Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

San had always been this way; a bit feared, a bit ignored. For the other kids, he was both weird and mysterious. For himself, he was scary. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, with the way he was acting and thinking, but he just knew something was different than for others.

That’s the way he grew up; afraid to get close to anyone because something was wrong with him. Yet, he had never suffered from that solitude.

Nonetheless, he had grown up in a rather normal way: two parents, an older sister, and lovely grandparents. Or at least, that’s the way his family was seen by others. Inside the walls of his home, everything was slightly different; a slightly high dad, a mom who screamed slightly too much, a slightly depressed sister, and grandparents who pulled him away from that disastrous abode slightly too often. But everything was slight. Really. That’s what he was told. Nothing was abnormal.

So, San believed all his youth he was the slightly odd one.

It had elevated very gradually; one morning, he had woken up to his mom screaming at his dad because of something stupid. A classical couple quarrel. Only, his mom became aggressive in her words. His dad left the house that morning and for days, the dwelling was drowned into silence, abandoned by its paternal side. Until one thing broke the silence; sobs from a bedroom.

San was five years old when he first saw a puddle of blood. It was an accident, but it changed him forever. Who knew the blood falling from his sister’s open wounds would trigger something wrong in him?

San was five years old when she told him to not say anything to grandma.

San was six years old when his mother started to drink a tad too much.

San was also six years old when he poured red paint all over himself at school, just because he enjoyed seeing that color over his skin.

San was only seven years old when he witnessed his sister trying to kill herself.

San was seven years old when his dad came home overworked and high every night.

San was eight years old when he first loved the sight of the droplets of blood on his knees after he fell off a bicycle.

San was around eight years old when his dad told him that maybe his kids should go to a better family.

San was nine years old when he last saw his sister, in a coffin.

San was nine years old when his grandparents decided to raise him.

But at nine years old, it was too late. Something was already wrong with him.

It was slight, really, but it was there.

Chapter Text

San was that kid at the back of the class. The one with a hood on his head, drawing a shadow over his features, hiding the deep dark circles underlining his tired eyes. San was that kid who no one knew whether he was being sarcastic or deadly serious. The one most people decided to let alone, too complicated to even approach. San was that kid hunched over his desk in concentration over something no one could distinguish. And he was also the one who built a mask of indifference to wear every day, staying silent as his red pen traced and bled on his fair skin.

He didn’t really want friends. He didn’t really appreciate someone else's company. Having no one to eat his lunch with didn’t bother him. Having no desk neighbor was like a privilege. Others were too loud anyway.

San liked the silence. He liked to draw, liked loneliness. San liked to listen to music and to watch boxing games. San liked to swear when he was alone in his room and couldn’t be scolded for it. San liked his grandparents. San liked watching the sunset. San liked the color red .

San was nine years old. He missed his sister, his couple of old friends, and his old town. But San liked the loneliness that came with moving in with his grandparents. Others would probably look at him as if he was crazy if he said the truth; that he cherished that empty seat by him in the class. It was supposed to be one long desk for two people, but as he was alone, he could even put his bag on the chair right by himself. So, where was the problem? The problem happened a couple of months after San turned ten years old, on the first morning of school. Before he could even give a seat to his backpack, someone sat on the chair.

“Hi! No one has taken this place, right?”

San had almost said it was for his dear bag but retained himself. He huffed, shaking his head before taking a random marker in his pencil case and drawing. 

“What are you doing?”

His gaze didn’t shift from the tiger face he was precisely tracing on the smooth surface of his skin.

“Oh, that’s pretty!”

A sour smile crooked San’s lips.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled, so low that the boy at his right didn’t hear it.

“Uh? You said thank you or…?”

For the first time since ever, San chuckled, bitter.

“Can you draw a fox on my arm?”

“No.”

“Why not? Oh, I forgot the magic word… Please ?”

“No.”

“Okay, what about we become friends and then you draw a fox on my arm?”

“No.”

“My name’s Wooyoung!”

“I said no,” he gritted between his teeth, rolling his eyes at the obnoxious kid who would hopefully not annoy him until the rest of the year.

“So… What’s your name?”

He stayed silent for a couple of seconds, shading the muzzle on his drawing.

“San,” he whispered.

“Like a mountain? That’s so cool!”

The boy flinched at the other’s enthusiasm. Too loud .

“So, now we’re friends!”

“I said no , Wooyoung.”

“Wait, the way you said my name is so cool! Where are you from?”

“Namhae.”

“And why did you come here?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders as an answer. He didn’t choose to leave his parents. He was told he had to. And he wasn’t upset about it, even though he did miss his dad a bit.

“So, you don’t have friends here? Do you want to eat lunch with me? I’ll present you to my friends!”

San had shaken his head, preferring some time by himself, but a few days later, Wooyoung stayed with him in class instead of going to the cafeteria like he usually would.

“Go eat, Wooyoung.”

“I’m eating with you today! My friends are going to play soccer, but I don’t feel like it.”

The older of the two had only sighed, munching on his food. He never got told, but Wooyoung’s friends weren’t going to play soccer that day. He just wanted to get to know San more, and his hyung—Seonghwa—had told him to do so if he wanted. So, he did.

A year passed. San and Wooyoung were still in the same class. They had made eating together a weekly thing. The older of the two still hadn’t met the other’s friends. He didn’t want to. 

One day, Wooyoung had proposed to do their homework together. San had hesitated, but when he talked about it to his grandfather, the elderly looked so happy he had decided to accept.

Wooyoung’s house was nice, he discovered. It wasn’t overly spacious, pricey, or anything. It was modest, simple, but homey. It had a blue door and the entryway was filled with a bunch of shoes. It wasn’t even close to modern and was a bit messy. It looked like a house from a movie, a house that seemed lived in. Wooyoung had an older brother and a younger one, so the place wasn’t specifically silent , but the laughs and playful arguments that were a background sound weirdly weren’t bothering San. It was nice and kind of calm. A bit loud , but it was fine.

Wooyoung’s mother didn’t yell at her husband when he came back home. San found it weird but kept it to himself. It was bizarre, not unpleasant. Actually, it was quite the opposite of it. He made a mental note to ask his grandfather why it wasn’t like that when he was living with his parents.

When he did ask, the elderly had cried, hugging him tight and telling him he was sorry. San didn’t understand why but kept quiet.

The next time San went to Wooyoung's house, he hadn’t been invited. He was in tears, a morning he was supposed to head to school. His grandfather had died in the night.

It’s Wooyoung’s older brother who had answered the door, and while San did feel a little embarrassed to be seen crying, he couldn’t stop.

“I-Is Wooyoung here?” he sobbed.

“Yeah. Are you okay, kid? Come in, I’ll go get him.”

Wooyoung’s mother peeked her head from the kitchen and hurried to the crying kid as soon as she saw him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. Let it all out,” she said, enveloping him in a soft embrace. 

She then walked to the kitchen to bring him a glass of water which he downed in no time. A minute later, Wooyoung was downstairs, hair damp and disheveled, and a worried expression tainting his features. He seemed a bit confused but didn’t let it show in his actions, as he hugged San tightly.

“Wooyoung, your brother doesn’t have school today. You can both stay here if that’s better,” his mother said softly. “Call me if you need help with anything . Okay?”

To which the younger one nodded before holding his friend’s hand and heading towards his bedroom. They didn’t say anything for a while until San calmed down.

“Grandpa died,” he sobbed.

