beomseok.

"STOP!" a burst of violet electricity detonates from his body. It blasts outward in all directions like a sonic boom, leveling the entire lot. the pouncing lion screeches horribly and disintegrates completely into the air. cars flip and tumble across the pavement. trees bend flat against the earth. every person nearby is flung into the air, tossed like rag dolls into bushes and asphalt.

for a terrible second, the night is completely silent. beomseok drops to the ground, vision narrowing and feeling like he might pass out any moment now. his arms feel like they've been cut clean off of his body, the way they are throbbing and stinging awfully. but soon enough, he hears loud groans throughout the different parts of the road. beomseok takes the biggest breath of relief.

"what the-" suho coughs violently and doubles over, coughing out hot steam like he’d been thrown into a house fire. beomseok's unsure if that's why he's having trouble speaking or if it's because he looks like he just got torn apart limb from limb. his face is smeared with mud and there's a bleeding gash across the side of his hairline. "what the fuck was that?" beomseok watches him struggle to get up and wants to help, but he can't even remember his own name right now so he's probably not the best person for the situation at hand. beomseok manages to turn his head and looks on the opposite side of him, where the others are crawling out of the trees and picking themselves up. one of them ended up crashing directly into a tree, and the side of his face was completely covered in deep, red lacerations.

the sound of a creaking door captures everybody's attention, because it's the loudest sound that can be heard in the silence of the abandoned road. the lighting around them brightens up at the front of the building. everybody is willing themselves to get up faster now, because they have absolutely no idea what just opened that door.

in that same moment, everybody slowly starts to huddle together, almost like they had never attacked each other in the first place. hyper-aware of each presence, the group slowly approaches the entrance of the building. it definitely surprises each of them when they see a short man, or maybe a boy with tousled brown standing in the doorway.

"hi everybody." the kid at the door yawns, the black-rimmed glasses on his face almost falling off. "that last blastwave nearly knocked me off my bed! i see that you are all here" he smiles a little shyly, tapping his foot against the door. his movements are fast and jittery—- like he's on five different energy drinks for just that night alone. it makes everybody apprehensive.

his smile then turns comically wide, almost wicked-like, and it unsettles them just a little more. "wow, all of you actually made it!" he moves out of the way and motions for everybody to come inside. nobody moves for a moment, but they all exchange some sort of eye contact before eventually deciding to walk inside. the door shuts rather loudly when it closes, and it startles all of them. sieun almost loses his balance.

the, uh, homeowner? (sounds about right) keeps that cheshire smile on his face, walking in front of everybody and gesturing a big and warm, "welcome in!".

everybody briefly wonders what they've gotten themselves into.

Chapter Text

the inside of the building is the complete opposite of its exterior and it makes everybody's jaw drop.

the space is wider than the outside originally let on, and the absolute epitome of exquisite. there are marble staircases that lead to what seems like endless spaces as the floors continue upwards and line the entrance on both sides. expensive chandeliers decorate pretty much every ceiling in the building, large bouquets of flowers were at each table that could be seen. the walls are painted a classy white, then turn into a pretty beige or brown color the more you wander into the building. pieces of art are placed wherever the area seems a bit too empty.

the over-the-top luxury is something none of them had ever seen before. (well, except hyuntak. he thought the decoration could be a little more polished).

"please, sit wherever you'd like." he announces, a voice and a tone that was so sweet and shy you wouldn’t think he was talking to six different ability users that just tried to kill each other. while everybody could only wordlessly stare at each other, they eventually sit down on the nearest, beige-colored sofas. brown-hair disappears and reappears with a tray of glasses with water. "feel free."

but everybody is just staring at each other again, because he's not carrying them.

the tray full of water glasses floats right next to him steadily. not a single drop of water escapes any glass. brown-hair stands there for a moment, but nobody seems to want any water, so the tray redirects itself to sit on the marbled coffee table that centered them all.

"now," he claps his hands suddenly. "my name is seo juntae, and as you have seen, i have telekinetic abilities. i also possess super-intelligence, but we'll get into that later." juntae takes a seat next to humin. "i know you're wondering why you are all here, and before i explain, i would like you to introduce yourselves. it will make more sense this way." he takes a small booklet and pen from his pocket and turns to look at humin expectantly.

humin hastily looks around at everybody and clears his throat with caution. he's not sure why he's listening to this man.

".. i'm humin." he speaks quietly, casting his eyes away from the others' as that familiar spiral of fire spreads throughout his hand and into the air. "uh, pyrokinesis."

juntae nods knowingly, looking down at his small notebook and quickly jotting something down. he pushes the glasses up on his face. 

humin turns away from juntae's eyes, feeling like he's at some sort of audition and being shit-talked without juntae even having to open his mouth. his eyes just communicated like that to him.

"my name is sieun." he sighs. sieun gets up and walks over to humin's other side everybody watches as sieun slightly bends down and touches juntae’s hand. sieun is extremely observant as he does this— looking at juntae’s face and watching his movements and patterns. he backs up and focuses on that tray of glass waters juntae had just sat down. sieun raises a single glass and guides it to the flower vase in the middle of the coffee table, pouring its contents into it and walking back to his seat. "i can mimic other peoples' abilities.”

"absorption, yes." juntae offers a much shyer smile than before. he looks at the sitting luxury next to sieun.

"go hyuntak." he runs an arrogant hand across his hair that humin rolls his eyes at. it made seongje, who was watching humin, laugh under his breath a little; hyuntak really never changes.

"what the fuck are you laughing at, geum?" hyuntak narrows his eyes and seongje's brief smile doesn't let up. "nobody knows who the hell you are. stop acting like it. they might know your brand, but nothing about you. because nobody has ever cared to really know you, have they?" seongje twirls his revolver around his finger, staring hyuntak straight in the eye as his glare embitters.

hyuntak gets up and walks right up to seongje, "you say that, yet you have gotten to know me pretty much your entire life." his words are venomous, so much hatred laced in every syllable. seongje, of course, would not be talked to this way. he gets up as well, and steps closer to hyuntak. the two definitely share a specific look in their eyes that only they can bring out in each other.

".. and it was the biggest mistake i've ever made."

"aren't you guys tired of fighting?" humin abruptly calls out, thinking back to how they were pretty much trying to murder each other a couple of moments back. they both turn to him at the same time with death glares that did nothing to humin whatsoever. "can we all just hurry this up and know why we were brought here with fake invitations?"

"humin is right," the gaze in juntae's eyes and the calmness in his voice makes both hyuntak and seongje sit back down in their respective seats, though they never let go of their eyes. realizing this is the closest to calm juntae would get out of seongje and hyuntak, he then turns to humin, "i know that you, out of everyone, must be the most wary of me. i want you to know that you being here is extremely important, and i really hope you do decide to stick around when it is my turn to explain myself."

humin just stares at juntae. he just admitted that they have the choice to stay or leave. humin can leave and the get the hell out of his place. he can walk back into the night, right out of this abandoned road. but, he doesn't. for some reason, humin finds himself actually wanting to stay. while he knows nothing of what was going on, the least he could do is listen as to why he was brought here in the first place. he would also like to know how juntae managed to get his exact location, getting past the endless encryptions and firewalls he has placed on his devices. he decides to stay so this all doesn't feel like a huge waste of time.

juntae then turns to the remaining two who had yet to properly introduce themselves. the one closest to him awkwardly clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something just before being cut off. "wait.. i've seen your face before," hyuntak starts. "you're ahn suho." his eyes narrow slightly before widening. "aren't you wanted for murder right now?"

"i already said didn't do it!" suho says, like he's said it a million times today already. hyuntak looks the most unconvinced and suho just stares at him. regardless, he sighs as he gets up. suho stands back a bit further than everybody else did, which allow them to view him completely. he’d been wearing a thick jacket prior to entering the home, but had taken it off and was now in a plain tank top.

a full sleeve tattoo dons suho's left arm, which consists of several different types of tattoos. there’s no set theme in his sleeve. it's like he got tattooed whatever he was feeling on that certain day. however, what is most noticeable are two larger, yet more prominent animal tattoos. they are sharp and detailed. the challenging style of blackwork.

suho looks down at the lion on his forearm. the lion had eyes that seemed to stare back directly at you — just utterly, perfectly crafted. 

he presses down on the tattoo with his finger and the whites of his eyes turn into that bright, amber glow again.

a few seconds pass and that exact lion is now at suho's side. it’s a thundering size, with a golden colored coat and sharp eyes. the lion remains loyally next to its owner and lays down with its head held high, hostile and watching for any movement. everyone watches in silence and awe as suho sits back down quietly. the animal appears to scan every body that is sitting in the room with them.

well, almost everyone.

"-what the hell is that!?" hyuntak shrieks, backing away further into his seat even though he wasn't near either of them. suho sucks his teeth and the lion’s growl shakes the flower vase. "why is he so big!?" hyuntak inwardly cringes thinking about how much hair that thing would be shedding and how it would get on all his clothes. "does he-"

"hyuntak, shut the fuck up." seongje deadpans. if he couldn't stand him enough as it was, the whining is insufferable and he would not subject himself to it a second longer.

hyuntak, completely across the room from seongje (for obvious reasons), suddenly appears right in seongje's face. following him was that strong gust of wind that forces everybody to shut their eyes.

"don't ever, tell me what to do." hyuntak snarls, inching closer to seongje's face with every single word he utters. seongje shoves hyuntak away from him and goes to punch the middle of his face (again), when hyuntak had now relocated back to his seat within a millisecond.

"oh! super speed and agility." hyuntak fixes his hair and tries calming the red showing throughout his face because now his skin looks blotchy. he mumbles a string of curse words to himself—- seongje just really brings out the worst in him.

"anyways," suho begrudgingly continues. " her name is kei." he glares at hyuntak. "and my ability is tattoo manipulation. i can manifest the two animals on my skin into their physical form and gain their abilities."

sieun looks at the lioness and lioness seems to turn her head towards him at the same time. in one moment, kei is laying next to her respective owner and nothing is going on. in the next—- kei is leaping out of her spot. hyuntak screeches all over again, even though kei is not going towards his direction at all. 

kei jumps and brings sieun down with her entirely.

kei's brute force breaks the loveseat sieun was sitting on clean in half, and sieun finds himself sprawled across the floor. he hears everybody shout. when he manages to open his eyes again, he sees humin and bumseok right up front, in all of their fire balls and purple electricity glory, glowing and ready.

kei is pretty much on top of sieun, cutting off most of his breathing and making him wheeze. this is probably what he gets for looking a lioness like her directly into the eyes. maybe he was no longer supposed to do that. any second now, he was expecting to be torn limb from limb. he doubts any of the others would be able to stop her without also killing him in the process.

none of that happens, however. because kei starts.. licking him.

sieun's eyes adjust a little better. he could see kei's giant tail wagging. her pink tongue completely dampens his hair, wets the side of his cheek, ear, and neck. kei sniffs him incessantly, like she’s found something she'd been looking for for the longest time.

"kei!" suho calls out. he kneels next to kei and tries pushing her off of sieun, but to no avail. suho tries to get her attention a couple more times before pressing on his tattoo again. in that same second, kei disintegrates and is gone. bumseok lowers his arms, humin's fire smokes out, and everybody backs away.

sieun coughs a little, and suho is holding his hand out. they look at each other. suho offers a startled smile. "i'm really sorry. kei doesn't normally act like that, i promise."

sieun takes suho's hand. he's trying not to stutter. "it's okay. maybe she smelled my cat on me, or something."

"yeah, probably."

"yeah."

they let go of each others' hands.

moving on.

next to suho sits seongje, who's been agitated the entire time they've been there.

seongje, with all eyes on him, takes a deep breath. he shows no signs of getting up or introducing himself, which leads juntae to step just a little bit more towards him expectantly. seongje looks up at him for a brief moment before slightly nodding his head.

he nonchalantly twirls his revolver around his finger, like he's done the entire time he's been here—- and proceeds to shoot juntae straight in the chest.

juntae falls backwards, knocking over the flower vase. everybody jumps at the same time, but seongje gets up and calmly bends down at his side. he watches juntae struggle to breathe, glasses knocked off his face, and blood start pooling around his person.

"you know, i really don't appreciate being lied to.." seongje starts, looking into juntae's shaky eyes as he gasps painfully for air. "you lured me into this place with a fake invitation and under fake pretenses. honestly, i should just leave you like this."

"seongje." hyuntak stares directly at him, absolutely unnerved and he hates that seongje is acting like this right now. "stop it." 

everybody now stands around seongje and juntae on the floor, abilities preparing once again to attack. seongje turns to his right and is met with kei, baring her sharp teeth and sensing for further hostility. they are circling him, but all he does is give an unimpressed look.

seongje rolls his eyes before flicking hyuntak off specifically and heaving a big sigh. he begrudgingly sticks his hand over juntae's wound and an alluring, golden glow emits from his palm. at this point, juntae wasn’t blinking and his breathing had significantly slowed; it was most likely he stopped breathing altogether. the glow in seongje's hand increases in its size and brightness for a few more seconds before it disappears into a pretty mist in the air.

the honey-colored mist moves further, and it begins circling everybody else. it feels like the warmest hug any of them have ever received. it's light but soothing. suho and hyuntak even begin yawning. it feels safe, like you want to stay in its presence forever. it's healing. which is exactly its purpose.

seongje now holds the very bullet he shot juntae with in his hand.

the blood is gone, and juntae awakens in a coughing fit without wasting another moment. humin looks at himself in the glass shards of the broken flower vase, to find all the red welts and lacerations on his face completely gone. he looks at hyuntak, who had gotten smashed into a tree earlier, and his face was completely clear. everybody was fine.

juntae scrambles to get up, clumsily fixing the glasses over his face. he runs a hand through his disheveled hair and lets out one more cough before rubbing his throat. "moving on.."

juntae staggers his way to his feet, where hyuntak and humin help him sit back down in his seat. he waves them off. "i'm fine. as you can see, seongje has... preeminent healing abilities." juntae sighs. he looks at seongje again, who just shrugs and places the bullet back into his revolver. juntae writes something down on his notepad and gathers himself in the next second.

not even getting shot, dying, and reliving seems to faze him.

the only person yet to have said a single thing is sitting furthest away from everybody. the hesitation and fear in him is so obvious, and his reluctancy to speak is ironically only drawing more attention his way.

"bumseok." juntae says. bumseok finally lifts his head and turns to face everyone else. his eyes are glassy, hands together in a tight clasp.

"i... i don't want to do this." he speaks in a gentle, almost pleading tone. "please, just let me leave."

"i know you're afraid." juntae gives a knowing look, and suddenly it's just he and bumseok in the room. juntae adjusts his glasses slightly when he meets bumseok's gaze. "but i know how hard it has been for you.. and i also know that you are really one of the biggest forces here. you are someone to be reckoned with, and you could potentially help save so many lives. all of you. "

bumseok's face reddens with embarrassment. he's ashamed that he's the only one that needs to be talked to like this by juntae, even though he and juntae are the most obvious, physical weakest links. he feels like a petulant child for not just shutting his mouth and introducing himself. of course he's afraid, but so is everybody else in the room. all of these personalities shared one thing— being ability users. that was enough of a reason for everybody to be afraid.

juntae tilts his head, and everyone hears the loud front door unlock and open gently. he looks back down at his notes, "yet, i won't keep you. the door is open. you are free to go if you truly want to."

everyone looks at bumseok to see what his decision would be, and bumseok feels like he had just forgotten what to do in the middle of a talent show routine, in front of everybody. he feels the gazes of pity slap onto him. he feels like an idiot just sitting there, between the door and juntae, being watched like this.

in a visible impulse, bumseok gets up and walks right towards the door. some turn to look at juntae, whose calm expression does not change whatsoever. juntae radiates a calm energy, much like seongje's mist, which lets everyone know that bumseok really would be okay despite the decision he choses to make right now.

although it looks like he is walking out, bumseok stops just behind the opened door and grabs its knob. he turns back to look at juntae and the others —- others who were just like him. others that he, as a child, dreamed of meeting so he wouldn't feel like such a freak.

he stands there, again, for what feels like forever.

and finally, with a shallow sigh, bumseok turns back around and closes the door in front of him. he locks it again, and juntae shows a small smile.

in uncertainty, bumseok walks back to his seat and clears his throat. "i'm bumseok." he speaks lowly, like the words just can't seem to come out. and they can't because he feels like his mind is about to spiral. so like the child that he is, bumseok turns to juntae for help.

"bumseok posses super strength and very powerful blast wave abilities," juntae explains. "his blast wave is what knocked you all right off your feet outside."

bumseok looks down at the comment, afraid that he would elicit some.. negative responses for doing so. juntae gives him a smile that he doesn't see.

"you all now know each others' names," juntae stands up. "i hope those of you who know each other can put your pasts aside for this assignment." he looks over at hyuntak and seongje, who both just stare at him.

"what assignment?" humin questions. there’s a cautious tone in his voice that everybody picks up on. juntae bows politely and leaves the room for just a second before coming back with a small device in his hand. it's a metal cube no bigger than the bowl of a tea spoon. he sets it down on the coffee table and presses its even tinier button, which makes the cube unfold itself until it is a large screen projection.

the image displays a beautiful piece of jewelry. juntae looks up at it as well, "we need to locate and take back this ring."

juntae watches everybody stare at the ring in confusion.

"you brought us here to help you find.. a ring?" humin stares at the pretty piece of jewelry on the wall in disbelief.

and then, as if everybody was waiting to go on cue, questions start pouring in from each of them, all overlapping.

"what the hell do you even need this ring for?" 

"why is it our responsibility to get it back?" 

"that ring looks cheap." 

"okay," juntae raises his voice slightly, and it goes quiet. he looks at everybody and then lowers his gaze meekly.

"this ring was manufactured by harry winston in 1932 in new york, right before harry winston became its own brand. since it was the first piece of jewelry that marked the start of harry winston, the ring never went on sale," juntae switches to another picture.

he adjusts his glasses again, "it's a 10.48 carat, emerald-cut diamond ring that is now located in the piaget boutique, right here in seoul."

"i've never seen it before." hyuntak comments. he frequented that boutique all the time looking to add pieces to his own personal collection of jewelry. but then again, emerald-cut rings aren’t his style.

"because it's locked in their vault." juntae explains. "the vault is in the back room in the building, and it contains both the ring and some of their finest pieces of jewelry. when it was made, a special metal was accidentally created through its soldering process. ability users of this time must've recognized it, which was another reason why it wasn't for sale," juntae looks like he was pondering that last part. he switches to another picture of a dark powder that seemed to shine too bright despite its color. "this is cytonium in its powdered form. it hadn't been found in more than 2000 years, up until 1932 when the ring was created. regular humans are unable to see it, which tells me that the people trying to steal it are also ability users."

juntae continues, "just one microgram of cytonium is strong enough to power off a whole city. the ring has enough of it to take the entire world's electricity."

the information comes as an icy shock to all of them, who hadn't heard of this piece of jewelry at all— much less its power. "why would anybody want all that electricity in the first place?" hyuntak questions.

"because electricity is power. it runs the world. they want to have all society bowing down at their feet." humin replies. juntae nods in agreement.

sieun looks back at the photograph of cytonium. "who is 'they'?"

"i don't know yet." juntae seems frustrated with himself. "i have managed to identify only some of the individuals working for this.. leader. or group. some posses abilities and others do not. but i can't find the actual leader." it is obvious that this was hurting juntae's pride as the smartest person in the world. "they pose, ironically enough, as a startup electric company.” juntae adjusts his glasses and flips through the pages of his small notebook. “hwido corporation is a new and upcoming electricity company, inviting neighbors and residents to attend their hosting gala this saturday, may 17, at the gangnam ballroom square.”

juntae takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes tiredly. “that's why i need your help. all of your help. i don't know who we are up against, but the ring can't end up in their hands. if it does... i don't even want to imagine what the consequences will be."

the room goes silent.

"why us? how did you even know we have abilities?" suho feels dumb right after asking that question. he literally saw them all fighting each other a while ago. and while juntae doesn't carry himself in a superior or arrogant way, you could just feel his intelligence. it makes you feel about 2 inches tall in his presence and he’s the shortest one there.

"each of you possess a different, helpful set of skills. combined, i have no doubt that we can take the ring before this other group does." juntae sets his full attention on the six men in front of him. "this is my plan. you have all become a part of it, and i brought you here with misleading invitations to tell you this. i apologize for that."

the front door unlocks once again behind juntae, and he steps to the side slightly.

"while i hope you are all on board, i will remind you that you are not and will never be forced to stay. if you would like to walk out, please proceed now so that i can work on finding a replacement as soon as possible. this problem is growing by the second and i really have no time to waste." juntae turns back to his notepad and begins scribbling something on it with speed.

nobody moves.

and by the time juntae is done, he is mildly surprised to see all his recruits still sitting in their same spots. juntae did his research— he knows they each had nothing to lose, or nothing to truly go back to. and it was most likely why they decided to stay here. it was one of the biggest reasons why he chose them. part of him feels guilty for that, but it’s easy for him to push his morality out of the way.

"we can leave this place whenever we want to, right?" humin questions again. juntae turns to face him with somewhat of a frown on his face. he thought he did a pretty good job in convincing them to stay. 

juntae looks up at them all for a moment, "of course you can. you are free to leave whenever any of you please." he turns to face everybody else briefly. he doesn’t have to announce that they should always come back though, it goes unsaid.

"you guys can relax," he looks back down at his little notepad. "find a room. tour the building. make yourselves comfortable." his gaze fixates back on all of them.

"you have a home here now.”

humin sits on a tree log beomseok had snapped in half earlier, a cigarette in his mouth. 

he hadn’t smoked at all in his life, but after getting kicked out of his father’s house and absolutely no communication with his mother, as well as the court he’s going to have to face soon, it seems he can’t go more than a few hours without one now. 

humin sits and stares off into the dirt so intensely he doesn’t even notice that suho had come out and was taking a seat next to him until the tree’s leaves shake. 

“hey,” suho clicks his teeth and rubs the back of his neck. ‘it’s uh– just kinda loud in there. so i wanted to come outside, too.” 

humin is honestly barely listening, but he manages a half-smile. he offers suho a cigarette, but he declines. they sit in silence for a while, and humin finishes his smoke. 

“i like your ability,” suho comments. “it’s pretty awesome you can throw fire.” 

humin chuckles without much of an expression on his face, “yours is pretty sick, too. thanks, man.” humin gets up from the tree log and stretches his back. “what’s the other one’s name?” he points to the snake on suho’s forearm, with those same, eerily realistic eyes staring back at him. 

“kyu,” suho comments. he dusts off his sports jacket and hops off the tree log as well. “kyu the python. freakishly large, just like kei.” 

humin nods, trudging his tired body back to juntae’s place. “sick.” 

while walking up to the building's front door, humin would learn that the place was completely soundproof; because as soon as they open the door, one of juntae's flower vases flies into the air and misses the side of humin's head by half an inch. both humin and suho duck just in time.

"you just ruined my new shirt, you fucking dumbass!" hyuntak screeches. he is dressed in probably the fanciest pajamas humin's ever seen, so that alone tells him he must care a lot about his clothing. he can only briefly wonder where hyuntak even had that, before the yelling continues.

"what the hell did you just call me!?" suho looks over at the direction where the vase came from and watches the expression of seongje turn to pure furry. he pulls out his revolver from his jacket, and points it at hyuntak. sieun is at hyuntak’s side and beomseok is at seongje’s, holding them both back.

"you are nothing without your little toys, geum. remember that."

"oh yeah? let me show you what this toy can do right in the middle of your eye-"

"that's enough!" humin's eyes widen almost comically fast seeing kei enter the area once again. her gigantic paw knocks the revolver right out of seongje’s hand, and he fumes.

"seongje, please refrain from putting more bullet holes into the walls." juntae takes his black-rimmed glasses off and wipes the lenses lightly before putting them back on his face. he looks at the two by the door, "hi guys, welcome back."

that phrase feels so strange, yet so.. warm. so new. humin had never been welcomed to a home before, not like this. and a welcome has never felt any better than right now.

before humin knows it, he’s tearing up. the others move to the front to meet him. he keeps his eyes down for a lot of the time and curses to himself for being so sensitive. the embarrassment never leaves his consciousness even though nobody’s given him a reason to feel that way.

seongje picks his revolver up and smiles at humin, as if he didn't just threaten to kill somebody three seconds ago. humin is a little intimidated by the switch-up, to say the least. 

"how uncharacteristically sweet," hyuntak condescendingly points his head towards seongje, before walking right up to humin. he grabs him by the shoulder and keeps his arm there, which takes humin a bit by surprise. 

voices start overlapping and humin starts feeling his head begin to spin again, much like it did when he found out the invitations were fake a few hours earlier. he wants to let them know, but his voice is stuck in his throat. how can he possibly start requesting things now?

but thankfully (seriously, humin is so thankful), suho steps up and says exactly what his mind is processing.

"i'll show humin to his room and let him unpack his things." suho says, holding humin by the arm. nobody seems to realize that the 'things' humin has to unpack consist of a single bag with a muddy pair of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. or maybe they do realize it, and decide to let humin and suho go because the house is pretty cold and humin's still in his muddied clothes

"of course." juntae steps out of the way and everybody follows him. "get settled in, humin. we'll all be here when you're done."

“you took a pretty long smoke break,” suho says as they walk up the stairs. “everyone got to pick their own rooms already, so.. you get the last option. i’m next to you, though!” suho brings humin into his new room and tosses him a pair of basketball shorts and a cotton shirt. 

“i have some extra clothes on me, since i’ve been.. well, running from the cops and all that.” suho shrugs and does not look at humin in the eye anymore. 

humin himself definitely has many questions to ask about the infamous murder of south korea’s most popular CEO, but right now he just wants to sleep. he quickly looks at suho’s room and then his own, which is in fact just next door. they are similar, just different placements of the bed. 

“the bathroom is just down the hall, by the way.” suho smiles crookedly at humin one last time and waves. “night, man. i’ll see you in the morning.” and just before suho goes back to his room, he turns one more time. 

“i’m glad you decided to stay.”

Chapter Text

"you've been up for a while, sieun-ah." bumseok sits down next to a yawning humin. "you should've gotten some rest. last night was hard for all of us."

sieun waves his hand dismissively, "juntae felt bad about tricking me with my fake letter, so he let me have this entire kitchen with all the ingredients i need," sieun walks over with two bowls of rice and steamed eggs. 

"if i can ask," humin approaches his thought cautiously, wondering if this really is a topic for the first thing in the morning. "what did juntae put on your invitation?"

sieun doesn’t smile much. so when the tiny one he has right now dims a little hearing that, humin feels like taking it all back immediately.

 "i've always wanted to go to cooking school,” sieun starts. “i majored in culinary arts, took so many jobs and burnt myself out all to apply to my dream apprenticeship in the united states. juntae's invitation to me was a fake acceptance letter."

beomseok felt just as sad as how sieun's voice sounded like, ".. that's so mean," humin nods in agreement. "i'm really sorry. but for the record, i'm sure you would've gotten in. all of this looks amazing-" "and tastes even better!" humin stuffs his face with a huge bite of egg in his mouth.

and sieun's barely-there smile doesn’t increase, but it brightens; his ultimate love for cooking stemmed from the reactions he got from his food. "it's okay. with this kitchen, it basically feels like i'm there. i have pretty much everything i need." sieun stares over all the new cooking materials and equipment without much of an expression on his face.

"sit," humin gets up when sieun realizes he forgot the utensils. "i'll get them, eat as well." the three continue their morning small talk (or rather, sieun listens to humin and beomseok talk) when sieun asks, "what was on your invitations?"

humin and beomseok look at each other, and beomseok feels like he should go first.

“i’m uh, trying to finish my last year of college.” beomseok says, “i just have like, absolutely no money. juntae’s invitation for me was a flyer for college students to earn free money at a new pop-up fair.”

sieun and humin nod at that. 

when it’s his turn, humin shakes his head and subconsciously tightens his grip on the table. "it's a really long story," the despair in humin’s eyes finally settles, and he manages to look at them only briefly. "but i got custody of my daughter taken away." the way humin’s words come out stings even beomseok and sieun in their hearts. "juntae's invitation said that if i came, he would help me fight the case in court." humin draws a long sigh.

he chuckles humorlessly. "juntae seems like a good person, i guess. i'm sure he will try his best with what he can." it’s clear to see humin was out of all options and was trying to cling to anything that could possibly help.

the three all go quiet but not long after, everybody else comes trickling in one by one. sieun keeps himself busy while the others talk about their fake invitations and get to know each other. he learns about everyone, including seongje’s attendance to an alleged protest about ability users, hyuntak's fake gala invitation, and suho having to adamantly state again that yes , he's on the news wanted for the murder of his boss— but no — he did not do it.

they all don’t know each other. not really. well, except for hyuntak and seongje and whatever is going on with that. but in a world that fears them for what they are, sometimes that’s enough. being brought together by a cryptic invitation, a shared truth, and being born with abilities they never asked for.

that makes them family, whether they want to be or not.

"okay, here's the best formal attire i have." juntae struggles a little carrying such a large pile of clothing, with textiles and colors and stitching patterns that ranged all over the place. seongje opens his mouth to say something but juntae raises his hand.

"no, seongje. this isn't all my size. i knew this was happening, so i collected what i could." juntae watches as seongje rolls his eyes at being interrupted before he could speak, but then just shrugs.

"the theme is masquerade and old hollywood. please try to dress accordingly, the best you can with what we have."

everyone starts rummaging through the pile of clothes, voices overlapping between switching items or incorrect sizes. unsurprisingly, hyuntak finishes the fastest. his ensemble actually looks great — a slightly crumpled, red velvet blazer paired with dark colored slacks that’s right around the right size. even suho compliments him on his outfit, but he isn’t satisfied. the few times he checks himself in the mirror only makes him feel like running and hiding away in his room.

hyuntak shakes his head nervously and sits down in the corner of the room, typing away on his phone.

the other six spend the next forty-five minutes trying the clothing on, taking it off, and switching things out in order to match the theme the best they can. they couldn't afford to stand out when the whole point was to blend in. 

"you look ridiculous." seongje cackles, staring down at how the slacks humin has on that fit more like two-sizes-too-small capri pants. ".. really?" humin looks unamused, his eyes descending to the very-much extra inches on seongje's blazer drowning out his hands completely. "are we really having this conversation right now?"

"you wanna talk about ridiculous? look at juntae and i." suho pulls at his oversized slacks in frustration. everything juntae put on was too big, so he’s sitting there in his giant white button up racking his brain to see what else he could do. sieun and beomseok are in garments that finally fit, but are in uncoordinated colors that just didn't match together.

"you all look ridiculous in unison." hyuntak gets up from his spot, still looking better than all of them combined. he runs a hand through his hair to move it out of his eyes, "i just finished ordering your suits."

nobody says anything for a moment.

"ordering our suits? from where?" suho can’t help but wonder how hyuntak was able to score so many suits in such a short amount of time.

"you'll see when we get back." hyuntak tosses humin his car keys with the quickness and humin barely catches them. he gives hyuntak a puzzled look but hyuntak disregards it. seongje rolls his eyes in disgust at hyuntak's sheer entitlement, but humin gives a light wave of his hand to show he isn’t bothered. seongje bites his tongue but his glare remains hard and strong up until they’re off.

"this is your house?" 

"yes. this is 'my house. '" hyuntak rolls his eyes. "do you really think i took you to some stranger's house?"

"honest answer?"

"shut up." hyuntak slams the car door shut and starts walking into this castle of a mansion, right in the middle of the seocho district. the huge, dark-wood double doors are opened by a man and a woman dressed in white and blue aprons.

good afternoon, hyuntak. right on time." a woman walks into the center of the enormous entrance of the residence with a peppy smile. she is dressed in jeans and a small top. her jet black hair is loosely curled and frames her face elegantly. her smile contrasts her sharp, dark eyes. her pale skin seems almost translucent when the sun pours in from the doors opening. she was.. she was...

"beautiful."

suddenly the woman is laughing, and humin is trying his best to hide the blush spreading all over his face— he couldn't believe he had just said that out loud.

"aren't you sweet?" even her voice is pretty. while humin tries to compose himself, hyuntak clears his throat and takes the chance.

"ara, meet humin." hyuntak turns to the human tomato behind him. "humin, ara. she is my executive director for picturesque ." ara extends her hand, and humin stumbles just shaking it. as much as humin wants to sink into the floor because of how he’s acting right now, he couldn't miss what hyuntak had just said.

" 'picturesque?' the brand?" humin sets his eyes on hyuntak now, who just nods and starts walking again with ara. humin blindly follows, and notices that suddenly hyuntak seems short of words for a change. as if on cue, ara starts talking.

"the last suit is finishing up right now," ara leaves the room and comes back with another man in a blue apron holding three glasses of water. she thanks him, and the poor man finds himself stumbling the same way humin had just been doing. she picks up all three and walks back over to humin and hyuntak, handing them their respective glasses.

"thank you, ara." hyuntak sits on the dazzling, open-ended sofa that properly adorns its crystal coffee table. the sofa is frameless and very simple, but it screams luxury even for humin. There’s matching, soft carpeting under the sofa as well. frankly, humin feels that if he sits down he might dirty the entire ensemble. it takes hyuntak having to tap the open seat next to him a couple times to get him to finally sit.

ara says something brief to hyuntak and walks away like she’s on a runway. or maybe she’s just walking normally, and humin is too hazed out to think about it. actually no— humin is mesmerized, but he shakes himself out of it the best he could. he has more pressing questions that need answers.

"you're the creator." humin redirects his eyes to hyuntak once he makes the realization, but hyuntak’s busy looking at his glass of water. picturesque was a fairly new brand, around three years old, but it couldn't have skyrocketed to fame any faster.

"what does it look like to you?" hyuntak looks boredly over at humin, but humin notices the way he starts picking at his cuticles and shaking his leg. 

humin decides to switch the subject a little. "if the suits aren't done, why are we here so early?" he sips on his water and watches hyuntak dust off his shoulder. "i am so glad you asked," he gets up and motions for humin to do so as well. "come with me."

humin sighs at the amount of short response answers he’s getting from hyuntak, but nonetheless follows wherever he’s going. the two walk up the grand staircase and pass what feels like endless amounts of spaces. the entire place is astonishing, almost like a big castle, and humin has never seen such wealth. pretty vases with even prettier flowers complemented the cream colored walls wherever there weren't any priceless paintings hung.

huh, maybe this is why hyuntak criticizes juntae’s place so much— they’re basically copies of each other.  

the people on hyuntak's staff ask them if they need anything as they pass by, from exquisite appetizers to liquor drinks to washing humin's car. while humin politely declines the offers and explains he has no car, hyuntak just keeps walking by.

the two finally reach the room that was the farthest in the corner of the second floor, and humin sees even more blue aprons cleaning up the room. the only thing that remains is the king sized bed and its pillows, all without sheets. everything else is neatly packed up in designer suitcases and duffel bags. hyuntak finally turns to humin with a contented sigh, "you are going to help the staff and i move all my things to the new place."

humin guesses his face expresses his reaction, because hyuntak shrugs him off with a flick of his wrist. "you are the strongest one out of all of us." hyuntak begins picking up duffel bags, and it was obviously heavier than what he could hold. humin could only watch hyuntak struggle for so long, before taking a good half of them out of his shoulders and slinging them across his own. with a slight strain in his voice, humin shoots hyuntak an unamused look.

"you do realize beomseok has the strength of 10 men, right? he could've carried all this out for you, without staff." humin deadpans. now, it’s hyuntak's turn to shoot a glare. "beomseok is scared of all of us. putting him the car with me for hours would've just freaked him out more." and while hyuntak thought there was genuinely some truth to that, what he really means to say is, ' you tried protecting me the first night we met, and i trust you the most.'

"that makes sense, i guess." humin concludes with a small sigh. he walks out with the rest of the staff down the stairs. hyuntak trails behind all of them, and soon enough they run into their first dilemma.

"all of this isn't going to fit in your car." now that humin was saying it, hyuntak really should've anticipated this issue. he had a lot more than what would fit in hyuntak’s car, and he had spent hours in the car, looking at its space, to figure that out. everybody looks at the stuffed car with bags, the ones left lingering at their sides, and then back at hyuntak. he flushes with embarrassment, casting his eyes away when he hears a couple of snickers from some of the people behind him.

it was something very simple to calculate beforehand, but hyuntak has always known he wasn't the brightest or the most clever, and he's been bullied enough because of it growing up already. but with so many watching, humin as well, hyuntak's words die in his throat. nothing. he wonders if his employees knew they were working for a fool.

"we'll take another trip to get the rest." humin looks directly at hyuntak and hyuntak only. "i think you could all put the rest of your stuff by the entrance. we can get them by tomorrow, right gotak?"

and hyuntak can only nod.

and once he does, the staff follow the order. hyuntak keeps his eyes on the floor as his staff walks back inside, and humin stays in his place until it was just the two of them and the bags they were carrying.

"hey." hyuntak finally decides to regard humin. "you're reading too much into it. this is such a tiny thing, very miniscule. forgetting small details like that, well, it happens to the best of us."

"yeah." hyuntak doesn’t sound convinced at all, but he tries to repeat humin's words in his head. this wasn't a small detail at all, it was one of the most basic ones anybody else could've seen coming. but, there was no need to overreact or to feel too much. humin takes the rest hyuntak's last bag out of his arms and carries all the remaining extras back into the house. hyuntak stays outside for another moment to take a deep breath before walking back inside, "bring humin more water.”

when hyuntak sees ara and what was currently being set up in the living room, he could barely remember what he had just been upset about.

humin, with a new glass of ice cold water, follows hyuntak into what he could only describe as pure chaos. it’s clear to tell that these people are still setting up, but there’s so much movement, he’s starting to feel kind of dizzy.

two large vanity mirrors replaced the sofa and coffee table that was just there, which were now cast off to the far corner of the room. there are people replacing the light bulbs and getting them to properly stand on their own. bundles of extension cords are used to plug in the mirrors, as well as hair straighteners, blow dryers, curlers, and whatever other hot tools that could be used on hair. makeup brushes of all shapes and sizes are scattered atop the vanity desks, alongside eyeshadow pallets, blushes, and skin creams from stores that were so expensive the only thing humin could afford was to leave.

"what is all this?" humin mumbles, mostly to himself under the chatter of everybody. he doesn’t think anybody had heard him, but hyuntak turns his head towards him minutely. "getting ready for the gala—  what else would it be?"

next thing humin knows, he’s sitting in one of the vanity chairs and having some sort of pineapple-scented mousse being raked through his hair.

"ara, please work on humin today," hyuntak's eyes are shaky as he faces himself in the mirror. "he needs it way more than i do."

just as humin ponders whether or not he should be offended by hyuntak's tone, ara takes humin's face in her hands. "don't listen to him," ara rakes her eyes over humin's features. "your skin is pretty good as is. minimal coverage and you'll be ready."

ara brings out countless of bottle of skin-colored stuff, instructing the moving bodies around her about what to do. in humin's eyes they all look like they were same shade and he really wonders why there are so many options in the first place. ara opens up a bottle and spreads a few dots across humin's cheek. she uses a makeup brush to mildly tap the product into his skin and shows a disapproving frown. "too white." she tries another on his other cheek, and frowns again. "too dark."

ara turns around with two different concealer bottles. "okay, i'm going to try again, on your forehead this time." 

humin could feel the crimson on his face down to his neck, and now he really isn’t sure how ara is going to properly find his shade. with ara so close and her peach-scented perfume filling the air, humin couldn't even form words. he doesn’t feel too embarrassed about it, though— it seems she has this effect on anybody within her vicinity. humin watches ara mix the two concealer products together tentatively, and grins when she finally gets an accurate shade to his skin tone. she looks at humin, putting her thumb up. "with this, you'll come out flawless in every photo."

humin shifts in his chair very slightly. "honestly, i don't think there will even be pictures at this event. it seems too private."

ara nods in understanding, "hm, hyuntak didn't tell me this involved more ability users, otherwise a gala wouldn't feel so private."

humin tenses so quickly, it’s impossible not to notice. his eyes dart to hyuntak and then everyone around him, wary that they had heard what ara’s just said and scanning for reactions. but ara taps his under eye with a little bit of concealer to get his attention. she uses the top of her hand and smudges her lipstick all over the left side of her face.

within seconds, the imperfection disappears and her lipstick is perfectly placed right where it belongs.

something else was happening to humin in that moment. suddenly, everything around him had melted away. there was nothing around or in his mind besides him and ara. he felt himself slipping away, and that the person he should only be listening to was ara. he was to do whatever she said, whenever she wanted it, for however long she wanted it. and he was more than ready to follow her.

but then ara snaps her fingers, and the world comes back to him. humin sinks in his chair and blinks a couple of times, the vanity lights suddenly too bright for his eyes. he stares back at ara, who looks just as beautiful as ever, and watches a cheeky smile spread across her face. she raises her hand playfully, "i’m an ability user, too. there's nothing to worry about."

ara takes more concealer from her hand and continues to work. "i've had this makeup on since i was a child. my parents decided to hide and homeschool me from the world until i was a teen, to explain why i had eyeliner on all hours of the day," ara pats in the concealer under humin's eyes and on the corners of his lips. humin couldn't help but look around to see if any of the staff were listening to their conversation, but she waves it off. "in high school, i asked my teacher if i could see a recent exam before it went into the grade book. it was against the rules, i knew, but i also knew i had done really bad on it and it was worth half my grade. when i asked, she not only gave me the exam, but she also changed my grade to full marks right in front of me. it was like she was reading my thoughts, then i realized i was actually giving her them and she was following. i don't use my hypnotism much, though, i see no reason why i should." ara puts the concealer away and moves on to styling humin's hair once the mousse dried. "hyuntak told me about the fake letters. so between you, me, and the others who were selected, your secret is safe."

humin looks in the mirror and could half-heartedly recognize himself. the dark circles he'd had underneath his eyes are completely gone. the light blush on his face gives him just the right amount of color. his hair is neatly waved at its ends and parted, sleek and shiny. his cheekbones glimmered when he moves his head around the light, and his eyes sparkled that much more. but humin noticed there were other things that looked different. for one— his jawline was sharper. his nose seemed just a tiny bit smaller. his face was slimmer overall, and he knew that minimal makeup couldn't do all of that.

he looked flawless.

"it'll fade in two weeks, by the way. then you'll return to normal." humin opens his mouth to respond, but ara suddenly points at something behind him.

"the suits are finished! hyuntak, are you done?" ara turns to see hyuntak's makeup being touched up, and him getting up to see how the suits turned out. humin and ara follow, and humin couldn't help marveling at the clothing.

each suit consists of cohesive pieces that mesh amazingly with one another. different but intricate design patterns are plated across each blazer. the slacks are different tones of black, strong, dark reds and greys. each blazer has cuff links on the sleeves crafted using a different jewel. they are probably the smallest part of the ensemble but stand out the most, a classic pattern of picturesque that put the brand on the map in the first place.

"hyuntak.. these are awesome." humin looks at him, whom he thought looked the same after the ‘makeover’. if he was being honest, he didn't think hyuntak needed such a loud crew at all. the only noticeable thing that changed slightly was the parting in his hair. hyuntak was a naturally attractive person, all of this was unnecessary.

hyuntak doesn’t verbally react to humin's compliment, but humin can see the tinge of a blush on his cheeks as he inspects each suit and its paired shoes. it was visible to tell hyuntak wasn't complimented enough, and now that humin knew he was the brilliance behind such a popular and sought-out brand, he’s definitely going to change that. 

"these are cleared." hyuntak turns to the man and woman that brought them out. "thank you. please get the garment bags on them and bring them out to, uh, the car." he cringes a little remembering the whole ordeal earlier. but, it’s nearing the time to get to the gala so that occupies his mind much faster. when they open the double doors, humin catches the sun beginning to set. hyuntak seems to notice it too, and motions that he is done for the day.

"be safe. call me when the gala is over." ara wraps her arms around hyuntak tightly, who hugs her back with just as much energy. "i'll try my best." ara rolls her eyes at that and kisses hyuntak on the cheek, no lipstick transfer whatsoever. she moves over to humin and does the same.

hyuntak, obviously not used to sharing his best friend, begins walking out with the staff who had placed the suits in their respective garment bags. humin follows. “you, be safe too!”

humin bows politely. "don't worry. juntae is a smart man— well, the smartest man. he selected us altogether for a reason."

ara laughs at that. "thank you. be sure to tell your new friends about me! now, go, you have a gala to attend tonight!"

it was a miracle that the clothing rack was foldable, otherwise the garment bags and the suits would've been wrinkled by the time humin and hyuntak got back to the house.

hyuntak isn’t particularly talkative, other than pointing out ara's work because humin radiates a glow he hadn't entered the house with. humin could feel the embarrassment from the bag situation still looming over hyuntak, and through that, he learns that he definitely dwells over minuscule things. but driving in a car for hours is the only thing they could really do at the moment. 

"we can take all your things out later, let's just do the suits and the clothing rack right now." humin says. hyuntak agrees rather quickly; they both feel the time running out. hyuntak unfolds the clothing rack and helps humin hang the suits. he dusts them off and straightens them up, somewhat of a nervous energy in him.

"gotak," humin's calmness and the nickname makes hyuntak raise his eyes and furrow his brows slightly. "just so you know, whether you want to tell the others about your brand or not, that's up to you," humin has always been confused as to why the being behind picturesque always chose to remain hidden. now that he casually discovers it’s hyuntak, a young man running circles amongst the oldest brands out there, he wonders why he doesn’t desire a face to match with his clothing's worldwide fame. "i won't say anything without your permission."

hyuntak holds humin's gaze for another moment before dropping it, going back to double checking the shoes. "i know. or else i'll bring ara here to brainwash all of you into forgetting forever."

humin chuckles at that, and— did he just see hyuntak do the same?

juntae takes the biggest breath of relief when he sees his two recruits walk through the entrance.

"you two are amazing. and you look different, too. that's cool." he mumbles quietly, ruffing his hair out for what seemed like the millionth time that day. everyone else at the house joins the entrance, and quickly take notice of the lettering on each garment bag. suho is especially shocked, his eyes widening the most they possibly could. pieces and entire collections of picturesque always sold out within the day. the brand had received several outstanding critiques and made top of the lists everywhere. suho always wanted to own a piece himself, but that had been beyond his dreams. only the biggest celebrities and wealthiest elites donned the clothing and modeled it, wore it in some of his favorite movies and tv show. juntae shares suho's reaction, except he’s much more excited and asks suho's questions out loud. "you're awesome! how did you get suits from picturesque so quickly!?"

hyuntak doesn’t look at anybody in particular. "i'm the creator."

sometimes, hyuntak wants to be frustrated at most of them and their confusion, but then he then remembers that he chose to remain an anonymous face. and as much as he'd like to keep it that way, hyuntak would not be associated with other people dressed like this at an elite gala. he'd been watching them go round and round for a while now, and it was clear that they needed the help.

nobody says a word, like they couldn't believe it. hyuntak doesn’t really care either way.

"juntae, this is yours." hyuntak begins going through the polished black garment bags and picks out the one with a ruby jewel donning the zipper. taking it off the hanger, hyuntak hands it to juntae while keeping his eyes on the rest of the suits. he knows they were running behind schedule and there was no time to spare. "sieun," hyuntak hands him his garment bag, with a black diamond. "humin.. suho.. beomseok.." hyuntak rolls his eyes and throws one of the last two suits towards junyoung's direction with an annoyed huff. he grabs his own and everyone goes off into their rooms to change. under the pressure, it doesn’t take long at all.

"i cannot believe how well this fits me." suho murmurs to himself, walking back into the main room. he sits down on the sofa and meets sieun, who got started with minimal makeup and hair. under the influence of his false acceptance letter to his cooking apprenticeship, sieun brought all of his belongings with him. hey— at least it was coming in handy now.

"it's just for this event, juntae." sieun says, taking out his blemish corrector and placing only tiny amounts on juntae’s cheeks. "you don't need this stuff at all."

juntae hoped he wasn't blushing.

a little blush and juntae is good to go. everybody got a chance to sit in front of sieun, except for hyuntak and humin who were gala-ready.

when suho comes back, humin takes a seat next to him, "how are you feeling about the gala?"

suho wants to answer, but he was kind of getting lost in humin's beauty. like, actually. he looks so handsome that suddenly suho doesn’t want him looking into his eyes or else he'd fumble.

it seems like humin could tell. he lets a laugh rumble in his throat, "i know. hyuntak's makeup team is... pretty magical."

suho feels heat pool in his cheeks. "sorry for staring.. you're just, like, physically glowing right now. it's a little hard to focus."

"it'll fade in two weeks."

"how did they even do that?"

humin ends up talking about ara, as well as her hypnotism abilities and how she knew about him and everyone else in the house. maybe everyone would get to meet her one day.

the two laugh silently when they turn their attention to sieun and seongje, who was the last one to get his makeup done. seongje is more so the one bickering at sieun about the color of the eyeshadow sieun chose, sieun only mumbling that it matches his suit pretty well and seongje complaining it was too dark. seongje’s hostility is definitely aimed towards hyuntak most of the time, but his freakishly good abilities at throwing daggers, shooting pistols, and fighting still had the others on somewhat of an edge. if hyuntak had done something to make seongje mad, (which was frequently), it was always better to steer clear of both of them. for seongje to care that much, or at all, about some eyeshadow was definitely something neither of them were expecting.

"okay, everyone's done right?" juntae rushes around the house and it makes everybody's senses also heighten. they are about to begin their first ever assignment, and it is already starting off on the wrong foot because they are behind schedule. he tosses every other person a pair of keys.

juntae now has his eyes on his phone. it looks like he’s reading a million words per minute. "directly behind this building are 4 models of the same car and the same license plate numbers. i built each license plate with rolling code technology, which means that new license plate numbers will generate every five minutes. you all have access to those codes now."

everyone's else phone dinged at the same time.

“this is all in efforts to confuse anybody that might be chasing you down, if there ever comes a time." juntae swipes at his hair one final time and puts his phone away. his eyes rake over everybody, stress energy rising.

"okay. beomseok, you will come with me." beomseok steps out of his spot and joins juntae. "sieun, suho."

"humin."

"and lastly-"

"hell, no ." seongje steps right up to juntae. 

juntae is the smartest man in the world, how could he still not compute the absolute disdain seongje and hyuntak had for each other? seongje’s stare only grows more menacingly unstable. "juntae, if you pair me up with that idiot, i'm not going."

juntae sighs, a hint of annoyance in the action. he doesn’t feel like testing that theory out. something told him that if he did, junyoung really wouldn't go, and that’s the last thing juntae needs. pairing seongje and hyuntak together could put the whole assignment at risk. 

"right. humin, please go with hyuntak. seongje, you can go alone." they shuffle around to juntae's instruction.

seongje lunges his pair of keys at hyuntak, and they hit hyuntak's throat rather harshly.

a gust of wind circles the room, and hyuntak is now across the room, hands gripping seongje’s collar and driving him further into the wall.

"you pathetic, fucking-"

"what are you gonna do about it?" seongje grits his teeth and pulls out his dagger just as fast as hyuntak's super speed, if that was even possible.

"enough!" juntae exasperates. humin pulls hyuntak off of seongje and suho holds seongje back. "stop wasting the time we don't have and get into the car, now."

humin, hyuntak and seongje go out first and drive off before anything else happened. juntae and beomseok follow, with sieun and suho last.

sieun and suho slip into the car in a rush, the doors slamming shut like the final beat of a gavel. suho was tossed the keys, so it’s presumed that he would be driving. 

the silence that follows is immediate and suffocating.

sieun sits rigid in the passenger seat, his eyes flicking between suho’s cufflinks—deep, glinting amethyst—and his own, twin black diamonds that are cold. sharp. fitting. the air is sharp between them, crackling with the kind of tension that used to burn softer, sweeter. now, it just scorches .

five minutes. 

ten. 

fifteen. 

not a single word exchanged.

suho breathes like he’s drowning. he's speeding throughout the trip. his fingers are locked around the steering wheel, knuckles drained of color. like he’s bracing for impact. the tendons in his jaw pulse with restraint.

"well?" suho’s voice is quiet, hoarse, almost broken. he still doesn't look at sieun. 

"how long are you going to pretend you don’t know me?"

Chapter Text

the gala is the epitome of exquisite.

the enormous banquet is shaded a rich dark red. waiters and waitresses walk around with trays of the most expensive liquor in diamond encrusted glasses, depending on the type of alcohol they are carrying. an open bar stands at one corner with additional bartenders and drinks. rows of luxurious tables and chairs seat men and women who radiate wealth and power. many others walk around, mingling with each other. clinks of glasses and soft jazz music played by a live band in the other corner relax the scene. a large, diamond chandelier illuminates the banquet just enough to provide the sultry setting.

nobody pays much attention to the arrival of the seven, which is great news.

they fit in perfectly.

juntae gives them all one last and brief look of encouragement, and everyone spilts up with their respective partners to their respective corners. this is just the beginning of the entire assignment, but it might just be their most crucial one. if juntae doesn’t get the fingerprints necessary, this was about to be much harder.

juntae leads beomseok to the open bar, where they sit at the corner of the row,  away from the others who were getting drinks as well. juntae orders two long island iced teas, watching the bartender make them the entire time up until the drinks were brought their way. regardless, that faint red glimmer sparkles in his eyes as he scans the contents of the drinks for anything that shouldn't be there. beomseok knew the drinks were safe when he slid one over his way.

beomseok is pretty thirsty and doesn’t really drink much, so hearing juntae's order kind of relieves him. he takes his first sip and must've made quite the embarrassing face, because juntae stifles a laugh.

beomseok flushes a red the same color as the banquet and pushes the drink away, "that is not tea."

"i thought you knew. sorry about that," juntae's little smile relaxes. "i'm not much of a drinker either, just ordering so bartenders don't keep coming back up to us."

"oh." beomseok gets quiet again, his heart beating faster when he and juntae met eyes. he made beomseok so nervous, and it was because he could never decipher his gaze. he wasn't sure if juntae was scanning him, observing his body language, or just regarding him with a friendly gaze. he never knew what juntae's thoughts were, and it put him on edge.

juntae swirls the straw in his drink, "i realize i've said this before, but you really are the strongest on this team. physically and mentally."

beomseok shifts in his seat.

"i understand why you're afraid." beomseok feels he was imagining everything juntae was saying. 

"i hate these abilities," beomseok finds himself taking another sip of the long island iced tea, to match the bitterness he feels from the inside out. "ever since the accident. ever since—"

"i know," juntae can see beomseok still struggling to talk about what happened, and he wanted to make it clear that he didn't have to if he didn't want to.

"i want you to stop blaming yourself for what happened. it was, just like you said, a complete accident— you were barely getting to realize and understand your own strength. i know the accident has made you loathe your abilities. but beomseok, i did my research on so many ability users that i could have potentially recruited to help me with this assignment. i mixed around every single person on this team, except for you. you have always been my number one choice." the way juntae says that leaves no room for beomseok to doubt. he says it so matter-of-factly, not just to provide superficial sympathy. beomseok isn’t sure why that strikes something inside his heart. juntae is the smartest man in the world, he doesn’t need the help of a single soul. beomseok is a coward, always has been. afraid of speaking up, afraid of facing his own life, afraid of himself. what could juntae possibly need from him?

"you are capable of so much, and i really want to help you learn to be comfortable with your abilities again. but i can only do that if you allow me to," juntae swirls his straw around the drink. "you may have figured it out by now but in case you haven't, i lack a lot of emotional intelligence. i'm great with calculations and logistics and just about anything that has to do with numbers. but for the life of me, i never know what to do when i see someone who's upset. i’m also not the best athletically, or physically in general." juntae shakes his head shyly, but beomseok felt there was nothing to be embarrassed of. someone with such gifted intelligence admitting their flaws? that was something beomseok really admired.

beomseok sits there for a moment. he is so tired of pushing himself down because of his abilities. he's tired of looking in the mirror and staring at what he sees in disdain. he's tired of feeling sorry for himself. juntae is right— what happened was an accident. as much as he's repeated that to himself over the years, it didn't feel as true until it came out of somebody else's mouth. 

beomseok nervously shifts in his seat. maybe it was the anticipation, or the constant doubts that voice in his head would remind him of, or perhaps both. he tries picturing getting closer to the others, not being as reserved as he's made himself be. 

juntae smiles at beomseok and clears his throat, "ready to work?"

in the first corner of the room, suho is trying and failing miserably to focus on the live jazz band playing in front of him. the music is beautiful; it wasn’t the band’s fault he couldn’t focus. the problem sat a few tables away.

a tall, annoyingly charming man is returning to his seat with two glasses of champagne— one for himself, one for sieun.

when juntae told the team to get fingerprints from the guests by any means necessary, the most straightforward method agreed upon was to collect used glasses. servers were walking around with lowball and shot glasses appropriate to each drink. thankfully, the oversized pockets built into hyuntak’s custom suits made concealing the glasses a breeze. seongje had also suggested using their phones as props and getting guests to hold them while showing pictures or asking for numbers. simple enough, and suho had done well during the first half of the evening.

now, there are only about thirty minutes left of the gala. some guests had left, but the venue was still packed. their corner may have been the fullest. 

suho watches sieun navigate the crowd in that— that way he always did.

sieun is, without question, the most stunning person in the room. smoky eyeliner accentuates his pretty, pretty eyes. he moves like someone who demands attention, from the sway of his hips to the very poise in his posture. the red lights of the room caught his every angle just right (though truthfully, all light did). a diamond choker shimmered around his neck, brighter than anything else in the room.

sieun is alluring. always has you guessing. he makes you feel important simply because he's choosing to look at you. he has a presence hard to miss and a lot harder to resist. he knows exactly how much of himself to give and how much of himself to to withhold, enough to drive you insane. sieun's mannerisms, his body language, the subtle raise of an eyebrow, his deliberate lack of blinking first in a stare-off, the dazed expression he drew from everyone he spoke with. how in a conversation, you are pulled in a daze so fast, all you want is for it to never end. it all makes sieun that much more tempting. the most enticing part of it all is that he knows it.

and tonight, he would use it for his advantage.

sieun rarely spoke much. still, even without that minimum, it takes nothing at all for a hand to brush his shoulder or gently graze his waist. people were drawn to him. but most were dull; they only ever brought up their wealth. no charm. no character. so, sieun moves on quickly through his work.

except with wonjae.

the height was what had caught sieun's attention first. he towered over everyone in the room. then, it was his dazzling smile when they met eyes. and then, it was how easily he struck up a conversation with sieun. it seemed like this one wouldn't play right into sieun's hands like he needed him too, but sieun was feeling up for a challenge. 

sieun’s suit was already covered in fingerprints—he’s done his part, too. 

but now, suho watches him chat with wonjae, either because he was close enough to hear it or because his body had unconsciously moved him closer.

wonjae’s fingers touch sieun’s jaw, tilts his face upward. he stares into sieun’s eyes for too long—but sieun doesn’t mind. sieun’s gaze is glassy, full of emotion yet so unreadable at the same time, all which just made him even more dangerous.

then wonjae's eyes drop to the piece of jewelry on his neck.

wonjae leans down. "that is one beautiful choker," he says, voice low and deep. and sieun is sighing to myself a little bit, because if this were any other situation, he would’ve jumped at this chance.

he didn’t plan to use the choker for fingerprints, but now he has to improvise. sieun bites back a groan and runs his fingers along the cold, glimmering diamonds.

"95 point carat diamonds," he whispers, lips just close enough to brush wonjae’s ear.

"is that so?"

"see for yourself."sieun raises a daring eyebrow at wonjae and turns around. he feels wonjae's slender fingers on the nape of his neck. he presses his back against wonjae's muscular chest in a way so painfully teasing that sieun almost feels bad. wonjae, very slowly, unclasps the choker from sieun's neck and now holds it in his hands.

perfect.

"95 point carat diamonds," wonjae confirms, looking at the engraved marking underneath the clasp of the choker. sieun clicks his tongue, "told you so."

sieun takes the choker and lets his hand linger in wonjae's a little more than it should've. wonjae has a slight smirk and pulls sieun closer into him. "do you—"

"sieun."

the interposing voice comes way too close to his ear. sieun jumps a little.

"i need to talk to you." the way suho says his words with so much hatred makes sieun's heart drop. he stares right into sieun's eyes, and suddenly sieun doesn't feel in control about anything anymore. not with wonjae, not with this assignment, not with himself. sieun feels himself physically go weak, stumbling a little bit in wonjae's arms. suho's scowl only deepens seeing that happen.

"hey." wonjae starts, but suho is already snatching sieun's arm and yanking him away. before sieun can even react to that, before he could say another word to wonjae or glance in his direction or even just compose himself, suho is dragging sieun into the bathroom. and the entire time, sieun is desperately trying to push suho off of him, but the grip he had on his arm is immovable.

"let go of me!" sieun finally manages to snatch his arm away from suho's grasp once they entered the bathroom. his cheeks are flushed and he feels nothing but humiliated. wonjae had seen his demeanor dwindle down into pretty much nothing in a matter of seconds. his glare hardens angrily as he fixes his sleeve. "what the fuck, suho!?"

and suho stands still, chest heaving. he himself doesn’t know why he just did that.

and sieun— beautiful, caring sieun, somehow still manages to find it in his heart to care about suho. 

“put your mask back on,” he says. “someone might walk in and recognize you.”

suho doesn’t speak right away. he watches sieun’s hands tremble as he adjusts his cuff. watches how his walls go up in seconds flat.

“you should be more careful,” sieun mutters, not looking at him. “you’re literally the most wanted man in the country right now.”

and somehow, that’s what sets suho off.

“you think i give a shit about that right now?” his voice is low, edged with something dangerous. “you think i came here because i thought it was safe?”

sieun looks at him. “you shouldn’t have come at all.”

the silence that follows is louder than any shout.

suho takes a step forward. “you don’t have to fuck every man just to get information, sieun.”

and sieun freezes. his jaw tightens. and when he speaks again, his voice is so sharp it could cut glass. “… is that what you think i’m doing?”

he doesn’t give suho the chance to answer.

“go ahead,” he says, backing toward the far wall. “call me a whore. call me whatever makes you feel better. but don’t pretend you still get to have an opinion.”

suho's eyes widen. "that's not what i'm doing! you just— you're-"

"i'm what?  suho, don't do this here."

it is too much. it is all too much and poor sieun can't handle it. he falls into himself again, but the wall behind him catches him this time, and suho forces himself to keep his arms crossed and just… watch. 

it takes absolutely everything in sieun not to break down in tears when he saw suho the first time they walked inside juntae's building, much more when kei became so excited to see him. that lioness was, and still is, sieun's best friend. he loved that kei the same way kei loved him. kei was huge, a lioness that could easily tear even the bulkiest of men apart in three seconds. but whenever she was around sieun and suho, she acted like the smallest kitten. she would roll over on her back, waiting for pets. she would trap sieun and suho underneath her whenever she wanted to be with them, but knew her strength well enough to not crush them half to death. when sieun saw kei again, he knew in his heart that she had not changed one single bit. she jumped at him the same way she had always done, everyday, years ago.

the same couldn't be said about suho, however. suho had changed so much.

he was leaner. he had built more muscle. his brown hair was gone, replaced with a jet black color. he was a little taller. the small scar on his cheek had healed completely. and while that should've been a good thing, it sank sieun's heart more than anything. suho had gotten that scar when he and sieun somehow managed to put a gang leader away— a scar so near and dear to sieun because suho had gotten it protecting him.

suho was so handsome. then, and now.

"suho, what do you want?" suho doesn't even get the chance to respond to sieun's previous question, but sieun hasn't properly slept ever since he'd gotten there. or in years, at that point. he was agitated. delirious and dizzy from all the emotions that have punched him from all sides at the same time. 

he tells himself he's been harboring them in his heart these past few days because suho just had to be one of the ones juntae picks out for this assignment, but that isn't true. 

sieun's always been carrying this pain, this raw anguish in him for years. he's been pushing it all down, forcing himself into more and more work so he wouldn't have time to manage his own feelings. all it took was one glance from suho to tear down every single wall he worked so hard to put on.

"i want you to explain!" suho doesn't mean to raise his voice, and he hates the way it makes sieun flinch. sieun looks at suho with so much hurt in his eyes, those eyes that keep suho up at night, trying his hardest to conceal it with all the anger he's felt up until now. all the resentment suho left in his heart. and even after everything, the tone suho's using right now is the last thing sieun is going to put up with.

"i don't owe you an explanation for a single thing anymore," sieun digs his nails into the insides of his folded arms. "suho, you broke off our engagement, don't get it confused. you left me. " 

suho’s face twists, but sieun doesn’t stop.

“you were the only thing i had. you knew every reason i’d shatter without you, and you did it anyway.”

the air is thick, suffocating.

sieun hates how his voice cracks in between his words, but there’s no stopping it now. he has so much to say, yet so little comes out, like the words have a mind of their own and are sticking onto the back of sieun's throat. he stares emptily at his feet and takes in a shaky breath. "you were my only happiness, my future... and you knew it so well."

suho feels his chest absolutely ache. he tries to step forward. “sieun…”

“don’t.” sieun’s voice is barely a whisper now. “don’t even say my name.”

"yeon sieun."

sieun never thought that their years of being together deserved to end the way it did, but here they stand. sieun chuckles with no humor behind it hearing suho say his name again. 

just still as stubborn as he’s always been. never listening. never knowing when to let things go. 

he doesn’t meet suho's gaze because he knows if he does he'll start crying like a baby. 

sieun's lungs begin to feel like they've been filled with hot gravel. suddenly, the corners of the bathroom are closing in on him and the space is way smaller than before. he feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. sieun grips his folded arms even harder across his chest. "i.. i can't breathe."

he says it so softly, like it wasn’t meant to be heard. but suho hears it. he hears every syllable, and it breaks something open inside him. the shift in sieun's energy, the way he just stops talking. how his eyes shake. all telltale signs of sieun's dreadful anxiety.

suho thinks back to when he first met sieun. even with mounts of pill bottles and prescribed medications, his anxiety was uncontrollable. he was constantly having night terrors, never got adequate sleep, and panicked frequently over what seemed like nothing at all.

suho ultimately learned how to deal with sieun's anxiety and coach him through his attacks, which was just one of the long list of reasons why sieun loved him. suho was always so patient. suho never once blamed sieun for it, never held it against him. suho loved him on the days where he couldn't love himself.

he remembers the nights sieun couldn’t sleep, the sobs he’d muffle into suho’s chest, the way his anxiety would consume him whole.

like an old reflex buried deep inside, suho's expression softens and he walks right up to sieun with intent to help him stop squeezing his arms so harshly that he injures himself.

"no!" sieun gasps. his voice is high and strained. “don’t touch me. just— don’t.” sieun has no more space between him and the wall but he still pushes up against it, like a scared dog trying to back away. suho sees the absolute agony in his eyes. it's the clearest emotion, rolling off of sieun like waves. suho tries his hardest keeping back his own tears as he takes a step back.

it guts suho more than any knife could. 

because this was a person he’d met when they were just boys. because this was a person who crossed paths with him when he was the loneliest. because this was yeon sieun. 

there was a point in time where sieun would tell him he couldn't live without him. 

now, it was like sieun couldn't stand the sight of him.

and the worst part was; suho had nobody else to blame but himself. sieun was right.

he did this to them.

"just.. leave me alone," sieun roughly wipes at his eyes. "juntae has enough going on with hyuntak and seongje, it's better if he doesn't find out about this."

suho doesn’t follow. he just stands there, staring at the door like it might give him back the years he threw away.

sieun stumbles his way out of the bathroom. disoriented, he unknowingly starts picking up the pace of his walking rhythm until bumping into another body.

"oh, hey sieun! we've been looking for you and suho. juntae said it's time to- are you okay?" humin stops rambling when he sees sieun's expression. sieun doesn't respond right away.

"why?"

"you're shaking. like, really badly."

humin guides him to sit on a chair in the nearest possible table. he takes another look at sieun and observes his rapid breathing, smudged eyeliner, and the tremble of his hands. something definitely happened, but getting to that point isn't the main concern right now. humin pulls up another chair and sits directly in front of sieun, taking his hands and holding them firmly.

"right now let's just breathe together, okay? follow me," humin motions for sieun to take in a deep breath, and he shakily follows. "try your best to focus on me."

and sieun really does try. but everything is moving around him. the banquet had almost emptied out of guests by this point, but the staff was running around cleaning the place up and yelling orders at each other. the live band was still playing. it wasn't working. sieun is starting to feel blood draining out of his head.

"hey," humin helps sieun up to his feet carefully. "it's okay. i'll take you home now, is that alright? hyuntak can ride back with suho, wherever he is. let’s just get you out of here."

sieun can only nod his head. humin keeps him in his arms the entire time from walking through the banquet to out of it. he briefly stops to tell hyuntak their riding plans had changed, and leaves with sieun before he could even form a response.

suho walks out of the bathroom ten minutes later, much to hyuntak's relief.

"finally!" hyuntak exasperates. "juntae said it's time to go. i'm riding with you."

suho looks stressed enough as is. hyutak’s announcement doesn’t help. "what? where's sieun?"

"he went back with humin."

suho heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes. with a mumble, suho walks past hyuntak. "whatever. let's go."

something tells hyuntak that whatever's going on with suho is already too much for him to handle already. the itch to argue over his tone wouldn't be of any help right now. and while he didn't really care most of the time, he decided to let it be for tonight.

hyuntak trudges behind suho and gets in the passenger's seat.

back at the house, juntae collects everybody's findings.

an assortment of alcohol drinking glasses, handkerchiefs, phones, a diamond choker and... sieun's suit? creative choice. everything's piled onto the coffee table and the couch.

"nice work everybody," juntae praises. he sees everything that was collected, and it was honestly way more than he thought it would be. this was their first ever assignment, and juntae expected mistakes, something to go wrong. his group might be supernatural humans, but they were still human. maybe they might've been too slow, drifted away from their respective space, or decided to enjoy the plethora of liquors and have a good time. but everyone returned intact and even with smiles on their faces. they weren't burdened by this at all.

"thank you all for working together smoothly and staying focused," juntae explained. "there were so many people, i-"

"the bathroom on this floor needs a whole new redesign, starting with those lights." hyuntak walks out of the said bathroom with a distressed look in his eyes, like setting foot in there was harder than collecting fingerprints from strangers without being suspicious and getting caught.

"as i was saying," juntae continues. "i wouldn't have been able to pull this off by myself. all of you were needed to complete this properly, so again, thank you."

nobody really knew how to react. juntae's compliments definitely felt really good, coming from him. but it was for that same reason that they were unsure of how to respond. juntae was such an intimidating aura when they had all first met, but now they were learning that he was, well, soft.

it seems juntae could read that on their faces collectively, some more fatigued than others, so he lets them off with a tiny chuckle. "rest up, guys. i figure you are tired, especially from the nerves."

they manage a smile towards juntae, and then disperse upstairs. juntae follows shortly afterwards, where he showers and changes. he goes right back downstairs, starts up his cyber-desk, and gets to work. he relaxes into his organizing fairly quickly with the faint sounds of humin and sieun talking, hyuntak complaining about having no space for all his things, and seongje yelling at his video game about who-knows-what. a smile creeps onto juntae's face.

he could get used to this.

with the unnecessarily long list of names to get through, juntae finds himself working through the whole night. sieun, humin, and beomseok had come down during separate times to ask if juntae needed help. he must've been so focused that he couldn't hear them. eventually, the place gets quiet and everybody tucks in for the night. everybody except for one, who is counting the tiles of the ceiling in hopes he would bore himself out of his mind and drift off.

hyuntak had trouble sleeping.

he usually did. but this was different.

there is something gnawing at the edges of his calm, a nervous, crawling energy that refuses to be named. he tells himself it was the new place, new faces, the foreign softness of the bed. but that wasn’t it. not really.

he used to fall asleep with one eye open, even in his own penthouse. not because of his abilites, but because of who he was without them. the name. the brand. the ghost of a man behind the empire. every night, he feared one of his own employees would snap a photo. leak a timestamp. let the world know what he really looked like.

he used to sleep with ara for a point in time. even then, it wasn’t enough.

but here, surrounded by ability users who didn’t know him, hyuntak should have felt safer.

instead, his skin feels too tight.

maybe it was the gala. he hadn't gotten the chance to check his reflection once. not once. not even to see if his hair had flattened under the mask or if his makeup had shifted. maybe they saw the real him. maybe someone noticed something was off. the thought alone makes his stomach twist into glass.

he's getting better at noticing when he’s spiraling. that’s what his therapist used to call it: “insight.”

s o he names it, just like he was taught. he’s spiraling.

but naming it doesn’t make it go away.

he tosses his covers off and sits up, breathing heavily. water. movement. distraction. maybe that’ll help. he walks to the door in the dark, gripping the knob. for a moment, he wonders: could i just go? just like this?

he doesn’t.

he can't.

with the same mechanical routine that makes his throat ache, hyuntak returns to his nightstand and pulls out a compact mirror. then the lip stain. then the blush. his hands move quickly, familiar with the steps. mirror angled only on his lips, where the lighting won't betray him. a few smudges of color, a brush through the hair. again. again. and again. until something clicks.

or doesn’t. 

he keeps going anyway.

it’s 3 a.m.

the whole house is probably asleep. nobody should be awake. but what if someone is? what if someone just happens to come out of their room? what if someone sees? he can’t be seen like this.

only when his hands stop trembling does he finally leave. 

his room is the farthest on the second floor. every step past another bedroom door makes his throat dry. he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t look around. just holds the railing like a lifeline, gliding down the stairs into the dim, amber-lit kitchen.

the low light wraps around him like a blanket. the shadows are kind. they don’t judge.

for the first time all day, he exhales.

the kitchen hums with silence. hyuntak selects a glass. it's not the prettiest, not the ugliest, just a glass . he sets it against the fridge, watching it glow as the water rises, cold and quiet. the sound fills the room. his shoulders loosen.

he brings the glass to his lips.

he doesn’t even get to drink.

"hey, hyuntak."

hyuntak jumps so hard he spills over half the water in his glass all over the counter.

"what the hell is the matter with you!?" he shrieks. while hyuntak takes a moment to relax his heavy breathing, juntae holds one of his hands up in surrender, the other one gently over his lips to remind hyuntak that there are, in fact, five other people sleeping in the house. he is curled up on the sofa in a hoodie and sweatpants, typing away at a glowing cyber-desk that absorbs the soft, amber tones of the dim night lighting. there is a light smile on his face, like he’s trying not to laugh. "i'm sorry. thought you saw me."

hyuntak rolls his eyes, grabs a towel, and mops up the counter in silence. once everything’s dry again, he refills his glass with more force than necessary.

he lingers behind the couch, watching over juntae’s shoulder.

“you’re still doing that?”

juntae nods, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

hyuntak stares at the screen. line after line of names, fingerprints, shifting codes. the work looks endless. 

“that looks really tedious.”

“it is.” juntae yawns and blinks hard, scanning the table like he’s misplaced something.

hyuntak notices. “do you want a drink?”

“i’m okay. i usually have energy drinks when i know it’s gonna be a long night. forgot to restock this time.”

another stretch of quiet. juntae keeps typing, and hyuntak finds himself unable to look away. juntae works fast, way too fast for someone barely staying awake.

“you’re burning through that list.”

juntae doesn't miss a beat. “maybe, if you keep talking to me, i’ll finish by morning.”

hyuntak blinks. he stares at the back of juntae’s head, confused.

still, he quietly fills a second glass of water, ignoring juntae’s earlier refusal, and walks it over. after a few seconds of hesitation, he sits beside him, carefully crossing his legs. he doesn't know how to help. the cyber-desk, with all of its data and precision, it was all beyond him. he’d just slow juntae down. he always did.

juntae’s brows furrow in concentration, his brown hair flopping over one eye. when he calculates something in his head, he scrunches his nose slightly. hyuntak’s gaze lingers. too long.

he blinks it away.

“why does this need to be done by morning?”

juntae hums. “so i can get a read on how they attack. the faster it’s sorted, the faster i can start predicting what defenses we’re likely up against.”

hyuntak nods, even though juntae isn’t looking.

“who got the most prints?”

that makes juntae perk up. “actually, it was you. sieun was close, but you took the lead.” he pauses, turning to look at him fully. that smile again, wider this time. “great job tonight.”

hyuntak’s gaze flickers between juntae’s eyes and the cushion between them.

why did that feel like… too much?

now that juntae’s looking at him, like, really looking, panic flares beneath his skin. he hasn’t checked his reflection since earlier. his eyes aren’t lined, his contacts aren’t in, his hair is a mess.

why did i let him see me like this?

he blurts, too quickly, “you didn’t ask for help with the files.”

juntae turns back to his screen. the soft clicking resumes. it’s quieter now, a lull in the night. the cyber-desk hums low. the amber light bathes the room in warmth. hyuntak’s eyelids droop. he doesn’t mean to let them.

“seems like a lot of work for one person,” he mumbles.

“it is,” juntae replies, voice softer now. he must’ve noticed. “but i go through piles like this pretty fast. you all had a long day.”

hyuntak wants to say he did too. he’s worked just as hard, stayed just as late. he was tired too. but all that comes out is a small yawn.

“this is really boring.”

a quiet laugh. juntae doesn’t disagree.

“it sure is.”

and then, before he realizes it, hyuntak’s head gently tilts to the side. the sofa cushions are warm. the lights are low. the space between them, close.

hyuntak doesn’t even notice when he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

juntae hadn't slept that well in a while .

he genuinely thinks he would've slept the whole day if it wasn't for the smell of bulgogi and his morning appetite.

he has a dull ache in his neck, and the distant, fuzzy realization that something is heavy against him. juntae collects his thoughts from the night before and wonders how on earth he slept like a baby in what was, by far, the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever. he looks at his cyber-desk and the pile of prints everyone collected last night. the completed file glows a faint white atop the device's surface. he lets out a small sigh in relief— he actually finished it. he continues to blink slowly, only to find his face buried in the slope of someone’s shoulder. his arm is completely numb, sandwiched between two bodies, and his legs are cold despite the sweatpants clinging to them. there's a gentle but definite pressure on the top of his head, like someone else had slumped over him in return.

he exhales slowly, and the memories trickle in.

the late-night data entry. the soft glow of the cyber-desk. hyuntak sneaking downstairs at three in the morning. scaring the soul out of him. the water. the small talk. the subtle way hyuntak’s posture softened as he started to trust the silence.

and there’s now. 

now, they’re very clearly tangled up on the couch, in the kind of sleep position that feels more like an accidental hug than anything else.

juntae shifts slightly, trying not to jolt the other person, but it’s too late. the weight on top of his head stirs and they realize it at the same time.

hyuntak is fast asleep on him.

correction: was.

because now, they both bolt upright like they’ve just been caught committing high treason. limbs go flying. juntae nearly trips over himself. hyuntak hits his head on the armrest. they stand like deer in headlights.

sieun walks by into the living room, barely batting an eye. “morning,” he says, as if he didn’t just catch them waking up in a heap. he sets down two extra plates of bulgogi, white rice, and eggs. behind him, humin fumbles with an armful of side dishes of pickled radish, kimchi, tteokbokki, and what might just be an entire buffet.

juntae turns to hyuntak, his face still flushed and hair a complete mess. their eyes meet for half a second too long.

hyuntak blinks once. then a sudden gust of wind rips through the room like a vacuum. everyone’s hair flutters violently and napkins fly off the table. a startled squeak escapes from humin. and when the air settles, hyuntak is gone. juntae coughs through the silence, eyes wide, hair still windswept. “did he just...”

sieun doesn’t even look up as he pours soy sauce into a little dipping dish. “yeah.”

juntae exhales, collapsing onto the couch again. “cool. yeah. that’s... totally normal behavior.” juntae stares at the trail of wind curling up the stairs, tugging his hoodie back over his head after it had been blown off. he blinks a few times, forcing himself to fully wake, then turns toward the group with a startled, half-lidded smile.

“good morning.”

“actually, it’s afternoon.” humin holds up his phone like a teacher showing the answer.

juntae squints at the screen. 2pm.

“wow,” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep-blurred haze from his eyes and trying to do the mental math on how many hours he’d actually slept. “you and hyuntak were sleeping so peacefully, we didn’t want to wake you,” humin says, sliding back into his chair. “well, that’s not exactly true,” suho adds in with a tired grin. “more like, you two just didn’t wake up.”

he went on to explain how humin and suho had been chasing each other all over the house with two of hyuntak’s spray bottles, seeing who could run the fastest. all it took was suho to throw out, “20,000 won and a free trip to the corner store says you can’t beat me,” and off they went.