The younger one held him tighter. He hadn’t been the closest to his own grandparents but was vaguely aware San’s were very present in his life.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

It’s only years later that Wooyoung understood the extent of the pain San must have felt back then. To lose a parental figure had to be horrifyingly hard. Eleven years old was too young for that. It was also too young to take care of an elderly in grief. It was also too young to fear going back to his parents, or another family. 

A month later, San’s mother came to Ilsan and left the city with her child, to go back to Namhae.

During his time at Ilsan, San had always thought he liked the silence. Always believed he liked the loneliness and the color red.

When he came back to Namhae, San discovered he didn’t appreciate it all the way he thought. His parents’ house was too empty, too silent, and it felt too lonely. When Wooyoung called him, San said he wanted to go back home, between a few sobs. Wooyoung couldn’t do anything but listen. He was eleven years old too.

San came back to Ilsan at thirteen years old. His grandmother was still in grief but had done everything she could to get her grandson back. Wooyoung asked San about the few scars on his arm, and the dark bruise on his chin, but the older one had brushed it off. 

That year, San wasn’t in Wooyoung’s class. It felt lonely, but it would be okay. He always liked loneliness, and his bag finally had its own seat again. He was still that kid in the back of the class. The one whom Wooyoung ate with once—or twice—a week. 

And with Wooyoung’s company, anyone could have believed San would go past his abnormal youth. He was now thirteen years old but was still young enough to restart anew.

Chapter Text

“San, can you stop watching boxing games? It’s a bit too violent,” his grandmother scolded him from the kitchen.

As fighting sounds kept filling the living room, the elderly woman left her hoven to sit on the couch.

“You’re fourteen years old, San. Don’t you want to have a hobby? Play a sport? There are plenty of things at school… Oh, last week I saw something about dance! Do you want me to register you in dance classes?”

He shrugged his shoulders, hugging his pillow tighter. His eyes stared at the screen instead of his grandmother. He didn’t want to dance, but she was trying her best and he wouldn’t risk upsetting her.

“I’ll do that, okay? That will be fun, I’m sure you’ll like it!” the woman said, smiling through her words.

His first dance class was on a Wednesday afternoon. San went to the changing room a bit early to ensure he wouldn’t be late—his grandmother always insisted punctuality was one important habit. There were only a few other kids, and he didn’t really know any of them. Some older, some younger, some his age. 

Facing the wall to avert others’ glares, he shyly changed his pants into sports shorts and then removed his hoodie to put a T-Shirt on.

The room wasn’t exactly fully silent, yet San heard the small giggle growing from behind him. He turned his head towards the boy to discover that he was, indeed, the one being laughed at.

“Did your parents deprive you of food?” the older kid snickered with fake pity in his tone.

San glared at him for a second before putting his T-Shirt and yanking his hoodie back on, ignoring the remark. It’s not like he did have actual parents anyway, and getting angry wouldn’t change anything about that kid’s attitude.

“Shut up, Hyunsuk,” another boy said, but San didn’t turn around to see who it was.

“Oh, can you mind your own business, Park? I didn’t ask you .”

“And do I seem to care?”

A few seconds passed, silence growing threateningly.

“Stop being an asshole, Seonghwa. You’re getting on my nerves.”

A chuckle was the answer the boy received before he left. The changing room slowly turned quiet as the kids left one by one. San remained, suddenly even less enthusiastic about dancing than he already was.

“Are you new to the dance class?”

It took San a couple of seconds to realize that he was the one being talked to.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll see, it’s pretty nice.”

San’s smile was crisped, but it was there.

“My name’s Seonghwa, by the way. Forget about Hyunsuk’s manners, he’s… annoying.”

“Whatever.”

The boy removed his shirt, and San didn’t mean to look, but before the other put some more clothes on, he did see a glimpse of his torso. Seonghwa’s ribs couldn’t be counted. San tried not to mind it.

He left before Seonghwa could ask him his name, entering the dance room. It wasn’t exactly big or small, and the neon lights reflecting in the large mirrors were already painful to San’s eyes. He immediately spotted Hyunsuk, and walked right to the opposite of the room, sitting on the gleaming wooden floor, looking at his own fiddling hands.

“This session will be so cool! Hey, Hyunsuk, you didn’t tell me you were taking this season’s dance class! Welcome back!”

That voice, San knew pretty well. His eyes shot up and stuck to Wooyoung—who was hugging Hyunsuk the same way an octopus would. What did you think, San? Hope you enjoyed Friday’s lunchtime in his company, now we’re doing this alone. He didn’t know where that thought came from but didn’t like it nonetheless.

“San-ah?! You’re a dancer?! How could you not tell me!” Wooyoung whined, suddenly walking to him.

His eyes were wide open in surprise, a hand reaching out for the older one. San didn’t take it, getting up by himself and feigning to be thirsty to drink some water. Keep him away. He might hurt you too. But Wooyoung didn’t seem to care about whatever San’s mind was screaming, hugging him tightly, a smile still broad on his face… Until San pushed him lightly away with a discreet nudge of the elbow.

“Hey, that’s mean, since when do you not like hugs?” the younger said a bit too loudly, pouting.

San didn’t answer, looking at him with a dark gaze, scarily cold. That afternoon, Wooyoung felt like he was facing a man, despite both being kids.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, this time in a whisper.

There was concern in his voice, which was weird, because why would he be concerned to have done something wrong if it was his goal? Don’t let him hurt you.   

“San?”

“Nevermind, ‘Young-ah.”

His words were mayhaps a bit shaky, the same as his smile, but Wooyoung only grinned back, this time softer, before hugging him once more and squeezing his hand. You’re letting him hurt you. But San ignored his mind’s words because Wooyoung didn’t look like he would hurt a fly.

The dance lesson was surprisingly fun. When the teacher asked them to get in teams of four, Wooyoung immediately brought San and Seonghwa with him before looking at Hyunsuk. However, before he could call him, he was overtaken by Seonghwa.

“Hey, your name’s Yunho, right? You’re new here? We’re missing someone in our team.”

The tall kid a few meters away—Yunho—smiled at them, making his way closer and thanking them for accepting him in their team. It’s only when they got back to the changing room that  San’s mind became louder.

“Woo’, why are you friends with that kid? Is it to give him food when you’re eating with him?” Hyunsuk laughed.

The room grew silent, everyone minding their own business. Wooyoung frowned, the remnants of an oblivious smile left on his face.

“San’s nice,” he simply said, ignoring the inappropriate interrogations.

“Oh, is he?” 

Hyunsuk's smile became teasing, yet San still saw an ounce of mischief, one that made him feel uneasy. Wooyoung seemed to be blinded from it.

“San’s nicer than you could ever be, Hyun’,” he snickered back, nudging him with an elbow and cackling happily.

“And I won’t be the one denying that,” Seonghwa gritted between his teeth, throwing his bag on his shoulder.

“Oh, come on, ‘Hwa. Relax, he was joking.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, removing his T-Shirt to slide his hoodie on. When he removed the hood that had trapped his head, Seonghwa had already left. San focused back on getting changed, ignoring the fact that, while he hadn’t exactly stared , he could still say that he wouldn’t be able to count Wooyoung’s ribs either.

That afternoon, San had only changed his pants, keeping his T-Shirt on, despite the fabric sticking to his skin from the sweat it had accumulated during practice. 

For the next few weeks, San made sure to keep some distance between him and Wooyoung. Hyunsuk kept picking on him, disguising it as jokes as soon as Wooyoung was around. The latter joked back on San’s behalf. Like that, days passed and San didn’t enjoy dance lessons as much. He decided to stay silent, decided not to tell Wooyoung that Hyunsuk wasn’t kidding, that the kid was dead serious. Would Wooyoung even care? San liked to believe that, yes, of course, he would. His mind told him another story, yet was soon proved wrong. No, Wooyoung’s goal wasn’t to hurt San. Yes, Wooyoung was San’s friend, ready to stand up for him.