"why are you touching my stuff?" hyuntak appears back down the stairs with an annoyed frown accompanying him as he approaches the table. he is dressed in a blue hoodie and gray sweatpants. his dark hair is freshly washed and still damp, spiked at the tips across his forehead. 

there is nothing special or particular about what he’s wearing at all, and it’s exactly why juntae stares a little longer than he should.

hyuntak, as the very popular designer that he is, walked around the place in entire get-ups from his own brand and others in high demand on the market. he always, always looked like he was ready to step into a photoshoot, and this is just how he was. but right now, hyuntak looks… different. 

a good different. 

a really good different.

and now juntae is just rambling to himself.

he looks boyish. barefaced, he doesn’t look all that different from when he does his whole, just younger. softer. what juntae notices most, though, is how comfortable he looks. like he’s finally exhaled after holding his breath this whole time. even the way hyuntak sits has changed. his usual straight-backed posture has relaxed into a slight slouch, hands tucked into the front pocket of a hoodie that, somehow, suits his eyes perfectly. the blue suits him. not just in the stylish way everything always does, but in a quieter, almost personal way. like this version of him wasn’t meant to be seen, like this was a side of him nobody was supposed to see. and somehow, that makes juntae’s chest tighten.

anyway.

hyuntak catches the end of that conversation without a doubt, but really only stops listening when he hears that humin and suho had taken his spray bottles. he was looking for them just now to do his hair properly. now, he has to stick to letting it air-dry normally. humin takes over and re-explains his bet with suho, to which hyuntak's only reply was, "okay, but why did you need my stuff for it?" 

everyone could tell hyuntak wasn't actually upset, because he stifles a laugh hearing how suho tripped on the stairs and took humin down with him. 

“all that chaos, and neither you nor juntae moved a muscle.” humin says. hyuntak glances down at his plate, whispering thanks to sieun, who gives him the smallest, most tired smile. the food is always good here.

when hyuntak mindlessly looked up to grab more food, his gaze locked with juntae’s.

his heart stutters. he turns his eyes away as fast as he could, but he feels the weight of juntae’s gaze on him like it’s a physical thing. heavy, warm, judging? or maybe just curious. his mind races. is he overthinking? probably. he always is. but this time it feels different.

because their faces had been practically pressed together.

hyuntak can’t imagine how terrible he must’ve looked slumped beside juntae last night. he can’t imagine how much worse he must’ve looked waking up like that, on full display. in front of everyone. but especially in front of juntae . no one had ever seen him this unpresentable. not his stylists, not his assistants, not even ara, and she’s been his best friend for years. she’s only seen him bare-faced once, and that was when he overslept and nearly missed the launch of his winter collection. he’s known these people for four weeks. four weeks. and now this ? hair unstyled, face bare, posture slack. no filters, no angles, no armor. just raw, unguarded hyuntak. even if it was only for a second, they all saw him. they saw-

“hyuntak?”

his eyes snap upward. it’s quiet now. somehow, it’s just him and juntae at the table. he didn't notice when the others had gotten up. didn’t hear them leave. he’s not even sure how long he’s been stuck inside his own head. he glances at juntae, then at his still-untouched food, then back at juntae.

juntae’s eyes, in all of their unsettling, calculating, somehow gentle eyes are already on him. hyuntak doesn’t know if it’s deliberate or just the way juntae always looks at people, but it makes him shrink inward instinctively.

all he can manage is a weak, "hm?"

juntae’s lips pull into a lazy, knowing smile. “there he is.”

“what?” hyuntak blinks.

“i’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes,” juntae smiles shyly, as if it’s no big deal. he lifts a spoonful of rice to his mouth, chews, swallows. “i was just saying,” he pauses. “thank you for staying with me last night. i wouldn’t have gotten everything done if it wasn’t for you.”

hyuntak tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. juntae’s voice is sincere. but it catches him off guard.

“i asked you, like, five questions,” he says. “and then i passed out on the couch.”

“i know,” juntae shrugs, still smiling. “you still helped.”

hyuntak gets up from his seat, suddenly not hungry anymore. he doesn’t know if it’s because of juntae’s gaze, or how bad he is at taking compliments, or the fact that juntae was the first one to see him so freshly woken up. maybe it’s all of it. what he does know is that he needs to go to his room and sit there for the rest of the day just to process how this morning happened.

he puts his bowl away in the fridge and washes his utensils, sharing a growing silence with juntae. hyuntak is sure he’s the one making it tense and awkward, but he can’t bring himself to care. he just wants to disappear.

he starts toward the stairs. he’s a few inches from them when, of course;

"hey."

hyuntak wants to pretend he doesn’t hear, but his body isn’t in on the plan with his brain, no. his body stills hearing juntae's voice again, and now that he’s here— maybe it wasn't such a good idea to ignore the smartest man in the world, after all. slowly, he turns to face juntae.

juntae’s still smiling. that shy, nerdy, awkward smile. “i think you look really nice today.”

whatever words hyuntak was going to say next die in his throat. juntae says it so gently, like he knew what hyuntak was thinking about (maybe he did, maybe he had mind-reading powers too or something and didn't tell anybody).

juntae remembers last night. how hyuntak seemed so tense in his own skin. how wound-up and frantic he'd been over it. how he’ll spend hours in the mirror until he’s satisfied, or until someone tells him he looks fine. just like the way humin did right before they left for the gala. it’s the same look he sees now: that faint softening in his stare, the way his shoulders let go of tension like they’ve been holding it all night.

it’s just pattern recognition, juntae tells himself. useful data. motivation tactics. that's all.

still, it doesn’t mean he didn’t mean it. hyuntak does look great. even this morning. especially this morning.

hyuntak’s face goes slack, caught entirely off-guard. compliments aren’t his thing. he never knows what to do with them. but composing himself doesn't take long at all. hyuntak clears his throat slightly and looks at juntae again, expression dry before turning back around. "well, when don't i?" 

juntae watches him go, biting down a grin.

going up the stairs, hyuntak almost bumps into beomseok, who looks even more unnerved than he did at the moment. he is tempted to ask what was wrong, but beomseok could barely meet his eyes. he mumbles an apology, too distracted to do much else, and moves along. hyuntak blocks his path, now interested. "where are you going?" 

beomseok fixes his sleeve warily. "juntae asked seongje and i to go the store." hyuntak rolls his eyes at the mention of seongje's name, watching beomseok pulls a crumpled list from his jeans pocket, along with a sleek black card and a pen that clatters to the floor. hyuntak raises a brow. juntae gave him his black card?

juntae has a black card?

beomseok stuffs both things back into his pocket hastily. he gives hyuntak the list, "sieun needs to restock on... a few things." 

hyuntak rakes his eyes over the list, seeing it was definitely not 'a few things', but this wasn't his problem to really care about. with that card, he knew beomseok and seongje could buy the whole store if they wanted to. what hyuntak did want to know was why beomseok was so nervous. he doesn’t ask though, beomseok wouldn't have told him anyway. 

beomseok yawns, and the action sparks a memory in the back of hyuntak's mind. he has no idea what to think of it, but again— his body starts moving before his mind can comprehend. "let me see the list again. and your pen."

beomseok digs around his pocket and pulls the pen out. hyuntak slaps the piece of paper onto the nearest wall and scribbles one more thing at the bottom. he folds the paper back up to the crumpled state it was in and hands it back to beomseok alongside his pen. with a small pat on the back, hyuntak walks straight to his room with an occupied "good luck!". 

beomseok watches him until he was out of his line of sight and sighs, trudging down the stairs in defeat.

beomseok feels like he is just about to lose his mind. 

he's been driving with seongje next to him for almost an hour already, and they hadn't spoken once. if that wasn't bad enough, he was watching seongje from the corner of his eye toss his revolver up and down. he always caught it with an eerie precision, but that didn't make beomseok any less nervous that seongje might drop it and hurt one or the both of them. guns, knives, violence in general always put beomseok on edge. even though seongje wasn't trying to, he is the living definition of all the qualities beomseok was afraid of. 

beomseok had finally driven into the city and was pushing his fingers into the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. he tries to reason with himself, repeating in his head that he was overreacting, both then and now. he has super-strength, for goodness sake. he could've snatched that revolver, thrown it out the window, and tied seongje up with the seatbelt to keep him still, all with one hand. 

but, it's been nearly an hour and he just can’t take it anymore, "could you please, stop throwing your gun up and down?" 

he doesn't mean for it to come out so harsh, but beomseok is so nervous he can't control his tone. seongje stops, and not entirely because beomseok told him to. when they were stopped at a red light, seongje turns and looked directly at beomseok. he doesn’t need to look back to feel the absolute menacing stare seongje was giving him.

"you have barely spoken to me. we've been living under the same roof for almost a month now." seongje spins the cylinder on his revolver, watching beomseok cringe a little at the sound. "are you really going to tell me what to do now?"

beomseok sighs deeply, his hands shaking a little. "i'm sorry. it's just.. you throwing a weapon up and down like that is really dangerous and i would really appreciate it if you stopped doing that."

seongje sits up slightly in his seat, demeanor relaxed, and beomseok thinks he might not actually blow up on him. then seongje points the revolver right at his head, and pulls the trigger.

beomseok flinches so hard he almost hits another car in the lane next to them. he shrinks into himself so fast, expecting a hot flash of pain melting into his skin, expecting an ear-numbing ring, and then expecting to not feel, see, or hear a thing anymore.

nothing happens. 

seongje feels satisfied enough with that reaction, and puts the revolver down. "it's not loaded." he shakes the front pocket of his jacket, the sound of cartridges clinking together mix in with beomseok's ragged breathing. "but i can load it, just for you." 

beomseok is just around the block of the store, but has to pull over to calm himself down. seongje watches the panic in him— sees his chest rising up and down too quickly, sees his hands clam up, his eyes cloud over. 

great. now he feels kind of bad. 

with a discontented grumble, seongje exasperates, "how is it that you have the strength of 10 men, and a tiny gun terrifies you?"

ironically, beomseok shoots him a glare. he already apologized for how he talked to seongje, but using the weapon was too much for him. this time, he doesn’t bite back his tongue. "how is it that you can heal anything in seconds, and instead choose to destroy whatever's in your line of sight?" 

seongje decides to let the attitude slide. "i can't heal everything, dumbass. if someone's heart stops and it goes on for more than 30 seconds, i can't bring them back from it. you’d know that if you actually fucking talked to me."

beomseok briefly wonders if seongje just knew about that 30 second part already, or if he had to find out for himself during a couple of... situations. 

"what i said still stands." beomseok starts the car up again and rounds the block in a silence that doesn’t last long because seongje isn’t done criticizing him. 

"if i had your super strength, i'd be all set." he mumbles, "you have such powerful abilities and you’re too much of a bitch to use them."

beomseok's stare hardens ahead of him. "i could say the same thing about you." he feels like seongje was seeing right through him, reading his thoughts straight out of his brain and it makes him more irritated than he had anticipated. 

beomseok knows seongje was right. he really did have the power to save lives. hearing seongje say that brings beomseok back to one of his worst memories; a time where he was finished with his late classes and went to get something to eat from a nearby convenience store.

he had walked up to the cashier, pulling out a few crumpled bills from his wallet when the sound of a car skidding caught both his and the cashier's attention. he and the older cashier rushed outside and saw two vehicles who had gotten into a head-on wreck. there was a woman trapped under the car. she was screaming in pain, blood was pooling around her, and nobody could really tell what part of her body it was coming from. it was dark, but the few people that were still on the streets were gathered around, some calling the ambulance and others trying to lift the car from underneath her. beomseok could only watch them, unmoving in fear. 

it would've been so easy. so easy for him to go over there, call everyone to help lift that car, and get that woman out from underneath it. with everyone pulling their efforts, no one would've even been able to tell that it was beomseok holding all the car's weight. no one would've suspected him of being an ability-user whatsoever. 

but he didn't.

because he’s a coward.

he stayed where he was and watched as the ambulance arrived and worked on the woman while she was still stuck underneath the car. they had to wait for other rescue units to arrive before she was finally pulled out from the wreckage. by that point, the paramedics were shouting over one another that the woman had become unresponsive and they had lost her pulse. 

there was a ringing in beomseok's ears that blocked out the ambulance sirens and interposing voices almost entirely. he watched fuzzily as the woman was put into the back of the ambulance and the vehicle sped away. what remained was police taking witness statements, and tow trucks removing each of the totaled cars off the road. beomseok went home before the police could get to him, leaving his ramen at the store, not hungry anymore.

he could hear the car accident in his head again. he could hear that woman's screams for help, and the way each time she did her voice would get weaker. 

beomseok thinks enough about that woman and what he could've done enough as is. he does not need seongje unknowingly throwing his past mistakes back in his face. 

seongje was saying something, probably another insult, but beomseok doesn't really catch any of it. 

"-drop it, seongje. you don't know what you're talking about," beomseok parks the car a little more aggressively than he should've, but he can’t bring himself to care. not when he was picturing the woman he had failed to help. " you wouldn't want to have my ability." the bitterness in beomseok's voice fully sours the mood in the car almost immediately. seongje does not respond, rather grabs the cartridges out of his pocket and loads his revolver, much to beomseok's dismay. the two both sit in the tension, seongje scowling down at his lighter. "and you have no idea how much i wish i did."

there is something different in seongje's tone. it isn't mean or sarcastic or annoyed. it was real, it was raw. and beomseok isn't sure if he's ever heard seongje speak like that before. 

seongje gets out of the car in complete silence, and beomseok watches him walk into the grocery store. with a tired sigh of his own, beomseok brings his arms around the steering wheel and buries his face in them. juntae never told him what to specifically do with seongje during this trip, but beomseok couldn't help feeling the whole point was for them to build a connection. beomseok had spoken to every other person in the house except for him, and this was his chance to finally do something about it. granted, he did speak with him now, but they were already starting off on the wrong foot. 

beomseok lifts his head and watches people enter and exit the grocery store. some with full shopping carts, some with a single bag, some with kids and some without. with all the chaos beomseok's life has been lately, he appreciates the serene scene of normal people just going about their day. all he can see from outside the window of his room was masses of trees that didn't seem to have an ending. 

with another sigh, beomseok steps out of the driver's seat and locks the car. he walks into the grocery store shortly afterwards, eyes scanning for a taller guy in a red-black jacket that always has his eyebrows knit together and a permanent frown. it couldn't be that hard, right?

wrong. 

it was that hard. 

there's hardly anybody in the store now, so why can't beomseok find him? he was beginning to think that when he had his head down, seongje left the store and went off to who-knows-where. 

beomseok runs his finger across the canned food in one of the last isles he was in, spinning them a little out of place and unbalancing their logos. he briefly feels bad for the workers who tediously had to straighten up the cans, but not bad enough to fix them. he stands at the corner of the store and wills himself to do one final sweep. he would check over the isles one more time to find seongje. if he didn't, he would go back to the car and hope seongje would come back on his own so he wouldn't go back home missing a team member. juntae would probably be disappointed in him, and he didn't need to feel any worse than he did about himself already.

beomseok startes through all the food isles, going through frozen dishes and cake mixes and fruit juices. he tries to make use of his time while doing so, but seongje had taken the list from him and he didn't get a chance to look over it properly, much less memorize anything. beomseok finishes going through the produce isles with no luck, and the closest section next to him was one for children. there was clothing that started off for infants and went up to teenagers. further down are home appliances, plant selections, the beauty sections. there was no reason for him to go over there, but at this point he was starting to feel desperate. 

he scans the isles so hastily that he almost misses it. 

at the toy section for toddlers, seongje stands looking at a bunch of figurine dolls. he watches them cautiously, like he wasn't sure which one to get or if he should even be looking at them. beomseok retracts his steps a little and starts making his way over to him slowly. his steps feel heavier and his hands begin to shake slightly again. seongje is so focused on what he was looking at, beomseok isn’t even sure how to get his attention. should he tap him on the shoulder? call his name? stand next to him so he could turn? they were all minuscule actions, a much smaller part of a larger situation and beomseok cannot believe he's even debating on this right now.

contemplating doesn’t last long. 

because suddenly seongje turns, pushes beomseok into the stuffed dinosaur toys, and presses his dagger against his neck faster than beomseok could blink. 

when he sees the horrified expression on the dumbass with glasses, seongje lowers his weapon and removes his arm. "don't creep up on me like that, kid, what's wrong with you?" he rolls his eyes.

beomseok is completely freed, but doesn't move a muscle. "have you ever considered that not everyone is out to get you? and i wasn't creeping up on you!" he exasperates, holding a hand over his chest and blood rushing to his ears. "you almost gave me a heart attack."

"whatever." he hears seongje mumble. beomseok looks down and realizes seongje actually has a shopping basket on his other arm. it was overflowing with items at the list's request, and he wasn't yet done with it. upon realizing that, seongje starts walking away from him. the goal had been to find him and he did, so he should've felt alright. now, beomseok could just follow behind him now if he wanted to, but that doesn’t feel so right either.

"hey." beomseok grabs seongje's arm and turns him around. seongje pushes beomseok's arm away, but as long as he had seongje's attention, he was fine.

"i'm sorry for what i said in the car. i didn't mean to upset you. i just.. i just.." beomseok can feel his face burn with embarrassment. he isn’t even sure what else to say besides clear the air with seongje, and it was so evident in his eyes. seongje looks at him with slight amusement. 

"whatever," seongje says again. must be his favorite word. he turns back around and shoves the shopping basket into beomseok's side. "but you're carrying this for the rest of the trip. it's too heavy." 

and so, that's what he does. 

beomseok catches whatever seongje thows his way as he crossed items off of the list, having to carefully place them atop the basket so nothing topples over. beomseok trails behind seongje as they go through the rest of the isles. 

"-and that's it." seongje picks up a twelve-pack of pink energy drinks, written messily in black ink as the last item on the list. seongje can see beomseok struggling to keep everything in the basket, so he graciously decides to carry the energy drinks himself on the way to the check out. 

the cashier begins scanning through everything, and seongje helps him put the items in the plastic bags while putting a cigarette in his mouth. he gives every full bag to beomseok without turning to look at him, and something told beomseok he was going to carry everything to the car as well. 

he was right. 

seongje strolls out of the store and stretches his arms out tiredly, taking in a breath of fresh air. beomseok wants to do the same, but if he did he would hit himself on his sides due to all the bags dangling off both his arms. 

beomseok puts everything in the backseats and seongje waits for him in the front, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. 

the energy in the car is much more relaxed during the long drive back home, and beomseok couldn't have been more relieved. the same couldn't be said for seongje, however. they had been driving for over an hour now, and the whole time, he's been trying to nap a little before they got home. usually he never had a problem doing so. but today, he just feels off. 

"what's going on?" seongje mumbles to himself, leaning towards the side of the car. outside, the trees seem to be sagging against each other, their leaves blowing the wrong way of the wind. seongje swears he can smell burning plastic the second he rolls down the window. even the sunset seems to stare down at them forlornly, its pretty rays now dim and dull. the unsettling feeling grows in his chest. 

as they get closer the house, a pit forms in seongje's stomach. he feels an unnatural sense of heat on his face when looks out of window, breathing in air that just feels more toxic. he looks over at beomseok, who doesn’t seem at all fazed. he continues driving as usual, no change on his face whatsoever, as if the smell of smoldering electricity isn't stinking up the car. beomseok appears so normal, seongje feels he might've been making it up in his head. seongje does not scare easily— so why does he feel such a sense of oncoming fear?

their place was in their line of sight now. seongje's looking right at it, and nothing seems wrong. it was there, standing in all of its out-of-place yet blended glory, right smack in the middle of a bunch of trees. seongje sinks into his seat a little bit, taking a deep breath. he turns to look around the house, first at beomseok's side, and everything was its normal shade of green. but when he looks out of his own window, he almost misses it. 

hidden between low-hanging branches and mounds of tall grass is an all-black coupe. as they move forward, seongje is barely able to make out another one. 

and another. 

and another.

they are around thirty feet from the house when seongje pulls his dagger out, "slow down." 

"what?"

"slow down!" seongje pulls the steering wheel and steers him off the road. beomseok swerves violently and the two were nearly crushed into a nearby tree. he brakes just in time, eyes wide as he tries to remember how to breathe. "what the hell!?"

seongje doesn’t even get a chance to respond— the sound of glass shattering outside and a scream makes them both whirl their heads around. 

a man with gray-streaked hair, dressed in tactical black, comes crashing through the third-floor window in a geyser of water, his body twisting midair before slamming onto the gravel below with a sickening crunch.

not a second later, an explosion tears through the back of the house, flames erupting from the windows in a blinding, furious blast. beomseok clutches his ears and doubles over in the passenger seat, a sharp scream stuck in his throat as his eardrums ring like shattered glass. the ground trembles violently beneath the car.

seongje throws his door open. "go!" he shouts, though he can’t hear himself over the siren-like whine in his skull.

they’re under attack. now.

seongje bolts from the vehicle, shoes skidding across gravel as he races toward the chaos, beomseok right on his heels.

inside, the house is war. the kitchen’s a battlefield full of shattered glass, smoke, the sharp tang of scorched food in the air. seven masked intruders close in on juntae, who’s crouched behind an overturned counter like it’s the only cover left in the world. bolts of electricity arc through the air, searing the tiles where juntae just was. some attackers blink, disappearing, then reappearing feet closer. one of them hurls a fireball that detonates the corner of the kitchen in seconds.

and juntae?

he’s holding them back with everything .

knives hurtle through the air with telekinetic force. he flings sieun’s still-boiling pot of ramen into a man’s face. the refrigerator goes next, levitating and then launching like a missile into two attackers mid-lunge.

“juntae!” beomseok dives over the counter, landing beside him with a grunt.

seongje hears screams overhead.

sieun. 

he doesn’t hesitate. juntae has beomseok. that’s enough.

upstairs, the hallway’s been charred black, the floorboards groaning under each step like they’re about to give way. smoke rolls in heavy curtains, swallowing the walls and ceiling.

seongje stumbles through it, body ramming into indistinct shapes. he prays they’re intruders and not one of his own. he doesn’t have time to check. the air is thick and choking. the heat gnaws at his skin. seongje keeps his eyes on the floor, which looked like it would give out at any moment and send him plunging right down into the fiery kitchen. 

he tries not to think about it. 

“sieun!” he rasps, trying to follow the voice. he’s half-blind when sieun grabs him by the arm and pulls him into a thinner pocket of air. even through the grime and blood, seongje sees it: sieun’s eyes are rimmed with smoke-tears. an open gash bleeds down the side of his head, his face is streaked with soot. then, a rush of footsteps. one figure emerges from the fog.

sieun is slammed into the wall by the man, but the attacker is the one who screams. a thick icicle juts from his chest and the man slumps, lifeless.

sieun doesn’t flinch. another shard of ice begins to form in his palm, hand trembling. seongje wants to sit there and marvel at how scrawny, scary-looking sieun with the weird eyes really can copy anybody’s abilities, but there is no time. 

“third floor,” sieun coughs. “they came in from the roof . i couldn’t—get up there in time. i got cornered-” before he finishes, another attacker charges them. seongje reacts on instinct and puts a bullet between the eyes. the man drops.

the building shakes violently. something heavy crashes to the floor above. humin and suho come barreling down the stairs, covered in soot, coughing so hard it sounds like they’ll tear their lungs open.

“the fire’s everywhere !” humin yells. “you guys have to go! the whole place is coming down!”

everything is blurry after that. just motion. screaming. running. seongje barely registers it. sieun’s yanking him toward the door. juntae and beomseok are with them now. bodies burn in the corners of his eyes, twisted and unrecognizable.

outside, the cold evening air slams into him like a wave. the sun is on the last of the horizon, colored a bright red like it was angry at him. 

juntae is limping, blood trailing down one leg, leaning on humin but still barking orders: “the cars! now!”

the commotion of everyone running around makes seongje dizzy with a realization.

hyuntak.

he’s not with them.

he’s still inside.

and before the next thought fully forms, seongje’s already running back.

every bone in his body burns, screaming at him to stop moving. his lungs feel like they are shriveling up in his chest. his eyes are so watery he has trouble even seeing the smoke. he powers through. the kitchen is empty. the living room is engulfed. he bounds up the stairs, and every step is a punishment but he doesn’t care.

doors. one by one. thick, black smoke slaps him like fists.

and then, he finally sees him.

“hyuntak!”

seongje crashes to his knees beside him, grabbing his face with trembling hands. 

hyuntak is collapsed. his face is ghost-pale and the entire right side of his body is burned. skin peeling. fabric fused to flesh.

“hyuntak!” he shouts again, shaking him. “wake up! hey— wake up! ”

but hyuntak doesn’t move. he doesn’t even flinch.

the ceiling above them creaks, and seongje gets no response.

seongje screams a guttural, full-body sound of relief, panic, and urgency all at once when he finds hyuntak’s pulse. it’s weak, slow, faint. but it’s there.

“seongje!”

the voice is closer than expected. he looks up through watery, burning eyes and finds beomseok already there, sweat streaking down his soot-stained face, his chest heaving from the smoke. he is out of breath and looks like he is about to pass out at any given moment, probably because there wasn't enough oxygen for the three of them. without hesitation, beomseok scoops hyuntak up, slinging him over his shoulder like dead weight. he reaches seongje’s hand, and they run out of the building. even now, beomseok’s grip on seongje’s hand is firm.

juntae's cars are already ablaze, sieun’s and beomseok’s personal vehicles are charred down to metal skeletons.

“put him down,” seongje says, voice tight and cracking. his hands tremble at his sides. “i need to heal him.”

beomseok hesitates. he’s panicked and dizzy and agitated all at once. “seongje, we need to get in the car. you can help him in—”

“no!” seongje shouts, louder than he's ever been. “beomseok, he could die right now! put him—”

and with a screeching boom, the second floor explodes behind them. shards of glass scream through the air.

beomseok reacts instantly. his free arm wraps around seongje and shields him from the blast. the ground shakes beneath them and fiery wind lick their backs.

“guys!” suho’s voice cuts through the ringing, holding up keys from across the yard. “let’s go!”

the car seongje nearly crashed into the tree earlier still works. the other vehicle with juntae, humin, and sieun has already taken off into the smoky distance.

beomseok doesn’t wait. he rushes with seongje and hyuntak into the car, cramming into the backseat as suho slams on the gas and speeds off into the oncoming night.

in the backseat, beomseok lays hyuntak in the middle. seongje leans over him, cradling his face again. his hands glow a soft, golden light trickling from his fingers like liquid starlight. beomseok watches, wide-eyed, as the light seeps into hyuntak’s blackened skin.

the charred flesh softens. skin returns to color. the burns reverse in slow motion. seongje’s hands fly down his body. his neck, chest, arm, leg. every touch radiates that golden glow.

this heat isn’t fiery, but it’s warm. it's comforting. like the sun on a winter morning, or like a hug from someone who missed you. it's healing.

the air in the car sparkles, and beomseok could feel it pump his lungs with more oxygen and exhale all the toxicity. it encourages his body to rest— to mend itself. 

beomseok is trying his best to stay awake, but his eyelids wouldn't hold up. he feels like he could finally breath perfectly, like he was out of danger when that most likely wasn't the case. regardless, the air did what it did, and wills him to sleep.

suho is feeling the effects, too. he has to roll his window down and breath the outside air to avoid falling asleep mid-drive to wherever it was they were going. they’re just following the car ahead now, headed toward anywhere but here.

seongje lets go with a sob that tears from his throat before he realizes it. he's cursing the air in front of him, wiping furiously at his eyes. the golden light fades but the shimmer in the air remains.

he checks hyuntak’s pulse again and it's stronger. it's steady. and he's alive.

it was worth it.

exhausted, seongje collapses into the seat, shoulders trembling. he turns away from hyuntak, resting his head against the window, his face streaked with silent tears that just infuriate him even further.

the night outside is pitch black, but the inside of the car still glows.

Chapter Text

before passing out, seongje felt like his entire body was melting from the inside out.

he absolutely drains himself mending everyone back to health. beomseok stood as the least injured, so he kept behind seongje as he went through everybody, looking at wounds and patching them up. he had finally fixed up juntae's leg at the end, crumpling against beomseok not even a second after he was done.

beomseok catches him expectantly, and carries him back into the car to rest in the passenger seat. 

juntae leads everyone to hastily stop outside a sleazy motel. it was closed, looked like it hadn't been in business for years. there was not a single soul in the parking lot. the lamp posts are dim enough as is, casting a sickly yellow glow, but at times they would flicker off completely and come back at random times. it was obvious to tell this part of the city was not being taken care of. 

everyone is sprawled out against the sidewalk. suho and humin are leaning on the fence of the run-down motel's parking. sieun has his back against the side of the first car, hugging his knees. hyuntak continues resting in the back of the second car, with seongje next to him. juntae is farthest away, sitting on the broken sidewalk. the crickets chirp in the long, uncut grass on the other side of the fence like they were trying to cheer them up. 

it doesn’t work. 

everyone is wrapped in an uneasy silence, the kind that settles after chaos but before clarity. no one speaks. not because they have nothing to say, but because there’s nothing left to say. hours pass in a slow, agonizing drag. the sun begins to rise, spilling a faint, pale light across the street. like the soft orange bleeding into the wreckage of the night before.

suho is the first to move. he stands with stiff limbs and walks over to where juntae sits hunched on the curb, still and statuesque, as if turning to stone would make everything disappear. humin rises a moment later, only to stretch his legs and let out a breath that sounds like it’s been sitting in his chest for years.

juntae always had an answer. always. he’s the one they all turned to when the problem was too big, too layered, too impossible. he wore calm like a second skin, a shield to keep the others from falling apart. that was his role. that was his purpose.

but now, suho finds him broken in the quietest way imaginable. juntae doesn’t even look up. his fingers are laced through his hair, pulling slightly, his eyes glassy and far away. his glasses are broken and rest next to him. he mumbles something under his breath, too fragmented to understand.

suho hesitates, unsure if stepping closer would help or make it worse. he reaches out anyway, gently and carefully. but juntae flinches, not out of fear but as if contact might shatter him completely.

he won’t let anyone in. not suho. not anyone.

suho sighs and backs off, heart heavy. he returns to his place in silence.

humin tries next. then beomseok. even sieun. 

each attempt chips at the moment but never breaks through. it’s like juntae’s entire being has locked itself in a room and thrown away the key. eventually, they stop trying. because he keeps inching further away, like if he just reaches the end of the block, the guilt wouldn’t follow.

but the thing is, it always does.

back inside the car, hyuntak wakes up with a violent jolt, like he’s been pulled out of a nightmare he can’t remember but still feels in his bones. his heart is pounding in his chest. too fast, too loud. he sits up so abruptly, he smacks his head against the roof.

“fuck,” he mutters, eyes fluttering, vision adjusting to the dim gray light filtering through the windows. everything is still. too still. the first thing he sees is seongje slumped beside him, breath shallow, face pale. his body is heavy with exhaustion, with something deeper than sleep. 

this is not what he expected to wake up to.

for a moment, hyuntak just stares at him. and then, as if on autopilot, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over seongje’s shoulders. seongje doesn’t move. doesn’t react. a chill creeps through hyuntak’s spine.

he steps out of the car, and silence greets him. a shattered, hollow silence.

the others are scattered like broken chess pieces, dazed and shell-shocked. no one speaks. no one even looks up. it’s as if time is moving around them and they’ve been left behind.

hyuntak’s breath catches in his throat when it all comes flooding back. the fire. the screams. the smoke. the end of everything. his fingers curl into fists. the rage comes next, and it’s hot, sharp, and bitter.

everything he owned, everything he was , is gone. unreleased projects. blueprints. materials he spent years developing. one-of-a-kind designs, irreplaceable concepts born from pain and precision. gone in a blink.

his life’s work has been reduced to ash.

and juntae—fucking juntae—was supposed to see it coming.

a flicker of movement draws his eyes. humin lifts his head just enough to offer a tired, fragile smile when he sees hyuntak standing. there's a faint relief in it, but hyuntak doesn’t return it.

“where’s juntae?” he asks, voice clipped. humin points to the end of the block and hyuntak follows his gaze. 

there he is. 

juntae, sitting with his back turned, alone. his hands no longer cover his face, but something about him still looks… broken. static. like a machine that’s fried its own wiring. hyuntak doesn’t say another word. he starts walking.

“maybe, just leave him be for now,” humin calls after him gently. but hyuntak doesn’t stop. 

he almost died. they all almost died. his past burned and their future nearly ended. and the one person who was supposed to be untouchable, unshakable, had no idea it was coming.

"hey," hyuntak says once he's a few feet away.

no response.

he narrows his eyes. “i’m talking to you.” his voice sharpens.

still nothing.

then, juntae finally stands. it’s a slow movement, like something ancient is waking up. hyuntak expects a look, a word, anything. but instead, juntae turns to walk away.

no acknowledgment. no apology. no answer.

hyuntak grabs him by the arm and yanks him back so fast juntae nearly stumbles to the ground.

"you might shut out everyone else, or whatever the hell this is, but you do not ignore me. "

juntae’s eyes lift to his, and for a second, hyuntak falters. he sees it.

the exhaustion. the disorientation. the way juntae’s thoughts seem to be running a thousand miles a minute and going nowhere. this wasn’t just a miss. this broke something in him.

and for the first time, hyuntak isn’t sure what scares him more: the fact that juntae didn’t see it coming, or the fact that he might not know how to fix it.

hyuntak decides to dial it back a little bit.

his voice lowers, not soft but not biting either. “look, i get it. you’re stressed. you’re tired. you’re beating yourself up. fine. but guess what? we almost died. i almost died. and you—” his voice catches for a split second, something sharp flickering behind his eyes. “you’re supposed to be the one who doesn’t miss anything.”

juntae doesn’t move. he just stands there, shoulders slouched, breathing like each inhale is another failure.

“you always know everything,” hyuntak mutters. “always five steps ahead. you recruit us like chess pieces. you calculate people’s entire personalities like you're solving a damn equation. but you didn’t see this coming?” his voice cracks despite himself. “you didn’t know?”

juntae finally meets his eyes. there's no sharp retort. no logic. no plan.

“i didn’t,” he whispers, and it sounds so hollow, so impossibly unlike him that hyuntak physically takes a step back. “i didn’t know. i missed it. i missed it all.”

that confession should make hyuntak feel better, but it doesn’t. because he can see it now. 

the silent war inside juntae’s head. all the gears turning. every what-if, every should-have, every wrong variable breaking him down, one equation at a time. hyuntak looks away, jaw clenched. the silence between them stretches like a wound.

“i wasn’t supposed to die,” hyuntak finally says, voice low. “not like that. not in a fire. not screaming for someone who wasn’t coming.”

juntae flinches.

the dawn spills light onto both of them. it should feel like hope, but all it does is remind them of what they’ve lost.

juntae’s lips part like he wants to say something, some kind of apology, or maybe just a sound to fill the silence, but nothing comes out. he doesn't have the words. for once, the smartest person in the world is speechless.

hyuntak swallows hard. he hates the way his voice shook earlier. hates the way juntae is looking at him now, like he’s fragile. like he’s breakable. like he already broke and they’re both too late to fix it.

“you told us it was safe,” hyuntak mutters, his tone flat now, drained of its usual venom. “you said we’d be okay.”

“i know.” juntae closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they’re glassy. “i thought we would be.”

a breeze rolls past, cold and slow. it carries the ash scent from last night’s wreckage with it, curling between them. for a second, neither of them say anything. then hyuntak shakes his head.

“you can’t afford to think anymore,” he says. “you don’t get to ‘think.’ you get to know. that’s the whole point of you .”

he starts to walk back toward the others, but halfway there, he hesitates.

“i didn’t expect you to care,” juntae says suddenly, and it’s not smug. it’s just... honest. quiet. wrecked.

hyuntak turns his head over his shoulder. “i don’t,” he lies.

“someone must have known what we were doing.” juntae picks at his cuticles, eyes unfocused. hyuntak isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or just muttering to himself, but he doesn’t move. “someone caught on. but who? how? i watched all of you, replayed that night over and over. there’s nothing. there’s—”

hyuntak grabs both of juntae's wrists. "are you done spiraling?"

"not even close." juntae's voice breaks at the end. he’s staring at hyuntak with big eyes that are full of fright. and hyuntak realizes in that moment that juntae did not have a backup plan for this. he had built and innovated that abandoned building from the inside out to protect them all. he worked specifically for make sieun's kitchen perfect. he added in pool tables and a video game lounge because that was beomseok and humin's favorite pastime. he created a space full of all sorts of decals, threads and fabrics for hyuntak.  it was supposed to be a sanctuary. he had made it so far away from the city exactly for that reason, where they could freely use their abilities without being scared of someone seeing them through the windows. now that juntae was thinking about it, the first place where he went wrong was making it stand out so obviously so. while it was a far distance, a building in the middle of nowhere was always automatically suspicious, even if it was hidden in between a bunch of trees. the way-

"okay," hyuntak gets up, and juntae is starting to wonder if he had said all of that out loud.

hyuntak walks back over to the others and shares brief words with them, before heading back to juntae. he gives him a look that brooks no argument and juntae stands up unwillingly. 

juntae looks like he wants to crawl into a ball and never move again, and hyuntak can feel his chest tighten. it’s obvious to tell juntae is losing both his mind and sanity over this, but that was okay— hyuntak would make sure to keep him safe. 

juntae watches humin and suho awkwardly squeeze into the same seat and wonders why they’re cramming into the first car at all. he looks at hyuntak, who just shrugs dismissively.

"they'll be fine. they're going into the city to get some food," hyuntak's voice turns into a mumble, "let's hope that goes well with suho's face plastered on every news channel." the car keys in hyuntak's hand jingle. juntae figures he'd gotten them from humin when he went over and spoke with them. 

hyuntak helps juntae into the passenger seat in the second car, and the two take off before the others. the silence between them is thick.
hyuntak drives through the crowded streets of dongdaemun with a blank stare that means his mind’s racing through a million things at once.

finally, juntae breaks the quiet by asking, “where are we going?”

hyuntak slows at a red light, glancing over with a look that tells juntae he won’t know until they get there.

“do you trust me?”

and juntae exhales, defeated.

“honestly, i—”

“okay, let me rephrase that. you’re going to have to trust me.”

juntae and hyuntak stand in front of the multi-story complex in silence. it towers at least forty meters high, stretching toward the sky like it has something to prove. the building is all angles and arrogance, with huge double doors made of weathered wood and gaudy golden handles that scream new money with no taste . two gold lion statues flank the entrance. they’re roaring, mid-snarl, and utterly hideous. hyuntak’s nose wrinkles. 

“tacky,” he mutters, eyeing the statues like they personally offended him.

at the top of the building sits a sleek apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows and a panoramic view of the city so breathtaking it momentarily shuts juntae up. he could already imagine the view of the sunrise into the living room, the city lights blinking back at him at night.

dangling off one of the enormous doors was a pathetic white sign with FOR SALE printed in cheap blue ink. it looks laughable on something this massive place, like putting a post-it note on a skyscraper. juntae wonders if anybody would even take it seriously.

"come on," hyuntak mutters, voice flat with barely restrained contempt. he doesn’t spare the building a glance as he strides in, but once past the threshold, he shifts instantly, flashing a charming grin and greeting the front desk security like old friends. juntae watches the transformation in quiet amazement, but his attention soon drifts upward.

the building feels like a relic, frozen in time and taste. the walls are clad in washed-out greige tile that clash violently with the once-white window sills, now dulled with age. every stair creaks with the ghost of footsteps long gone, the wood railings polished to a sheen that doesn't match the rest of the neglected aesthetic. juntae could name the exact decade each design trend died, but he’s snapped out of his reverie by hyuntak’s elbow digging sharply into his side.

they ascend the staircase, the elevators all out of order, suspended like artifacts in disuse. juntae trails a hand along the wall, where lavish, dust-veiled paintings hang crookedly. he wonders, not for the first time, why anyone would want to sell a building like this. or who would be foolish enough to.

halfway up the second floor, they stop in front of a set of heavy double doors. nearly identical to the ones at the entrance, except the handles here glint with strange, intricate engravings. juntae leans in to get a better look, but hyuntak suddenly grips him by both shoulders and spins him away.

"listen to me," hyuntak says lowly, eyes locked on his. "when we go inside, you don’t speak. you don’t move unless i say so. stay behind me. i’ll do all the talking. got it?" juntae isn’t too keen on the fact that hyuntak is talking to him like a child. regardless, he nods. juntae can tell this is not a request, it’s a warning. hyuntak brushes imaginary dust from juntae’s jacket like he’s smoothing down armor. 

as hyuntak raises a hand and knocks, the sound echoes down the empty corridor. a moment passes. then, from inside, a voice that’s both amused and unsettling, drawls, “come in!”

the office space is exactly as expected, massive and overly curated, with all the windows thrown wide open to let a warm breeze sweep inside as if the room itself were exhaling pretension. a large white desk anchors the end of the room, flanked by a matching sofa and loveseat atop a circular rug that looks untouched. the dark bamboo flooring gleams unnaturally under the light, every board polished to perfection. antique figurines clutter the geometric shelves and desk.

seated at the desk in a stark white velvet chair is a man with silver streaks through his slicked-back hair and black-rimmed glasses perched just so. he looks like a wealth incarnate, dressed in a beige dinner jacket and matching slacks, posture casual yet calculated. the raised eyebrow he gives them feels less like curiosity and more like condescension dressed up as charm.

“go hyuntak,” he says, voice smooth as silk stretched too tight. the man rises with a saunter that screams showmanship, and the arrogance rolling off of him hits juntae like the backdraft of expensive cologne. juntae has to fight the urge to recoil.

“lee junghoon,” hyuntak replies, his smile just as forced, voice laced with honey and venom. they shake hands, something too slow and too deliberate. it’s a miracle the room doesn’t combust from the mutual disdain cloaked in etiquette.

“you look great,” junghoon purrs, sliding his hands into his pockets and leaning against the desk like a man who thinks the world spins just for him.

hyuntak lets out a laugh that sparkles like broken glass. “junghoon, you’ve always flattered me.”

“that, i have,” junghoon replies, and the smile he gives is so smug hyuntak nearly loses his composure then and there. junghoon gestures vaguely to the chairs. “i haven’t seen you in far too long. what brings you here?”

“i’m so glad you asked,” hyuntak says, gliding into one of the velvet chairs like he owns the place already. he crosses one leg over the other with calculated elegance. junghoon raises a brow, just briefly, then waves a hand dismissively. “by all means, have a seat.”

hyuntak ignores the jab and clears his throat. “i need to buy this building from you.”

the room stills.

hyuntak’s tone is so clean, so resolute, that for a brief moment, even junghoon falters. juntae catches the slip, how junghoon’s smile flickers, the tightness around his eyes betraying something bitter beneath the gloss.

junghoon chuckles, low and grating. “hyuntak,” he says, resting his glasses on the desk with all the delicacy of a man placing down a sword, “we’ve known each other for years now. i’ve always advised you against rash spending. taking out loans for vanity projects? it’s a dangerous game.”

hyuntak props his elbows on the desk, hands clasped under his chin, his fingers brushing against one of junghoon’s ridiculous figurines just enough to make it wobble. “there’s no loan. i’m buying this outright. full payment. today.”

he pulls out his phone, scrolls briefly. “the bank’s ten minutes away. no traffic. seems like a good time to finalize things, don’t you think?”

junghoon scoffs in disbelief, but it sounds more insulted than surprised. juntae, eyes wide, feels like he’s watching two lions circle each other in a glass room.

“how frank of you,” junghoon says finally, sliding his glasses back on. “but you know my standards. i only sell properties like this to couples. this building was bought with my wife. it was built on love and it thrives on connection.” he tilts his head almost like he’s lovesick. “nothing personal, hyuntak. just business.”

hyuntak wants to laugh, wants to scream. instead, he smiles, warm and poisonous. “oh, junghoon. business is always personal.” his eyes flick down to his nails, as if he’s bored. “but your tradition? it’s… cute. i’m sure your wife adores it.”

junghoon beams with false modesty. “she does.”

“well then,” hyuntak says, leaning back, extending a hand behind him. “i still don’t see a problem.” 

he turns and grabs juntae’s hand with that same sugary smile, squeezing it just a little too hard. “i have my partner here,” hyuntak says, voice sweet enough to rot teeth, “and we’re both more than ready to meet your asking price. aren’t we, baby?”

juntae’s brain short-circuits.

hyuntak squeezes again, and juntae forces himself to smile. tight-lipped, awkward, but he smiles. he clears his throat. “uhm. hello, sir. my name is juntae.”

junghoon doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. he gives juntae a once-over so slow it’s practically a slap, and still doesn’t offer a greeting in return. juntae thinks this might be what hell feels like: velvet chairs, fake smiles, and a room full of people who know exactly how much they hate each other, yet keep shaking hands anyway.

junghoon's face contorts into a scowl faster than hyuntak could blink. with a sharp scoff, junghoon rises from his chair. “i’m calling security.”

“excuse me?” hyuntak’s eyes flick over junghoon like he was the one losing his mind. junghoon slams his hands down on the desk with venom. “i only sell to normal couples,” he hisses, eyes narrowing like a snake ready to strike. “you have some nerve walking into this estate, go. i won’t have your mental illness and disease spreading in this building. i refuse to let my legacy be tainted by freaks like you!”

hyuntak pushes back his chair and, without hesitation, leaps over the desk. everything happens in a blur; juntae is certain he’d just seen hyuntak use his super-speed in front of this man.

hyuntak’s hands are at junghoon’s throat. junghoon claws at him, trying to shove him off, but hyuntak is immovable. he is red-faced with rage, knuckles white as he clenches junghoon’s collar in tight fists.

“get your filthy hands off me!” junghoon shrieks, struggling and failing to break free. juntae freezes, too shocked by junghoon’s venomous words to move. when he finally snaps out of it, he is at hyuntak’s side, hand resting gently on his arm. hyuntak’s gaze is fixed in front of him and burning with fury, barely acknowledging him.

junghoon’s eyes shimmer with panic and something deeper just hits him. maybe it was desperation? juntae wonders why he keeps provoking hyuntak, knowing exactly what was coming. hyuntak tightens his grip, sensing there was more on junghoon’s tongue, barely held back, just out of reach.

“say it.” hyuntak’s voice is low and dangerous.

juntae’s words fall silent in hyuntak’s mind, drowned by the storm raging behind his eyes. years of junghoon’s contempt, his endless belittling, had built this moment. hyuntak would not let this man touch the most personal parts of him any longer.

“say it!”

and suddenly, two warm hands grasps hyuntak’s jaw. juntae’s touch is soft and unexpected as he gently turns hyuntak’s face aside to meet his eyes.

“hyuntak, please.” his voice is cautious, steady, pleading. the unspoken words hang between them:

don’t do this.

we’ll get caught.

think. be rational.

and hyuntak’s focus slips.

he isn’t sure when it happens, but he loosens his grip just enough. junghoon scrambles free, coughing and gasping for air as he stumbles back to his desk.

he brandishes his phone, waving it like a weapon, but hyuntak knows better. junghoon’s pride is too vast. he handles his own problems, no police needed. juntae stands firm in front of hyuntak, nervously adjusting his glasses and placing both hands on hyuntak’s shoulders, blocking him every time he tries to move forward. to hyuntak, it is absolutely infuriating. the urge to lash out, to punch something, but juntae’s steady hold is a lifeline.

hyuntak balls his fists and juntae braces himself, expecting the worst. he understands the weight of junghoon’s hateful words and doesn't blame hyuntak for wanting to explode. but they have to get out before things get worse.

juntae glances down at hyuntak’s clenched fists, then back up just in time to see hyuntak pull free and storm away. the sharp edge of his anger is unmistakable.

“you’re still not getting this building, go. no matter what you do, i’ll make sure of it!” junghoon spits, but hyuntak barely hears him. juntae shoots a glare junghoon’s way, adjusting his glasses one last time before rushing after hyuntak.

they descend the stairs in suffocating silence, hyuntak’s mind no doubt spinning through countless schemes for revenge. they did what they could, and it just didn't work out. juntae really does appreciate what hyuntak was trying to do, but it was back to the drawing board for all of them. like a hardwired computer, juntae's mind goes right back to thinking of how he was going to find another place for them to stay in.

when they walk out of the building, hyuntak starts going in a completely different direction than the way they had originally come from. juntae frowns at the back of hyuntak's head. hyuntak hasn’t had a break or eaten at all this entire day. granted, juntae hasn’t either, but hyuntak has just done all of the talking and is obviously the one working harder.

"hyun-"

"go to the restaurant, juntae." hyuntak deadpans. he doesn’t even bother looking back at him as he continues walking. "i'll be back later." 

okay. so hyuntak is still mad at him.

"where are you going?" 

"don't worry about it." 

juntae wants to put hyuntak in his place the same way hyuntak had done that morning to him. yet, nothing comes out of his mouth. 

"hyuntak, nobody thinks rationally when clouded with all this emotion. just-"

"juntae," hyuntak stops walking and spins around to face juntae. with a piercing glare, he throws the car keys at juntae. they hit his chest with a soft jingle and it kind of hurts. the people walking past them are trying their best to stay out of this by moving aside.

"take the car, and go with the others," it was clear hyuntak is trying so hard to keep his words nice and professional, the way he keeps wringing his hands and breathing heavily. "meet me back here in the evening."

"back where?" 

and hyuntak just turns back towards him with a glare that's a second or two away from committing homicide.

juntae understands the message, loud and clear. 

hyuntak is soon mixed in with everybody else walking in the streets, and juntae finds his way back to their car. 

"no, it was around here." juntae mumbles, leading the way back to the familiar, blue building. he has to agree with hyuntak on that one— that giant thing stands out like a sore thumb. hyuntak had called humin from a payphone to meet up in front of a place he could only describe as, "juntae knows where, he'll lead you."

it’s dark out now. hyuntak’s been gone since morning, and everybody else carefully moved through the city and the nearest restaurant they found until they got the green light from both juntae and hyuntak that they were cleared to move. 

"was it really necessary to park so damn far?" seongje mutters. his complaint is barely audible due to the absolute crowds of people enjoying the nightlife. every bar, club, restaurant, has lines outside of them. 

“stay in your spot, seongje.” humin mutters. they’re all walking in front, behind, and at the sides of suho, who is completely covered up from head to toe and keeping his head down. seongje keeps walking just a little faster than he’s supposed to. he groans and slows his steps.

"hey, gotak-ah!" humin waves towards the other side of the street, and all together everyone sees hyuntak emerge from the crowd of people crossing the block with him. he seems to walk with an occupied mind, and juntae wonders what he could have possibly been doing all these hours.

hyuntak half-heartedly waved back, meeting eyes with seongje in the front. 

if it weren't for him, hyuntak wouldn't be breathing the night's freezing air right now. the last thing he saw before being knocked out unconscious was a man in all black setting fire in each of the four corners of his room. everyone else was busy fighting the attackers off to notice that he wasn't by their side helping. 

hyuntak was so embarrassed that it had only taken one hit from those people to knock him out. one hit to render him completely useless. one hit to face his death. part of the reason he went off alone was because he didn't want to face his teammates. he’d proven to be the worst fighter and the biggest burden, no help whatsoever. he ponders why the hell juntae picked him as part of the seven to get this ring back. not the smartest move coming from him. and to top everything off, seongje had saved his life. 

again. 

the pit of guilt in his stomach feels like an open wound, hot and heavy and impossible to ignore. he's been forcing himself not to think about it all day and it doesn’t work in the slightest. seongje hastily looks away from him, focusing his attention on the neon signs plastered over the windows of the bar and grill next to them. hyuntak feels his heart drop a little, but again forces his culpability down with a heavy swallow. he has other things to focus on right now, anyway. 

they meet in front of the building, that building, the same one juntae and hyuntak had spent the morning sizing up. juntae still remembers hyuntak standing there like it personally offended him, like the whole 40-meter-tall thing was gum on the bottom of his shoe. now, hyuntak stares up at it again. the scowl's returned, this time with more bite as his gaze zeroes in on the egregious bright blue paint job. no other building on the block was such an eyesore. it stuck out like a bad secret.

“you okay, gotak?” humin’s voice slices through the silence, soft and familiar. he steps up to hyuntak with that warm, disarming smile he always wears. like none of this is strange, like everything's fine.

juntae stiffens. gotak? his head turns before he even realizes it. it takes him a second to put the pieces together. just a nickname. something humin made up. casual, friendly.

but it sticks in his chest like a splinter.

gotak, huh.  

he says nothing. he’s probably just tired and that’s why it’s bothering him.

“come with me,” hyuntak says suddenly, without looking back.

juntae’s gut twists. something’s wrong. he doesn’t know what, but his pulse is speeding up like his body already knows. whatever hyuntak’s about to do, it’s not going to be simple.

they step through the building’s double doors. the air inside is polished and sterile. hyuntak leads without another word. no one questions him. 

juntae doesn’t like it. not the silence. not the tension. not the fact that hyuntak stops to greet the two security guards on duty like old friends. they fall into step behind the group without a word.

and that’s when juntae really starts to worry.

juntae just can't seem to shake off his nervous energy. at least beomseok and seongje were here; they could restrain hyuntak if he decides that junghoon needs his oxygen cut off again. 

hyuntak doesn’t even knock. he pushes open the door to junghoon’s office like he owns the place.

junghoon’s laughter, previously echoing through the room, dies instantly.

he’s seated with a man and a woman. they are well-dressed, sharp-eyed, and expensive-looking in every way. the kind of people who order bottled water by brand. they're perched delicately on a snow-white velvet couch, sipping espresso. junghoon, across from them on a matching loveseat, is holding papers in his hand and looking very smug. that smugness evaporates the moment he sees hyuntak walk in. his expression twists, like he’s been served spoiled caviar.

hyuntak flashes a smile, the kind of smile that should come with a warning. “so sorry i’m late,” he says, all sweet venom. 

junghoon forces a laugh, eyes darting between hyuntak and his entourage. “hyuntak,” he drawls. “it’s... nice to see you again.”

he motions vaguely toward the couple. “right now, i’m actually finalizing the sale of this building to these lovely investors.”

the couple exchange confused glances as one of the security guards politely, but firmly, asks them to leave. junghoon’s protest is cut off by the closing door.

juntae holds his breath. he half-expects hyuntak to lunge—he’s seen that look before, and pattern recognition is his thing. cold, calm, and absolutely dangerous. but hyuntak doesn’t throw a punch. doesn’t raise his voice. 

he sits .

right in junghoon’s desk chair.

junghoon leaps from his seat. “get out of my—”

but hyuntak leans back lazily, crossing one leg over the other. “funny,” he says, almost bored. “you didn’t seem to mind wasting my time this morning. engaging in meaningless conversation with you, which i am doing again, right now unfortunately." he rolls his eyes at the person he’s wasting his breath on. "but then, you were just flat out homophobic towards juntae and i to help preserve you and your wife's idiotic traditions of an inanimate building." by this point, junghoon marches right up to hyuntak and is pretty much boring holes into his soul. but hyuntak only looks up at him with a slight pout full of boredom. he leans back in junghoon's chair and it makes juntae cringe a little in the back. “i am sick, and tired of you and your psychotic superiority complex. i will never be used by deplorably selfish men like you, ever again.”

junghoon rounds the desk, eyes blazing. “hyuntak—you’re still as arrogant as ever. you think you can storm in here and-”

“i know i can,” hyuntak cuts him off, voice like ice. “because while you were too busy being a relic of 1984, i did a little digging.”

when hyuntak sees junghoon freeze, he can’t help but laugh. “ah,” hyuntak says, tilting his head innocently, "guess who isn't the owner after all? not even the majority?"

junghoon reaches over and balls up hyuntak's shirt in his fist, yanking him up from his seat. seongje jumps a little at the show of hostility but beomseok holds him back before he could do anything else. "you went through private files without permission. that's a felony!" 

"it sure is. but i'm also sure that threatening the bank's CEO with forged papers of money laundering is a lot worse," hyuntak watches junghoon's unnerving eyes, appearing relaxed despite junghoon's tightening grip. "the CEO was much more willing to hand over your files when i told her we shared the same disdain for you. and a healthy exchange of cash, of course."

hyuntak's scowls, "you're just a sleazy real-estate agent who's been out of work for years, hogging this place and keeping that poor CEO threatened, extorting her for years. you might have everyone at the palm of your dirty hand, junghoon, but you've never fooled me and you know it." the designer shoves junghoon off of him and sits right back down in the velvet chair. "you can't do anything about it. you've always been an idiot , go hyuntak. you just admitted to bribing a government official, and there is nothing stopping me from going to the police about you before you can say a single thing about me!" 

"you're so right," hyuntak says. "that's why i went ahead and bought son-hanna enterprises, the company that actually owns your— or, well, no, my estate.” 

“wait.” junghoon stares at him like he’s hallucinating. “you... you what ?”

hyuntak smiles, slow and devastating. “this building? this office? these ugly-ass chairs?” he taps the velvet armrest. “ mine .”

the security guards step forward, one on either side of junghoon. his mouth opens in protest, but nothing comes out because he’s too undone.

“you can call the police if you want,” hyuntak says with a shrug. “i’m sure they’ll love hearing about those six years of ghost paychecks from a company you don’t legally control.”

“you won’t get away with this,” junghoon spits, fighting against the guards as they escort him out. “i’ll ruin you!”

the door slams shut behind junghoon’s tantrum, and the room is still again. hyuntak sighs and stands from the desk, brushing invisible lint off his jacket. “velvet on white,” he mutters. “that’s the real crime here.” 

he makes a mental note in his head to throw all three of those chairs out later. 

he turns toward the group and his eyes flick to juntae for a moment, just a flicker, then land on humin.

humin stares at hyuntak like he’s seen a ghost. “what the hell was that?”

hyuntak tosses him one of junghoon’s hideous russian dolls without even glancing. “this is ours now. it’ll be repurposed for multi-use. like the old place.”

juntae says nothing.

gotak, he thinks again.

and for the first time, he has absolutely no idea what hyuntak is going to do next. 

the building is enormous from the outside, and feels bigger when you step inside. the others had barely gotten a chance to check it out, and hyuntak could see they were still trying to process what they saw. the building looms around them in their forty meters of history and decay, now brimming with possibility. 

"this place is fifteen minutes from the boutique and hoards of people pass by every single day, at all hours. it'll be harder for them to attack with so many witnesses around. so, in short, you all get to sit down tonight 'cause i just saved your asses." hyuntak runs a hand through his hair and begins moving towards the door.

“wait, where are you going?” humin asks, brows furrowed. he hasn’t seen hyuntak all day. he’s barely processed the fact that they were alive and standing here, together. and now he’s leaving again?

hyuntak flinches when humin moves closer. he shifts away subtly, eyes on the ground. “to get drunk,” he mutters. “it’s been a long day.”

hyuntak leaves the office before anybody can respond to that. but of course, he couldn't have expected it to be that easy. 

"hyuntak!" 

hyuntak barely has time to turn around because juntae is already directly in front of him. he looks... hesitant. like he’s warring with something inside himself. his hands twitch at his sides like he's not sure if he should use them. that in itself makes hyuntak even more nervous.

then juntae steps forward and wraps his arms around hyuntak.

juntae is hugging him. right outside of the office. 

just like that.

hyuntak stiffens instantly. juntae’s smaller than him, warm and solid and pressed close. his brown hair is against his neck and it kind of tickles. "thank you," juntae's voice is muffled but ever so sincere. "you saved all of us. you gave us a new home." 

see, hyuntak wouldn't have necessarily used the term home , but he understands juntae's message anyway. 

hyuntak should push juntae off now. should mutter something and keep walking.

but then humin’s big head pops out of the office, eyes bright. “group hug?” he asks gleefully, before gluing himself to hyuntak’s side. within seconds, the rest pile on.

don’t tell anyone, but hyuntak lets himself enjoy it.

yes, his personal space is absolutely obliterated. he probably smells like smoke and sweat and stress. he’s starving. he’s exhausted. all of that had just vanishes from his mind. this is a moment hyuntak takes in completely. 

when he opens them again, he catches seongje standing by the wall. watching. there’s something unreadable in his gaze, sharp and quiet. hyuntak swallows the knot of guilt that rises, uninvited. he used to be able to read seongje like an open book. now, he feels like he’s staring at a locked safe.

he drops his gaze, unable to hold it.

but one thing he knows about seongje that will remain forever true: he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.

which is why, no matter how many times he tries to reason it away, hyuntak still doesn’t understand why seongje saved him from the fire.

“okay,” hyuntak finally says, loosening his arms. “break it up.”

they all pull back, reluctantly. hyuntak flashes a crooked smile, one more real than usual, and slips away down the stairs, disappearing into the night.

“i’ll keep an eye on him,” juntae says quietly. he adjusts his glasses in that dorky way they’ve all grown to like. “you guys relax. there’s an apartment on the top floor. uh, make yourselves at home.”

when juntae walks through the big double doors, the air outside is different. it’s cooler, sharper, pulsing with the nightlife of the city. there's clubs, bars, and crowds. music. laughter.

juntae doesn’t even know where he’s going. doesn’t remember where he started looking, but he does.

because something in his chest is still burning, and it’s not fear.

hyuntak is at the bar counter alone, a couple of empty glasses and bottles in front of him. he has his head resting on his hand, the other swirling his glass around. 

juntae approaches him slowly. the place is definitely not the most crowded as the other bars he had visited, and definitely not a bar that seemed up to hyuntak’s standards. it’s a little smaller, and that slight difference makes it feel much more cozier. there are men and women sitting in the booths, talking quietly amongst themselves. soft jazz music plays on the bar's speakers. the lights are dimmed low, and it not-so-oddly reminds juntae of hyuntak for some reason. 

hyuntak finally looks up, gaze cloudy but sharp enough to recognize who it is. he exhales softly through his nose and lowers his eyes again, focusing on his glass like it’s the only thing tethering him to the earth.

juntae takes the empty stool beside him, hands folded politely on the bar. he watches him in silence for a moment, then speaks. “thank you again… for what you did today,” he says gently. “i know i said it already, but i really can’t thank you enough.”

his cheeks are tinged pink and it’s either from the night air or something else, and he keeps adjusting his glasses though they sit perfectly on his face. juntae’s fidgeting. 

nervous. 

not his usual composed self.

"yeah," hyuntak's speaks equally as gently, a very slight hint of tipsiness in his voice that juntae knows will grow heavier as the time passes. "i used all the money meant for a new picturesque drop to get the building."

he doesn’t sound bitter. just tired. like he’s laying a card down, face-up, and doesn’t care what happens next.

regardless, the apologies start spewing out of juntae's mouth the moment he hears that. he turns his entire body and even bows remorsefully, "i can't imagine how much that must've been. i'm so sorry, of course i will pay everything back-"

"no you won't." 

juntae physically stutters. he lifts himself out of his bow, a confused frown is written across his face. "i.. i won't?" 

hyuntak shakes his head, sipping the last remnants of his soju bottle. an airy grin spreads across his face. "you’ll be paying to replace everything in the other place. the pool tables. video game room. sieun’s kitchen. somehow, i feel like that’s worse."

and for the first time all day, juntae smiles too. it’s small and crooked, but it’s there. he looks down at his hands, trying to hide it, but the corners of his mouth betray him.

"of course. i'll get started on that first thing tomorrow," juntae says. hyuntak waves down the bartender for two more bottles of soju, sliding one over to juntae. “drink with me, genius.”

juntae’s brows raise. “i don’t usually—”

“then don’t keep up. just sip.”

they drink in the easy jazz music. juntae’s eyes flicker now and then to the crowd of glamorous people, music, a sea of laughter and perfume. but his gaze always returns to hyuntak.

he looks… fragile. not in the way of someone about to break, but like someone who already did, and stitched himself back together with whatever he could find. his leg shakes every now and then. his hand opens and closes around the glass like he's fighting off a memory.

juntae watches him and thinks: taka.

the nickname slips into his mind like it’s always belonged there. it’s short, unassuming, and just his. gotak belongs to everyone else. taka is something else. something smaller.

juntae obviously gathers that hyuntak knew who junghoon was beforehand. the tension in the air may as well have been as visible as an elephant in the room. juntae is extremely tempted to ask— he hates having pieces of the puzzle missing from the box. he hates not knowing. 

he fights himself in his head for a couple of moments, before it gets the best of him, "how did you know junghoon was selling?"

hyuntak’s head lolls to the side slightly. his jaw clenches, ".. he kept asking for permission to have a picturesque storefront opened at the base of the building. i never approved it, but he continued asking regularly. i got notices of what the building was being used for every time."

"ah, i see." juntae hesitates for a moment, but takes a sip of his own bottle and continues. "is that where you know him from?"

hyuntak places his drink down a little too hard. a few droplets of soju fizzle out on his hand, but he doesn’t flinch. “you’re really making me talk about him when i came here to forget,” hyuntak says. the way he says it, with such raw distress in his voice, makes juntae’s heart lurch. he wishes he could take the question back.

but hyuntak keeps going. maybe the alcohol is doing the talking now. maybe something else.

juntae knew there was apprehension between the two, but he had no idea it was that bad. he never imagined it ran this deep.

hyuntak raises his eyes toward the bartender, who sets a different liquor before him this time, darker and meaner than the last. he downs it without even flinching at the bitterness. the glass clinks gently against the bar top when he sets it down, but his grip on the new soju bottle is tight.

“junghoon was one of my professors back when i was a freshman,” hyuntak starts, voice low and steady. steady like he’s rehearsed the words in his head a thousand times. “intro to fashion design. he liked to brag about running real estate while teaching, like it made him some kind of genius.” he takes another long drink. “i don’t know why he hated me. but he did. and he made sure i felt it, every single day.”

juntae listens in silence, watching the subtle ways hyuntak's hands shake even as his face remains neutral. it’s the kind of composure that only comes from years of having to pretend nothing hurts.

“he used to call me out in front of everyone. tear my designs apart. gave me zero credit, refused to grade me fairly. turned the whole classroom into a stage and made me the punchline. and i never knew why. ” hyuntak’s voice doesn’t break, but it fractures. like something too thin and sharp to see, but felt all the same.

“and then, once the show was over, everyone would rush to me. ‘your work was amazing, hyuntak.’ ‘he’s just bitter.’ ‘you’re the best in the class.’” he scoffs, eyes distant. “but none of them ever stood up for me. none of them worked with me. not one. i was just the kid they pitied.” his jaw clenches, and he swirls the drink in his hand before lifting it again. “praise just started to sound like pity. still does.”

he exhales a breath like he’s been holding it for years. then adds, quieter: “sometimes he’d make comments about my appearance too.”

that’s when juntae sees it. really sees it.

the broken pieces junghoon left behind. the deep marks into hyuntak’s confidence, the raw nerves buried beneath the glitz and the glamor. the foundation of the man beside him isn’t stitched from ego, but from hurt. from humiliation. 

from survival.

“what happened after that class?” juntae asks, voice soft.

“i dropped out.”

juntae’s breath catches. “...hyuntak.”

“you’re doing it,” hyuntak murmurs, not even looking at him. “that look. the one they all gave me.”

juntae quickly straightens his expression, fixes his features, with his eyes still burning. “you didn’t need that class. or that school.”

he turns to face hyuntak completely now and doesn’t let him look away.

“i wasn’t there to see your early work. but i know it was beautiful. you were and still are very good at what you do, taka.”

and hyuntak freezes. not because of the eye contact, not even because of the nickname, but because of how quietly juntae says it. like it’s something sacred.

hyuntak stares at him. juntae doesn’t back away. doesn’t smile. just looks at him, really looks at him, and hyuntak feels something strange and warm twist in his chest. it scares him more than he’ll ever admit.

he snorts and looks away. “you’re stealing my nickname now?”

“no, it’s different,” juntae says simply. “this one’s just for me.”

as the words leave his mouth, juntae feels something shift inside him. it’s like a strange weight lifting off his chest. the familiar sting that was this nagging, uncomfortable pit twisting in his stomach every time he thought about stupid gotak begins to fade, dissolving like smoke in the cool air between them. it’s as if saying it out loud, making it his own in this quiet, private way, has given him a little peace he didn’t know he’d been looking for.

still, despite the relief, a flutter of shyness bubbles up beneath his skin. his fingers twitch nervously, and he finds himself adjusting his glasses again, even though they’re perfectly in place. he tries not to meet hyuntak’s eyes.

juntae clears his throat. “that man couldn’t stand that someone younger, brighter, and better was in his classroom,” he gestures lightly to hyuntak’s chest. “but you built a legacy. millions wear your work, admire your brand. you're a visionary, and you never needed his approval to begin with.”

hyuntak doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glisten. they’re shiny, not with tears but with the thin shine of something fragile breaking open. a quiet, flickering softness takes hold of his expression. a very faint smile edges at his lips.

and juntae smiles back, instinctively, breath catching in his throat. 

“thanks for telling me all of that,” juntae says gently. “i know it couldn’t have been easy.”

hyuntak leans against his hand again, blinking slowly, the haze of alcohol softening all his angles.

“you just got lucky,” he mumbles. “i’m drunk.”

juntae watches him carefully. his cheeks are flushed, his eyelids heavier with each blink, words starting to slur slightly. it’s time.

he rises from his seat and offers his hand. “come on. let’s go home.”

hyuntak’s body stills.

again with that word. home. that building is nowhere near that word whatsoever. it still has the horrendous mark of junghoon and his horrible taste all over the walls, in every room. that wasn't home at all. 

but juntae says it like he means it, so hyuntak doesn’t fight or flinch. he looks at juntae’s hand for a moment, then takes it. 

and they walk out together, fingers brushing just slightly, but enough to feel.

juntae is thankful the bar was just around the corner. hyuntak was swaying like a reed in the wind, and each step feels slower than the last. 

they finally push through the doors of their building, and sangjae, one of the night guards, stood up from his seat. “hey, boss,” he greets, offering a friendly smile. it falters when hyuntak stumbles in, draped over juntae’s shoulder like dead weight.

hyuntak’s eyes are closed and he’s somewhat groaning. sangjae hesitates, then glances toward juntae instead. “uh, sir?”

juntae stops and turns to sangjae curiously, even though he could feel hyuntak getting heavier with each passing second. both sangjae and his partner, sehyeon were packed up, since their shifts had technically been over a couple of hours ago. juntae bows the best he could with hyuntak starting to lean on him. 

“i’m juntae,” he offers quickly, adjusting his grip on hyuntak and giving a shallow bow.

“ah— my name is sangjae. hello.” the guard, who was built like a brick wall, suddenly seems jittery. juntae notices immediately, like he typically does. people get nervous around him, especially when they have bad news.

“there’s, uh… a woman on the second floor right now. i should be telling my boss this, but…”

he gestures helplessly to hyuntak, who is now mumbling incoherently about the lighting in the lobby.

juntae’s chest tightens.

a woman?

and that horrible, familiar pit settled in his stomach again. the one that crawls in whenever something feels wrong . he keeps his tone as even as he can. “who is she?”

sangjae scratches the back of his neck. “we’re not really sure. she just walked in, said she knew the owner. i just— i thought she actually did know him. so… i let her through.”

juntae tries his best to keep his composure, but it doesn’t work because sangjae starts fully bowing at him again. "i'm really sorry if that was a mistake, sir. i-i'll escort her out right now, if that's-"

juntae’s smile is thin. “no, it’s fine. i’m sure hyuntak invited her.”

even he doesn’t believe that. he just needs sangjae to stop talking before the anxiety crushed his lungs. “we’ll head up. thanks.”

sangjae bows low again, apologetically. juntae bows back, then begins half-carrying hyuntak toward the stairs.

“you’re going too fast,” hyuntak whines, stumbling against him. “the room’s already spinning.”

“hyuntak,” juntae says through gritted teeth, “did you invite anyone over tonight? a woman?”

“why would i subject anybody to those hideous antiques?” he mutters, eyes drooping. “i’m not a sadist.”

juntae’s stomach turns over. that answers that.

the second they get to the office, he rushes them both into the hallway, ignoring hyuntak’s protests. the door creaks open.

and there she is.

a woman, standing with her back turned, posture calm like she belongs there. she wears simple jeans and a t-shirt, her dark hair falling just below her shoulders. at her feet sits two cardboard boxes. they’re closed.

juntae tenses. he can’t see what was inside them.

the others stand across the room, frozen. none of them are smiling. not even humin.

"oh, juntae! you're here, with hyuntak." suho appears from the bathroom, and juntae has never felt more on edge. it seems the feeling is mutual with the others, who remain still and watch the interaction with hostility. uninvited and random guests are definitely not something they need right now. 

suho looks…nervous. like he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t sure was wrong.

juntae places hyuntak gently on the nearest couch and steps in front of him instinctively, eyes flicking back to the woman. “what’s going on?” his voice is both shielding and shaky because the air is heavy and full of unspoken tension. 

but suho clears this throat, facing everyone and letting a smile spread across his face. "guys, this is jiwoo— my girlfriend."

Chapter Text

it’s an ungodly hour in the morning. 

hyuntak is pressed against juntae, sound asleep. next to them sits beomseok and humin. sieun and seongje are on the floor. suho is next to jiwoo behind the loveseat, holding hands with her in his lap. nobody really makes eye contact except for juntae, who is very obviously scanning over jiwoo and reading her information. 

jiwoo had just finished introducing herself. her surname was shin, and she was 23 years old. she is warm, a beautiful smile nothing short of welcoming. she has a dimple on her left cheek, and it shows even in her most minimal expressions. everyone (expect hyuntak) has returned greetings, but that was pretty much it. despite jiwoo's bright energy, to say the environment was awkward was an understatement.

kei roams freely around the office, looking around before making her way back to the middle of the room, where everyone was. jiwoo seems very comfortable around the animal. there was not a hint of fright or surprise on her face, which tells juntae that she already knew suho was an ability user. the woman waves over at kei, who does not seem impressed or the least bit excited. she grumbled, walking in a circle a few times before laying down next to sieun. 

sieun's hand subconsciously goes towards the lioness, petting behind her ears the way she liked it. he keeps his eyes on kei, not once looking up.

suho clears his throat, shifting in his seat a little, "jiwoo had just come over to bring me some of my stuff. i didn't exactly get to you guys with much.." suho's shoulders sink a little when he remembers forcing that poor taxi driver to help him escape. 

the look on juntae's face is one not too pleased, and jiwoo could definitely feel her presence was putting everyone on edge. she looks over at her boyfriend briefly before standing up and making a parting bow, "well, i'll be leaving now," her smile is a little less bright when she turns to juntae. "i don't actually know you, i'm sorry i lied to that security guard. i just.. wanted to see suho and make sure he was safe. and bring him some of his things, of course. just the stuff he had with me back at home.”

juntae manages a nod. "that's okay. i understand you may not have seen him in a while. but, there is nothing to apologize to me for because i am not the owner," his eyes regard the body pressed against him. "he is."

hyuntak is sleeping, but even his unconscious expression is cold. jiwoo's cheeks flush prettily, and she bows apologetically again. "i'm so sorry. i will make sure to clear the air with him as soon as i can." and with that, suho finally escorts her out of the office.

"i wonder if she thinks suho actually murdered his boss," seongje mumbles. overlapping voices followed, but all of them seemed to doubt it. "there's no way. she would've snitched him out by now. the police are offering 500 million won for anybody with information about him." beomseok says.

"well, that was very awkward." humin is still cringing to himself. "i'll be going now, to do.. anything else." the others follow rather quickly, and when suho comes back, everyone except hyuntak and juntae are in the office. suho takes one look at juntae and knows that they had some talking to do.

"i assume jiwoo's fond of ability users," juntae starts. hyuntak's head lolls to the side and lands on juntae's shoulder. he briefly pauses to check over hyuntak before turning his attention back to suho. suho lowers his voice with a faint smile on his lips, "she is. and she doesn't know that you guys are ability-users, if that's what you're worried about." 

"does she know about the assignment?" 

"no, i just told her you were an old friend that offered to help me with an escape from.. you know.." suho trails off, lowering his gaze. juntae observes him. "you know, suho— for the record, i don't think you did it."

suho chuckles humorlessly. "yeah. well, you, jiwoo, and my grandmother seem to be the only ones that think so." 

juntae purses his lips, looking at suho's hair falling into his eyes. "as you know very well, we are in the direct public now. i'm getting commercial window tinting done very soon, so nothing can be visible from the inside. what i want to know is if the police have figured out she is your girlfriend." when juntae told each of them that he was going to protect them, he meant it. if there are outliers of any kind, it is best he knows now and finds a way to deal with them. 

"they haven't, trust me." suho assures. "jiwoo's father is an ability-user himself. jiwoo didn't inherit his abilities, but her and her family have always stayed out of trouble to keep everyone safe. besides, we've been together for a year. no one's noticed and we never told anybody."

"oh." juntae raises an eyebrow. "why is that?" 

".. my grandmother told me she wouldn't approve of anyone else after my ex-fiancée." 

juntae nods slowly, suho's face turns a full crimson. suho wasn't so sure how serious his grandmother was about that, but he'd rather not find out.

"of course." juntae decides not to press any further. he smiles at suho lightly, "jiwoo is welcome anytime, just.. tell her to be careful." 

"i will. thank you, juntae." suho bows appreciatively towards him, and leaves the office. 

juntae remains where he is for the next 10 minutes, listening to hyuntak's steady and soft breathing next to him. usually, the silence is peaceful to him. he'd get some work done, or read a book, or just sit there and reflect on his day. the leisure of it has always been comforting to juntae. but, not right now. 

all juntae could think of is where the others were. he hasn’t heard anything out of the ordinary, but this place is much bigger than the place that had been burned down. what if he couldn't hear them? 

“hey, kei?” juntae’s voice is hushed, almost apologetic, as he gazes toward the lioness sprawled out peacefully in the office. she’s in the exact same place sieun had left her—undisturbed, serene, like a living statue carved from gold and smoke. a pang of guilt hits him for even thinking of waking her. she looked at peace for once.

but she hears him.

kei opens one golden eye, her expression unreadable, regal. she doesn’t move, but the flick of her tail betrays her awareness, an unspoken assurance that she’s listening. juntae gently adjusts hyuntak’s head, careful not to wake him, and leans it back against the couch cushion. he looks so vulnerable asleep, the sharp lines of his usual confidence softened in slumber. juntae hesitates, fingers still lingering near hyuntak’s hair, before rising.

“watch over him, okay? just for a little while,” he murmurs. “i’ll be back soon.”

kei rises, stretches with a long feline arch, and moves silently to hyuntak’s side, settling protectively in front of him. the sight eases something in juntae’s chest.

“thank you, kei.” he pats her head with a small smile. “i know you don’t technically eat, but… i’ll save you some bulgogi leftovers. deal?”

she just purrs, low and satisfied, and it almost sounds like a chuckle.

juntae chuckles softly, too. then he turns and walks out the door, his pace quickening the closer he gets to the stairs. the silence in the building isn’t just quiet, it’s suffocating. the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting to be broken by something awful. juntae’s footsteps echo louder with every floor he climbs. his breath hitches. each door he swings open reveals no one, just silence, just shadows. 

by the second to last door, his hands are trembling.

“hey, juntae.” humin’s voice cuts through the stillness like a lifeline. he’s sitting with sieun near the wall, concern clouding his usually bright eyes. juntae freezes, chest heaving, his body language screaming panic even if his voice doesn't. “where are the others?”

“they went to get fried chicken,” humin says. “that 24-hour spot down the street. except suho, he stayed behind to shower.”

juntae presses a hand to his chest, grounding himself. “okay… okay, good. sorry for interrupting. i just-”

"you aren’t interrupting anything," sieun interrupts. he doesn’t even blink when juntae enters. his eyes are open but distant—like he’s stuck in something far away and awful. he offers juntae the spot next to him in the empty corner, which he takes. sieun rests dejectedly against the wall and makes no movement when humin puts his head on his shoulder. juntae puts his head into his hands, and humin is staring at both of them with extra attentiveness.

“...what’s going on, guys?” humin’s voice is quiet. he watches the way the shadows cling to sieun, how juntae looks like he’s unraveling thread by thread. it’s like sorrow has become a living thing in the room, like a storm cloud hovering just above their heads.

“i just..” juntae’s voice cracks as he lifts his head. “how long ago did they leave?”

“maybe 15 minutes ago? around there?” humin frowns.

"it's so late at night. it shouldn't take this long to get fried chicken," juntae's foot starts shaking impatiently. "they should've been back by now, right?"

humin reaches for his voice like it’s a blanket to wrap around them all. “they’ll be fine, besides, with beomseok and seongje? even if something happens, nobody stands a chance against those two." 

juntae manages a tiny smile that doesn’t last more than a few seconds. he lifts his head up from his hands, tries to breathe through it. "you're right. you're right, i know. i’m sorry. i'm just— just.." juntae can feel his face redden with embarrassment. explaining his own feelings always made him feel like the biggest idiot in the world. "i don't know. i'm.. afraid something else could go wrong at any moment. like.. everything’s going to fall apart again." 

humin wishes he could pull juntae into a hug, but sieun’s already leaning on him like he might crumble if he moved. still, he tries his best with his voice.

"you know murphy's law, right juntae?" humin obviously knows the answer to that, but appreciates the faintest of smiles that spread on juntae's face. with a slight chuckle, juntae replies, "i do." 

"that's right," humin says. "and what does it state?"

"'anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.'"

"exactly. you know that we can try our best to avoid that. remove hazards, seek out every issue, all that stuff. but things are bound to go wrong during this assignment, especially one like ours.. our job isn’t to stop everything from going wrong. it’s to face what does go wrong, and learn how to survive it next time. that’s all we can do."

juntae knows humin is right. he has to be as logical as he can right now, because he cannot make the same mistakes that led their home being burned down. he has to learn from the experience, and prepare better for next time, just like humin said. juntae is surprised to see the end of his inner conflict solved so quickly. when he was alone, he'd always spend days in his slump, sitting there and sulking to himself. 

the weight lifts slightly. it’s not gone, but it's bearable now. and that difference, small as it is, feels like a miracle.

both of them focus their attention on sieun, who sinks further into himself. 

sieun's spent most of his life minding his business and moving along. after his first year of high school and the sheer hell that came after that, he began helping others, even if it meant he could be caught. it was always a risk that the person whose life he had just saved would rat him out as an ability user. it was always a risk that he could be seriously hurt. it was always a risk he may not come back home. but that remained a fair deal in sieun's mind. 

then sieun speaks, and the whole room shifts.

“i killed fourteen people two nights ago.”

his voice is barely audible. sieun shuts his eyes out of exhaustion, but opens them back up just as fast as he had closed them. he hasn't slept at all these past nights. all he could see was the dead bodies at his feet, bodies of people who he didn't recognize, bodies that he was responsible for. he could hear their blunted screams. the sounds that came out of their mouths as they took their last breath. the way they laid motionless before the heavy smoke blocked them out. "i'm a murderer." 

humin’s heart lurches. he remembers—sieun had almost come upstairs with them to play video games. he’d just forgotten his charger. he never made it back. by the time sieun had retrieved it and walked out of his room, he was surrounded and the walls were on fire. 

sieun knows he had no choice. it was him or them. but the logic doesn’t soothe him. it doesn’t make the memories fade. he had always tried to be good. after his first year of high school and the sheer hell that came after that, sieun had clawed his way into kindness. tutoring classmates. helping teachers clean up in the late hours. risking his life to save strangers, even when he knew they could turn him in for his abilites. he’d been raised to hide, but he never could. it was always a risk that he could be seriously hurt. it was always a risk he may not come back home. but that remained a fair deal in sieun's mind. 

he’d been trying to be better for years. no more fighting. and still—

still, he had to kill them.

he didn’t want to. he just wanted them to stop. but they wouldn’t stop. they came at him like he was something less than human. like hurting him was personal. he didn’t choose to kill. he chose not to die. he killed for the sole purpose of protecting his teammates, protecting the assignment he was brought here to help complete. that was the only thing on his mind when he stabbed those people in the chest with the sharp and thick icicles that formed in his hands, when he threw them out of the window with powerful blasts of water.

“sieun-ah..” humin whispers. he wraps his arm around him, and sieun leans in, limp and trembling. juntae hasn’t spoken. he’s watching sieun with eyes full of pain. then, quietly, he shifts to kneel in front of him and gently takes sieun’s hands.

their eyes meet, and juntae’s voice is soft and breaking:

"you remind me so much of my own mother, sieun. you two were alike in so many ways," juntae speaks with a certain pain in his voice, and it’s the first time any of them had heard him talk like that. juntae continues like he and sieun were the only ones in the room. "you risk yourself and your well-being for the sake of others. your heart has always been so big, so empathetic with the strangers around you, even if you weren't treated the same way in return," juntae's smile saddens. "my mom had the same compassion for those around her. she was never afraid of the consequences she would face, as long as she was facing them on her own terms."

the words hang in the air like prayer.

“she never waited for gratitude or safety, just followed her heart, even when it led her into hell. you’re like her, sieun. you’ve always been like her. you carry people who wouldn’t carry you. you risk everything for the sake of others. your heart is so big, and this world didn’t deserve it.”

and sieun breaks.

the sob that rips from him is full-bodied and shattering. his entire frame convulses as he falls into juntae’s arms, unable to hold back anymore. the sound of his weeping is raw, miserable, and it splits both humin and juntae open. this isn’t just about the murders. this is everything. years of hiding. years of trying. years of being good and still being hurt. years of pretending it didn’t matter.

juntae holds him tighter. humin pulls them both closer. together, they bear the weight. the weight of absolutely everything. 

because it’s not just that night breaking sieun now.

it’s suho, too. and he can’t even deny it if he tried.

the way suho had smiled earlier; blissful, relaxed, slipping away to text someone. the way seongje casually dropped it: “he’s probably texting his girlfriend.”

girlfriend.

the word still hasn’t stopped echoing in sieun’s skull. he didn’t even know suho was dating someone. he had no right to care. no right to feel like someone had shoved their hand into his chest and ripped out something tender and stupid.

but he does. he does.

he’s crying because of that too—and that’s what shames him most.

he just survived murder and blood and agony and this is what finally makes him crack?

what a fucking joke.

sieun lifts his tearstreaked face, breath hitching. they weren’t sure when, but the others had returned. they’re okay— and from the looks of it, they had heard most of the conversation. now that juntae looks up with sieun's head to his chest, the smell of spicy fried chicken fills his nose. 

“she sounds like she was amazing.” sieun sniffles, looking juntae in the eyes. “i’m glad i remind you of her.”

juntae’s hands tighten gently around sieun’s. his own eyes glisten, voice trembling.

“i’m glad you do, too.”

by the next morning, juntae had already thrown himself into remodeling mode. he’s called a construction crew after thoroughly vetting every single person, obviously, and started on the fifth and fourth floors since no one would really be up there during the day. beds were delivered, along with oversized drawers and full-length mirrors. everything was being painted a soft cream-white for now. personalizing would come later, juntae wants everyone to have the chance to make their room theirs.

on the fifth floor, walls were being knocked down to turn a string of rooms into one open, shared space. he envisions televisions, video games, a pool table, maybe a few fabric machines—especially for hyuntak, who mutters something under his breath about "bare minimum functionality" with a side of "aesthetic chaos."

juntae could’ve done more planning, but right now, he was waiting on a certain someone to finish his forever-minute shower.

he sits on the loveseat in the office, half-reading a home improvement brochure, half-listening to the sound of faint running water behind the door. hyuntak’s insisted on coming with him to pick out new flooring and windows, but only after he approved every single change juntae’s already mapped out. because, apparently, the whole building “looked like a depressing post-war museum.” his words.

juntae doesn’t mind. he knows better. hyuntak complains, but he cares more than anyone else.

finally, the bathroom door cracks open, steam billowing out, and hyuntak emerges with sunglasses on, mask in place, and humin’s beanie loosely clutched in one hand. his hair is still damp, curling slightly, and he’s wearing the exact same outfit from yesterday, though juntae knew he'd washed it the night before in a hurry, tossing glances over his shoulder like someone might see him committing fashion treason.

“we’re replacing my things first,” hyuntak says,  walking like he was on a timer. “i can’t believe i’m wearing the same thing two days in a row.”

juntae stands, falling into step beside him. “i expected nothing less.”

hyuntak shoots him a side-eye, but there’s was a faint tug of a smile beneath his mask.

they walk side-by-side, a little too in sync, a little too easy.

at the front desk, seongje’s laughing with sangjae and sehyeon, practically draped in sehyeon’s chair. he has a cigarette in his mouth, and juntae frowns because he wishes seongje would do that outside. seongje’s grin widens when he catches the sight of them coming down the stairs.

juntae’s filled seongje in last night, so the appearance of the pair isn’t exactly a shock. sangjae gives them a lazy salute, while sehyeon wave. hyuntak ignores them entirely, breezing past like he hasn’t seen a thing.

juntae bows awkwardly, giving a quick “thank you, bye!” before jogging to catch up.

“you always bow like that?” hyuntak asks quietly once they were out of earshot.

“only when I’m walking behind someone who refuses to acknowledge other people’s existence.”

“you’re lucky i let you walk beside me at all.”

“you’re lucky i didn’t make you wear shoes with arch support.”

“…you’re evil.”

the corner of juntae’s mouth twitches, and for a second, just a second, he catches a glimpse of hyuntak’s eyes behind the sunglasses. soft. a little tired. a little… relaxed?

“i should probably go too,” seongje calls from the desk, stretching. “hyuntak told me to throw all the antiques on his desk out of the highest window available.”

sangjae cackles. “hope they’re one of a kind. junghoon deserves that much.”

seongje grins and tosses them a lazy wave before disappearing down the hall. the others were probably already in their new rooms, basking in their first real moment of peace in weeks. real beds. real walls. privacy. and somehow, juntae and hyuntak were heading to a home improvement store together might just be weirdly domestic.

not that either of them would ever say it out loud.

but still, when hyuntak walks a little slower so juntae doesn’t trail behind, or when juntae offers his scarf when hyuntak adjusts his mask for the third time, or when they step outside into the cold spring air like it was normal to just exist beside each other, it felt almost like it was.

almost.

seongje walks through the hall to find humin sitting in silence, phone in hand, staring blankly at the back of it like it holds answers to questions he can’t ask out loud. he doesn’t even notice seongje walk in.

humin exhales a sigh that sounds more like surrender, and something in seongje freezes.

the antiques could wait. whatever.

he walks over and sits beside him, close enough to be felt, not enough to crowd.

“you good?”

the silence that follows drags too long. seongje almost repeats himself.

“...yeah,” humin finally mutters, but the lie sits heavy in the room. humin pulls something from his phone case and hands it over. it's a polaroid, and seongje takes it without a word. “this is nari,” he says, smiling softly in a way that doesn't reach his eyes.

oh, man.

seongje is not built for this kind of shit.

all he really knows about humin is that he’s loud as hell, always optimistic to an annoying degree, and was roped in by juntae with some promise of help with a custody case. seems like a big ask at the time. but seeing him now...

damn.

he never once asked about humin’s kid. not because he didn’t care, but because asking felt too heavy, too close, and too real. and now here they were. and humin? still being humin. still choosing to share.

seongje looks at the photo. humin holds the polaroid like it’s the most precious thing on earth. nari is smiling brightly at the camera, her eyes like little crescents. her dark hair is tied in two small, uneven ponytails. there is a strawberry cake in front of her, and icing messily dotted on both her cheeks. it looks like she was having the best time of her life. 

“she’s adorable,” seongje says, voice quieter than he expected.

humin’s leg starts bouncing. “i have court in a month,” he says, voice cracking on the word. “i need to get her back in time for her second birthday.”

seongje can’t stop the flicker of pain that flashes across his face. humin catches it, and maybe that’s what makes him keep talking.

“i met eunkyung in college. it wasn’t serious. we were just... messing around, y’know? when she told me she was pregnant, i got two extra jobs to start saving up as much money as i could. i moved into her apartment and we tried getting things as in order as we could get them to be. and of course, the more time i spent with her, the more i realized i didn't know her at all.” he laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “she was already deep in it when i moved in. the cigarettes, pills, the marks on her arms… paranoia. she'd flip a switch so fast. some nights i didn’t know who i was coming home to.”

seongje listens, stone-faced. he’s not reacting, but he’s listening. his gaze is non-judgmental, open, and active, showing that he’s listening to every single detail of humin's story.

“i tried helping her with the withdrawal symptoms, but i could only do so much. i saw how hard it was hitting her. she kicked me out when i suggested rehab. ” humin says, “then let me back in a few days later with a teddy bear and flowers. i stopped trying to fix it. just watched. i didn’t know what else to do.” there’s something raw in his voice now. something cracking under the weight of memory. “when she disappeared near the end of her third trimester, i didn’t know if she was even coming back. when she did, it was after a binge. she looked hollow. and still, somehow, nari came out okay. it was a miracle.”

humin glances sideways. he sounds defeated, like he had failed at doing the only, single job of protecting his child. seongje’s looking at him now. fully. eyes sharp but soft. not judging.

i went to the doctor and had to switch her to a formulated milk diet, because eunkyung was never home to feed her," the way humin describes his hardships with so much gratitude tells seongje just how much love he had for his daughter. everything he’s been going through, deciding to stay in a toxic relationship, working himself to the ground, all for a child that he could've easily abandoned like so many other parents do. 

“we tried again for the baby’s sake. for a month, it worked. then she started showing up on her highs. i went to the doctor and had to switch her to a formulated milk diet, because eunkyung was never home to feed her," the way humin describes his hardships with so much gratitude tells seongje just how much love he had for his daughter. every word is strung with quiet love and barely-contained grief. “the last time…” humin’s voice drops. "the last time she put nari in danger, nari had just turned six months old. she was having a bad night. she kept waking up every half hour or so, crying. i had been awake most of the night when eunkyung had come home. she had these brown packages with her, and she hid them away in her nightstand drawer when i entered the room. it was the first time i caught her bringing drugs into our apartment. as much as i wanted to fight with her about bringing that around our baby, she was really off on a bender. she came in really upset, and hearing nari just crying relentlessly only made it worse. i tried moving as far away as i could, but eunkyung was delirious. she snatched nari away from me and pressed down at her face to get her to stop crying. she was— she was choking her," humin's voice cracks. "all eunkyung was doing was making nari cry even more. she was screaming in the baby's face like she could understand what was happening. nari was just being a baby.. and eunkyung was hurting her for it."

humin recalls that night perfectly—- watching eunkyung and her shaking arms. watching her hold nari so tightly and humin pleading with her to just give him the baby before she did something she'd regret. every time he got closer, eunkyung tightened her grip on nari, and he had never been more afraid in his life. he had to go in her nightstand and dangle those brown packages out of their apartment window in order to finally get her to let go of the baby. 

"i couldn't keep nari there, not after that. when eunkyung finally gave nari back to me, i grabbed her baby bag and my wallet and went for the front door. eunkyung ran in front of me and blocked the exit," humin drifts again to that moment. the look in eunkyung's trembling eyes, her sallow skin, her abrasive stare as she dug her nails into humin's wrist.

“if you leave with my daughter, i'll kill you myself!”

“if you don't let me leave with her, i'll call the police about what's in your nightstand.”

".. and i left. it didn't matter what eunkyung would do with me, but i just needed to keep nari safe. i hadn't seen or heard from eunkyung at all after that night. and things were getting better, little by little. my good friend from college let me stay in his place until i was able to get my head above water. we shared the rent and bills, i slept with nari in his living room." 

a pause.

seongje can feel the tremble radiating off humin. he’s still looking at the floor, talking like he’s reliving it second by second. his heart unexpectedly warms hearing the nostalgia in humin's voice. those were the hardest times of his life, and he talks about them like they were his happiest moments. 

"the last time i saw nari, it was her first birthday. we had celebrated together all day, and we decided to take a walk through the park on the way home. i had her stroller with me." humin pauses and miserably looks at humin. "it was all going so normally. everything was perfect. and then i heard the police cars, so many of them, pulling right up to me. i saw eunkyung, she was across the park, and even then i could see the bruises all over her. she was pointing right at me, yelling things i couldn't hear clearly." humin's voice turns ragged. "... i don't know how eunkyung did it. i don't know when or where or how she managed to do it, but i must’ve turned around, or left the stroller unattended for a few seconds.” 

the image burns into seongje’s brain. humin, surrounded by cops. nari crying in the background. a whole life dismantled in one blow.

humin swallows likes he’s trying to keep himself from crying. “she left her drugs hidden in nari's stroller," humin thinks about how many times he had looked over at nari, had his attention on a barking dog in the distance, or turned his eyes away from that stroller; it wasn't many. "the cops could only see her story. that i was dangerous, that i was her drug-addicted abuser and had taken her daughter. they turned that stroller completely inside out, and the drugs fell out of the blankets in the storage basket. they were taped behind to the seat release, too."

humin remembers how fast his heart felt like it stopped beating. how incriminating he looked to those police officers, to the strangers watching in the park, to nari, to everyone . how his life had fallen apart in those five seconds. he stared at eunkyung with such a murderous gaze that afternoon, he was sure it painted the picture eunkyung told the police perfectly. 

the last thing humin saw was nari in eunkyung's arms, and the baby sobbing at the loud police car taking her father away.

a long silence follows.

“i spent eight months in jail. the charges didn’t stick, but it doesn’t matter. they still show up in every background check. every court file.” humin wipes his face roughly. “i haven’t seen nari in a year. i don’t know what she looks like now. what she eats. if she sleeps well. i don’t know anything.”

seongje doesn’t speak.

but he puts an arm around humin instead. it’s awkward, unsure, but there. humin lets out a sob that shatters the room, shoulders shaking as he leans into seongje.

“i’m so sorry this is happening,” seongje murmurs, stiffly rubbing his back. “you’ll get her back. juntae promised.”

he hesitates. then, quieter, “...i’ll help too. however i can.”

he doesn’t know if humin hears him. doesn’t care. but he means it.

seongje knows what it feels like to be condemned by the system. he knows what lies can do when no one’s willing to see the truth. they’d fix this. together.

“come on,” he says eventually, pulling them both to their feet. “we’re going to the balcony. we’re throwing all of junghoon’s antiques. as far as we possibly can. ”

"juntae, it's not that funny."

juntae tries, really tries, not to laugh, but it still slips out as a quiet wheeze. “sorry. i’ve just... never seen someone fight like that before.”

hyuntak’s grip tightens around the entire bulk pack of cherry chapstick in his arms. all 150 tubes. his knuckles are slightly red from earlier, though you wouldn’t know it unless you were looking closely. he stares straight ahead as if the world personally offended him.

it had been the last bulk pack on the shelf, intended for customers to take one tube at a time. but hyuntak had snatched the whole thing from the display like it was sacred treasure— after wrestling it away from a freakishly strong older woman who hurled a few, uh, homophobic slurs his way. limbs flailed, someone got elbowed in the ribs, and at one point, hyuntak’s sunglasses were knocked sideways, but he never let go of the chapstick.

he hadn't carried a single other item all day, but that cherry chapstick? he cradled it like it was priceless.

and to him, it kind of was.

they’d been in and out of boutiques and home improvement stores for hours, searching for window tinting and floor replacements, but nothing soured hyuntak’s mood faster than the absence of his favorite lip balm. he’d used it since childhood. the same brand. the same artificial cherry scent. that tiny, cylindrical piece of plastic had become the most stable thing hyuntak had ever had in his life.

and as sad as that sounded, juntae had picked up on that somewhere between store three and store seven.

and maybe that’s why his teasing softens. “you know,” juntae says, adjusting his grip on his shopping bags as they enter the building, “i didn’t realize cherry chapstick meant that much to you.”

“keep it up, juntae,” hyuntak says without looking at him, waving him off as they step through the lobby doors.

juntae’s still smiling, his laugh tapering into something more gentle. something a little fond.

jaesuk, hyuntak’s chauffeur, had carried most of their stuff up already. he was a towering man with neatly slicked-back hair and the emotional expression of a marble statue. juntae noticed he liked to stand right between the two of them, ever so conveniently. maybe to stay close to hyuntak. maybe to keep Juntae away. he doesn’t say anything about that, just files it away as another mental note.

before they can head upstairs, a deep voice cuts through the lobby.

“good evening, boss.”

hyuntak jumps. the chapstick almost falls out of his arms. he turns toward the sound, startled, only to find three unfamiliar faces behind the front desk.

the tallest man bows first. “we’re the night shift security. we take over for sangjae and sehyeon. night shift.” he gestures to the others with a grin. “I’m dae. that’s chae. and Tae.”

juntae squints. “so dae, chae, and tae?”

“yep,” dae replies brightly.

hyuntak just groans. “whatever,” he mutters, too tired to care. “juntae, come on. i need the window measurements for tinting. send it to the company by tonight or it’ll delay everything.”

chae offers a polite smile. “have a good night, you two.”

something about the way she says it puts juntae on edge. there's nothing outwardly wrong, but her tone feels... too smooth. too knowing. he hesitates. but when hyuntak calls for him again, he shakes it off and follows upstairs.

“hey, hyuntak,” juntae says from behind as they climb the staircase. hyuntak is texting, only nodding in acknowledgment.

“have you seen those guards before?”

“i would've remembered guards with those atrocities for names, poor souls,” hyuntak sighs. “but then again, i don’t even remember walking through the door last night, so i’m probably not the best person to ask.”

juntae falls quiet, guilt flickering behind his eyes. he had brought hyuntak up last night. he should remember if they were there. but nothing about those three felt familiar.

hyuntak glances over, catching the crease in juntae’s brow. “relax,” he says casually. “they’re just the night shift security.”

“i am relaxed,” juntae insists a little too quickly, folding his arms.

hyuntak raises an eyebrow. “you always look to your left and bite your lip when you’re stressed. it’s actually kind of cute.”

and just like that, juntae’s brain blanks out.

“i… i do that?”

hyuntak finally slips his phone into his back pocket. his expression is unreadable, but his face is a little pinker than before, definitely not from the cold. “apparently.”

before juntae can respond, hyuntak is already walking away, tossing over his shoulder, “don’t forget the window measurements. i’m serious.”

juntae lingers at the top of the staircase for a moment. the voices of the guards echo faintly below, muffled by distance and something heavier. he exhales and walks into the office.

the place is quiet. the kind of quiet that used to unnerve him, but lately, after talking to humin, he’s been trying to lean into it. let it wrap around him like a soft blanket instead of a threat.

everyone is scattered throughout the building. with actual beds installed into the third floor, it’s most likely that they are in their rooms. they haven't had proper rest in two days, and they were sleeping. it was pretty late at night already. 

juntae just can’t shake the feeling off. he just knows he's seen those guards somewhere before. it’s frustrating him that it’s taking this long to put his finger on it.

he drops onto the couch, fingers pulling the small gray cube from his pocket. it hums to life, unfurling into his cyber-desk across the coffee table. his inbox is already open. the tinting company’s email is up. all he has to do is type in the measurements and click send.

one minute, max.

but instead, he opens a new tab.

and he begins typing the names:

dae. chae. tae.

off in one of the third-floor balconies, sieun sits shrouded in the dark, a cigarette burning between his fingers like it owes him something. the crumpled pack dangles loosely in his other hand. he hasn’t smoked in a very long time. but tonight? he deserves it. he’s earned it, earned every lungful of poison.

there’s been this voice in his head all day, slick and convincing: just one, just one, like it was some act of mercy. he’s already finished one. but his fingers, jittery and aching, keep diving back into the box like they are desperate to claw some kind of relief out of it. they only stop shaking when the cigarette touches his lips. that’s the trick. that’s the lie.

“you said you quit.”

the voice slices through the night, and it’s close. too close. right by his ear, like it belongs there. but sieun doesn’t flinch. he just turns his head slowly, dragging his gaze to suho’s face like it’s a chore. then, just as slowly, turns back to the sky.

“guess not,” sieun says flatly.

the stars are out, technically. but they look dim, dead behind the haze. like someone scraped them raw. the moon is heavy and indifferent. and sieun? he feels exactly the same. Worn-out. hollowed. burned through.

suho stays, of course. not in the room. not fully out here, either. just behind the sliding door like a goddamn ghost. always watching, never choosing. 

“you were rude to jiwoo last night,” suho says eventually, like he’s still trying to pretend he has a moral high ground. like that’s what matters.

“i greeted her.” he says, voice cold. “like a normal person.”

“you barely looked at her.”

“and i’ll continue doing exactly that for as long as i damn well please,” sieun snaps, flicking ash over the balcony rail. still not turning to look at him, he mutters, “what do you want?”

but suho just stands there. watching. like always. like he thinks his silence is some deep, meaningful gesture instead of just useless. maddening. annoying .

finally, he says, “we agreed to act friendly. so it wouldn’t be weird. for the others.”

sieun scoffs. “the others, right. do you see them here?” his voice drips sarcasm, every word sharp and exaggerated. “go ahead. point them out, suho. enlighten me.”

suho exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s restraining himself. “look, sieun, i’m trying here.”

“trying to what ?” sieun hisses. he doesn’t mean to sound as rude as he does right now, but he can’t control it anymore. he’s tired. he’s so tired. “what is wrong with you? you were always better at social cues than i ever was. why can’t you get it through your thick skull that i don’t want to talk to you,” sieun says, venom low and steady now. “i don’t want to see you. and i don’t want to pretend that we’re okay. we’re not. we never were. you don’t get to walk in and out of my life like it’s some fucking hotel lobby.”

there’s silence. then that sound. that sound. a soft, broken breath. half gasp, half whimper. the sound suho used to make when sieun hit too close. when it hurt. like sieun’s reached in and twisted something raw. and for a second, just one brief second, it almost feels good.

sieun doesn’t look at him. he doesn’t have to. 

he can feel it. the glassy eyes. the trembling lips. the ache bleeding out of him like spilled wine.

he doesn’t look.

because if he does, he might start to feel sorry.

and he doesn’t owe suho anything anymore .

sieun hasn’t noticed it, but his hand has crushed the poor cigarette box completely. he looks down, silently cursing at himself because he had one more left in there and now he couldn't use it.

"sieun," suho's voice is desperate, like he’s trying to hold onto this moment, hold onto sieun, in any way that he can. or maybe sieun is just going insane and making all that up in his head. "i think you should stop with those."

sieun finally turns around after flicking the last of that cigarette out of the balcony. he blows the last remnants smoke in suho's direction. he knew suho had never been fond of the smell of cigarettes, and it’s why he walks up to his ear, whispering, "and if you think you should still be telling me what to do, you should pick up the phone, and call your girlfriend."

the next few seconds happen a little too fast for suho to recall, so allow sieun.

the room shakes violently, like it’s going to collapse in on itself. cracks crawl up the floor. suho stumbles from the tremor, eyes locked on the purple light flickering violently behind sieun’s door.

and it’s blasting toward them.

suho doesn’t hesitate.

he lunges forward, wraps his arms around sieun and tucks his head against his chest. the purple light crashes through them like a hot knife, prickling every nerve in sieun’s body. it’s familiar and violent, but it ends quickly.

too quickly.

because suho took most of the hit.

“suho,” sieun falls to his knees beside him. he’s steaming. drenched in sweat. limbs limp, face contorted in pain. suho’s breathing is ragged and uneven.

“i’m okay,” suho coughs. it’s a lie. they both know it.

sieun sits him against the nearest wall, eyes scanning frantically for injury but nothing’s visible. he’s just dazed and distant, which sieun would argue is even worse. 

“that was beomseok,” suho rasps. “something’s happening. go. check on the others. i’ll… i’ll catch up.”

but his eyes— his eyes, they flicker with that same look from before. the one that begged, wordlessly not to be the hero in everybody's life, not to risk himself, not to.. leave.

sieun stares.

and for a breath, they’re back in that tiny apartment, three years ago, with all the fights they never recovered from.

then suho breaks eye contact, and the moment shatters away into nothing.

“...okay.” sieun scoffs at himself for stuttering, but lets go and bolts out the door.

beomseok is right outside, frozen. eyes locked on the staircase. everyone, except suho, is behind him. sieun follows his gaze.

the security guards lay motionless, sprawled across the bottom of the staircase. if that hadn't made sieun dizzy enough, seongje moving to the front with his revolver makes him double over. 

sieun shuts his eyes tightly, nearly falling if humin hadn't reached out to catch him. all sieun could see was the bodies of the people he'd killed two nights ago. bodies that were unmoving, laying messily everywhere, surrounded by fire and burning into nothing.

"no.." sieun's grabs at the sides of his head. everything he’s hearing is muffled. his eyes are still shut but the room feels like it’s spinning. humin’s right at his ear saying something and sieun can barely make out any of it. he mutters to himself, a mix of whimpers and pleas every time he repeats, "no!"

humin hold sieun as upright as he can and looks directly at juntae. the two meet eyes, and juntae steps behind seongje. "wait." 

seongje continues loading his third cartridge into the revolver.

"why shouldn’t i?" he snarls, eyes flicking toward juntae. “they just tried to kill you, juntae.” his tone drips with contempt as he jerks his chin toward the crumpled guards. “it’s like you all really thought we could handle this assignment without violence. like whoever this other side is only wants the ring.”

click.

he finishes loading the final bullet, cocks the hammer with a chilling finality.

“we were almost burned alive. this—” his voice lowers to a growl, “this is only the beginning.”

"seongje, stop." hyuntak reaches for his arm, and seongje reacts like he’s been touched by fire. he shoves hyuntak so hard he almost completely falls backward.

“get the hell off me, or you’re next.”

hyuntak freezes. for once, he has nothing to say. no snark and no comeback. just wide eyes and a drawn mouth. his hands hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what they’re for anymore.

it’s unsettling. everyone notices.

they’d gotten used to the venom between them—seongje and hyuntak, always circling each other like lions in a cage. but ever since the fire… silence. uneasy, tentative silence. juntae had almost believed they were healing.

he should’ve known better.

before seongje can react again, beomseok steps in. quiet and unmoving. a wall of calm in a storm of rage. he plants himself between seongje and hyuntak without a word.

seongje glares at him with that familiar insolence, the kind that dares anyone to flinch first. beomseok, to his surprise, doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t even blink. he just lays a gentle hand across the barrel of the revolver. doesn’t grip. doesn’t shove. just rests it there.

"put it down," beomseok says softly.

the tension twists around them like wire. the kind that cuts if you breathe too wrong. the air crackles— literally . thin veins of energy flicker across his arms like lightning in glass, a quiet warning. his eyebrows furrow, but he doesn’t step back.

one step forward. seongje’s jaw twitches.

and slowly, grudgingly, the revolver drops. a few degrees. then more.

beomseok gently nudges it down and moves seongje to the side like a storm being led out of a city. a blur of wind whooshes through the hallway.

hyuntak’s gone and reappears three seconds later. he’s standing right where he was before, except now the guards are tied together in a sloppy, efficient mess of rope. one groans before hyuntak calmly knocks him back out with a sharp punch to the jaw.

a loud crash echoes from the upper floor.

hyuntak raises both hands with a shrug. “the crew’s just gonna have to start over tomorrow. i needed the rope.”

sieun lets out a choked breath.

it’s not a laugh. it’s a sob, swallowed and broken, barely making it past his lips. his whole body trembles. juntae slides down the wall beside him, heart racing. he grips his knees, staring at the floor like it might give him answers.

“there has to be another way,” he says softly.

humin crouches beside them, glancing between sieun’s shaking hands and juntae’s pale face.

“what even happened?” he asks.

juntae lifts his head, anguish written in every line of his face. “the guards work for hwido corporation. i cross-checked their faces. they were in the file i made from the gala.” his voice cracks. “how did they find us so fast?”

sieun blinks through the blur of tears. the world is too loud, too fast, but then he feels it.

humin’s hand, warm and steady, slips into his own.

and suho. suho is there, too. kneeling on his other side, silent, his presence like shelter from the storm. sieun turns, and their eyes meet.

suho’s smile is soft. barely there. just a tug of his lips and that look in his eyes—quiet, warm, unshaken. the way he’s always looked at sieun. like he still sees him, beneath the panic and the fear and the past. 

something aches in sieun’s chest. he doesn’t deserve this. not when suho’s moved on. 

but suho is here.

still here.

still looking at him like nothing’s changed.

sieun’s head tips forward before he even realizes it, and he leans against suho’s shoulder, tired and hollow, but safe. suho doesn't move away. he just lets him stay there, quiet and trembling.

somewhere in his mind, sieun knows he shouldn’t want this.

but he does.

humin watches them for a moment. his gaze flicks from sieun to suho to hyuntak, who’s still staring down the hall, breathing heavily, eyes distant.

“hey, hyuntak,” humin says gently.

hyuntak blinks and looks over.

“let’s call ara.”

Chapter Text

“tying them up like that is too harsh, hyuntak.”

“you weren’t there,” he says coldly. “they attacked us first.”

ara doesn’t argue. she steps into him, slipping her arms around his waist, her chin resting lightly against his chest. she's wearing soft pink pajamas, slippers this time, without her usual heels. her presence feels fragile in the chaos of the room, but hyuntak knows better. ara is anything but fragile.

“are you okay?” she asks gently, her breath warm against him. hyuntak pats her head. “…yeah.” he knows she worries more now that she doesn’t see him every day. ara moves across the room, settling gracefully onto the loveseat across from the three captured security guards. they're a mess— faces red, limbs twitching with effort as they struggle against the ropes. their mouths are sealed with duct tape. for the last thirty minutes, only muffled screams have filled the air.

hyuntak glances at his ruined sofa and sighs, making a mental note to buy a new one later. 

ara crosses her legs, flicking a perfectly curled strand of hair behind her shoulder. she smiles, saccharine and cold. “now, none of you want to attack us again, right? you poor little things.”

the air around her ripples, an invisible force pulsing like a heartbeat, and the guards freeze. their rage melts into eerie calm. hyuntak watches their bodies go slack, eyes glassy, heads tilting in quiet awe. she peels the duct tape from their mouths one by one. they barely flinch.

it should be dangerous for her to get that close to them, but the guards are barely sentient now. one of them, dae, looks like he might start drooling. hyuntak rolls his eyes.

ara’s voice is velvet and venom. “does anyone in hwido corporation know you’re here?”

“no,” dae says immediately. “we saw you all enter. thought if we captured just one of you, maybe our leader would finally notice us. it was just us three. no one else knows.”

juntae types furiously at his cyber-desk in the corner, his face lit by data projections.

“who’s your leader?” ara asks.

chae answers. “we don’t know. hwido operates in layers. we’re at the bottom.”

ara tilts her head, her face unreadable. “does he know you exist?”

“no,” tae mutters. “we’re just shadows. we load the weapons. we scrub the floors. we make them look legitimate.”

beomseok backs away, wringing his hands. “that’s... great,” he whispers, barely audible. ara’s brows furrow. “so what’s in it for you?”

“money!” dae grins. “so much money. and we don’t like humans, so it’s a win-win!”

seongje scoffs. “what a bunch of dumbasses.” 

ara and juntae keep asking questions as the night ticks into dawn. the room grows colder. everyone listens in silence, unsettled by how easily ara extracts information like thread from a tapestry.

finally, when there’s nothing left to ask, ara leans forward, despite hyuntak’s quiet protest.

“you’re not treated well, are you?” she asks. her words hum with power, echoing straight into their minds. “that’s why you’ll work here now,” she says. “you’ll protect this house and everyone in it until told otherwise. because unlike your leader… they’ll treat you like people.”

seongje opens his mouth, but beomseok elbows him before a single word escapes.

“you’re the new night shift security guards,” ara commands. “you’ll alert us of every single threat.”

“yes…” the guards drone, dazed. “we will alert them of every single threat.”

“perfect,” she beams. “please forget everything, and rest.”

the rippling air dissipates.

dae. chae. tae. gone in seconds, snoring like babies.

juntae heaves a sigh and turns to ara, bowing. “thank you so much, ara. this was… a perfect solution. for everyone involved.” his eyes drift to where sieun sits quietly in the corner, talking lowly with humin.

“don’t mention it!” ara waves him off, though there’s a flicker of guilt on her face. “honestly, i’m sorry i couldn’t do more. they were pretty blank slates to begin with.”

juntae opens his mouth to respond, but hyuntak cuts in with a lazy wave, already distracted by his phone. “please. you’ve done plenty. trust me. juntae’s been losing hair over this since i met him.”

“i- hey.” juntae defends himself. “i wouldn’t say losing hair . i’m simply trying to devise a sustainable plan to preserve electrical power across all-”

“yeah, yeah, big smart words,” hyuntak interrupts, not even looking up.

“i don’t think anything i just said would even qualify as ‘smart’.”

“says the smartest man in the world,” hyuntak mutters, finally glancing up. “i never understand half of what comes out of your mouth anyway.”

juntae says something in response, but ara’s already staring at hyuntak with that little smirk she always has on. and then—because of course she can—she opens a telepathic connection between their minds. just a little extra perk from her abilities. 

hyuntak raises an eyebrow. he doesn’t move his mouth but he looks at her. “what?”

“mm. i think you know.”

“ara. just spit it out.”

her grin widens, her tone pure mischief. “you’re totally crushing on juntae.”

hyuntak scoffs so hard it’s almost a choke. “you could not be more wrong. all he talks about is his stupid assignment. he has horrible fashion sense. and he doesn’t even do his hair. besides, i don’t even know if he even likes men. he’s not exactly mr. romance.”

“so,” ara drawls, “you’ve been thinking about what kind of person he might date?”

hyuntak’s eyes go wide like he’s just been electrocuted. “what? no! i just-”

“hey, are you okay?” juntae turns slightly, concerned. “you look like you’re burning up.”

hyuntak immediately averts his gaze, rubbing his neck. “i’m fine,” he mutters. “it’s just… hot in here.”

without hesitation, juntae gets up to crack open the nearest window. hyuntak’s eyes follow him helplessly, like he wants to look away but forgot how.

ara bats her lashes. “oh yeah. you’re in deep.”

“whatever.” hyuntak glares, cheeks still warm.

“did you say something, hyuntak?” juntae turns again.

“he was just thanking me again,” ara answers sweetly. “right, gotak?” 

and hyuntak nods a little too fast. “yes. thank you. so much. for… your services.”

“mmhm,” ara hums, amused. “always a pleasure.” she grabs her things and looks over at everyone one last time. “i loved meeting you all. stay safe! especially you!” she points at suho. 

suho can’t help but grin. “i’ll try.”

seongje scoffs, “you know she's only saying that because you're wanted for murder, right?” 

“shut up.”

hyuntak walks ara downstairs, and the second they’re in the lobby, she bursts into laughter. “you’re so smitten, it’s adorable. ”

“keep your voice down!” hyuntak hisses, checking over his shoulder.

“you have a crush,” she sings, practically glowing. “you’re always meaner when you’re in your feelings.”

“ara.” hyuntak grabs her shoulders and spins her toward the exit. “you are being so dramatic right now.”

“dramatic?” she gasps and clutches her chest. “ me ?”

he sighs, pulling her in for a hug anyway. she grins into his shoulder. “oh, i’m definitely bringing this up again.”

“i know.”

as they pull apart, she smooths out his blazer. “i’ll call you later to figure out how we’re launching the new picturesque line, especially now that you spent every cent of your launch fund on this building-”

“it wasn’t every cent-”

ara grins knowingly. “uh-huh. for juntae and his assignment. ”

hyuntak deadpans. “stop saying it like that.”

she pinches his cheek. “bye now,” then blows him a kiss and strolls off. hyuntak watches her go, only turning back once her car vanishes down the street, and only to nearly collide with tousled brown hair and impossibly close proximity.

“okay- you need to stop doing that.”

“sorry.” juntae clasps his hands, innocent. “i thought you heard me. sangjae and sehyeon are giving the new guards a tour.”

hyuntak nods, a little too stiffly. he’s not sure if he’s looking at juntae for too long or not long enough, and somehow both feel weird. 

thanks, ara .

he starts walking, gaze locked on the stairs, when-

“wait, hey,” juntae says, and hyuntak braces himself as he turns back. juntae is closer than expected. hyuntak doesn’t flinch, but it’s close.

“i’m sorry.”

hyuntak blinks. “i know. you just apologized, genius.”

“no. well, yes—but i mean,” juntae frowns, “i’m sorry you spent your savings on this place instead of your launch.”

hyuntak crosses his arms, skeptical. “how much of that conversation did you hear?”

“just the part about the money,” juntae says honestly. “i knew it was important to you. i just… i didn’t realize how long you’d been saving for it. and i really am sorry.”

hyuntak can't tell if juntae missed the blaring flirtation in ara’s tone or if he’s just playing it extremely straight-faced. either way, he looks genuinely weighed down.

hyuntak clears his throat. “it’s not a big deal. i wouldn’t have done it if i didn’t want to.” he motions toward the lobby and shrugs, a soft smile curling his lips. “obviously, i wanted to. this assignment is important. i’m just… trying to help.”

“you have helped,” juntae says, his voice more earnest than before. “even before the building. your ability, your support, your—everything. even the little things you do build toward something bigger. you-”

“okay. relax,” hyuntak says gently, cutting him off. “you stress yourself out way too much.”

juntae flushes lightly and glances away.

“don’t worry about how the building came to be. just focus on what you do best. make the plan. get the ring. save the world or whatever. we’ve got your back.”

juntae’s lips twitch upward. it’s a tired, honest smile, and hyuntak can see the exhaustion in his eyes. the sleepless nights, the constant pressure. still, it’s a smile.

hyuntak finds himself smiling back. 

then he sighs, steps quietly up the stairs, just as seongje rushes past in the opposite direction.

“juntae,” seongje pants, slightly out of breath, “we need to talk.”

juntae’s alarmed instantly. “about what?”

seongje, calm but focused, stares directly at him. “about humin’s court case.”

dae, chae, and tae proved to be a little too good at their jobs as night shift security guards. every passing sound sent them scrambling to juntae’s door—relentless knocking at two in the morning because a cat fight broke out in a nearby alley or someone’s footsteps lingering too long near the gate. eventually, hyuntak had to sit them down and explain the difference between actual threats and everyday city life. only then did juntae begin sleeping uninterrupted again.

three weeks in, and the remodeling was finally done. commercial tinting on the windows had just been completed the day before, meaning suho no longer had to hole himself up, living like a ghost afraid of being seen. his face is still on the news, still whispered about, still feared. but now, at least, he could walk the halls. kei, too, was allowed near the windows again. the fourth floor had been transformed into a cozy living space with a kitchen sieun got to pick out himself, along with a dining area and plush sectional sofa. the fifth floor holds what it always had—video games, fabrics, tvs, and warmth. at hyuntak’s insistence, every inch of flooring and every windowsill had been replaced.

hyuntak also turned the lobby into a new storefront for picturesque . ara had been helping him nearly every day. she fit in instantly, as ability-users often do with each other, and was currently busy decimating humin, seongje, and beomseok in league of legends.

also spending a lot of time in the building: jiwoo.

she was almost always at suho’s side, but still made time to speak to everyone else, charming her way into their hearts one by one. 

well, almost everyone’s. 

hyuntak still doesn’t trust her, not after she lied and went against security protocol, not after she had juntae pacing the building that night, sick with worry. he didn’t need that. not now.

the night is warm. outside, the city buzzes with its usual chaos, but on the fourth floor, it’s quiet. sieun was finishing the bulgogi jeongol. with more mouths to feed tonight, hot pot felt right. juntae and humin help him bring out the side dishes, glasses, and tabletop stove. after checking over the setup one last time, juntae says, “i’ll go get everybody.”

“this is amazing,” humin says, even though he hasn’t tasted it yet. he never has to. this was sieun. everything he cooked turns to gold. sieun smiles, nudging his arm. humin says this every time, but it still flusters him, and that warmth was something sieun always appreciated.

soon, voices spill into the room and everyone sits down. conversation came easy. laughter. celebrations about the remodel, the security team, the storefront launch.

“this is so good,” ara groans dramatically, laying her head on sieun’s shoulder. “you might have to come home with me, after this.”

sieun’s face burns immediately. ara laughs, delighted at his reaction. “wrong choice of words, ara. i’m eating,” hyuntak mutters, cringing.

sieun tries to laugh. he tries so hard to focus on the food, the warmth, the teasing. but it’s impossible. because sitting right across from him are suho and jiwoo, curled into their own little world. she whispers something to him, and suho laughs quietly. she leans closer, and he kisses her temple like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

it had been a while since they’d seen each other. jiwoo had cried that first night when she walked in and saw him. suho had held her like she was all he had left in the world. they deserved their time. their peace. their reunion. no one was going to deny them that.

not even sieun.

and still… it hurt like hell.

jiwoo offers to help in the kitchen, of course. she wouldn’t take no for an answer. she was sweet. effortlessly kind. she made him crack a smile when he didn’t want to—when he desperately didn’t want to. because deep down, sieun didn’t want to like her.

but how could he not?

she was everything. graceful, witty, intelligent, grounded. the kind of person sieun would’ve fallen for, if his heart hadn’t already been irrevocably spoken for. she was, in one word, perfect.

and it’s killing him.

sieun wants to scream. he wants to cry. he wants to grab suho by the shoulders and demand to know why—why he ended things the way he did, why he never gave them another chance. why this was how it had to end. he wants to yell, to throw plates, to rage at the years he spent quietly believing that maybe… just maybe , one day they’d find each other again and everything would be okay.

he had never dated anyone else. he couldn’t. because suho was it for him. he’s known from the very beginning.

and now, here he is, watching suho smile at someone else. watching him move on .

there is this unbearable weight in his chest. it’s cold, heavy, suffocating. like something inside him is slowly sinking, dragging him deeper and deeper into a place he couldn’t escape. it hasn't shattered yet, but sieun knows it will. he can feel it splintering.

he wonders if jiwoo knows. if suho had ever told her. probably not. or maybe he had, but made it sound trivial. dismissable. like sieun had never mattered.

sieun smiles a little as ara chatters about the launch. his face is steady, practiced. he was so used to pretending.

all he has to do is make it to the end of the mission. then suho would be gone, jiwoo too, and sieun could fall apart in peace. alone, as always.

he tries to keep his gaze on his food. on ara. on anything but the two people across from him. but every time jiwoo looked at suho, he smiles like he was seventeen again. full of love and promise and everything sieun had once hoped for.

suho is happy.

and sieun loves him too much to ruin that.

even if it meant obliterating himself in the process.

dinner ends. cleanup is quick. ara leaves early for a storefront meeting. jiwoo stays a few hours longer. too long, in juntae’s opinion. he wished she'd left when ara did. but wishes mean nothing now.

she was gone eventually. and everyone filters out.

and sieun… stays in that kitchen just a little longer, staring at the empty seat across from him.

he thanks juntae for snapping him out of his daze.

juntae holds a hand up, "i know everyone has had a long day, but we need to talk about the new plan." 

the room shifts. stillness replaced by alert curiosity. since the fire, juntae had said nothing about continuing with the ring mission. he hadn’t even hinted at it, not after the way he'd shut down, not with how much time he'd buried into remodeling. most assumed he'd dropped it altogether.

except hyuntak, of course.

everyone gathers loosely around the living room, curiosity piqued. juntae offers a soft, almost imperceptible smile. “as you all know, the ring is located in the piaget boutique, fourteen minutes from here.”

his gaze flicks to hyuntak as he says it, just briefly but long enough. his smile widens, just slightly. and it feels… intimate. like it wasn’t meant for anyone else to catch.

hyuntak glances away too quickly, cheeks warm. his thoughts spin out, grasping at explanations, blaming ara, grasping for anything but the truth.

but he knows.

he’s known.

even before ara ever said a word.

a flick of juntae’s wrist activates the holographic display of the boutique’s interior, pulling everyone’s focus. hyuntak forces himself to stay grounded.

"how did you figure the entire landscape out?" seongje crosses his arms as he leans back into the sofa. "i spent a fair amount of time in there before contacting you all, to ensure an accurate layout... and i stole the blueprints, but that's another story." juntae briefly regards him. "anyways, the boutique uses replicas of their most unique jewelry in their public display cases, done in efforts to prevent theft. these specific pieces are not bought, more so they are rented out to the highest paying celebrity for events. one-of-a-kind pieces made from the top jewerly brands are all located here. the real jewelry can be found in their backroom."

juntae's display switches to the another room, but this time it’s through a security camera's view. it follows the same design as the boutique with the polished dark-wood, black marble countertops and chandelier lighting, but everything is enclosed in a much thicker glass display and has security locks on them. mannequins of all sizes— from lone hands and heads, to head to chest, to complete bodies. each mannequin is posed differently but elegantly, and are dressed in designer clothing that match the jewelry they’re wearing. "behind the boutique's wall mural, is a hidden door that leads to this jewelry exhibition," juntae then zoomed in on what was arguably the most extravagant piece of jewelry they could see. the full-sized mannequin was donning a beautiful giambattista valli white gown with its matching roses sprinkling down to the end of its hems. it has one arm positioned like it’s protecting its eyes from the sun, and the other arm holds a bouquet. the bouquet is full of fabric sunflowers, its dark green stems wrapped around a satin yellow ribbon. the thick glass walls around the mannequin make it pop that much more. 

"in the left hand corner of the area, is the display case for wallace chan's heritage in bloom necklace. this is the only piece of jewelry that does not have a replicated form in the front of the store. it is also not for rent, which is why it somewhat hides in the back. this necklace isn't the only piece of jewelry that lives in the case. it also contains-."

"are you in the security cameras, like, right now?" hyuntak interrupts. 

humin, who hyuntak just now acknowledged typing away on his laptop, waves to him in confirmation.

"humin's pretending to do cyber-security maintenance right now, so we don't have the view for much time," juntae continues. "tomorrow, the piaget boutique will be going under a few remodeling changes. the owners want their marble countertops replaced with newer ones, and they want it done as fast as possible so that they don't lose business hours. which means they hired an overnight crew. there will be people coming in and out all day." 

"wait, so if there's going to be people during the day and the night, how are we supposed to get through there?" humin looks from juntae to the boutique's interior, as if looking for an answer that’s clearly in front of him. that’s when juntae reaches behind the sofa and pulls out a black work bag. inside of it; florescent vests and a pair of work boots. 

".. because we are the remodeling crew." 

it goes silent. and again, much to the first time they ever talked about the plan, interposing voices start filling the room. juntae raises his hand again.

"with humin's help, we forged an email to the owners that appeared to be sent by under the official construction website. it's a private business that does repairs for celebrity homes and such. per their contract, the crew is verified for backroom entry on their end. the door behind the big mural has a security code that i have memorized. now, as i was saying," juntae focuses back on the heritage in bloom necklace. "this piece is not for sale or rent, and not just because it's the most expensive necklace in the world," he zooms in a little further with his fingers. "it's a little hard to tell here, but in the center of the bouquet is a sunflower that's slightly larger than the rest of them. this particular flower is actually a ring box, in honor of the creator’s favorite flower. it is made out of vinyl and is polished to blend in. the ring has been in there for decades, and the heritage in bloom necklace is used mainly to distract from it."

juntae adjusts his glasses. His voice dips lower, almost reverent. “the display case unlocks with a two-carat emerald. a tribute to the creator’s first purchase, their first dream.”  

juntae dissolves the hologram with a wave of his hand and returns the small cube into his pocket. turning to all of them, he says, "if luck is on our side, we can complete this assignment by the next sunrise." 

silence.

then, flickers of reaction. some skeptical, some excited, all stunned. it feels real now. final. and for the first time, they all seem to realize how close the end is.

two months. that’s all they’ve spent together. it doesn’t sound like much. but somehow, those days feel like years.

sieun’s cooking experiments that always went well. seongje and hyuntak’s constant and violent bickering. juntae being peer-pressured into playing video games— badly. the way humin’s daughter learned everyone’s name before she could count to ten.

a found family built in fragments.

and now, the mission that brought them together might also be the one that ends it.

juntae finishes the final part of the plan: when they’ll arrive, what tools to bring, how long they’ll have. it’ll require precision. timing. nerve.

in short; the plan was definitely going to need a bit of luck's intervention by its side.

but luck, like a pair of dice, has no loyalty.

it rolls where it will.

and tomorrow, it decides their fate.

"this is a horrible color combination." hyuntak whines, tugging at his tight particle mask. "and these trucks smell disgusting . not even the-"

"shut the fuck up, dumbass." seongje mumbles. all hyuntak has done is complain about everything. the seven split up into halves, piling into two work trucks with fake marble, dust barriers, wet saws, diamond blades, and a bunch of other junk they aren’t even planning on using. the work trucks and their materials are dirty, obviously having been used. seongje isn’t even with hyuntak in the same truck, but he can only imagine how long he’d been running his mouth. 

"focus, you two." humin steps in between them. "after this, you can go home and be as far away from each other as possible."

everybody is dressed in the exact same attire; bright orange caps and long sleeved shirts, work boots, fluorescent safety vests, a particle mask, and reflective safety glasses. with faces completely hidden amongst the dark blue night and not a soul in sight, suho isn’t as uncomfortable with being outside. juntae sets up safety cones outside on the pavement and construction lights at its entrance, to signal the very occasional person passing by that they should use the other sidewalk. this street is much quieter than the one they lived on, all businesses closed earlier. the night is warm, it’s quiet and peaceful. everything looks completely normal— and it worries beomseok a little more than it should've. 

he stands inside of the boutique, a lump in his throat, and isn’t sure if it’s because he wants to scream or throw up. beomseok knows in the back of his mind they are going to be fine, but that doesn’t make him any less nervous. he still hasn’t used his abilities much, only when he absolutely needed to, and he's still not good enough at controlling them. this is the most beomseok's used his strength in years. his blast wave still makes him weak. he may be the strongest amongst them all, but he’s definitely the most inexperienced. 

he’d been staring at the bus stop right outside of the boutique, whose bus in this area ran at all hours of the day. he just can’t shake off the fact that someone might come around and their assignment would be displayed right in front of them, like a live-action movie. the stop is deserted right now, but this bus doesn’t run 24/7 for no reason. it’s a street full of commercial businesses, people are inevitably going to pass by throughout the night. beomseok’s been trying to just stop thinking about someone showing up and questioning them. it looks like they are doing exactly what it looked like— changing marble countertops. their cover was a great one, but alas, beomseok takes a deep breath as he approaches juntae. slowly, he taps the sleeve on his orange shirt. he doesn’t meet juntae's eyes in case he gets offended. this is the smartest man in the world, and here beomseok is, doubting his plans. "juntae.." his voice is fragile. "i just wanted to say that this bus stops runs overnight. i just—- i don't know.. what if someone sees what we're doing and we get caught?" 

juntae's eyes soften at the worry on beomseok's face. he’d been observing him the entire time, from them dressing into their uniforms, to the drive there, to how his leg wouldn't stop bouncing around. he knows beomseok’s nervous. "actually.. hyuntak pointed that out to me just before leaving when we were looking at the landscape," he brings beomseok out to the entrance to let him breathe the fresh air. he points to the bus stop. "take a closer look." 

beomseok looks at him indistinctly, slowly walking over to the front of the bench. his steps are slow, but once he’s there, he sees the sign;

CAUTION!

WET PAINT 

(BUS STOP TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE)

beomseok looks up to see juntae playfully wink his way. "his idea on the spot. i didn’t even think about this bus stop until he told me about it." he says. ".. i know you're nervous. i know you haven't used your ability in a while. but i do have to say— i think you have pretty good control of them," juntae recalls how beomseok aimed his blast wave towards the front of all three security guards, instead of all around him like he's done every other time. "and i understand why you feel that way. if everything goes well, we won't have to resort to any sort of ability use," he offers his arm, and beomseok takes it. "come on, let's get this ring." 

when they walk back inside, humin had begun moving the 'marble' into the two rooms. since all the material was fake, it weighed nothing and created a lot of dust. beomseok, hyuntak, and sieun join humin in moving everything inside. juntae, suho, and seongje start hauling things from their trucks and into the entrance. everybody's movements are as planned— not too slow, but not too fast. they try to stall by moving the materials for as long as possible, since humin was going to force the security cameras to replay and rewind this footage over and over again. the tasks look the same, doing them forwards and backwards. 

humin knows that they are being monitored on the live security footage, so he know they only have half an hour max before they would be questioned on why this was all they were doing. but juntae reiterates that this wouldn't take all of fifteen minutes max. they would be back at home by the time the security watch notice. humin glances over at juntae, who nods ever so slightly. he walks out of the boutique and into the port-a-potty that’s outside of the entrance. it looks like every other one in existence— rectangular, dirty, and with a questionable smell. humin curses to himself and walks inside, lighting a cigarette in hopes it’ll mask at least a little bit of the smell. 

he pulls his business phone out of his back cargo pocket alongside his flash drive, connecting the device to the phone's charging hole, and started typing away. indexes of numbers fly on both ends of the large phone screen, mixing in with each other with a clicking noise. the phone blanks out for a few seconds before reloading with all of the fake wi-fi connections. humin scrolls through the networks and picks one out randomly, sending it over to jam the camera's actual signal. the bad connection blurrs their repeating movements and confirms humin's reprogramming. he quickly switches displays on the phone and watches the cameras fuzz over for a few seconds. when they regulate themselves, sieun is picking up a piece of marble he had just put back in the truck's pile.

a timer of half an hour syncs onto humin's personal phone and wristwatch. double checking the screen on his phone, he unplugs the flash drive from his phone and places everything back into his pocket. walking back into the boutique, he finds everyone continuing to move around materials. they’d been so focused on their movements and timing, that they couldn't pay much attention to their surroundings. all of them keep going until humin shows up in the backroom. he looks up at the corners of the room to see the camera's detectors following their movements, a sign that they’re being monitored. he then sees the tiny button on its side, routinely flashing red to show its unstable wi-fi connection. 

humin smiles at his work. he tugs down his particle mask and takes in a cool breath before turning to juntae. "the cameras are ready. we have 28 minutes left."

juntae sets down his wet saw set-up and nods. now that the announcement’s been made, everybody couldn't help but get distracted.

the jewelry exhibition is much larger and extravagant than the cameras at home were letting on. the space seems so much wider, the chandelier lighting so luminous, the jewelry so detailed and bold. the fiberglass hands are poised and don the brightest of gemstone rings and golden bracelets. the heads have pear-shaped diamond earrings capturing all the chandelier's lighting. the chest models wear pearl shoulder necklaces and diamond chain tops. the full-sized mannequins wear only the most elegant and unique dresses, and have a variety of jewelry pieces on. there’s not a single speck of dust or the slightest stain on the glass, almost like it’s translucent. everything is touched in a sleek finish, and every single one of them had to sit there in amazement for a minute.

this place is nothing short of impeccable. 

"hyuntak, put that down or you'll break something." suho cringes at hyuntak spinning the diamond blade on his finger as if it was frisbee. hyuntak, obviously, is the least impressed with what he’s seeing. he was surrounded in luxury everyday— and he thought this was honestly a little tacky. he has more opinions, but stops when he hears suho's comment. stopping the blade, hyuntak looks to suho with a scowl. "are you calling me clumsy?" 

their bickering begins echoing in the room and humin is just about to tell them both off, but seongje grabs him by the arm and drags him away to look at the hand models. sieun and beomseok gape at the intricacy of the chandelier's design— they didn't think a chandelier could get any fancier.

juntae forces himself to breathe as he takes in the boutique's breathtaking view, his moment of calm before the chaos to come. he moves quietly through the showroom, his footsteps slow, deliberate. each detail, every design, every glimmer of crystal under the chandelier’s dim light pulls at something deep inside him. but it’s the mannequin in the far corner that arrests his soul. it barely catches the light, yet it’s blinding to him.

that’s it.

that’s the reason for all of this.

every sleepless night. every plan. every simulation, recalculation, safeguard. all to make sure this moment would be flawless. untouchable by the version of himself he fears most.

he’s almost there.

he reaches for the emerald-sized token tucked in the tiny watch pocket of his pants and smiles faintly to himself. kneeling down behind the glass display, he feels a tremor of relief. but his fingers touch nothing. his expression falls flat.

the emerald insertion slot is gone.

in its place: a sleek, sinister-looking black security pad. juntae’s body goes rigid. without thinking, he scans the device. his eyes pulse orange. information should flood his brain. the blueprint, the security layers, the unlocking mechanism. it should all be there.

but nothing comes.

“twenty minutes left, juntae!” humin’s voice echoes from behind, distant like it’s underwater. juntae doesn’t respond. he doesn’t blink. his posture remains eerily calm, but inside, everything is fracturing.

this isn’t just unfamiliar tech. it’s alien. the pad is embedded inside the indestructible glass, something no object should be able to breach. it pulses calmly, like it’s breathing. like it’s mocking him. he scans again. and again. and again.

no response. no access. no way in.

and just like that, time freezes around him.

“the insertion doesn’t exist anymore.”

humin spins around, the chill in juntae’s voice chilling him to the marrow. “what are you talking about?”

juntae doesn’t answer. he just stares at the glass case. his prize, his mission. the final key to their survival. it’s right in front of him—and it’s completely unreachable. the security pad pulses again. a blink. a warning. a dare.

he’s failed.

humin calls his name, louder now, panic setting in. the others rush in, voices overlapping, hands gripping juntae’s shoulders. but juntae is gone, with eyes empty and mind swallowed whole by defeat. he’s silent. still broken in a way none of them have ever seen.

“he said the emerald insertion doesn’t exist anymore,” humin murmurs, eyes darting to the lower-left of the case. the token slot is gone—vanished.

the weight of failure crushes them all at once.

“okay, then we break it ,” seongje snarls, stepping up to the glass. he fires a shot.

the bullet ricochets off the case like a ping-pong ball and slams into the wall behind them. the sheer force of the sound stirs something visceral in the group. and just like that, chaos erupts.

beomseok and sieun slam their fists into the glass, strength doubled by fury. humin hurls molten fire at the seams. kei pounces onto the top, slashing and stomping with massive claws. kyu the python wraps around the base, squeezing with enough power to snap concrete.

fifteen minutes.

ten.

five.

“ahh—!” suho gasps, recoiling from juntae’s shoulder. smoke rises from juntae’s body.

then a blinding orb of white-gold energy bursts from his chest.

juntae’s eyes blaze, teeth clenched. his molecular kinesis is no longer theoretical, it’s tangible. the glowing sphere pushes forward, inching toward the glass, as if ripping apart reality itself. his sweat pours, soaking through his clothes. he’s draining himself down to the marrow.

particles fracture from the orb, embedding like tiny stars into the glass’s surface. they glitter hauntingly, even as juntae starts to shake violently, his strength waning second by second.

hyuntak’s heart lurches.

the particles swirl back. merging, speeding, condensing.

and then the light ricochets off the case and slams into juntae’s chest.

the impact throws him backward with such force it rattles the entire room. hyuntak screams, sprinting toward him without hesitation, even as the burning energy scorches his hands.

the room erupts into chaos.

the chandelier shatters, and glass rains down like stars. floral displays tumble from mannequin arms. the floor trembles. dust clouds burst from every corner. security cameras spark and short out in unison.

“we need to go— now ,” humin barks, already moving.

beomseok lifts juntae over his shoulder, despite hyuntak's panicked cries. “be careful! don’t—he hit his head, he—!”

“move!” suho shouts, yanking hyuntak by the wrist.

they spill into the main floor, rushing for the exit as alarms begin to screech in their ears. humin glances back one last time, praying nothing had been broken. the storefront remains untouched. clean and pristine.

a perfect lie. 

hyuntak and humin haul juntae into the back of one of the work trucks, hyuntak close behind, refusing to leave his side. humin fumbles through his many pockets for the keys, hands shaking. the others start piling in, but a surge of water suddenly blasts humin completely across the street.

all heads snap toward the impact. figures in black swarm from the shadows, crawling out from behind dumpsters, slipping out of alleys, peeling away from the dark like ink bleeding through fabric. the same masked strangers from before. only now, there are more of them.

sieun bolts to humin and cradles his face. humin groans, dazed, murmuring nonsense. seven attackers close in until flames erupt around them. a blazing ring of fire explodes from sieun's body, shoving them back. the heat is scorching, and it finally jolts humin awake. but sieun feels the pressure in his chest tightening. he can’t hold the fire much longer.

kei is already in the fray, leaping from body to body, ripping chunks out with terrifying ease. kyu the python slithers like lightning, hurling enemies skyward with each whip of his massive frame. his venom sinks into any who get too close.

gunshots crack through the air.

kei and kyu both take hits. suho cries out and collapses against a wall, clutching his side. it feels like the bullets ripped through him directly. he pushes himself up, eyes wild. kei and kyu are still attacking, but he knows better. if they’ve got bullets, they’ve got more than just that.

humin scrambles onto the truck’s roof, sweat soaking his back. disks of fire spin from his palms, slicing the air. they’re not doing enough. his vision blurs. his hands go numb, even as flames pour from them.

“stop shaking the truck!” humin snaps, dodging bullets.

“i’m trying to help!” seongje shouts, firing into the crowd. moments later, a heavy thud, and humin falls hard beside him, groaning in pain. no time to help. the swarm is closing in.

seongje's aim is lethal. skull, throat, heart, all clean shots. but for every one he drops, five more appear. they multiply like roaches that refuse to die. he crouches behind the truck, scouring his vest for ammo and realizing he only has a couple bullets left.

then, a purple glow.

bodies litter the ground and blood pools around them. beomseok stands at the center, trembling, swaying on his feet. seongje and humin race toward him, just as the soft sound of glass rolling across concrete echoes around them.

something hot nudges seongje’s foot. he looks down.

molotov cocktails. dozens of them.

“RUN!”

hyuntak, stationed at the other truck with juntae inside, throws open its doors. he grabs the diamond blades. he’s a blur of motion that’s spinning, slicing, ripping through bodies like paper. his grip slips. the blades cut into his own hands. blood streaks down his arms. still, he doesn’t stop. he can’t stop. anyone who comes near the truck dies.

but their other truck is destroyed, with its tires shot out and fire creeping near.

the first molotovs shatter. flames roar.

humin throws himself into the driver’s seat. the tires screech when he floors it, tearing off just before fire devours the concrete behind them. glass shatters. the road trembles.

inside the truck, suho is slumped between beomseok and sieun. his voice is thick and fading. “how... how did they find us?”

“don’t talk,” beomseok whispers, pressing a hand to his chest. “you’ll make it worse.”

the silence is loud and questions choke the air, but no answers come. they’re too dazed to think. too shaken to process.

“i don’t know,” humin rasps, scanning the rearview mirror. no sign of vehicles. but there were too many of them. he couldn’t focus. couldn’t remember.

“humin, you’re bleeding...” beomseok reaches over with a dirty rag, gently dabbing at the gash on his forehead.

humin grips the wheel tighter. he takes sharp turns down streets he’s not supposed to be on. speeds past every red light, every stop sign. his knuckles are white.

finally, they screech into the private garage of their building. humin doesn’t bother parking. the moment the metal gate slams shut behind them, all four truck doors fly open. they spill out onto the concrete.

beomseok lays suho and juntae against the nearest wall, then collapses beside them. sieun checks juntae’s pulse. humin scans suho for bullet wounds. he’s alive—barely. suho winces, whispering, “they shot kei... and kyu... a couple times.”

humin nods. he remembers. what happens to them happens to suho. they’re linked, after all.

he slumps down beside beomseok. their voices blur together, nothing but static in his ears. his heartbeat pounds in his skull. his face is burning. the side of his head feels like it’s on fire.

then he blinks.

looks again.

the truck. all of the doors are open. no one’s inside.

he staggers to his feet, swaying. the pain in his head doesn’t register. dark spots crowd his vision, but he doesn’t care.

“...humin?” beomseok grabs his hand, eyes wide. “hey. humin.”

he shakes him off.

humin stares at the empty truck for what feels like forever. and when he finally turns back to the others, his eyes fill with terror.

“where are seongje and hyuntak?”

Chapter Text

“juntae…” beomseok pauses in the doorway, frowning as he steps into the office. “i brought you some soup. hot from sieun’s stove.”

juntae doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. his eyes are fixed on the three glowing screens in front of him: his laptop, humin’s, and the cyber-desk. his black hoodie is pulled so far over his face it swallows him whole, except for the tip of his nose—red, chapped, and trembling faintly. beomseok can’t see his face, but he knows juntae is crying. not loudly. not openly. the kind of crying you do when you’re trying desperately not to feel anything at all.

two weeks.

two weeks since the warehouse. since they were too late. since seongje and hyuntak vanished. they’d only found that out two days later, after juntae was discharged from the hospital with a concussion and a heart arrhythmia from the shock he'd delivered to himself.

self-inflicted.

of course it was.

the morning he was discharged, juntae hadn’t even taken a breath before demanding security footage from every business within a mile of the boutique. humin handled the ones that refused. they combed through footage obsessively, frame by frame, pixel by pixel, until the truth emerged.

two figures in black, slamming the truck doors shut, dragging seongje and hyuntak away. faces hidden. untraceable. juntae had watched it over a hundred times now.

and still couldn’t stop.

“…juntae?”

this time he looks up. just for a second. but the light is gone. whatever spark used to live in him—his sharpness, his endless precision—has dulled into something gray and skeletal. beomseok opens his mouth to speak, but juntae’s gaze drops again, vanishing back into his screen like a ghost sinking into its haunt. he types like a man possessed, like the act of typing is the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

everyone had told him to rest. told him to take it easy. but how do you rest when the only thing keeping your friends alive is a theory and a timer?

he loathes how fragile he's become. hates how that one flicker of feeling, that flicker of panic, cost them everything. if he hadn’t let his emotions overtake him, he wouldn’t have rendered himself unconsciouss. hyuntak wouldn't have had to stand by that truck and watch over him. seongje wouldn't have had to spend those extra seconds pushing him out of the way for sieun to fit. this wouldn't have happened.

there would’ve been another pair of eyes. another brain. another second that could’ve made all the difference.

juntae doesn’t look away from the screen. his voice is low, distant. “thank you, beomseok.”

beomseok hesitates. then, without a word, reaches forward and shuts the cyber-desk. he gathers the laptops in his arms.

the shift is immediate. juntae’s face moves toward him like a snapped wire. “give me my laptop back.”

beomseok stays quiet.

“give me my things, now!” juntae lurches up so fast he knocks the soup off the desk. it splashes onto his foot, scalding, but he barely flinches. he mutters a string of curses, fists clenched so tight his knuckles go white. beomseok thinks this is the first time he's ever heard juntae curse.

humin enters the room the moment he hears the crash. he takes one look at juntae and gently steps between them.

"you cannot help hyuntak and seongje by depriving yourself of your own needs," humin briefly looks over at the spilled soup and vegetables scattered across the floor. "i know you really want to find them. and i do too. we all do. we've been trying our best. and if we want to continue trying our best, you need to sleep for the night. you need to eat. you need to drink. going for days without any of that is horrible for your health and we all know that you know that." humin sighs at juntae's despondence and grabs his shaking hands, ".. let's go to bed, okay? we'll bring you some more soup."

juntae doesn’t answer. not because he agrees but because he knows he’s going to fall over if he argues anymore. 

his hands are trembling. he hates that. he hates that he feels anything at all. emotions are noise. static. weakness dressed up in drama. they take and take and take. and in return? he loses people. he gets distracted. he makes mistakes. he becomes unreliable. soft.

he pulls out his phone and jabs at the screen with shaking fingers.

“what are you doing?” humin asks.

“setting a timer,” juntae mutters. “what—you think i’m going to sleep a full night right now?”

humin wants to say yes. wants to tell him he should. but he knows juntae too well. knows what pushing will do. so instead, he places a hand around his shoulders, steady but not forceful, and guides him upstairs. sieun and beomseok follow, quiet and watchful.

they don’t know that juntae already set the timer for 45 minutes.

they don’t know that he’ll be back at that desk the second it goes off.

they don’t know that every second he isn’t working feels like a betrayal.

they don’t know that he’s already decided: the next time something happens, he will not feel anything.

not panic. not fear. not guilt.

nothing.

not ever again.

humin moves back into office with a large kitchen rag, and begins mopping up the soup. the red coloring of the soup gets soaked into the white of the rag, and it reminds humin too much of an old hospital visit. the phlebotomist accidentally pulled the needle out too early, and humin's blood started trickling all over his arm. the blood sinks into the hair on his arms, drips onto his clothing and seeps out into a bigger stain. humin had been indifferent towards blood until that day. now he was hyper-aware of it.

humin thinks of the soup in front of them and the frantic phlebotomist and suddenly, he sees hyuntak and seongje in his vision. they are unconscious, unmoving, and pools of dark, dark red leak from all parts of their bodies. humin blinks and blinks, but they won't go away. when he tries to help them, his hand goes right through their bodies. he tries calling their names, screaming, but the only voice he can hear is the one inside his head. humin is hastily looking at his surroundings, and the huge office now seems to have dwindled down into the size of a cot. the walls look like their have a life of their own, rushing closer and closer together and humin can't do anything but watch and scream in his head-

the rag humin was using makes a noise. it's loud enough to bring him out of his thoughts.

humin had been gripping the rag so hard, the soup he had just mopped up is being squeezed out of it, staining his fingers. he shakes his head like that would break apart the entire vision he just saw, and re-mops. the rag becomes soggy quickly. he should've guessed that it wasn't going to be enough to clean everything up. with a tired sigh, humin shakes a little as he gets up and heads towards the door. his hand is on the knob when the door opens suddenly and sieun is standing in front of him. he’s in loose clothing, watching humin like he’s analyzing him. in one hand, he has a few blue-tinted rags from the kitchen. in the other, a small, disposable trash can. humin stops in his tracks when he sees the look on sieun face. "are you okay?"

sieun barely manages a nod. humin reciprocates it. he realizes his choice of wording is a little too ambitious. "well, as okay as we can all be right now... any luck with the footage?" humin's voice is hushed, like he couldn't get it any higher, and sieun knows exactly why. he takes in a breath and sets the rag down. the desk lamp was the only thing illuminating the room, but even then humin could see the shine in sieun’s glassy eyes. he takes in a shaky breath, but before humin can ask him what's wrong, sieun says, "how are you feeling about your court hearing tomorrow?"

humin's hand goes limp. he’s in middle of scooping up the pieces of potato and tofu with a rag when it all falls back out the ground. sieun head shifts slightly. "we didn't forget about it. or you."

like a switch, humin's expression changes. his eyes become shaky and unfocused. his lips curve into a frown. his eyebrows crease in worry. but some part of him actually looks relieved. humin had been trying to hold it together the best he could these past two weeks. how could he have time to panic about his court hearing— one that would take less than an hour— when two of his friends had been kidnapped and there were no leads to follow? his pathetic woes of something that was inevitably going to happen seemed so little compared to the situation they were facing at home. the judge would side with eunkyung and her clean record, grant her full custody of nari, and humin would have to sit in his humiliation in front of both the judge and eunkyung. he sees it so clearly in his head. he dreams it every night he tries to sleep. he feels it like a weight in the middle of his body, dragging him down as the day approaches.

"nari is your daughter. this is important to you.. and we all know that." sieun begins, and this is the first time humin’s hearing him talk this much. he finishes cleaning the rest of the soup while sieun picks up the last pieces of the glass bowl and discards them in the trash in front of them.

the two remain where they are on the floor. humin brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them. sieun observes him silently.

"hey.." sieun scoots a little closer to humin. "let's take a deep breath together, yeah? do you want to go to the balcony?"

humin manages a nod, and the two make their way to humin's balcony. his room is the closest, and sieun wants to get him to calm down as soon as possible.

humin and sieun now sit on the small wicker sofa in humin's balcony. the skyglow makes the night shimmer faintly, casting a soft gray-blue light over the edges of their figures. the stars glisten in spite of the haze. there’s a stillness to it all—like the world is holding its breath with them. humin has his eyes closed as he focuses on stabilizing his breathing. the cold always made him feel better. it cleared his mind, soothed his chest, relaxed his muscles. it was a balm, however brief, for everything else inside him that refused to quiet.

"i thought you forgot," humin says, voice low but unsteady.

there’s a trace of hurt in it—barely there, but sieun hears it. and he feels it too, in that way humin keeps his knees curled up and his fingers twisting around the drawstrings of his hoodie. something about it makes sieun’s throat tighten.

his expression softens. “we didn’t,” he replies gently. “i didn’t.”

humin doesn’t respond, not right away. he isn’t even sure why he said anything at all. maybe it was the quiet. or maybe it was the way sieun showed up—silent and steady, with rags and a trash bin, like he always knew exactly what was needed without having to be asked. 

they’d always found it easy to sit together like this. sieun never minded when humin showed up at his door with snacks and a random movie to watch. and humin, unlike most, wasn’t afraid of sieun’s quiet. there was a calm between them that didn’t need to be named.

but tonight, everything feels fragile.

"i'm so nervous," humin admits, barely a whisper. his voice cracks. "i haven't seen eunkyung in a year. she took nari away from me. she's the reason I spent time in jail, why i have these charges on my record. i never want to see her again."

sieun doesn’t move. he just listens. he knows better than to interrupt.

humin pulls at his sleeves, jaw trembling now. "nari was always under my care. even when i lived with eunkyung. even after. i raised her. i know how to feed her and how she gets quiet when she’s tired. i know the songs she wants before she asks, the way she clings to her blanket when she’s scared." his voice catches in his throat. “and now i’m going to lose her. forever.”

the sentence hangs in the air like smoke. thick and impossible to clear.

sieun exhales, slow and steady, his eyes focused on the faint glow of a distant city light. he doesn’t know what to say. every sentence that tries to form in his mind feels either too hollow or too full. so he does something else instead.

he wraps his arm around humin's shoulders, pulls him in gently—slow enough for humin to refuse if he wanted. but humin doesn’t. he leans into it with a soft, broken sound and rests his head on sieun’s shoulder.

and then, something even rarer: sieun shifts and uses his other arm to wrap fully around humin, pulling him into a firm, steady hug.

it's awkward to sieun at first, like his body is unsure how to hold this kind of pain. sieun never did well with touch. he disliked public affection, hated being coddled, avoided hugs like the plague, especially in these past recent years. but this isn’t about him. this is about humin, who is unraveling beside him.

humin clutches the front of sieun’s sweatshirt and cries. not loud or hysterical, just quiet, exhausted tears that seep into fabric and bone. and sieun holds him tighter.

no words. no promises. just presence.

“you won’t lose her,” sieun says at last, barely above a whisper. “not if we can help it.”

he doesn’t know if it’s true. but he needs humin to believe it tonight. just for a little while longer.

they stay like that for a long time, as the stars shimmer faintly above and the night stretches around them like a blanket, cold but not completely unkind.

humin feels like there is something lodged in his throat, stealing all of his oxygen.

he stands in his dark grey suit hyuntak had made him for the night of the gala when they went on their first part of the assignment. his hair is styled with a few strands at his forehead. he’s outside of the courthouse, juntae at his side. the plan was for all of them (except suho) would be there to show support, but after everything that’s happened and two of their members nowhere to be found, humin tells juntae to stay. he tells the rest of them to look after juntae in any way that they can.

"i'll be back in an hour, anyway," humin says. he both looks and feel dull. the discouragement in his voice feels like shards of glass, cutting everyone's heart in half. humin says it so matter-of-factly, like he genuinely knows he is going to come back empty handed. "once i come back we can completely focus on hyuntak and seongje." the mention of their names makes juntae's expression go enigmatic. humin picks at his cuticles.

juntae does not argue with humin's ask, but says he must be there to accompany him anyway. humin quietly talked the others into staying and help with the search. they eventually agree, as well.

"hey," juntae says. humin blinks, and finds himself back outside of the courthouse. it's a beautiful day out, but despite that, the warm wind blowing send an icy shock through humin's entire body. his eyes are shaky and juntae has to hold his arm to keep him steady.

juntae is about to tell him that the hearing starts in five minutes, but humin sees eunkyung for the first time in a long time, making her way into the courthouse. she is wearing a dark purple dress with a pearl necklace and matching earrings. her dark heels compliment her black hair, which had grown significantly longer. she is accompanied by a tall security officer, who sees humin, and pulls eunkyung closer to him. eunkyung wears the same expression she did the last time humin saw her— reserved. uncomfortable. afraid. afraid. like it was humin that actually did something to her. like what she claimed humin did to her and nari was true. like-

"we have two minutes, humin." humin now finds juntae standing in front of him, blocking eunkyung from his vision and failing because he’s too short.

"i know how nervous she makes you. but you cannot freeze like this in front of the judge. she may ask you questions, she may not. either way, you need to stay in the moment and be ready to answer anything."

humin’s chest is heaving. his breaths come fast, shallow, like he’s trying to keep from falling apart right there on the steps. juntae notices it immediately. he doesn’t say anything, just watches, jaw tight, hoping humin can keep it together as he finally turns around and disappears through the courthouse doors.

inside the courtroom, the air is clinical, cold and sterile. juntae takes a seat a few benches away on the right, silent as a shadow. he pulls out a small notepad and pen from his blazer pocket. but juntae’s not writing. not really. he’s just watching humin like he might fall through the floor if someone isn’t anchoring him to it.

there’s only three other people in the courtroom: the judge, humin, and eunkyung. two officers stand by the door, impassive. there’s no warm light, no jury, no spectators. just cold fluorescent lighting and the weight of everything about to change.