“Did you just say he looked like a matchstick?”

“It was a joke, Woo’.”

“Say sorry.”

Hyunsuk looked at Wooyoung in disbelief.

“What? No.”

“Why would you talk to someone like that? He’s not your friend, Hyunsuk. He’s a fellow student.”

“And? I can still joke with a classmate, Wooyoung, what’s your problem?”

“My problem is that you’re getting a bit too comfortable. This week, it’s not your first time to insult San rather than joking with him,” he said angrily.

“Get out of here. You’re annoying me.”

“Say sorry.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Say-”

Hyunsuk threw a punch at Wooyoung, which made the latter stumble a few steps away, surprise painted on his face.

“Did you just hit him?!” San asked loudly, stepping in, anger clear in his tone.

“Yeah, and what will you do?”

“ Don’t fucking try me. ”

Hyunsuk’s mouth hung open. He had never heard anyone talk to him this way—except maybe Seonghwa, but even him didn’t look as serious.

“So, when are you saying sorry?” San spat his words, and Hyunsuk’s fear visibly grew.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry to me , asshole.”

“Sorry, Wooyoung.”

San turned to the younger boy and froze when he saw a slight string of blood seeping from Wooyoung’s busted lip.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

But he didn’t hear the answer, eyes stuck onto Wooyoung’s lip, onto the blood shining under the changing room’s light, onto the crimson staining the boy’s fair skin and crawling slowly down his chin. He could swear he heard a droplet falling on the floor.

“San?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Stop looking at me like that, I said I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, throat suddenly dry.

“Are you okay, though? You seem…” Wooyoung hesitated.

San looked back at Hyunsuk but was faced with no one.

“He left, didn’t you notice?”

San’s smile couldn’t possibly be tighter, nor could it be faker, cheeks hurting and eyes still cold, despite trying to warm his expression.

“You don’t have to stand up for me like that, Wooyoung.”

“What do you mean? He shouldn’t have talked this way.”

San chuckled darkly.

“He’s right, though. My parents never really gave me much food, you know?” he muttered.

His statement should’ve been said with sadness. San should have cried and damned the world for that. But he didn’t, because to be completely honest, he didn’t know his parents. They were strangers. So, what about not giving him love, even in the form of food?

His mother hadn’t been caring when he was a kid. Or not that he remembered of. She scolded him. She scolded his sister. She scolded his dad. She smelled alcohol rather often. When she had brought him back to Namhae, around a year earlier, San had realized his mother would never change. Not that he had ever hoped she would. He wouldn’t ever have someone to call a mom, and it was okay, he didn’t have to mourn it. He never did have much from her in the first place. San’s dad hadn’t been very present either. He was a kind soul, though. A kind soul who had fallen into addiction, turning him into a kind and sad soul. Someone who wasn’t able to care for himself properly, so how would he even care for San?

“And I am kind of a matchstick too.”

“San!”

“What?”

“Don’t talk down on yourself like that.”

“That’s not talking down, that’s talking true.”

“Then say sorry to yourself for thinking that.”

Wooyoung’s words were angry. Wooyoung looked very angry. Wooyoung was even ignoring the trace of blood on the corner of his mouth, one San could only focus on. And San felt angry too, looking at the minor wound. Extremely angry.

“I can think whatever I want, Wooyoung. I can believe he’s right if I want to, and you don’t have a word on that. Hyunsuk has never joked with me since I met him. He has laughed at me, and I don’t care about that, so let him be, don’t lose a friend because of me. Keep joking back with him, too. Don’t fight with someone because of the truth.”

“Are you angry at me?”

San’s eyes were still stuck on the flicker of crimson. Wooyoung seemed to notice it as he removed it with the back of his hand. San’s eyes went back up, looking at his friend.

“Are you mad I have joked with him when he was being mean to you?”

Only then, San realized he was. Not a lot, but he still was.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

San chuckled, turning away. He didn’t know what else to say. He wondered what his grandfather would’ve said, and then repeated it.

“Thank you.”

If he was really grateful? San didn’t know. What he knew, though, was that he was still angry. Whether he was only mad at Hyunsuk, or still bitter to Wooyoung too didn’t seem to matter anyway.

The week later, Wooyoung had fallen sick. It had been a bad coincidence, together with the facts that San decided to stay after the lesson with Seonghwa to practice a bit more in a certain section of the choreography, that Seonghwa had had to stay even later to talk with their teacher, and that the only kid left in the changing room had been Hyunsuk.

“Oh, here you are. You know, last time, I thought you had become crazy, but now that I think about it, it does piss me off, the way you acted.”

“Yeah, well I would absolutely love to say sorry, but I have values, so I can’t.”

“Values? I was Wooyoung’s friend six years ago, Choi. You broke that, are you aware of it?”

“Very much so. I still won’t say sorry to you, though. You don’t deserve that.”

Hyunsuk chuckled, approaching slowly.

“You’re a pain in the ass, Choi San. Heard your parents didn’t want anything to do with you because of that.”

“That’s very low of you,” San gritted between his teeth, jaw aching from the pressure. “I’m the one who didn’t want anything to do with them, though, so you can bite back your tongue.”

“So, that’s why you’re all alone? Because you fled the only people who would ever bear you? You know what? They’re probably glad.”

“Fuck you, Hyunsuk.”

Make him suffer from his words. Make him bleed. San froze, stunned by his own violent thoughts. His immobility was all it took for the other to slap him, hard. His cheek stung, eyes tearing up from the burn on his skin.

“Don’t play the big boys, San. You’re still a little kid. One your parents didn’t want,” Hyunsuk cackled, emphasizing every word and feeling seemingly satisfied with their effect.

San’s fingers grabbed the other’s collar, forcing him to walk backward, but it didn’t last, the older boy pushing him away harshly. San’s back collided with the wall. The momentum made his head lean backward, and suddenly, a sharp pain spread from his skull.

San felt dizzy, hands reaching for his head as if to protect it. Hyunsuk stepped back, mouth falling open. There was blood. San kneeled, groaning in pain and trying to put his thoughts together.

When he finally was able to focus on something else than the strong pain at the back of his head, his eyes caught a small poodle of blood on the floor. And right in it drowned his bracelet. Right there, in the middle of the changing room and under the horrified gaze of Hyunsuk, San felt like he was back to Namhae, looking through the door gap of his sister’s room and seeing blood dripping on the wooden floor. He could almost hear the echo of each droplet falling and enlarging the crimson lake. 

For brief seconds, he wondered if his end would be like that too, before rationalizing his thoughts.

And then, the door opened, and loud steps entered the changing room before freezing to a silence.

“What the fuck?! Hyunsuk, what the hell did you do?!”

San’s stare was stuck on the bracelet, the initials engraved dripping of blood. Its metallic glow was screaming for help. Crying. Hurting. Was this his sister’s way of saying he shouldn’t forget? Her way of haunting him? Was she still suffering, even dead? Was it his fault?

“I-I didn’t do anything! He jumped on me, I only pushed him back!”

San missed her. She had been a caring sister, every day. How could she die in pain? The blood was now smearing on the tiles, rushing to fill the cracks and to damp his knees.

“Oh, you didn’t do anything? You smashed his head on a metal hook! Are you out of your mind?!”

It was still there, on the floor, bleeding. Asking to be saved. And San stayed immobile, again. He didn’t move, let it scream, cry, hurt, and die. He just looked at it, at the dainty chain and the silvery pendant covered in crimson.