"you may be seated," the judge begins, her voice monotone, unmoved. “park humin, 24. you present to this court with charges of cannabis and psychotropic possession, and a record of eight months served in prison, released for good behavior."

humin’s knees threaten to buckle, but he stays upright, barely.

the judge turns to her left. "yoon eunkyung, 25. you present to this court with no immediate criminal record as of this morning."

eunkyung’s eyes narrow. "what do you mean, ‘as of this morning’?"

the judge decides to ignore the lack of honorifics just this once and raises her eyes stoically at eunkyung. she doesn’t have time for theatrics. she’s got two murder trials waiting on her docket, back to back. this was supposed to be simple. it never is. this child custody hearing between two unprepared, scorned ex-lovers was the merest thing on her schedule. the judge doesn’t flinch. she rifles through the stack of documents before her, face unreadable. 

“in light of newly submitted evidence against yoon eunkyung and no further legal burdens on park humin’s record,” she states flatly, “the court is prepared to grant sole custody of park nari to her father.”

“what!?” eunkyung lurches to her feet. “evidence against what ?!”

the two officers immediately step forward. she’s escorted back to her seat, protesting loudly about something to do with human rights violations.

the judge continues. “court-ordered home visit records show repeated signs of child neglect: malnutrition, visible hygiene concerns, anemia. these suggest ongoing endangerment of the child’s welfare under your care, ms. yoon.”

“that is not true! ” she screams, and suddenly, the version of eunkyung humin remembers all too well— the chaotic, explosive, desperate version—flares to life like a matchstick. her voice ricochets off the walls, her hair flying around her face like a storm. juntae’s gaze flickers to humin, whose fists are clenched white on his knees. he hasn’t moved.

“i’m not done,” eunkyung spits. “he abused me. he ran drugs out of our home. you’re going to give our daughter to him? what happened to putting the child’s best interest first?!”

the judge doesn’t raise her voice. she doesn’t need to. “actually, ms. yoon,” she says, eyes flat as steel, “a digital paper trail sent to this court this morning has traced the original narcotics charges back to you. instead of park humin. upon further investigation, the original trail of these substances in connection to park humin were discovered to have been fabricated. the fabricated trail was analyzed and came back positive with your fingerprints and DNA." the judge looks at her, stoic and unimpressed with whatever sorry excuse is coming out of her mouth. incoherent claims are spewing from eunkyung, but the judge puts a few more octaves in her voice and strikes the piece of wood at her side with her gavel, "yoon eunkyung, you are in contempt and will be fined. in light of this newly presented evidence, i must inform you that you will also be held in this courthouse until transportation arrives to take you to the station for further investigation."

finally, finally , the judge turns her full attention to humin. “the court hereby releases park nari into the custody and care of her father, park humin. this case is closed.”

and just like that, it’s over.

but humin doesn’t feel victorious.

humin feels like he is dreaming again, except his dreams never ended with him actually winning custody over eunkyung. he’s convinced he hadn't heard right. his mind must've been forcing him to hear what he's always wanted to. he is suddenly a tiny speck in the courtroom again. he's lost, and he finds himself turning to juntae for.. anything. help? reassurance? a bucket of ice cold water to slap him out of it?

he feels like someone just cut the strings holding him upright. his mind races, looping the words over and over again: you won custody. you won. you won.

but it doesn't feel real.

his eyes scan the courtroom, looking for something, anything to ground him. and then they land on juntae.

and juntae is already watching him.

there’s no smile, no stress, no dismissive coolness like usual. just this quiet, steady look, like he’s proud, like he believes in humin more than humin ever has in himself.

there’s a small curve to juntae’s mouth, not quite a smile, but enough to say, you did it. enough to say, i saw you. i see you now.

humin swallows, throat raw. his eyes sting.

he just won custody of his daughter.

and juntae was here to see it happen.

humin practically flies out of the courtroom once the hearing was over. nothing matters to him in this moment but getting to that mediation room. he's frantic, checking all around his surroundings and nearly tripping over himself not once, but twice. it's that second tumble where he almost falls face first that he decides okay, maybe he should slow down a little bit.

he only, very slightly, composes himself to ask the nearest employee where the mediation room is. turns out, he's on the wrong floor, and wow humin feels like he's floating up those stairs. he feels electricity thrumming all over his body. it actually kind of hurts, but the adrenaline is suppressing all of that pain in the moment. humin wants to scream and throw up at the same time. it's all emotions, all at once, and at full capacity.

at the top of the stairs, humin turns the corner. and upon doing so, he sees his baby.

little nari is being walked out by a woman in a business suit and a sweet smile. nari is dressed in dark wash overalls and a light yellow, fluffy sweater. her black hair is longer, tied loosely in two pigtails at the bottom of her head. she has a cup of strawberry yogurt in her hand. she has grown so, so much. it makes humin fall to his knees, right then and there, in the middle of the carpeted hallway.

nari, who is distracted by the yogurt, eventually raises her eyes to meet humin's. the most excited expression takes over her face, and humin thinks he physically cries out, but he can’t hear himself over the whooshing of blood rushing to his ears. nari's words are adorably broken up. "ap-pa!"

it is visible on nari's face that she has no idea what is going on, and she doesn't care. she is just ecstatic to be with her father again. it is visible that she recognizes him, that she has clearly not forgotten about who humin was, because the baby jumps into her father's arms on sight. and humin felt like a part of his soul that had been missing, wandering around aimlessly in the darkness of his mind, had been found. like something that had been switched off in him, had reignited with power and exploded with energy.

humin is enveloping his daughter with everything in him, but it feels like he was holding nari like water in his hands. like no matter what he did, she would slip out her fingers and disappear again. it takes humin a while to collect his composure— to remind himself that nari is not water. that she is real, her tiny hands around the nape of his neck. he can smell her freshly washed hair, feel the fuzziness of her sweater against his cheeks, and all he can cry is, "my baby, my baby!"

humin stays on on the ground for what feels like forever. his world is spinning in such a good way.

he eventually decides to stop wailing in the middle of the courtroom and picks himself up. he doesn't let go of nari for even a second. to humin, it's just him and nari.

humin makes eye contact with juntae when nari is wiping his tears with her fingers. he is trying to speak, he really is. he wants to. but sometimes, words just can't capture how you feel. juntae’s gaze has always been so indifferent, but right now it’s anything but that. 

humin's forehead falls against nari’s temple, and he holds her close.

humin and juntae return home with a few bags containing baby food, changes of clothing, and a few plushies with interactive toys. everything nari so helped as glanced towards, it was in humin's cart by the next second. it doesn’t take long for the cart to overfill, and juntae had to talk him into letting a lot of it go. humin started crying in the store soon after, apologizing to nari for trying to buy her love as if the baby could understand what that even meant. nari began crying seeing her father cry, and juntae had to pull them together in the middle of the toy section. the entire ride home, humin is now apologizing for embarrassing juntae in front of a bunch of strangers.

"i'm just spiraling pretty bad right now," humin sniffs. it comes out of his mouth like a sorry excuse, and he can't make it sound like anything else but that. juntae turns his head every time he gets to a red light, watching humin and the far away look in his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks. 

"spiral for however long you need," he hears humin say. "i got you. both of you."

picturesque is closed already, so they have to come in through the back door of the building. sangjae and sehyeon are there, and their somber expressions compliment the mood of the entire place. nari is sleepy in humin's arms, cheek pressed against his shoulder. everything feels mournful. the cream colored walls look dull. the furniture seems worn out despite being recently bought. the entire place has a resemblance to a dying flower— withering, faded, and awfully melancholic. making you wonder what happened. what you could've done to prevent it from happening.

humin and juntae stand in the quiet for a few moments, the stillness of the space momentarily wrapping around them like a blanket. then, soft footsteps echo down the hallway. sieun and beomseok appear, pausing briefly at the doorway before entering with warm smiles. even sieun. there's something softer in their expressions, something gentler, like the presence of nari has peeled back some of the grief they've all been wearing like armor. beomseok ducks out for a moment, and when he returns, suho is at his side. together, all of them gather around humin and his daughter, their voices hushed but filled with something bright. each one of them offers congratulations, but it's more than just words. they reach out to hold her tiny hand, brush her hair, make her laugh. for the first time in weeks, the house feels warm again.

in the middle of so much loss and uncertainty, nari’s arrival is a flicker of light. she's a reminder that something pure still exists, that there's something left to fight for. no one says it out loud, but in the way they look at her, with awe and with tenderness, you can feel it. she’s home. and she’s brought something back with her that they all forgot they needed: hope.

juntae is guiding humin up to his room. they walk by a painting of a cherry tree an d its pink petals decorating the pavement, and find themselves thinking of hyuntak. they can almost hear his voice in the hallway, his complains about it, saying the pink did not match the cream colored walls or the silver frame that was containing it. they think of seongje after, and how he would've probably told him that no one gave a flying fuck about the stupid painting and all of his interior design choices are atrocious. then they imagine the two starting to fight each other and hyuntak throwing dust in seongje's eyes as he super-speeds away.

humin helps nari change while juntae goes down and gets him some leftovers to eat. when he comes back, nari is dressed in a baby pink onesie and humin is watching over her with so much adoration in his eyes it makes juntae feel physical warmth in his chest. humin sits against his bed frame and juntae sits next to him. he passes him a bowl of the japchae sieun made the day prior and humin thanks him gently.

they are silent again. humin's balcony door is slight ajar, so they listen to the faint sound of the traffic moving along. humin eats rather quickly. he could tell that his appetite really set in after the trial, now that he didn't feel like he was stuck in an inescapable room with a ticking time bomb.

humin's door opens suddenly, and it makes them both jump a little.

juntae steps into the room. he now has a hoodie on, head hanging. "everyone decided to sleep in early, i assume." juntae says. humin can see how tired he is, can see his drooping bloodshot eyes and the way his shoulder's are sagged. he briefly feels guilty for leaving when he could've been helping him, but the feeling doesn't last long when he sees juntae cast his eyes on nari.

the slightest part of juntae's lips curve upwards for the first time in two weeks.

"i'd love to properly meet her when she wakes up." juntae says. humin just can't help the smile on his face when he looks at his baby. the brief half-smile on juntae's face is wearing out quickly, so he moves his gaze from nari. he smiles, small and sad and you could just tell that his mind is in an entirely different state. 

"so,” humin hums. “you.. you sent the court the paper trail?"

"technically, seongje and i did," juntae casts his eyes on the sleeping baby next to humin. "seongje had been working on an entirely different file since contacting us, even before that, tracking down the people eunkyung was getting the substances from. i sent a malware virus to their computers and imported everything into our server. seongje found their location and, well,… threatened to expose them to authorities if they did not give up any physical forms tying eunkyung to them. ‘threatened’ is a light word for it, but you get what i mean." juntae raises his gaze back on humin. "we're exposing it, anyway. it was just for temporary leverage because we needed everything about eunkyung faster than we needed theirs."

"i'm really sorry i didn't tell you. i wanted to," juntae began. that slight pout of his returns to his face at the very thought of humin being upset with him. "seongje told me not to say anything. he had this whole thing about plausible deniability. it was because eunkyung is the mother of your child— he thought part of you, even the tiniest part, might have wanted to protect both her and nari. which made no sense to me because i know you wanted nothing to do with her." juntae looks down at his hands, contemplating. "i tried making a case for you, but you didn't tell everyone all the details you told me the night we talked about nari. it wasn't my place to air out all your secrets, so i went along with seongje’s asks. i'm sorry, humin. i really did want to tell you, it's just-"

humin suddenly lurches forward with his entire body, placing his head on juntae’s shoulder and his arms around him. "thank you." humin's hugging juntae so tightly juntae might just pop. "thank you so much."

juntae brings his arms around humin and just, holds him. hugs him for a long time. he can feel humin physically relax, all the tension in his body slowly expelling. it feels relieving to the both of them.

when they pull apart, juntae has this adorable crimson on his face, and humin feels he might just crumble right there on the spot he’s just so happy right now, he might as well be floating in the air. and juntae, for a moment, is happy, too. in the middle of everything going on, he’s glad he’s managed to finally help with something. he’s happy he was of actual use to someone.

just then, juntae’s phone buzzes in his pocket. humin apologizes for hugging him for too long, but juntae waves him off. he digs in his pocket for his phone, and humin goes back to checking on nari, focusing completely on her.

but then all the color on juntae’s face drains and he looks so pale, humin thought he might actually pass out in the next few seconds.

juntae looks over at humin and almost drops his phone.

"you trained your pathetic, little recruits well. did you teach them to stay, too? what about fetch?" the distorted voice laughed wickedly, a sound that made juntae wince. "neither of them have said a word about your pitiful plan. and believe me, we've tried everything. starvation, dehydration, feral gas poisoning, even hot oil. lots of it. chunks of skin literally broiling over, and still nothing!" the voice sounded like a mix of amusement and anger. sieun inhales sharply at the horrors this person was detailing out, wringing his hands out on his lap. " one thing, though— they fight like cats and dogs. can’t stop screaming at each other, even in captivity. what a pair you've picked. i would've paid good money to watch them tear each other apart."

the voice sounds so inconvenienced. just annoyed, like they’ve got gum stuck on the bottom of their favorite shoes. "it’s too bad. they've been stuck in their ability-suppressing cages all these two weeks. can you believe it? using technology meant to hurt us on our own people. could that be considered taking power back? who knows." it seems to go off on a tangent. "too risky letting them out of there, don't you think? they might turn on me!"

juntae sounds sick. it can be so easily heard. "who.. who are you?"

the line crackles. then a shriek of rage explodes through the speaker—violent and sudden.

"you think you’re clever?! it appears i have underestimated you. i sent my entire group after you. every single one of them. armed with their own abilities. or weapons. or both. and most of you still got away!" the voice screams certain phrases and then randomly is calm again, like someone turning a light switch on and off, on and off. it only makes listening to it scarier.

"i'm feeling generous today, juntae. i woke up to the birds chirping, the sun shining, and my newfound favorite foods! consider this my one and only courtesy call." in a few lower octaves, the voice seethes. "you’re playing a game you won’t win. not with that freakish mind of yours. if you care, even just a little, about the rest of you team, you’ll give up now. this is a war, and you’ve already lost.”

there's a sound on juntae's end of the line, like the wind is being knocked out of him entirely. "where are hyuntak and seongje?"

"oh~" the voice is taunting, a laugh so wickedly insincere. like they were talking about lost dogs rather than human beings. "don't you worry about your friends. just collateral damage in our otherwise, well, explosive plan."

the line goes dead.

no one breathes. for a few eternal seconds, silence swallows the room whole. It crawls over their skin like mold. words die in their mouths before they’re spoken. it feels like they're drowning, drowning, drowning.

juntae doesn’t blink. it’s sieun who speaks first, hoarse, “play it again.”

there was no use in trying to remove that distortion filter from the phone call. it was going to take hours. trying to decode the private user ID that had called juntae's phone also seemed like a waste of time. the main focus is getting seongje and hyuntak back, ring be damned. time was ticking, and every second they are gone is another second they are in danger.

juntae's shaky fingers presses down on the replay button.

upon the second listen, sieun is analyzing every single thing he can hear. there is background noise— it's faint. like they were calling outside on a quiet street, but there is noise nonetheless and sieun really has to focus to be able to make out the words that he can hear.

"köttbullar! order 1!" there's a sound of dishes clattering together, and very distant footsteps scattering about. in the middle of the voice's speech about ability-suppressing cages, the background says, "lax & räksallad! order 7!"

sieun is writing down every single thing he hears outside of the distorted voice.Juntae sees it, hears it, feels it too. something clicks in his mind like a trigger being pulled. his gaze whips around the room like he's physically tracking neurons.

"it's swedish," juntae says. 

“what?” humin blinks.

“they’re speaking swedish,” juntae says again, louder this time.

suho, humin, and beomseok just watch them. for every new thought that goes through juntae's head, his gaze moves to another object, which is why juntae's eyes move hastily around the room. humin gets up and brings them their files on the assignment, in case juntae needs to reference something. he probably doesn't, but humin feels utterly useless just sitting there, not contributing to anything. beomseok rushes in with water, nearly drops the tray. everyone is moving now, like a switch has been flipped.

"hemlagat," humin and juntae say in unison.

suho can't help it. "what are you guys talking about?"

juntae doesn't answer, but it's more because he doesn't hear him rather than he doesn't want to answer. "the swedish restaurant in seoul. in the jung-gu district." sieun says. he turns his laptop around to juntae and the others. "the köttbullar. the lax and the räksallad. it's all part of hemlagat's menu. orders 1 and 7."

juntae feels his ears ring, like he’s just discovered a sound never once heard before. he's replaying that message over and over again. he's cutting it on random parts. rewinding it. then fast forwarding it. slowing it down to confirm he is hearing everything right. he focuses on the voice's last sentence. juntae's brain is sprinting. he hears the voice again in his mind, repeating the last line.

“...explosive plan.”

“...explosive plan.”

juntae’s fingers blur across the keyboard.

"there's an industrial warehouse lot that hasn't been used in years, about 20 minutes from that restaurant." juntae continues typing on his laptop. his fingers move so fast and his thoughts run a thousand miles a minute, humin genuinely starts thinking he might be the one with the super-speed. it makes him miss hyuntak.

"i saw it on the news the other day. it's going to be demolished and made into a tourist hotel." juntae's voice is so, so soft, but his words hit them all like a bouldering weight on their shoulders. they didn't need to time to let the connection sink in. beomseok stills completely and tries to remain calm for everybody's sake, including his own. "when does the demolition start?"

juntae keeps typing. he's going through the address of the lot, the companies who used to operate it, the closest construction crews to that location, every single thing that can tell him when this project is going to begin. it’s when juntae stopped typing, when that awful silence crawls over them, when juntae finally says, 

"midnight."

"it's 10p.m," humin's daughter is asleep, bundled carefully, and he’s using his other hand to call ara. he's out of breath and frantic, but everyone follows suit. "the warehouse location is nearly two hours away, even without all the traffic. we need to go. now ."

and they do.

driving past hemlagat feels like trespassing on a crime scene.

the voice from the call—the one responsible for everything—had been right here. maybe inside. maybe leaning against the brick wall with blood still on their hands. juntae’s nails dig into his palms just thinking about it. that voice. 

the voice, the source behind all their problems, the source behind seongje and hyuntak's kidnapping, the source that makes juntae want to tear all his hair out.

hyuntak's 'i told you so' face pops into his head the moment he thinks that.

humin’s behind the wheel, and calling his driving reckless would be merciful. he’s flying down red lights, speeding through tight gaps in traffic like a man possessed. no one in the car tells him to slow down. time is a noose tightening around all their necks.

juntae thinks about demolitions the entire ride there. linear shaped charges are what is used to sever steel supports of these buildings. the explosives are detonated progressively, but it only takes the one blow at the base to implode the entire infrastructure.

they finally see the warehouse lot. the looming silence, the cold emptiness, the eerie stillness as if the world itself is holding its breath. barbed wire coils around the perimeter like thorns around a coffin. traffic cones block the street, and the surrounding businesses are dark, shuttered early for “public safety.” beomseok wastes no time. He rips open the chain-linked fence like paper. the group storms through, but then they freeze.

It’s 11:59 p.m.

juntae feels it in his teeth first, the low rumble in the ground. pebbles at his feet begin to dance. the pressure drops. it's too late. he knows it’s too late. he refuses to be unnerved, even when humin is calling out to him saying, "juntae, don't." the smell of petrochemicals slice through the air and he really should stay back, because humin his right— juntae is only useful if he isn't blown to bits. but that rationale isn't going through to his brain in the moment. he's got the one and only goal to locate hyuntak and seongje. it didn't matter how quickly beomseok broke the fence down. it didn't matter how well juntae calculated their time. it wasn't going to be enough. 

juntae doesn't listen and marches right into the lot. there's a thunderous boom that feels like it's erupting from under the ground, and in a matter of a few short seconds, there's increasingly loud crackles coming from the warehouse just in front of him. 

beomseok grabs the back of juntae's hoodie and snatches him clean off his feet as the warehouse in front of them explode. the force is so strong, it knocks beomseok off his balance and both of them are launched into the dirt.   heat rolls over them. concrete rains down. metal shrieks. one warehouse collapses. then another. then another. like a grotesque firework show designed to kill. 

beomseok takes most of the hit, seeing as he pulled juntae into his chest the best he could. when beomseok opens his eyes he can barely see, and he doesn't know if it's because of the dust in the air or of how hard he slammed his head into the ground. the daze doesn't last long however, once he remembers that all these buildings just imploded in on themselves with seongje and hyuntak inside one of them. dust fills the sky. screams and ringing blur together. no one can think. no one can breathe.

he gets up with juntae and they all scatter around frantically, like insects running away from someone's foot. the area is so wide, there's so much smoke and beomseok is willing himself to stay oriented and alert. he goes through the warehouse he and juntae were just standing in front of, tossing cement boulders of all sizes and several planks of wood at a time like they weigh nothing. it doesn't take long before he sees tufts of hair peek out from amongst the rubble. he swears he's mistaking it for something else, maybe fur of an unfortunate animal, but the more he looks at it, the more his vision blurs. beomseok recons he must've called out or something, because suddenly everyone is running towards his direction. beomseok is so weak, covered in cuts, his head and heart pounding. there's dirt on his face and he can't tell if that's the reason why he's seeing dark spots in his vision or because of the blow to the head he took a few moments ago or the fact that he's digging through warehouse rubble for bodies. the piles of burnt wood and broken cement are sizzling to the touch and weigh too much for the average person to lift. but the adrenaline, the sheer panic they feel powers over everything else in that moment. 

seongje is the first person they uncover. when there is enough of him visible, beomseok pulls him from underneath all the rocks, and the only reason he can tell it's seongje is because of the bracelet still on his wrist. the silver piece of jewelry glistens brightly, even in the dim moonlight, like its got a life of its own. beomseok tears his gaze away from the pendant and tries his best to focus. 

seongje's left arm is bent at an unnatural angle. beomseok is cradling his head and when he pulls his hand away to lay him flat on his back, it's covered in dark blood. he's trying so hard to check for a pulse, but there is so much blood and seongje is too slippery. too cold. 

blood is everywhere. on his arms, legs, chest, face. humin is next to him, trying to help. his gray long sleeve is completely smeared in dark red and beomseok briefly thinks it's pointless to look for any sign of life, but he's trying his hardest to push that thought away.

"hyuntak!" juntae's scream rips through the chaos and makes beomseok's head snap up. suho appears with hyuntak in his arms, battered and blood beyond relief. he helps set him down next to seongje. they can barely make out their faces from all the dirt and blood covering them.

humin is on the phone with paramedics, panicked and out of breath as he explains that he and his groups of friends were walking nearby when the demolition suddenly went off. there's yelling coming from everyone but it all sounds like it's so far away. nobody can hear themselves speak over the ringing in their ears and the sound of their hearts trying to explode out of their chests. 

juntae is crying and starts pumping hyuntak's chest, counting under his breath. the thrump of beomseok's own heartbeat in his ears is louder than anything else. beomseok is following sieun and suho's lead on seongje, stopping the bleeding in any way they can. with sieun's help, they find a large gash on seongje's thigh that is just gushing out blood. sieun is saying something about an artery being hit. beomseok removes his sweatshirt and ties it around seongje's thigh tightly, hoping it’s enough. hoping something is enough. suho is opening seongje's eyes but it's too dark to see if they are constricting.

beomseok eventually starts hearing the sirens of the ambulance, and suho mumbles a string of curses. he will not look away from seongje until sieun starts nudging him. suho forcefully moves his gaze from seongje onto sieun, then onto juntae. juntae nods his head, and suho looks so hesitant, but runs further into the hazy warehouse lot until they can't see him anymore.

everything is permanently blurry to beomseok from that point on. a hand is dragging him away from seongje, and although it's to make seongje more accessible for the paramedics, he is screaming to be let go. he can't hear himself but he can feel the strain of his vocal chords. he thinks he sees juntae backing away, sobbing into his own arms once the paramedics get there. there's this persistent ringing that he can only hear.

and suddenly beomseok is a little boy again, watching helplessly as life drains out of the people in front of him.

Chapter Text

"if you're going to shoot anyone dead right now, it better be me," seongje spits, blood pooling and seeping through gritted teeth.

neither he nor hyuntak can recall how long they've been stuck in this place. locked away together in an ability-suppressing cell that prisons use to isolate ability users, hyuntak and seongje were rendered useless and extremely weak. the bars glowed an ugly, terrible green. it glowed brighter in the presence of superhuman DNA, like it had a life of its own. it thrived off depleting them of their energy and willpower. anybody that touched it, regardless if they inside or outside of the cell, caused an electrical shock so strong it could easily throw you around its enclosed walls, getting shocked every single time. seongje and hyuntak can't remember the last time they've had something to eat, something to drink. they can't remember the last time they've had a breath of fresh air. they can barely feel their red and ripe skin, chunks of it having been burned completely off.

"you are so fiery, seongje," the voice laughs so sweetly, like it's reacting to a child taking their first steps. it's airy, light, just completely and utterly delighted . the voice is of a woman, and it's so dark that they can barely see her. it infuriates seongje that she seems to know everything about him and hyuntak, yet they both have no clue who she is. all they know is she's been the only one checking up on them to make sure they are just alive enough to continue actively torturing them. the woman continues, "you would definitely beat your little friend if i wanted you both to fight for freedom."

"he is not my friend," seongje retorts, spitting the pooling out of his mouth. he's definitely got more to say, but at this point he cannot move his mouth (or anything, really) without any excruciating pain. hyuntak chuckles at the conversation happening in front of him, even though it makes his entire body jostle with agony. both he and seongje definitely got a little too much of an adrenaline kick realizing they've been kidnapped and held in a cell together, so they attempted to break out of it multiple times.

both of them knew it was useless. they were only going to be tossed around like rag dolls in there and be drained of their energy. neither of them seemed to care though, and that's why seongje got his face slammed into one of the bars and why hyuntak can't even feel his limbs anymore. they were stripped of all their weaponry while unconscious, and that only made seongje angrier.

“you aren’t my first hostages,” she says, voice icy. “i’d like to say i came prepared this time.”

"and you aren't my first kidnapper, crazy lady," hyuntak rolls his eyes. "you don't even know who i am."

"that's where you're wrong, i know exactly who you are." the woman inches closer to the cage and hyuntak can only see her black, shiny hair. her face and body is completely covered and she actually smells really nice, which makes hyuntak believe he hasn't lost all of his senses just yet. "you , hyuntak— you're a weak, gold-plated bitch who thinks the world revolves around him." she seethes, raising the gun up and towards seongje. "this entire thing is almost over and you just keep running that ugly, lopsided mouth," there's clinking of what are unmistakably bullets being loaded into a pistol. "you must want to die."

"hyuntak," seongje shoves him out of the way, and it makes seongje himself groan in exhaustion. his head feels like its going to explode. his sinuses are on fire and he feels a numbing sensation begin to travel down the nape of his neck. it's slowly going downwards, spreading to his limbs and making them flaccid. seongje had finally used all of his energy. he doubles over and slams the back of his head against the cold pavement. hyuntak cringes hearing the impact. two repeated blows to the face and head. hyuntak doesn't say a single thing in response, he just gets back up and resumes his position in front of seongje. and seongje can only muster up so much strength at this point to keep throwing him to the ground.

the woman cocks the gun trigger, and seongje can practically hear the bullet ring in the chamber. "hyuntak, what the hell are you doing!?" seongje is panting and his eyes are fluttering shut, but even then the resentment in his voice bounces off the empty walls, loud and clear. he's trying to push hyuntak out of the way, but he's too weak to do so. hyuntak can no longer feel the fiery holes seongje was staring into the side of his head, can no longer hear a single noise from him, and his heart drops to his stomach. he tries to focus his best on this woman holding him at gunpoint rather than seongje actually starting to die behind him.

"even when you're about to die, you two just can't get along. it would've been much more fun to kill you both under different circumstances." the woman sighs wistfully. hyuntak brings his hand over his mouth and nose as the sudden smells of strong chemicals and toxic gas begin to fill the room. it doesn't take long before hyuntak falls to his knees, eyes burning and throat closing up in response to the hot, sticky air. it feels like he's being destroyed entirely, from the inside and out. the most humiliating thing is that this woman, whoever she is, can see it too. at this point hyuntak wants her to get it over with so badly, just so all of it can stop.

"it was supposed to be your leader, they just took the wrong people. don't take it personally." the woman says. her voice is muffled by what hyuntak can safely asssume is a gas mask.

and for some reason, hearing her say that just ignited something in hyuntak. he thought about juntae. imagined them actually getting to him, doing these things to him, killing him. he himself couldn't explain it at that moment, but the urge to get up and fight did not feel any stronger than it did right now. but hyuntak knew he had run out of time. it was too late, all of it was too late for him.

hyuntak wraps himself around seongje's limp body and holds on tight. he doesn't think about how much seongje would hate this right now or if he can even hear him at this point, but it doesn't matter to hyuntak. it's literally killing him to breathe right now, yet that doesn't stop hyuntak from whispering, "you need to survive this. if that house needs anybody, it's you."

the last thing hyuntak hears is the ringing of gunshots, footsteps running away, and the poisonous air catching fire before the world turns black.

hyuntak jumps up with a strangled gasp. he immediately regrets moving so fast, because now he's seeing black spots in his vision. it makes it that much harder for him to look for seongje. the panic sets in almost immediately, hyuntak can barely get accommodated to where he's at.

the lighting in the room, or wherever he is, is way too bright. it smells too clean. the walls are too white. and for a split second, hyuntak thinks he's dead and this is the afterlife, but he starts hearing motion around the room.

"relax." a voice whispers. it's quiet and calm and hyuntak immediately recognizes it as humin's. only he can manage to stay calm in the worst of situations. "take a deep breath if you can, you're moving too fast."

hyuntak tries his best to follow humin's directions and lay himself back down, but everything feels like it's being torn apart and he can't move without the pain intensifying. his body is completely worn out, and like it had a mind of its own, sinks itself back into bed despite hyuntak's cries in pain.

"i'll let the doctor know you're awake," humin says. he walks away promptly, mumbling something about upping the dose of pain medication hyuntak was on, while the sound of scooting chair legs fill the room. it takes a moment for hyuntak to open his eyes again, but once he does, he can see sieun and ara right there, at his side. and despite the fact that he feels like every bone on his body is being shredded right now, a surge of added panic floods hyuntak's mind for a brief second. it doesn't subside until he sees ara smile at him. her eyes are shiny. there are tears trickling down her cheek. her nose is runny but there's not a single red blotch on her skin. her lashes are wet with tears, yet continue to sit curled and pretty. her eyeliner doesn't smudge, her foundation doesn't run, her lipstick is perfectly in place and wow—- hyuntak doesn't think he's ever missed anybody so strongly before. ara holds on one of her hands up, and hyuntak can see the faint glitter particles at her fingertips. it eases his mind just a little in that same second.

now knowing he doesn't look nearly as bad as he feels, hyuntak huffs as he tries to sit up. sieun (sweet, kind sieun) attempts to help, but hyuntak is determined to do this alone. as always, the stubbornness wins again but proves no actual point. hyuntak can be as determined as he wants to be, but the fact is he cannot move anything right now without help.

the bed has to move painfully slow, because if it goes too fast hyuntak starts blacking out again. 

once he’s up, he sees seongje, who at this point hyuntak had no idea was even in the room. hyuntak makes a startled sound, but that evokes no reaction from seongje whatsoever. seongje had been completely silent the entire time hyuntak's been... conscious? unconscious? sieun had just told him and now hyuntak can't even remember. seongje's arm and leg are bandaged but other than that, he looks perfectly fine. it doesn't surprise hyuntak one bit.

seongje, the unbeatable champion at cold and blank stares, is gazing at hyuntak with so much of something in his eyes that it makes him want to wince. this is the longest seongje's ever looked hyuntak in the eye in years. there's nothing guarded about his expression whatsoever. there's nothing hidden. nothing blank. and it makes hyuntak so nervous . he can't tell what seongje's staring so hard at, can't tell what he's thinking. he half expects seongje to throw the chair he's sitting on at him for staring too long, half expects him to knock him right back into unconsciousness. anything that points to the seongje he's known for the past few months.

hyuntak doesn't get the chance to decipher seongje's eyes as he abruptly gets up and walks out of the room. hyuntak watches him move until he is completely out of his sight, where he mindlessly turns his head back towards sieun and ara.

"he's glad you're okay." sieun assures; he must be able to see right through hyuntak right now. "you've been unconscious for three weeks now. seongje's been here everyday." he goes on to explain something about juntae not wanting anybody, especially hyuntak, being left alone anymore, so he came up with this crazy schedule of hospital shifts for everybody to take. but sieun's voice was muffled in his head. this horrible, nasty weight begins forming in hyuntak's chest. his mind flashes back to the times where he and seongje first met. where they became friends. where they were inseparable. where they promised to always be there for one another.

hyuntak wishes they'd never met in the first place.

humin moves back into the room, a tiny smile on his face. alongside him is that familiar mop of tousled, soft brown hair.

juntae is moving so slowly, so defeatedly, it makes hyuntak frown. juntae's holding an apple juicebox, barely sipping on it. his movements continue imperceptibly, until he looks up and sees hyuntak's eyes actually looking back at him. the juicebox in juntae's hand falls to the floor, completely spilling everywhere but juntae doesn't seem to care.

juntae marches right up to hyuntak, gaze never releasing his, and places his head ever so softly on hyuntak's left shoulder. hyuntak expects it to hurt, and to his surprise it actually doesn't. not one bit. he briefly wonders if that shoulder is the only uninjured part of him.

"how do you feel?" humin, who takes hyuntak's hand, is now rubbing it gently. juntae stays put on his side, area and sieun on the other side, and hyuntak is starting to feel just a little bit overwhelmed. humin, as always, sees and feels how hyuntak is feeling in the moment. he looks at juntae one more time, and then towards ara and sieun. he moves his head toward the door gently, and soon enough all three of them are stepping out. humin looks at juntae one more time, then at hyuntak. again, hyuntak can't make sense of that look and it's really starting to annoy him because why is everyone being so secretive right now without saying a single word? humin walks out with ara and sieun, letting the noise in the room dwindle down to just the monitors beeping rhythmically and faint conversations happening outside.

“you’re being weird.” hyuntak’s voice breaks the heavy silence, low and rough. he tries to shrug juntae off his shoulder, but he should’ve known better. juntae isn’t moving. 

not now. 

not any time soon. 

the weight clinging to him feels like it might dislocate his entire scapula.

juntae’s head doesn’t budge, heavy with exhaustion and something else—something deeper, darker. hyuntak studies him, surprised by how defeated he looks. for a flicker of a second, a cold dread settles in hyuntak’s chest.

“did… did those others get the ring before us?”

juntae’s head lifts just enough to meet his eyes. they’re red-rimmed, heavy, trembling hands resting limply on his lap. that messy mop of hair falling into his face somehow makes hyuntak’s heart ache. he finds himself missing it, even though it’s right there, right in front of him.

“no.” juntae’s voice is quiet, strained. “no.”

then, a bitter sigh from hyuntak. “then why are you like this? why do you look like you’ve lost everything?”

juntae’s face goes slack, disbelief flickering like a candle on the edge of a storm. “you’ve been in a coma… for weeks. i thought… i thought you were going to die.”

hyuntak laughs—a short, humorless sound. “i’m sure you could’ve replaced me soon enough.”

the words sting even as relief floods through him. he’s alive. he’s breathing. But the road ahead feels like falling from the tallest skyscraper with no end in sight. night terrors will haunt him. scars, both seen and unseen, will linger. still, the air around him tastes cleaner than he imagined it co-

“go hyuntak.” juntae’s voice breaks him—soft, raw, like a punch to the gut. the words stop hyuntak mid-thought, twisting something fragile inside him.

juntae’s eyes catch his, steady and unflinching. hyuntak feels his pulse quicken.

“i care about you.”

the confession hangs between them, heavier than either expected.

hyuntak reaches inside himself for a response, but only manages, “you barely know me.”

“doesn’t matter.”

the truth in those words renders hyuntak silent. his stomach flips, and the world narrows to the space between them.

“you’ve been unconscious for nearly three weeks.” juntae’s voice softens, careful, like he’s afraid to break something precious. “you’re repeating yourself. sieun told me that already.”

“you were shot.”

hyuntak freezes. sieun hadn’t told him that.

pain spirals through his body in sharp waves. he closes his eyes, an instinct he immediately regrets. the darkness pulls him back to that filthy room. the gun pressed to him. seongje’s life slipping away beside him. it wasn’t a nightmare. he really had almost died.

tears come unbidden, wracking his body in violent sobs. every breath is agony.

there's noise in the room again and hyuntak forces his eyes open to see a woman in a white coat rush to his side. her voice is so soothing but hyuntak can't seem to make out anything she is saying. there's another woman and a man at her side, who are hanging up bags of clear fluid and connecting new lines on his arm. hyuntak's never been a fan of the hospital, and all the commotion is not helping him calm down. it feels like he's completely trapped— both when he shuts his eyes and when he doesn't. he's dizzy, feels the blood freeze in his veins, feels his heart rate start to go up and his mind begin to panic. the sterile chaos suffocates him, trapping him between closed eyes and open terror.

then, through the haze of panic and pain, a warmth.

hyuntak’s head turns almost instinctively. through blurred vision, he sees it. 

juntae’s hand, reaching for his.

cold fingers curl around his own, and despite the fire burning beneath his skin, hyuntak feels a fragile calm.

a cool wave seeps through his veins, bittersweet and aching. the world begins to slip away.

and with the last ounce of strength left in him, hyuntak squeezes juntae’s hand—hard, desperate—before everything goes black.

"french refrigerator doors might just be the most abysmal thing ever created."

humin raises his head at that, which in turn makes baby nari raise her head too. humin cringes seeing hyuntak fight with the bottom handle of the refrigerator, straining himself more than he should be.

hyuntak's been home for about two weeks now. he was caught up to speed by everybody for the most part, and learned that the replacement for the emerald slotting in the ring's container was actually a retina scanner. the reason why juntae couldn't find anything about it was because he was so apprehensive in that moment, it was messing with his internal systems. juntae has been trying to figure out whose retina scan it belonged to, and so far he's had no luck. everybody's been trying to help in any way that they could, but also to no avail. while that was terrible news to hyuntak, his day was made better by finding out that this other side— whoever they were—- also couldn't figure out whose retina scan matched the glass container. there was no other evidence to support that as true, but seeing as they haven't made a single move to retrieve the ring, it's probable they do not know either. as of right now, it was a race to whoever could figure out that piece of technology and find that eye first.

the entire fight, with explosives and all, also made the news. their kidnapping was covered, and it did not surprise hyuntak to hear that the only reason why police were looking for the kidnapped was to charge them for endangering the human population. to say security had been amped up in the area would be an understatement. police were still on the hunt for all the perpetrators, and hyuntak was thanking those hideous uniforms for hiding them well.

humin sighs knowingly. "hyuntak, you could ask any one of us to get you another popsicle. i don't think you should be walking around so much."

"and i don't think you have the wherewithal to understand that i keep saying i feel fine."

hyuntak bites his tongue and wow—- he should really learn to think before the first thought slips out of his mouth. humin frowns, nari follows suit, and hyuntak finds himself apologizing without even thinking about it. he begins to ponder if his impulsiveness is a good or bad thing, when humin's now in front of him.

"do you want another popsicle?"

hyuntak stares down at his arm that is still too weak to even pull a refrigerator handle, and nods his head. his voice is much quieter this time, "that would be nice."

humin smiles.

"i'll watch over her, don't worry," sieun says, laying down on the foamed floor tiles next to little nari, who was busy playing with her building blocks. humin says something brief to humin and helps hyuntak back up into his room, pineapple popsicle in hand.

hyuntak stares outside of his window for the rest of day. the sunset is absolutely beautiful. the wind drafting into the room is warm and soothing, opening up hyuntak's lungs nicely. he doesn't think he's ever missed air like this ever before.

the house is quiet. juntae was out, trying to buy compartments he could use to replicate the technology of the retina scan. humin let hyuntak know earlier that he and sieun were going to take nari to the park. beomseok was most likely taking a nap. and suho— well, hyuntak never knows what suho really does. he's excellent at staying in the shadows, and it only makes him a more suitable candidate for murder.

hyuntak watches the sun slowly join the horizon of the earth long enough before his thoughts overflow every single crevice of his mind. he thinks about his childhood. he thinks about his life before joining this assignment. he thinks about the time he spent in that warehouse. the thinks about seongje— a lot.

despite humin's many warnings, hyuntak gets up and decides to go downstairs. for what, he's got no idea. he's not hungry or thirty. his bed is way more comfortable than the sofas. his room has the prettiest view of the sunset. but what he does know, is that he has to move. he has to do something with his body or else he might literally go insane.

"shit." hyuntak mumbles a string of other curses as he misplaces his footing and barges right into the common area's cream colored wall. he fixes the loose t-shirt he's wearing over his collarbones, which should definitely be bruised, but are not, like the rest of him.

and the reason why they're not is sitting by the fireplace with beomseok.

they're talking quietly, but hyuntak's clumsy entrance makes beomseok turn his head. he gets up and offers somewhat of a startled smile, "hi, hyuntak. you shouldn't really be walking around so much right now," he looks a little nervous, and hyuntak can automatically conclude that juntae probably put him up to look after him. he's been getting everybody to round on him since he'd come home. "did you need something? i can bring whatever you need to you next time, please just ask me."

“i don’t need a damn caregiver,” hyuntak spots, but his gaze is fixed on the back of seongje's head. the atmosphere in the room may as well have put the fireplace out cold, its icy tension sending a chill even down beomseok's spine.

beomseok realizes that what he's about to do next can very well put him on top of the list of seongje's vengeance, so he's genuinely thinks about it for a moment. but in the end, beomseok gives seongje a tiny smile and looks at the fireplace one last time, before walking out of the area.

hyuntak feels like there's sandbags attached to his ankles, physically dragging him down every time he takes a step. he doesn't even notice when he keeps walking. when he makes it to the fireplace. when he sits down in front of it, taking beomseok's exact spot. every single one of his movements seem to be going in slow motion, and reality snaps out of it when seongje is suddenly getting up.

"please, don't leave." hyuntak's voice is quiet and raw. he shuts his eyes immediately after opening his mouth, and for a moment hyuntak thinks seongje has already left the room. seongje's not the one with the super speed, but he always disappears the fastest whenever hyuntak enters the room.

hyuntak is utterly shocked when seongje turns around but he makes no move at sitting back down. his eyes are trained at the fireplace, its blaze reflected perfectly against the shine of his eyes. hyuntak briefly thinks about how it suits him perfectly. he used to always tell seongje that if things were a little bit different, pyrokinesis would've totally fit him.

hyuntak's mouth starts moving before his mind can even compute what's going on.

"i... hope you're doing as okay as you can be doing, if you're having the same night terrors i am." hyuntak chuckles humorlessly and feels his face burn. what is he even saying? it almost annoys him to see how calm seongje appears. like he'd already mentally prepared for this conversation. hyuntak feels the walls coming in on him and his heart in his stomach. he feels his head spinning and the blood rush in his ears like he's been held upside down for hours.

"i saved your life. you saved mine." seongje's eyes are trained on the fireplace. his voice is monotone and hyuntak is definitely preferring the tension of being helpless with a gun pointed at his head than whatever the hell is in the room with them right now. "i don't like owing anybody anything."

"i know." hyuntak says, in all his honesty, and both he and seongje know he's not just talking about this specific exchange. he's not just talking about the kidnapping. he's not just talking about the house fire hyuntak almost burned alive in.

seongje's fists clench. his eyebrows furrow and the fireplace doesn't spark, but the reflection in his eyes sure does.

"seongje, i'm sorry . " hyuntak feels like he's speaking into thin air, but he still says it with emphasis, with meaning. his chest is tight and his heart truly, truly hurts. "i'm sorry for.. everything. everything i did."

seongje makes no sudden movements and hyuntak just can't take it. so once again hyuntak's mouth moves before his brain can comprehend anything else.

"can you forgive me?"

the questions looms over the both of them a dark, heavy rain cloud. hyuntak wants to sink into the floor and seongje finally lifts his eyes up to meet hyuntak's. hyuntak can't help but look down.

"i'm sparing you time because you almost died. not because you deserve it, and definitely not because you want to clear whatever fucking conscious that's weighing on you." seongje's face is stoic. "so, no. i don't think i will."

hyuntak's head shoots up at that. he's not trying to— to 'clear' anything . he's genuinely trying to apologize. he just wants for this to go away. the constant reminder that someone who once loved you so much can now have that same amount of resentment towards you.

"seong-"

but seongje's already walking away, and hyuntak doesn't stop him. he knows better.

hyuntak is left to the icy fireplace, sitting with the weight of the world on his shoulders, crushing his soul and cutting his heart.

for the next three days, hyuntak stays in his room. he doesn't complain about his pain. doesn't insult the minuscule interior designs of the home he hasn't gotten to yet. doesn't do... anything. and juntae doesn't know what to think or do about it. he's been going into his room every few hours to find him sleeping. it got to the point where juntae had to assess him to make sure he was even breathing.

“relax,” humin says gently, watching from across the dinner table as juntae’s leg bounces up and down like a metronome stuck on panic mode. the soft clatter of pots and pans echoes from the kitchen where sieun and suho are bickering over cupcake batter. it’s domestic chaos at its finest—suho is wearing more flour than he’s using, and sieun has fully given up on scolding him.

“i just don’t know what’s wrong with him,” juntae mutters, eyes skimming over the schematics glowing faintly on his cyberdesk. the lines are precise, sharp, and beautiful..

except for the mistakes that he never usually makes. everyone knows he’s not focused, and it’s not hard to see that he’s fiddling with the desk more to busy his hands than anything else.

“he’s been steadily improving the last couple of weeks. i thought…”

“hyuntak’s been through hell,” suho chimes in, now struggling to pour batter into cupcake molds with batter smeared on the back of his shoulder, his cheek, and somehow in his hair. “so has seongje. healing’s not linear.”

“suho!” sieun snaps, wiping his cheek off with a kitchen towel and giving him a light shove. “you’re overfilling them again! they’re going to explode in the oven, and we won’t be able to decorate them.”

“but yeah,” he adds with a sigh, his tone softening as he glances toward juntae. “suho’s right,” he mumbles, more to himself, before elbowing suho out of the way and taking over the mixing bowl.

usually, their playful noises like bickering, teasing, and laughter fill the space like a warm blanket. but today, it only brushes past juntae like background static. he’s too far in his head, thinking and overthinking everything: hyuntak’s slight change in tone, the way seongje hasn’t cracked a joke in a while, the fact that things aren’t going back to normal fast enough. the logic he prides himself on is no comfort now.

“i’ll just check on him one more time,” juntae says, almost to himself. he shuts off the cyberdesk with a quiet sigh.

as he passes by humin, he gives him a lopsided, knowing smile. the kind that says “go on, he needs you.” somehow, that small gesture makes a knot in juntae’s chest loosen just a bit.

he finds hyuntak curled under his bedsheets, hidden except for the crown of his hair peeking out. the low murmur of a phone call drifts through the door, probably ara. the room smells faintly like fabric softener and expensive skincare products. it’s quiet here. heavy, but safe.

“hyuntak,” juntae says softly, stepping into the room without hesitation. the atmosphere is like something cracked and delicate, not yet broken but close.

there’s a rustle of sheets, but hyuntak doesn’t uncover himself. the aggressive tapping of phone keys follows, paired with a muffled curse. he’s clearly irritated, and it’s clearly not the best time. but since when has juntae ever been good at reading those kinds of signals?

“i just wanted to check on you—again.”

hyuntak groans. "why is the internet in this room so bad?"

juntae tries his best to ignore the fact that hyuntak is ignoring him. "uhm. you've been sleeping a lot these days, which isn't bad, but-"

"you'd think a building this expensive would have at least two bars."

".. but your sleeping patterns these days have-"

"seriously, what possessed me to even walk into this dump in the first-"

"okay, hyuntak!" juntae shuts the door rather loudly, and this time the room goes completely silent. juntae half-expects hyuntak to throw his ass out with the quickness, put him right back in his place the way he does to anybody who raises their voice at him. but instead, hyuntak sighs, "... i'm listening to you."

juntae crosses his arms even though hyuntak can't see it. "you're covering yourself."

"great observation, genius. i don't have my face on."

"what are you even talking about?"

hyuntak's grip tightens on the bed sheets. "juntae, if we're going to talk or whatever, we're going to do it like this." his voice is slightly muffled. "otherwise, just leave me alone."

juntae resigns in that very second. "okay." this—whatever this is—is more than he’s gotten out of hyuntak in days. he doesn’t want to ruin it.

 "can you please tell me what's going on?" juntae’s voice softens again.

"well, i can't open a refrigerator door and ara just let me know that the picturesque launch is being delayed because of some stupid construction permit we forgot to sign off on." hyuntak clicks his tongue in frustration. "so, you could say i'm a little stressed right now."

"hyuntak, you and i both know that's not what i meant." juntae lets the silence hang this time, his eyes scanning the room like it might give him the answers hyuntak won’t. he lets the silence that follows encompass the both of them for a while, because he doesn't know how to word what he wants to say without sounding so demanding. 

juntae tries to focus on anything else in the room. hyuntak had probably more clothing in this room than juntae’s had in his entire life. he reminds himself that this isn't even all of hyuntak's closet, and that most of it is still in his manor with ara. but everything he does have here is neatly organized in his closet, color-coded and going from tops to bottoms. hyuntak also has a mannequin in his room. it's in the corner, and hyuntak dresses it up all the time when he's feeling inspired. next to it, there's his desk. it has sketchbooks, pencils, markers, tape measures, scissors and everything else an top fashion designer needs. the desk is messy but organized at the same time, like hyuntak's been carefully drawing out his mind. underneath it, the cardboard, bulk pack of cherry chapstick he wrestled out of a freakishly strong old lady. juntae could go on and on about how this room is made up of the key elements of hyuntak, all parts of him, but his patience runs thin sooner rather than later. 

seeing hyuntak underneath those covers and stop communicating is only making him more nervous.

"i just want to get to know you better. you— you're all alone. and i want to help you through.. whatever you're going through," juntae clears his throat and stares down at his hands, his face reddening in embarrassment. he has never once been good at talking about emotions. there's no logic to them. no pattern. no order. it's something that never fails to make him feel like the biggest idiot in the world. he doesn't understand how people like humin can be so good with them. he always seems to know what to say.

juntae definitely expects hyuntak to kick him out of the room by now, especially after basically saying he has nobody to turn to. "i'm the reason this happened in the first place, anyway."

"no, you weren't," hyuntak whispers. it's really soft, and hyuntak feels like maybe juntae didn't hear him, but he can't seem to find the energy to say it again. the entire mood flips like a switch, and hyuntak himself can't even explain why. the sheets tremble slightly with the tightness of his grip. 

he's been like this all day. extreme, hopeful highs then sudden, doomed lows. all faster than he can even comprehend. hyuntak can't even tell which feelings are real anymore. he only knows his heart is so heavy, his soul so tired, and he just can't take it anymore.

"you don't want to know me," hyuntak's voice breaks in between his words, and juntae can see his fingers tighten on the bedsheets. "i will just let you down."

"that's not true," juntae cuts in immediately. he can almost feel hyuntak's eye roll at that, but he doesn't care. "hyun-"

"i'm a shit person, juntae," hyuntak interrupts. "i deserved every single thing that happened to me in that warehouse." hyuntak says, wholeheartedly and with so much defeat. it seems like the words cost him all of his willpower to say, all of his energy, because suddenly he doesn't have the strength to continue holding the sheets up, and lets them fall to his waist.

juntae decides to let the tension completely sour and weigh on both of them. all it tells juntae is that hyuntak is actually opening up with him. he is ready and willing to sit in somber silence for however long it takes. humin tells him that sometimes— that silence serves as necessary. sometimes, all someone wants is to share the silence with, to be present with them.

“i’m sorry you’re seeing me like this,” hyuntak finally says, his voice so faint it might’ve been a dream. he chuckles with no humor behind it. 

“i’m not,” juntae replies, eyes locked on him.

their gazes meet for a second too long. and even though nothing is said, everything is understood in the space between that look. 

hyuntak is unable to meet juntae's eyes, but juntae feels like his breath’s been caught in his throat. hyuntak's hair is up in several different places. his eyes are puffy, his cheeks are flushed, his skin is glassy, and this might just be the first time juntae’s seen him without anything on. hyuntak's always been perfect, to everybody around him. for him to even fathom that this version of himself is any less perfect— juntae will never know.

"all i've done is cause others harm," hyuntak stares at his lap, but juntae can see his eyes darting from both of his hands, like he's searching for answers that aren't there. his breathing quickens involuntarily, but there's no stopping it now. "seongje… seongje hates me, and it's my fault."

“i see,” juntae finally says. his voice is low. careful. like stepping onto a frozen lake, afraid of making too much noise.

normally, hyuntak would shut this all down. another person trying to therapize him. another attempt to fix what he hasn’t even begun to untangle. but now, the blood is rushing to his ears, hot and fast, and all he can feel is how quiet the world has become without ara around. she’s been tied up with the brand, and he hasn’t had to be seen like this—raw, unedited, stripped down to just skin and bones and nerves—in years . he's not meant to look like a doll at all hours of the day, he's meant to be flawed, imperfect, a human . but no matter how many times he tries to remind himself of that, the urge to cover up will always win. there's so many things jumbling up in his mind that he's not even sure what he's telling juntae at this point. juntae just keeps getting lucky, catching him in his most vulnerable moments.

there’s no lighting, no makeup, no camera angles to catch the flattering side. just him. just hyuntak.

and somehow, just juntae.

he didn’t even notice the bed dip, or the ruffling of the sheets, until he lifts his eyes and finds juntae there, closer than expected. sitting carefully, like he knows how fragile this moment is.

and of course, it's like juntae can read his mind, because he clears his throat in that specific way he does when he's unsure of what to do. "your relationship with your image is yours only, and i understand that i have no right giving you unsolicited advice on it. but i would just like to say this, if i may," juntae says. he sounds like he's being so careful with his words, and hyuntak can't help feeling a little fond about it. without trying to think about it too much, hyuntak lifts his eyes and meets juntae's for the first time. he didn't notice when the bed dipped in or when the sheets ruffled, but juntae was actually on his bed. it's not that he minded it, it's just that the room definitely feels smaller now. 

hyuntak doesn’t speak. he only nods, eyes holding juntae’s for a second longer than he means to.

juntae’s gaze softens. “.. life is too short to spend it at war with your reflection.” his words fall like a whisper into the space between them. “if i could reach into your head and take every thought that’s ever made you hate yourself, i would. i’d rip them out, rewrite them into something kinder. i’d—" he pauses, swallows—"i’d replace them with what i see. with what you are .”

hyuntak feels something shift. something tremble .

“you’re brilliant,” juntae continues, quieter now. “you're smart, sharp, more capable than anyone gives you credit for. you made picturesque. you got this building when no one else could. you noticed the bench—i didn’t even think of it, and you handled it like it was nothing. Yyou make everything look effortless, even when i know it’s not.”

juntae's voice dips, like he’s starting to talk more to himself than to hyuntak now. “and you always look good doing it. even like this. even when you think you don’t. i—think you’re really handsome. honestly, i don’t know if that means anything to you, but—”

“i get the point, juntae,” hyuntak says, a little too fast.

his heart is a mess. his thoughts are louder than they’ve been all week, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to look up. his hands clench at the sheets. the air feels hot.

“... thank you,” he adds softly, voice barely there.

the words hang in the air like a question neither of them dares answer.

and still, juntae doesn’t move.

"if the worst of the worst is happening to you, i just want you to know that i’ll be here. you’ll always be able to count on me, okay? whatever you’ve done, however badly you think you’ve acted... i want you to be able to talk to me about it."

juntae and his ridiculously long lashes inch closer, and suddenly hyuntak is way too aware of the space, of how little of it there is between them now.

"...y-yeah. uhm. yeah."

hyuntak wonders if he’s as obvious in his face as he is in his body language. he doesn't think it gets much more obvious than stuttering like some schoolboy. he glances away, hoping his heart isn’t showing in his eyes. “okay. sure. yeah. let’s... do that.”

much to his dismay, or maybe his undoing, juntae shifts even closer. hyuntak swears he can feel the heat off him. it makes his breath hitch, his heart ache in the softest way.

then juntae lifts his pinky.

"pinky promise."

hyuntak scoffs, but it's too soft to be convincing. he leans back into his pillows, trying to play off the fact that his entire nervous system is short-circuiting.

“seriously?”

“i have never been more serious in my life.” 

juntae tries his best to look solemn, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. it’s boyish, crooked, a little shy. it lights his eyes up, and the faint flush creeping down his neck doesn’t help hyuntak's resolve at all . "we're locking the promise too, so let's go."

“okay, fine,” hyuntak sighs, a bit more breath than sound. he’s barefaced, stuttering, sweating. he should be embarrassed. but he’s not. he’s just.. stunned. at how easily juntae sees past all the armor. with little resistance, he extends his pinky and links it with juntae’s.

juntae gently pulls their hands together and stamps their thumbs with delicate finality. “now you can’t break it. and neither can i.”

their hands linger longer than they need to. neither of them lets go right away.

“actually... you didn’t really promise anything,” hyuntak points out, softly.

juntae shrugs, eyes still on him. “hmm. you’re right.”

he draws their hands gently toward his lap.

“then i promise to talk to you too. no matter how bad i think it is. i won’t keep you out.”

when they finally let go, something lingers. warmth in their palms. something unspoken hanging in the air between them like thread pulled taut. they each let go, and juntae is smiley right in front of him. hyuntak can really notice that his eyelashes are a lot longer in this lighting, the remnants of the sunset cast on his face prettily. he's pretty sure if he was able to look long enough, he could see the sunset through the shine of juntae's eyes.

juntae’s phone buzzes beside him. the screen lights up, and hyuntak’s eyes catch on the wallpaper. it’s upside-down to him, but he recognizes it right away.

“that sweater,” he says quietly, nodding toward the photo. “where is it?”

it’s the beige fuzzy one juntae practically lived in when they first moved in. it was soft, worn, too big on him. the one hyuntak secretly thought made him look like a teddy bear.

juntae follows his gaze. his smile dims.

“my mom gave it to me when i moved out. said it matched my hair at the time. it was the last gift she gave me before she died. she said the color reminded her of her own clothes.” he hands the phone over. “it burned with the house.”

"...oh, juntae."

hyuntak reaches for his hand again without thinking. their fingers tangle in the middle– warm, quiet comfort.

“i couldn’t have saved it even if i tried,” juntae adds, a soft shake of the head that aches to watch. “it’s fine.”

it’s not. but hyuntak doesn't press. he studies the photo instead.

"you two look totally alike."

juntae actually laughs—low and genuine. the sound makes Hyuntak smile before he realizes it.

“i used to hear that all the time. i guess my dad’s genes just clocked out.” hyuntak returns the phone, and juntae stands from the bed, tucking it into his pocket.

“i’ll let you rest now,” he says.

hyuntak nods, the fatigue catching up with him, though he finds himself reluctant to let the moment end.

but then—

"one more thing."

juntae turns back at the door. his voice softens to something almost fragile. hyuntak is willing himself to stop holding his breath whenever juntae does so.

"what you said about yourself, don’t believe it for another second. you’re not a shitty person, hyuntak."

he holds his gaze, just long enough to make hyuntak feel seen. undressed in a way that has nothing to do with appearance.

"you’re just in pain."

and just like that, he’s gone. the door closes gently behind him, but the warmth he left behind does not.

and hyuntak knows he wasn’t just talking about physical pain.

late into the night, seongje is drying his hair in his bathroom's mirror. his hair ends up in spikes at the tips across his forehead by the time he's out.

it's late at night and the house is silent. seongje, once again, cannot sleep. he's not sure if it's because of his usual insomnia or because of the conversation he had with hyuntak replaying over and over and over again in his head. it's frustrating him so much that seongje just wants to pull his brain out and throw it out the window.

but of course, he can't do that. so he settles for throwing the damp towel over his face and falling forwards in his bed, undoing the hair he'd just styled. seongje is abruptly up again, moving outside of his room but somehow being unable to recall doing so. the bottom of the staircase glows deep amber, the lighting's dimmest setting. seongje looks down the corridor of their rooms and finds all the doors are left ajar. it wasn't a thing any of them used to do before, but seongje doesn't mind it. it's easier to hear down the hall and get to everybody. they also collectively decided to the leave the dim lamp on, because it's easier to spot shadows.

peering into humin's room, nari's little stuffed bunny had fallen out of her arms and onto the floor. seongje silently walks towards it, picks it up, and gently tucks it back into nari's arms. the baby unconsciously tightens her hold on the stuffed animal and snuggles further into her father. speaking of, seongje's eyes drift upward towards humin, who he hasn't seen this at peace since the moment he met him. he finds a similar situation in suho's room, with his favorite pillow on the floor. suho's never let that thing go ever since jiwoo had brought it back for him. seongje still doesn’t get how much sentimental value a pillow can have, but whatever. suho carries it around wherever he goes throughout the building. seongje knows suho would be just about heartbroken if he wakes up and sees he's left his beloved pillow on the floor all night, so he picks it up and places it next to his head.

seongje continues moving down and across the hallway, where he finds juntae asleep, slumped over on his desk—again. seongje can't even remember how many times he's told him how bad that can be for his back. he contemplates waking him up and sending him to his actual bed, but reminds himself that juntae hasn't slept in days, and something is better than nothing. he settles for placing the nearest blanket in the room over his body and turning off his laptop for him.

sieun seems to be the only one who actually knows how to sleep properly. he's tucked away peacefully and centered in his bed with nothing on the floor. seongje thinks he sees tear stains on his face, but concludes it's just his sleep deprived eyes playing tricks on him. he walks back out of the room promptly.

the room in the corner is one of the last ones he's yet to go in, and seongje doesn't even think again about walking in there. come to think of it, seongje isn't even sure when he started doing this. checking up on everybody at the ugliest hours of the night like some sort of creep.

and just as he predicted (which makes him feel more like a creep), hyuntak's blanket is pretty much off the bed. seongje still never understands how hyuntak is able to move so much in his sleep and not wake up. his window is wide open, and seongje can already hear his complaints about waking up in the morning with a sore throat.

seongje is extra careful when he drapes hyuntak's sheets back on him. he's careful to not hit the healing bruise on the side of his neck, and he's careful not to move any by part of him because he's always been a light sleeper. it's just a few blankets, but even that feels like it's going to hurt him. contrary to popular belief, hyuntak is not delicate in the slightest. he can handle a lot. seongje's not sure why he's being so cautious right now.

he watches hyuntak for a moment, and he seems so at peace. for one— he's able to sleep. his face is completely relaxed. he must be dreaming about something nice. something relaxing. all it does is drive seongje even more insane. how is hyuntak doing nothing right now and somehow still taking so much away from seongje? he can't sleep. can't get him out of his head. can't relax. can't do anything but think of their relationship.

seongje forces himself to look away, but not without double checking hyuntak's safety. he's pretty centered in his bed for moving around so much. his window is now closed and locked, and he thinks that’s enough for tonight. seongje silently closes the curtains just enough so the moonlight isn't hitting hyuntak's face as much, and heads towards the door. he leaves it ajar, like how everybody's left it, and abruptly sees something move in the corner of his vision.

it's just beomseok, but it's too late for seongje to take back the startled noise that comes out of his mouth. he jumps back a little bit and it's something so rarely provoked in him that beomseok cannot help but let out a small chuckle.

"thought you were asleep," seongje grumbles. he moves past beomseok a little quicker than intended.

"why? was i next?" beomseok raises an eyebrow playfully. he sees seongje shake his head with a tiny smile, and beomseok feels rather proud of himself. he's noticed that it's easy to fall into conversation with seongje now. they can speak for more than 30 seconds at a time. beomseok's actually gotten used to the amount of times seongje reloads and empties his revolver, among other weaponry. he still gets startled by the sound of his knives slicing into the air whenever seongje feels threatened (or fights with hyuntak), but progress is progress nonetheless.

beomseok has what seongje assumes is his current favorite book in his hand. seongje wanted to see what is was about, but the book is just a black hardcover. beomseok had lost the book's sleeve, so it was up to seongje's imagination. he could easily just ask, but he doesn't. and he's not entirely sure why either. beomseok's been reading it every chance he gets, and right now is no different. the silence that follows is comfortable, and seongje feels like beomseok's the only person he's able to share it with. everybody else finds some sort of way to leave, whether that be intentional or genuine. whether it's going to take a shower or a small chore they forgot to do, seongje was always left to himself. he appreciates that beomseok doesn’t leave as fast, either because he’s still too nervous to or because he’s just learned to deal with him.

"hyuntak wasn't as pale anymore, right? i always did think the doctor's discharged him too early." beomseok's comment comes out absentmindedly, which is truly how he meant it. but whatever way he meant it, it snaps seongje out of his inner tangent. seongje watches beomseok continue flipping through the pages of the mystery book. 

beomseok looks up when he doesn't hear a response, to find seongje's demeanor had changed in less than a second. beomseok isn't sure how to take it. he just— assumed that he and hyuntak were slowly getting to a point where they could be cordial to one another. ever since the hospital, they hadn't fought once. but they hadn't spoken either, now that beomseok was thinking about it. not a single word, up until their conversation earlier this evening.

seongje doesn't meet beomseok's eyes. with a scoff, he says, "i don't care."

and maybe beomseok was tired of walking on eggshells when hyuntak was brought up. maybe he's had enough of all this drama that not only burdens him, not only burdens everyone else in the house and most importantly, the mission. but it also burdens both seongje and hyuntak. maybe he doesn't know when to stop. "you watched over him every single day at the hospital."

"i don't see your point." seongje runs a hand through his hair and picks himself up from the wall. "goodnight, beomseok."

"really?" beomseok tilts his head slightly. there's a brief silence and he doesn't know if he's up for seongje pulling a knife on him right now, but again, his mouth continues to move before he can fully process his thoughts. "you wouldn't leave until the absolute last minute of visiting hours. you covered for everyone else's shift when something came up. you were the one that called ara for her abilities to keep him looking his best in unconsciousness, because you know he cares a lot about that stuff." at this point, beomseok had also gotten up from his seat and tossed his book onto the coffee table. the sound makes seongje flinch a little bit.

"i mean, seongje. you-"

"don't."

"you cried."

the silence that comes after that phrase makes beomseok want to cringe. his hands grip the closed book in his hands tightly. beomseok watches his knuckles turn right and promptly return back to his skin color. he definitely expects a knife to his throat right now, or something to narrowly miss the side of his head, but none of that ever comes.

the look in seongje tells beomseok that he himself just can't take it anymore. "okay."

beomseok stands there, trying to figure out what he meant by that 'okay', but seongje's voice is so quiet and his tone is so arid that beomseok feels an apology ready to roll off his tongue before he can stop himself. the apology gets caught in his throat when seongje picks himself up from the wall and moves out of the hallway. he's walking up the second staircase, and beomseok feels so out of place as he slowly begins following him.

they continue walking up the staircases until there are no more of them to walk through and they are on the rooftop of the building. there's a blanket directly in the middle of the flat roof, one beomseok hadn't seen before. seongje walks over and sits on top of it with a sigh.

"do you sit here often?" beomseok asks, following seongje's movements. the wind is cold and it brushes seongje's hair messily across his face. seongje has just showered too, and beomseok worries he might get sick. it's a very brief worry however— seongje's naturally a healer. he bounces back from anything faster than anybody else.

seongje smoothes the edges of the blanket on his side, "just when i need to clear my head."

"must be a lot," beomseok says. "i thought i heard a bunch of thudding on the roof when i go to sleep." seongje scoffs and nudges him. he pulls his revolver out of his waistband and places it next to him, tipping himself backwards and laying down. something in his pocket clatters against the metal material of the rooftop, and beomseok can safely assume it's one of his knives. seongje's gaze relaxes ahead of him. the sky is dark blue, the moon is full and bright. there isn't much haze out, and they cannot hear whatever is going on in the busy streets underneath them. beomseok watches seongje settle, watches the thoughts seem to form in his head.

"what do you think about the stars in the sky?"

beomseok blinks. "what?"

"the stars," seongje repeats. his voice is slightly slowed. "what do you think about them?"

and beomseok isn't sure how to respond to this. to say the question surprised him was an understatement, though he doesn't really know why. he definitely did not expect seongje to ponder about such things. but these past several weeks, he'd been learning a lot about him. for one, he has quite the sweet tooth. he's always the first one to try out sieun's pastries. he's super interested in soccer and practices whenever he has spare time. he's also learning chinese right now, because it helps him physically relax but exercise his mind at the same time. studying the stars seems just like something seongje would do now.

"uh, i dunno. i kind of always just thought of them as fireflies in the sky. but like, the upper sky?" beomseok shakes his head at himself. what a way with words.

but he can see seongje crack a smile at that, and this time it's a little wider.

"hyuntak was my best friend," seongje starts, and the air suddenly feels colder. he moves his hands into his jacket's pockets. "we met in first grade, inside the principal's office. he was in there to ask if it was okay for him to miss a day to send his mom off at the airport," seongje's eyes remain on the sky, like he's pleading with it to help him find his own words. beomseok nods his head slightly, "and what were you in there for?"

"stabbed a kid with a thumbtack."

"what a surprise," beomseok teases, but it's soft, careful.

seongje smacks him lightly in the chest, a ghost of a smile flickering through before he continues. he talks about how they used to meet at the sandbox every day during recess, then under the slide in middle school, then in classroom 08 once they made it to high school. he talks about being ability users in a world that didn’t want them. about how they promised to protect each other, forever.

and then his voice shifts. cracks.

tears start gathering in his eyes, and it pisses him off, but he doesn’t wipe them away. “he was my everything… he was my star.”

beomseok’s heart clenches at how broken seongje sounds. it isn’t just sadness, it's grief that’s been rotting beneath the surface for years.

“i don’t know what happened,” seongje says, voice shrinking like it's folding into itself. “i don’t know where we went wrong, what i did wrong. but it must’ve been something terrible. ”

beomseok waits, sensing there’s more.

“hyuntak outed my family and me as ability users. our final year of high school.”

the silence that follows is unnatural. like the whole world paused.

“i had no idea,” beomseok says eventually, quietly, his voice laced with disbelief. that wasn’t something that just happened. an ability user turning on another? their family ? that was a betrayal of the highest kind.

seongje chuckles, humorless. “we had to relocate over and over. my parents lived in fear. couldn’t send me to school, couldn’t go to sleep without checking the locks twice. every sound outside was a threat. they were afraid of just—just being . i don't think they slept a full night after that day. that night ruined them.”

beomseok watches as seongje stares up at the stars, like he’s trying to pin all this pain on something far away.

“you must’ve had a really hard time.”

seongje doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

“i never saw him again after that day,” seongje says quietly. “it was like he disappeared overnight. and i—i just never got it. never understood why. i’ve been asking myself why for years. it’s like i can’t live without knowing, but i also can’t survive if i do.”

his voice breaks again, and this time beomseok moves. he sits seongje up, unsure if he’s overstepping, but does it anyway. his hands settle on seongje’s shoulders, grounding.

seongje shakes his head over and over. “i don’t know why he did it,” he mumbles like a prayer he’s repeated a thousand times. “i don’t know why.”

beomseok doesn’t speak. he pulls seongje into a hug instead. strong. steady.

“i had my chance to ask him. so many times. when i saw him again. when we were stuck together. when he apologized, ” seongje chokes out. “but every time i try to bring it up, i shut down. i—i just get so angry. and scared. and angry again.”

beomseok stays quiet, listening.

“don’t think i went down easy, though,” seongje mutters, tugging off his glasses like they’re to blame for the tears in his eyes. “hyuntak was an insane fighter back then. better than me, even. but when i found out… we fought. by the volleyball nets. i blew out his knee. that was the end of his taekwondo career for good.”

beomseok’s breath catches. he doesn’t know what to say—because what is there to say? that seongje was justified? that hyuntak deserved it? that revenge always leaves a hollow pit behind? he settles for silence.

“i’ve been stuck, you know,” seongje says, eyes glassy. “looping the same questions. the same rage. if he finally tells me why he did it... i don’t even know what i’ll do. what if it doesn’t fix anything? what if i fall apart again?”

"it's so, so much easier saying to let these things go than to actually get over them. but it's never just 'things'. those who brush others off by saying that have never had something so awful happen to be them before." beomseok speaks towards the moon, but he can feel seongje listening to him.

"i am not going to tell you what to do. but im sure you know that holding on does more damage than letting go. but the anger, the confusion.. all of it, it will only consume you. it will drag you down so much until it.. it wins. it will lose you. and suddenly, your entire life revolves it. there's no peace. there's no room for anything else. having that rage. it's a very isolating pairing."

a gust of wind blows seongje's hair across his face. his face feels numb from being outside a while now, but this time the chills run down his neck and throughout his body, because beomseok's exactly right. if hyuntak gives him what he needs to hear, if he tells him why he outed him and his family as ability users to the world, then what? seongje's spent years angry, hurt, so incredibly obsessed with figuring out where and why his life took such a terrible turn, that his current life just revolves around it. the key to ending all of that is hyuntak. and when hyuntak does— if he does—end it, where does seongje stand afterwards? seongje realizes that the wave of emotion that blocks him from getting the answers he's been driving himself mad for is nothing but big, fat, and crippling insecurity. 

seongje is terrified. he has no idea how he'll take whatever hyuntak's response will be. he has no clue what he'll do after he finally knows, what he'll be after he finally knows. that uncertainty beats seongje's mind every single time he's close to the answers he needs.

seongje realizes he's been living in a vicious cycle of being uncertain and insecure. he wants nothing to do with those things, but they are exactly who he is. they're all that he is.

and now beomseok understands. it’s not just about the betrayal. it’s about what happens after.

“you don’t think i’m a bad person?” seongje asks, small, vulnerable. like he already knows the answer will break him.

“not even a little,” beomseok says.

there’s a pause. a long one. then, seongje quietly leans his head on beomseok’s shoulder.

"you seem to know a lot about... this,” he mutters.

“i’m still crawling out of something like this myself,” beomseok admits. “some days i think i did. some days i know i didn’t.”

and seongje did not need beomseok to elaborate any further. he can see and feel the exact emotions beomseok expresses just by that comment alone. to know he was not suffering alone, dulls the pain more than he ever thought possible.

for the first time in years, the weight doesn't feel unbearable.

Chapter Text

"please, hyuntak," jiwoo clasps her hands together. "can't you just pretend to like me?"

hyuntak doesn't even look up. he just smiles, warm and gentle, almost tender, but his tone is a scalpel. “i stopped pretending to like girls in high school." 

hyuntak doesn't look up from his sketchbook. he's in the middle of revising the final, added designs for his upcoming launch. the same launch that got delayed because, of course,  he’d been kidnapped and tortured for two weeks. the top-rated fashion magazines and tabloid gossipers were already plastering online articles and magazines about the 'fall of picturesque', and how the beginning of the end for the anonymous designer, and hyuntak would be damned letting those idiots drag his brand through the mud any second longer. he'll come back better than expected. sharper. colder . 

ara, who is sitting right next to him on the desk meant to only fit one, nudges hyuntak's arm. hyuntak still doesn't look up. come to think of it, he never invited anybody in here in the first place. everybody kind of just migrated into the office, humin telling him that it had the biggest television to watch the boxing match in. hyuntak felt like that was just a pathetic attempt at an excuse to keep him company and make sure he wouldn't be hauled up in the office the entire day. hyuntak knows better. they're worried. about him.

he lets them stay anyway.

jiwoo's shoulders slump into suho's chest, and hyuntak pays no mind to the daggers suho is staring into his soul. the determination in jiwoo's eyes doesn't dim for one second—- she will make hyuntak come around, one way or another. 

juntae is sitting on the floor, against the wall. he is typing away at his laptop, but he doesn't seem satisfied with anything he's doing because he just keeps pressing the 'delete' bar until he's left with a blank slate over and over again. next to him is humin and little nari, who is currently sitting on top of sieun's stomach. she's pinching his cheeks and tugging at the collar of his shirt. sieun moves his arms just far enough to keep nari in place, and nari bursts into a fit of loud giggles every single time she sways around.  

nari's laughter is definitely new to the building, and new to everybody. but it is warm and most definitely welcome. 

beomseok is tossing the remote of the 90-inch television in hyuntak's castle of an office, watching the boring infomercials. they were all there to watch a boxing match between two men that have been promising to beat each other months ago. none of them can be bothered to remember either of their names or where they're from, but one of the men is currently rumored to be an ability user because he's so fast and strong, so of course they all have to watch and see for themselves. 

"hey, where's seongje?" humin looks around the room. nobody answers. beomseok keeps his eyes on the infomercials and continues rhythmically catching the remote in his hand. "probably up on the roof."

hyuntak looks up from his sketchbook. 

"you look amazing, ara." jiwoo breaks the somewhat awkward silence and everybody mentally thanks her for it. ara smiles wide, and it always gets that much harder to look away from her when she does. she moves her chair closer to jiwoo, and is now sitting in front of hyuntak. 

ara is wearing an emerald, off-the-shoulder, asymmetrical cocktail dress. her black hair is up in a chignon. her diamond earrings glisten brightly. her crimson lipstick is perfectly placed. she is glowing . 

ara and jiwoo soon fall into conversation about their favorite types of dresses and ara's plans for the evening. jiwoo adjusts herself to face area, and suho's arm hugs her waist warmly. jiwoo places her hands over suho's arm subconsciously as ara shows her the invitation that was sent to picturesque .

"i'm going to seoul's annual fashion and textile trade-show. the most successful brands are going to be there, unveiling their best-selling launches and designs," ara holds up her journal and paper. "i always go as a journalist and nobody looks twice." she winks playfully at jiwoo. that's when jiwoo realizes that ara doesn't need to hypnotize a single mind in that event to get them to believe her. her mannerisms, the way she carries herself, the way her head always remains held high. whatever she says she's there to do, she is there to do. "i'll be writing on our competitors' newest ideas for the best boss ever, here." 

hyuntak does not miss the extra sweetness in ara's voice when she says that, but she should know by now that the kissing-up does not and will never work on hyuntak. 

"that event's a plus-one event," hyuntak doesn't look at ara when he speaks, as he is busy shading in the sleeves of the new dress he's revealing at his launch. "the plus-one is required for entry."

"i know that." ara says. 

"well, i'm definitely not the plus-one. i have to finish all this by tonight." 

"i know that, too."

hyuntak's mood sours in that same second. he traces over the lines of his sketch a little harder than he intends to. he's shaking his head and asks the one and only question he really doesn't want to ask. 

"then, who are you going with?"

ara sits in silence for a moment. hyuntak continues sketching. nobody speaks. the boxing match started and roars of cheers are coming from the television. ara and hyuntak are definitely people who refuse to keep their voices down, and hyuntak is just now realizing that the entire room is listening to them. 

that’s when something shifts. he knows what’s coming.

"hyuntak, don't do this again. please." ara is turning her head away from hyuntak and looking down at her lap. she's holding her clutch tightly in one hand. her other hand is around her necklace. the curb chain compliments ara's earrings beautifully. she runs her fingers around the sunflower pendant, made of the most extravagant colored diamonds hyuntak could get his hands on. the green, glimmering stem blends in smoothly with ara's emerald shade. hyuntak had that necklace made about a month ago. his plans for branching into the jewelry market are still in the works, but hyuntak wanted to see how good he was at designing jewelry. 

the necklace was originally for him, but ara wears it more than he does. they share jewelry all the time and it doesn't bother him. he might just have to confess that ara looks better in it than he does. 

"i'm not doing anything." hyuntak sounds bored, like he's been through this conversation a million times already. his responses and his attitude are obviously not sitting well with ara. she tightens her grip on the sunflower pendant. 

"you are not my father," she snaps, her voice rising for the first time. "you don’t get to interrogate me every time i breathe his name.  i do not respond to you about these things and i do not need you watching over me like some naive schoolgirl.” ara's face doesn't turn red. it's incapable of looking anything over than perfect. but her neck and chest are tainted with red. 

"okay," hyuntak scoffs, tracing over his mannequin's arms. he focuses in on its shoulder because it's slightly crooked. he's tired and his eyes hurt and he has so many things to prepare for. he does not have time to manage ara's feelings right now. "remind me of that when you come back home, crying to me at 3a.m about how much you hate him and how badly he treats you. maybe this time you'll finally realize you're just his bootycall." 

ara inhales sharply. it's such a soft sound, but it makes hyuntak look up from his work. ara's eyes are narrowed and her ruby red lips are pursed. her splotchy red chest rises and falls quickly. they stare at each other, hyuntak knowing the gravity of what he's just said, in front of people who did not need to hear it, knowing that he got to her right in her core. 

the room is silent. ara's hand is still around the sunflower pendant, and hyuntak is sure she's about to rip it off her neck and smash it into pieces on hyuntak's face. hyuntak would only deserve it. 

but she doesn't do any of that. ara doesn't let go of hyuntak's eyes until she turns around and walks out of the office, head held high and heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. 

hyuntak closes his sketchbook and stares at nothing in particular for the rest of the boxing match. 

the alleged ability user ends up winning, by the way. 

"sieun-ah, you're the only one that can settle this for us, once and for all." humin has never sounded more serious than right now, in this moment. his usual brightness has dimmed into something heavier, and now he and hyuntak both sit across from sieun at the kitchen table, waiting. watching. it’s mostly humin, but the intensity in the air makes sieun’s skin prickle. he swallows hard. 

"i can't believe you." humin looks over at hyuntak like he's a ghost. he's in disbelief. he's in denial. he feels like he doesn't even who hyuntak is at all anymore. 

they're sitting at the kitchen table with little nari, who is halfway through dismantling her sandwich sieun just made her. sieun's is right next to them in the kitchen, chopping carrots for the bibimpab he was making. or pretending to. 

"i'm not exactly thrilled with what i'm hearing about you either," hyuntak shakes his head. "i think i might have to drop you." 

humin scoffs. "yeah, right."

sieun can't bring himself to really pay attention to the way humin's eyes widen when hyuntak says he'll drop him. he just stares at them, then at little nari, who is sitting in her high chair and tearing apart the top piece of bread of the tiny suhodwich sieun just made her.

"okay." sieun finally says. he puts the knife down. "i have my answer now." 

humin and hyuntak lean towards him in their seats. 

sieun breathes deeply, "yes." 

humin sinks into his chair in defeat, and hyuntak smirks. 

"in what world would pineapple ever go on pizza?" humin asks his daughter hopelessly. nari just stares at him, playing with her smushed bread. 

hyuntak soon drapes an arm around humin's shoulders and lets his head loll onto his shoulder. "it's okay, baku. it’s clear not everybody can have a sophisticated palate."

sieun gives them a half-hearted, crooked grin. he goes back to chopping carrots, not particularly saying anything else. 

the sound of the cutting board fills the silence that settles. the sound is rhythmic and it reminds humin of his father. it reminds him of when he would come home from basketball practice in his high school days. his father always had to have freshly chopped onions with all of his food, whether the meal required onion or not. he often told humin that onions were his favorite medicine. onions had a bunch of antioxidants, anticancer, and nutritional properties. his father swore that the onions were what kept him intact, and humin couldn't really disagree. he pictures his father's face and his lack of disease that people his age usually develop. back when things were better between them. maybe it was because of all the onions he ate, after all. humin wonders how his father's doing now. 

while humin drifts into the headspace of his childhood hearing the sound of the cutting board, sieun is currently staring off ahead of him while chopping the carrots at the same time. he's been doing that for a few weeks now, and humin is surprised he hasn't cut himself yet. he watches uncomfortably for a few more seconds before nudging hyuntak’s arm. and just as they plan to center sieun's attention, he drops the knife. it clatters to the ground louder than expected. sieun winces, snatching his hand away from the cutting board and holding his hand against his chest. 

“sieun—!” humin’s chair scrapes back as he rushes to his side once he sees the blood stain his shirt and drip onto the floor.  hyuntak secures nari’s high chair quickly and bolts to get the first aid kit from upstairs.

“let me see.” humin gently pulls sieun’s hand forward. the gash between his thumb and index finger is bleeding heavily.

“sink,” he urges, guiding him toward the faucet. cold water runs red as the blood washes away.

hyuntak returns with gauze, and together, they work to clean and wrap the wound. sieun is swaying side to side and it looks like he might just fall backwards. humin puts an arm around him and together, he and hyuntak move to help him sit at the kitchen table. humin takes over putting pressure on the cut and hyuntak gets sieun a glass of water.

humin presses down on the gauze again. “you scared me,” he whispers. sieun doesn’t respond. he just stares at the floor, eyes distant. humin tries again, softer this time. “what’s going on with you?”

sieun exhales shakily. “the vegetables are all different sizes. the meat’s probably expired. and nari’s just... tearing apart her sandwich. all she wanted was turkey. i wasted all that time.”

his voice cracks at the end. he hears how bitter he sounds and immediately regrets it. “i’m sorry.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” humin says, quietly trading places with hyuntak to pick up the discarded bread. he tosses it, then returns to sieun’s side. “you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed.”

humin gives hyuntak sieun's hand and picks up the bread nari dropped on the floor, tossing it in the trash can. he sits back down next to sieun and pats his shoulder. sieun leans on him tiredly. "you have nothing to apologize for."

"i don't know," sieun says, pathetically. "i haven't been sleeping well. i guess i was half-asleep chopping those vegetables, or something. i don't know." the repetition makes humin’s chest ache. sieun always knows . he’s the anchor, the steady one. but now, he’s drifting. drowning. because he doesn't know. he doesn't know anything at this point.  

humin and hyuntak acknowledge sieun's words, but sieun can tell that they don't believe him. and how can they? sieun has always been the friend you can keep at an arm's length. he's always ready to help you out whenever you need it. sieun's serious and stoic all the time, like it's his only setting, but he’s the kindest one of them all. his happiest place is the kitchen, where he goes about trying new recipes from different parts of the world and dreams about taking culinary classes with the world's most famous chefs.

sieun takes another deep breath. humin and hyuntak don’t push. that’s the thing sieun appreciates most about them. they never push. but right now, a part of him wishes they would. maybe it would give him the courage to finally speak. he thinks it'll finally give him the courage, or something. it only makes what he wants to say harder than ever.

and maybe sitting here, letting everything get to him once again, was his last straw. 

he sits in silence, fingers twitching around the glass of water hyuntak handed him. then, he straightens his spine and stares down at his bandaged hand. despite the surge of confidence, his voice is barley audible as he finally asks, "how do you get over somebody?" 

humin furrows his brows slightly and hyuntak doesn’t even blink—like he already knew. sieun very briefly wonders if they're, like, twin flames or something. he read something about that term the other day while he was scrolling through his phone, and it doesn't surprise him that the first people that popped in his head were them.

"i'm sorry." sieun is getting up from his seat. "forget it. i don't even what i'm talking about. i'm just really tired."

"sieunie," humin reaches out and grabs his hand. the contact is so tender, it nearly breaks sieun. he’s not ready to say it. not really. but it’s bleeding out of him anyway. 

he promised he wouldn't tell anybody about suho. suho promised the same thing. but sieun can't continue to talk to jiwoo, cook with her, and be in her presence when he knows that's suho's girlfriend and for some ridiculous reason he is still not over suho. it's breaking little pieces of his heart day by day, and sieun doesn't want to go through that process all over again. he's still in the middle of it, trying to piece himself back together like a broken puzzle, and being here just feels like a crushing hand messing up everything he's managed to build so far. 

"i'm sorry." sieun sinks back into his seat with such exhaustion he doesn't think he'll be moving out of it any time soon. 

"how long have you been hurting?" humin's voice is gentle and sweet and it feels like sieun's heart is receiving the biggest hug ever. hyuntak’s tentative gaze feels no different. 

"i'm better now," sieun says, but it sounds like he's trying to assure himself more than humin and hyuntak. they're not showing or being judgmental whatsoever, but sieun is too scared to admit out loud that he's been a complete mess ever since he and suho broke off their engagement. it sounds pathetic, admitting that someone you didn't even know existed for the majority of your life can have such a hold on you, even when you don't know where they are, or how they're doing, or if they're okay. "just not.. fully over it."

sieun tries his hardest to remain neutral. but the flush in his cheeks betrays him. hot and bright. he looks down. he’s unraveling and he can’t stop it.

 lies. just a bunch of lies. he doesn't know why he can't just open his mouth and say what he feels, say what he wants. he used to be great at doing that. at being blunt. 

"sieun," humin shifts in his chair slightly and looks at humin. "can i ask you a very personal question right now?" his sweet tone makes sieun let his guard down despite him trying his best to keep it up. he nods. 

“… is this about suho?"

and sieun feels everything come to a scary stop. his breathing stops right in his throat. his heart stops beating in his chest. the world stops its bustling activity around the world. the universe stills. everything and everybody just comes to a screeching halt.

sieun's mind kind of shuts off. it's blank, a stark contrast to the overflowing thoughts that were just seeping outside of his being. and maybe it was the thing he needed all along. 

"how did you know?"

“please,” hyuntak’s eyes are as sharp as always, but his voice is the softest anyone’s ever heard before. he just gives him a lopsided smile. “… it's as obvious as the pineapple on pizza."

sieun looks like he’s about to cry. "so much for trying to keep it a secret."

it goes quiet for a while after that. sieun sits, trying his best to collect and compose himself. humin and hyuntak try their best to leave him alone without actually leaving him alone.

"there’s no timeline for heartbreak,” humin murmurs. “not when the love was real.” humin says. he watches sieun's hair fall into his eyes and makes sure to keep his voice down. "i don't know how long you were with suho, but i just want you to know that your feelings over this are and will always be valid."

"sieun," hyuntak grabs both of his hands. and sieun looks at him with slightly wider eyes. this was very off-brand for hyuntak to do, but he somehow likes it. "you might just be my favorite person in this house." 

humin makes a surprised sound with my mouth and it makes all three of them crack a smile. hyuntak rolls his eyes at humin before returning to sieun, "right after humin. or maybe even alongside him, i guess. whatever. but, if push comes to shove— and i already think it has, i would leave."

sieun's teary eyes widen a little at that, like it was what he least expected out of hyuntak. but hyuntak just looks at him with a small smile, serious yet comforting at the same time. 

"nobody should be in such high stress environments. you haven't slept right since we started this assignment. it's been months. juntae's plans are only getting more complex because we thought we'd finish this by the end of the week when we all agreed to do it." sieun doesn't realize hyuntak’s holding his other hand until he squeezes it. humin seems to continue hyuntak’s thoughts for him, "you have such a kind and strong soul for wanting to help juntae out, but everybody has their limits. your limit is just as important as everybody else's." 

and for some reason, that tugs at something in sieun's chest. he couldn't exactly describe what it was, but it feels deep and tiring and oh so frustrated. sieun shuts his eyes and takes a long and deep breath. 

sieun is tired. of pretending. of being okay. of holding everything in while the people around him keep unknowingly pressing on bruises he can’t begin to explain. when humin and hyuntak finally sit him down — warm, loving, relentless — something in him begins to crack.

he doesn't want to talk about suho. he shouldn’t talk about suho. but there’s only so long a person can quietly fall apart before someone notices the seams. and today, in the kitchen with the smell of bibimbap in the air and nari babbling in the background, the weight becomes too much.

and when his blood spilled, it was no longer about pizza or cutting vegetables or keeping his secret. it was about everything sieun has tried so hard to hide. the exhaustion. the heartbreak. the loneliness. the fact that the person he loved, that he still loves, left, and no amount of distractions or chopped carrots can fill that hole.

humin is gentle. hyuntak is unexpectedly kind. and for the first time in a long time, sieun feels seen. not as the responsible one, not as the helper, not as the steady presence in the background, but as someone breaking quietly, needing someone to ask him if he’s okay and really mean it.

because healing doesn’t happen all at once. and love doesn’t always leave cleanly. sometimes it sits in your chest, heavy and cruel. but with humin’s hand in his, and hyuntak’s eyes full of understanding, sieun finds the courage to finally say the words:

“… i want to tell you everything.”

hyuntak wants to throw himself out of his window. 

his clothing is splattered all around his room, like his closet had just thrown up. he has blazers hanging off the bed, jeans littered across his desk, and pairs of heels and boots and slippers all over the floor, completely mismatched. now, he's overwhelmed. he wants to push everything aside and stare the other way for the rest of the night. maybe deciding to spontaneously organize his room wasn't such a good idea after all. 

what was he even thinking? hyuntak has always been a neat-freak. his closest already was organized. 

he feels like he's been putting his clothing away for hours, only to find the same mess whenever he turns back around. hyuntak pushes a black boot out of the way and sits on the floor. he brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin on them, swaying slightly. hyuntak reaches up to grab the table top mirror on his desk. he checks the plastic bag he'd just wrapped around his head in the midst of his awfully messy room. then, he looks at the pair of scissors he used to cut off his hair. his bangs were way past his eyes, and the back of his head was getting messy. 

of course hyuntak didn't know how to cut his hair, much less deep condition it— which is what he was doing right now. he's not sure why he's doing this, either. all he knows is that he's here, sitting with fresh conditioner in his hair because he spontaneously decided he needed a hair change, too. he doesn't know why he even dared change his hair. he could've easily just gone to a salon. or booked an appointment to get someone to help him in the comfort of his own room. hyuntak stares at himself in the mirror, and the plastic bag on his head, and scoffs pathetically. 

ara's always the one to do his hair. 

hyuntak throws the mirror across the room with a huff. he doesn't realize juntae's by the door until the mirror cracks by a pair of worn out, cream-colored sneakers. 

"hi." juntae sounds a little confused. "just came to check on you. you didn't come down for dinner. and sieun's playing a card game with beomseok and humin, he's inviting you to play."

hyuntak's eyes dart around the room for something, anything to cover his head right now. he's in sweatpants, different colored socks, and a worn out t-shirt with a hole by his collarbone. in that same moment, he decides it's useless. juntae's seen him without his face on, with no supernatural touch, post-kidnapped. he doesn't think it gets any worse than that, to be honest. 

"i'm not hungry."

"you haven't eaten all day." juntae says. 

"didn't realize you were watching me."

it slips out colder than intended, but he can’t take it back. and his chest still aches, hearing juntae care.

somebody walks behind juntae, and from the shadow alone hyuntak can guess it's seongje because he’s just a little taller. hyuntak finds himself trying to hide the plastic bag on his head and cover up the mess in his room with both hands simultaneously. "close the door," he rasps. "please."

juntae steps in, nearly trips on a boot, but closes it anyway. hyuntak’s face burns. his gaze skips frantically across the room.

“how did i even own this much shit?” his voice cracks, defeated. “where was i hiding it all?”

he hides his face in his hands, breath catching. he doesn’t even know if he’s talking about his closet anymore. juntae doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. the room speaks for itself.

“is this about ara?”

hyuntak lifts his head slowly. juntae picks up a discarded shirt and folds it, setting it on the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. then he sits across from hyuntak, mirroring him with knees to chest, chin resting on top. like they’re kids hiding from the storm.

juntae says nothing, just keeps folding. matching shoes. sorting chaos.

"everything in my closet is so expensive, it hurts to think i'll have to get rid of some of it." hyuntak grabs the nearest pair of jeans next to him. they're black and made custom fit. juntae continues folding up whatever is near him and lines up the mismatched shoes by hyuntak's bed. he lets hyuntak go on about not wanting to let anything go because it all has some sort of sentimental value to him. he tells him random stories about wherever he bought the blazer or suit juntae was folding. 

"have you talked to her?" 

hyuntak stops talking about the vintage ed hardy jeans he found the one and only time he set foot in a thrift store a few years back. "you're not helping me relax."

juntae just looks at him, and hyuntak sighs in defeat. 

"no." hyuntak nudges a random slipper into the line juntae was making. "but she hasn't, either. and no—- i don't know if i should." he sets the gray blazer down, sits on his bed, and starts talking, like this is a normal routine they've established. talks like they’ve done this before. like juntae’s always been his safe place.

"i know in.. a lot of situations, i can crush with an iron fist when i should be handling it with a velvet glove." hyuntak begins talking with his hands, and it always distracts juntae. he's just as shocked by it, because juntae's focus has always been razor sharp. he always does what he has to get done and with time to spare. but whenever it comes to hyuntak, his focus kind of just.. disintegrates. now, he's watching hyuntak make a fist with one hand and lay the other one out. his hands start to move around, and it just makes juntae that much more interested.

"-but i know what i said wasn't exactly subtle. it was mean. and i know i shouldn't have-" hyuntak waves his hand in front of juntae's face. when juntae regains his attention on hyuntak's eyes, he's glaring at him. "you didn't hear a word i just said, did you?"

"i did," juntae blinks a few times. "i just think the truth is the truth. people hate hearing it, especially when it comes from someone who loves them.” 

the word love lingers. neither of them say anything about it.

hyuntak says he was trying to protect her. juntae says he believes that. hyuntak says he doesn’t think she’ll forgive him. juntae says she will. hyuntak acknowledges juntae's words.

"i do not know ara as well as you do. yet, i do agree that her dating business is definitely hers." juntae says. hyuntak visibly deflates at juntae's words, even though he tries his hardest not to let it get to him. "it was a rather.. interesting choice of words, but i know that you care for her. you were just doing your due diligence as a friend, and looking out for her. reaching out to her will make things better, for the both of you. she might not be thrilled with you right now, but she is your best friend. i know both of you will settle things." then juntae grabs his hand, just does it out of nowhere, and hyuntak forgets how to breathe. "good luck. i don't want you to be upset anymore."

everything in hyuntak's room suddenly melts away into nothing when juntae touches him. it happens every single time, and hyuntak can't believe all the ridiculous things juntae does to him just by his mere presence. 

"i'm going to wash this off, now." hyuntak announces. he slowly lets go of juntae and stands up, "thank you, juntae."

juntae smiles. he's still sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest and hyuntak is trying so hard not to stare. he begins to think maybe he let the whatever the hell is in the conditioner sit for too long earlier, because juntae just fucking glows in his eyes every time he smiles. 

hyuntak thinks about nothing yet everything for his entire shower, when he stares at his newly cut hair, when he dresses into his cobalt blue silk pajamas. it's only when he finds that he has absolutely no bruises or scratches on him, he begins to think about seongje. because seongje is the only one that could make that possible. 

hyuntak is surprised when he walks back out of his bathroom to find juntae in the same spot he left him, on his computer. he's even more shocked that all of his clothing is neatly folded and stacked according to item on the floor and on his desk. his shoes are matched together and lined up. 

"you can sit on my bed, you know." hyuntak says. juntae was so focused on what he was doing, he didn't notice hyuntak even come into the room. juntae jumps a little. the computer almost falls out of his lap, but he manages to catch it in time. juntae breaths a small sigh of relief, but all the air in his lungs disappears when he looks up.

juntae didn't know hyuntak had cut his hair. it's no longer in his eyes as much. it's slightly messy, spiked at the tips. it makes his eyes darker, yet more lively. juntae always told himself hyuntak would look good in anything, and he’s right. but this hit something in him harder than he would've ever expected. something as simple as a hair cut. something hot and tempered spreads across his chest, and juntae feels it outwardly blooming on his cheeks. the room suddenly feels ten times smaller. his hands clam up on the keyboard and for the life of him, he just can't seem to look away.

"is there something on my face?" hyuntak asks. juntae does not miss the slight panic in his voice, and forces himself to redirect his gaze despite everything in him not wanting to. he shakes his head, "n-no, there's nothing." he physically rubs his hand across his throat when he hears himself stutter. "sorry." 

juntae looks at hyuntak again, then back at his computer. his eyes dart between the two like he's watching a tennis match, and juntae seriously does not know why the hell it feels like his brain is melting right now. he abruptly slams his laptop shut and stands up, turning away from hyuntak and rubbing his eyes like its their fault this is happening to him.

"i, uh, i tried organizing everything over here." juntae stares down at hyuntak's clothing in hopes to recollect himself. his breathing is slightly shallow. "you said you had to get rid of a few things, and you have a lot of blazers and pant suits that look identical, so i put those articles of clothing here. maybe you can donate them, or something." juntae purses his lips right after he's done talking even though hyuntak can't see it. he sounded so weird right now, like he had just run a marathon. and what's weirder is that juntae is critiquing himself on his own voice right now. he's never done that before. 

hyuntak doesn't seem to notice, though, because he's looking at the pile of neatly stacked clothing juntae is saying he should give up with a frown on his face. "i can't let this one go," he says. "this is a calvin klein exclusive piece from last year. i mean, it's out of season, yeah. but i wore it for thanksgiving." 

"okay." juntae says. "what about this one?"

“no, no,” hyuntak responds. “this one took over a month to get to me. i waited too long to throw it away.”

juntae tries about a thousand more times. he quickly begins to realize they are going to get nowhere doing this.

"hey, hyuntak." juntae says. he sits back down on the cleared floor. hyuntak briefly thinks of telling juntae to just get on his bed, but he repeats his words back to himself and decides it's best not to say that. 

"you know how your parents were always gone because they were traveling?" juntae looks at the cardboard box of cherry chapsticks under hyuntak's desk. now that he's gotten a chance to look, he notices there's cherry chapstick everywhere in the room. there's one on his desk. another on his nightstand. one on the window sill. 

hyuntak gives him a quizzical look. he remembers talking to juntae briefly about this upbringing the day he went to replace the things he lost in the fire. his parents, both owners of different technology companies, were never home. "how could i forget." he says flatly. 

juntae ignores the sting in his chest hearing hyuntak's disheartening voice. he takes the blazer out of hyuntak's hand. "based on the pattern i'm seeing from you right now, i think you're afraid to let go."

hyuntak stares at juntae wide eyed, and juntae raises both his hands in surrender before he continues. "your parents were always gone. the babysitters were different every week because none of them could look after you long term. the only constant you had was your belongings." juntae gives hyuntak the blazer back. "these brands never left you."

hyuntak stares down at the blazer in his hands. his mind drifts back to his childhood and adolescence. he thinks about the strangers in fancy suits that took him to school, picked him up, and the long silence on the way home. he thinks about how he pretty much had that entire mansion to himself. he thinks about how, by the time he turned seven years old, he realized it was useless getting to know the names of the nannies that looked after him. as much as it hurt hyuntak to admit, sometimes he couldn't remember his parents' faces. it cracks his heart just a little bit each time he thinks about it. he never got to experience his mother's or father's youth. he never got to experience what it felt like to see your parents at a recital in kindergarten, or at a play in high school, or those annoying teacher-parent conferences every school cycle. they always had been distant, and hyuntak believed that was the worst punishment of all— that it would never get worse than that. their relationship was hanging on by a damaged piece of flimsy, thin thread, but it was there nonetheless. then came the night he told his parents he would be pursuing fashion instead of tech after he dropped out, and that thread had finally been cut. 

"you know, i think you're right." hyuntak finally says, and juntae releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. hyuntak folds the blazer and places in back on the bed. he pulls out a couple of duffel bags from under his bed. he tosses the sheets and unzips them. "that entire pile you made? let's bag it up and give it away." 

juntae doesn't know what his face does when he hears this, but hyuntak has to move forward and physically has to close juntae's mouth. the feeling of his fingers on his jaw he feels like he's been flung into a fire. hyuntak looks unimpressed at juntae's attempt to gather himself. "are you sure? you didn't even look over anything else."

hyuntak's eyes shake just a little, but his voice is honeyed and honest and juntae feels like he could listen to it all day, "i trust you."

juntae forgets how to stand. how to speak. hyuntak has to reach forward and gently close his mouth. his fingers graze juntae’s jaw, and juntae feels like he’s combusting from the inside out. he has never once in his life experienced such lightness of his body, the tingling across every inch of his skin.

those three words ring in his head like a song. i trust you.

and just like that—everything changes.  

juntae just cannot speak. the words are a jumbled mess in his brain and he really does not appreciate the embarrassment that waves over him. he manages to nod his head, and hyuntak starts moving before him, visibly jittery. "hurry. i'm about to lose my mind staring at this mess for another second."

juntae puts everything to donate into the duffel bags while hyuntak rearranges what he's keeping in his closet. it's considerably less than what he started with. and while that thought startles him a bit, the absolute serenity of seeing his room neat and tidy again makes the unsettlement in him diminish that same instant. 

juntae moves towards hyuntak's door and places the duffel bags near it. when he turns back around, hyuntak's holding a shy, closed hand out towards him. "here." 

it's a cherry chapstick, fresh out of his cardboard box.

"for helping me declutter and.. realize a few things, tonight." his cheeks are rosy and his smile is shy and juntae just feels all the blood congeal in his veins. he would like to continue staring at hyuntak, but then remembers that it makes him nervous, so he forces himself to stare at the chapstick in his hands.

juntae would like to say again that he doesn't know what's wrong with him. he's sure there's a couple of screws loose in his brain, because he's never malfunctioned this badly before. he would like to return to normal as promptly as possible, and somehow he feels like touching hyuntak would not help right now.

he stares at hyuntak, then at the chapstick, then back again. it should be easy. say thank you. take the gift. keep breathing. but his body doesn't understand ease right now, everything about hyuntak is too much. too close. too warm. juntae accepts the chapstick with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb. hyuntak notices, but lets it slide. he’s had a long day too. no need to poke the bear.

“thank you,” juntae says, quietly, like the words might explode if he’s not careful.

"not the compensation you expected?" hyuntak asks. juntae is ready to tell him that is absolutely not true and he enjoyed the time he spent with him, but realizes by the playfulness in hyuntak's tone that he's not actually upset. the way he didn't catch it initially startles him just a little. 

hyuntak looks at his nails and pretends to be bored. "well, you out of everyone knows that this particular brand is very special to me. not just anybody gets one." he chuckles. "and you already have a custom made picturesque pantsuit. don't know how much more valuable you want to get here. honestly, i’m running out of ways to spoil you.” 

juntae laughs. just a soft, breathy thing—but hyuntak feels it everywhere. it reverberates in his chest like a melody he didn’t know he missed.

the laptop on the floor pings, and juntae turns his head immediately.

hyuntak gives up on finding ways to tell juntae to get on his bed and sits back down next to him. he watches juntae stare at his laptop like it's the bane of his existence.  

"none of my patterns line up with each other." juntae sighs. hyuntak looks at his laptop and has no idea what part of it he's seeing. there's a bunch of serial numbers, a 3D-design of what is shaped to be an eye, and neon green pixels surrounding it underneath a black screen. the pixels are intertwined with each other pretty much perfectly at first sight and it looks like the world's most confusing puzzle. juntae pulls out the tiny cube in his pocket, and his cyberdesk starts up. he moves his screen from his laptop and to the cyberdesk so they have a better view. “it’s like every sequence breaks the second i try to match it with anything.”

juntae moves the airy screen that’s floating up and down, left and right. but no matter how many times he looks at it, the reality is he is still at square one. he has no idea whose eye that scan belongs to, and isn't even sure if his blueprints are an exact match to the technology he encountered at the boutique. 

"it's a set of sequences that i just can't seem to get right." juntae stares at the designs he's made blankly, and the sheer strain in Juntae’s voice is impossible to ignore. hyuntak sighs, closing his eyes and moving his head side to side. he thinks he must've slept at an awkward angle last night, because his neck had been sore the entire day. 

"hey," hyuntak is tilting his head to the right, then again to the left. he moves closer until he's pretty much pressed up into the airy screen. "parts of your pixels here don't have a match." 

juntae looks only slightly offended, and hyuntak rolls his eyes. "oh relax, brainiac. everybody makes mistakes sometimes." 

juntae scoots closer to the screen and is staring straight at it, right where hyuntak is pointing, and doesn't see this alleged mistake whatsoever. the confusion must be clear on his face, because hyuntak grabs the sides of his head and tilts it to the left side. 

sure enough, juntae sees through the crevices of his design that some of his pixels do not connect to each other. juntae zooms into that edge piece, and he sees hundreds other pixels that seem to actually be missing their match. 

juntae starts typing on the cyberdesk, and the replica focuses in on the crevice hyuntak's looking at. 

"the cones and rods," juntae whispers to himself. his head feels like it's been set on fire. he's excited and nervous and just trying to keep it all under control. he zooms into what hyuntak was looking at and keeps his head tilted, so he finally can see it too. there's missing parts of his design that he had completely skipped over. "there's way more rods than cones—- about one cone for every twenty rods."

hyuntak has always seen juntae immersed in his work, but seeing it this close up makes his chest tight. he tries to focus on anything else other than the way juntae scrunches his nose and furrows his brows when he's in his thinking process. 

"wait. but, that would mean that it's— it's not a human eye?"

"probably not. but then again, i have no idea what you're even talking about, so you're asking the wrong person." hyuntak says. 

realization flashes across juntae's face, and hyuntak can see the physical spark in his eyes. the excitably in his muscles jumpstart as he practically dives towards hyuntak. "taka, you're a genius!"

the laptop tumbles out of juntae's laptop and juntae only barely manages to catch himself from smacking hyuntak right in the face by placing his arms on the sides of his head.  

their faces are merely inches apart. hyuntak can feel juntae's shallow breathing on his face. he can see the redness blaze across his cheeks, his long lashes, a neck mole he hadn't ever seen before. 

juntae cannot remember the last time he was this physically close to another person, but it hits him in that very moment he never has been this close to another person. ever before. he immediately becomes fearful, but cannot bring himself to get up just yet. 

because hyuntak is underneath him, wide-eyed, with pure shock on his face, and it makes juntae's stomach coil in that very second. he notices that hyuntak naturally has a pink hue to him. his cheeks and his lips and the skin around his eyelids are all this specific, same shade of rosy pink. it fits him to perfection and juntae doesn't know what to do with this realization. hyuntak's bangs are also the tiniest bit uneven, but you would have to be this close to even notice it in the first place. there’s less than a breath between them—no space for logic, no room for excuses. hyuntak can even see every tiny freckle across juntae’s nose, the tremble in his lips, the wild panic in his eyes.

his heart is a drum against his ribs. he can’t move. doesn’t want to move. but he has to.

"i'm so sorry!" juntae finally gathers his words and jumps off of hyuntak. he lands on his laptop's keyboard and doesn't even think about the potential damage he just caused it. it probably hurt, but with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he couldn't feel a single thing right now. 

hyuntak is on his feet within half a second, and juntae is following suit. hyuntak looks... well, juntae can't even tell how he looks. his brain isn't in his head right now. 

"hyuntak, i'm-"

"i think i'm gonna go see ara, now." hyuntak says. his voice is quiet and a little shaky and juntae doesn't know what to think of it. hyuntak reaches for the jacket on his desk chair and is out of the room faster than juntae can even blink. 

and the room, once so full of noise and chaos and possibility, falls painfully, breathlessly still. the door clicks shut behind hyuntak, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

juntae doesn't move.

his pulse is still thudding in his ears, and every nerve in his body feels miswired—like his entire operating system just crashed and is trying to reboot. the air feels too still. his laptop lies half-open and blinking on the floor, but he can't focus on the screen.

all he can focus on is what’s in his hand.

the chapstick.

cherry-scented. sealed. utterly harmless. but it might as well be ticking like a bomb. he stares at it like it’s a puzzle he’s never going to solve.

it’s warm from his palm. a tiny object with too much weight. something so small shouldn’t make his chest feel like this—tight and aching and hot all at once. his fingers curl around it carefully, like it might vanish if he holds it too hard. his thumb brushes the ridged cap once, and he swears he feels his heart stutter. he should put it down.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he sinks to the floor.

his back hits the bedframe and he slides down until he’s just sitting there, knees up, heart unraveling, fingers still wrapped around the gift like it’s proof of something real. something fragile and new and terrifying. he presses the chapstick to his forehead and lets out a laugh. just one. quiet and stunned.

“what the hell is wrong with me,” he whispers.

no one answers. the room is still.

but in his hand, the chapstick stays warm. like a moment he can't undo.

like maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to.

hyuntak can still hear his heartbeat in his ears. it pounds like a second hand on a broken clock — too fast, too loud, out of sync with everything else.

his fingers grip the steering wheel until they go bloodless, the leather creaking beneath his hold. Then he lets go. only to squeeze again, like maybe pressure can stop the wave of nervousness that’s been rising in him.

it’s been half an hour. he’s almost at the manor, where he’s praying ara still is. he tried checking her location, but her phone was off. or worse — she blocked him from seeing it. that wouldn’t surprise him. if she packed up and left for her loft three hours away, he wouldn’t blame her. but he’d still beg her to come back.

hyuntak is greeted by jaesuk and two security guards. he sees their shoulders relax when they realize it's him incessantly knocking on the door. and hyuntak would've entered quietly, but he forgot his house keys on his desk when he practically ran out of his room. 

someone offers him water, food, his house slippers. he declines them all. he can’t stomach anything right now. he just heads straight up the stairs, his footsteps too loud against the marble, too hollow in this big, echoing house. usually the rhythm of walking here calms him. not tonight.

he finally reaches the guest room across his actual room, where ara had designated it to be hers exclusively. she claimed it from the beginning, said it with a smirk like she was doing him a favor. “you don’t have any other friends anyway,” she’d teased. and she wasn’t wrong. she never was.

hyuntak exhales and stands there for too long, cracking his knuckles, wiping his hands on his pants, steeling himself.

hyuntak finally knocks on the door and feels like the biggest loser in the world doing so, because hyuntak never knocks on the door. he and ara were way past that point. but now that hyuntak feels he's pretty much thrown everything out the window, he has no idea what to do now. 

at first, there is no response. hyuntak wants to facepalm himself. of course not. It’s late. she’s asleep. or gone. or ignoring him — all of which he deserves. hyuntak feels like an absolute fool and is grabbing his phone from his pocket, ready to incessantly call ara once again. he leans against the door and is scrolling through his contacts when the weight he is leaning on abruptly moves backwards. hyuntak stumbles slightly, heart lurching in his chest, and whirls around way faster than he intends to.

she’s in those silk cobalt blue pajamas, the matching set they bought together. she’d insisted they get both colors, then wore them with pride. she looks... tired. ara's eyes are wet and her chest is still blotchy. she looks exhausted despite her perfect hair and face, because hyuntak has grown to look past typical expressions. he can see that there's no glimmer in her eyes despite all the crying she's been doing. her hair is all over her face, which is her biggest pet peeve. she has just a tiny smudge of vanilla frosting on the corner of her mouth. her comfort food. her go-to.

hyuntak wants to cry.

ara leaves the bedroom door open and climbs into her bed without saying a single thing. hyuntak sticks his shaky hands in his pockets as he lets himself in. he watches ara pull her satin, lush covers over her head— another thing she hates because she can't breathe under there. she must be desperate to disappear tonight.

and hyuntak stands in silence. 

her window is open because ara likes to sleep in a colder room, and hyuntak can hear the breeze of the wind whistle its way inside the room. or, maybe he's making that up and what he thinks he's hearing is actually the ringing in his ears, still echoing with the things he should’ve never said.

hyuntak inhales deeply and moves towards the bed, where he finally sits by ara's head. hyuntak says nothing again for a while, his mouth dry as sand. 

"ara-"

ara pushes herself closer towards the wall and burrows herself deeper into her sheets. "if you're here to gloat about how right you were, just get it over with already."

"i'm here to apologize." hyuntak says, something even ara hasn't heard him say more than once in the years of them knowing each other. 

"i'm really sorry." hyuntak's voice feels closer to her this time. "i shouldn't have acted like such a dick. i was cruel. and i had no right to say what I said in front of everyone. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t... kind.”

ara slowly turns to face hyuntak. her bed sheets and covers ruffle, and it's the only actual sound hyuntak has heard since getting here. 

"you were right." ara whispers, like it would physically hurt her if she said it any louder. "you were always right," she moves closer to hyuntak and rests her head on his chest. she sounds absolutely exhausted. "he dumped me." 

ara feels the irritated sigh hyuntak heaves out. he exhales through his nose, rage blooming behind his ribs.  "he did not ."

"i was there." 

"that. fucking -"

"don't." ara wipes at her eyes and sniffles. "part of me always knew i had it coming. he just doesn't care about me. you've told me that so many times and i just don't listen. i just... didn’t want to believe it. so, here i am."

hyuntak falls right into bed with her and brings her into such an embrace, you'd think hyuntak hadn't seen her in years. ara hugs him back the exact same way, because it did feel like years to them. not talking for a whole day felt like forever in their time. 

and hyuntak knows this idiot must've said something so horrible to her—- ara is usually the one to wipe hyuntak's tears in the late night. 

"ara, i'm so sorry." hyuntak whispers again. ara sighs and looks up at him. her eyes are still teary and hyuntak wants nothing more than to take all the pain she must be feeling and keeping it for his own heart. “i should’ve been gentler. i should’ve protected you.”

"i know you are," ara says. "and i forgive you. i always do. i know how hard it is for you to say that. especially like this. you’re in your inside pajamas. you’re practically naked. either way, i know you love me, and i know you care about me." 

hyuntak can only chuckle at that before returning back to silence. he didn't think this conversation would be so short and is ready to apologize once more, but he also knows that another one of ara's pet peeves is when someone is constantly repeating themselves within a short time frame. ara abruptly sits up and turns to hyuntak with a tiny smile on her face, like she knew what hyuntak was ready to say.

"your hair is, like, super choppy." ara plays with a lock of hyuntak's hair before resting her face back in the crook of hyuntak's neck. 

hyuntak shuts his eyes and feels his hair himself. "i figured juntae was just trying to be nice."

ara lights up at that, and hyuntak is only slightly regretting saying it. 

"what exactly did juntae say?" ara playfully slaps hyuntak's arm and is rising from the bed, rummaging through her vanity. she comes back with scissors in hand, waving it like a flag.

just like that, the warmth starts to return.

and they're back together again.

Chapter Text

seven years ago , sieun sat alone in the wet sand, knees tucked to his chest, the soft hush of the ocean curling around his thoughts like a blanket. the beach stretched out on either side of him, golden and endless, and for once, it felt like no one was watching. no one was laughing at him. no one was calling him names under their breath.

he liked the sea—how big it was, how ancient. it didn’t care who he was. it didn’t ask him to be different. it didn’t expect anything from him. it just let him exist. the different colors, shapes, sounds that the shells make fascinated him so much that he never wanted to leave. he felt as if he was the only soul meeting the soft ocean waves, so enthralled in filling his pockets with shells that he started giving them different stories as to how they wondered up on this very shore. 

his hands were sandy and damp, his sleeves rolled awkwardly high to avoid the splashes, and in his lap was a small collection of seashells; pale pinks, spiral blues, chipped whites. some were broken, but sieun liked the broken ones better. they had stories and scars. a little like him.

this was where sieun can unravel, where he can completely be himself. 

he was threading them, one by one, onto a thin piece of black elastic he’d brought from home, unsure whether he was making a bracelet or a necklace. it didn’t matter. he wasn’t making it for anyone but himself. the string kept catching on his fingers, but he liked the way it felt. steady, repetitive, something he could control.

then, he saw it.

half-buried in the sand just a few feet away was a shell unlike any of the others. it shimmered. barely pink, perfectly smooth, as if the ocean had carved it just for him. his heart quickened. he scrambled toward it, sand clinging to his knees.

just as his fingers brushed its edge, another hand shot out, fast and tan, and landed right on top of his.

sieun’s entire body went rigid.

he looked up, and the sun seemed to tilt. a boy about his own age stood there, shirtless with tattoos on his arm, dripping from the ocean. his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and his skin was glowing like it belonged in a commercial. far behind him, a group of kids were shouting his name—laughing, playing. popular. confident. or at least that’s what it looked like outwardly. 

the exact kind of kid sieun had learned to avoid at all costs.

the kind of kid who usually cornered him behind the bike racks or tried to choke him out in the hallway.

“sorry,” sieun mumbled quickly, yanking his hand back. “you can have it.”

the boy blinked in surprise. then he grinned. “no, it’s okay. you saw it first.”

sieun didn’t trust it. his chest tightened. was this some trick? was he being set up for a joke?

but the boy didn’t tease him. he just knelt down beside sieun and picked up the shell with a reverent look, like it was a gem, not something from the dirt. then he jogged back to a half-finished sandcastle a few feet away and gently placed the shell at the top, like a crown.

sieun stared. the sandcastle was tall, with towers and little walls and a moat. it looked like something from a picture book, not something real kids made. especially not middle school kids sieun’s age. the boy picked up a stick and started writing something in the sand beside the castle. curious despite himself, sieun edged a little closer.

“castle… suho?” he read aloud, unsure.

the boy looked over his shoulder, smiling wide. “yeah. that’s my name. ahn suho.”

“oh,” sieun said, brain blanking. “okay.”

suho turned around fully now, crouching in the sand and wiping his wet hands on his shorts. “what’s your name?”

“my what?”

“your name.”

sieun’s ears turned red. “sieun.”

“sieun,” suho repeated, then nodded. “sieunnie. that’s cute.”

cute?

sieun didn’t know what to say to that. no one had ever called him that before. not nicely, anyway. he hesitated, eyes darting to the group of kids behind suho. they hadn’t noticed him yet. that was good. that was safe. but suho—suho was staring at him like he wasn’t weird. like he wasn’t out of place. 

sieun had been watching suho more than the shells since meeting him, but he’d never admit it. he had a mole underneath his eye and the tiniest hole that’s more of a shadow on his cheek that showed whenever he laughed. his dark hair was shaggy and long enough to the point where he often had to push it out of his eyes.

he might be as pretty as the seashells he was collecting.

he crouched beside suho slowly, watching as the boy dug around in the sand for more shells. “you’re good at building,” sieun said before he could stop himself.

“thanks!” suho grinned. “i like castles. wanna help?”

sieun blinked. “i don’t know how.”

“i’ll show you.”

so he did. and somehow, they built together for a while. stacking, smoothing, decorating. suho’s hands moved fast and confidently; sieun’s were clumsy at first, but careful. when they weren’t placing shells on turrets, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, showing off the prettiest ones they’d found. suho pointed out a perfect white spiral and held it up to sieun’s ear. “you can hear the ocean,” he whispered.

sieun leaned in. he didn’t hear the ocean. he heard his own heartbeat, loud and fast.

suho stood suddenly and flipped into the sand, tumbling dramatically before flopping down like a starfish. sieun laughed before he could stop himself.

“you’re weird,” he said, meaning it fondly.

“you laughed,” suho pointed out. “you have a nice laugh.”

stop saying nice things , sieun wanted to say. it was confusing. it made his chest feel warm in ways he didn’t understand. it made him scared.

but he didn’t say anything. he just looked on, shyly.

then, without thinking, sieun pulled the black string off his wrist. the necklace of shells he’d been making all day. he looked right at it, then tore it in half.

“here,” he said quietly, offering one half to suho.

suho’s face lit up like the sun. “matching bracelets?” he said, voice awed. “no way. that’s so cool.”

he reached out, gently tying the string around sieun’s wrist, then held out his own. “tie mine too?”

sieun nodded, hands trembling a little.

their hands touch as sieun ties the bracelet over suho’s wrist, and it sent a strong, static shock-like wave through the inside of his body. sieun didn’t initially react to the feeling, but what surprises him is that suho did . 

sieun was familiar with this shock. the times he's brushed past strangers at the grocery store or passed around school supplies to his classmates— he'd grown very used to the static shock. in a way, he thought it helped him distinguish those who also had abilities, like him.

but this time, the static felt like it was a thousand times stronger than it ever had been. it felt like sieun had physically gotten electrocuted. the tingling sensation travels all throughout his being, passing through his every cell. sieun recoils instantly, and he's not sure if that was voluntarily done or if his muscles were spasming.

"sieun!" his mother screams from her beach chair and is already rushing towards him. "are you okay?"

and once sieun sees her start to move, he feels his flight-or-flight mode activates. the only person more anxious than sieun was his mother, who seemed to sense whenever sieun would come into contact with someone else with abilities. maybe it was the way sieun blinked or how his mouth widened the slightest bit the moment he felt the shock, but his mother always kept sieun near her, always trying to protect sieun from everybody else. always creating the expectations. always controlling every aspect of his life while not even being there at the same time. 

"what's going on!?" sieun's mother was frantic. she moved sieun's damp hair out of his eyes and checked all sides of his face. sieun watched her hands tremble, her eyes widen, her sunglasses fall into the sand.

sieun was trying the best to convince his mother he is fine, like moving his fingers and calling her name, but he started to lose focus of his goal when he saw suho and two other adults helping him stand up. suho looked just as confused, staring right at sieun with his eyebrows furrowed together.

"mom, i'm okay." sieun tried to hold his mother's hands and give her a hug, but she was holding him so strongly he couldn't move. "ah, mom, really.. mo-"

"no, sieun," his mother squeezed his hands tightly. "there was a flash . i saw it."

"yeah," a woman's voice exasperates. she sounded just as concerned as sieun's mother, but also relieved. "we both saw that too."

the woman and the man behind her identify themselves as suho's parents, but it seemed sieun is the only one that heard them. when sieun stood up and bowed, he saw his mother scanning that entire beach for any other soul that could've possibly seen what just happened.

"hello, miss" suho addressed sieun's mother. "my name is suho."

sieun sees his mom scratch at the inside of her elbows and her leg start to shake. she began to do her usual whenever she sensed her son in danger— place him behind her. and when sieun felt that familiar tug, he's learned it is best to keep quiet and obey. sieun understood at this point in his life that his mother was simply trying to protect him, and he's grateful to her for that. but today... today he experienced his first sensation of rebellion.

something in him just did not like the feeling of letting suho go.

sieun stepped aside from his mom and moved over to suho. he was still holding onto the bracelets they've made, and even though they were slightly smoldering. all three adults make sounds of warning and fright, but it didn’t faze sieun or suho.

suho made the first move and touched sieun's hand. there was no flash this time, but they both feel that static pass through them again. sieun puts his hand on top of suho's head, then on his arm, and finally pokes his cheek, out of pure curiousity. no flashing.

suho suddenly pulled him into a big hug.

"that was awesome," suho mumbled into sieun's damp hair. he's taller and when he talked it kind of tickled sieun's ear, but he didn’t mind. all he can really feel is an overwhelming relief that he wasn’t scared or appalled at him for what he could not control.

"wanna be fr-"

"sieun, let's go. it's getting dark," sieun's mother interrupts. she's picked her sunglasses up and put her dark hair back into a bun. the magazine that was in her hand was rolled up tightly. the way her voice sounded left no room for further discussion, yet sieun stood his ground. not even he was sure where this audacity is coming from.

"no." he says, nervously keeping his hands behind his back. "i want to stay. with suho."

sieun's mother shook her head and grabbed her son by both of his shoulders, pulling him away from suho. " now , sieun. we have to get home." her tone is so cold that it steals the sunset's warmth in that instant. “you’re lucky i even let you out today. you have a quiz tomorrow to study for.” 

and even then, sieun does not deter.

"but," sieun was trying to reason with his mother the best he knew how to. "but he's just like me."sieun moved back and grabbed suho's hand, squeezing it firmly. suho squeezed his back.

sieun sees the magazine in his mother's hand crinkle from how hard she was holding it, and prepared himself to get yelled at in front of everybody in the next five seconds. yet, to his pleasant surprise, none of that happens.

"can i— can i get your number then, please?" sieun's mother turned to suho's parents.

sieun turned to suho, and suho already had a big grin on his face. suho high-fives sieun’s hand victoriously, the seashells bouncing against their wrists.

after that day, sieun and suho met every weekend in the afternoon at yeongsam park, underneath the big yellow slide and mostly without their parents. it turned out sieun and suho would soon be attending the same high school together next year. 

byuksan high school. 

the days passed. then the months. then the years. and somehow, suho and sieun stayed—through all of it.

they found themselves in situations most kids their age would never dream of. dangerous, messy, sometimes terrifying. like that time they helped take down a gang boss and his entire crew. that one had started with suho getting kidnapped—bloody-nosed, duct-taped, thrown into the back of a van—and ended with sieun bursting in like a storm, face pale but eyes on fire, swinging his fists and a lead pipe like it owed him something. they didn’t talk much about what happened in between, but it left them with matching scars—just below their eyes, shallow but permanent. it hurt like hell, but it also made them laugh sometimes. their secret badge of survival.

then there were the bullies at school—the kind who didn’t just push or tease but came with teeth. the ones who choked others out and wrote slurs on desks. the kind that made sieun’s life hell long before suho ever showed up. together, they dismantled that group too. not with fists every time, but with strategy—sieun’s sharp mind, suho’s fists when necessary, and their perfect, unlikely synchronization.

and somehow, no matter how heavy the situation, no matter how far out of their depth they were, they always came out the other side together. sometimes bruised. sometimes limping. sometimes not talking for hours because of how much it all scared them. but still, together. 

because they were just boys, after all. 

there was something about them—about this strange, messy, powerful friendship. it felt like it had been carved out of chaos and stitched together with adrenaline, trust, and something else they didn’t dare name yet.

“that whole gang boss thing? that one was fun,” suho would say with a smirk, even though sieun still had a tiny tremor in his hand when they walked by an amusement park. or thought about suho being unconscious at the back of a van. 

“it gave us matching scars,” sieun would mutter back, rolling his eyes, but never denying the truth of it. never denying suho.

one night, they were sitting on the swings.

it was late, almost too dark to see each other clearly, but neither of them seemed to mind. the sky above yeongsam park was deep blue, dotted with stars, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement below. the air smelled like wet grass and asphalt, and the world felt small, like it had folded itself into the two of them.

suho’s legs dangled above the ground, sneakers kicking back and forth as he sipped from a banana milk carton. sieun sat beside him, hands clasped tight in his lap, the breeze lifting strands of his hair. the bracelet suho had tied around his wrist weeks ago was still there. he’d never taken it off. 

“you don’t have to let them touch you,” suho says, pulling off his jacket and tossing it into the grass. “not if you don’t want to.”

they’re in the empty field of the park, where the grass is slightly overgrown and no one really comes except stray cats and kids skipping school. suho had dragged sieun there after hearing what happened in the hallway. again.

sieun, now standing, blinked at him, arms crossed, his usual tight-lipped silence in place. the wind rustled his bangs, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable.

“i mean it,” suho said, stepping closer. “you’re allowed to fight back. you should.”

“i do,” sieun said quietly. “i have.”

suho studied him. he knew that tone, sharp and soft at once, like a blade hidden in a book. he’d heard rumors. about that time in the classroom, the bleeding nose, the boy who still didn’t look sieun in the eye. he knew sieun fought, but with calculation, with books, with pens jabbed into arms if he really needed to. but no one ever saw that. all they saw was a scrawny, quiet kid with weird grades and even weirder eyes. he didn’t say it out loud, but suho had known for a while now, about the bullying. suho hated it. hated that no one at that school did anything about it.

“i know you do,” suho said. “but i still want to show you this. just in case.”

sieun gave him a look. “you think i can’t handle it?”

“no.” suho shook his head immediately, firm. “i think you shouldn’t have to. not alone.”

there was something so painfully earnest in the way he says it, like he was trying to protect a version of himself he couldn’t, like he’s the one who’s mad about what sieun goes through.

suho crouched low and motioned for sieun to follow. “come on. if someone grabs your wrist like this—what do you do?”

sieun hesitated, then kneeled beside him. suho’s fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, not squeezing. just there.

“now twist, not toward their fingers—toward the thumb, always,” suho instructed. “here. try.”

sieun moved stiffly at first. then again. and again. until the motion became muscle memory. suho nodded, quietly proud, and when sieun looked up at him—really looked—he saw something he didn't expect: respect. 

but suho still taught him anyway. not because he thought sieun was weak. because suho needed to know that if he wasn’t there, sieun would be okay. that he had something in his back pocket, just in case.

“i know you’re strong,” suho said. “you’re scary when you get mad. even scarier with a pen.” he grins, boyish and bright. “but this isn’t about proving anything. it’s just so if someone touches you, you don’t have to think twice.”

“you teach everyone this?” sieun asked, just to be difficult.

“nope,” suho replied without missing a beat. “just you.”

“why?”

suho shrugs, but it’s not casual. his voice was softer now, like the truth was a secret he didn’t know how to say too loud. “‘cause i don’t like when people touch you.”

sieun stared at him.

suho finished it off by just showing sieun a few basic self-defense moves. how to shift his weight to counter a takedown, how to read someone’s stance to predict a punch, and where to hit if he needed to get away. nothing too flashy, just enough to keep him safe. just enough to buy him a second longer in a hallway fight that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

if he had anything to do with it, no one would lay a hand on sieun again. not now. not ever.

they sat back on the swings afterward, sweaty and breathless under the late night. suho tossed a bottle of water at him and said, “next time they try something, just look them dead in the eye and scare the hell out of them.”

sieun sighed tiredly. “you’re assuming i wasn’t doing that already.”

suho laughed, but there was a seriousness behind it. his voice dropped a little. “yeah, but now you’ve got backup. even if i’m not there, you’ve got me.”

and sieun, again, just stared at him for a while. his eyes followed every little movement suho did, like he didn’t know what to do with a promise like that. like it was the first time someone ever offered to stand in front of him, instead of expecting him to fight alone.

“i wish we could stay here forever,” suho said suddenly.

sieun turned his head. “what, at the park?”

“no,” suho said. then he frowned, trying to find the right words. “i mean... like this. just you and me. no weird stares. no teachers yelling. no kids whispering behind our backs.”

sieun looked down. “you get that too?”

“all the time,” suho said. “not when i’m loud. but when i’m quiet. when i don’t act the way they want me to. thought you were more observant than that, sieun-ah.”

they fell into silence for a moment.

then suho looked at him and his voice came out softer this time, almost unsure.

“i love you.”

sieun froze.

his breath caught in his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. he stared straight ahead, like maybe if he didn’t move, the words would float away. maybe he’d misheard. maybe suho hadn’t meant it like that.

“you’re my best friend.” 

… and there it was. 

but sieun didn’t have time to let himself acknowledge how he felt when he suho said that. 

“i don’t know,” suho admitted, cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe from something else. “it’s just… you’re the only person who makes me feel like i’m not weird for being myself. i’ve never had that before. even with my parents. even with my team.”

sieun swallowed hard. his throat felt tight. that ache in his chest, warm and heavy and unfamiliar, was back.

because he understood. because he felt it too.

no one had ever looked at him the way suho did. like he wasn’t too quiet. too strange. like he mattered. sieun didn’t know how to say any of that, not without sounding stupid. but he wanted to. he wanted to grab the words from the back of his throat and give them to suho wrapped in a bow.

so instead, he leaned his shoulder against suho’s, barely touching.

“yeah. love you too,” he whispered.

suho smiled, eyes crinkling. “good. then it’s settled. we’re each other’s person now.”

and sieun just found himself nodding, heart thudding.

he didn’t know what the future would look like. he didn’t know if they'd stay together or if they'd drift apart, or if the world would try to pull them in different directions.

but in that moment—under the dark sky, bracelets still tied, the world as small as two boys on a swing set—he knew one thing for sure.

whatever they were becoming, it had already begun.

five years ago, sieun was walking to school. arms still as he walked. 

sieun had gotten used to the silence. the kind that buzzed behind his ears when the teachers talked, the kind that pressed into his lungs every time he stepped into the classroom they were supposed to graduate from together . his routine had become mechanical—get up, go to school, don’t look at the empty seat next behind the class. don’t think about the last time he saw him conscious. don’t think about how suho didn’t even hesitate when he stepped between sieun and that psychopath of a bully. don’t think about how suho almost died because of him .

one year and nine months. that’s how long suho had been unconscious. long enough for the seasons to forget about him. long enough for most people to stop asking. long enough for sieun to learn how to pretend.

until the call came.

“he’s awake,” the doctor said.

just like that. he’s awake.

sieun’s body didn’t move at first. it felt like someone had stuck a pin into the universe and all the air was leaking out. then suddenly, he was running, tearing down the hospital hallway like he was seventeen again and still believed in miracles. and there he was. 

suho. 

in a wheelchair. pale, thinner, his eyes flickering open like the sun rising over a battlefield. still him. still his suho.

it wasn’t like in the movies. suho didn’t sit up and say his name right away. he blinked slowly, adjusting. he sat in the sun. and then he saw sieun. then he asked, “have you been well?”

and sieun broke down.

what followed wasn’t easy. waking up wasn’t a cure—it was the start of a whole new kind of struggle. suho had to relearn how to walk, how to speak smoothly, how to hold things without shaking. he had to learn his own body again. and sieun was there every step of the way. holding water cups, walking beside him in physical therapy, pressing his fingers into suho’s back when the pain got too bad to hide.

they didn’t talk about what happened. not right away.

sieun didn’t say “i’m sorry you almost died because of me.”

and suho didn’t say “i’d do it again.”

instead, their moments were small and soft. sieun catching suho staring at the sky too long. suho asking sieun to read to him when he couldn’t sleep. fingers brushing. shared laughter that came slowly, awkwardly, like learning how to laugh all over again. suho always smiled when sieun entered the room, no matter how tired he was. and sieun always showed up, even when it hurt to breathe.

there was something there. tangible. unspoken. so loud it echoed between them.

but they never crossed that line. not yet.

sieun wouldn’t let himself. suho had barely returned. his hands were still shaky, his memories foggy, his days spent relearning the world. the last thing he needed was the weight of sieun’s heart on top of it all.

still, every glance, every lingering touch, every moment they sat side-by-side in silence—it said what words couldn’t.

and sieun could wait. he’d already waited one year and nine months.

he could wait a little longer.

and suho was trying. god , he was trying.

his fingers trembled as they wrapped around the paper cup. water sloshed inside, threatening to spill. his muscles—once strong, once reactive—felt like strangers beneath his skin. nothing moved quite right. nothing felt right.

just drink the water, he told himself. just drink the fucking water.

but the tremors worsened. his grip faltered. and the cup slipped through his fingers.

it hit the floor with a splash, the sound far louder than it should have been. his hospital gown was soaked. everyone in the rehab center flinched at the violent, guttural “ fuck! ” that tore from his throat.

everyone but sieun.

never sieun.

the physical therapist said something soothing, stepping forward, but suho lashed out—wild, uncoordinated, a flicker of the fire that used to burn hot inside of him. it wasn’t the therapist’s fault, but it didn’t matter. rage had nowhere to go except out . he struck with the little strength he had, and the therapist backed off, practiced and careful.

sieun stepped in without a word, jaw tight. he gently wheeled suho away from the others, out of the rehab center, down the long, too-bright hallway that somehow felt both sterile and suffocating. suho didn’t look at him. couldn’t.

he was ashamed.

once they were alone in the dim, quiet hospital room, suho broke the silence first.

“sieun-ah,” he rasped. “go home. please. i don’t want you to see me like this. not like this .”

but sieun just stood there. didn’t move. didn’t speak.

“i mean it,” suho said. “i can’t do anything on my own. i can’t even hold a damn cup . i’m useless now. i’m not the guy i used to be. i’m not…”

he trailed off. the lump in his throat got stuck there like something jagged. “i’m not even a teenager anymore, you know? i was seventeen. and now i’m not. just like that. everything moved on without me.”

sieun didn’t answer. his face was blank. eyes glassy. still unreadable.

his voice was shaking, small. “ it’s like i woke up in someone else’s body.”

“i know,” sieun said softly.

suho looked up at him, . “why are you still here?”

that’s when sieun finally moved—just barely. his throat bobbed. his jaw clenched tighter. “you really don’t get it, do you?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

“i went after them because of you,” suho replied, confused. “because of what they did to you. i couldn’t just—”

“i know ,” sieun interrupted, voice trembling.

and it only made suho cry harder. “then why are you still here? you saw what i did. what i am now.”

“because,” sieun said, voice strained, “you’re still you. and you’re still here.”

and suho froze.

because sieun’s shoulders were shaking.

not subtly. not discreetly. they were trembling, uneven, like his body didn’t know how to hold the weight anymore.

“i know what you did,” he said again, his voice cracking. “i know what they did to you, and you were gone .”

suho swallowed hard. “sieun…”

“you don’t get it. you always think i’m fine. because i don’t cry or scream or break things. but i broke , suho.”

there were tears now. not many, but the tears from sieun shattered everything.

“i broke the day they told me you weren’t breathing.”

sieun’s face was twisted in something suho had never seen before—grief so raw, it made his chest ache. the boy who never smiled, who never wavered, who walked through hell without flinching, was crumbling.

and suho didn’t know what to do.

“i stopped eating. i stopped caring. college, scholarships, my whole future all felt so stupid without you in it. i ruined everything for someone who wasn’t even alive anymore. because i couldn’t let you go.”

he slid down slowly on the floor, unable to stand anymore. the tears didn’t stop now. he didn’t try to hide them.

“i didn’t know if you’d ever come back. and now you have. and you’re not the same. but you’re here . and i don’t care how much of you is broken. because i’m broken too. and you’re healing just as much as i am.”

“i missed you so much,” sieun sobbed. “even if you’re not the same anymore. even if you can’t walk or fight or laugh like you used to. i don’t care. i don’t fucking care. i’m just so happy you’re here.”

“i’m sorry,” suho whispered. “.. i didn’t think that night. i was just so angry. they hurt you, and all i could think about was making them pay. i didn’t want you to be scared anymore.”

“i was more scared when you left,” sieun said, eyes swollen and red.

“i thought… i thought if i fought for you, it would make everything better. but i didn’t come back the same. i can’t even come back all the way. i don’t feel like myself.”

“you don’t have to be the old suho,” sieun said, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. “i don’t want you to be. i like this suho, the one who came back, the one who’s trying.”

suho choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. he got out of his wheelchair and reached for him on the ground, weakly and despite sieun’s protests. sieun sank into his arms, holding on like he was terrified suho might vanish again.

it stunned suho to feel him like this. trembling, shaking, honest. he’d never seen sieun feel out loud before.

“i love you.” suho whispered, almost afraid to speak it. “you’re my best friend. i don’t deserve you.”

“shut up,” sieun whispered. “but, yeah. love you too.”

now sieun wondered how it ended up being him the one suho’s comforting now. holding him closely and stroking the back of his hair. 

they sat there like that, wrapped in each other—raw, ruined, and still somehow whole in the way only people who have been shattered and rebuilt together can be.

because suho had died for sieun.

and sieun had lived for suho.

neither of them had come out unscathed. neither of them ever would.

but they had each other. and that would always be enough.

the weeks that followed suho’s accident were a blur of routine and recovery. 

physical therapy. pain meds. appointments. more pain meds. on the outside, it might have looked like a slow, uphill climb toward progress. but inside, it was anything but. suho had to relearn how to do the most basic things—hold a spoon, steady a cup, walk. and sieun had been there through every stumble, every fall, every tantrum, and every silent moment that suho couldn’t find the words for.

it had taken time, but slowly, the weight began to lift. they started doing the things they used to again—pool table nights, long walks by the city on the way home from cram school, late night red bull raids. suho laughed more, and sieun… smiled more. they’d shared every secret, caught up on their missed time. and even though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew something between them had shifted. something soft and irreversible.

sieun had shown suho how his mimicking ability had strengthened. he could absorb abilities better through touch now, and the static-sensation that followed was like an electric reminder that he was meant to protect people—especially suho. suho had told him all about his animals, how they were bound to his soul and grew as he did. his favorite, of course, was kei, the lioness who adored sieun just as fiercely as suho did. she would chase them around the living room during their sleepovers, curl protectively beside them on the couch, and nudge sieun toward suho whenever he got too in his head. and maybe sieun didn’t say it aloud, but kei’s affection—like suho’s—made his chest tighten in a way he couldn’t explain.

he felt it especially when suho tied his shoes without asking. or handed him an extra juice box before sieun even said he was thirsty. or when suho caught the blush creeping up sieun’s neck and pinched his cheeks, teasing him with that light, airy laugh.

"really?" sieun would whine, pretending to be annoyed. but he never really was.

that morning was just like any other. cloudy skies. damp air. kids pouring into school, huddled under umbrellas and backpacks. but then came the screech of tires. and screams. and an out-of-control truck barreling down the street.

everything froze except for sieun. his body moved before he could think, instinct driving him straight toward the couple and their stroller in the middle of the street. but the rain betrayed him and he slipped. 

his ankle cracked hard against the cement, the pain blinding and instantaneous. he couldn’t move. he couldn’t get up.

but he could still act.

sieun’s entire body burned with the weight of his own power. he focused on the truck. every ounce of strength funneled into pulling it away from the family—away from the stroller. in those few seconds, he was eternally grateful for that random guy in class 2 for high-fiving him in class earlier. because of him, he now possessed his telekinetic abilities and was able to get the car to swerve just enough that it misses the family. they were safe.

and then the truck veered toward him.

glass exploded and his ears felt like did as well. then, silence.

sieun floated.

not in a dream, but not quite dead either. just drifting. he was back at that beach again. the one where he first met suho. the sky was painted in orange and pink and lavender, and the ocean welcomed him like it always had. he cartwheeled. he shouted. he built sandcastles. he laughed. it was the freest he’d ever felt.

but when he woke up, his body was heavy and bandaged. suho was in the room, his jacket stained with blood and his head hung low. he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. not even the doctors’. not even sieun’s mom. sieun shut his eyes again, waited until they were alone.

“suho.” he muttered when the door clicked shut. “hi.”

suho’s head snapped up. in seconds, he was beside him, sinking into the mattress, burying his face in sieun’s shoulder with a loud, aching sob. and it wasn’t like before—this wasn’t frustration or fear. this was devastation.

“hey…” sieun mumbled, startled by the sound. suho didn’t speak. he just held onto him tighter, his whole body shaking. sieun could see it now, the hollow behind suho’s eyes. he was terrified. shaken to the core.

“i’m okay,” sieun whispered.

“no you’re not,” suho whispered back. “and don’t say you are. don’t pretend.”

silence.

“don’t do that again,” suho says, and his voice is cracking.

sieun opens his mouth. “suho—”

“no,” suho bites out. his hand shoots forward and grabs sieun’s hospital gown, clutching it tight—too tight. his knuckles are white. his eyes are rimmed red. “you do this every time. you throw yourself in front of things like your life doesn’t mean anything. and then i’m the one stuck here. watching. watching you almost die. again.”

his breath shudders out of him like he’s been holding it for hours.

“i’m so tired of it, sieun. i’m tired of these hospital rooms. i’m tired of walking in and seeing you hooked up to machines like it’s normal. like you’re just going to wake up and smile and tell me it’s not a big deal—because it is a big deal. ”

sieun stays still. his expression doesn’t crack. he just lets suho’s words crash into him—hard and ugly and loud.

“every fucking time,” suho mutters. his voice is low now, but shaking. “every time you get hurt like this, something in me just— snaps. and you think you’re so damn clever. by pretending you’re fine, but i see you.” he laughs bitterly. “you think you’re so good at hiding it. but i see the bruises. i see the pain when you breathe. and it drives me crazy, sieun. i hate it. i hate watching you hurt. i hate that you won’t let me stop it.”

sieun’s hand tightens around the fist suho has on his gown. “suho—”

“i thought you were dead, ” suho explodes, voice cracking again. “you were just lying there, and i couldn’t do anything. you don’t get to tell me it’s okay. you don’t get to look at me with those stupid eyes and pretend it doesn’t wreck me.”

he says that last part almost like he’s ashamed. like the truth slipped out faster than he could stop it.

and then it’s quiet.

suho drops his forehead to sieun’s chest, shoulders trembling. he won’t look up.

sieun reaches out slowly, brushing his fingers through suho’s hair. it’s a gentle, grounding touch. 

“you don’t have to protect me from the way you feel,” sieun says softly. “i can take it.”

suho shudders.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs into sieun’s shirt. “i can’t.”

“i’m not going anywhere,” sieun replies. his voice is quiet, firm. “not tonight.”

and suho stays there—curled into sieun’s side like a storm that’s finally found a place to land.

he doesn’t say anything else. he just breathes him in. like that alone might be enough to keep him tethered.

and sieun lets him. holds him. doesn’t flinch when suho’s fingers grip his gown like a lifeline.

because for once, he’s not the one who needs saving.

not tonight.

suho hadn’t cried since that one day at rehab. not once. but now the tears were hot and unstoppable. his voice shook. his hands trembled.

“i’m sorry.” sieun whispered into his hair. “i’m sorry i let this happen. all of it.” it didn’t even register to sieun when he started, but he should’ve known soon enough. 

he cried whenever he saw suho cry. 

always.

and suho knew by the heaviness of sieun’s words that he wasn’t just talking about this accident. it was about all the accidents. everything they’ve had to deal with since they decided to become friends in the first place. 

suho let go of sieun’s hospital gown defeatedly. “you didn’t let anything happen. i chose it. i would choose it again.”

sieun nodded. “and i’d choose to save that family again. even if it meant this.”

“i know,” suho said quietly. he didn’t look at anything in particular. “that’s what scares me.”

they didn’t say anything else. not for a while. suho just held him, like he was trying to memorize every part of him before the world took him away again. and sieun was too. 

“i love you,” suho said, looking at him like he couldn’t bear to blink. “you’re my best friend. i don’t want this to happen ever again.”

"yeah," sieun says. he decides not to say anything else for today. he'll talk to suho about it later. "love you too."

suho stayed right where he was, and sieun let him. because there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here—with the person he would protect over and over again, even if it hurt.

even if it killed him.

four years ago , sieun shot up from his sleeping bag in a cold sweat, gasping so loudly it startled everyone in the room.

the clock on pilyoung's nightstand read past three in the morning. they had stayed up grinding out their project, and everyone had just barely dozed off. now, silence stretched over the room again, heavy and tired.

except for suho—sweet, steady suho—who was already by sieun’s side, kneeling beside his sleeping bag. “you okay?” he whispered.

sieun didn’t answer, just grabbed suho’s hand beneath the blankets, clutching it like a lifeline. suho pressed his shoulder against sieun’s and wrapped a protective arm around him.

but the moment was broken.

"hey, don't sweat it," pilyoung said, flicking on the bedside lamp with a click that felt louder than it was. he was grinning, eyes too alert for this hour. he pulled out a clear bag of pills—shiny, misshapen, off-colored. the stench hit them before he even opened it. sieun froze.

"come on, man," pilyoung urged. "just a little, and you'll knock out. no more night terrors. no more crying in your sleep, or whatever the hell is wrong with you" he laughed and glanced at taeoh, who snorted in agreement. “right, taeoh?”

taeoh nodded, already taking two himself and dry-swallowing them with a grimace. “you’ll sleep like the dead,” he joked. sieun looks at the bag and makes no movement.

“he doesn’t need it,” suho said, calmly at first, but his voice was edged with steel. he could already feel sieun trembling beside him, unfocused. his hand, once warm, had gone icy cold.

pilyoung rolled his eyes. “it’s not gonna kill him. might even make him less depressing.” he stood up, swaggering over, and reached into sieun’s backpack. suho stiffened. pilyoung yanked out sieun’s medications from his backpack and waved it in the air. “bet this doesn’t even do anything.”

he tossed the pill bag toward sieun—it smacked him in the face and landed in his lap.

“ever since you started taking that shit sieun, all you do is act like a victim. moping and complaining and making everybody feel sorry for you. maybe you’ll finally be fun on something real.”

that’s when suho stood up.

he grabbed the bag of pills from sieun’s lap and hurled it at pilyoung's head, just barely missing. the bag burst against the wall, scattering tablets everywhere.

“you think that’s funny?” suho growled. he was already on his feet, fists clenched, body taut like a live wire. pilyoung kisses his teeth, pushing his blankets to the side and standing up. suho gets up with the same quickness, and by pretty much default at this point, sieun does too.

“you serious right now?” he snapped. “you come into my house, eat my food, sleep in my room, and now you’re gonna tell me what to do? you’re just his little watchdog. all you ever do is play hero for the freak. we all know he’s only here because he’ll get us a passing grade.”

he jabbed a finger toward sieun. “look at him! just watching us with his beady eyes, so fucking weird he can’t even speak for himself. it’s like you two are—what, gay? hey, lower your gaze, you goddamn fucker.”

everything stopped. sieun’s breath hitched. he didn’t even realize he was pulling on suho’s hoodie until the fabric bunched in his fists.

“please,” he mouthed, tugging gently. “let it go. just let it go.”

but it was already too late. suho’s jaw clenched. his breathing sharpened. and then—his eyes started to glow.

amber. bright. burning. 

sieun’s heart dropped into his stomach.

he slapped his hand over suho’s face, trembling. “stop,” he hissed. “please. not here.” sieun's voice is shaky but he tries standing his ground the best he can, anything to keep suho from exposing himself in front of their friends. it’s a dark room but all sieun can see is suho’s unconscious face in a sterile, lit hospital room.

but suho was shaking. not with fear, with rage. the kind of rage that had no place in this world, not for someone like him, not when exposing himself could mean so much worse than just expulsion.

“i’ll take the pills,” sieun blurted.

suho froze.

sieun bent down, scooped three of the pills off the floor with shaky hands, and held them up. “i’ll take them. just stop, okay?”

suho stared at him, horrified. then in one swift, furious motion, he slapped the pills out of sieun’s hand and grabbed the bag off the floor. he chucked the entire thing into the corner hard enough to make taeoh flinch.

no one spoke.

then suho grabbed both their backpacks, grabbed sieun’s wrist, and stormed out of the house without another word.

the cold hit them like a slap. suho didn’t stop. he just kept walking, jaw tight, eyes still faintly glowing until they began to dim.

“are you insane!?” he shouted, breath fogging in the air. “you were gonna take them just to shut me up?”

“are you!? you were gonna expose yourself right now.” sieun shouted back.

suho stopped walking. he turned, slowly. and for the first time since that accident, since the recovery, since the nightmares and the quiet guilt and the held breath between them—

he looked scared.

not of the others.

of himself.

“where are you going?!” suho’s voice cut through the quiet street, rough and breathless. he jogged after sieun, who stormed ahead with his shoulders tense and fists clenched. not even a glance back.

“sieun—fuck—just stop for a second!”

but sieun didn’t. he kept walking like he was trying to outrun something, and suho knew what it was. because he felt it too.

by the time they reached the park—that park, with the stupid yellow slide—sieun threw himself down underneath it like he always did. but this time, it wasn’t to find peace.

it was to boil over.

suho followed, pacing in front of him. “what the hell is going on with you?! say something!”

sieun exploded. “ you’re asking me what’s going on?” his voice cracked, furious and loud. “you almost lost control back there in front of everyone ! again!”

“he crossed the line. he was trying to get you to do drugs, sieun—!”

“you and this ‘crossing the line’ bullshit.” sieun scoffed like he was disgusted. “i had it handled!”

“bullshit, you didn’t even react !”

“because i’ve done it before!” sieun roared. “because i’ve been dealing with this shit since you were unconscious in a hospital bed for a year and nine months!”

suho flinched. and sieun saw it—but he was too far gone now.

“you think i’m selfish, right? that’s what you love to tell me whenever something like this happens.” he snarled, stepping closer. “i watched you sleep while machines breathed for you. i took care of your grandmother when she couldn’t even look at you. and every day i woke up, not knowing if i’d get to hear your voice again, but i still went to school. i still studied. i still lied to everyone’s face and said i was fine!” his voice was raw now. guttural. “don’t fucking call me selfish. i don’t throw myself in front of people to look noble—i do it because it was the only way to feel like i was doing something, suho. i had to. so the guilt of not being able to save you wouldn’t eat me alive. because every second i wasn’t helping someone else, i was picturing you dying without me.”

suho grabbed him by the arm. “i didn’t ask you to do that. i-”

“i know you didn’t!” sieun shoved him so hard suho stumbled backwards. “i did it anyway, because i didn’t know what else to do! because you were just—gone!”

“then you should understand why i’m losing my mind every time you do something like this in front of me! everytime you bleed in front of me!” suho shoved sieun back, getting up in his face. “why every time i see you collapse or cough or even fucking blink wrong, i think it’s the last time i’ll see you alive!”

they were chest to chest, neither backing down. breathing hard.

“i can’t keep living like that again, sieun. i won’t .”

sieun grit his teeth, furious. “yeah? well, i already did.”

the silence that follows is heavy. nuclear.

suho grabbed sieun’s sweatshirt and yanked him forward. “say that again.”

sieun didn’t say it again. he let himself be dragged by suho, let him snatch him by his collar. 

“.. i hate you,” sieun spat.

and suho just scoffed. “not as much as i hate you .” 

sieun slammed his palm into suho’s chest. suho knocked him backward by the shoulders. they were grappling now—yelling, swearing, fists hitting walls and backs and arms. not hard enough to injure—but hard enough to feel. raw enough to mean it.

they’re shoving, grabbing, pulling, yelling over each other with voices cracking and breath stuttering, underneath the small space of the slide.

“i hate you for leaving me—!”

“i didn’t have a choice !”

“i know that! that’s the worst part!”

and then—silence.

their faces were inches apart. their chests were heaving. hands still tangled in each other’s clothes. their mouths open like they still had more to scream, but nothing came out. just breath. just heat.

then it happened.

and they didn’t know who lunged first.

their lips smashed together like they were trying to shut each other up. and it’s not sweet. it’s a collision.

teeth. breath. desperation. years of holding back boiling into one brutal, breathless kiss. sieun fisted his hands in suho’s jacket and pulled him closer, kissing him like he wanted to punish him for every second he was gone. suho gripped the back of sieun’s neck like he was afraid he’d vanish again. it was too much, yet, not enough at the same time. like they were trying to tear each other apart and hold each other together all at once. 

sieun gasped into it, shoving suho back against the edge of the slide and kissing him harder, angry and starving. suho clutched at sieun’s back like it was a lifeline. 

the world spun.

and when they finally broke apart, dazed and breathless, suho just stared at him.

their breathing was still uneven. the air still tasted like adrenaline and anger. but neither of them were moving. sieun’s hand was still bunched into suho’s jacket. suho’s fingers were still pressed into the curve of sieun’s spine.

no words. not yet. just the kind of silence that makes your ribs hurt. that silence you get after finally being seen. it was just them. them under that dumb yellow slide they’ve been under countless of times, but tonight it felt foreign.

the silence after the kiss was heavier than all the yelling. but it was a different kind of heavy now– relieved. like a wound that finally was finally allowed to bleed out.

suho exhaled, shaky and slow, like the weight of the world just finally let go of his lungs. 

suho’s voice was hoarse and low. “you still hate me?”

sieun’s breathing hard. his hands were still shaking. but his voice was quiet when he says, “…yeah.”

and suho just grinned.

“too bad. i’m gonna marry you anyway.”

suho’s forehead rested against sieun’s, and they just stared at each other. suho would never, ever grow tired of looking at sieun’s eyes. ever. 

neither of them spoke. neither of them dared to move.

until suho finally whispers, “that was…”

he trails off.

sieun breathed in, barely. “.. mhm.”

and they both let out a broken, watery laugh. the kind that only comes after you’ve screamed yourself hoarse and cried without realizing you were crying.

“i didn’t mean it,” sieun says quietly, voice raw. “when i said i hated you.”

suho nodded. “i know.”

“i never hated you. not even when i tried to. not even when you were gone.”

another beat.

suho swallowed. “i hated that you remembered me,” he admitted, voice barely there. “when i woke up, i thought… maybe you’d moved on. maybe forgetting me would’ve been easier. but you didn’t.”

sieun’s eyes glimmered like he was about to cry at suho’s words. “how could i?”

suho’s fingers brushed his cheek, soft now. careful, even though this wasn’t the first time. “i spent so long being scared that i wouldn’t wake up and see you again,” he says. “and now i’m.. just scared that i will—and you’ll disappear instead.”

they don’t say “i love you.” not yet, not in this way. they don’t need to.

sieun shifted slightly, leaning back until he was sitting fully beside suho now, their shoulders pressed together, their legs tangled. suho reached down, linking their pinkies lazily.

it’s stupid. and warm.

“you kissed me,” sieun muttered, glancing at him from the side.

suho raised a brow. “you kissed me back.”

“you started it.”

“you shoved me into a slide.”

“you grabbed my sweatshirt.”

“you said you hated me.”

“you said it too.”

they both chuckled—giddy, disbelieving. still raw. still trembling from the adrenaline and the heartbreak, but no longer drowning in it.