“San? Hey, look at me, are you okay?”

But the boy’s gaze was stuck on the blood. All the blood. So much red, crimson, scarlet, deep, thick blood. There were only a few droplets, yet they looked so imposing, like an ocean drowning him. Covering his hands. Red fingerprints adorning the few scars on his arms. His blood. He was the one bleeding.

The bracelet was stolen, saved from the bloody sea by a tanned hand. San wanted to stop it, to push those fingers away, but he wasn’t quick enough for that. A few seconds later, it slid on his wrist, silver clean.

“Does it hurt a lot? Should I call an ambulance?”

It was Seonghwa, materialized right in front of him.

“I’m fine,” San croaked.

His voice was a tad too rusty for him to actually be fine, but the other nodded nonetheless.

“I think we should still go to the infirmary. You’re bleeding.”

Seonghwa’s face blurred in his view, and a hiccup rushed out of his throat.

“Hey, hey, it will be okay.”

But those words didn’t feel right. Not when he could still hear them from his sister’s mouth. Not when he could still see her eyes fluttering close, in the distance of his young mind. Not when he could still picture her dead body. Not when he could have been quicker. Not when, in fact, he wasn’t any better than anyone from that family.

Not when the sight of the puddle made by his own blood was so painful, yet delightful.

San had changed, but his love for the color red had stayed all the same.

Chapter Text

The door opened with a loud and displeasing noise. The boy flinched, embarrassed that another student would see him as if his thoughts were etched on his forehead. Seonghwa’s head peeked in.

“You should go back home, San. Don’t stay on the bathroom floor, it’s gross, get up.”

He looked at the older teenager, frowning.

“Why are you even here?”

“Wooyoung was dead worried, but he had an exam. I told him I’d look for you.”

“I’m fine, you can leave me alone, now,” he muttered, eyes stuck on the ground.

Seonghwa sighed, but walked to the younger one, tugging at his arm for them to get closer to the sink. He turned the tap on, and let the water run on San’s open finger. Blood got rinsed away, crawling down the drain.

“It’s just a paper cut.”

“A paper cut?” Seonghwa exclaimed. “Why is your hand so bloody if it’s a simple paper cut? Why is this a large wound instead of a thin one?”

San didn’t answer, flinching at the other’s tone.

“I’m not mad at you, San.”

“You sound mad,” he whispered back.

“I’m disappointed you lied to me. Don’t say it’s just a paper cut if it’s more than that.”

“It was a paper cut.”

“But you scratched it and dug into it for whatever reason you’re trying—and failing—to hide.”

“It’s nothing, hyung. Leave me alone.”

“Whatever it is, it’s hurting you.”

San kind of wanted to say that he was the one hurting himself, then, but decided against it. What he uttered next wasn’t much better, though.

“I’m not a psycho.”

“I never said you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Then please stop lying to me,” the older one pleaded with a shaky breath.

Silence engulfed the bathroom, only covered by the neons buzzing and the thumping of pink-ish water hitting the white sink.

“You should talk to your grandmother about it.”

“She’s going to die soon, Seonghwa. I want her to leave without worries.”

“Do you think she’s oblivious?”

“No, she knows something’s wrong with me, everyone does. She doesn’t know its importance, though. That’s the point.”

“San…”

“She always tried her best to make my life easier. I’ll do the same for her. For once.”

“What about medical help?”

“I’m not taking the risk to be sent back to my mother, to a hospital, or to another random family. I’m not going to a fucking orphanage. I will figure things out in another way. I promise. I’ll be fine. If I stay here, I’ll be fine.”

But he wouldn’t really, and Seonghwa was aware of it. 

“I don’t know if I mean anything to you but to me, you’re a great friend, and I have to admit I’m scared. It’s not my business, but I feel like if I just ignore whatever I’m witnessing, the situation will slip right between my fingers.”

“Maybe it will.”

The older boy squinted his eyes, scrutinizing the other’s expression. It was empty but honest. No desperation, just acceptance. And it was a bit scary to see it in San’s gaze. 

Seonghwa had always been a very mature kid since his background had kind of forced it on him, but rare were the times he would talk to another kid—or even teenager—with the same level of understanding in a deep talk. San was younger by a year, but Seonghwa was aware the boy had a maturity that had to be due to the way he grew up. It was written in bold letters on his forehead, displayed like a shred of evidence.

“You’re saying you consider me as a friend, but what do you even think of me, hyung?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“A little. And I believe you think so too.”

The younger boy lowered his gaze, a discreet frown twisting his features. Crazy we are, crazy we are. He groaned. Seonghwa ignored it.

“Do you pity me?” San asked in a weak voice, afraid of the response he would hear.

“I don’t. I believe you’re strong enough not to need pity. Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to tell you that no kid would understand you. I can’t either. But while many would judge you, I wouldn’t. Do whatever you want with that information, but please remember it.”

Seonghwa smiled softly, then sighed, and headed to the door.

“Thank you for being my friend, hyung.”

The older one looked back at San—who was clueless about how happy those words made Seonghwa—this time a full grin on his lips and chuckled before leaving him alone in the bathroom.

San looked at his papercut, at the coat of clogged blood, and at the bead of plasma rolling down his finger. He then realized he didn’t only love red; he loved the sight of blood. Or at least, that’s what his mind hinted to him. It was getting the slightest uncontrollable. It was getting a tad scary, too. It was even getting a bit uncomfortable, and tiring, as well. But it was slight, really.

Or so he thought.

Sometimes, San believed it would be better not to think at all. Sometimes, he wondered if he could just live without having to face his mind at any second of the day. Sometimes, he wished to discover what being dipped in a hefty silence would be like. He’d probably never know.

All his life—despite still being young—San had never really envied others. He felt too different to even think about comparing himself to the other kids. And he was okay with that. It was a bit of a struggle to live with a scary mind. He didn’t choose to either. But San guessed that even if others weren’t showing it, they must be having a hard time on their own as well. They were just stronger, which didn’t give him the right to envy them. Which only pushed him to try and fit better in the other kids’ shadows. To be them, without really feeling like them. And he was okay with that. He wasn’t unhappy about the lack of attention, he had never needed much anyway. San liked to disappear in the others’ eyes. He was comfortable with that. 

There was only one thing he allowed himself to desire; the ability to be in silence. To be thrown in a peaceful, wordless mind. Just for a bit. Just to rest. Some people seemed to have that privilege, sometimes. He never did. It was always incredibly loud, his ears multiplying every sound from his environment and creating an absolute confusion of noise, mixed with the uncontrollable thoughts popping in his head. San liked to think as much as he hated it. Sometimes, it calmed down his mind, sometimes, it enraged it.

But the more San was thinking, the more he was growing. The more San was thinking, the more things he realized. The more San was thinking, the more outcast he felt. 

Because now that he thought about it, he knew Seonghwa was right; if he were to ever admit any of his conceptions, the other kids would judge him. He didn’t only feel the slightest different. He was . And being invisible to the others didn’t change a thing about that, whether he was comfortable with it or not.

Which he was, but that was beside the point.

That afternoon, he waited for Wooyoung to finish his exam, despite really feeling like going back home already. He dreaded to think more—he had done enough of that—and he wanted to both reassure his best friend and spend time with him. It was a bit because Wooyoung’s presence usually calmed his mind down, but it was also a bit more because of the reason why the younger boy could almost hypnotize him.

San had always been more comfortable with Wooyoung. He had always perceived an aura of safety around him and liked being englobed in it. He had always felt like Wooyoung was the only one who got to know who he really was—and San included himself in the people who didn’t.