“i meant it,” suho said slowly. “the thing i said right after.”

sieun stares. then tried to laugh again but it caught on something in his throat and he shook his head, turning to look ahead of him. “we’re still kids, suho.”

suho shrugged, like he was saying the most nonchalant thing in the world. “so we’ll grow up. and i can tell you’re about to tell me we can’t do that here. not at home. but i don’t care. i’ll marry you somewhere we can. the states. or canada. or wherever.”

sieun turns his eyes back to look at suho. his suho, with his boyish looks and his naive promises and his loving heart. “.. you sound serious.”

“i’ve been in love with you since we were middle schoolers, and i spent almost two years in a coma not kissing you.” suho said. he brushed his thumb along sieun’s pinky. “i’m serious.”

sieun blinked fast, looking away.

“…okay,” he said.

suho bumped his shoulder. “ okay? that’s it?”

sieun finally glanced back, eyes still glassy, but with the downturned smile that always made suho’s heart stop. 

“yeah. okay,” he repeated. not because he didn’t want to say more, but because he felt his heart genuinely about to pop out of his chest “but you better not do that again or i will kill you.”

suho grinned. “deal.”

they sat there under the slide, finally still. their fight forgotten, but not erased. just… reshaped. their chests were still sore. their hearts still bruised.

but they were together. and for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

sieun tucks his head into the space beneath suho’s chin. and for the first time in five years, they’re not wondering.

they knew they were in love.

and they were finally allowed to say it.

“…can i ask you something?” suho said.

“sure.”

another pause. then, “will you be my boyfriend?”

the words came out quick, like they’ve been bottled up for years, because they have.

sieun turned to stare at him. blinking. like the question startled him, even though it didn’t.

“seriously?” he said, voice low.

suho swallowed rather nervously. “yeah. i mean, you know, we’ve been doing this half-assed thing for years. i’ve kissed you now, you’ve kissed me back, we’ve screamed at each other under a slide and all this stuff. what else do we need?”

sieun stared at him for a beat longer.

then he smiled. really smiled. with his heart glowing and so, so full. 

“you’re insane.”

“i know. but about you.”

sieun laughed. it was breathless, and a little overwhelmed. then he nodded.

“okay,” he said.

suho leaned in. “ okay? ”

“i’ll be your boyfriend.”

suho grinned like his whole face lit up, and he tucked a hand behind sieun’s waist and pulled him in.

“finally.” suho whispered, liked he’d been waiting to say that since the day they met. 

sieun breathed out, eyes fluttering shut. “… yeah.”

they then decided to go back to sieun’s place.

once they got there and the door clicked shut behind them, for a second, neither of them moved.

their shoes were kicked off half-heartedly by the entrance, jackets slung over chairs instead of hung up properly. the house was dim. quiet. safe.

sieun ran a hand through his hair and walked into the living room like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. suho followed, slower.

they weren’t touching anymore.

but they were thinking about it.

sieun sank onto the couch, curling his knees to his chest. suho hovered for a second, then slowly sat beside him. not too close. not too far.

just… there.

“are you okay?” suho finally asked, voice soft, almost hoarse from yelling earlier.

sieun looked at him. “are you?”

a pause.

“…no,” suho admitted.

sieun leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “me neither.”

another long stretch of silence. it wasn’t awkward, but it was loaded. like their bodies were still catching up to what just happened. like their hearts were still buffering.

“i didn’t think we’d ever kiss like that,” suho murmured.

sieun let out a breathy laugh. “me neither. i thought it would be… i don’t know. normal.”

“that was not normal.”

“.. no.”

a beat.

“…did you like it?” suho asked without looking at him.

sieun turned his head. “did you ?”

suho gave him a sideways glance. his voice was lower when he said, “too much.”

sieun nodded. “me too.”

they both went quiet again.

then—slowly—suho’s fingers moved toward sieun’s on the couch cushion. just brushing. testing.

sieun didn’t pull away. he threaded their fingers together like it was the easiest thing in the world.

and somehow, it was.

suho let out a soft laugh and squeezed his hand. sieun leaned his head on suho’s shoulder, just barely. it was tentative. shy. the opposite of everything they were hours ago.

but it was real.

“you really scared me,” he said softly. “back then. when you were in that coma.”

suho turned slightly to look at him. “you scare me every time you bleed.”

sieun closed his eyes. “so we’re even.”

they sat like that, tangled fingers and quiet hearts, the weight of everything slowly melting away in the warmth of the couch, the dim light, the feel of each other finally, finally here .

later, they’d have to talk more. about what this meant. about what came next.

but for now, this was enough.

sieun was turned toward him now, arm draped over the back of the couch. his eyes were soft. steady.

“i want to kiss you,” he said, like the words take all his courage to say. “but only if you want to.”

suho swallowed. his voice was small when he replied, “i do. i just.. i don’t wanna mess this up.”

“you’re not gonna mess it up,” sieun said. 

suho let out a nervous laugh. “wow. thanks.”

sieun leaned in slowly this time—no yelling, no grabbing, no panic—just two people who finally have space to be gentle with each other. his hand found suho’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly against the skin.

and suho met him halfway.

this kiss was nothing like the first. it was careful. thoughtful. like they were taking their time now that they finally can . suho’s lips trembled a little at first, but sieun steadied him—soft, slow, patient.

they stayed like that for a long moment. the kind that made the world feel far away.

and maybe it was.

because in this tiny living room, lit only by the kitchen light behind them, two boys who were once shattered are now trying—slowly, awkwardly, but surely—to be whole.

together.

suho’s fingers were still curled loosely in sieun’s hoodie when their second kiss broke, slower this time, like neither of them wanted to leave the moment. sieun pulled back just enough to look at him—eyes shiny, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling like he was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

and then they just stared at each other.

for a while, that was all it was.

breath and silence and everything unsaid still sitting heavy in the air between them. sieun swallowed, glancing at his room. then at suho. then back at his room again. “do you… wanna stay?”

the question lingered. soft. heavy. real.

suho’s mouth parted, but nothing came out for a second. “you mean like—?”

“i don’t mean like anything,” sieun said, a little firmer now. his eyes were serious, but there was this flicker of fear under it. “i just… i’m tired of acting like we don’t want this.”

“i am too.”

suho looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time again. he reached out, fingers grazing sieun’s wrist. “what if i mess it up?”

“you won’t.”

“what if i get weird halfway through and forget how to kiss you?”

“then i’ll kiss you.” 

suho breathed out a nervous laugh. “okay.”

and then they got up together. not rushed. not desperate. just… aligned. quiet. a little shaky. finger brushing, then locking. like they’ve done this a thousand times in dreams and are finally getting the chance to live it out.

they entered sieun’s room, and it was smaller than suho remembered. or maybe the air just felt thicker now. more intimate.

sieun sat on the bed first, nervous energy buzzing off him like static. “i haven’t—uh, i mean—”

“me neither,” suho said quickly. “it’s.. it’s new for me too.”

they sat for a second of silence.

and then sieun scooted closer. “let’s not try to get it perfect.”

suho nodded. “just right for us.”

sieun leaned in again, this time slower than slow, like he was terrified he’ll ruin it. but suho met him halfway, hands cradling his face.

the kiss was awkward, a little off-center. suho’s nose bumped sieun’s. there was a soft, embarrassed laugh, and then another kiss, more sure this time. and then another.

the clothes started to come off—not in some rushed, frantic way, but in fits of giggles and soft apologies and whispers of “is this okay?” and “yeah, it’s okay, i’m here.”

and it was messy. it was awkward. at one point suho got his sock stuck halfway and nearly faceplants on the bed. sieun tried to take off his shirt and elbowed suho in the jaw on accident.

but they were laughing. they were red-faced and trembling and kissing between smiles like they were the only two people on earth.

when they finally settled into each other, skin to skin and hearts pressed close, neither one said anything for a long time. just soft moaning, careful touches, and the overwhelming weight of finally . they kissed through every hesitation. every doubt. they touched each other like they’ve memorized each other in dreams.

sieun didn’t stop whispering suho’s name.

suho never let go of sieun’s hand.

and when it was over, they lied tangled under the blankets, limbs overlapping, breath still a little uneven.

suho turned to him, eyes half-lidded. he lied on his side, facing sieun, their hands lightly touching in the space between. he couldn’t stop looking at him. his messy hair, the way his lashes flutter when he blinks too slowly, like he’s thinking too hard. because he always was. 

and then suho leaned in to kiss him again, softer than ever.

because now they weren’t fighting. not hiding. just loving.

in their own weird, awkward, beautiful way.

suho took a breath. then another. and then he spoke: “i love you. i love you so much.” 

sieun blinked at him. his face was pink. his voice was thick with sleep and something deeper. “i love you too.”

“it’s real,” suho whispered, like he still couldn’t believe it himself. “you’re real.”

sieun nodded and pressed closer to him. suho ran his hand up and down sieun’s naked back.  

they fell asleep like that—arms wrapped around each other, legs tangled, cheeks pressed together like they’re scared the other might vanish again.

and for the first time in a long time, it was quiet.

no hospital monitors.

no yelling.

no pretending they don’t care.

just soft breaths.

just warmth.

just love.

the kind that makes you forget you were ever scared in the first place.

three years ago , sieun learned what heartbreak felt like.

but there is always calm before the storm. and sometimes it lasts for so long, you forget the storm's even coming.

a drizzly day in the city, sieun had just finished up his shift at shinae's gourmet restaurant. he forgot his umbrella earlier that day, despite the multiple warnings from the forecast and radio advising heavy rain water warnings later in the night. he also forgot to bring his phone, which he didn't even realize until the middle of his shift. he's not sure why, but these past few weeks sieun's just been feeling so... weird.

not only is he forgetting the simplest of things in his daily routine, but there's a pit in his stomach that has only gotten progressively worse as the days have gone by.

today marks the third day in a row that he'd dropped someone's order and broken the dish, something he'd also never done before until recently. sieun knew he hadn’t been fired yet because he made the restaurant the most money when he was in the kitchen, but he’s not trying to test that limit any further. regardless, he attempted to excuse his mistakes by chopping it up to the large gash on his arm that's still healing.

a few days ago, sieun was on his lunch break at a park nearby the restaurant. he was on his fifth cigarette that day, trying to calm his nerves down, which he still couldn't decipher why they were up in the first place. there was a group of young teens practicing for their upcoming soccer game on the park's fresh grass. sieun watched them from his seat on one of the benches, listening to them either yell in victory or yell at each other when they messed up. regardless, it brought him some sort of joy to hear.

sieun had just gotten up from his seat and was walking back to work when the soccer ball suddenly went flying into the middle of the street. his heart nearly stopped when he saw one of the kids run towards the ball without a single regard to his surroundings.

traffic was steadily moving along, and before sieun knew it, he was sprinting towards the boy. he manages to grab the back of his jersey at the last second and uses all his might to pull him backwards.

the cars sped by in a blur, and sieun crashed into the boy on the sidewalk, landing hard on his arm. shards of broken glass on the pavement tore open the skin along his forearm. blood soaked through his uniform shirt almost instantly. the group of teens rushed toward him, insisting they take him to the hospital, but sieun brushed them off.

“it’s fine,” sieun said, trying to sound certain. “it just needs to be bandaged.”

he wasn’t really sure if that was true. but what he did know was that if suho saw yet another medical bill in their mailbox, they’d be fighting again. and sieun didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

he pushed the thought to the back of his head—something he’d been doing a lot these past few months. rubbing over the fresh gauze on his forearm, sieun winced. it still throbbed sharply beneath the dressing. 

on the way home, he picked up his engagement ring from the jeweler. the cleaner had done a perfect job—its marquise-cut diamond gleamed even under the gray afternoon sky. just holding it made his heart leap. he slid it back onto his finger and, for a moment, everything else faded away.

his mind drifted to the day suho proposed under the yellow slide—the same one where they first confessed their feelings. the ring's center stone, a brilliant 1.02-carat colorless diamond, was flanked by natural round accents. it sparkled even in the darkest corners of their life, a beacon of love and promise.

after grabbing some gauze rolls from the market, the rest of the trip home passed in a blur. by the time sieun unlocked the front door to their apartment, his arm had started bleeding through again.

“you’re late. again,” was the first thing suho said. he didn’t look up from the onion he was dicing in the kitchen. his tone was flat—present in body, but nowhere near in spirit. suho had been doing that for a while now, and sieun understood. he'd been having trouble getting his very well-deserved promotion at his job, and even more trouble trying to find a new job that would take him and his set of skills seriously. 

sieun deflated. “i just went to the store.”

hearing the weariness in his voice, suho paused, set the knife down, and walked over to wrap him in a hug. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, exhausted but still kissing sieun’s cheek. “hi, love. how was your day?”

“busy,” sieun answered, returning the kiss. “a bunch of tourists showed up out of nowhere.”

“you pick up any new english?” suho teased, hands slipping to sieun’s waist.

sieun rolled his eyes, replying in english, “of course.” suho laughed and kissed him again.

when suho let him go, sieun began making his way to the bathroom while unwrapping the old gauze from his arm. “still hurts,” he muttered, rather silently, just to himself.

but he should’ve known better at this point. suho hears what he doesn’t even say out loud.  

his face darkened instantly. “of course it does.”

that familiar pit opened in sieun’s stomach. suho turned away and went back to the kitchen, resuming his dicing. sieun gave it a minute—two, maybe—before following him.

“suho-yah… let’s not do this.” he reached for a peeler and the carrots in the sink. but the silence that met him made him wish he hadn’t tried to fix things so quickly. a part of him wished he didn't even come back home at all, which he hated himself for.

he wasn’t sure what had caused the tension between them, whether it was suho’s job stress, his frustration with his superiors, or something more personal. all he knew was that it had been building for weeks. sieun had tried to be patient, tried to hold everything together, tried to keep their home feeling safe for suho. suho had been going through a lot and he just wanted him to feel comfortable in his own home.

he dropped the peeler and stood in front of him, now rebandaging his arm. but the bleeding wasn’t stopping, and the dizziness hit him like a wave. he gripped the countertop to stay upright.

“why are you being like this?”

“just drop it, sieun,” suho said without turning around. “i always have the same conversation with you and nothing ever changes. it’s like talking to a wall.”

“what conversation?” sieun’s voice rose slightly, eyes narrowing.

but suho only shook his head.

“you never say what you’re really thinking. you just shut down. i’m talking to you!”

“i can’t!” suho shouted suddenly, stepping back from the counter. “i can’t do this anymore.”

sieun froze, the bandage halfway done. he had never heard suho say those words before. not like that. not with that much… finality.

“this is how i am,” sieun said, gritting his teeth. "all you do, all you've ever done, is criticize me for being myself."

suho slammed the knife down, sending chopped onions flying.

“don’t fucking twist my words, sieun. this—everything—this is torture for me!” his voice cracked, and tears welled in his eyes. “you come home looking like hell. bleeding. bruised. and you act like it’s fine.”

he stared at sieun’s arm. “you’ve had that injury for a week. you say it doesn’t need stitches, but it won’t stop bleeding.”

sieun stepped forward, gently placing his hands on suho’s face. suho melted into his touch—just for a second. for one second, it felt like the world had stilled. he sighed softly, looking at sieun like he was his whole world— and he was. even in all this confusion and anger and melancholy over this point in suho's life, sieun remained the one person he could always turn to.

"suho, i love you so much." sieun whispered. "you're not just my best friend, you're it for me. we have seen each other through all of it— the good and the bad. we have had our rough patches.. of course we have. and this is just another one." sieun grabs both of suho's hands. he takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the goosebumps covering him all over. "we’re gonna work this out. it doesn't have to be today, or tomorrow. but, we can. just like we've done every other time. i know we can."

sieun felt his words might have actually gotten through to suho, because his face softened and his breathing slowed. again, he didn’t initially respond to him, but this time it brings sieun some sort of relief, because at least they aren't yelling at each other anymore.

the relief completely vanishes not even three seconds later.

“no.” suho’s voice was quiet, but firm. “i need more, sieun. i cannot lose you just because you want to continue playing this stupid weak hero you think you are. for fuck’s sake, sieun, you had to learn how to walk again after your spinal cord injury protecting some random woman from being robbed. you and i both know you were only able to fully recover because you have superhuman blood." suho straightened himself up and took a shaky breath. “if we’re going to get married, you need to grow up and stop this. all of it. ”

and sieun's brain just kind of.. stopped working in that moment. he took in suho's words, every single syllable, and let it sink in. he felt buds of pure, hot anger blossom in his chest and ravage his heart. his eyes dilated as the rush of adrenaline passed through him. his temples felt like they're going to cave in, and the blood rushed to his head as if he'd been held upside down for hours. he squeezed suho's hands for, unknowingly, what would be the last time.

sieun scowled deeply. he had been willing to compromise with suho, up until those words left his mouth. he dropped suho's hands and took a step forward. his voice was low and quiet, like he was afraid of what would happen if he spoke any louder. "what the hell are you trying to tell me right now?"

suho stepped closer. “i’m telling you to pick. it’s either us—or it’s not.”

sieun scoffs. a ghost of a smile spreads across his face because there's absolutely no way suho is giving him an ultimatum right now. this was one of the last things suho would ever do. he's sure he must've misheard him.

but suho remains still; his face stone cold, his chest puffed out, his shoulder's straight and rigid.

"you're so.. so selfish for putting me on the fucking spot like this." sieun hisses. "that 'random woman' wasn't being robbed. she had her children with her and was about to be stabbed to death in front of them by their own father. how could-"

" i'm being selfish!?" suho shouts. his hands start flying in the air, "the only person that gets hurt in the end is you, and you don't even care! that woman doesn't give a shit about you! nobody that you go around 'saving' does. they're just glad that they get to see another day, even if you almost had to die for it. nobody that you've helped has ever come to see you in hospital, has ever tried to repay you for what you did, has ever even thanked you properly. sieun, i've tried to be okay with this. i've tried to back you up on this idiotic complex you have of trying to save everybody in your sight!"

“bullshit!” sieun shouted, voice cracked and shaking. “you never talk to me about this— really talk to me. you just shut down. and when i try, you brush me off like I’m annoying you. like i’m nothing. you make me feel like shit for even walking through the door. for breathing, suho.”

his voice drops, and it’s always so much worse that way. quiet. raw.

“you stopped taking care of me…” he whispered, eyes locked on suho. “you did.”

suho froze. no words came. because what could he say? it was true.

he used to be the one who’d treat every bruise on sieun’s body like it was his own. he used to panic when sieun limped through the door, used to carry him into ERs like the world would stop spinning without him. now?

now, he barely looked up.

sieun wiped his nose with his sleeve, voice trembling harder than before. “do you remember yeongsam park? under that yellow slide. you kissed me for the first time and told me why you loved me.” he swallowed hard, like the memory hurt. “you said you loved me because i always put other people first. Because i saw people. because i cared, no matter who they were.”

he took a step closer. “now you’re here, saying it’s the exact opposite. so tell me,” sieun’s voice broke. “was it all just a lie?”

suho’s jaw clenched. his eyes flickered everywhere but sieun’s face. he wanted to say no. god, he wanted to say no.

but instead, through gritted teeth, he said:

“…i guess in a way, it was.”

sieun didn’t blink. didn’t move. just stared at him, slow and steady.

those eyes—those beautiful, ridiculous eyes suho had memorized like a religion—looked at him like he was nothing.

and then the ring hit his chest.

it was small. barely anything. but it felt like a punch straight to his ribs. suho’s lungs collapsed under the weight of it, and he didn’t even realize he was shaking until the ring slipped through his fingers and hit the floor.

a sound like bones breaking. a sound like everything ending.

“wha—sieun, what are you—?”

“fuck you, ahn suho.”

sieun was crying now, openly, face twisted and voice shaking and so beautiful even when he’s broken.

and for a second—a real, gut-wrenching second—suho wanted to fall to his knees. wanted to sob into sieun’s shoulder. wants to scream that he didn’t mean any of it. that he’s scared, and sick, and still so in love he can barely sleep.

but then the bigger part of him—the one that never learned how to say “i’m sorry” without bleeding—took over.

he stepped forward.

and he crushes the ring under his heel.

glass-sharp silence.

“we’re done!” he roars. “you hear me?! we’re done! i should’ve ended this a long time ago.”

his hands shake involuntarily, the residual effect of his accident, and suho just feels everything a thousand times more intensely.

and sieun says nothing in response. the bright, fiery, loving light that once radiated off of sieun had been extinguished. he watched sieun blink and blink and blink, like he'd been trying to contain himself. and suddenly, as he watched sieun and all his habits, he realized that all the things suho loved about sieun had become the very things he resented; his stubborn attitude, his drive, his selflessness.

heartbreak feels like a cold, heavy weight in your chest that just sinks your soul down. you're waiting and waiting for it to finally settle somewhere inside of you so you can feel a sense of normalcy again, but it never does. it keeps you ironically hollow. both ready to explode and completely empty at the same time.

sieun's feet move for him after that. he stepped away from suho and the kitchen, keeping his eyes on the broken engagement ring. his broken engagement ring. he thought he heard suho calling his name, but the shrill sound of ringing in his ears at that moment made it impossible to hear.

sieun walked out of the apartment. he didn’t turn around.

the next day, suho returned from work to his apartment completely empty of sieun.

sieun was gone. his clothes, his little trinkets of all the meaningless places they went to—all of it had vanished. the scent of sieun’s shampoo. his chipped coffee mug. the cluttered drawer of his pens and paper when he studied. 

suho only realized it now, when he was laying wide awake in his cold, unwelcoming, empty bed. this wasn't something he would be able to apologize for later, when they were both in better mindsets. this wasn't just another fight they were having.

this was the fight that ended them.

suho stared at the door until dawn, hoping it would open.

it didn’t.

three years ago, suho’s heart ignited in a searing pain.

and it hasn’t stopped hurting since.

"this is why when you reward incompetence, we all lose."

ara huffs, "hyuntak, she's new!" 

"and obviously blends her contour downwards," hyuntak tosses the resume papers in the trash bin. "that was the first mistake made in hiring her." 

"isn't this, like, the fourth person you fire in the past two days?" beomseok speaks out of pure curiosity, much to hyuntak's dismay. he sighs, "don't remind me."

hyuntak frantically flips through the lookbook he finished up just the night prior. he makes a noise in frustration and shoots up from his seat, only to have the room spin all around him. 

"you haven't had anything to eat today, have you?" sieun pushes a glass of water towards hyuntak despite his complaints that he was going to get the lookbook and his desk wet. he doesn't reply, and that's all sieun needs to hear. he whistles over to beomseok, who puts his book down and moves into the kitchen. 

"today, i'm teaching you how to make kimchi fried rice." sieun says. "this recipe’s good for meal prepping. so when things get busy—and they will —you’re not surviving off cup noodles like someone we know." he begins pulling out the ingredients and beomseok starts heating the stove up. 

“i’m right here,” Hyuntak grumbles.

beomseok doesn’t remember when these little cooking lessons had started, but they’d become their own kind of comfort. a quiet hour, full of chopping, stirring, and the kind of conversations that didn’t need to mean anything to matter.

"ow!" humin jerks his arm away from hyuntak's grasp. hyuntak rolls his eyes with a groan. "you messed me up again! how hard is it to stay still?" 

"you keep stabbing me with the sewing needle," humin rubs his arm. "and you know i'm not the biggest fan of needles." 

"you are such a baby," hyuntak pulls the garment he had on humin's arm off extremely gently, contrasting his annoyance. "where did beomseok go? he's about your height and knows how to shut up."

humin opens his mouth to argue, sees the bags under hyuntak’s eyes, and closes it again. his gotak was barely holding it together. there are pins in his sleeves, thread in his teeth, and stress stitched into every line of his posture.

hyuntak is now attempting to sew the garment on his own arm, which they all know is a bad idea. ara briefly tries to help, but realizes she herself has a bunch of work to finish before the line drops, and rushes out of the room with a stack of filing folders in her hands. "not sure. maybe he-"

"ow!" hyuntak drops both the fabric and the needle. he knows better than to look at the knowing eyes humin is giving him, so he settles for keeping his gaze on the floor and rubbing his arm. 

"why don’t you take a breath?" humin offers, picking up the fabric and needle. "hyuntak, your line looks amazing as is. i really don't think there's a need to add another surprise design. you already have three." hyuntak sinks back into the sofa with a scoff. " you didn’t have your face splashed across half the tabloids this week. apparently, i’m bankrupt, unoriginal, and evading taxes."

"but that's exactly what they are, gotak. alleged ." humin's voice softens seeing hyuntak put his head in his hands. "you know these rumors are just rumors. your brand is doing just as well as it has been doing when you first created it." 

hyuntak doesn’t answer. but when humin stands and comes back with one of the thick knit blankets, draping it around hyuntak’s shoulders, something in his chest cracks a little. softer this time.

"you are the sole creator of a brand that blew up overnight and continues to excel. that can't be easy," humin rubs hyuntak's back. "wherever there's as much love, there's as much hate. it's up to you to place your energy and focus on the love, instead of losing yourself to all that darkness. the hate doesn’t mean you’re failing. it just means you’re visible.”

hyuntak lets the words settle like warm tea on a cold day.

and when the kitchen fills with the scent of sizzling kimchi, and sieun’s quiet humming blended with beomseok’s laughter, it all feels… lighter.

like a home full of mismatched people who knew how to show love when it mattered most.

"don't you have, like, seamstresses and tailors to do this for you?" suho emerges from the hallway into the common area, and hyuntak looks up to see both him and juntae. he makes eye contact with juntae before hastily looking away. and if it isn't him trying his best to avoid his gaze, juntae definitely is. hyuntak doesn't even know why they're acting like this, but the energy between them hasn't been the same since the night he cleaned out his closet. 

hyuntak curses to himself— this is why he should've just left the damn closet alone. 

"i gave them all a paid vacation," hyuntak exasperates. "they worked really hard to finish the main design line in a month, and while i was gone." 

"ah," suho smiles. "so you do have a heart."

"every time you open up that beak , suho, i-"

"okay!" sieun’s voice breaks through, sharp but not angry. he strides across the room with two steaming bowls of kimchi fried rice. beomseok follows, balancing another two.

sieun passes the bowls to hyuntak and humin, beomseok handing his off to suho and juntae. “no more fighting. everyone’s already stretched thin. home fights won’t fix anything.”

hyuntak wants to scoff at the phrase home fights, but the fried rice was so good it physically stops him from speaking.

“how’s the case looking?” beomseok asks cautiously.

suho doesn't answer. he just exhales a long, tight groan and slumps further into juntae’s shoulder, like the weight of the entire country pressing charges against him is finally crushing his ribs.

juntae speaks for him. “seongje and i pulled every file the court has. i’ve been combing through the evidence, frame by frame, document by document. it’s… difficult. there’s almost nothing i can use. no holes. no false leads. nothing solid to prove suho wasn’t there the night of the murder.”

“i don’t remember what happened,” suho says, voice rough with frustration. “i went out for drinks with my friends. i blacked out. woke up on my floor.”

at the table, hyuntak lets out a scoff, dragging his spoon through his fried rice with theatrical boredom. maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. or the endless PR damage control. or the fact that no matter how many times suho says he didn’t kill anyone, someone always seems to be doubting him.

but something inside suho cracks .

“stop it, hyuntak,” humin mutters, not even looking up from his bowl. the energy in the house lately has been thick . like walking through glass.

“i didn’t kill that man,” suho snarls. it’s louder this time. sharper. he’s past the point of begging to be believed—he’s ready to burn someone for implying otherwise.

“he offered me a position as head of PR and then pulled the salary. that was the argument. it got loud, sure it did, but i would never—” his voice breaks a little. “i wouldn’t kill someone over a paycheck.”

“so no alibi, a picture-perfect motive, and a temper that speaks for itself,” hyuntak spits, his laugh sharp and cruel. “you’re practically begging to be locked up.”

the bowl in suho’s hands shatters against the table with a deafening crack , ceramic shards skittering across the wood. his chest heaves. his fists curl so tight they tremble. his eyes gleam with something dangerously close to hatred.

“you know,” he growls, “i actually pitied you. when you were rotting in that cage. when you almost died in that hospital bed. i fucking pitied you.”

hyuntak’s expression twists, something wounded flickering beneath the fire. but it’s gone just as fast—replaced by fury, by pride, by venom.

“and to think i can’t pick up this phone right now and turn your lying, guilty ass in. ” he lifts his phone deliberately, thumb hovering over the screen. “don’t push me, suho. you’re not the only one who knows how to destroy people.”

kei appears behind suho in a low growl, muscles coiled like a loaded spring. she doesn’t bark—she waits , on edge, reading suho’s energy like a mirror. her glowing eyes lock onto hyuntak with deadly precision.

“you got exactly what you deserved, you self-centered snake. i’m only sorry now that it was just two weeks.” suho growls. “you walk around this house like you’re untouchable, like your word is law, like the world should bow because you know how to hem a fucking sleeve. you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself. never have. but today?” he steps closer, veins visible in his neck. “you’re gonna learn what it means to run that mouth without thinking.”

hyuntak stands. he’s flushed, but his smirk is calm—too calm. the kind of calm that’s dangerous.

iI’ll run rings around you and your glorified mutt,” he sneers. “try it.”

and suho’s body snaps . every nerve is vibrating. every breath hurts. his fists twitch at his sides, aching for contact—for something to break under him. the weight of it all comes flooding back in one cruel, overwhelming surge: his stolen freedom. jiwoo. the whispers. the bounty. the headlines. the shame. the betrayal.

he's one breath away from lunging—ready to tear something apart, anything , when someone moves.

not juntae. not humin.

it’s sieun.

and it’s like the world stutters. suho's breath lodges in his throat.

“don’t,” sieun says. it's quiet, barely audible, but it’s the only sound that matters.

because sieun is looking at him . really looking. the first time in three years. three years since that fight. since he disappeared. since Suho broke everything.

time slows. suho’s body betrays him—his rage slips, his hands fall, and behind the fury is something jagged and desperate and aching.

because no one else has ever been able to shut him down like sieun. no one else has ever made him feel like this: like he’s seventeen again, like he’s on his knees in the rain again, begging someone who already walked away.

lightning flickers behind them. beomseok moves, voice low and crackling with power.

“back off.” he tells hyuntak. he sounds scared but he stands firm. 

“enough.” juntae’s voice cuts in, smooth and absolute.

he lifts both hands, and without warning, suho and hyuntak are slammed against opposite walls, bodies snapping like rag dolls. the whole room rattles. gasps ripple through the silence.

suho fights the force like a caged animal, teeth bared. hyuntak writhes in fury, eyes locked on juntae like he could kill him where he stands. but juntae doesn’t even blink. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t need to.

his eyes are on hyuntak now.

“this isn’t helping us. and if you think i won’t lock this house down and freeze time itself to stop you both, try me.”

the power wavers—just a flicker. maybe it’s the eye contact. maybe it’s something else. but juntae slips.

suho hits the floor first, palms scraping the ground as he forces himself up, breath ragged, muscles twitching for round two.

hyuntak drops next, slow and furious.

suho’s already stepping forward again, he doesn’t even know if it’s toward hyuntak or away from himself. his blood is screaming. he’s not thinking anymore.

and then, again , it’s sieun.

he steps between them with that same unreadable face, the face suho was once so good at reading. but his voice.. his voice is everything.

“come upstairs. now.”

and suho moves . not because he’s afraid. not because he’s calmed down.

because sieun asked.

because he always listens when it’s sieun.

even now.

even after everything.

the second suho and sieun disappear upstairs, the living room settles into a weighted silence—like a thunderstorm has just passed but left all the air charged with static.

hyuntak peels himself off the wall, wincing slightly from the pressure still throbbing in his shoulder. he doesn’t say a word. he doesn’t look at anyone. especially not juntae.

instead, he grabs the unfinished garment from the coffee table, folds it once with aggressive precision, and storms out of the room.

juntae stands there for a second like he’s buffering.

“hyuntak—” he calls out, but it’s too late. hyuntak’s already halfway down the hall, his jaw locked tight, the silence around him as cold and elegant as a blade.

in hyuntak’s room, the door slams with a heavy thud. he tosses the garment onto his chair and immediately starts undoing the tiny stitches he'd just started hours earlier. the needle pricks his finger almost instantly, and he mutters a curse under his breath.

there’s a knock.

he doesn’t answer.

another knock. softer.

still no answer.

then, “…i had to,” juntae says quietly through the door.

hyuntak doesn’t respond. the thread snaps in his hand. he yanks it out like it offended him.

“i wasn’t going to let you fight suho.”

that does it.

the door swings open—not all the way, just enough for hyuntak to glare at him through the gap. his voice is low, controlled, but seething. “you used your ability on me. ”

juntae flinches.

“i didn’t throw a punch,” hyuntak continues. “i didn’t even move. and you still threw me against the wall like i was some reckless idiot you had to contain. ”

“hyuntak—”

“you could’ve stopped suho. you didn’t have to touch me.”

juntae’s mouth opens. closes. he looks like he’s running mental simulations and every single one ends in error. 

“…i’m sorry,” he says finally, and it sounds like it’s physically painful for him to admit. “i didn’t want to. i just—if i didn’t neutralize both of you, the tension might’ve escalated.”

hyuntak narrows his eyes. “ neutralize ?”

juntae flinches again.

“you’re talking like i’m some threat that needs to be managed. ”

“you’re not,” juntae blurts. “that’s not—” he stops. “you’re not.”

silence again. hyuntak stares at him. juntae stares at the floor.

and hyuntak hates it. hates how his rage fizzles the second he sees juntae like this. like some awkward, helpless little thing. hates that he knows juntae didn’t mean to hurt him. hates that part of him still wants to reach out and—

“don’t follow me,” hyuntak says, and shuts the door.

he expects juntae to take the hint.

he doesn’t.

instead, there’s a light shuffle. a shadow crossing the threshold. the door creaks open again, just an inch.

“taka.”

hyuntak doesn’t turn around. he stares at his desk. at the crooked stitches. at the blood starting to dry on his fingertip.

“i don’t want you mad at me,” juntae says so quietly it almost doesn’t sound like him.

hyuntak closes his eyes.

“well,” he says bitterly. “that makes two of us.”

“i’m not good at… this.” juntae’s words come out stiff, unsure. “but when things spiral, i calculate risk. and i can’t risk losing you. or suho. or—any of you.”

hyuntak finally turns. his eyes are glassy, but his expression is unreadable.

“don’t say that like you care,” he says. “because if you did, you would’ve chosen to trust me. not shut me down like i’m dangerous.”

“i do care,” juntae says, stepping inside fully now. “that’s why i did it. because if anything happened to you, again, hyuntak, i—”

he cuts himself off.

hyuntak laughs. not kindly. “say it, juntae. finish that sentence. i dare you.”

juntae’s jaw tenses. his hands clench and unclench at his sides. “i can’t.”

“i know,” hyuntak whispers. he takes a shaky breath, then sinks into his chair like all the anger has drained out of him, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion behind. “you’re a genius, but when it comes to people, you’re the dumbest man i’ve ever met.”

juntae says nothing.

and then, slowly, carefully, he walks over and crouches next to hyuntak’s chair—like some kid who’s afraid of getting swatted but still wants to be close.

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says again. 

there’s fire in hyuntak’s eyes. his voice is low and lethal. “then you shouldn't have touched me at all.”

he turns away immediately again, like he can't even look at juntae right now, and walks back toward the desk.

juntae steps into the room. “i hear what you’re saying about suho. i know you said you weren’t gonna do anything to him. but you didn’t see your face.”

hyuntak wheels around. “you don’t get to say that,” he snaps. “not after what i’ve been through. not after everything you know. ” his voice cracks on that last word, and he hates himself for it. 

and suddenly juntae looks wrecked. like he’s been trying so hard to stay composed but that one sentence shattered something inside him.

“i just—” he starts, falters, restarts. “i don’t know what i thought was going to happen, okay? i don’t know. my brain just—jumped.”

“to what?” hyuntak spits.

“I don’t know !” juntae shouts— really shouts, and that never happens. “i saw you and suho and everything went white. i saw the way you stood, the way your eyes looked, and i thought—” he swallows. his voice drops. “i thought i was going to lose you again.”

the room stills.

hyuntak blinks, lips parted.

juntae takes another breath, shakier this time. “two weeks, hyuntak. you and seongje were gone for two weeks. and when we finally got you back, you were—” his voice breaks. “i wasn’t fast enough back then. i didn’t see the signs. i didn’t know. ”

he looks away, ashamed. “so now, when things escalate—when someone raises their voice, or takes a step forward, or flinches wrong—i react.”

hyuntak is silent. for the first time, his anger doesn’t have a place to land. juntae fidgets with the sleeve of his hoodie. “i know it wasn’t the same. you weren’t in danger. but something in me still thought… what if? what if i’m not fast enough again?”

“you’re scared,” hyuntak says slowly, like he’s seeing it all laid bare for the first time.

juntae doesn’t respond. he just nods. once.

and then, softer, “i couldn’t go through that again. not with you.”

hyuntak breath hitches. he turns away, like the words physically hit him. “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

“i do,” juntae says. “i don’t know how to prove it. but i mean every word.”

the silence thickens, but it’s different now. less sharp, more aching. juntae edges a little closer, the tension still hanging in the air like fog.

“… i’m sorry,” he whispers. “i’m really, really sorry.”

hyuntak doesn’t answer right away. he sits down hard in his chair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. for a moment, he doesn’t look like the hyuntak the world knows—no designer bravado, no glossy control. just a man who almost died and hasn’t quite come back all the way.

hyuntak turns his head just enough to look at him. juntae is staring up at him like a lost puppy. like if hyuntak pushed him away, he’d probably sleep outside the door all night.

“… you owe me a coffee,” hyuntak mutters, after a long silence. “from that pretentious café you like.”

juntae blinks. “okay. for what?”

“for slamming me into a goddamn wall.”

“oh.” juntae considers. “do you want… decaf?”

hyuntak groans and lets his head fall against the back of his chair. “you are so lucky i don’t hate you.”

juntae stands a little straighter. “i know.”

hyuntak looks back up at him, eyes glassy. “and if you ever throw me into a wall again, i’m launching your laptop into the han river.”

“…fair.”

suho throws himself onto the bed like the air's been knocked from his lungs. the sheets are cold, but his skin is burning. his pulse hammers behind his eyes. his fingers tremble like they don’t belong to him.

the door clicks shut. sieun walks in slow, like he’s still processing what just happened downstairs. he drops into suho’s rolling chair with a thud and blocks the door. “what the hell was that, suho?”

“he had it coming,” suho mutters into the pillow. his voice is cracked at the edges. “loose lips, loose teeth. he’ll learn.”

a heavy silence follows. suho stays curled on the bed. sieun sits frozen in the chair, hands fiddling with nothing, feet unmoving. it’s the first time in months they've been alone in a room without throwing verbal daggers—and yet the quiet is so loud it might as well be screaming.

sieun glances at him, just briefly. suho’s eyes are fixed on his own hands, his posture curled in on itself like a little boy trying to disappear.

"do you think i did it?" suho finally asks. the weight in his chest seems to physically drag him down when the words leave his mouth. suho isn't even sure why he even asked. he's so ready to take back the question, but sieun stops swaying in the rolling chair completely. 

the words dangle in the air like a noose.

"of course i don't," sieun says. he looks at suho like he's hurt suho would even give that thought any attention, and it makes suho want to apologize immediately. "i know you would never do something like that." 

the weight in suho's chest alleviates the same second sieun finishes talking. 

"sieun-ah," suho calls out. "don't leave." 

sieun tries his hardest not to go back to the memories of suho telling him that exact phrase right before he came back home to a cold apartment. he straightens himself up a little, "i need to help beomseok with the dishes." 

"no." suho repeats. something in his voice changes, and it sounds like he’s afraid for this conversation to end. sieun does turn around at this point, and crosses his arms like a reflex seeing suho off the bed and inches away from him. "i meant, don't leave the team."

sieun's head tilts slightly in confusion. suho can only watch him with desperation. "i— i heard you talking with humin and hyuntak the other night. you said that-" 

"how much of that did you hear?" if sieun wasn't tense before, he definitely was now. his eyebrows are furrowed and his nails are digging into his arms and his shoulders are almost in front of him. suho takes a step back. "i didn't hear all of it, i promise," he says, out of breath, like he's afraid to speak. "i wanted to get a glass of water and i heard humin giving you a list of reasons why you should resign from this assignment.." 

suho didn't need to say another thing for sieun to comprehend that even though suho wasn't there to hear their whole story, he didn't have to be. 

"i can leave the team first." suho sounds like he's out of breath. he looks so upset that sieun can practically see the dark rain cloud above his head. "i don't have anything going for me, anyway. i can't hide forever, and it's obvious i'm not going to win this case either."

"suho-"

"-but you actually have things to look forward to. juntae sent you a fake acceptance letter to that culinary school in the states. but you probably quit your job on the spot, didn't you? and besides, juntae is trying to save mankind or whatever. this is totally up your alley and i'm just making everything and everyone uncomfortable."

"suho-"

"either way, it's okay. you're such an amazing chef, i know you'll get another job 10 minutes after this assignment finally ends and i know you'll do your absolute best to keep everyone safe. but you can't do that if you're having so much trouble with-"

" suho-yah, " suho doesn't realize how close sieun is to him until he feels sieun's hand on his chest and the bed dip in beside him. "take some deep breaths with me, come on."

it only registers to suho that he's been panting his words out like a dog that hasn't had any water in days. his chest was heaving and he's really warm and feels a migraine incoming. suho's in a thin tank top and can feel the coolness of sieun's hand on his chest, but it only makes him feel like he's been set on fire, feels it down to the marrow. it burns. it calms. it hurts. it heals.

regardless, he tries to follow the rhythmic breaths sieun is guiding him to do. suho can't help but stare at him, even though sieun's gaze is fixed on his own hand on suho’s chest. everything seems to fade away in the moment— everything feels okay. sieun always made him feel like that, and right now is no different.

"better," sieun says. he removes his hand from suho’s chest and sighs to himself. "you looked like you were about to pass out." 

"i'm okay." suho says, but sieun is immediately taking notice of the way his breathing picks the pace up again. "i just— i really will leave the team first. if that's going to-"

"i'm not leaving," sieun interrupts. his voice remains quiet, but suho knows he means what he says. "humin was just trying to help me out, that's all."

suho's breathing normalizes after sieun says that, and sieun is trying so hard not to read into it more than he should. suho has many questions as to why humin was suggesting something as big as dropping out of the assignment, but he knows it is absolutely none of his business, and that sharp sting blooms in his heart again. he watches sieun get up again— sieun, the man he knew absolutely everything about. the man that told him everything so that suho never had to even think about what was or wasn't his business. the man he was engaged to. the love of his life.

“we’ve all been living together for months now,” sieun says softly, arms folded over his chest. “hyuntak… he’s just like that. and i’m sure if we knew more about him, what he’s been through, we’d understand. i’m not saying i agree with what he said. i don’t. but fighting like this? making enemies when you already have so many?” he looks at suho now, his voice gentler. “that’s not going to help anyone. especially not you.”

it’s measured. rational. exactly the kind of thing suho knew sieun would say. because sieun was always like this. quiet, composed, calm even when he was breaking. always trying to help. always trying to fix things that were already too far gone.

and suho had braced himself for that. he’d told himself not to expect anything else. but hearing it still hurts.

he stares at the floor. his voice is barely audible.

“i’m sorry, sieun.”

not loud. not dramatic. just two small, fragile words that hit the room like a crack in glass. sieun freezes mid-step, his back still to suho. his hand hovers just over the doorknob. he doesn’t turn around, but suho sees the shift in his shoulders—the hesitation.

suho’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably. his hands won’t stop trembling. he swallows hard, voice thinner now, hoarse around the edges. “really. i’m so, so sorry.”

and sieun knows. he knows it’s not just about the fight with Hyuntak. it’s not just about the tension that’s been gnawing at them since they ended up under the same roof again.

it’s about everything.

the silence.

the heartbreak.

the years.

it’s an apology three years too late, and somehow still too soon.

and sieun doesn’t know what to do with it. doesn’t know how to hold it in his hands without bleeding. he exhales, the sound brittle. his voice cracks as he speaks.

“yeah,” sieun croaks dryly. his knuckles turn white around the doorknob. “me too.”

he opens the door and steps outside. doesn’t look back.

and the air that follows him out feels heavier than before—like something important was left behind, unfinished.

Chapter Text

the first thing humin sees when he enters the living room is pure chaos.

toys are scattered everywhere. blocks, dolls, half-torn coloring books. a crayon rolls slowly under the sofa like it's trying to escape the scene. a tiny plastic cooking pan teeters off of the edge of the coffee table. at the center of it all sits nari, face scrunched up in full concentration as she builds what appears to be a lopsided tower with her blocks.

seongje is next to her, sprawled out on the rug, his expression dead serious— like this uneven little castle in the most important mission of his life.

"no," seongje says, softly but firmly, guiding her hand. "that one's too light. it'll fall if you put it there."

nari considers it, then nods. "okay."

"try the square one."

she does. it holds.

"yeah? see?" he says, his tone just a little too smug for talking to a toddler. "i told you. balance."

"balance," she repeats solemnly, as if he's just taught her a sacred truth. humin doesn't say anything right away. he had left to shower and was done a while ago, but he's too surprised by the quiet moment unfolding in front of him. seongje, the same seongje who once snapped a guy's wrist in one clean twist without a second thought, is now sitting here in a loose black tee and sweats patiently helping a two-year-old build towers. not with his abilities. not with his brute strength and eerie precision. just with his hands and time.

the wildest part is that he's great at it.

"you're gonna be a menace at preschool, or wherever they send kids your age." seongje tells nari as she moves on to her next masterpiece. "no one's gonna build shit like you do."

"build... shit." nari echoes innocently.

humin coughs from behind and it startles the both of them. "hey! language, man!"

seongje turns to face him with a shrug, utterly apologetic. "she repeated it correctly. that's what matters."

"seongje," humin says, laughing despite himself. "what the hell are you doing?"seongje shrugs again and turns back around to nari. "she wanted to play. so i played."

"i didn't even know you knew how to play."

"i didn't." seongje says. "not until now."

the words are casual, but something about the way he says them warms humin's heart. there's something quiet there. honest. a little raw. seongje doesn't explain, and humin doesn't press.

"well," humin scoops nari up from the floor and twirls them both around before sitting down next to seongje. "let's see how tall we can get the tower."

"yeah!" nari shouts in delight. seongje smiles at her, then at humin. he's glad humin's got his daughter back. even if that makes him a thousand time louder and positive .

the evening hours pass. the apartment is quiet now. the city's hum is distant and muffled with the curtains drawn and this high up. humin stands near the doorway of his room, watching her sleep like he still can't believe she's really here. his arms are crossed, but his fingers are twitching like he wants to go in and check on her again. seongje leans against a wall a few feet away, arms loose at his side, "she's out cold," seongje whispers. "you can chill now."

humin huffs a tired laugh but doesn't look away. "yeah. i know." he lingers another second or so before turning to look at seongje. "just.. i haven't had a night like this in a while."

"right." seongje says. "first weeks back with her and you let a stranger put her to bed. real impressive, dad."

"she stopped crying when you held her." humin mutters. 

"yeah, she drooled a little on my shoulder." seongje deadpans, but there's a hint of a smile on his face. and it's not mocking or disrespectful, much like how he usually talks. humin snorts. "she does that sometimes. only when she's comfortable." he looks at seongje and they both move to the kitchen. "you're good with her."

"eh. trying to be. she's cool, i guess."

"mhm," humin hums. "never thought you'd be so good with kids." he opens the fridge and pulls out two cold water bottles, one for him and one for seongje. seongje takes the bottle and rolls his eyes, but humin only smiles wider. he moves to turn the stove on and reheat some leftovers from sieun earlier that morning.

"i'm not." seongje says. there's a silence that feels less of lull and more of a shared breath. seongje isn't really good at this, at talking; at the concept of friends. but this silence isn't really awkward. and he likes that.

humin walks over to seongje's side and claps a hand on his shoulder. "thanks, man. for earlier."

seongje grumbles. "don't get sappy with me. and if you tell anyone, i'll break your nose."

"i'm serious, you didn't have to step in."

"well, you looked like you were about to break down on me when you couldn't get nari to stop crying." seongje mumbles.

humin tries to laugh it off, but his eyes drop a little. "yeah, still doesn't feel real. i don't know, i just feel like... feel i don't know how to take care of her anymore. it feels like i lost my touch with her. i just want to be extra careful and i don't want her to suffer anymore."

"you're allowed to be soft about it, you know." seongje says. humin snorts again. "didn't know you believed in 'soft'."

"i don't."

but humin gives him a long look anyway, grateful and surprised at the same time. they both grin at each other for a second before falling back into a real silence.

"... you ever think you'd end up in a place like this?" seongje asks. he caps his water bottle after sipping on it. humin sighs in so deeply, so relieved, like the weight of the world has just been lifted off his entire being, "not in a million years."

seongje does somewhat the same thing. "me neither."

and then they just stare at the kitchen counter again, standing in the middle of something they had never expected to be in, both a little bit changed.

"so," seongje says. "did she inherit your abilities?"

humin hums. "i actually have no idea. when did your abilities set in?"

"i think i was about two or three." seongje mumbles. "i was walking around a park trail with my family and i stepped on a dandelion. i felt so bad for killing it, all i could think about was how to bring it back. then i felt all the energy form and the gold come out of my hand."

"yeah," humin says. "it's usually the burst of emotion that typically causes it. for me, i was six. i got so excited that they picked me to be the line leader that i literally shot fire balls out from my hands."

and seongje can very much imagine first-grade humin just combusting into a fireball over absolutely no reason. it seems like humin could tell what seongje was thinking, because humin starts grinning. "don't tease me too much, now. big, scary seongje cried over a dandelion."

seongje rolls his eyes. "shut the hell up, man. i was two and didn't know better."

humin just laughs. "i have no idea if nari inherited my abilities or not. it wouldn't be such a bad thing if she didn't," he looks down at his hands. "she'd be human. completely human. she wouldn't have to worry about hiding herself from society."

seongje remains quiet, taking a long sip of his water. "yeah. i guess you're right in that sense."

"yeah." humin sighs. the smell of something burning fills the air, sharp and smoky. he spins around, cursing under his breath about the heat being too high.

but seongje's not listening. because in that split second, the world collapses.

something is wrong.

it starts in his gut. a deep, unnatural twist that feels like something living is trying to crawl out. his vision swims, nausea floods his chest, and suddenly he's not in the kitchen anymore. he's weightless. empty. cold.

the blood drains from his face so fast he feels the room tilt. he grabs the edge of the counter, but it doesn't feel real. his breath starts catching in his throat like it's being pulled backward into something too dark and too tight to escape.

when humin turns around, the grin drops clean off his face.

"hey," he says softly. "you're really pale all of a sudden. what's—"

"i'm fine," seongje says, too quickly, straightening up so fast he stumbles. the world blurs. his chest aches. he thinks he's going to throw up or pass out—maybe both. humin rushes to steady him, but seongje jerks away like he's been burned.

"don't touch me."

"seongje—"

"i said i'm fine!" the shout rips out of him with too much force, too much panic. he meets humin's gaze for only a second, enough for humin to see the sweat glistening at his hairline, the tremble in his hands, the storm behind his eyes.

"you always have to fucking overstep, don't you?"

humin freezes. his mouth opens, then closes again.

seongje doesn't wait. he turns and bolts up the stairs, his footsteps heavy and uneven. he slams the door behind him so hard the frame shudders. the lock clicks and the lights stay off.

and then… silence.

until he sinks to the floor.

his knees hit the hardwood with a crack. his breathing turns ragged, erratic. he presses the heel of his palms into his eyes like he's trying to shove the memories back in, but they flood forward anyway.

voices. distant and distorted, like echoes in a metal room. he remembers the cold. the wet concrete. the sickening hum of electricity. the smell of the air in that dark, dirty room. a boot slamming into his ribs. blood in his mouth. a voice, smooth and unbothered, asking him questions he didn't have answers to.

the snap of his wrist being broken. the way he screamed so hard he couldn't hear for hours afterward. they made him heal. made him do it again. over and over until his body felt like a machine built for pain for two entire weeks.

he curls into himself on the floor now, knuckles white from gripping his shirt like it's the only thing keeping him tethered. his skin feels too tight. every nerve is alive with phantom pain. every second he's in that room again, strapped down, helpless, someone sneering in his face, calling him a freak.

he gasps, chokes, claws at his own neck like he can't breathe.

he wanted to believe that wasn't true. but maybe it is.

he punches the floor hard enough that something cracks. his vision swims. his forehead presses against the cool wood, but it doesn't help. it's not enough.

he can't cry. he doesn't know how anymore. but he shakes.

violently.

alone.

and outside his door, humin hasn't moved. he's still standing there, one hand hovering in the air, unsure if he should knock, unsure if it would even matter.

because seongje's not really in that room.

he's somewhere else entirely.

"so, what do we have?" sieun sits on the oversized beanbag in the corner of juntae's room, his limbs sinking in as the screen's glow paints tired shadows across his face. he pulls one of juntae's laptops onto his thighs, fingers already tapping at the keyboard to organize the cluttered file directory.

juntae sits cross-legged on the floor, his back hunched, glasses sliding halfway down his nose as he squints at the nearby monitor. he exhales hard and tugs them off, pinching the bridge of his nose. his eyes are raw from the hours he's spent poring over data that led absolutely nowhere.

"i pulled up every residential file within a hundred-mile radius of the boutique. staff records, public criminal logs, even birth certificates." he combs his fingers through his bangs, pushing them up in frustration. "but 99% of them have spotless records. and the ones that don't?" he gestures vaguely toward the screen. "unpaid parking tickets, juvenile nonsense from ten years ago. nothing that even remotely suggests sabotage, let alone theft."

sieun glances at him, a quiet acknowledgement of the weight behind that last word.

juntae slouches further and reaches beside him, sliding over a yellow clasped envelope across the floor with a fingertip. "i was about ready to give up on it. but one night, hyuntak noticed me tweaking the layout on one of the security schematics and asked if i'd gotten my spatial layers misaligned." juntae chuckles dryly. "of course, i had. i fixed it in two minutes. and once the projection finally displayed the full ring housing in the correct sequence..."

he motions toward the envelope again, his expression unreadable.

sieun pulls the tab, unfolds the contents. the first thing he sees are high-resolution renders of the biometric lock. then, the DNA blueprint.

he freezes. "...is this a joke?"

"i wish," juntae mutters. sieun stares at the scanned diagram, eyebrows rising slowly. "it's... it's dog DNA."

"more specifically," juntae says with a mix of exasperation and disbelief, "retinal data extracted from canine eye tissue. the lock is calibrated to read eye structure, pupil dilation pattern, and the surrounding ocular proteins. but in simpler terms—"

"the key to opening that thing is a dog's eye." sieun finishes the sentence, blinking at the page like it personally insulted him.

juntae leans back against the wall, shaking his head. "i ran the simulations over and over again. cross-referenced it with every known species biometric we've catalogued. nothing came close to a match until i fed it canine data."

there's a long silence between them, filled only by the hum of the laptop fan.

sieun looks down at the printout again, slower this time. "why would anyone use this as a key? you'd have to genetically code the lock to recognize one single dog, right? and what kind of person thinks of this? this isn't just weird. it's personal. specific."

juntae's gaze hardens. "exactly. which means whoever designed it wanted the solution to be buried under layers of absurdity. they were hiding something... or protecting something, i don't know." he exhales, suddenly tired again. "we're not even close to knowing which, or knowing what, or-"

"i think you're spiraling again, juntae," sieun says, arms folded, voice flat but piercing. juntae doesn't respond, he just sits slouched at his desk, eyes bloodshot, fingers twitching like he's seconds away from flinging his laptop into orbit. it looks like he wants to throw the laptop out of the window. or himself. or maybe both.

"why don't we make something to eat?" sieun suggests. it's worded like an option, but he's already walking over and tugging juntae up by the wrist. "you haven't eaten all day."

"i'm not-"

"we're making eggs."

juntae stumbles after him, too tired to argue. he lets himself be led down the hall, past closed doors and soft echoes of life still happening outside his obsessive thoughts.

in the kitchen, the atmosphere is deceptively peaceful. the most it has been in a long time. sunlight spills in warm sheets across the counter. nari swings her legs as she sits atop it, humming around a juice pouch. humin stands by the stove, flipping something vaguely edible in a pan while suho scrolls through his phone at the island.

"hi, guys." juntae offers quietly. sieun follows, much quieter than juntae, if that was even possible.

sieun gently nudges juntae onto a stool, then starts opening cabinets. ".. and we only have one egg left." so much for that.

"gotta keep the genius boys fed for tonight," humin chimes in, scooping nari up and spinning her once in the air. the baby squeals.

sieun laughs a little under his breath hearing nari. it's quiet, genuine—and he doesn't do it often, but it comes easy here. he picks up the egg, inspecting it. 

"you didn't cancel on him, right?" humin asks, trying to sound casual as he lifts nari off the counter. she climbs onto his shoulders like a cat. "or are you nervous?"

sieun's hand falters for half a second. juntae looks up from where he's zoning out. suho doesn't move, but his fingers stop scrolling.

"nervous for what?" juntae asks, tilting his head.

"sieun has a date tonight," humin announces like it’s nothing more than a weather update.

sieun doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t need to.

"oh." juntae glances his way, a flicker of something unspoken in his voice. he’s only half-hurt that sieun didn’t tell him. "that’s... exciting. since when?"

"since i told him to stop making the poor guy suffer and just say yes," humin grins, giving nari a kiss on the cheek and ruffling sieun’s hair. "gayool. they were friends in high school. still completely head-over-heels for him, apparently."

he’s spinning nari around like it's some fairytale, unaware of the sudden chill slicing through the room.

suho’s phone lowers slowly. his thumb hovers above the screen—frozen. “gayool?”

the room stills. sieun, praying for peace, doesn’t answer right away. he finishes dicing a green onion with surgical precision, lets the silence grow uncomfortable.

then— "yeah. him."

flat. calm. calculated.

suho's laugh is sharp, joyless. “didn’t he peak in high school?” his tone drips venom. “guess some people are into mediocrity.”

sieun finally turns his head, expression unreadable. “you thought wrong.”

a beat.

suho blinks like he’s been slapped. his smile goes stiff, bitter. "and you're gonna cook for him too, huh?"

humin shifts uneasily, suddenly very interested in nari's coloring book. even she senses it, choosing a black crayon to draw her dragon's fire.

"maybe," sieun shrugs, unbothered. "i think he deserves a good meal."

“since when are you the generous type?” suho scoffs.

"since i stopped wasting it on people who never appreciated it," sieun says, cool as ice. the knife stills in his hand. he doesn’t need to raise his voice—his words cut deep all on their own.

suho pushes himself back in his chair with a low scrape. "wow. you’re really doing this, huh? just… just playing house with the first guy who looks at you twice? you sure he won’t choke on all that ego?"

sieun laughs . a soft, mirthless sound that somehow makes it worse .

he turns, walks calmly to the stove, and sweeps the onions into the sizzling pan. 

“not at all,” sieun says. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t have to. because his words land like slaps in the face. “besides, suho... once you eat me, you just can’t beat me. but i think you knew that already.”

suho’s jaw flexes. he’s gripping the table now, hard enough to make his knuckles pale. his eyes narrow. his voice drops, colder now. condescending.

"you're acting like a lovesick child."

sieun stands straighter. taller. he doesn't look at suho immediately, not to avoid him, but to make him wait . when their eyes do meet again, it's like two swords unsheathing.

"no," sieun says. then he smiles. and it's a quiet, devastating thing. not mocking. not smug. just... resolute. polite, even. which somehow makes it worse.

"i'm moving on."

the room goes still.

the silence is explosive. even juntae looks up now, clearly registering something is off but still entirely out of his emotional depth.

suho stares at sieun. not blinking. his pride is already bleeding out, but his face stays cold. the silence between them is a warzone. suho is furious in the kind of way only heartbreak can justify, knowing full well that smile was never meant for anyone but him. 

the plastic water bottle in his hand crinkles slightly, a tremor in his grip.

his hands.

they're starting to shake.

residual. uncontrollable. a cruel echo from the coma years ago. the one sieun used to help him through. hold his hands still. calm his breathing. he used to drop everything for this.

now?

sieun doesn’t even blink.

he watches suho’s tremors and turns his back.

that— that is what hurts more than anything said.

he walks over to juntae with the sole egg and chopped vegetables next to it.

"eat up." he says quietly, taking juntae's yellow envelope from his hands and going through the files inside to organize his own thoughts over what to do next.

suho finishes his water bottle entirely, crushes the plastic loudly in his hand, and throws it away. humin briefly asks where he's going, and suho mutters something about 'cleaning out his box'.

sure, whatever.

"look guys," humin snorts. "nari drew a real angry dragon. let’s talk about that instead."

the little hole-in-the-wall japanese place humin recommended is nestled between a bookstore and a flower shop, bathed in the glow of string lights that dangle like stars. the tables are too small, the paper menus slightly creased, and the music from the record player hums just slightly out of tune. it's charming in a lived-in way, the kind of place that feels like a secret.

sieun sits across from gayool, spine too straight, hands too still in his lap. he’s trying, really trying, not to think too hard about how warm it is in the restaurant or how soft the candlelight looks on gayool’s face. his heartbeat stutters every time gayool smiles at him too long, which is often. he tries not to lean into it. but it’s not hard to enjoy. not entirely.

gayool is still… gayool. charming in that unassuming, quiet way. he laughs without trying to impress. speaks without trying to sell himself. the kind of ease sieun doesn’t remember ever having, even when he was young. and he’s still so damn earnest. he compliments sieun three times before the appetizers are even cleared—and not in that hollow, flirty way. he means it. he always did.

his hair’s different now. shorter, brown, out of his eyes. his burn scar is visible under the soft lighting, trailing over his left eyebrow and eye like it belongs there. like it always did. it looks good on him. not in a pitying way. in the kind of way sieun never would’ve admitted back then: that it made gayool interesting, striking, memorable. but now, it just makes him... handsome.

something tightens in sieun’s chest at the thought.

the candle flickers between them, casting soft shadows on the tablecloth. it’s quiet. safe. not awkward but not weightless, either. there’s something in the air sieun can’t name. he doesn't know if it's romance, or nostalgia, or desperation. maybe all three.

“you’re exactly the same,” gayool says, setting his glass down. “but also… not. like you’ve been through hell and came out sharper. more you.”

sieun’s mouth twitches at one corner. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

“it is,” gayool grins, but his voice is gentler now. “back then, i was too scared to say anything. you used to scare the hell out of me.”

sieun hums. “you mean when i helped you study and you forgot the author of the story we were literally reading?”

“you glared at me like i insulted your ancestors.”

“you were trying to flirt. i thought something was genuinely wrong with you.”

they laugh. it’s light. effortless. easier than sieun thought it would be.

gayool’s hand brushes his own napkin. “but seriously. the afternoons in the library… they kind of saved me.”

sieun looks at him, brows furrowed. “what do you mean?”

“i was flunking out,” gayool shrugs. “i had no friends. i hated how i looked. but then you—” his eyes meet sieun’s. “you didn’t look at me like i was broken. you sat there for hours. you took me seriously. i never got to thank you for that.”

sieun’s breath catches a little. “you don’t have to.”

“i want to,” gayool says, softer. “so… thank you.”

there’s a beat of silence. too full. too heavy. sieun swallows, eyes flicking to the candlelight to avoid looking at how warm gayool’s gaze feels. and maybe it’s just the wine or the way the air is thick with all these years they never had. but his mind drifts—stupidly, unfairly—to another set of eyes. darker. angrier. more complicated.

he remembers suho, the way he used to hold that same thank-you in his mouth and never say it. how he used to get angry just to prove he cared. how sieun once spent his nights learning suho’s pulse like it was a second heartbeat.

gayool is nothing like suho.

that should be a good thing.

“you still take three seconds to eat,” sieun says, grasping for something safer. lighter.

“some of us like to savor the moment,” gayool grins.

“you said that exact line back then, too,” sieun replies, smiling faintly.

it slips out before he can stop it—and the moment it does, it hits him: that wasn’t a gayool memory. that was suho. a quiet stab. a flicker of the past reaching its hand up from the grave.

there’s a pause. gayool sees it. of course he does. but he doesn’t press.

instead, he asks quietly, “still think about him?”

sieun doesn’t look at him. “not as much as i used to.”

a lie. not cruel, but cowardly. gayool doesn’t call him out. but he leans back, nodding like he’s heard that one before.

“well. good for him,” he says. “for losing you.”

sieun lets out a dry, surprised laugh. for a moment, he looks lighter. like someone lifted something off his back.

“you never liked him,” he says.

gayool tilts his head. “he never liked me either. probably because i was trying to steal you.”

“that’s bold of you to admit.”

gayool’s smile falters, just slightly. “i didn’t win back then. but maybe it’s a new game now.”

“and now?”

gayool shrugs. “now i sing for a living. i’ve got a bit more confidence. and if i still want to steal you, i’m not scared to try.”

sieun’s eyes flicker upward. there’s something soft in them. something cautious. something still healing.

“i’m trying,” he says quietly. “to be... open. to be better.”

“i know,” gayool replies. no expectations. no pressure. just... being there. “that’s why i’m here.”

and in the flickering candlelight, for the first time in a long time, sieun doesn’t feel like he has to run.

when they're alone again, there's a lull in the conversation. not awkward, just still.

"you're kind," sieun says, voice barely above a whisper. "i forgot how easy it is to be around you."

gayool smiles, but it's laced with something careful now. measured. hope tempered by reality. "you're easy to want, sieun."

the words land like a pebble dropped in water, gentle but undeniable. sieun stills. his eyes lift slowly, searching gayool's face for something he can't name. and for a moment, it feels like he might lean across the table, might close the distance, might let this night become something else entirely. but instead, he sits back. folds his hands in his lap. breathes in.

"i'm trying," he says again, voice low.

gayool believes him. of course he does.

but part of him already knows—sieun isn't trying to be with him.

he's trying to get away from someone else.

it's all in his pretty, telling eyes. in the way he looks down when he smiles. in the way he never once mentions a name, but keeps glancing at the door like he half-expects someone else to walk in. and gayool doesn't say it aloud, but he knows.

he's not trying to compete.

he's just hoping that one day, maybe, sieun will stop looking back. and finally start looking at him.

they go on a walk afterwards. gayool’s idea.

the lake is still when they get there.

glasslike water stretches out beneath a moonlit sky, with reeds rustling softly in the wind. it smells like earth and wet grass, and the cool air sticks to sieun's skin in a way that makes him feel grounded, real. the kind of sensation you chase when everything else is just noise.

gayool walks beside him in silence for a while, their footsteps soft against the gravel path. his hand brushes against sieun's a few times, as if unsure whether to take it. and finally, he does.

sieun lets him.

it's warm, steady. not possessive. just simple and sweet.

"i used to come here all the time," gayool says, voice quiet. "when things got hard."

sieun hums. "i never knew that."

"there's a lot you don't know about me."

sieun doesn't answer. his fingers curl slightly around gayool's, and that feels like enough. they sit at a bench overlooking the water. the wind bites a little stronger here, making sieun shiver. without a word, gayool shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over sieun's shoulders. it smells like cologne and detergent. familiar and not.

"you don't have to—"

"i want to," gayool cuts in. "let me do this."

the silence stretches again, more loaded this time. sieun turns to look at him, really look at him. the way his lashes frame his eyes. the way his jaw tenses when he's holding back something. the way he's been patient all night—so, so patient.

and yet, something inside sieun itches. a heat in his chest he can't seem to name.

"gayool," he says, voice low.

gayool turns to him slowly, eyes searching. "yeah?"

sieun leans in.

he doesn't overthink it. doesn't let himself pause or hesitate or run. he just closes the gap and kisses him. mouth warm, breath hitching against gayool's as their lips meet. it's not perfect—slightly off, a bit too eager—but gayool kisses back instantly. he tastes like green tea and nervous hope.

they pull back for a breath, just inches apart.

"sieun—"

but sieun kisses him again. firmer this time, fingers sliding up to cup the side of gayool's neck. it's deeper. less searching, more hungry. there's something desperate in the way he moves, something loud and unspoken.

gayool responds in kind, tilting his head, pulling him closer.

and then they're kissing like they've both been holding back for too long.

because they have. because sieun wants this. needs this.

or maybe he just needs not to feel empty.

when they part again, gayool's lips are a little red, a little swollen. his eyes flick across sieun's face, trying to read him.

“come home with me,” gayool says, soft but sure, like it’s not a question.

sieun doesn’t answer right away. his heart stumbles behind his ribs like it forgot how to beat. for a moment, he just looks at gayool. at his warm brown eyes. at the quiet confidence on his face. at the way he’s asking without pressing, waiting without begging.

then—he nods.

and they leave together.

gayool’s apartment is a gentle kind of chaos. lived-in. personal. a guitar case leans against the wall. some polaroids are thumbtacked above the coat rack. the kitchen light hums low. there are boxes in the corner he clearly meant to unpack weeks ago and never did.

and sieun loves it. not because it’s neat or grand or perfect, but because it feels like him.

the door clicks shut behind them, and gayool barely has time to set his keys down before sieun turns to him.

or maybe gayool turned first. it doesn’t matter. the space between them evaporates.

mouths crash—hungry, unpracticed, full of heat that’s been simmering since they were teenagers. sieun lets out a soft, broken noise when gayool presses closer. he fists the fabric of his jacket, tugging him in like he doesn’t want a single inch between them.

it’s not gentle.

it’s not slow.

it’s a storm.

gayool kisses like he means it. like he’s been patient long enough. like he knows sieun’s skin will remember this tomorrow and doesn’t care.

they stumble toward the bedroom, bumping into the wall, laughing into each other’s mouths. gayool’s hand finds sieun’s waist, anchoring him. sieun tangles his fingers in the hem of gayool’s shirt, pulling it up, craving more. more skin, more contact, more anything.

it’s messy. urgent. alive.

gayool pauses at the edge of the bed. his hands, which had been roaming so easily, still. he presses a kiss to sieun’s temple, gentle now. “we don’t have to,” he whispers.

but sieun shakes his head instantly. his eyes are glassy and bright when he meets gayool’s. his voice, when it comes, is wrecked and certain.

“i want to.”

he leans in, breath tickling gayool’s jaw, and says it again like a confession:

“i want you. ”

gayool’s breath catches. and that’s all it takes.

they fall into the bed together.

shirts pulled, buttons undone, fingertips brushing skin like reverence and need are the same thing. sieun gasps when gayool’s mouth trails down his chest. he clutches at him like he’s trying to hold himself together and fall apart at the same time.

it’s not about love. not yet. maybe not at all.

it’s about being chosen. about being seen. about finally letting go. sieun doesn’t think. he doesn’t ache. he doesn’t mourn.

not tonight.

tonight, he lets himself be touched in the places that hurt.

lets himself be wanted, fully and loudly and without question.

and when gayool pulls him closer and kisses him again, slow this time, deep, sieun lets himself forget everything else.

not Suho. not the pain. not the weight of trying to be okay.

just this moment.

just warmth. and hands. and breath.

just this.

the hours pass, and the night is quiet afterward.

the sheets are twisted. the air is still. the only light comes from the lamp on the far end of the room—soft and amber, casting shadows that flicker across gayool’s shoulder blades. one arm is slung across sieun’s waist like it belongs there, fingers resting against bare skin in a way that feels unconscious, like muscle memory.

and sieun, freshly showered, damp hair leaving shadows on the pillow, stares at the ceiling like it might help him make sense of what just happened.

his body feels light. not floaty, but untethered. like the weight he’s been dragging for months finally loosened its grip, but not without leaving a mark. he blinks slowly. the silence buzzes around him like static. his chest doesn’t ache—but it’s tight. not from sadness. not even guilt. just distance. a surreal kind of quiet, like his heart is standing at the edge of a cliff, not sure whether to jump or step back.

beside him, gayool stirs.

“you okay?” he mumbles, voice gravel-soft and sweet from sleep.

“yeah,” sieun whispers. and it’s not a lie.

not exactly.

he turns his head. looks at him.

gayool’s face is soft in sleep, lips slightly parted, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. there’s a calm in him that sieun doesn’t recognize. he’s always been drawn to chaos, to heat, to danger. to the kind of love that scorched before it soothed.

but gayool is... kind. steady. beautiful in a way that doesn’t beg for attention, but earns it anyway. his scars, once hidden behind curtains of green hair in high school, now catch the light proudly, unhidden and unapologetic. and they only make him more beautiful.

sieun’s throat tightens.

he doesn’t move. just watches. and in his chest, something strange starts to bloom. not guilt. not longing. something like permission.

to let this be what it is. for now.

he leans his head back against the pillow, heart slowing. but it’s still there. faint, buried deep, the name he won’t say out loud.

it doesn’t hurt like it used to. but it’s still there. a phantom ache. the shape of something he used to know by heart.

he closes his eyes and lets the name pass through him. then lets it go.

because right now, he’s here.

the morning is softer than expected.

the light in the apartment is pale and gray. gayool moves into the kitchen wearing only sweats, humming something quiet under his breath while coffee brews. sieun leans against the counter in a hoodie that isn’t his, sleeves swallowing his hands, watching him with a strange sort of fondness he didn’t know he was capable of anymore.

they eat toast over the sink. they trade glances instead of words. it’s easy.

when gayool walks past, he catches sieun’s wrist and kisses it. just once. a small thing. but sieun’s breath catches all the same.

later, on the couch, sieun lets himself fall against gayool’s chest. his legs end up slung across gayool’s lap. fingers tangle lazily in his hair. and when gayool presses a kiss to his temple, it makes something flutter deep in his gut.

when he asks, “can i see you again?”— sieun says yes.

not because he’s sure. but because he wants to be.

gayool smiles, eyes crinkling, and it’s almost too much. the tenderness, the simplicity, the lack of pain. it’s new. frightening in how gentle it feels. 

it’s such a stark contrast to the way he ruined sieun the night before—how he'd held him down, murmured sweet filth against his neck, pulled soft gasps from his throat like music.

the memory hits like a strike to the spine.

sieun’s stomach coils. electricity crawls up his back.

sieun leans in, brushes his lips against the corner of gayool’s mouth—slow, measured, teasing. like he wants to savor it. like he’s learning how to want someone without losing himself in the process.

but then gayool’s grip tightens around his waist. his mouth ghosts up sieun’s jaw. his voice drops.

“keep doing that.. and i’m not letting you leave.”

sieun’s lips curl. “then don’t.”

and suddenly it’s happening again—like gravity gave out. like they were waiting for this moment all morning.

gayool pulls him fully into his lap. sieun straddles him easily, arms around his neck, hoodie riding up at the waist. their mouths find each other again, slower now, but no less urgent. gayool kisses him like he’s starving, like he didn’t already have him hours ago.

sieun gasps against his mouth when hands slip under the hoodie. gayool is murmuring something against his neck. words sieun can’t hear, but feels in his skin.

and there’s nothing else.

no second thoughts. no ghost of anyone else.

just this moment. this fire. this quiet hunger that makes sieun arch into every touch.

by the time gayool lays him down again, there’s nothing careful left between them. just tangled limbs, hot skin, and the faint hum of something that doesn’t have a name yet.

sieun lets it swallow him whole.

because maybe this is what it means to move on. not erasing the past, but finally choosing something else. something real.

something here.

picturesque is all ready, but no longer in season. hyuntak was always changing the modeled mannequins by the window, depending up to the very way the sun angled down on them. he wanted people to walk down the street and come back to entirely new models. ara briefly mentions this is just how passionate hyuntak is about his work, but also lets them know he's still not over the tabloids dragging his name through the mud and is honestly going overboard.

the room is in chaos wrapped in couture.

rocks of gleaming fabric, gemstones, and custom pieces line the space like a prelude to a masterpiece. hyuntak moves like a conductor on the verge of collapse, barking orders with a tablet in hand, half of his hair pinned back from how much he's brushing it and the other half falling into his eye.

ara is flipping through a clipboard, coordinating last minute model changes. humin runs back and forth with garment bags draped over his arms like laundry. beomseok hauls crates of jewelry cases, careful not to drop a single piece. seongje and suho collectively work in the corner to build the next mannequins with hyuntak's models' sizes that are up for the line. and sieun..

well, hyuntak has no idea where sieun is. but the fact that he texted humin he'd be staying over at gayool's tells him everything he needs to know.

and then there's juntae, standing off to the side, typing furiously into a laptop while sneakily glancing at hyuntak whenever he's not looking. the tension between them crackles, despite them both thinking they're acting pretty normal around each other. neither had said much since last night.

"baku, seriously," hyuntak warns, hearing him from behind. he yawns, tired because he hasn't slept. he closes his eyes like he's trying to fight off a memory "if you drop another one, you're fired." he points to the plethora of garment bags spilled out on the floor.

"alright, alright," humin replies. he mumbles the next part, "didn't even know i was hired in the first place."

ara snickers. "you aren't. gotak doesn't even know what he's talking about, right nari?"

"yeah." nari responds, though she is busy playing with her building blocks the way seongje had been showing her to.

"i can hear you, you know." hyuntak responds, but his eyes are glued to his screen and his words come out half-heartedly.

"gold or diamonds first?" ara shouts from across the room.

"diamonds. always."

and ara moves across the room to rearrange accordingly. she separates cuff links and designs according to the jewelry used to make them. someone is saying something in the background but ara is laser focused on the sun absolutely beaming down on the jewels through the front window and capturing its light so beautifully.

but then the sun stops shining all of a sudden.

ara looks up at the window in front of her, and sees a woman she hasn't seen in years. a woman who has the potential to absolutely blow this entire thing up before it even starts. they make eye contact and the woman grins the scariest grin ara’s ever seen in her life.

"shit," she mutters. ara turns right around and almost knocks humin off his balance. "shit, shit shit."

"hey, gotak," ara taps his shoulder frantically. "gotak-ah."

hyuntak is counting something on the tablet with precision and focus. ara guesses it's how many different stitches he made on each sleeve of a pantsuit design. she feels like she tries a thousand more times with no result.

"hyuntak, you're not listening to me." ara voice is urgent.

"talk and walk, ara, this is what we do."

"she's here ."

hyuntak's eyebrows furrow but he doesn't look up. "what are you talking about?"

and just when things almost start to settle, of course when things almost start to look normal, the front doors swings open.

"we're closed today," hyuntak announces, still not looking up from his screen. "come by another time."

ara stills next to him.

the first thing that hyuntak experiences is a hurricane disguised as a cheap perfume ad. this gets his attention, and in all the wrong ways. hyuntak finally looks up to see a woman wearing a long, cream trench coat—designer, of course—cinched tightly at the waist, with stilettos that echo as she steps onto the concrete floor. large sunglasses hide half her face, though she doesn't need them. her lipstick is wine red, and her nails are sharper than anyone's wit in the room.

"hyuntak, darling," she purrs, voice honeyed and loud, "you changed your hair. again. " her eyes sweep up and down when she flicks her sunglasses upwards. "i do not love this look on you. but, handsome as always, of course you are. though you do look pale. have you had your vitamin D tested recently?"

hyuntak freezes, despite not wanting to. "yoonah."

everyone else follows suit. if juntae and hyuntak's tension wasn't already obvious, this was through the roof. seongje turns suho away from them just in the nick of time and puts the hoodie of his sweatshirt over his head.

ara mutters some sort of relief under her breath.

yoonah beams as if she were greeting a paparazzi line instead of her estranged son. "i was in the neighborhood and thought i'd pop in. what a charming little shop." she eyes the modern marble flooring and freshly finished walls. "is this... conceptual?"

"what are you doing here?" hyuntak asks, clearly horrified but trying his best to hide it.

"can't a mother visit her only son's... humble business venture?" she steps closer to hyuntak. "oh, darling. these necklaces are decades old. so tacky." she tsks. "you've never had good taste. but it's alright, you can always melt it down."

her gaze sweeps the others. "oh. you brought friends. that's new. last i checked, your social calendar was mostly reschedules."

humin raises his hand slowly. "hi. i'm—"

"adorable," she cuts in. "are you the handyman?"

"uhm. no, i-"

"doesn't matter," she says with a smile. her eyes finally landed on juntae, who was still shrouded to the side in all of his awkwardness. she tilts her head. "and you must be the one who convinced him he had taste."

juntae blinks. "excuse me?"