Wooyoung was a bit more than a friend; he was someone that made San a better person just by being there. And more than that, Wooyoung was the only one San could say I love you to, along with his grandparents.

“Hey, are you okay? One of your classmates told me you had left in a hurry during class… I was so worried, you have no idea.”

“I’m good, ‘Young-ah. It was just a little spike of anxiety, I needed to be alone to stay calm better.”

“You should’ve gone back home then, why did you wait for me…” Wooyoung whined, pulling him in a tight embrace.

“Because I’m okay, and I figured a message wouldn’t have convinced you.”

The younger one smiled, sighing softly.

“Thank you, then,” he mumbled. “And I’m really glad you’re fine.”

“Do you… Wanna come to my place tonight? Grandma misses you.”

Wooyoung’s eyes seemed to glow, despite being naturally dark brown.

“And you don’t?” he asked jokingly, pouting.

“Of course I do…” San shyly answered, teeth numbing on his lower lip.

Wooyoung giggled, not adding anything else before sliding his arm under his friend’s and pulling him out of the school. When they arrived, San’s grandma hugged Wooyoung first, making both teenagers smile. 

“It’s been weeks, kid! I can’t believe you forgot me for so long,” the elderly huffed jokingly. “Go wash your hands, the both of you, before eating.”

The younger one hurried to the bathroom, and San was about to follow him when the woman cupped his face in her shaky hands.

“I like to see that kind of smile on your face, San-ah.”

“Uh? What do you mean, grandma?”

“It’s a genuine smile. I like that a lot. Keep that kid close to you, alright?”

Her lips curved softly before she drafted her hands away, going back to the kitchen and leaving her grandson, wondering, in the entryway. He shrugged his shoulders, brushing away her words and heading to the bathroom, where Wooyoung was now drying his hands lazily with a towel. 

San pursed his lips tightly, muffling a hiss of pain when his wound came in contact with the water running from the sink.

“Are you okay?” the other teenager asked.

He startled, looking at the younger one with half-wide eyes. A sheepish smile took on his face as he hummed an unclear answer. When the dulled pink water turned back to transparency, he turned the faucet off but was interrupted in his actions before he could dry his hands; Wooyoung pushed him gently until San was sitting on the toilet lid. The younger boy looked through the cabinets, smiling as soon as he found what he needed.

“What are you doing?”

“You have to disinfect that wound, San-ah…”

The older one stayed silent, head hanging low, ashamed. Wooyoung focused on the task he had given himself, thumb grazing comfortingly the wrist he was holding steadily.

“You don’t have to hide,” the younger one whispered.

San’s eyes were stuck on the floor’s tiling, completely ignoring the sting in his finger from rubbing alcohol. Despite his friend’s words, he felt like he did need to hide. He wanted to, anyway.

“What happened?”

“A paper cut. It doesn’t really hurt.”

Wooyoung hummed in acknowledgment, knowing better than to push it too hard.

“Are you okay now?”

The older teenager did wonder how the other had ended up with the conclusion that maybe San wasn’t fine, but his gaze happened to fall on the wound on his finger, contemplating the excuse—that wasn’t even entirely a lie—he had given. It was pretty obvious. Try harder. San decided not to try at all. Wooyoung knew him too well anyway.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m with you, it’s okay.”

“I’m always with you, okay? When you’re scared, remember that.”

Fingers gently ran through his messy hair, disheveling them better.

“San-ah, I wanted to tell you something. It’s been quite a while…”

Wooyoung’s voice wasn’t steady—which didn’t resemble him.

“I…”

He sighed, chuckling at his own hesitancy.

“I don’t know how to say it. Nevermind. I’ll tell you another time.”

It could’ve broken the comfortable mood they were dipped in, but it didn’t. Their faces seemed closer than usual, but maybe it was only a matter of perspectives. Maybe they only felt closer to each other. 

It happened rather naturally; every day, they would be displaying affection openly with hugs, kisses on the cheek, and smiles. It was just a step further when Wooyoung looked straight into San’s gaze, deeper than normal, noticing the hidden lighter brown streaks in his irises for the very first time. Those eyes he had seen so often surprisingly held more to discover up close, and Wooyoung wondered how much he still didn’t know about his best friend.

It could’ve been awkward, the way silence covered every other sound, even their breaths. It could’ve been uncomfortable, the way the clock seemed to stutter for a few seconds, along with San’s grandma’s humming echoing from the kitchen. But it wasn’t. Instead, it kept a specific intimacy they strived to preserve by keeping their faces within less than two inches of distance. They both knew their own feelings but, so close, as if proximity could light it up better, curiosity about the other’s heart kicked in. What if…

“Would you kiss me?” San whispered under his breath, hands clutching his jeans.

“I thought I’d never be asked.”

Wooyoung interrupted his own words, cutting short on a syllable—which didn’t hold as much importance as that specific moment—and diving onto San’s lips. Grandma was getting impatient in the kitchen, calling their names, but neither really cared. 

If San were to be honest, he didn’t feel fireworks in the pit of his stomach—nor did Wooyoung. It was more like pushing the final piece of a puzzle, like walking outside when streets were deserted, like walking naked in the house when the other occupants wouldn’t be there. It felt illegal to feel so good, just with the taste of a kiss. A few seconds, yet enough to be able to tell that a kiss was indeed what felt right in their friendship… If it was still a friendship, actually.

“If you two don’t come here right now, you’re not eating beef at all!”

They giggled, holding each other close before parting and running to the kitchen, where a heavenly steak smell lingered.

“Grandma, I love you so much!” San sing sang, drooling over the food in multiple bowls.

The elderly raised an inquisitive eyebrow, looking alternatingly at each boy.

“Then please do things in your bedroom, not in my bathroom,” she uttered, serving food on plates.

Eyes grew wide at her seemingly serious statement, embarrassment pushing blood into their cheeks.

“Grandma, we-”

“Oh, please, I’m kidding, I know how it is. It’s been a while, but I’ve been young. Do whatever you want, but not with me around.”

“We were washing hands!” San exclaimed in an overly high pitch.

“Let’s eat before the food gets cold,” she cackled, leaving the kitchen for the dining room.

They looked at each other, shy smiles making their way to plump their cheeks.

“I hadn’t finished,” Wooyoung mumbled, pulling out a Band-Aid from his pocket.

San handed him his finger to let his friend take care of the clean wound.

“Was it okay?”

“Yeah,” the older boy answered, voice as quiet as the other.

“Me too.”

Once the plaster was wrapped around the cut, they took a step back. Wooyoung and San didn’t really need words, after years of growing up together, yet, sometimes, they still chose to use them. What they wouldn’t say could be communicated in another way.

“Let’s go eat.”

As his grandma served them an extreme amount of food, San decided he wanted to keep his loved ones close, to make sure he would never lose them. Then, his sister’s blood came back in his mind, and he remembered he had already failed. 

San regretted a lot of things from his young life.

Chapter Text

“You seem to enjoy decorating your desk, mister Choi. I believe you will also enjoy cleaning it, right?”

San froze, pencil hovering over the few doodles on his desk.

“Right?” the teacher pressed, tone giving a warning.

The teenager nodded, sighing as he smudged the graphite with his eraser, trying his best to remove his wrongdoings from the surface that seemed to imprison them.

“When I talk to you, I expect a polite, verbal answer, not a disrespectful silence, Choi San. I hope you will also enjoy cleaning all the desks on the second floor of the school tonight since you don’t seem to mind.”

He cursed under his breath, but apparently, the sole movement of his lips seemed to anger his teacher even more.

“Answer me when I talk to you!”

San was startled, cringing at how loud the man was.

“I’m sorry. I will clean my desk.”

“Not only yours.”

“I w-will clean a-all the desks on the second floor tonight after school,” he stated shakily.

All his classmates’ eyes were on his figure, burning holes through him. His own gaze was stuck on his hands, cramped in fists, nails digging in his palm, as he begged whoever deity was out there to not make him blush. Which was also a monumental fail.

“Great. Now, I believe you will want to drop that attitude of yours very, very soon.”

The man moved on, continuing to recite the content of his course. However, San couldn’t move on. He still felt the burns of attention on him, thoughts plummeting into rising anxiety. He was still shaking from hearing someone scream angrily. His nails were still sculpting crescents into his palms, some even breaking the skin.

A tiny spark of blood surfaced on the new cut. He was trapped in the classroom. He couldn’t escape to calm down better. The teacher was already mad at him. He would lose even more demerits if he were to leave the class.

Can’t even see blood without panicking. Are you a freak? You should like blood, San-ah. Blood is lovely. San’s mind seemed to spiral. He lost focus on the class. There were those weird, scary thoughts taunting him again. He didn’t truly think blood was lovely. But why could he hear himself thinking it?

San felt lonely, in a classroom filled with people. I’m always with you, okay? When you’re scared, remember that. He was scared. Terrified, even. San didn’t know why he was shaking, why he was feeling so anxious, why he wanted to run away from his seat, why he kept repeating Wooyoung’s words at the back of his mind. And it was scary, to not know why he was a freak.  

And as thoughts seemed to scroll in front of his eyes, the end of the class rang, pulling San back to reality. He had completely zoned out, he noticed. Everyone left the room—the teacher halting at the teenager’s desk to drop a detention note. 

San felt uncomfortable, even once left completely alone. His muscles were stiff, having difficulty relaxing. He took one deep breath, then another. He kept going until his thoughts were just a bit less messy. San found it hard to admit, but he was scared. Of himself. Of who he was slowly growing up as.

It took him a while to gather the courage of getting up and meeting up with Wooyoung to eat. San had to kiss a pout away from the younger one’s face when he told him about the detention.

“But we have a dance class this afternoon! You can’t miss it… I’ll go talk to that-”

“Hey, it’s nothing much, ‘Young-ah. Missing one dance class isn’t the end of the world, we’ll meet afterward, okay?”

Wooyoung sighed, but he couldn’t do much else than accept it anyway.

San wasn’t the only one who had gotten detention, he soon discovered. There were three other teenagers he didn’t know, and who seemed to be friends with each other. They smelled cigarettes, making it easy to guess why they were there. San wanted to complain about the fact that doodling with a graphite pencil shouldn’t be punished with the same severity as smoking as a minor, but he decided against it. Teachers didn’t care. It would take less time to just clean.

So, he took a bottle of soapy water and a sponge from the pile and started scrubbing the desks. It was a bit of a hassle, since most students used pens or even markers to write, and those didn’t exactly go away easily, but San didn’t really mind, as long as he could leave when Wooyoung’s dance class would finish. And that wasn’t going to be a thing if the other students were to keep messing around without any interest in what was asked of them.

“Are the desks getting cleaned by themselves?” he asked, glaring at the three boys.

They looked back at him, unimpressed.

“Well, you’re doing a great job, kid.”

“The longer you do nothing, the longer we’re here. Look, there are around fifteen classes. At least thirty desks per class. If we want it to be finished anytime soon, we need to hurry,” San sighed.

“Then hurry. I don’t feel like cleaning. Why should you have the right to dictate what I’m going to do?”

“We don’t really have the choice if you didn’t notice.”

“And what are they going to do if we don’t clean those desks? Make us clean more desks? Fuck off.”

San sighed, going back to what he was doing. This was worthless. He had almost finished all the desks in that class when he arrived at the ones three students were sitting on.

“Move, I’m cleaning.”

“Don’t give me orders.”

He rolled his eyes at the older one’s words. This was so useless of a fight. So, San threw the other his sponge. He probably could have ignored the boy and gone to another class, he guessed, but whatever.

“What the fuck?!”

“ That wasn’t an order. Oh, and those desks are covered with trash , you may want to take them away.”

If they had let him, he would have left. He would have cleaned up everything by himself, and then he would have gone back home with Wooyoung. But instead, someone kicked him in the back, and this time, San didn’t feel like just brushing it away. He wasn’t going to endure someone’s anger without any reason, not again.

So, San punched him. And when he was hit back, he threw his fist at someone’s throat. San had never really fought anyone physically, and he was aware he looked nothing close to intimidating, but he had also watched boxing games since he was a kid, and back then, San did like to reproduce the same moves with his pillow and plushies to play. And while the feeling was certainly a bit different, hitting a real person also gave a similar—if not amplified—sense of satisfaction.

Obviously, San was punched back. They were three. He was lonely. But he didn’t feel the pain, he only felt the uncomfortable buzzing of his muscles burning. And San felt angry, facing that familiarity, because while being hit didn’t necessarily hurt too bad—not anymore, not when fists were thrown so messily either—it angered him.

All his life, San thought he was like everyone else, except for the slightly odd details about his personality. However, being hit again, and enduring someone else’s emotions again, and being reduced to a punching bag again also forged his mind. Despite always reminding himself that everyone else had similar struggles since he was very young, this time, San wondered if he was supposed to be treated like this. If everyone was. If it was normal for him to have even considered cleaning all the desks by himself when he wasn’t the only one blameworthy. If he deserved any of that. If he had done anything wrong.

Not only if, but also what he had done to deserve such a shitty life. And it wasn’t three immature teenagers bickering with him that bothered him. Not at all. It was the word again lingering in his mind when he was slapped for saying something he meant.

Not specifically because he had often suffered from physical violence—no, being hitten hadn’t gotten close enough to a habit—but because someone complained again about him trying to live an easier life.

“Fuck!” he screamed, throat hurting from forcing his voice. “Can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?!”

He was pushed again, falling against a desk, and that’s all it took for him to jump back on one of the three boys—the closer one, who cared—and throw punches after punches. It was weird, how skilled he was at something he had never really done. It took a few minutes for San to start feeling soreness on his cheekbone and his nose. The teen under him had given a few hits, inevitably. He looked used to fighting. Yet, his face was in a pitiful state; blood gushing from his swollen nose and hues of green slowly appearing under his eyes.

Yeah. San had done that. And he wasn’t exactly proud, but he wouldn’t regret it. And hopefully, that would be enough for his grandpa to not be disappointed, and to stay proud, up there.

“Park Heenam, Oh Youngsik, Choi San and Cho Sangyoon. Mind explaining what I’m seeing?”

San got up and gave a hand to the other—which dear Youngsik refused, of course. The principal was at the entrance of the class, and behind him stood Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, whose expression was as solid as rock, gaze piercing through San, making him feel vulnerable and guilty. Under his boyfriend’s deceived stare, he could finally feel the string of blood crawling down his busted lip. But he was fine. It wasn’t much.

So, he let his mouth curve slightly with a smile of reassurance, of apologies. Wooyoung walked away a few seconds later, and San’s lips fell back in a straight line. He knew his boyfriend wasn’t mad at him, but it hurt to disappoint.

“Well, that kid jumped on my friend and-”

“To be completely honest, I was angry, so I hit them,” San admitted.

“That isn’t the kind of behavior we condone in this school, young man.”

“Won’t you ask me why, sir?”

“Pardon me?”