"yes, mother." hyuntak sighs. the hand holding the tablet turns white. "this is juntae. my husband."

nobody moves, but their faces definitely react to that comment. ara turns and is quick to gather them up. "i need your help to get some more clothing from upstairs."

and just like that, they're gone. it's just hyuntak, his mother, and juntae-- who he motioned to stay.

yoonah laughs lightly, like champagne fizzing in a crystal glass. "i'm kidding. mostly." she turns back to hyuntak and pulls off her sunglasses. "sweetheart, we need to talk. privately."

"no," hyuntak says immediately, backing away. "no, we're not doing this here."

she takes another slow step towards him, voice softening, as if anyone else in the room had vanished. "you haven't returned my messages. you know i wouldn't just show up unless it was urgent."

"your definition of urgent is running out of wine," hyuntak shoots back. 

yoonah's smile dims, then recovers quickly. "don't be dramatic. i just need a little... help. temporarily. things have been tight since the courts decided your father's gambling problem didn't count as an 'unforeseen expense.'"

hyuntak looks like he wants to disappear into the floor.

"i'll pay you back. you're doing so well, clearly," she says, gesturing vaguely to the store. "it would mean the world to your mother."

he clenches his jaw. "i already gave you money. last month."

"barely enough for groceries," she replies sweetly.

hyuntak's ears burn. "would you like a glass of champagne?"

"i can see it on your face, sweetheart." yoonah smiles superficially. "why don't you just ask me what you'd really like to ask me, instead of trying to loosen my tongue with alcohol. you know your mother is a lightweight." she chuckles. "i also taught you that trick when you were in grade school so you could tell me what your father was doing when i wasn't home. or who he was doing."

"okay," hyuntak's gaze hardens. he straightens up. "why now? why are you here now? you've missed ten birthdays. my high school graduation, my first company, my wedding," he can't bring himself to look over at juntae, even though he can feel juntae's big brown eyes on him. "which was.. complicated, but whatever. so, why show up after all these years?"

yoonah's face cracks just slightly, as if she hadn't expected him to say it out loud. but she pastes her smile back on quickly.

"you shouldn't get yourself so riled up. you'll get frown lines early in age, honey." yoonah brushes her manicured fingers across hyuntak's forehead, and hyuntak makes his first move and steps back. he feels juntae grab his arm and intertwine it with his own, which makes him finally turn. 

he was right; juntae was staring right at him. his eyes doe and worried, his face a pink tinge, and only then does it register to hyuntak that his legs are shaking and juntae is trying to keep him upright. 

"oh, my hyuntak" yoonah whispers. "you know how your father was. i never chose to leave you willingly, he stole you away from me." she says flatly. "junghoon also called to let me know about your little stunt on his estate. he said i should watch out for the little one with the glasses." she drops her cat eyes on juntae.

hyuntak's eyes flash with hurt, and even though it's only for two seconds, juntae doesn't miss it. "of course he did. that's why you're here."

"but, i can see you're busy. " she disregards him and looks around again with faint disdain. "wouldn't want to get in the way of... retail excellence. just remember who raised you when you had champagne for breakfast."

"i was five," hyuntak mutters.

"you were fabulous," she replies, and then turns on her heel with the grace of someone making a dramatic exit they had choreographed in their head on the drive over.

"and, my son's first husband," yoonah purrs, her voice like lacquered venom as she sets her fiery gaze on juntae. yoonah's face stills, that blank, poised elegance curling at the edges with thinly veiled disdain. hyuntak can see it. she's already filed juntae into whatever cruel box she's carved out for the people she can't control. "you can understand why i'm just a little.. cautious. takes longer to adopt a dog than it took to marry you."

"you can call me juntae, ma'am," he replies calmly, the syllables smooth, assured. it shocks hyuntak how confident he sounds, how unshaken. the steel in juntae's voice makes hyuntak's stomach twist in ways he doesn't want to acknowledge. it's like he's speaking truth, and only truth.

"..interesting," she says coolly. "that's miss to you. and forgive me, i forgot to bring the wedding gift. shall i get you rings? i do have a keen sense for jewelry." her gaze slithers over them both, hungry for weakness. "i noticed you aren't wearing any."

"oh, that's my fault," juntae says, adjusting his glasses as he lifts his chin. "we're getting them resized. i was too excited when i proposed. i didn't think twice about the ring sizes. i just knew i wanted to give them to taka."

yoonah's eye twitches. just slightly. but enough.

" taka . i see," she clips, voice a tight coil. "how... sweet."

"sorry, yoonah," hyuntak interrupts. "you'll have to find someone else to dig your claws into. maybe try sleeping your way across europe this time—north america already chewed you up and spat you back here."

the color drains from her face, then floods back in a violent flush. her teeth grit, her voice nearly a hiss. "how dare you speak to me like that, you spiteful, ungrateful little brat."

"but i got it from you, mother ." his grin is a weapon. "though you were never really a mother, were you? just a cautionary tale with a closet full of wine and divorce papers. guess being a venomous narcissist really does run in the family."

"as if anyone could mother you!" she screams, her voice shrill and cracking at the edges. "you were born defective! an egomaniac!"

"like mother, like son." his smile vanishes. "your lies finally caught up to you, yoonah. don't speak about the people who aren't here to defend themselves anymore."

he takes one step closer. his voice drops to a low, razor-soft growl.

"now get. out ."

she stares at him, breathing like a dragon seconds before the smoke, and yet... she softens. her hand lifts, stroking a lock of hair behind hyuntak’s ear with maternal delicacy. a weapon disguised as love. hyuntak doesn't flinch, but the look in his eyes could turn glass to ash.

"this won't be the last of me, darling. but i’m sure you already knew that."

she turns to juntae with a final, unreadable look. he's seen it on faces before. the ones that smile right before they burn your house down. 

and as the door clicks shut behind her, the silence that comes is thick. it swells the room.

juntae opens his mouth, closes it again. then follows hyuntak upstairs like a shadow drawn to the only light it knows.

as hyuntak expected, nobody is moving any boxes whatsoever. they sit in silence, as if they were listening to the conversation that had just happened downstairs. and judging by the looks on their faces, they did. hyuntak doesn't care either way.

he stops, lifts his chin, and speaks with razor-edge clarity, "i'm only going to say this once, so listen up. that woman's name is go yoonah. she is not to set foot in this place unless i am here, okay? in order to get this property and its rights, i had to lie to junghoon and say i was married. my psycho shrew of a mother used to cheat on my dad with him, so of course this is how she would find me. that being said, in front of her, i am married to juntae."

a beat of silence.

a very, very long beat of silence.

"your mom's... intense," beomseok finally says.

hyuntak stares blankly ahead of him. he's physically there, but his eyes are distant. "that was actually rather subdued behavior for yoonah."

humin gives him a hug without any regard for asking in the first place. "she's worse than that?"

hyuntak doesn't answer. he just sits down on the floor and runs both hands through his newly-cut hair, like he was trying to pull his roots back into his scalp.

"alright, you guys." ara announces. she's speaking to everyone but is staring at hyuntak. "let's head back down and finish up."

everyone shuffles out of the room without another word, but juntae stays in his place. he doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stares. ara gives him one long, knowing look and closes the door behind her.

it's quiet again.

hyuntak doesn’t look up.

but he knows juntae is still there.

he feels it—the soft hum of his presence, the weight of his concern pressing into the room like a hand on his back. it makes his throat tighten, like he might break just from the knowing.

then, soft footsteps. careful. almost reluctant.

juntae kneels beside him.

for a long time, neither speaks.

the silence is no longer harsh. it’s thick, but not suffocating. it holds space, like it's waiting for them to fall into it together.

“you were really brave,” juntae says quietly, like a secret he’s not sure he’s allowed to say.

hyuntak laughs. but the sound is cracked and wet, barely holding together. his shoulders jerk once in a trembling breath.

“i don’t feel brave.”

“you don’t have to,” juntae murmurs. “you’re allowed to just... feel.”

something in that word slices through the last thread holding hyuntak up. his head turns sharply, eyes wet, blazing. “i hate it,” he hisses. his voice catches halfway through. “this feeling. it’s so-”

“—annoying,” juntae finishes, a ghost of an empathetic smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “yeah. i know. i’m also not the biggest fan of feelings, in general.” then quieter, “but you don’t have to hate them with me.”

hyuntak opens his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to scream, but nothing comes out. his bottom lip quivers. then folds. and then he breaks.

he doesn't mean to. not like this. not in front of him. but the tears come without warning, thick and hot and humiliating . he tries to hold it in, wiping at his face like it’ll stop anything, but his body gives up before his pride can recover.

and for a split second, juntae freezes.

his whole brain goes still.

because this—this right here—isn't data. it's not something he can decode or dissect. hyuntak, who’s always been so sharp, so cold, so perfectly untouchable… he’s crying. he’s crumbling.

and juntae doesn’t know what to do.

his heart lurches into his throat. panic flashes through him. but then, he feels it. something ancient and instinctive. the ache to protect. to soothe. to hold.

he moves on pure emotion. foreign. raw. and absolutely terrifying.

he reaches out and pulls hyuntak in, arms wrapping tight around his trembling frame, anchoring him with steady hands and a chest that thuds too fast. juntae presses his cheek to hyuntak’s hair and breathes.

and hyuntak lets him.

he just melts into it, broken and small and so unlike the person everyone expects him to be.

juntae’s arms tighten.

because this? this should never happen to hyuntak again.

not because he’s weak. but because no one should ever make him feel this unloved again.

juntae shuts his eyes. holds him tighter.

they don’t speak. not for a long time. the only sound is hyuntak’s breath, shaky and shallow, against juntae’s collarbone. the only movement is juntae’s hand, tracing slow, comforting circles at the base of hyuntak’s neck.

“i’m sorry,” juntae whispers eventually. so quiet, hyuntak isn’t sure he was meant to hear it.

“for what?” he mumbles back, voice hoarse.

“for the other night,” juntae says, guilt clinging to every syllable. “i shouldn’t have pushed. i got carried away. i startled you.”

hyuntak exhales through his nose. his lips twitch, but he doesn’t pull away. “don’t apologize for that. you were being honest. i’m the one who made it weird.”

“you didn’t.”

“i kind of did.” a beat. “but maybe it’s just because... no one’s ever looked at me like that before. and it scared me.”

juntae swallows. his throat is dry.

he could analyze that. he could dissect it into layers of attachment theory and trauma response and rejection sensitivity. but instead, he just does what feels right.

he leans forward and presses his forehead to hyuntak’s temple. a movement so soft, it barely exists. like he’s afraid it’ll startle him again.

and hyuntak stills. then leans into it.

his breathing slows. not completely. but enough.

juntae keeps holding him, thumb brushing gentle lines over his back, like he's trying to etch a promise into his skin.

eventually, hyuntak shifts just slightly, pressing his forehead to juntae’s neck, exhaling deeply. the tension drains from him like air from a balloon. all that’s left is something fragile. something soft.

and juntae looks down at him, stunned by the ache in his own chest. because this isn’t like him. this isn’t calculated or logical or measured. this is hyuntak . 

and he realizes he never wants to see him like this again.

and he'll do whatever it takes to protect him from ever breaking like this again.

even if he doesn’t know how to say that out loud.

so he stays. arms around him. heart pressed close. silent promise ringing loud.

and hyuntak lets him.

because this time he doesn’t feel like he’s falling. he feels like someone is holding him as he lands.

they hear the echoes of footsteps on the floor, hear them getting closer, but neither of them make any effort to move. maybe because they’re too tired. maybe because they don’t want to. or maybe a little bit of both.

and then ara is walking back into the room.

she pauses at the sight of them. at the way hyuntak is folded into juntae’s arms, silent but not stiff, not resisting. just... being held. for once.

she doesn’t interrupt. doesn’t tease. just lowers herself to the floor beside hyuntak and rests a hand gently on his shoulder.

“just wanted to check on you,” she says softly. “it’s been a while.”

hyuntak blinks, lifting his head slightly. he glances at his phone. almost an hour. he and juntae had been sitting like this, wrapped around each other in quiet, longer than he'd realized.

“i’m okay,” hyuntak replies, and this time, it’s not defensive. not performative. it's quiet. earnest.

ara gives him a look, eyes warm and soft and, just slightly, relieved. and hyuntak means it, for once in his life.

he is okay. even if it was just for a little while.

but good things don’t last. not in his world. not for people like him.

he shifts, gently disentangling from juntae, his heart already aching for the warmth he's leaving behind.

“i hate to impose,” ara says, rising to her feet. but there’s a glint of mischief, or maybe warning, in her tone. and hyuntak should’ve known. she was just like him, walking with purpose. and that’s exactly why they’re best friends. “but let’s see some wedded bliss around here, okay? i’ll be back!”

she hands hyuntak two small velvet boxes before disappearing down the hall.

silence stretches between them like a rubber band.

hyuntak composes himself the best he can and stares at the boxes in his hand. then at juntae.

“juntae.”

“taka,” juntae replies instinctively. hyuntak nearly rolls his eyes, but it still makes his ears go hot.

he runs a hand through his hair, pretending to straighten himself. “what ara means,” he begins, “is that my mother might sniff out this sham of a marriage like the truffle pig she is and find a way to use it against us. and if she finds even a crack in our performance—she’ll destroy us. one way or another. force us out. sell the building or my company. replace the staff with her lackeys. i wouldn’t put it past her.”

he opens both boxes with a soft click.

inside are two wedding rings. not just rings. they gleam in the low light, catching every glint like they were born to be stared at. ridiculously expensive. devastatingly beautiful.

“are these—” juntae’s voice catches. “are these real ?”

hyuntak looks personally offended. “do you honestly think i’d put myself in cubic zirconia? let alone you ?”

juntae lets out a disbelieving laugh, but it’s breathless. “right. sorry. it’s just… a bit much.”

“so is this family,” hyuntak deadpans. “congrats.”

he slips the ring onto his own finger, eyes fixed on the diamond as it settles against his skin like it was always meant to be there. it’s not just jewelry. it’s armor. it's a mask.

“you and i will have to wear them,” he says, too calm. “every day. as often as we can. no excuses. we have no idea when yoonah might show up.”

“understood,” juntae murmurs. “i won’t take it off.”

before he can even finish, hyuntak is moving again. reaching for his hand.

his fingers graze juntae’s knuckles. careful. uncharacteristically gentle. and then he takes the other ring and slides it on.

slowly.

like it means something.

juntae swears his heart stops. his throat dries. he’s close enough to see the curve of hyuntak’s lashes, the faint scar near his brow, the flush at the top of his ears. the air between them feels electric. too much, yet not enough.

they’re not married. this is a lie.

but the way hyuntak is looking at him, like he’s trying not to shake, makes it feel like the most honest thing they’ve ever done.

juntae’s brain is short-circuiting. what is this? why does this feel like a vow? why do i want it to be one?

hyuntak suddenly coughs, the spell broken. he stands quickly, collecting the ring boxes and putting distance between them.

he doesn’t look back.

“ara can brief you about me,” he says, his voice too light. “as my assistant. and… best friend. she knows things, not all things, but what married man does?”

the words sit in the air like unfinished sentences. like confessions left unsaid.

he disappears through the door.

and juntae is left on the floor, ring glinting on his finger, heart galloping in his chest, feeling like he just went through a real wedding and forgot to say "i do."

he stares down at the diamond. it fits. it fits too well.

and for the first time, juntae—genius, emotionally inept, logical to a fault—feels completely, utterly unprepared.

and like one storm is replacing another, hyuntak disappears through the doors and ara walks back in.

juntae’s still seated, unmoved, staring at the ring on his finger like it might start talking. or detonate. or unravel every law of logic he’s ever trusted.

it gleams quietly. steady. like it belongs there.

ara doesn’t make a dramatic entrance. she just sinks down beside him on the floor, cross-legged and calm, like they’re talking about what movie to watch and not quietly orbiting the gravitational center of hyuntak’s storm. he’s been turning it over and over like a puzzle he can’t solve, trying to make the facts line up, because that’s how he survives feelings. if he can just reduce them to data points, isolate the variables, maybe this whole thing won’t pull him under.

ara doesn’t comment on his obvious spiral. she just drops beside him on the floor, cross-legged and smug, like they’re watching TV and not quietly managing the collapse of his emotional self-control.

she glances at the ring, then at his face, and lets out a low whistle.

“cute.” she says simply, but with so much meaning laced into it that it might as well be a thesis.

juntae doesn’t blink. “he did it so seriously.”

“of course he did,” ara says, smirking. “hyuntak doesn’t know how to not take things seriously. he could be microwaving leftovers and make it look like a vogue shoot. but this?” she nods at the ring. “this wasn’t just for the drama. he meant it.”

juntae turns the ring slowly. It fits perfectly. which makes no sense. he never told anyone his ring size. but hyuntak knew. of course he did. hyuntak always knows everything when it comes to appearances—especially when it matters.

it should annoy him.

it doesn’t.

ara leans in, bumps her shoulder into his gently. “so. husband.”

“please don’t call me that,” juntae mutters, ears already burning red.

“but you are,” she teases, singsonging. “to yoonah. and anyone with eyes.”

“we’re not—”

“you are,” ara cuts in, this time softly. “at least in the ways that count. and you know what? you’re the first person he’s let see him. the real him. no makeup, no mirrors, no filters. just... hyuntak.”

juntae swallows. “why would he do that with me?”

ara tilts her head. “maybe because you never asked him to be more. or less. you let him be. that’s rare for him. he spends his whole life trying to control how people see him. you didn’t try to look through him. you just... sat beside him.”

juntae’s fingers twitch at the ring.

he opens his mouth to say something, but stops. glances back at the hallway, suddenly stiff.

“what?” ara asks.

“i just...” juntae lowers his voice. “should we really be talking about him like this? what if he comes back and hears?”

ara huffs a soft laugh, but her tone turns gentler. “oh, don’t worry. he’s not coming out of his room for the rest of the day.”

juntae pauses. “... why?”

ara nods. “his eyes were red. and his cheeks. you know how he gets. he thinks crying ruins his symmetry.” she leans in slightly, voice quieter now. “he looks in the mirror and panics and says he’d rather die than be seen like that. he locked the door on me once and told me not to bother unless i brought concealer.”

juntae winces, a flicker of something pained crossing his face.

“he said he wouldn’t come out until the ‘inflammation’ subsided,” ara adds, air quoting. “but i know what that means. he’s in there trying to regulate, retouch, and reassemble every piece of himself until he looks ‘right’ again.”

juntae doesn’t say anything for a moment.

because he understands. maybe too well.

“i’ve never seen someone hold themselves to such impossible standards,” he murmurs eventually.

ara leans back on her palms. “it’s not about vanity for him, you know. not really. image is the only thing he’s ever been able to control.” she glances toward the hallway. “but you… you make him forget to keep it on.”

juntae’s breath catches in his throat.

and the ring on his finger suddenly feels heavier. realer.

a promise neither of them fully understands yet, but both are already keeping.

juntae exhales, slightly less tense now.

ara grins. “want to know some need-to-know hyuntak facts for your, uh.. fake marriage?”

juntae blinks. “i’m scared.”

“you should be,” she says sweetly. “but for your own safety, memorize the following: he can’t fall asleep without background noise. he says it’s because he’s ‘sound sensitive,’ but really he just gets lonely in silence. it freaks him out.”

juntae nods slowly.

“he fake-gags at onions but will absolutely eat them if you call them something fancy like ‘shallots.’ i once fed him an entire caramelized onion and called it a ‘sweet root medley.’ he praised my refined palate.”

juntae cracks a reluctant smile.

“he hums when he brushes his teeth. little made-up melodies. like a tone-deaf lullaby for himself. do not mention it. he will deny everything.”

now juntae’s laugh slips out. a soft, real thing. he looks down at his hand again.

“and,” ara adds, lowering her voice like she’s about to reveal state secrets, “he never finishes a full cup of tea. or coffee. leaves the last inch untouched every time. no one knows why. some say it’s superstition. i think it’s personally to assert dominance.”

“that... honestly tracks.”

ara smiles at him. really smiles. a full, sisterly warmth behind it.

"you like him," she says, with a kind of reverence. not accusing. not teasing. just… truth.

juntae’s breath catches.

“no,” he tries. and he doesn’t know why he tries. why this is all so scary.

ara lifts an eyebrow. “you’re wearing a diamond ring and you’ve got the softest eyes i’ve ever seen on a man who supposedly doesn’t feel emotions. meanwhile, i once caught him watching you sleep on the couch like you’re the only fixed variable in his entire life.”

he puts his hands over his face. “ara.”

“shhh,” she whispers, giddy now. “let me enjoy this.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i,” she says, voice quieter now. “listen to me, braniac. i’m not going to say anything to him. this is your secret to hold. i won’t ruin that. but you better figure it out. because whatever’s happening between you two? it’s already happening. whether you say it out loud or not.”

juntae lowers his hands slowly, looks at her. there’s gratitude in his expression. and fear. and something terrifyingly hopeful.

ara nudges him again. “and i mean it. i’m not telling him. but you better get it together. because if you think hyuntak’s mom is intense, wait until you see me in full matchmaker mode. mommy dearest has eyes everywhere.”

she gives him one last knowing grin, rises, and walks toward the hallway like she didn’t just dismantle his entire firewall in five minutes flat.

juntae stares at the ring again. twists it once. slowly exhales.

and for the first time, doesn’t try to logic his way out of it.

just lets himself feel.

Chapter Text

"of course they'd reschedule the fucking show and not let me know until an hour before."

hyuntak's voice cuts through the morning like a blade. loud. sharp. relentless.

the heels of his designer boots dig furiously into the marble as he paces the kitchen, leaving invisible cracks in the air with every step. his phone, cracked, crooked, still buzzing with useless PR texts, lies abandoned on the counter like a corpse. the case ara picked for him last month is dented beyond saving.

"i've been breaking my back over this damn show. sleepless nights, bleeding fingertips, custom dye jobs, original designs, seventeen fittings—and do you know how hard it is to make a trench coat glow under blacklight and not look tacky?!"

no one dares interrupt. even seongje, usually the first to throw gas on a fire, just swirls his drink and watches like it's dinner theater. humin, trying to bounce nari quietly in her booster seat gives up on offering a calming hand. there's no stopping hyuntak when he gets like this.

"why'd they cancel it?" humin asks gently.

hyuntak spins, nostrils flaring. "'severe rainstorms and potential for a typhoon.'" he uses air quotes so violent they almost look painful. "please. what—am i supposed to reschedule my entire brand around puddles?! i was ready this time."

there's a silence underneath that.

no one mentions the real reason his hands are shaking—his mother, who showed up yesterday with poison in her pearls and words sharp enough to reopen scars that have been closed for years.

but then juntae, seated at the far end of the table, finally speaks. he sets his laptop down with a focused click and that slight sparkle in his eyes that hyuntak knows means "i have news and it's not about you."

"this delay might actually work in our favor."

hyuntak stops pacing like he's been yanked by a string. "how is my entire launch being delayed a good thing?"

juntae turns his laptop screen around. "because this came in."

displayed is a faded, low-contrast lab report. nothing dramatic. no flashing lights. but something about it makes the whole table lean in.

juntae reads, eyes scanning with crisp precision:

"subject: retina sample analysis. results: degraded but traceable human DNA. a mix of blood vessel patterns... between human and canine. extremely rare. possibly experimental."

"also," juntae mutters, almost like he's talking to himself, "the retina scan came back positive for a tapetum lucidum."

hyuntak's brow furrows immediately. "okay, i'm out. you lost me."

he turns back to his cracked phone, aggressively typing something no one asked for. when the words stop being about him, he stops listening.

but seongje leans forward instead.

"wait. that thing came back positive for a tapetum lucidum?" he pushes his glasses up. "that's a canine trait. the part that gives dogs night vision. humans don't have that."

"correct." juntae says, already back to tapping furiously on his keyboard. "but here's the thing—it also came back positive for a fovea. a real one."

seongje blinks. "a true fovea?  dogs don't have that anatomy."

juntae nods slowly. "that's why i'm confused. the sample has retinal structure from both species. not a chimera. not a hybrid. it's almost like it was... grown. or built."

seongje leans in like a hound on a scent, cursing under his breath. "so the sample's got evolved visual structure from both lineages... but why? what would that do?"

their voices fall into rhythm. too fast. too fluid. technical, sharp, and in sync in a way that grates across hyuntak's nerves like sandpaper. their words mean nothing to him—retina, tapetum, fovea—but the tone? the ease? he knows that tone. that flow.

it's the tone people use when they fit.

hyuntak doesn't realize he's squeezing the edges of his broken phone until he hears the slight plastic creak under his palm. his jaw clenches, his temple ticks. he doesn't say anything. doesn't need to. the storm is already curling inward.

seongje of all people.

of all fucking people.

the guy who never cared about anything unless it bled or broke. the guy who used to light up gym lockers for fun in high school. who hyuntak still remembers used to beat kids from outside their high school in the old motorcycle building with a psychotic smile and bruised knuckles like he was bored.

and now he's suddenly engaging? smart? helpful? talking science like some polished prodigy beside juntae—hyuntak's  juntae—like it was his conversation to finish?

it makes something nasty rise in his throat.

he hates that he notices how comfortable seongje looks sitting next to him. he hates that juntae is smiling at him. he hates the way seongje's leg keeps brushing juntae's under the table and neither of them move it.

hyuntak swallows it.

hard.

he flips his sketchbook open, pretending to check a hemline. but his pen is still. useless.

and even though he keeps his face a mask of irritation, every second they spend talking feels like another splinter under his skin. like he's being slowly replaced by someone who already made it clear they don't like him. and the worst part?

juntae doesn't even notice.

not the glances. not the storm brewing under hyuntak's eyelashes. not the way his lips are pressed into a line sharp enough to cut. he's too focused. too wrapped up in the conversation. too excited by all of seongje's quick answers and challenging rebuttals.

so hyuntak does what he always does.

he turns that jealousy into snark.

loud enough for everyone to hear but quiet enough not to seem personal.

"wow," hyuntak mutters from the stove. "who knew you could talk about eye slime and dog eyeballs and make it sound like a honeymoon."

the whole table pauses.

seongje looks up with a smirk, amused. this is the longest time seongje's ever looked at him since they started living together.

juntae frowns, confused.

and humin, ever the buffer, jumps in to change the subject before it explodes. "okay! what hyuntak is basically saying is what does this mean in human words, for those of us who didn't go to secret genius school?"

the moment passes.

but hyuntak still feels like the world shifted a few inches out of reach—and no one noticed but him.

"can we back up," seongje finally says. "how do we even know this data's legit?"

juntae looks up. "ara came with me."

that silences everyone.

"she used her abilities to make sure the lab gave us everything. no filters. no lies. everyone in that room was there to help me." he says it like it's just another variable in the experiment, but the power of it isn't lost.

seongje raises an eyebrow, but nods. "then it's real."

humin lets out a breath. "still doesn't explain what it means."

"it means," juntae says slowly, "someone out there made an eye that was never meant to exist. and it was inside the ring."

a longer silence now.

beomseok hasn't moved. still stiff. still unreadable. he's looking at the center of the table but not seeing  it. like the air's gone too thin around him to breathe.

"we got one registered match," juntae says, his voice quiet now. "just a surname in the national bank. 'oh'."

hyuntak scoffs again, biting his lip. "yeah, no shit. there's probably eight thousand 'oh's just in seoul."

but no one's really listening to hyuntak anymore.

because beomseok stands.

he doesn't speak. doesn't make a sound.

he pushes in his chair with one slow motion, his hands shaking just slightly—barely enough to notice unless you were looking. but juntae is. he's watching. tracking the small movements like something might suddenly give.

beomseok turns and walks out of the kitchen.

not storming. not angry.

just quiet. a gray mist of a person.

"beomseok?" humin calls out gently.

no answer. the stairs creak under his weight as he climbs. juntae watches the hallway long after he's gone.

seongje sighs. "he's been weird since the other night."

"he's always quiet," hyuntak mutters, not at seongje but at juntae. "that's not new."

"no," juntae says, finally. "it's not quiet. it's something else."

the meeting dissolves. the others go back to their food, or pretend to, but juntae stays focused on the hallway. because beomseok didn't just leave the room.

he retreated into himself, and didn't take anyone with him.

and that silence?

it feels like the start of something.

something that's more than what meets the eye.

hyuntak stays in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing the counter like it insulted him personally. his jaw is tight. his movements are clipped. aggressive. he knows he's being irrational, but he doesn't stop.

it's been days since he's slept properly. with the postponed fashion show, his mother's sudden reappearance, suho's cold silence.

and now juntae and seongje—whispering upstairs, bonding over things hyuntak doesn't understand. things juntae never explained to him.

he doesn't notice juntae walking over until he hears the tap run.

"you don't cook," hyuntak mutters without looking.

"i sort algorithms all day. this is easier," juntae replies evenly, sleeves already rolled as he starts rinsing dishes like it's the most natural thing in the world. juntae washes. hyuntak dries.

their elbows bump once. neither of them move.

it should be comforting. this quiet, synchronized rhythm. but all hyuntak can think about is who else juntae's being comfortable with.

when hyuntak drops a spoon, juntae catches it before it hits the ground and hands it back gently. their fingers brush. their eyes meet. the air stills.

hyuntak blinks first.

"you staying?" he asks, voice sharper than he means it to be.

juntae glances toward the stairs. "i have to go over the scan with seongje. there's something odd in the retinal—"

"of course," hyuntak cuts in, biting off the words. "you two seem to have a lot to talk about these days."

juntae straightens. "what's that supposed to mean?"

hyuntak turns to him, eyes gleaming. "nothing. just didn't realize seongje was suddenly your lab partner."

juntae pauses. "i thought you'd be glad someone was helping,"

hyuntak laughs. it's sharp and humorless. "right. let's all bow to seongje. smart. strong. and oh, so very charming with your attention."

juntae finally sets the dish down, carefully. gently. the opposite of hyuntak's fury.

he's on too much of a high with these new details coming out. these are new pieces of a puzzle juntae has no idea how to build, and that's the most enticing part to him.

he's excited. nothing is going to ruin this.

"i'm not doing this with you when you're like this," he says.

"like what?" hyuntak snaps.

"you're spiraling. and you're doing that thing where you keep touching your ear like it's itchy, but it's not. you always do that when you're trying not to blow up."

hyuntak freezes. his hand was halfway to his ear.

juntae's voice softens, just a fraction. "we'll talk when you're calm."

he turns to leave, but not before pausing in the doorway.

"and, for the record... i didn't invite seongje upstairs. he followed me."

hyuntak doesn't say a word. he just turns back to the counter and scrubs like his life depends on it.

about an hour and a half later, the front door creaks open.

hyuntak looks up from the table—and there he is.

sieun, back from his night out with gayool.

his hair is tousled in a way that suggests fingers had been running through it all night. there's a faint glow to his skin—like sleep, or something deeper. his hoodie is a obviously damp from the rain that had been pouring all day.

lips bitten red. hoodie strings tied up all the way. a limp in his step he's definitely trying to hide.

but hyuntak sees everything. always does.

he raises an eyebrow and sips his cold coffee. "well, you certainly had fun."

sieun freezes. blinks.

hyuntak doesn't let up.

"it's kind of offensive, honestly. some of us were busy getting emotionally curb-stomped by our mothers and weather reports."

sieun exhales through his nose. "i didn't know the show was postponed."

"mm. nobody did. until it was too late." hyuntak stands, rinsing out a mug with way too much aggression. "and by then, i was already wearing a sheer turtleneck and plotting my death."

sieun doesn't smile—but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

"you missed a lot," hyuntak says, glancing sideways. "mommy dearest showed up. and there's another round of that DNA bullshit."

sieun shifts on his feet, trying not to wince as he moves. he's sore. like, properly sore. he slept good. and for once... he doesn't feel the ache in his ribs or the pressure behind his eyes.

"i'm sorry i wasn't here," he says, low. not because he feels guilty—but because the morning-after haze is still there, much to his surprise.

"you were busy." hyuntak rolls his eyes and waves him off. "i know a walk of shame when i see one."

and then, after a beat:

"is he good in bed, at least?"

sieun's head snaps up, flushed. "i'm not answering that."

"i'll take that as a yes," hyuntak hums. he gives a little salute with the mug, then turns his back to start drying dishes. the conversation dies there for a moment.

"you know," sieun says, already moving away. "i was just going to say hi, hyuntak. i'm going to go help seongje and juntae with the DNA results."

"of course you are." hyuntak goes flat in that same second.

sieun sighs. he's got no idea what is up with hyuntak this morning, but he's learned it's always best not to engage. 

what neither of them knows is that they aren't alone.

at the top of the stairs, shrouded in shadow, suho stands still as a corpse.

his back against the wall. his knuckles white where they clutch the doorframe. he hadn't meant to listen, but the second he heard the door creak and hyuntak's voice start, he couldn't move.

now he watches.

watches sieun—the soft mess of his hair, the hoodie zipped like a shield, the lazy way his eyes flick around the room. the relaxed shoulders. the bruises on his neck that someone else got to leave.

his stomach flips violently before he can spot it. because sieun looks like he just got ruined.

and not by him.

he's well-rested. like someone made space for him to fall apart and sleep through it.

and suho feels something split open inside of him.

when sieun finally turns to go upstairs, he limps. just slightly. a tiny stutter in his walk from the night before. suho catches it. sees it.

their eyes don't meet. sieun doesn't even glance up.

but suho can't look away.

as soon as sieun rounds the corner, suho slides down the wall like his body's been shot.

he hits the floor hard. knees up. head in his hands. the ache in his chest is violent. his fingers dig into his hair as he tries to breathe, tries to stop the replay of everything in his mind—sieun smiling. sieun bruised. sieun happy.

and not because of him.

when it used to be him.

it used to only be him.

he barely hears the rest of the house, barely registers the muffled knock on juntae's door. but when he does, when he hears it swing open and the soft tone of sieun's voice asking to come in, something in suho fully snaps.

he stays on the floor, hunched forward, gasping into his sleeve.

furious at himself. at sieun. at gayool. at everything.

his hands are shaking. his jaw's clenched too hard. he knows this shouldn't matter. he has a girlfriend. he has a life. a new, different life. a future that's barely hanging on right now, but exists nonetheless. and jiwoo's a good person. she makes things quiet when his brain is too loud.

but she doesn't make him feel like sieun does.

nobody does.

not since the bracelet. not since the hospital. not since that night under the slide when they first—

suho presses the heel of his hand against his eye socket like that could erase it all.

but nothing works.

he stays there, half in shadow, half in memory. spiraling deeper. knowing he has no right to feel this way, but feeling it anyway.

the room hums with quiet focus, glowing screens casting soft light across juntae's bed. juntae sits at his desk with perfect posture, fingers gliding across his laptop as lines of data flicker.

seongje zooms in on the 3D rendering of the eye scan. it's shaky. incomplete. but something flickers in the protein cluster—like the encoding had been tampered with. rewritten.

"see this?" he says, tapping the screen. "this segment should've degraded with age. but it didn't. it's preserved. artificially."

juntae frowns. "so the person, dog, or whatever either had, what? regenerative assistance? or someone manually preserved the DNA strand after death?"

seongje looks at him. "i don't think whoever this was is dead."

juntae straightens. "then why can't we find a match?"

seongje bites the inside of his cheek. "we have half a match. you saw the surname."

juntae's voice softens. "'oh'."

"yeah."

seongje turns away from the monitor. "do you really think it could be beomseok?"

"i... don't know" juntae admits. "for a second. but this DNA's structurally too old. it's aged more than he has. even accounting for stress or trauma-induced damage, it doesn't line up."

seongje leans back, arms crossed. "so we're looking for someone else. same bloodline. different subject."

juntae exhales. "then why lie? why hide it?"

seongje doesn't answer. neither does the eye, pixelated and still spinning under red and blue lights.

at the edge of the desk, seongje leans back in his chair—feet up, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick like he owns the place.

"surname: 'oh'," he reads again.

juntae adjusts his glasses. "which is about as specific as saying the suspect is human."

seongje snorts. "there's too many 'oh's' in korea. that database must be overflowing."

"it is. i cross-checked over a thousand matches," juntae says, flipping the tablet back around. "none of them are flagged in criminal records, death registries, or health surveillance files."

"so... nothing?"

"nothing that points anywhere useful. but it doesn't feel like nothing."

they both sit in the silence.

juntae clicks open a scan of the broken eye. enlarges it. runs the same projection again for the tenth time.

he doesn't notice how long the hours pass until he looks out of his window and sees the moonlight greeting him. sieun had popped in for a while to help but left after getting a phone call.

seongje is leaning back in juntae's desk chair, rubbing his face.

"still think it's just a coincidence?"

juntae shakes his head. "no. but if i push too hard, i'll scare him off."

seongje looks up. "you still think it's beomseok."

"i said i don't know... but i guess not"

"then who?"

juntae exhales. "that's what i'm trying to find out."

seongje thinks about beomseok for a moment. "you always look like that when you're thinking?"

juntae glances up. "like what?"

"like you're trying to out-stare the computer. it's kind of hot." seongje puts his glasses back on.

juntae blinks slowly. "i think you mean intense."

"sure."

"can't we wrap this up for tonight? i think i'm getting clots in my legs," seongje groans, throwing his head back theatrically as he sprawls across the chair, shirt riding up just enough to flash a line of toned skin above his waistband.

juntae doesn't reply. still typing.

seongje stretches, slow and calculated, arms over his head as he yawns. "come on, genius boy. you can't keep me locked in a room forever."

juntae mumbles something. he goes back to typing, but seongje's watching, eyes flickering over the sharp lines of juntae's jaw, the precision in his hands, the little crease between his brows. it's fascinating in a clinical way. maybe even a little attractive, though he'd never admit it seriously.

around ten minutes pass. then, "you switched my files again," juntae mutters, without looking at seongje.

seongje is grinning. "i wanted to see if you'd catch it."

"you're annoying." juntae grumbles, though he looks amused.

"and you're slow." seongje cackles.

juntae takes a deep breath. "fine. we'll take a break."

seongje groans. "finally." he pulls his phone out and starts loading a game.

"hey, seongje." juntae calls out.

seongje doesn't look up. "hm?"

"seongje."

"mhm?"

"seongje!"

"what?" seongje's head shoot up just to catch juntae smiling at him for a few seconds. he's confused until juntae reaches for his face. he grabs the lenses of seongje's glasses with his fingertips and blurs them all up.

"did you see that coming?" juntae laughs. seongje rolls away from juntae and nearly falls off the chair.

"you're dead, seo juntae." seongje whispers. juntae takes the few seconds of seongje regaining his balance to run out of the room.

they chase each other through the hallway, laughing. seongje grabbing at him, juntae dodging, until they're both breathless by the time they tumble down the stairs and into the kitchen.

humin looks up from the counter where he's feeding nari apple slices.

"whatever that is," he says flatly, "it's not our business."

seongje snorts, and tackles juntae with a mock-growl.

"wait—" juntae tries to twist away, laughing, but seongje pins him by the waist and flips him down to the floor in one move.

"say sorry for my glasses," seongje demands.

"no," juntae grins from under him, completely red-faced.

seongje just smirks and leans down, dangerously close. "then i'm not letting you up."

in the middle of all the play fighting, the laughter, the distraction. the small glass coffee table in the living room shatters.

they both freeze.

glass. everywhere.

the air shifts.

and slowly, they turn only to find hyuntak, shadowed in the corner of the living room, holding nothing but the broken handle of his favorite mug. the rest lies in shards at his feet, along with a deepening pool of blood from his cut hand.

his eyes are locked on them. on juntae.

there's no mistaking the rage. barely contained, feral.

"taka," juntae scrambles up. "you're—you're bleeding."

he crosses the room quickly, reaching for hyuntak's hand.

but hyuntak jerks away like he's been touched by fire.

"don't," he hisses.

juntae falters. "you're hurt—"

"i said don't touch me."

the silence hits like a gunshot.

juntae's hand falls slowly to his side. "okay," he says quietly. "okay, i'll go."

hyuntak doesn't say a word. he just turns, stiff-backed and shaking, and storms upstairs, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

juntae watches him disappear. then follows.

because when has he ever been good at social cues?

seongje guesses cleaning this up is his job now.

he groans, grabs the broom and gets to work, listening to humin's stupid commentary with nari.

"well, baby," he pops an apple into his mouth. "i was wrong. this is none of our business."

hyuntak's chest is heaving by the time he's in his room. he's pacing like a caged animal, still clutching a rag to his bleeding hand. the mirror across from him shows the mess: jaw tight, eyes rimmed red, hair in chaos.

the door slams behind him.

then there's a knock.

he doesn't answer, but he door opens anyway. of course it does.

juntae steps in, quiet but firm, closing the door behind him.

"you didn't have to slam it," juntae says, voice tight but even.

"you didn't have to flirt with seongje either," hyuntak snaps without turning. his reflection in the mirror looks back at him. cheeks flushed, eyes wild.

juntae frowns. "seriously? what are you even talking about?"

"you think i didn't see it?" hyuntak spins, jaw clenched. "him all over you. practically licking your face like some mangy stray."

"okay. juntae says. "but i didn't think i needed to report it to you."

hyuntak scoffs. a sharp, bitter sound. "right. of course. because a robot like you doesn't do feelings, right?"

juntae's expression drops. he watches him carefully, like he's studying a patient mid-collapse. "you know what you're doing, right?" he says after a moment. "you're lashing out. it's what you always do when you feel like you're not being prioritized. when you're scared."

"scared?" hyuntak's voice climbs an octave. "i'm not scared, i'm pissed. i'm pissed that i let you in here—into me—and you go around with him while i'm losing my mind."

juntae says sharply, stepping forward. "do you really think that's what i was doing?"

"i think whatever i want," hyuntak spits. "i think you're a coward who hides behind logic so you don't have to face yourself. you just observe. you process. you calculate what emotion means from other people and spit it back like its code. but you don't actually feel anything yourself."

juntae goes quiet. too quiet. his hands flex at his sides. and for a moment, he doesn't know what else to do but to repeat himself.

"... you really believe that?" he asks softly.

"i know that," hyuntak fires back. "you spend all day playing puppeteer to the rest of us. like we're test subjects in your little science fair project. but god forbid someone tries to feel something for you. you shut down. you glitch."

juntae's voice slices through the room. "well maybe i shut down because every time i get close to you, you burn the entire place down."

that shuts hyuntak up for a beat.

"you want the truth?" juntae continues. "you're a spoiled, insecure narcissist who's so terrified of just being that you sabotage it before anyone else has the chance to leave."

"oh, fuck you," hyuntak spits. "you don't get to analyze me like i'm a case study. you think you're so above it all. so emotionally superior because you don't get 'messy'? you're not a genius, juntae. you're just a coward who's afraid of mess."

"and you're a coward who only lives in mess," juntae fires back, shaking now. "because if you ever stood still in the mirror for five seconds, you'd have to face yourself. and you'd hate what you see."

the silence afterward is deafening.

hyuntak's lips twitch, but not into a smile.

he says, low and shaking:

"you can go to hell."

juntae's mouth tightens. "been there," he says. "it looks a lot like this room."

hyuntak's breath stutters. he looks genuinely taken aback. just for a second. "then get. out."

juntae doesn't move.

"i said get the fuck out."

this time, juntae obeys.

no slam. no final word. just the sound of the door clicking shut.

and hyuntak—

hyuntak stands in place, trembling, until the adrenaline leaves his body and he drops to the floor. his bleeding hand throbs, but it's nothing compared to the raw, aching pit in his chest.

he stares at the floor.

seongje hears the shouting when he passes hyuntak's door.

muffled. sharp. juntae's cold voice. hyuntak's shrill, wounded one—loud in the way only guilt can be.

seongje chuckles dryly.

hyuntak was always too easy. too reactive. all seongje had to do was lean into juntae's space a little. a well-timed smirk. a few wandering hands. hyuntak came unglued like a thread-pulled sweater.

but now he's scooping up glass. and he's over it already.

he walks to the far end of the house, where it's quietest, and knocks lightly on beomseok's door.

there's no answer. typical.

he opens it anyway.

the air is stale. lavender lingers from an unopened bottle on the desk. a dense weight clings to the room. beomseok is buried beneath three thick blankets, eyes half-lidded, face pressed into the pillow like he's trying to disappear.

"you sleeping?" seongje murmurs.

a pause. then, "not really."

he flops onto the beanbag beside the bed like gravity pulled him there.

"wanna go to the roof?"

beomseok shrugs beneath the covers. but he gets up.

they're silent on the way there. and up there. the stars are out. the cigarette glows faintly as they pass it between them in slow, practiced rhythm.the kind of quiet that doesn't ask for small talk. the kind of quiet that lives in the bones.

seongje exhales a ribbon of smoke. watches it vanish into the stars. then, after a pause—

"your brother."

beomseok flinches.

"what about him?" his voice is guarded. not angry. just tired.

seongje shrugs like it's nothing. "juntae mentioned him once. slipped up, i think."

beomseok doesn't reply.

seongje glances over. "didn't push. figured you'd talk when you wanted to."

beomseok still doesn't say anything. just stares at the horizon like it might give him answers. the cigarette hangs between his fingers. forgotten.

"i mean, we all kind of knew," seongje continues, softer now. "you twitch when people talk about family. you flinch at your own strength. and whenever someone brings up accidents or powers, your whole body shuts down."

beomseok breathes in. then out. slow.

"i was seven," he says finally. "he was sixteen. haewon. we were adopted together when i was still a baby. same abilities. same blood. i was just learning what i could do, you know? the strength. the shockwaves. he was helping me learn it, actually."

there's something like a smile in his voice. painful and warm.

"he never made me feel like a freak. not once. he called me his 'little earthquake'. said i was gonna grow up and be stronger than anyone. and i believed him."

seongje stays quiet. listening.

"we were just playing," beomseok whispers. "in our parents' room. wrestling. like always. and i... i don't know what happened. i pushed too hard. he tripped. hit the balcony rail. it cracked. and snapped under him. he fell three stories. hit the concrete."

seongje closes his eyes.

"i ran down so fast my legs gave out. but he was already gone. his spine was—" he stops. clenches his jaw. beomseok swallows hard. he doesn't finish the sentence.

"my parents, our parents, i guess, they didn't care. not really. my dad was campaigning for senator. the media never found out. it was all scrubbed. but behind closed doors, they looked at me like i was... a weapon that backfired."

"they blamed you?" seongje asks, voice dark.

beomseok nods. "they didn't scream. didn't cry. they just... stopped seeing me as human. the tutors didn't touch me. the maids avoided me. i didn't go to the funeral. they shipped me off to some boarding school in the philippines across the world the next day."

his voice tightens. "i hate my abilities. i always have. i keep thinking... if i was normal, he'd still be here."

seongje flicks ash off the edge of the building. "i'm really sorry, beomseok," he says quietly.

"i keep thinking maybe... maybe i did do it on purpose." beomseok murmurs. "that's the part that scares me the most. that maybe something in me—some twisted, broken part—wanted to see what would happen if i let go."

"you were seven." seongje's voice is hard now. angry on his behalf. "you didn't do it on purpose. you were a kid who didn't know his own power."

beomseok doesn't answer. his fingers curl tightly around his sleeves. he looks like he's trying not to cry. "his death anniversary's coming up. juntae talking about surnames made it worse" beomseok mumbles. "i think i started acting weird without realizing it. he'd be thirty one."

"...what a coincidence," seongje says after a long pause. "so would mine."

beomseok turns slowly. "what?"

seongje glances away. "my older brother, minho... he was in a gang. some sort of 'union', i still don't know. but since he was in it, by proxy, so was i."

he stares at the darkness, at the house beyond, at nothing.

"the gang was all we knew. that's all we knew. fights. scamming. hustles. loyalty. that kind of loyalty that cuts your throat if you hesitate."

he swallows something heavy.

"one night, the wrong people jumped him. i got there too late. i saw him. blood everywhere. i tried. i tried-" his voice cracks. "my abilities... they don't work if someone's already dead. i begged, i screamed. tried to put him back together like i was a fucking puzzle master. i was twelve."

another silence. heavy, but shared now. beomseok looks over. no pity. just the same hollow ache.

"they blamed you," seongje says. "so you started blaming yourself."

beomseok nods.

"me too," seongje says. "i've been angry ever since. angry at them. at myself. at the ability that couldn't do a damn thing when it actually counted."

beomseok shifts. not quite a nod. but not disagreement either.

"i think i hate being strong," he says softly. "i never wanted to hurt anyone. but the only time i ever really used it... it killed the only person who actually loved me."

"and now you're scared it'll happen again," seongje murmurs.

beomseok closes his eyes. ".. yeah."

seongje leans back, flicks ash off the ledge.

"we're all learning," he says. "you. me. all of us. juntae's a genius but doesn't know how to feel. hyuntak acts invincible but shatters when no one's looking. and you..."

he looks at beomseok, voice gentler now.

"you're still carrying a kid's guilt in a grown man's body. but you don't have to do it alone anymore."

beomseok finally looks at him. really looks.

"you mean that?"

"i wouldn't be up here freezing my ass off with you out here if i didn't."

a beat passes.

then beomseok says, voice shaking just a little, "thanks."

seongje doesn't reply.

he just hands the cigarette back. the stars watch them from above, silent and knowing.

and for the first time in years, neither of them feels like they're floating in grief alone.

"do you still hear him?" beomseok asks.

seongje looks up at the stars. "oh yeah. especially on nights like this."

"me too."

and they sit. two survivors of impossible nights, sit with the two ghosts of the boys they used to be before tragedy.

boys who became ghosts of themselves too early.

there's no healing yet. but there's a kind of peace in the knowing. in the fact that someone else survived, too.

a dear, dear friend.

it's too late at night by the time dinner is served.

sieun and humin had been in the kitchen for over an hour, not saying much, just passing ingredients back and forth like they were keeping score in a game neither of them had asked to play. the lights overhead are soft and golden, casting everything in a calm that doesn't quite reach anyone's chest. jokbal and reheated side dishes fill the table. no one's appetite is fully present, but they sit down anyway.

it's the first time they've all been at the table together in days.

they should feel safe. relaxed.

they don't.

the air feels like a room holding its breath.

seongje drops into his seat with the kind of fatigue that sticks to the ribs. his hair is damp, clinging to his temples from a rushed shower, and the dark circles beneath his eyes look like they've been painted on. he hasn't said much since the afternoon. beside him, juntae takes his usual seat with robotic precision, scrolling quietly through his phone, face unreadable, fingers moving like he's trying to find a signal out of this situation entirely.

they've been locked away for most of the day—talking, searching, calculating, putting together pieces no one else has seen yet. what they've found, they haven't shared. the unknown is sitting at the table with them, invisible but obvious.

hyuntak notices.

he doesn't speak, but he doesn't need to. the way he's gripping his chopsticks, too tight, like he's trying to keep them from snapping, says more than any words could.

across the table, suho hasn't looked up once. his food sits untouched. his posture is stiff, arms crossed in a way that might have looked casual if it weren't so defensive. his eyes flick to sieun and then dart away, like they're moving on instinct. he keeps catching glimpses of the side of his face, the bruising on his collarbone, the small scar near his wrist, and each one makes something crawl beneath his skin.

because he knows someone else has touched him. that someone else has kissed him. that someone else has already taken the space suho still pretends he doesn't want.

even though he has jiwoo.

even though he made a choice.

his throat tightens. he still doesn't eat.

and then, as always, hyuntak breaks the silence like it personally offends him.

"well. did the DNA nerds finally unlock the door and let you come up for air?"

sieun doesn't look up right away. he swallows slowly, then meets hyuntak's eyes with a flat expression. "not in the mood, hyuntak."

"oh, of course you're not," hyuntak says, tilting his head with mock innocence. "why would you be? you got everything you wanted, didn't you?"

sieun blinks. "what the hell does that mean?"

but hyuntak isn't looking at him anymore. he's turned to juntae, mouth tight, eyes sharp. "maybe next time let someone know when you're going to disappear for ten hours. or does your little genius schedule not include basic communication?"

juntae doesn't look up for a moment, and then, when he does, it's with the kind of calculated calm that only makes things worse. "you seemed busy sulking. i didn't want to disturb your process."

the click of hyuntak's spoon against the side of his bowl is sharp enough to draw every eye at the table.

suho flinches like a reflex.

nari, in her booster seat between seongje and humin, lets out an excited little squeal and claps her hands together, delighted by the sudden noise. she's the only one enjoying herself.

beomseok hasn't said a word. he looks like he's been pulled out of a ghost story—too pale, too quiet, too still. his eyes are hollow, staring down at his food like he's waiting for it to move on its own. he hasn't eaten much, if anything. seongje sits beside him, as usual. he hasn't smiled. not really. the table feels like a bomb waiting for a spark.

"so," humin says, trying to fill the air with something other than rage. his voice is too chipper, too bright. "nari learned how to sort shapes and colors with her blocks. right, baby?"

nari beams. she pauses. looks at her spoon almost like she's calculating. then throws it.

it lands perfectly in seongje's lap.

he looks down. then back up.

and, miraculously, he lets out a soft, dry laugh. barely a puff of air, but it cuts through the tension like sunlight through fog.

and then suho speaks, voice too quiet and too broken for how heavy the words land.

"so. are we just not going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

everything stills.

"which one?" hyuntak mutters under his breath, not even trying to hide the venom.

suho's gaze cuts straight to sieun. and sieun, calm and cold as stone, doesn't even blink.

he keeps eating. keeps pretending suho doesn't exist.

it should be infuriating. it is.

juntae shifts, clearly sensing the change in pressure at the table. his gaze flicks between them, calculating, reading everything at once.

hyuntak catches it. all of it.

and then he speaks again, sharper this time. "stop pretending you're above it, sieun. you're not some innocent bystander in all this."

sieun mutters, exhausted, "and you're still going."

juntae sighs. "hyuntak—"

"no, let him finish," sieun says. "maybe he'll choke on his own words and do us all a favor."

hyuntak's voice rises, suddenly less playful, more raw. "you're the one parading around like you've got nothing to do with this. you've been off with your little boy toy all week."

from across the table, suho snorts—low and bitter. he’s not looking at sieun, but everyone knows that laugh carried way more than what it needed to be for a cheap dig.

"okay," sieun cuts in, voice sharp and low. "with what? you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"and you," hyuntak adds, turning to juntae now with a sneer. "you think no one notices the way you've been whispering in seongje's ear all day like you're the only ones allowed to make progress."

juntae's expression changes, yet it remains unreadable.

“of course he won’t say anything,” hyuntak mutters. “god forbid you actually take a stance.”

“you want a stance?” juntae says, finally sounding pissed. “here’s one—you’re exhausting.”

sieun sighs loudly. “pick a target and commit, hyuntak. this scattershot bullshit is embarrassing.”

beomseok suddenly speaks. soft. steady. "can you all just shut up?"

everyone freezes.

he's looking at suho.

"sieun doesn't owe any of you anything. especially not you."

but this time, suho doesn't flinch. he turns slowly to look at beomseok, eyebrows raised, voice deceptively light.

"and what the hell do you know, huh? you show your face here five minutes and you think you've got a front-row seat to the drama?"

beomseok stares right back. calm. unshaken. "i don't need to know the details to see how you look at him. or how you stop breathing whenever he's in the room."

a sharp silence slices through the table.

sieun's hand stills. his mouth tightens. but he doesn't speak. suho lets out a low, bitter laugh. "cute. really. you should write poems."

"maybe i will," beomseok mutters. "might be the only way any of you actually listen."

hyuntak’s breathing hard now, eyes still on seongje. “you think just because the brainiac looks at you like you’re a puzzle worth solving, you’re suddenly relevant?”

seongje smirks, cruel and cool. “still more relevant than a washed-up snitch with mommy issues.”

hyuntak reels back like he’s been punched.

“you fucking—”

“enough.”

humin’s voice crashes through them. everyone turns. nari freezes, radish half out of her mouth.

"sit. the hell. down."

hyuntak hesitates.

and seongje actually listens.

"i don't care what childhood trauma you're performing tonight, but you do not get to turn this dinner table into your personal battleground," humin growls. "this isn't high school. you're not children. and you're not the only people hurting."

his voice cracks slightly as he continues, but it only makes it more raw.

"i've got a daughter trying to learn what love and safety look like, and she's got a front-row seat to this circus."

no one moves.

no one dares.

"you're all brilliant," humin says, voice lower now. "strong. capable. and somehow terrible at remembering that we're in this together."

he looks at each of them—hyuntak, seongje, juntae, suho, even beomseok and sieun. "whatever secrets you're carrying, whatever pain you've got, deal with it. but not like this. not at this table. and not in front of my daughter."

and then the long, aching silence falls.

hyuntak slowly sits. seongje lowers himself too, breath shallow.

nari breaks the silence again by mumbling something to her father. seemingly at the silence. humin exhales, then gently tucks a curl behind her ear.

and for the first time in weeks, the table is quiet.

tense. but quiet.

the war will continue later. but for now, they all eat in silence.

like people remembering how to be human again.

it's cold outside.

the lighter clicks once, twice, before it catches. the flame flares, then fades, leaving only the dull glow of the cigarette tip. smoke curls upward, slow and aimless, like it's searching for something it lost.

suho exhales. the smoke clings to him like grief does. soft at first, then suffocating. the balcony is cold, quiet, suspended between yesterday and the next disaster.

behind him, the door creaks open.

humin steps out. he doesn't say anything right away. just walks over barefoot in sweatpants and a stretched hoodie, a juice pouch in one hand—probably nari's, judging by the bendy straw and glittery sticker peeling off the side. he leans on the railing beside suho like this is casual. like this is nothing.

"thought you quit," humin says, not unkindly.

it sounds eerily familiar. a mirror image of a balcony conversation suho had once before—with someone else. someone who looked at him like he was worth fixing.

suho doesn't meet his eyes. "i thought i quit a lot of things."

humin sips the juice like it's a glass of wine. "want a capri-sun?"

suho scoffs, smoke curling from his lips. "what am i, twelve?"

"you're acting like it," humin grins, like it's the most loving insult he's ever given. silence falls between them. a soft breeze carries the scent of dinner long gone cold. the night air tastes like burnt leaves and things unsaid.

"i'm tired," suho says, finally. the words fall from his mouth like they've been waiting years to be said.

"i can tell," humin replies, gentle but honest.

"just... out of it."

"right."

silence. the cigarette ash lengthens. suho's shoulder tenses with every inhale.

"don't say anything," suho mutters.

"i'm not."

"don't ask either."

"i won't."

and humin doesn't. he just sips, watches the stars, lets the quiet stretch out until it wraps around both of them like a blanket with frayed edges.

"you know," humin says eventually, like he's just thinking aloud, "when nari came back, i thought i'd fall apart. i mean really fall apart. every night, i'd stare at her while she slept and wait for her to disappear again."

suho's face doesn't move. but he's listening.

"i didn't sleep. i didn't breathe right. i thought if i let my guard down for a second, the universe would take her back."

suho exhales through his nose, like that sounds familiar.

"but she stayed. and i learned something," humin says, tapping his fingers against the juice pouch. "you don't have to be okay to keep going. you just have to stay. even if it hurts. even if it makes you shake. you hold it. not bottle it up—but hold it. let it sit. let it hurt."

the smoke in suho's hand trembles slightly. he's on his third cigarette. maybe fourth. he's stopped counting.

"and you," humin says, still light, still warm, "you look like someone who's trying really hard not to hold it."

suho flicks ash over the edge of the railing. "don't read into things."

"i'm not," humin replies, ever so easily. "i'm just saying... whoever it was, they must've meant a lot."

the silence sharpens between them. like glass.

"i don't know what you're talking about," suho lies, staring straight ahead.

"good," humin smiles, "then i didn't say anything."

another minute passes. the stars blink overhead like they're watching, judging, laughing. the wind brushes against them like a memory.

"i miss who i was," suho murmurs, barely audible. "before i ruined everything. before i became someone i don't even recognize."

humin turns his head. doesn't smile this time. just looks at him.

"then take some of it back."

suho blinks.

"start small," humin adds. "a piece at a time. the version of you that mattered to them—whoever they were? that version's still in there. they didn't fall in love with a ghost."

suho's breath catches. he almost asks how humin knows. how he says the right thing. but he doesn't. he can't.

instead, he looks down at the cigarette burning out in his hand. and for the first time in hours, he stubs it out on the railing. lets it die. humin doesn't say good job. he doesn't give a speech. he just offers the juice pouch again, more serious this time.

suho takes it.

and they stand there, shoulder to shoulder, like two tired men at the edge of a battlefield.

one holding his grief. the other holding the light.

"i'm gonna go check on my baby," humin says. "you sure you'll be okay?"

"yeah," suho says, a little too quickly. he stills for a moment and throws the cigarette box back onto the balcony chair. "... yeah."

suho walks humin to the door, nodding vaguely at whatever parting words are said. his head is buzzing, but not from the nicotine. when the door clicks shut behind him, he doesn't move at first. just stands there with one hand still on the knob, like he's bracing himself for something that already happened.

then he turns. slowly. like he's made of glass and every step might crack something new.

he drags himself through the hallway and into the kitchen, where only a few hours ago, the world had nearly split open. now it's silent—not peacefully, just quietly wrecked. a room holding its breath.

he crosses into the living room without really meaning to.

and then he sees it.

sieun's hoodie, tossed over the couch like it means nothing. like it doesn't still carry the warmth of the body that wore it. like it doesn't feel like a trap set by a ghost.

suho freezes.

he stares at it, and his chest tightens like something invisible is reaching in and wringing his ribs dry. for a second, just one, he's not in the present anymore.

he's thirteen again. the sun is burning down on a stretch of beach, and sieun's beside him, digging into the sand, chuckling when their castle collapses. suho was always obsessed with rebuilding. even things that weren't meant to last.

sieun had handed him a bracelet that day. clumsy. messy. made with too much thread and too little symmetry.

"here," sieun said.

that was all. one word, said like it meant everything.

suho wore it every day. still does.

he lifts his sleeve now, slowly, and the bracelet dangles tiredly on his wrist. only four shells remain. one is cracked. two are colorless. the last is chipped, just barely, like it's been gnawed at by time.

they make a faint, dull sound when they shift.

he drops his arm. he can't look at it anymore.

but then his eyes find the hoodie again. still damp from the rain. still carrying the shape of someone suho's been trying so hard to forget.

and before he knows what he's doing, he's crossing the room.

he reaches for it slowly, like it's a living thing, like it might flinch or disappear. his hands tremble when they close around the fabric. it's heavier than it looks. or maybe he's just weaker than he wants to admit.

he lifts it to his face.

smells it.

and it nearly floors him.

the scent is faint—shampoo, rain, even sieun's cologne that he hasn't changed—but it's enough. enough to crack something open inside him that he's been trying to seal shut for years.

suho sinks to his knees right there on the floor, hoodie clutched to his chest, eyes squeezed shut like it might stop the ache, like it might push all the memories back into their boxes.

but it doesn't.

he doesn't sob. doesn't scream. the breakdown is quieter than that.

just a choked breath.

just a single tear slipping past his cheek before he can stop it.

and then another.

and another.

until he's just sitting there, clutching a hoodie like a lifeline, crying the kind of tears that don't fix anything. the kind that just empty you out.

eventually, when his hands stop shaking, he pulls himself up.

he trudges to his room, still holding the hoodie. he walks over to his desk. the lamp glows weakly—flickering like it, too, is scared to exist in this room.

he drops into the chair. the seat creaks beneath him.

and like muscle memory, he reaches for the sketchpad.

he writes.

not carefully. not neatly. it's not a letter. it's a wound that spills open in ink. there's no salutation. no structure. just rage. regret. grief. hatred. resentment. everything he wishes he could say out loud but knows he won't.

when it's done, he folds it without reading. he walks over to the old bookshelf. pulls out the same box behind the textbooks. the same one no one ever touches.

it opens too easily. it always does.

he adds the letter to the stack. lets it join the rest. words sieun will never see. words he doesn't have the courage to give.

the box clicks shut.

he puts it back.

and then he exhales. slow. shaky. almost dizzy.

he looks at the hoodie in his lap. clutches it one more time. 

he walks to the balcony, not thinking.

lights another cigarette. the smoke curls around him like a familiar lie.

then, because it's what he always does when he's lost, and because he can't stop himself—he pulls out his phone.

and calls jiwoo.

the phone rings only twice before jiwoo picks up.

"hey, baby," she says, light and warm like she always is. like nothing has changed.

her voice is all soft edges and steady rhythm. the kind that could soothe a storm if it tried hard enough. the kind that's kept him grounded more times than he can count.

but tonight, it barely registers.

suho exhales, slow and bitter. smoke coils up toward the dark like a prayer with no god to hear it.

"hey."

"you sound tired," she says softly. it's not a question. it never is. it's just something she's noticed a hundred times before.

"i am."

"you sleeping okay?"

"sure."

"you lying?"

"...maybe."

a beat. then a gentle laugh from her side of the line. tired, but genuine. she always tries.

"you outside again?"

"yeah."

"smoking?"

suho hesitates. then murmurs, "yeah."

she doesn't sigh. doesn't scold. never does. she just lets it sit in the air between them, like all the other things left unspoken.

"it's late," jiwoo says after a pause. "you wanna talk about it, or should i stay on the line until you fall asleep again?"

that almost cracks something open in him. almost.

but he keeps leaning on the railing, keeps staring out at nothing, keeps pretending he's still the version of himself she fell in love with. the one he buried months ago.

in the corner of his eye, he can still see it. sieun's hoodie, flung carelessly over his bed.

still damp. still soft. still his.

still not his.

suho closes his eyes and feels the ache build, sharp and choking.

"i'm just... off today," he finally says. it's not a lie, but it's not the whole truth either.

"you've been off a lot lately."

"i know."

"i'm not mad."

"i know."

the silence stretches again. it doesn't feel peaceful. it feels suspended. like a breath caught in the throat.

jiwoo speaks again, softer now. "do you want me to come over? not sure how hyuntak would feel about it, but i can make tea. we don't have to talk. i'll just hold you."

and that's what breaks him.

not the hoodie.

not the memory of sieun's mouth on someone else's shoulder. not the seashell bracelet still tied to his wrist with the strength of something sacred.

but her.

still being kind. still reaching out with open arms when he's already half-gone. when she knows — she knows — but won't say it.

won't name it.

won't ask who took his heart and never gave it back.

suho doesn't respond. his throat closes.

and jiwoo doesn't push. she never has.

she doesn't ask who the person before her was. she doesn't ask why he curls away from her in bed some nights like he's afraid she'll feel how empty his chest really is. she never asks why her name doesn't fit right in his mouth when he says i love you.

and maybe that's what makes it worse.

but she stays anyway.

"suho?" jiwoo says, hesitant now. "are you still there?"

he wipes his face, even though nothing's fallen.

"yeah. i'm here."

"you're not, though," she says. it's quiet. not angry. just sad.

and that's what hurts the most. that she's right. that she sees all of it. the way his heart never really made it into her hands. and loves him anyway.

"i'll still be here tomorrow," she adds. "even if you're not ready to be."

he bites the inside of his cheek.

hard.

"good night, jiwoo."

she hesitates.

"good night."

he hangs up.

he doesn't say i love you.

he doesn't deserve to.

it's three in the morning.

hyuntak had been pacing around his room like a maniac for the past hour, before finally deciding to get up and take him where his feet wanted to go.

the hallway is washed in soft gray-blue, the kind of color that makes everything feel ghostlike. the walls feel thinner at night. like any feeling could echo if it got too loud.

hyuntak rounds the corner at the exact moment juntae does. they nearly collide.

juntae makes a noise, but they both stop. both stare. neither speaks, not at first. their eyes are wide, tired, flickering with everything unsaid. juntae doesn't have his glasses on. there's a full second of stunned silence—one heartbeat, maybe two—before hyuntak finds his voice.

"were you coming to yell at me again?" he says, trying for sarcasm, but his voice comes out raw. small. almost afraid.

juntae's chest rises too fast. "no. i was... gonna knock."

hyuntak exhales, slow. something in his expression softens. he doesn't say anything, just steps aside and nudges the door open with a small tilt of his head.

"...then come in."

juntae does.

the door closes behind them with a soft click. the kind that sounds permanent. final. but the room holds its breath.

hyuntak perches at the edge of his bed, twisting his fingers in his sleeves. juntae stands awkwardly by the door, like he doesn't know if he's supposed to stay or run.

"i was mean," hyuntak starts first, which surprises even him. "and not like—me mean. just... cruel. i didn't even realize i was trying to hurt you until i saw your face after."

"you were," juntae says quietly. no malice. just honesty.

hyuntak flinches. but nods. "i know. i wanted you to feel how i felt. like i was invisible. or easy to leave. but you've never... you've never made me feel that way. i made that up all by myself."

there's a beat of silence.

juntae finally moves, sitting stiffly beside him. not touching. just there.

"then why'd you do it?" juntae asks, his voice more fragile than usual. "why now?"

hyuntak laughs once, bitter. "because i'm not used to wanting someone the way i want you to be by my side. and it makes me stupid. and mean. and jealous. and i don't know how to... be when you're not looking at me like i matter."

juntae swallows hard. his hands are shaking in his lap, trying and failing to stay composed.

"and i hate it," hyuntak whispers. "when you don't come clean it all up like you usually do. i wait. i expect you to. and when you didn't..."

"it scared you," juntae finishes.

hyuntak nods, then looks up—and freezes.

juntae's eyes are red. wet. his mouth is trembling like he's trying so hard to hold himself together and losing anyway. he looks like a scared kid in a too-big hoodie, curling into himself.

hyuntak's stomach twists. "you're crying," he breathes.

"no i'm not," juntae mumbles, voice cracking.

"i'm such an asshole."

"you didn't do all of it," juntae says, swiping a hand across his cheek. "it was just everything. the fight. the ring. you. me. i didn't know what part confused me the most. and that... overwhelmed me."

hyuntak reaches out, slow and careful, and rests a hand on his shoulder.

"i've never fought with you before," juntae whispers. "not really. not like this. it felt like everything was coming apart."

"i don't like seeing you like this," hyuntak says, voice breaking now too. "i don't want to be the reason you cry."

they sit in silence for a few long seconds, shoulder to shoulder, heads tilted down like they're praying.

"i want to be better," hyuntak says, quietly. "i do. i.. don't want to be the person who does that to you. ever."

"you already are better," juntae replies. "you're just bad at communicating."

hyuntak lets out a shaky laugh. "you're a bastard."

"you twist your sleeves when you're jealous," juntae adds, almost fond. "you were doing it when you fought with ara last week, too. i thought you were gonna rip the seams."

hyuntak groans into his hands. "don't read me."

"i can't help it," juntae says. "you're one of the only things i want to read."

they're still on the bed. same spots. but now the tension is quieter. worn down. neither of them moves like they're about to sleep. they don't even try.

"... do you wanna stay here?" hyuntak asks suddenly.

juntae looks up, brows raising. not in judgment. just in quiet surprise.

"like, in here?" he says.

hyuntak shrugs, too casual for someone who's this nervous. "yeah. i mean. just sleep. you can leave in the morning. if you want. or not. it's whatever."

juntae doesn't hesitate. "yeah. i want to stay."

hyuntak moves over a little bit. juntae crawls under the covers, stiff and cautious at first.

and now, they lie in silence. a small space between them. breathing carefully.

that space closes fast. they lie on their sides, not quite touching, both facing the ceiling like it might give them answers.

they're lying in the dim moonlight, neither sleeping. the silence isn't awkward. it's heavy, full of words neither knows how to begin.

hyuntak breathes in slow, then exhales shakily. "hey," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "you didn't take it off."

juntae blinks up at the ceiling. "what?"

hyuntak lifts his hand slightly under the blanket. the faint shine of the simple ring on his finger catches the dim light. "the ring. after the fight."

juntae turns his head slowly, eyes meeting hyuntak's. they both look down at their hands. juntae's ring is there, right where it's always been.

"no," juntae says quietly. "did you?"

hyuntak gives a soft, bitter laugh. "i couldn't."

juntae's gaze lingers on him. "same."

another silence. but this one isn't heavy. just full.

hyuntak shifts to lie on his side, head propped on his arm. his eyes flick between juntae's face and the ring again.

juntae mirrors him, turning slightly so they're face to face under the blanket. their legs brush, then press together gently, deliberately.

there's a long pause. they don't ask what that means.

then hyuntak, in all his nervousness, whispers, "can i tell you something dumb?"

juntae nods. "always."

hyuntak fidgets. "sometimes i stare at myself in the mirror and i can't even recognize what's wrong. but something always feels wrong. like... my reflection doesn't match how i want to be seen. so i fix it. obsessively. i put on a full face of makeup just to go to the grocery store. or i wear a turtleneck inside because i hate my neck. i... i hate cameras. i hate mirrors. i hate being looked at."

juntae's breath catches. slowly, painfully.

hyuntak keeps going. "photos are worse. cameras. surveillance. even the feeling of someone looking too long."

juntae is still. his eyes are locked on hyuntak, wide and rimmed red. "you never told me that."

"i never tell anyone," hyuntak says. "because people think it's vanity. but it's not about being pretty. it's about control. it's about—" he breaks off. his fingers curl against the blanket. he bites his lip. "my mom... she used to tell me i was beautiful. like how every mom does. but in a way that felt more like branding than love. like i was her doll. her masterpiece. if i got a pimple, she'd cancel photos. if i gained weight, she'd stop letting me eat dinner. every flaw was a failure."

juntae's chest tightens until he feels like he might snap in two.

because he remembers. he remembers their fight. the way he weaponized the one thing he knew could wound hyuntak. the cruel precision of saying, "you don't even like your real face," like it was just an observation.

like it wasn't a knife.

"i'm sorry," juntae chokes. his voice cracks hard. 

hyuntak looks over at him slowly.

"i'm so— hyuntak, i didn't mean it. i was angry. i was... scared. but i knew what i was doing. and i said it anyway."

and for the first time all night, juntae's eyes shine again with tears. not because of the fight. but because hyuntak is still here, still speaking to him, still letting him close even after all of that.

juntae can't take it anymore. he buries his face into hyuntak's neck, his hand slipping around hyuntak's neck like he's afraid he'll vanish if he doesn't hold on.

hyuntak lets him. he shifts closer because he'd never imagined juntae to be this sensitive.

"hey," hyuntak murmurs, voice low and rough but steady. "it's okay. you don't have to spiral."

juntae's eyes are glassy when he pulls away. "but i hurt you—"

"you did," hyuntak admits softly. "but it wasn't about the dysmorphia. not really."

juntae looks at him, startled.

"i mean... yeah, it stung," hyuntak continues, brushing his thumb over the edge of juntae's jaw, "but i knew you didn't mean it. not the way it sounded. you were just scared and saying things to keep me away. besides, i do it too. i hurt you too. i was going over to your room to apologize to you."

juntae's lip trembles. his throat tightens.

"i'm not mad at you," hyuntak whispers. "i promise. i'm just... trying to be more open. with you. that's all. that's all this is. and to say i'm sorry."

there's a long, aching pause.

then juntae grabs hyuntak hand and locks their pinkies together. the movement is so soft hyuntak feels he might actually float.

"remember when we made this promise?" juntae sniffles. "to tell each other whatever was going on with us, no matter how badly we acted or what we said?"

hyuntak steadies his hand in juntae's and locks the promise like they're schoolchildren. ".. of course i do."

then juntae leans forward—slow, trembling—and rests his forehead against hyuntak's. their noses bump. their legs brush again. they're still holding their promise, like they never want to stop.

"i don't know how to do this," juntae breathes, in all of his vulnerability, in the smallest voice hyuntak's ever heard him speak in. "i don't know how to be... good at this."

"oh, i know." hyuntak chuckles. "and i'm not either. but you don't have to be good at it," hyuntak says. "you just have to let me see it."

juntae's eyes flutter closed. his breath shudders. and hyuntak, with every nerve screaming from the intimacy of it all, doesn't look away.

he just holds him closer. warmer. like maybe if he holds tight enough, juntae won't feel like he has to apologize for being human.

he curls tighter around juntae. their legs tangled. their hands woven. their rings—silly, performative, stupid rings—catching glimmers of light in the dark like they're something sacred.

like they mean something now.

because maybe they do.

and maybe, for the first time, neither of them is afraid of what that might mean.

hyuntak closes his eyes for a second. then he opens them again. "... your turn."

and juntae smiles. because just like their pinky promise, hyuntak told him he had to talk too. "okay. i'm... rich."

hyuntak blinks. "i know."

"but you never bothered to ask me how?"

"don't take it personally."

juntae laughs quietly, and it makes hyuntak melt. "i mean like, disgustingly rich. after my mom died, she left me everything. every cent. not my dad. not my sister. just me."

hyuntak stares. juntae shrugs like it's a weight he's gotten used to carrying.

"they hate me now. we were already distant, but that sealed it. they think i stole it. or manipulated her. i didn't. she just... she loved me. and now i have all this money and nobody left to share it with. but i am really glad i can use it to make all of us more comfortable."

hyuntak's heart tightens. he whispers, "you can share with me."

it's soft. a stupid joke.

juntae lets out a quiet laugh. "then you'll have to put up with my endless spreadsheets and passive-aggressive budgeting emails to keep track of it all."

"i already do."

"true."

they're smiling now. a little.

their hands find each other again beneath the covers. juntae's thumb brushes hyuntak's knuckles, slow and steady.

then, gradually, their touches fade into silence. but this time it's warm. the kind that fills all the space grief and jealousy left behind.

they keep talking. about stupid things. about past regrets. about their favorite ramen flavors. about nari's obsession with dragon. about everything and nothing.

eventually, without realizing it, they're curled into each other fully. one of juntae’s legs is hooked over hyuntak's hip now like it belongs there. his face pressed into the space between hyuntak's collarbone and shoulder. hyuntak's arm wrapped around his waist.

their hands rest against each other's chests, right where the rings sit on their fingers.

and in that soft, quiet tangle of warmth, where the rings still glint faintly between their bodies, they finally fall asleep.

safe.

together.

not fixed, not perfect—but seen.

and still wearing the rings.

Chapter Text

it's pouring outside. morning, but the sky is still painted a bruised, heavy gray. rain lashes the windows like it's trying to get in. the air hums with a quiet static, the kind that makes everything feel closer.

hyuntak wakes first.

his eyes open slow, adjusting to the muted light spilling across the sheets. for a moment, he forgets where he is. the softness under his cheek. the warmth against his side. the stillness. then he shifts, breath catching.

weight.

skin.

juntae.

still asleep beside him, chest rising steady, breath fogging faintly against the fabric of hyuntak's sleep shirt. his face is buried somewhere between hyuntak's shoulder and collarbone, one arm flung across his waist, one leg tangled over his. possessive in a way that makes hyuntak's throat tighten. his hand is still clutching hyuntak's shirt, like even in sleep, he's afraid he'll slip away.

hyuntak doesn't move.

he watches instead—juntae's face, unguarded, soft with dreams. no glasses. no sharp edges. the kind of stillness people only get in sleep or after crying. his lashes are long. his mouth parted. his brow, furrowed even now, like he's still thinking through something even unconscious.

it should be clinical, how much hyuntak studies him. how precisely he memorizes the curve of juntae's collarbone, the arch of his jaw, the way the light hits his skin. but it's not. it's reverent.

he aches with it.

there's something almost holy in seeing someone like this. someone who doesn't let anyone close. someone who overthinks even his silences. someone who chose him. flaws, spirals, insecurities and all.

hyuntak's fingers brush over the back of juntae's wrist, just lightly. no intention of waking him. just a quiet check-in.

still here.

still real.

juntae stirs eventually, nose brushing hyuntak's shoulder, brow twitching slightly. his body curls in closer, instinctively, like the warmth is a signal. a safety net. his lashes flutter and after a long beat, his eyes blink open.

they're a little unfocused at first. a little dazed. but he doesn't jolt. doesn't shy.

he just looks at hyuntak.

and for a second—just a second—hyuntak lets him.

no contour. no filters. no hiding behind dramatics or defense mechanisms. just the raw, early-morning version of himself. soft and crumpled and imperfect.

juntae breathes in slowly.

"you're still here," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

"you sound surprised."

"i am."

hyuntak doesn't answer. his hand curls against juntae's side instead, grounding them both.

eventually, juntae murmurs, "i should brush my teeth."