“Won’t you ask me why I was angry? They refused to do anything. They were rude. They didn’t even move for me to clean the stupid desks they were sitting on. I’m not the perfect student, sir. If someone chooses me as a victim, I won’t wait for them to keep going. If someone hits me with the intent of disrespect, I’ll give it back. I didn’t act like the perfect student, but isn’t it just wrong to make me pay for the whole situation when an altercation is born from two opposites? I deserve some demerits, I guess. But I ask for them to get no less either.”

The classroom fell silent. Seonghwa was still standing behind the principal. The latter frowned at San’s words.

“I’m afraid this is not how it works, mister Choi. We don’t hit people, whether we are angry or not.”

“I know. But my point was that-”

“And we accept the consequences without complaining. Now, go back home, all of you. And Choi San, may I not see you at school tomorrow.”

The boy concerned felt a pang in his heart. Again. So, he left the classroom, Seonghwa following after him. The corridors were empty. Outside of the school, birds were chirping, the two teenagers’ steps rhythming the repetitive notes.

“Should I bring you to the hospital?”

“Fuck no, hyung,” San gritted between his teeth, anger raging in his chest, making his eyes water. “This is so stupid. This is so unfair. I know I shouldn’t have hit them, but they literally-”

“It’s fine, San-ah.”

The younger one let out a shaky breath, looking at his friend. He felt like he needed to punch someone again, to feel that satisfaction drowning the anger once more.

“You looked cool back in the classroom. Talking like that. Whatever the old man says, you weren’t wrong. It sounded cool.”

Seonghwa ruffled San’s already messy hair, offering a soft smile—that was the only thing he could do anyway.

“Wooyoung got really worried. We heard you scream from the practice room. I guess the director did as well.”

“I should feel sorry, right?”

“Don’t. I’m pretty sure Woo’ will beat your ass if he hears you feel sorry for what you did.”

“What?”

“He was so angry, you have no idea.”

San huffed, shrugging his shoulders. Maybe Wooyoung had been angry, but he had also been disappointed. Even if just a tiny bit.

“I’ll take care of your injuries, okay? Let’s go to my apartment.”

To which the younger one agreed easily. On the way, he texted Wooyoung, saying he was okay, and asking his boyfriend to text him back when arriving home. The kind of discussion they would probably need couldn’t be done over messages anyway.

They entered the older boy’s apartment—a messy one that had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a room used as both a kitchen, an entryway, and a living room. Each space was small, almost uncomfortably, but it was enough for one boy. Actually, it was the slightest bit too big for one person, but looking at the state it was in, it couldn’t be very expensive anyway. Despite the furniture and materials that looked especially cheap, it was clean enough to feel like a home. San liked that.

“Don’t mind the mess, I’m a bit busy these days, and ‘Young-ah came by yesterday…”

“Wasn’t he working yesterday after school?”

Seonghwa paused, looking at San awkwardly.

“Yeah. He came right after his shift.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You can sit on the couch, I’ll go get what I need.”

The younger one obeyed, taking a random pillow on the couch to hug. He sighed, looking around him; San hoped the principal would let it off without telling his grandma, even if it was rather unlikely. She would be worried and mad at him…

“What’s this?” he suddenly asked, an object capturing his attention.

Seonghwa turned around from the bathroom, looking at his friend—whose gaze stayed stuck on the coffee table. San’s face was unreadable. Under his eyes rested a pistol, glistening in the light.

“A nerf gun. I played with ‘Young-ah yesterday. Forgot to put it back in my closet.”

“It looks-”

“This one’s made to look especially real,” the older boy cut him in.

San’s hand circled the pistol’s handle, weighing it, thumb grazing its metallic trigger guard, as if afraid to loop his fingers in it.

“It sure feels heavy, for a toy.”

The pad of his index slid against the barrel, through the little bumps of an engravement.

“Smith and Wesson. That’s the brand? Or the model?”

“San-”

“Isn’t it the national police’s service handgun?”

“A toy replica, yeah.”

San pushed the cylinder out of the frame window like he had seen so often in series or movies. Two golden bullets shone back to him. Seonghwa’s hand covered the gun, pulled it away, and put the cylinder back in, hiding the weapon behind his back. They looked at each other, a heavy discomfort floating in the room. There was something in San’s eyes that was unexpected, but the older boy couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“I’ll go get the rubbing alcohol and bandages,” he uttered.

San did find it weird that Seonghwa closed the bathroom door behind him, but he brushed it away, aware he had just seen something he wasn’t supposed to. He supposed he should be scared to stay in that apartment, but weirdly enough, he wasn’t. It was Seonghwa. Seonghwa wouldn’t ever hurt him. Even after lying about the nature of what had to be a real gun.

Little did San know, Seonghwa was panicking in the adjacent room, trying to convince himself that the lie he had given was credible enough, even when it wasn’t. Who would believe it was a toy handgun when it had actual ammunition loaded into it? And who would brush it away when three out of the five chambers were empty?

When the older boy got out of the bathroom, he seemed to be calm, unfazed. He sat on the squeaking couch, held San’s chin right between his thumb and index, and started to disinfect the few wounds.

“If you keep doing that, you’ll get in serious trouble.”

“Doing what?”

“Fighting with your classmates. The principal won’t always let it go, you’re lucky he was in a hurry to get home.”

“I know. I don’t really care.”

“Then think about the ones who do. Those kids don’t care about your feelings. Whether you beat them up for it or not. They will never care. Neither will they stop talking the way they do. So, for the ones who do care, stay away from that. Stay safe.”

San’s teeth screeched painfully against themselves.

“Do you? Do you stay safe?”

“I’m not the one who got beat up.”

“I didn’t get beat up, Seonghwa. A few bruises are absolutely nothing. Can’t you show me how you stay safe, though?”

The other wondered what San's intentions were, what he implied, what he wanted to know, what he intended to do about what he had just discovered. He was obviously referring to the gun he had just seen, but in San’s eyes, distrust was invisible. Instead, hope and awe were reflected.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, but forget about it. About what you just saw and whatever you just assumed. I’ll treat your injuries, and you’re going to go back home, alright? We’re not talking about this ever again. Am I clear?”

“What are you doing with a gun, hyung?”

Seonghwa poured more alcohol on his cotton, patting harshly a cut on the arc of San’s eyebrow. His lips stayed sealed, not answering the younger one.

“Is that why you’re good at treating injuries? Because you’ve treated many of yours in the past?”

The other one’s breath stuttered, but he kept going.

“Is that gun linked to your job? Are you alone or do you have a team?”

“San, look at me.”

The fingers on the younger boy’s jaw suddenly felt tighter. Seonghwa’s eyes were scrutinizing him, piercing through his own, almost threatening. But he didn’t feel in danger, with his friend.

“I told you to forget about it,” the older one muttered.

San’s breath quickened, and he could almost hear his mind spinning in the background, but for the first time in so long, he didn’t exactly register what he was thinking. He ignored it, reaching for what he wanted to know instead.

“Does that mean you kill people?” 

There was an enormous blank as if San had just removed the battery of a clock and decided to stop time. Seonghwa was frozen, his features suddenly stuck in an expression that could either be read as horrified or terrified. Yet, San was just waiting, as if unaware of the panic that was overpowering his friend. Like a child asking something he shouldn’t, but too naive to notice.

Seonghwa wouldn’t have quite described San as naive, though. Instead, he would have called him mature, and whatever that meant, he was unsure.

“Do you make a great amount of money out of it?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Let me help you. If it’s a job, I want it, too.”

“No,” the older one answered, tone stern.

“It’s not a job?”