"bathroom's through there," hyuntak says, gesturing with a sleepy nod.

juntae starts to get up and shivers almost instantly. hyuntak stills.

he knows.

juntae hasn't worn a sweater since they got to this house. not once in the months they've been here. and hyuntak had noticed, he always noticed, but never said anything.

he remembers that night. the fire. the smoke curling up around them like something hungry. he remembers the way juntae froze, that scorched look in his eyes when he realized his sweater—his favorite one, the one he wore like a second skin—was gone. burned alive before anyone could save it.

because it wasn't just any hoodie. it was the last gift his mother gave him before she died.

hyuntak had pieced it together eventually. from the way juntae never brought it up. from the tight way he looked at other people's clothes. from the way his eyes flickered whenever hyuntak casually tossed a sweater across a chair or draped one over his shoulders, like it reminded him of something he couldn't get back. it was almost like juntae was punishing himself for losing something so precious.

he never said anything.

but he didn't have to.

hyuntak knows grief. not the same kind—not a mother he loved or lost. his grief is sharper, messier, tangled with resentment and betrayal. but he still knows what it means to miss something so quietly it starts to echo.

so he gets up.

walks over to his closet.

pulls out one of his favorites. it's soft, worn in, still smelling faintly of his cologne and whatever fabric softener seongje keeps shoving into the laundry machines. it's not beige or fuzzy like juntae's was. it's a rich blue, with faint stitching near the collar. it looks nothing like the hoodie that was lost.

and still, hyuntak holds it out like it matters.

"here," he says. "it'll probably be too big."

juntae stares.

"are you sure?"

"it's just a sweater," hyuntak shrugs, even though it's not. not really.

it's his favorite. it's the one he wears when he needs to feel like himself. the one he keeps at the top of the pile for comfort. but juntae doesn't need to know that.

juntae pulls it on slowly.

hyuntak watches him the entire time. watches how he tugs at the sleeves, how his shoulders settle once it's on. how he holds the cuffs like something fragile. like it means more than he's saying.

"thanks," juntae says. his voice is small. honest.

hyuntak doesn't answer. just gives a sharp nod and goes back to brushing his teeth, letting the silence stretch.

they get ready like that.

side by side.

juntae stands a little closer than usual at the mirror. their arms bump once, and neither of them moves. juntae smooths a stray strand of hyuntak's hair without thinking. hyuntak lets him.

hyuntak hums his little, random melodies ara told him about.

and juntae doesn't mention it. doesn't bring it up. just listens and feels like heart swell.

no dramatics. no posturing. just quiet rhythms and sleepy glances and sweaters that mean something they don't know how to say.

and when they finally walk out into the hallway, shoulders brushing, rain still clawing at the windows and thunder low in the distance—

they realize, at the same time, that no one else is awake yet.

the house is silent.

the world still dim and wet.

it feels private. sacred. like they're moving through a moment that doesn't belong to anyone else.

and for the first time in a long time, hyuntak doesn't feel the need to hide.

and juntae doesn't feel the need to explain.

they don't say anything as they make their way toward the living room. they don't need to. something about the silence between them is full now, not empty. they carry the weight of that sweater and the sleep in their eyes and the soft bloom of something terrifying and tender between them.

and for once, it feels like enough.

the house is still asleep. the only sound is the steady drumming of rain, sheets of it slamming hard against the windows, a storm in full tilt.

juntae drifts toward the window, sweater sleeves too long on his wrists, and peers out into the wet chaos. his brows furrow slightly.

"that's not just rain," he murmurs. "that's, like... borderline typhoon."

hyuntak glances up from where he's crouched near the far wall, picking up a stack of garment bags and sketch folders he'd left scattered days ago. "told them not to cancel," he grumbles, eyes still sharp from sleep. "now look. the whole city looks like it's about to float away."

juntae turns from the window, voice still calm. "hyuntak. that glass is literally vibrating."

hyuntak doesn't answer. he's too busy brushing invisible dust off one of the bags, muttering something about the side seam warping under stress. juntae steps toward him, kneels beside him with barely a sound, and picks up one of the protective covers.

"what are these?" he asks, pulling the zipper down halfway. "these aren't the ones you showed me before."

hyuntak hesitates. just for a moment.

"they're the add-ons i made after i came back from the hospital," he says eventually. "the surprise runway pieces."

juntae gently pushes the zipper the rest of the way down.

and for a moment, he doesn't speak.

the fabric gleams even in the low light. black and gold and smoke-gray. silhouettes cut so sharply they almost look sculpted. intricate hand-beading trails over the collar like constellations.

"these are..." juntae shakes his head a little. "you made all of this?"

"yeah" hyuntak mutters, and his scratched up, aching hands are the proof of it. ".. but i did have your help."

juntae's fingers ghost over the hem of another look, a tailored suit with velvet panelling and what looks like tiny stitched-in ash particles along the cuffs. he looks at him, eyebrows together and eyes big.

"are these about us?"

hyuntak shrugs. he dusts off his hands again, suddenly a little too casual. "all of them are. based on everyone here. or at least... inspired by you guys. it wasn't planned. it just sort of happened while i was designing."

hyuntak waves juntae over and unzips one of the bags fully. the garment inside practically glows under the soft morning light.

"okay," hyuntak mutters, "this one's.. seongje's, actually."

juntae tilts his head. "the healer?"

hyuntak nods. "it's got three types of reflective fabric. layered over silk. when it moves, it catches the light and refracts it—like it's glowing. it's dramatic. kinda too much. but that's the point."

he lifts the hanger to show the full silhouette: sleek, high-collared, with an iridescent thread running through the spine like a pulse.

"it looks expensive," juntae murmurs.

"yeah, well, he's exhausting," hyuntak says flatly. then, quieter, "but he keeps everyone alive. even if it kills him."

juntae glances sideways at him. "you hate him."

"i do," hyuntak says. "but i get it."

he moves on to the next.

"this one's humin's. fire, obviously." he tugs open the zipper to reveal something loose, flowing, and almost celestial. orange-gold silks that shimmer like heat mirages, offset by fireproof leather paneling along the shoulders and chest. there are stitched burn marks down the arms, artificial and intentional.

"he's all warmth. but there's control in the way it's made. that's how he uses it. controlled. even when he's falling apart. i honestly think it's chaotic. but it's because he's always-"

"protecting people," juntae finishes, quietly.

hyuntak nods.

he keeps going. "i tolerate him. but yeah. he's... solid."

he crouches and opens another.

"beomseok."

it's a suit, sharp and asymmetrical. one side is stitched perfectly—clean lines, neat lapels. the other is frayed seams, scorched hems. chaos and symmetry stitched together like a war on fabric.

"there's steel wiring in the cuffs. and the chestplate is reinforced with shock-absorbent padding. he's built like a bomb, but he's terrified of it. i made the lining soft. softest material i could find. he needed that."

juntae kneels with him now. quietly watching. quietly... moved.

hyuntak opens the next.

"suho's," he says, almost reluctantly.

it's black. not just black—black. absorbs all light. long lines. sharp tailoring. the kind of suit that would look like armor if you weren't paying attention. but the inside? lined in crimson silk. hidden. never seen unless it's taken off.

"he thinks he's a villain," hyuntak says simply. "so i made him one."

juntae frowns. "you don't believe that."

hyuntak shrugs. "i believe he wants to be, some days."

he opens another, and this one is noticeably unfinished. pins still jutting out. half the hem untouched.

"sieun's," hyuntak says. "it's layered. soft fabrics, but they're all stitched in reverse. what you see on the outside isn't the finished side. the work, the blood-toned beading, is hidden. everything's backwards. inside out."

juntae says nothing. but his expression softens.

"and this one—" hyuntak gently unzips the last garment bag and holds it like it's something fragile. he hesitates before speaking. "yours."

juntae's breath catches.

it's stunning. understated at first—muted gray tones, thin piping of silver. but the closer you look, the more complex it gets. there are equations embroidered into the cuffs in a thread only visible under certain light. there's hardware in the shoulders that shifts depending on how you move. inside the lining, binary code stitched like a secret.

"i thought you'd like structure," hyuntak says, voice suddenly quieter. "but not rigidity. so it's designed to adapt. it breathes. and it's... it's made to be seen up close. not from afar."

juntae reaches out. his fingertips barely graze the fabric.

"you made me a wearable algorithm," he says.

hyuntak shrugs. "you're hard to understand. so i tried."

they look at each other. the storm rages outside. the wind howls, thunder groaning in the distance.

there's something so tender in the way he says talks about his work, like this entire collection is less of a fashion show and more of a diary. a stitched confessional. a love letter in thread and form.

juntae is still kneeling, arms resting on his thighs, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly.

and for a moment—it feels like time slows.

hyuntak catches the look.

the way juntae's watching him like he's never seen him before. like he's seeing all the pieces at once and falling anyway.

juntae stands slowly, and the space between them collapses.

"you're incredible," he says, voice softer than it's ever been.

hyuntak's breath hitches.

they're close now. closer than they've ever let themselves be. the sweater juntae's wearing still smells like hyuntak. rain patters against the windows like fingertips tapping out a rhythm only the storm understands.

around them, garment bags are unzipped and opened, couture spilled across the room like a private gallery. it's warm in here, and the storm makes the space feel even more intimate, like they're tucked away from the rest of the world.

hyuntak is carefully smoothing down the fabric of another design, hands steady, expression unreadable.

"so who's this one for?" juntae asks quietly, running a finger down the reinforced seam of the structured jacket in his hands.

hyuntak doesn't look up. "ara."

juntae's brows lift. "really?"

"she's only two months younger than me, but she watches everything," hyuntak murmurs. "this one's light. movement-friendly. water-repellent, too. it's playful. bright colors stitched with rain-resistant thread."

juntae's heart softens. "you thought of everything."

"she likes pink."

there's a pause. juntae glances around the room.

"and... where's yours?"

hyuntak stiffens slightly. his hands pause over the fabric. then he shrugs, light and casual. "didn't make one."

juntae blinks. "what do you mean?"

"i didn't know what to do," hyuntak mutters, still not meeting his eyes. "i didn't have an idea."

"that doesn't sound like you."

hyuntak huffs a quiet laugh, but it sounds more tired than amused. "i didn't feel like i had a... concept. i couldn't look at myself and make something out of it. everyone else made sense. their abilities. their personalities." he shakes his head. "but i didn't want to see myself on a runway."

juntae watches him. really watches. the way hyuntak's shoulders curl in on themselves. the slight tremble in his fingers, subtle but unmistakable.

"you didn't think you were worth designing for," juntae says flatly.

hyuntak shrugs again, still not looking at him. "i'm okay."

"no, you're not."

"don't start."

juntae stands, placing the jacket down gently, and crosses the space between them. hyuntak keeps his gaze fixed on the garment in his lap, but juntae kneels in front of him.

"i'm not junghoon." juntae says.

that makes hyuntak flinch. slightly. barely.

"i'm not your mother. i'm not those classmates who talked about you behind your back, or that teacher who said you'd never make it. i'm not the people who made you think you needed to be flawless to deserve air."

"juntae—"

"no. i'm not them."

his voice is firmer now. still calm, but edged with something that hyuntak has never heard from him before.

"i think you're the most beautiful person i've ever seen," juntae says. "and not just physically. well, yes—physically, too. but the way your brain works. the way you care even when you pretend not to. the way you see people before they see themselves. you made a custom piece for seongje. suho. everyone. even ara. you could see all of them, down to their bones. but you couldn't do that for yourself?"

"i said i'm fine," hyuntak mutters, pulling slightly away.

"no, taka. you're hurting."

hyuntak presses his lips together, his jaw locking tight. juntae doesn't push further. he doesn't have to.

the room is quiet for a few moments. outside, the storm surges louder. the wind slams against the windows like it wants in.

"i just didn't think anyone would want to see it," hyuntak says finally, voice low. "if i put myself into it, i'd hate it. i'd want to tear it apart."

juntae nods slowly. "then let me do it."

hyuntak blinks. "what?"

"let me design one. for you. just like you did for the rest of us."

hyuntak stares, completely in disbelief no matter how much he tries to hide it. "you sew now?"

"no," juntae says. "but i know you. and my drawing isn't terrible."

it's so quiet, hyuntak swears he can hear his own pulse.

"i don't want a pity piece."

"it wouldn't be pity."

there's a beat.

".. i'll think about it," hyuntak mutters.

juntae nods. he doesn't press. just gently places a hand over hyuntak's.

they sit in silence for a while, the storm wrapping around the house like a wet blanket. it doesn't feel cold, though. not here. not with the warmth building quietly between them.

juntae glances at the nearest window. "they were right to cancel the show. it's dangerous out there."

hyuntak sighs. "i know."

"but it still sucks."

"yeah."

they clean in silence for a while. hyuntak organizing his sketches, juntae carefully folding the designs. when juntae lifts one of the more elaborate pieces—his own—he smiles.

"this is my favorite," he says softly. "you made something that looks like its being saved."

hyuntak blinks at him. "don't say things like that."

"i'm just being honest."

"i know. that's worse."

juntae lets out a laugh, soft and sincere. "you're impossible."

"and you're annoying."

they look at each other. something heavy and sweet and unspoken fills the air between them.

juntae moves closer. so does hyuntak.

and just as the space between them narrows again-

"GOOD MORNING, FASHIONISTAS!"

humin bursts in, nari bouncing on his hip.

hyuntak and juntae jolt like they've been electrocuted.

"dad, too loud," nari says sagely.

"oh my god," hyuntak mutters, scrambling to straighten himself and clutching his chest. "what the hell is the matter with you!? do you always scream first thing in the morning? why are you here—what time is it?"

"we came for breakfast!" humin beams. "right, baby?"

hyuntak stares at them, overwhelmed.

before juntae can even turn to face him properly, hyuntak speeds off to go change, vanishing into the hallway in a blur of slippers and embarrassment.

juntae watches him go. and smiles.

he'll make that suit. even if hyuntak won't wear it.

someone has to show him what it looks like to be seen.

nari is balanced on his hip, wrapped in a tiny pink blanket that only covered half her feet. he looks exhausted but cheerful, like he'd already been up for hours. he set her down in her booster seat with a soft "there we go, honey" and started pulling eggs from the fridge like the world wasn't flooding outside.

seongje was next, shoulders damp from a quick dash between rooms, towel around his neck. he offers no hello, just a long glance toward the glass door that led to the balcony. the storm pounds harder than before.

beomseok walks in silently behind him, hoodie too big, eyes still soft with sleep. he sits on the edge of the table, hands tucked in his sleeves. he looks like he's been awake longer than he wanted to admit.

hyuntak appears again not long after—fully dressed, of course, hair styled even if his movements were slower than usual. he leans against the counter with a cup of something warm in one hand, eyes trailing the condensation forming along the windows. he says nothing, but his presence was already sharp, alert. watching.

then comes suho.

he looks... tired. not in the usual way—there was a particular kind of slump to his shoulders now, a heaviness in the way he walked that no one missed. his jaw is tight, hair uncombed. he stands near the far wall, arms crossed, barely acknowledging the others.

sieun is last, and juntae likes to say that he looks better than all of them combined.

well, not better than hyuntak, but the point is made.

he's awake and alert. he's dressed comfortably and there's sleep in his eyes, which is new for him since he never sleeps properly. he walks leisurely, mumbles a greeting to the table quietly, and joins humin in the kitchen.

"good morning," juntae says, setting his folder down on the coffee table and glancing to seongje, who tosses a crumpled napkin aside and leans forward.

"let's get this over with."

the storm groans louder outside, wind slamming against the house.

everyone falls quiet.

and the unraveling begins.

juntae cleared his throat softly, wiping his hands with a napkin. his plate is barely touched.

seongje sits beside him, arms crossed, expression a bit too relaxed for the gravity of what they were about to share. but hyuntak knows better. he's leaning back only to keep from fidgeting.

"so," seongje announces, nodding at the rest of them. "about the DNA."

everyone looks up.

beomseok sits straighter. humin stops cutting nari's food. suho doesn't even pretend to look disinterested. sieun remains still, just as always.

juntae hesitates for a second too long.

hyuntak notices. he doesn't say anything, but the furrow between his brows deepens.

"this scan, it's... not just dog," seongje finally says. "that part we already figured out. but we went back to the sequence again, checked it with new filters."

"there's human DNA," juntae adds quietly. "in the eye. mixed with the canine genome. not just contamination. actual hybridization."

the silence that follows was heavy.

"that's not possible," suho says flatly.

"no," juntae agrees. "it's not. which is why we don't understand it. there's nothing that should make that possible. you can splice genes in a lab, you can mimic traits—but a hybrid organ? living, functional tissue that scans as both?"

"feels like one step forward, two steps into insanity," seongje mutters, dragging a hand through his hair.

"so what now?" humin asks, tone dry but not unkind. "what's the next move?"

juntae stares at the table.

everyone waits.

"i don't know," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "we don't have the ring. we don't know whose eye it's keyed to. we don't even know what the eye belongs to. dog? human? both? it doesn't make sense."

"but something will," humin offers gently. "you always figure it out."

juntae shakes his head slowly, fingers tightening around his napkin. "i thought we were close. i really did. but this... it's not a breakthrough. it's another dead end."

"you don't know that," beomseok says quietly.

but juntae isn't listening anymore.

his gaze is gone far away—beyond the kitchen, beyond the storm. like he was seeing all the possibilities collapse in his mind at once. timelines folding. hypotheses shattering. he's mapped out so many outcomes already, and none of them involved this.

"an eye that's half human, half dog?" juntae says, almost laughing, bitter. "what am i even supposed to do with that?"

hyuntak watches him. really watches him.

not the way the others did. not for the science. but for the man beneath the genius. the slouch in his shoulders. the way he blinks too fast. the rawness of a mind pushed past its limits and still expected to lead.

and before he could stop himself, hyuntak reaches under the table and nudges juntae's leg again. soft. steady. just enough pressure to say, you're not alone.

juntae doesn't move.

but he looks over.

their eyes met for a second too long.

and slowly—like surrender—juntae exhales.

"it's okay to be stuck," hyuntak says under his breath, so quiet only he could hear. "we'll figure it out."

everyone else was still talking, asking questions, speculating, arguing, but the moment between them holds firm. like a line cast between storm walls. like a secret pact.

even when hyuntak turns back toward his plate, even when the bickering begins again between seongje and him—petty, sharp-edged, too-familiar—he doesn't take it back.

and neither does juntae.

because underneath the disappointment, the confusion, the impossibility of a half-human, half-canine eye...

they had this.

whatever this was.

and maybe, for now, that was enough to keep going.

juntae's voice tapers off.

there's a beat of silence after everyone is done overlapping each other, the kind that stretches too long. the kind that says: that's it. that's all they've found. still no solid lead. still stuck.

seongje shifts beside him, arms crossed but jaw tight. "so, yeah," he mutters. "we're one step closer to figuring out what the eye is made of and two steps back because now we're looking for something that shouldn't exist."

"half human, half dog," juntae says again, flatly. he doesn't even look up. "we're chasing a myth."

he rubs a hand across his mouth, gaze shadowed. it's not like him to sound this defeated. but the tone is unmistakable. tired. bitter. burned out.

for a second, no one knows what to say.

then juntae's phone rings.

it's sangjae.

juntae presses the phone to his ear and everybody watches his face turn pale.

"there's, um," juntae's eyes shake. "there's someone at the door. downstairs. at the entrance."

everyone freezes.

hyuntak turns instinctively. beomseok stiffens beside him.

juntae's eyes go sharp. focused. but hyuntak can see it instantly—the way his shoulders tense, the faint tremble in his fingers as he sets the tablet down too carefully.

"did they say who it was?" seongje asks, voice even, too even.

there's a pause.

juntae shakes his head, more hesitant now. "they're completely masked. in black clothing and a big jacket because of the weather."

juntae's jaw tightens. he glances once at hyuntak across the room, and hyuntak sees it in his face—the panic he's trying to swallow. the thousand worst-case scenarios firing in his brain like broken code.

they've seen this before.

once was enough.

juntae's body locks up the way it always does when his mind is spiraling. his eyes flick toward the hall, toward the door none of them have dared approach since the fire. the last time someone came masked and nameless, they almost died.

they're all downstairs with sangjae and sehyeon in a heartbeat, watching the blurry cameras.

"don't open the door," seongje says, voice low and sharp.

"i won't," juntae mutters, already moving to the control panel. "i'm scanning for body temperature and weight ratios. it could be a decoy."

"could be a cop," suho says quietly.

the words fall into the silence like a stone into water. hyuntak flinches.

juntae's fingers move fast over the screen. "human body temperature. 5'5, soaking wet. alone."

"it says it's alone," hyuntak mutters.

"i don't like this," seongje says. "we shouldn't let them in."

"too late," juntae murmurs, narrowing his eyes. "they just rang the doorbell."

nari stirs where she's clinging onto humin's leg, sensing the tension. humin instinctively hugs her tighter. even she can feel the room shift.

"let me go." suho says suddenly, standing.

everyone turns.

"no," juntae says sharply. "absolutely not."

"if it's a—" suho starts.

"if it's a cop, you're the last person i want answering that door," seongje snaps.

but suho doesn't listen. he's already walking forward. determined and tired. no one moves to physically stop him—there's no time.

juntae hovers by the panel, hand twitching above the manual unlock.

"...i'll do it," he says finally.

he presses the button. the front door slowly unlatches.

wind howls in immediately, whipping through the hallway like a threat. rain pounds against the entrance in waves.

and then the figure steps inside.

dripping. head lowered. mask on. drenched in black from head to toe. everyone tenses like a single movement might make the house explode.

then she pulls her hood down. her mask off.

"...jiwoo?" suho breathes.

jiwoo, soaked through and shaking, stands there blinking at them like she's the one who's shocked.

no one speaks.

there's a massive collective exhale, like the entire house had been holding its breath.

but hyuntak? hyuntak doesn't exhale.

he bristles.

hard.

jiwoo takes one hesitant step inside, voice small. "i—i didn't mean to scare anyone. i just... suho sounded really off last night. i was worried, and the trains were closed, and—"

"why are you dressed like that?" hyuntak cuts in, still pale.

"i didn't have an umbrella," she says, flustered. "it's storming. i just grabbed whatever kept me dry."

"by dressing like a serial killer?" he snaps.

"hyuntak," juntae warns, but his voice wavers.

jiwoo opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"you didn't think to text someone first?" hyuntak continues, voice rising. "you had to just show up here, looking like that? you had to make us think something was happening again."

"i didn't mean-"

"save it," hyuntak says, turning away like even the sight of her makes his skin crawl.

jiwoo goes still, stunned.

juntae exhales shakily and finally closes the door behind her.

she stays by the front mat, dripping onto the tile, like she doesn't know if she's allowed in.

"we'll get you a towel," humin says softly. "come in. it's dangerous out there."

but the warmth in the room doesn't quite return.

because while the danger may have passed, the damage is done.

and hyuntak is still furious.

because all he saw was juntae frozen in fear again.

and he'll never forgive her for that.

jiwoo sits at the kitchen island now, towel-dried and changed into one of suho's spare hoodies. she holds a warm mug of tea between her palms like it's a lifeline, her damp hair twisted up in a makeshift bun. she looks smaller than usual. not scared—but cautious. like she's aware her presence disrupted something and she's trying not to worsen it.

suho sits beside her. close, but not too close. his arm rests behind her on the back of her stool—not touching, but there. a silent claim. he murmurs something under his breath, something quiet and meant just for her, and she laughs, soft and surprised, nudging his leg under the table. it's all very... careful. like they're both trying to be the version of themselves they think the other person wants.

from the outside, it almost looks normal. cute, even.

but sieun sees everything.

he slides a small bowl of pickled radish onto jiwoo's side of the table without a word. then a spoon. then a plate of eggs, steamed and sliced neatly. he doesn't look at her directly, just gestures to it once.

"eat. you're still cold."

jiwoo smiles. "...thank you."

sieun just shrugs. "i don't want you to pass out. baku will cry."

suho watches this exchange with a tight-lipped smile. "she likes ginger in her tea, by the way," he offers sieun casually. "just in case you're taking notes."

sieun smirks without looking up. "i'm not. you're good, though."

the tension flickers. jiwoo's eyes move between them both.

but sieun?

sieun isn't bitter today.

he takes another sip of his coffee, dark and scalding. his posture is loose, relaxed, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rolled up casually. and when jiwoo says thank you again—more sincerely this time—he just nods.

and this time, he means it.

because it doesn't ache as much anymore.

it's still there, of course, like an old bruise. the quiet hollow where something used to sit. but his chest doesn't seize every time suho leans in to whisper something to her. his jaw doesn't clench when jiwoo reaches out to smooth suho's hair down gently. he doesn't flinch when suho kisses her.

it just... is.

he has gayool now.

and maybe it's not perfect, maybe it's not finished, but it's real. it's enough to hold onto.

so when jiwoo offers him a small smile, wary, but honest, he returns it. barely, as usual. but enough.

the room stays quiet for a beat longer. just the clinking of spoons and the patter of rain against the glass. it almost feels peaceful again.

the storm outside hasn't gone anywhere.

and the one inside?

that one's just waiting for its next target.

while everyone else spreads out into the living room and seongje plays blocks with nari again, hyuntak is upstairs looking over his garment bags for the thousandth time that day.

it's not about the bags. it's about how he doesn't want to be down there.

there's a knock on the door. hyuntak doesn't answer. but just as he thought, it opens anyway.

"you didn't have to be that rude," juntae says, walking right through the door and shifting closer. not confrontational, just close enough that their elbows graze.

hyuntak shrugs, leaning against his desk, but his arm presses against juntae's on purpose. "i was being mild. you should've heard what i actually wanted to say."

juntae exhales a laugh through his nose, but it's strained. "she just came to check on suho."

"she lied to me," hyuntak says, sharper now. "told sangjae and sehyeon she knew the owner when she didn't. then shows up out of nowhere with a storm raging and gets you all twisted. i don't trust her. and i don't have to be polite."

"that was months ago, taka," juntae turns toward him and pauses, brows raised slightly. "wait... this is about me?"

hyuntak doesn't answer right away. just lowers his coffee mug and stares out the window.

"you were stressed. you get that look when you're stressed. quiet. like you're holding your breath for the entire house." his voice is softer now. "... and it reminded me of the fire. that night. you do that when people you care about hurt you."

that makes juntae go still.

and then, carefully, hyuntak's fingers brush against his again.

just a touch. but not a casual one.

"and i hate seeing you like that," hyuntak adds, almost like it costs him something to say it.

juntae blinks, speechless. for a second, the only sound is the distant clap of thunder and the soft hum of hyuntak's breath—measured, tight.

"do you always hold grudges like this?" juntae finally asks, trying to pull them out of that heavy space.

"absolutely," hyuntak says, with zero hesitance whatsoever. 

juntae should be annoyed. but instead, his eyes flicker to hyuntak's mouth. just for a second. just enough.

"of course you do," he says quietly, smiling despite himself.

they don't move away.

if anything, they inch closer.

juntae leans in a little like he might rest his head on hyuntak's shoulder, but thinks better of it and lets his forehead barely touch hyuntak's upper arm instead. like he's trying something new. like it's tentative, but wanted.

then, softly, "are you okay?"

juntae flinches.

not dramatically. just enough that hyuntak knows he hit the nerve.

"why wouldn't i be?"

"maybe because you've had the same blank graph open for twelve hours," hyuntak says gently. "maybe because we're looking for an eye that doesn't make sense. maybe because you've locked yourself in your brain again, and i know what that looks like."

juntae lowers his gaze. his fingers twitch against the ceramic mug in his hands.

"it's just... i thought i'd be further along. i brought everyone here, and now i can't even give them an answer."

"you don't have to carry it alone," hyuntak murmurs. "you brought us here, yeah. but we stayed."

juntae says nothing.

so hyuntak tries again, even softer this time. "i know what it's like to think everything depends on you."

a long beat.

"i'm fine," juntae mutters, looking down.

"you're not."

another silence.

"i don't know what to do next," juntae admits, voice barely above a whisper. "we're looking for a hybrid eye that shouldn't exist. it's another dead end."

hyuntak shifts closer, standing in front of him now, their bodies almost brushing. juntae doesn't move away.

"then we start again," hyuntak says. "you're smart. you're brilliant. you always find a way."

and without thinking, without planning it, hyuntak lifts one hand and lets it rest gently against the side of juntae's neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw.

juntae closes his eyes for a moment.

lets it happen.

"why do you keep doing that?" hyuntak whispers.

"doing what?"

"closing your eyes. are you tired? i think you should sleep."

"i'm not tired. i just like it when you touch me."

they're too close now. they can feel it.

and yet—hyuntak doesn't flinch. he stays.

it's instinct, now, to touch. juntae's hand moves to hyuntak's wrist, fingers curling there. steady. warm. familiar.

hyuntak softens again. "you look better in that sweater than i thought you would."

juntae glances down. he hasn't worn sweaters in months. not since the fire. not since the hoodie that was the last gift from his mother burned into ash.

"i still miss it," juntae admits, voice quiet.

hyuntak already knows.

he hasn't said it. but hyuntak knows exactly what that hoodie meant.

he'd watched juntae sit with the smell of smoke still clinging to him. how he never asked anyone for help getting rid of the scorched pieces. how he never mentioned it again.

"you don't have to pretend like you're over it," hyuntak says. "you're allowed to miss something."

"i miss my mom."

"i know."

their fingers link without fanfare. juntae holds on tighter than he should, and hyuntak lets him.

and maybe that's what changes it.

the closeness. the trust.

the tiny, constant touches, like neither of them has to ask anymore. like juntae doesn't need to measure the distance between them because hyuntak keeps bridging it first.

like maybe they're building something real.

and that's when juntae murmurs, "try to be nicer to jiwoo. please. she's not going anywhere."

hyuntak sighs, tipping his head against juntae's. "fine. but only because you asked."

"thank you."

"don't make it a habit."

juntae doesn't respond. he just threads their fingers together again and lets the moment breathe.

their hands are still laced, resting lightly between them. neither of them says it—but they don't really want the moment to end. outside, the storm rages on, slamming rain against the windows like a war drum, but inside, it's all soft cotton and warm breath.

juntae glances over again. hyuntak is staring down at their hands now, his thumb drawing a slow circle into juntae's knuckle.

"you're dangerous," juntae murmurs, almost like he'd been calculating that in his head.

hyuntak raises a brow. "how so?"

"you make me want to stay in time like this."

hyuntak doesn't say anything. but he doesn't stop drawing circles either.

juntae presses his forehead lightly to hyuntak's shoulder. "i'll see what seongje and sieun are up to. we still need to make sense of what we found."

hyuntak just nods.

juntae can't stop himself from smiling. "try not to blow up the kitchen. or the house."

"i'll only blow up your room if seongje flirts again."

"fair."

another faint smile. then slowly, reluctantly, juntae steps back. the distance between them feels noticeable now—cold even. but neither of them acknowledges it. not directly. juntae gives hyuntak's hand one last squeeze before letting go.

"i'll come find you later," he says.

hyuntak watches him walk away.

and only once he's gone does hyuntak let out a long breath, hands on his hips like he needs to physically reset himself.

it's not nerves. not really.

it's something warmer. scarier.

something real.

he shakes it off.

sort of.

he heads toward the corner of the living room where his half-strewn design sketches are stacked like a barely surviving shrine. his pieces, his thoughts, the parts of him that aren't tangled up in whatever the hell he and juntae are becoming.

but before he gets there, something catches his eye.

movement. from the small crack in his door juntae left behind.

small. sudden.

his brow furrows.

he turns toward the hallway, half-expecting to find nari waddling out of somewhere she shouldn't be.

but it's not nari.

it's beomseok, in his room. right across from his own.

slumped against the wall just beyond the archway, arms clenched tight around his knees, his breath coming in sharp, stuttering bursts. his shoulders are shaking, eyes wide and unseeing, panic curling around him like smoke.

hyuntak freezes.

no one else is around. it's just them.

and without even thinking about it, without mocking, without the mask, hyuntak moves.

quietly. slowly.

like approaching a stray animal.

he crouches down nearby. not too close. just enough. 

beomseok doesn't notice at first. he's somewhere far off. drenched in memory, drowning in something hyuntak doesn't try to name. but he recognizes it.

that suffocating, sick heat in your throat. that helplessness that twists your insides like a vice.

hyuntak speaks gently. "hey."

beomseok flinches, startled.

but hyuntak's tone doesn't change.

"no one else is here," he says. "just me."

beomseok's eyes are wet. unfocused. his chest rises too fast. hyuntak waits a moment, then lowers himself completely to the ground beside him.

"i've felt that before," he says simply.

beomseok doesn't answer. but his body reacts. less stiff. less distant.

"it's like your skin doesn't fit right. like you're being watched even though no one's looking at you. like if you breathe too loud, the whole world might explode."

still no reply.

hyuntak lets his head rest against the wall.

"you're not broken," he says softly. "you're just overwhelmed."

that word. overwhelmed.

something about it makes beomseok breathe. still fast. still shallow. but it's air. it's movement. and hyuntak inches closer, still not touching.

but then—

beomseok lets out a sharp, helpless sob.

hyuntak reaches over without hesitating this time. one arm around beomseok's shoulders, not gripping, just holding.

"i got you," he murmurs. "don't talk. don't explain. just let it pass."

beomseok's face buries against hyuntak's shoulder, trembling with the effort of holding everything in.

hyuntak closes his eyes.

"i hate this too," he says. "it feels ugly. but it's not."

he doesn't say you're not.

but beomseok hears it anyway.

a few minutes pass like that—quiet and awful and weirdly gentle. hyuntak lets him fall apart without asking why.

eventually, beomseok pulls back, eyes puffy and embarrassed.

"sorry," he mumbles.

hyuntak clicks his tongue. "don't."

beomseok sniffs. his fists are clenched again.

"i should've just hit something."

hyuntak smiles faintly. he never thought he and beomseok would think so similarly. "then come with me."

"...what?"

hyuntak nods toward the studio corner. "you can break one of my mannequins."

beomseok's eyes widen. "seriously?"

"yeah. but, you'll have to be the mannequin later. even though you're too tall. i'll probably have to hem your arms."

and somehow, impossibly—beomseok lets out a soft, watery laugh.

just one.

hyuntak stands and offers a hand. "come on. i'm due for a new creative outlet."

beomseok hesitates, but then he takes it.

and that's how they end up walking together—silent, tired, a little bit steadier.

because sometimes, healing looks like couture scraps and unspoken grief.

and sometimes, the best people to save you are the ones who already know what it's like to need saving.

the house is still damp with the weight of the storm, which has only gotten progressively worse. the lights are dim, barely fighting against the dark outside. most of the group is in the living room now, lounging or distracted, pretending like the day hasn't already cracked open every single fragile peace treaty.

it's getting late now. everyone is just trying to relax.

sieun slips down the hall alone, empty mug in hand, heading for the sink.
he doesn't hear suho behind him at first.

not until—

"thought that was really cute back there. playing housewife for my girlfriend."

sieun stops in his tracks.

he doesn't turn around. doesn't say a word. just walks to the sink, rinses out the mug like he didn't hear it.

but suho keeps going, voice low and bitter.

"she tell you she likes her eggs that way? or were you just hoping she'd smile at you and forget i exist?"

sieun's jaw tics.

"she said thank you," he says flatly. "that's all."

"ah. so polite now. that your thing with gayool too? real submissive, real sweet? works for you, huh."

sieun turns.

slow. controlled. but his eyes are cold.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

suho steps forward. he shouldn't. he knows it. his heart is pounding and he's too hot, too angry, too full of something he can't name without drowning in it.

he shrugs. smiles with his teeth. "nothing. just watching you get passed around like a fucking souvenir is a little hard to swallow."

sieun blinks.

it's so low. so unnecessarily cruel.

and suho knows it. god, he knows it.

sieun's eyes widen, and for the first time, it's not heartbreak that flashes through them.

it's rage.

slow, cold, devastating rage.

he doesn't speak for a moment. his fists tremble at his sides, and his chest heaves—but not from sadness this time.

from fury.

"you know what, suho?" his voice shakes, but not because he's scared. "you've said some vile things to me, but that—that one might be your masterpiece."

suho blinks. it's the tone. he's never heard sieun sound like this. quiet and cutting. like a knife to the ribcage.

sieun steps closer, eyes glossy, jaw clenched.

"you think i'm pathetic? that i'm just letting people touch me because i'm lonely?" he scoffs, sharp and guttural. "you have no idea how hard it was to even look at someone else without feeling like i was betraying you. you. the guy who left."

suho doesn't say anything.

so sieun laughs, bitter and shaking. "you don't get to slut-shame me because you hate yourself. you don't get to point fingers when you're the one who ended everything. you can't stand that i didn't stay ruined, isn't that it? that i didn't rot in the mess you made?"

suho flinches, hard.

"tell me the truth," sieun growls, "did you ever love me, or did you just love knowing i would've done anything for you?"

his voice catches on that last word. and that's when it breaks.

"you know what's funny?" he laughs, but it's bitter. low and mean and shaking at the edges. "you really think i owe you silence. that i should just sit here while you throw every ugly thing you feel about yourself at me like i'm the target."

suho clenches his jaw. "i didn't mean—"

"no, you did. and i want you to know something," sieun snarls, stepping forward, shoulders tense, voice louder now. "you wouldn't be here without me. you wouldn't have survived the coma. you wouldn't have made it through a single fucking night without someone holding your hand through it—and it sure as hell wasn't jiwoo. it was me."

suho's face hardens, but he doesn't interrupt.

he can't.

"i was the one dragging your ass out of bed. i was the one who stayed up researching your defense when your dumbass couldn't even remember what year it was. i held you while you cried, i washed your hair. i fought your parents when they came back and said they wanted to institutionalize you. i fed you when you forgot how. and now? now i'm just some guy you get to mock for moving on?"

sieun's breathing is ragged. his eyes are wild with grief, with fury, with the kind of betrayal that tastes like blood.

"you want to call me easy? fine. call me whatever helps you sleep at night with the fact that you're playing house with a girl you don't even like. but don't ever forget—you needed me more than i ever needed you."

that hits.

hard.

suho's breath catches. his mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

and sieun's not done.

"you're projecting," sieun snaps. "classic. you get caught watching me all damn day, then say i'm the one who needs attention?"

"oh, please. i wasn't watching you."

"you're always watching me. jiwoo's in your room, and you're here playing hall monitor."

suho doesn't respond. which says enough.

"you're so full of shit," sieun says, voice louder now. "you couldn't stand me happy. that's what this is about, right?"

"don't flatter yourself." suho's expression hardens. "you never made things easy."

"i kept you alive," sieun fires back. 

"that's not true."

"oh, really?" sieun scoffs.

"don't do that."

"don't what? remind you of the version of yourself you threw away?" sieun's eyes are glassy now, but he's still spitting fire. "you know what hurts the most? i didn't even ask you for anything. not a label. not even love. i just wanted you to look at me and see me as more than the guy who wiped your vomit off the floor while you cried in your sleep."

suho's face twists. he doesn't speak.

sieun's voice drops. cold. final.

"but you're not cruel, suho. i won't say that. you didn't want to be loved by someone who really saw you. so you ran."

suho feels like he's been punched in the face. 

"i never meant to hurt you."

"you say that every time."

and then sieun laughs. a sour, awful laugh.

"you're a liar, suho. you lied to me every step of the way. you told me i was your home. your safe place. you said no one knew you like i did."

"they—"

"then why did you leave? why did you choose someone you don't even talk to when i was right here?"

the hallway feels smaller. tighter. like the storm has moved indoors.

suho tries to breathe. he can't.

sieun keeps going.

"you're miserable. you can't sleep. you look like hell. and instead of fixing your own life, you're stuck here making mine worse because the idea of me being happy without you drives you fucking insane."

"i'm not miserable," suho lies.

sieun takes a step closer.

"you hate her."

suho opens his mouth. closes it.

"you hate that she doesn't get your moods, your silences, the way you need time before you speak. you hate that she doesn't understand that when you get mean, it's because you're scared. not because you want to hurt someone."

suho says nothing.

sieun's voice softens—so much it hurts. "and you hate that i still do."

and that's when suho looks away.

because it's true.

sieun's eyes shine now, full-on tears. but not weak. not begging.

he's already walking toward suho—slow, deliberate, like a wolf who knows exactly how scared the deer is. not physically threatening. just emotionally devastating.

"she doesn't even know what to say when you panic, does she?" sieun says softly. "doesn't know how you hate the sound of glass breaking. doesn't know why you flinch when you see a motorbike."

suho's throat works. his fists are clenched.

he breathes in sharp. staring down at sieun like he's the storm itself.

"she doesn't even see you," sieun murmurs. "not the way i do. not the way i always did."

suho says nothing. his eyes flicker down to sieun's mouth, throat, collarbone. then back up. he's breathing too hard. his hands twitch at his sides like he doesn't know whether to hit something or hold it.

sieun sees it.

he moves slowly. deliberately. his fingers lift to suho's jaw, grazing the edge of it like a secret. then, with the lightest pressure, he slides them behind suho's ear—an old habit, an old wound. his touch is so soft it could be mistaken for love.

the spot that used to calm suho down mid-panic. the one sieun used to press during the residual migraines, when suho would tremble on bathroom floors and beg the pain to go away.

suho sucks in a breath like he's been punched.

"you came here to hurt me," sieun whispers, "but you can't even look at me without wanting to fall apart."

"shut up," suho warns. but he's leaning in anyway, like a stray dog to scraps. desperate. their foreheads brush. their noses nearly touch.

"you wanted to kiss me," sieun says. "you still do."

"i said shut up."

"you have a mirror," sieun spits. "you don't love her. you love the version of yourself she reflects."

that one lands.

suho's eyes narrow. "you're a fucking child."

"and you're a coward."

sieun's hand stays right where it is, curled against the back of suho's neck. his thumb brushes the skin just below suho's ear, tender in a way that hurts. his other hand finds suho's chest—palm flat against his sternum, feeling the wild beat of a heart trying not to break.

"you really think she gets you?" sieun says, voice softening, deadly. "she doesn't even know how to touch you."

that's when suho grabs him.

fist in his shirt, pulling him close—too close—lips trembling just inches from contact. his eyes are wet. wild.

"i hate you."

"no you don't," sieun says, voice steady, even as his own eyes begin to water. "you hate that you loved me and couldn't handle it."

suho's breathing breaks apart. shaky. unraveled.

"why are you doing this?" he whispers. "why are you..."

sieun leans closer, impossibly close now, breath warm against suho's cheek. he speaks low and slow, with the kind of intimacy that isn't sweet—it's surgical.

"because i could have you right now," he says. "if i wanted to."

suho doesn't deny it.

he can't.

he's too close. too weak. too caught.

"but i'm not the one lying," sieun finishes. "you are."

and just like that—he pulls away. lets go completely. leaves suho reaching for a ghost.

the air between them is suddenly cold and wide.

suho is left breathless, aching, unraveling.

"you think i'm the problem," sieun says, voice steady now, like he never even touched him. "but i'm not the one ready to cheat on my girlfriend."

suho's jaw tightens. "fuck you."

and sieun just scoffs. the lightest sound in the world. "already did."

sieun turns and disappears downstairs without another word.

and suho just stands there, fists trembling, chest caving in, the storm outside a perfect mirror to the wreckage inside him.

suho doesn't move.

the room is quiet, but it feels like it's howling around him.

he's still standing in the same place. same air. same heartbeat going a hundred miles an hour. same scent of sieun still clinging to his hoodie.

he should sit down.

he doesn't.

he just stands there, blinking too fast, hands shaking at his sides. his throat is tight. too tight. his stomach is doing flips. his chest aches like something inside him cracked open and is still bleeding.

because it was real.

that was real.

sieun's voice in his ear. his hands on his face. the heat of his breath. the way he touched him like he knew—like he remembered everything.

and suho...

suho wanted it.

no, he needed it.

the second sieun's hand touched his jaw, it was like his entire body remembered what being loved felt like. like finally. like finally. and he didn't push him away.

he didn't even try.

because suho's been starving for this—for him—for so long he forgot what it felt like to be full.

and for one single moment, he was full again.

and now?

he's empty.

again.

again.

he stumbles backward, finally moving, hands pressing into his face, dragging down. his skin is hot. damp. his pulse won't slow down. he presses his back to the wall, hard, like he needs something to anchor him before he floats off into the dark.

sieun was in his hands.

and suho let him go.

he slides to the floor. fists his hands into his hair and yanks until his scalp burns. tries to breathe. can't. the air is thick and too much and not enough.

jiwoo is upstairs.

she's probably folding laundry or texting her sister or doing something normal. something human. something real.

but suho feels like a ghost in his own body.

he presses his forehead to his knees. tries to pretend that his heart isn't still beating like it's searching for sieun.

because it is.

it always has been.

even after the fights. after the silence. after the breakup. after the fire. after the coma. after all the shit they said to each other and all the things they never dared to—

he was still sieun's.

and sieun knew it. he used it.

the touch and that whisper and that breath on his skin. that was intentional. that was war.

and suho lost.

he didn't even put up a fight.

because for thirty seconds, he had sieun again.

the real sieun. not the cold, sarcastic version that bit and barked. the one who used to cry when suho held him too long. the one who knew exactly how to make his hands stop shaking.

and now?

gone.

and it's his fault.

he wanted to hurt sieun. punish him. drag him back into the pain like a drowning man pulling his rescuer under with him.

but now suho's the one who can't breathe.

his fists hit the floor. once. twice. he bites his knuckle so hard it draws blood just to keep from screaming.

because he fucked this up.

he could've had him. he had him.

and now he's worse off than before.

he's not numb anymore.

he's alive. wide open. bleeding. and sieun's not here to bandage any of it.

he's with someone else. he's smiling with someone else.

he doesn't cry anymore when suho leaves the room.

but suho might.

downstairs, at the picturesque storefront, it's warm and wrecked.

there are broken mannequin limbs scattered across the floor, bits of shattered plastic crunching underfoot like bone. one mannequin head is lodged in the corner, paint smeared across its mouth in something that could look like a scream if you stared long enough.

beomseok's knuckles are raw. his chest is heaving. he's not crying anymore, but his hands shake as he wipes his nose, and he looks more like a child than ever. hyuntak stands next to him in a loose hoodie and pajama pants, arms crossed awkwardly as if unsure what to do with the fact that he invited this destruction and now can't bring himself to stop it.

then the stairs creak.

sieun walks in. slowly.

he looks around at the wreckage. the decapitated mannequins, the pile of shattered plastic torsos, the paint-splattered floor, beomseok hunched in a corner wiping his face, and freezes.

hyuntak turns. "oh. hey."

sieun doesn't answer. his eyes skim over beomseok. over hyuntak's hand. over the ruins of what used to be pristine display figures and a pristine night.

then he drops his gaze.

and breaks.

the tears come fast, but quiet. no sound. just a slow, shaking exhale as his shoulders curl inward and his hands come up to his face like he's trying to hold himself together—physically hold his face in place before it cracks.

sieun's hands tremble as he tugs the sleeves of his hoodie over his fists, dragging the cotton up to his face to hide the tears already building behind his eyes.

he didn't come down here to cry.

he came down because he didn't want to be alone.

hyuntak sees it instantly. "sieun?"

sieun doesn't answer. just presses his palms tighter against his eyes like it'll stop what's already falling. his knees nearly buckle, and that's when hyuntak bolts toward him, grabbing his shoulders, gripping him just to steady him.

beomseok looks up, eyes wide and already glossy again. his breath stutters. his lip quivers.

sieun's eyes spoke to everyone whether he wanted them to or not.

"oh no," he says. "oh—"

and then he's crying again.

this time louder. more confused. like sieun's sadness dragged his out of hiding, tethered it to something too big to keep inside.

now hyuntak's stuck between both of them.

hyuntak moves slowly, dropping down between them, careful not to startle either one. first, he pulls beomseok in by the wrist, tucks him into his side like he's done this before in some distant other life. then he extends the other arm toward sieun, hesitant.

"okay—okay, guys, i—what the fuck—can you—uh—breathe?" hyuntak manages. "just. breathe. you're fine. you're both fine."

they're not fine.

sieun blinks through his tears.

"...are you... hugging me?"

hyuntak makes a face. "don't make it weird."

sieun snorts, then hiccups. "you're making it weird."

but he doesn't pull away.

he lets himself fall against hyuntak's shoulder, lets his forehead rest in the crook between collarbone and jaw.

they sit like that.

one fashion prince with a panic case under each arm.

"is this your thing now?" sieun mumbles after a while. "helping us cry in the little fashion dungeon?"

"it's not a dungeon," hyuntak mutters. "it's a storefront."

beomseok sniffles wetly. "it's kinda a dungeon."

"i hate you both," hyuntak groans, but his hand is moving gently over sieun's back, the circles small and automatic.

the door upstairs creaks open.

footsteps.

juntae appears at the top of the stairs.

"hey, have either of you—" he stops. blinks. take in the scene like it's a crime scene.

hyuntak sitting on the ground like a reluctant babysitter, sieun clinging to his side with red-rimmed eyes, and beomseok's head buried in hyuntak's lap like a wounded animal.

juntae blinks again.

"...did someone die?"

hyuntak whips his head around, glaring. "does it look like someone died?!"

"i don't know!" juntae's voice goes up an octave.

"there's tears and mannequin arms everywhere—what did i just walk into?"

"i don't know either!" hyuntak shouts. "ask your friends! they started crying and now beomseok's doing it again and i don't do know?!"

juntae stares. then slowly starts walking down the stairs.

"i thought you were breaking mannequins."

"we were!" hyuntak gestures around wildly. "this was productive destruction until you walked in and they—they just—imploded!"

beomseok lets out a small squeaky sob.

juntae frowns immediately and crouches next to him. "hey. what happened?"

sieun finally speaks, voice thick. "nothing."

"doesn't sound like nothing."

"i didn't want him to see me cry," sieun murmurs, not looking up. "but i did it anyway. i always do it anyway."

juntae's mouth opens—then closes.

hyuntak stares at him. "aren't you gonna help me?"

"i'm good at logical problems, not—this," juntae gestures helplessly at the pile of emotions melting in front of him. "this is like human soup."

beomseok sniffles. "i don't feel like soup."

"well, you are," juntae mutters. then sighs. long. heavy. "...i'll get tissues."

he pushes himself up and disappears toward the shelves in the corner.

hyuntak watches him go, then glances back at sieun. "do you want to tell me what happened?"

sieun shakes his head. "not right now."

hyuntak nods once. "okay."

he doesn't press. just sits beside them. lets it settle. lets the tears fall if they need to.
eventually, hyuntak comes back, armed with tissues and wet wipes and a comically large box of unused wig caps because that's the closest thing he could find.

"don't say anything," he warns. "just take one."

beomseok does. sieun does.

they sit in a weird, pathetic, broken little triangle for a good while.

and the rain keeps falling.

they listen to it, almost somberly. in tears and in confusion and in comfort.

but then they hear the muffled screams.

suho and jiwoo don't even make it to the front door.

they're frozen mid-argument on the stairs, somewhere between the main hallway and the entrance. their voices—sharp, fast, bitter—slice through the house like static. what starts as a hissed exchange quickly builds into something hotter, heavier, impossible to ignore.

"why are you like this?" jiwoo demands, her tone already shaking. "i came because you sounded like you were breaking, suho—do you even remember what you said to me last night?"

suho exhales, jaw tight. his eyes are glassy, bloodshot. "i didn't ask you to come."

jiwoo lets out a bitter laugh. "right. because asking for help means admitting you're not okay. and you'd rather burn than do that, wouldn't you?"

her voice cracks, hurt bleeding into every syllable.

"you didn't have to just show up," suho snaps. "you scared everyone—do you know what it's been like here lately? you could've gotten hurt."

"oh, don't do that," she snaps. "don't pretend this is about my safety."

everything goes still.

hyuntak's eyes flick immediately to sieun.

and sieun—sieun looks like his soul has left the room.

puffy eyes. stiff shoulders. silent as the grave.

because everyone can hear it now.

and suho, self-destructing in real time, doesn't care.

he growls, "you think ten minutes in this house gives you insight? you have no idea what's been going on."

"i know enough to see you're falling apart!" jiwoo shouts. "you won't talk to me, you won't look at me, and last night—"

she falters. her voice drops.

"last night, i thought you were going to cry. you sounded so broken."

the words hang in the air like smoke.

juntae, tense, edges closer. he holds a mannequin arm awkwardly in front of him like a buffer. "suho... are you okay?"

but suho doesn't even look at him.

he's already staring at someone else.

sieun.

still sitting on the floor next to beomseok, frozen in place.

he doesn't meet suho's gaze. he can't. his hands are curled into fists, chest rising and falling unevenly. and now—now that the lights hit his face just right—it's obvious.

he's been crying.

not dramatic, not messy—but that quiet, soul-sick kind of crying. the kind you do when you can't even defend yourself anymore.

the kind that means someone you love did this.

that's when hyuntak moves.

"you really don't know when to quit, do you?"

with practiced grace, he steps directly in front of sieun. body angled, jaw clenched, eyes locked on suho with razor precision. he's not pretending to be civil.

he's not even pretending to be calm.

"back up," hyuntak says, voice low and lethal. "you've done enough."

suho swallows. his throat works like he wants to speak—but nothing comes out.

"look at him like that again," hyuntak murmurs, closer now, "and i'll really fuck you up. you think i'm bluffing?"

nobody breathes.

suho... says nothing.

he just stands there, one foot above everyone else on the stairwell like a man trying to stay afloat, like someone waiting for the floor to give out beneath him.

hyuntak doesn't look away. he doesn't blink.

and then, finally, suho does the one thing none of them expected.

he breaks.

not with words. not with screams.

he just nods—small, ashamed, hollow. and then turns and walks up the stairs without another word.

that silence is worse than yelling.

sieun closes his eyes and winces like he's been punched in the gut. he turns himself completely away from suho's body.

jiwoo watches him go, her eyes red now too, and slowly turns to the others. her voice is barely above a whisper. "i shouldn't have come."

"no," hyuntak mutters from his corner, arms crossed. "but you really shouldn't leave. not with that storm."

"i'll be fine," jiwoo says, brushing past him. "i can find my way back."

humin rises immediately. "don't be ridiculous. it's nighttime. the roads are flooded. you'll get stranded."

she's already grabbing her coat. the same oversized one that masked her identity earlier. she tugs it on with numb hands, pulling her hood up, fingers trembling as she masks again. and something about that—leaving the same way she arrived—feels like a curtain closing.

"jiwoo," juntae says carefully, stepping toward her. "just wait. give it time."

she turns to him. her voice is soft, but tired. "you keep trying to fix everyone."

"i—"

"but this isn't yours to fix."

he doesn't argue. just watches her with wide, quiet eyes.

she glances at the others—at sieun, still standing behind hyuntak, trembling quietly. at hyuntak himself, who hasn't moved an inch. at seongje.

and then, with one last look at the house she wasn't supposed to enter—

she walks out into the storm.

rain whips against the door the moment it swings open.

no one tries to stop her.

the door shuts behind her like a gunshot.

and now?

now everyone's staring at where suho used to be.

juntae finally turns to sieun. "are you okay?"

but hyuntak doesn't let him answer.

he steps forward, his voice cool and absolute.

"he will be."

behind him, sieun is trembling, hand still gripping the hem of his own sweater like it's the only thing tethering him to the room. he still hasn't spoken. still hasn't breathed.

he doesn't need to.

because everyone knows the answer.

and suho?

suho doesn't come back down.

not that night.

not once.

somehow, hours pass.

the storm hasn’t let up. it howls outside like a living thing. wind rattling the windows, rain lashing against the building in uneven sheets, thunder rolling so low it feels like a heartbeat under the floorboards.

they’re still downstairs in the storefront. the lights are dim, warm but sparse. hyuntak and juntae had quietly cleaned up the wreckage left behind. broken mannequins now tucked into corners, scattered fabric swept up, thread spools and pens and pins all lined neatly on the counter. it’s the cleanest it’s looked in weeks, and yet somehow heavier than ever.

no one really speaks.

sieun’s sitting cross-legged on the ground near a display table, face still puffy and pale from earlier, eyes red-rimmed and glazed. he’s not crying anymore, but the stillness in him is louder than sobs.

next to him, beomseok is leaning back against one of the walls, knees drawn up. his breathing has evened out but he hasn’t said a word. every so often he glances sideways at sieun like he’s making sure he’s still there, like he’s afraid this silence might swallow them all up.

humin’s sprawled on a bench near the far wall. his usual cheer is muted, but there’s a calm in him. he watches the lightning strike through the windows.

seongje’s standing by the door, arms crossed, head tilted against the wall like he’s pretending to be annoyed but… doesn’t move to leave either. he's staring into the middle of the room, occasionally glancing at the quiet group as if trying to understand how they all ended up here like this.

juntae and hyuntak sit side by side on the old leather couch they dragged in last week. juntae’s hand brushes hyuntak’s knee now and then as he types something on his tablet, mind still working on the impossible puzzle of the ring. hyuntak doesn’t say anything about it, just leans slightly closer every time the contact fades.

no one’s asked where suho is.

no one’s gone to find him.

they just… exist there for a while. together. breathing the same heavy air, stitched by silence and grief and something wordless that binds them more tightly than they realize.

until the knocking.

BOOM.

it’s not polite. it’s not gentle.

it’s violent. like a full-bodied slam against the front door that makes the glass tremble in its frame.

the pounding shakes the front door. everyone freezes.

footsteps thunder down the stairs, and it’s suho. shirt rumpled, eyes wild, like he barely had time to process before bolting.

“is it jiwoo?” he asks, breathless. 

but the second they all hear the voice—a man’s voice, desperate and shouting—everything changes.

the tension shifts.

juntae’s posture goes stiff. hyuntak’s already stepping in front of the others. seongje’s jaw tics.
even suho, mid-step, stops cold.

it’s not Jiwoo.

and despite the awkward weight of his return, suho says nothing. he just locks in with the rest of them.

because if it’s not her…

then who the hell is it?

“did anyone…?” juntae starts, already standing, voice hushed. “was anyone expecting anyone?”

“no,” hyuntak says immediately, already pushing himself off the couch. “absolutely not.”

the knocking gets louder.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

“someone needs to go check,” seongje mutters, stepping toward the front.

“no,” hyuntak says again, firmer this time. “don’t open it.”

juntae’s eyes flick to the door’s security monitor. the screen flickers from static to the image of a dark, soaked figure, almost unrecognizable under a heavy jacket and mask. it’s hard to tell in the low lighting, but the form looks wide-shouldered, soaked to the bone.

and then a voice, muffled and cracking:

“please! please, someone open the door!”

everyone goes rigid.

the voice sounds… frantic. wet. masculine.

it slams again.

“i’m begging you! my little earthquake, are you in there?!”

beomseok’s blood drains from his face.

his body convulses forward like he’s been hit. 

sieun immediately grabs his arm. “beom—what? what did he just say?”

“no,” beomseok whispers, shaking his head violently. 

the voice slams again, screaming louder.

“little earthquake, please! it’s me! it’s your big brother! let me in!”

seongje's head spins toward beomseok.

sieun looks stricken.

“only i know that,” beomseok gasps, mostly to himself. “seongje, i told you, right? you’re the only one who knew—”

juntae’s already pulling up the security settings. “we are not opening that door until we know what the hell is going on.”

hyuntak is gripping beomseok’s shoulders, trying to steady him, trying to breathe, because this isn’t possible. it can’t be.

but beomseok’s already on his feet.

“stop,” hyuntak barks, but it’s too late.

beomseok stumbles to the door like he’s possessed, shaking so hard he can barely grip the handle.

“beomseok!” seongje shouts, lunging forward.

the door flings opens.

rain explodes inward, drenching the floor instantly. a gust of cold air tears through the room. and there—standing in the storm like a ghost, water streaming down his face, clothes clinging to his frame—was a man.

tall. slender. scarred.

half of his face looked like it had been burned and healed without care. his hair was wild and soaked to his cheeks. his eyes—

they were wrong.

too wide. too alive.

unhinged.

but even through the damage, even through the madness…

“baby brother…” the man whispers. “you opened the door.”

beomseok chokes.

"hyung…?”

the man—haewon—smiles.

it was a terrible smile.

one that doesn't reach his eyes. one that looks like it had been rehearsed in a mirror too many times.

“my little earthquake,” he says again, and opens his arms like it was some happy reunion.

beomseok doesn't speak.

he doesn't breathe.

he just drops.

collapses—right there in the doorway, knees giving out beneath him.

his head hits the floor hard. unconscious.

everyone shouts beomseok's name. hyuntak and seongje lunge toward him. 

the rain soaks through all of them now, pooling at their feet. everyone is in commotion, except juntae—who doesn’t speak out loud.

beomseok is limp in hyuntak’s arms.

and haewon?

still smiling.

on the other side of the door.

Chapter Text

beomseok is wrapped in a blanket that doesn't feel warm.

he's not at the storefront anymore. he's in hyuntak's office, sitting on the couch like someone placed him there and forgot to check if he was still breathing. his fingers twitch every few seconds. his lips move like he's mumbling to himself, but no sound comes out.

hyuntak is on one side of him. seongje is on the other. their shoulders nearly touch his, and still, he feels alone.

everyone else is crowded in the room, silent, holding their breath like they're afraid a wrong move will send him over the edge.

but beomseok doesn't see them. doesn't feel them.

he only sees him.

haewon.

his brother—his dead brother—is sitting across from him in the desk chair, rain still dripping from his hair, the towel in his lap untouched. the left side of his face is warped with scars, but that doesn't matter.

beomseok would recognize him anywhere.

that's what makes it worse.

his heart is beating so fast it makes his teeth ache.

"... are you real?" he asks.

the words come out quiet. hollow.

haewon flinches, barely, like it hurts to be asked. there are tears in his eyes, but no words on his tongue. just that same wrecked expression.

beomseok reaches out suddenly, like a child daring himself to touch a ghost. his fingertips brush haewon's hand. scarred. damp. real.

real.

but he still doesn't believe it.

he snatches his hand back like it burned him, and then he laughs.

it's not a happy laugh. it's unhinged—choked and ugly and terrifying. he leans forward and throws his arms around hyuntak and seongje and drags them in close like drunk friends at a wedding toast. his grin is too wide. too cracked.

"tell me you guys can see him too," he says, breathless and wide-eyed. "please. please. tell me i'm not that cruel to myself."

no one speaks.

"tell me!" he barks, louder this time. his voice cracks. "he's right there! right there! don't lie to me—don't fucking lie to me!"

so beomseok leans in closer, grabbing hyuntak's face with both hands and squishing his cheeks, nose-to-nose like a lunatic.

and hyuntak, who's never let anyone touch his face without flinching, doesn't move. he just stares, tense and quiet, letting it happen.

"you've lost your mind," hyuntak says gently. not mocking. just stating it. like it hurts to say out loud.

"why are you looking at me like that?" beomseok asks, voice cracking. "why are you all looking at me like that? say something. say something!"

"beomseok," seongje says carefully, reaching for his wrist. "you're not okay."

"me? no. no. i'm fine," beomseok snaps, twisting away. "you think i don't know how crazy this is?"

he laughs again, higher now, like he's climbing toward a panic attack and doesn't know how to stop.

"no," he breathes. "no, he's not here. he's not real. i'm not stupid. i know what this is. i—i went through this already, remember? i killed him."

his voice drops to a whisper. "this is punishment. that's all it is. this is my brain eating me alive."

the whole room is frozen.

"hey, seongje-yah," he says, turning to seongje suddenly, eyes wild. "maybe your dead brother's outside too, yeah? knock-knock. maybe if we all stare hard enough, he'll show up too."

seongje goes stone-still.

nobody laughs this time.

the air in the room drops.

and then, finally—

"baby brother," haewon chokes out, voice trembling. "it's me. I'm real."

beomseok goes still.

he doesn't answer. doesn't blink. doesn't breathe.

just sits there, staring at him like if he blinks, he'll vanish.

nobody speaks for a while after that. 

the office is quiet again, but not peaceful.

everyone's still huddled like they're waiting for a second bomb to go off. the rain outside has turned to a dull hiss against the windows, the kind of sound that makes people feel like they're underwater. like none of this is real.

hyuntak's office light casts soft, yellow warmth over the room. but it doesn't help much. the tension is too thick.

beomseok hasn't moved from the couch. he's still cocooned in the blanket, but he's not shivering anymore, just eerily still. eyes wide. flicking back and forth between haewon and the floor and the ceiling and back again, like he's trying to track a ghost only he can see.

hyuntak hasn't left his side. neither has seongje. every time beomseok shifts, seongje shifts with him.

haewon's still across from them, towel still damp in his lap, arms folded. he hasn't spoken again since the "baby brother" line. he just sits. watching. quiet. a little too still.

juntae clears his throat softly from where he's leaned against the far wall. "you said... they took you to a hospital?" his voice is calm, analytical—but there's a tightness to it. like he's already running probabilities in his head. "the night you fell."

hyuntak looks up sharply.

"... why didn't you come home?" beomseok's face is pale. 

"beomie, i tried to," haewon's eyes brim with tears again.

"i.. i didn't die when i fell off the balcony." he says. "but i came close. i had ruptured organs. multiple fractures. skull damage. it was..." he trails off. "bad." 

he takes a slow breath.

"i was unconscious. i didn't know what mom and dad told you. but i wasn't dead when you saw me for the last time." haewon whispers. he turns to look at all the other eyes on him helplessly. "our parents didn't take me home. they called someone. a connect our father had while he was running for senator. and within hours, i was transferred from the city hospital to an unlisted wing. military-registered. underground."

seongje frowns. "what kind of wing?"

haewon meets his eyes specifically. "it wasn't just a hospital."

a beat of silence.

"it was also a lab."

the air goes razor-sharp.

"the military. they were running something. an experiment they named project w.a.r.d.e.n," haewon reaches into his wet jacket and pulls out a few pieces of crumpled, dirty, wet paper. the print on the pages is running slightly. haewon puts the pages on the coffee table, but nobody makes any move to grab them. not yet. "i ripped these out of the first file i found.. before i left." haewon stiffens. "weapons adapted for rapid deployment and enhanced neutralization. i was one of the first. it was a covert experiment trying to fuse ability users with animal traits. enhanced instincts for military training and potential war. strength. senses. obedience."

"obedience," juntae finally repeats, voice low.

haewon nods. "they were creating watchdogs. soldiers who didn't sleep. who didn't think. who would track a target halfway across the world if given the scent."

he pauses, eyes far away now.

"there were others. dozens of us. some taken off the street. some sold off by their families. some born in the facility, i think. we were locked underground. no sun. no clocks. just constant tests. injections. memory resets. pain conditioning."

beomseok shifts. not toward haewon—away from him.

"they wanted me for my size. my ability. my 'loyalty potential,' they called it. i already had a younger brother i would've died for. that made me ideal."

hyuntak's fists tighten.

"how long?" he asks. "how long were you—"

"years," haewon says. "i lost track."

no one breathes.

"they did things to my DNA," haewon goes on, quieter now. "spliced animal genes. dogs. wolves. jackals. my skin rejected most of it. that's where the scars came from."

he holds up one hand, fingers trembling slightly. "they tried to make me more. make me less human. my sense of smell is... unnatural. i don't need maps. i don't need directions. i found my way here through a storm because i could smell my brother from miles away."

everyone turns to beomseok.

but beomseok doesn't react. his eyes are locked on the floor.

"they ran out of test groups," haewon murmurs. "most subjects died. the few of us left, they called 'fused prototypes.' they kept adding pieces. enhancements. bio-core adaptors."

a heavy pause.

silence.

thick. suffocating.

beomseok finally lifts his head, tears swimming in his eyes, but he doesn't speak.

sieun covers his mouth with his hand. humin stares, jaw slack.

seongje just looks away.

but juntae's the stillest of all. his glasses slide down slightly as he leans his weight to one side, gaze pinned to haewon like a puzzle is unfolding in his head.

because they all feel it now—the quiet horror of it. that haewon wasn't just a survivor of a failed experiment. he was its final product.

then haewon says, "i think it’s me.”

everyone turns.

“what?” juntae asks.

haewon doesn’t look at any of them. “the key. the one that matches the ring. i, uh... the way i could smell beomseok, i could hear him too. i heard about the plan.” he taps his temple. “it’s in here.”

silence.

“what do you mean in there?” hyuntak asks, already queasy.

haewon exhales, slow. “they didn’t tell me what it was at first. just that i was the first. so i had to hold it.”

“hold what?” seongje asks.

“the fail-safe,” haewon says quietly. “in case the ring ever activated. in case someone tried to use it. they didn’t trust anyone to carry the kill switch. so they put it in me.”

his voice stays eerily flat. too calm. like he's used to retelling a trauma he never fully understood.

“they took my eye,” he says. "i was sixteen. said it was part of the recovery. i didn’t even get to say no.”

hyuntak flinches, visibly.

“they replaced it with this,” haewon continues. “it’s not just glass. it’s a synthetic core—bioadaptive. the military called it ventrosil, i think. supposed to be indestructible. it fused to my nerves over time.”

“wait,” juntae says, leaning forward, voice quiet now. “are you saying it’s got—”

“my DNA,” haewon nods. “and the dog DNA. the one from the ring. they spliced it into me. didn’t even tell me until years later.”

“you mean the thing we’ve been trying to track—”

“was in me this whole time.” haewon looks up. “and i didn’t even know what it meant.”

beomseok covers his mouth. seongje stares. hyuntak takes a shaky half-step back.

“wait, wait, wait—” hyuntak’s voice wavers. “you’re not about to—”

“i can take it out,” haewon says. “it’s removable. they designed it that way. in case they ever needed access.”

he raises his hand to his face.

“haewon, you don’t have to—” humin starts, but haewon’s already slipping his fingers under the edge of the eye.

it makes a wet sound. a soft click. flesh pulling free from metal.

hyuntak turns away immediately. “nope. nope. nope—”

even seongje grimaces. juntae’s eyes don’t move, but his hand tightens into a fist.

and then it’s out.

haewon holds it in his palm—something smooth, round, and faintly glowing, veined with fine circuitry and cloudy like frosted glass. it’s slick with blood. his eyelid is half-caved in now, socket dark and wet.

“this,” he says, voice quiet. “is what they left me with.”

the room is silent.

juntae speaks first, barely a whisper.

“this is it. the key. the genetic access point.”

hyuntak is still turned to the side, eyes shut tight. “i’m gonna throw up.”

“you’re not,” juntae says automatically. “but if you do, move away from the table.”

“not helping.”

beomseok looks like he might cry. nari burrows into humin’s chest, too young to understand, but scared anyway.

haewon just keeps looking down at it. 

“this part of me was never mine,” he says. “i think… i’d like to decide what it’s for. this time.”

and the key they've all been looking for... has been gouged into his body this whole time.

haewon leans forward, voice hoarse.

"i didn't ask for this."

and in that moment, no one argues.

because they're all too tired.

and too sick to their stomachs.

hyuntak stands near the dresser in just his sweats and a towel around his neck, pulling on a loose tank top when the door creaks open.

and juntae enters silently, shutting it behind him like this is routine. like he belongs here now.

he does.

but hyuntak turns halfway, eyes narrowing. "you wore that outside?"

juntae doesn't answer. he's wearing those ridiculously short lounge shorts again and a t-shirt that's so big for him, hyuntak's tempted to ask who the hell gave it to him and when. his hair is damp, eyes sharp.

hyuntak scoffs, "those shorts are an invitation."

"no one saw me."

"i did. that's enough."

juntae ignores that. “i let him stay, by the way.”

hyuntak freezes. “who?”

“you know who.”

“don’t say it like that,” hyuntak says, voice sharp now. “you let haewon — the guy we’ve known for ten seconds — stay in this house. where nari sleeps. where i sleep.”

“he’s beomseok’s brother.”

“so?”

hyuntak crosses his arms, glaring at the closed door down the hall. “i don’t get why everyone’s so calm about this. we don’t know who the hell he is. he shows up out of nowhere, barely talks, and now he’s just… living here?”

juntae doesn’t even look up. “you mean haewon?”

hyuntak scoffs. “that doesn’t make him trustworthy. or normal. he’s got something going on and no one’s asking what.”

juntae straightens up. quietly. too calmly.

“you don’t trust him because he’s disfigured.”

hyuntak’s mouth opens. then slams shut. “are you serious right now?”

“you are pathologically obsessed with appearances,” juntae says, like he’s reading from a report. “you judge before you think. you panic when someone looks imperfect. it’s a pattern.”

“oh my god.” hyuntak throws up his hands. “that is not what this is.”

"isn’t it?” juntae tilts his head. “you flinch when he talks. you avoid eye contact. you call him creepy but never explain why. do you even know?”

hyuntak’s voice spikes. “he’s a stranger, juntae. we don’t know where he fully came from, what he wants, or if he’s dangerous. sorry for not handing out keys to every guy with a tragic backstory and a hoodie.”

there’s a beat of silence.

juntae stares. “so it's not because of his face?”

hyuntak pauses. his jaw clenches.

“no,” he says, quieter now. “it’s because none of us know what the fuck he is.”

juntae steps closer. not threatening, just present. heavy with quiet.

“and what if he looks the way he does because everyone's hurt him for the majority of his life? what if he can’t tell us the full story yet? would you still write him off?”

hyuntak’s voice tightens. “don’t twist this into me being shallow. i’ve had enough of that shit my whole life.”

“then prove it,” juntae says. “start seeing people for who they are instead of what they look like.”

hyuntak stares at him — eyes flashing, jaw tense — but doesn’t say anything.

because deep down, he knows juntae’s not entirely wrong.

and that pisses him off more than anything.

but juntae's eyes catch on him again. on his exposed side.

on the scar.

it's long, curved slightly along hyuntak's side, just under the ribs. raised. jagged. angry. juntae doesn't mean to stare, but the sight of it... it hits him like a blow to the gut.

"your scar," he says, quietly. almost like it slips out.

the place where hyuntak had gotten shot. months ago when he and seongje were taken from them.

hyuntak stiffens immediately, pulling the edge of his tank top reflexively. too late. "don't."

"i wasn't trying to—"

"yes, you were," hyuntak snaps, turning half away. "don't stare."

there's a beat. juntae doesn't back away. "i wasn't staring because it's ugly."

hyuntak's voice hardens. "then why the hell are you staring?"

"because it makes me want to rip my own throat out."

hyuntak goes still.

"i didn't even see you that day," juntae continues, voice too calm, too soft. "i didn't know you'd been taken until the next morning. i was unconscious on the floor like an idiot while you and seongje were being dragged into hell."

hyuntak turns, frowning. "juntae—"

"i should've been awake. i should've seen it coming. i should've been the one taken if anyone had to be—"

"stop it." hyuntak's voice cuts sharper now. "why is this coming up out of nowhere? we've already gone through this. you passed out because you got knocked out. it wasn't your fault."

"you're right. it wasn't my fault." juntae laughs, but it's hollow. "it was my choice. my calculated plan. my stupid shortcut to end the mission early. and i almost lost you."

that last part slips out too easily.

hyuntak freezes.

juntae looks up, jaw tight. "that scar is because i was trying to play genius, like always. and i forgot that even geniuses have blind spots."

hyuntak doesn't know what to do with this version of juntae—frayed, cracking at the edges, bleeding guilt and heartbreak like a storm that's been caged too long. all out of nowhere.

"you blaming yourself for that makes you stupid," hyuntak mutters, but softer now. less bite, more ache.

"i am stupid," juntae says, stepping forward. "emotionally. you've told me enough times."

"because you are," hyuntak snaps, then pushes past him, but juntae grabs his wrist.

"you're mad because i let haewon stay."

hyuntak spins all the way around. "you wanna start with me right now?"

juntae shrugs and crosses the room, deliberately slow. "you're the one who sounds like he wants to be started with."

the heat simmers between them, flickering like a match ready to catch flame.

"i'm not doing this with you tonight," hyuntak mutters, brushing past him toward the bed.

juntae catches his wrist. "of course you won’t. all you do is bark."

hyuntak turns back the same second juntae says that. "you wanna talk about how you let a total stranger into our house just because he shares DNA with someone you like?"

"i trust beomseok."

"that's not the same thing."

"it is to me."

hyuntak yanks his wrist back. "you trust people too easily."

"and you don't trust anyone, so how would you know the difference?"

hyuntak shoves his shoulder. not hard, but enough. "you're an idiot."

juntae shoves back. "you're paranoid."

that's when it gets messier — arms grabbing, a bit of a tussle, too much touching under the guise of frustration. juntae's hand curls in hyuntak's tank top. hyuntak grips the waistband of those stupid little shorts like he's about to rip them off just to shut him up.

they're panting. face inches apart.

"stop!" hyuntak says, suddenly quieter. voice rough.

juntae freezes.

hyuntak swallows, backing up and running a hand through his hair. "i don't wanna fight you. not like this. i'm not—i'm not good when i'm mad."

he doesn't look at him when he climbs into bed. he just slides in, turns his back, presses himself as far into the wall as the mattress allows. like if he gives in, even a little, he'll combust.

juntae stands there for a second. then, without a word,  he climbs in too.

and instead of sleeping apart, he throws a leg over hyuntak's hip and presses his chest to hyuntak's back. his hand slides beneath the tank top, curling around hyuntak's waist.

"you're not sleeping over there," juntae mumbles into his shoulder. "get mad about it tomorrow."

hyuntak stays still. tense. but he doesn't push him off.

juntae sighs and relaxes completely against him, burying his face in the crook of hyuntak's neck like its second nature. like he can't sleep unless he's close. unless he's tethered to him.

hyuntak doesn't even know when this became a thing.

even then, slowly, hyuntak's hand comes up to touch his arm — soft, barely there. but there.

he stares into the dark for a while. just thinks about nothing and everything at the same time, like he's always done.

and by the time he's done being in his own head, juntae is out like a light — or at least that's what hyuntak tells himself.

he stays still for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open in the dark. the weight of juntae's body wrapped around him doesn't go away. the rise and fall of his breathing stays steady, soft against hyuntak's neck. but hyuntak knows he didn't really fall asleep that fast. not after the way they fought. not with how hot their skin got just from yelling.

not when they were touching like that.

he bites his lip and closes his eyes. but it's no use — all he sees is that flicker in juntae's face when hyuntak told him to stop. all he hears is the silence afterward.

all he feels is the guilt.

after a while, he moves. gently.

he shifts onto his side, turning to face juntae. their legs are already tangled, but he threads his arm beneath juntae's neck, pulling him close with slow hesitation, like he's scared of getting it wrong. like he's asking for something without speaking.

juntae doesn't react. doesn't move.

so hyuntak lays his other hand against juntae's cheek. brushes a thumb across the skin softly, reverently. his fingertips trail across his jaw, his collarbone, the bare skin of his arm. the kind of touch that says, i'm sorry.

and just when hyuntak thinks he's alone in it—

he feels it.

fingertips, feather-light, stroking his hip in return.

juntae's arm slides across his back, hand settling at the curve of his spine like muscle memory. no words. no sighs. just quiet acknowledgment. an apology passed back like a secret between them.

neither of them open their eyes.

they hold each other like that for a long time — forehead to forehead, their breathing syncing, anger dissolving between the sheets. it's not romantic. not yet. it's messy and tired and maybe a little pathetic.

but it's also the safest either of them have felt in a long time.

the silence is no longer heavy.

it's warm.

juntae lets out a breath and finally shifts in, curling his body tighter against hyuntak's like a magnet. and hyuntak, despite everything in him screaming to push people away, just... lets him.

wraps his arms tighter.

holds him like something precious. something breakable. something he never wants to let go of.

and neither of them say a word.

because they don't need to.

not yet.

the night continues to hold its breath. their shared warmth lingers between the sheets, still tangled and slightly damp from the heat of their bodies and the mess of emotion that preceded it.

hyuntak lays there in silence for a long, long time, watching juntae sleep against his chest. juntae's lips are parted slightly, one hand curled in the fabric of hyuntak's shirt, and for a moment, hyuntak lets himself believe it's enough. that he can just close his eyes and rest.

but his thoughts won't stop. they never do.

haewon's voice still echoes in his skull. too calm, too calculated. his eye too unnatural, too wrong. no matter how still the house is now, hyuntak's skin crawls with a restless instinct: something isn't right.

so, careful not to disturb him, hyuntak slips out from beneath juntae's hold.

it's stupid. he knows it. but he pulls a hoodie over himself anyway and moves through the dark, down the stairs, checking room by room. humin and nari — asleep. seongje sprawled in his room, softly snoring. beomseok still curled up next to haewon in his room, who hasn't moved all night, just... sleeping in bed, face unreadable and still.

they all look fine.

but hyuntak doesn't feel fine.

when he creeps back upstairs, he thinks maybe, this time, he can make it back into bed without juntae noticing.

he's wrong.

the second he opens the door, juntae's voice is low. rough from sleep. irritated.

"where did you go."