“San-ah… Are you crazy? What are you even on?! It’s not just something you want. ”

“So it is a job?”

“San…”

“Let me join you. Please.”

Seonghwa chuckled in disbelief, dropping the pad of rubbing alcohol, and getting up from the couch, walking around the main room. San could decipher his nervousness easily. He wasn’t sure what was such a big deal in what he had just asked, though.

“You’re crazy,” the older one mumbled, pacing in the living room. “You’re so crazy. There’s absolutely no way you’re getting in, whatever you’re talking about. I don’t even know where you got that kind of stupid idea, what the hell are you on?”

“Why not?”

“You will not play with some people’s lives, San This will not happen, am I clear?”

“Why are you doing it, then? You just admitted it. Besides, I’m not going to play with anyone’s life, I’m just going to do the job, that’s it!” he tried to convince his friend, getting up as well.

“ Fine, I just admitted it. Great. But you don’t get it, there are so many reasons why I shouldn’t accept. It’s a job filled with blood, San. Literally. ”

“And what about it? I’m able to look at blood without freaking out, Seonghwa! I’m not a psychopath, what do you even think of me?”

“Then prove it.”

“What? What do you want me to do? Cut my veins open and look at what comes out of them?”

The older male looked at the other one, horrified, mouth hanging open in a gasp.

“Fuck, San… Don’t say stuff like that… Why are you even thinking about-”

“Because I wanna get that job.”

“That’s not… Oh my god,” Seonghwa breathed out, leaning on the kitchen’s countertop for support. “You’re just proving further why I shouldn’t accept your request. Why do you even want to get that job? No, I should ask… What kind of job do you think it is? I’m not-”

“I’m not a kid anymore,” San sighed, omitting the fact that he probably had never really been, “and I know grandma will die soon. If it happens when I’m legally an adult, then I guess I can count myself lucky and quit school to get a job. Or go back to Namhae if I don’t have enough money, but that’s not something I want to do. If I’m a minor… Without money… I’ll be sent back to my mom as well. Or to an orphanage.”

“Why don’t you wanna go there?” Seonghwa asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Why?” San asked back, tearing up with disbelief at the sole idea of being forced into either option. 

The ambiance was suddenly heavier.

“Are you really asking why?” he then full-on sobbed, frown twisting into something containing too much pain for a seventeen years old teen. “Why I don't wanna be alone again? Why I don’t wanna end up with a bunch of kids who will fear me? Why I don’t wanna leave you guys? Why I don’t want to fear going to a psych ward on the daily?”

“Maybe you should.”

Hearing that statement, the younger boy let himself sink to his knees, cheeks slowly covering with brand new tears. He wished Seonghwa would understand better. He couldn’t exactly bear his harsh words.

“But I’m so fucking scared, ‘Hwa,” he slurred, pronunciation deformed with hiccups. “I never asked for any of this! I never did anything wrong. Why should I be alone again when I didn’t do shit to deserve it? I don’t wanna be holed up, I don’t want to feel imprisoned, I don’t wanna get crazy from feeling stuck there.”

“I know, San. I know.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t seem to know shit. You’re only pitying me. You’re only saying you understand, hyung.”

Seonghwa couldn’t deny it. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t completely false either.

“I feel great here. I’m happy, with ‘Young-ah, with you. I’m happier here. Really. I don’t want to leave… And I don’t want grandma to die… And I don’t want to meet my mother ever, ever, again…”

San stopped talking, trying to find the air he needed to say more, but he could only cough his sobs away. Seonghwa kneeled by his side, hesitating before taking the boy in his arms. He felt like he was comforting his own, younger self. Except, his past situation wasn’t exactly the same. Except, he had an older brother to take care of any legal problem. Except, his view of things back then was mostly built around fear, he later had realized. Actually, the only thing that was the same was how he felt. Oppressed by the chore of bearing a heavy childhood, he guessed.

If San’s grandmother was to die, the boy would be alone again. Despite getting any kind of help from a program to send him to a good orphanage, despite any worker out there feeling bad for him, no kind of compassion would chase away his loneliness. Because without his grandma, Wooyoung and Seonghwa, San was more than just alone physically. He was alone facing his demons.

Seonghwa could already tell it would be a bad decision to accept his friend on such a dangerous job, but he also knew that while he did have the option of a good choice—saying no—San didn’t have the same luck. San didn’t have any good choices. At this point, he only had bad ones—and it wasn’t even his fault.

“Let me ask you something, okay? Don’t you dare lie to me. Do you want to get in for killing people, or for the money?”

San’s body tensed up, freezing in his friend’s hold.

“Do you kill people so often?”

“Not often… But it happens.”

The younger one visibly relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“So?” Seonghwa asked.

“For the money, hyung.”

“Look in my eyes when you’re answering. For the violence or the money?”

“The money.”

Seonghwa scrutinized him, looking deep into his expression, but San was really, truly earnest. It made the older one relieved. The San he knew was the real San.

“As long as your answer doesn’t change, you’re in.”

San knew it would never. Yet, he didn’t say it. Promises were meant to be kept without a doubt.

“Thank you so much,” he said, still crying, but this time silently.

“And you will not be alone. We will not let you end up alone, okay? And it’s never too late to get better.”

A silence waved over the room, calm covering the preceding exclamations.

“Hyung? Did you mean it when you said you used that gun with ‘Young-ah? Does he know?”

“I don’t think that’s my place to tell you, San-ah.”

“Wait, is that his job?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa simply said, in a clearly feigned ignorance.

“ Fuck… Okay…”

The older one sighed. He usually didn’t mind people cursing, but he hated when San swore, just because he knew where the younger boy had picked that habit from.

“I think I need to go back home. Grandma will worry.”

“Yeah. Let me just take care of that busted lip, okay? It seems uncomfortable.”

They were plunged into an unconditional silence as one worked on the other one’s injury. Not a word was exchanged about San’s recent discovery. Not a sound was uttered in favor of talking about the matter. Their gazes barely even brushed.

When San was about to leave, Seonghwa retained him, holding the door closed a bit longer.

“Hey, San? We have one major rule… Talks about business stay between the walls of my apartment.”

“Yeah… Alright,” he muttered with a shy smile. “So, that means… You do have a team, right?”

“Only one partner. Now, two.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk with Wooyoung, then.”

Seonghwa didn’t refuse, which San took as an agreement. 

On the way back home, he wondered if his grandma had received a call from the school. He wondered if Wooyoung was still angry. He wondered if Wooyoung was spending some time with his brothers. He hoped so.

On the way back home, thinking back about his fight with the other students, thinking back about his talk with Seonghwa, he understood his sister a bit better. His index grazing the circumference of his—or her—bracelet, he tried not to be upset with her. He tried to accept that she was really gone, after all. He tried to not worry about how many more hugs he could’ve given her.

And then, he thought about his dad. San wondered if he was doing well. San thought that, maybe, one day he could be strong enough to visit him.

And then, he thought about his mother. And he knew that no matter how much will he could accumulate with years, nothing would be enough to compensate for the bitterness he felt towards her.

San knew he would never forgive either of his parents. And at seventeen years old, he could guess he would never change. In a way, it was a bit like he was bound to be alone.

Chapter Text

Grandma hadn’t said a thing about the incident, and so San didn’t mention it either. Something in the air, though, felt heavier. She knew, but she ignored it. Ignored his bruised chin, ignored his busted lip, and ignored the cut lining the arc of his eyebrow. He would have probably preferred to be scolded—being left to so much silence made him anxious. Originally, he had been supposed to stay home for only a day, but it was now the third one, and he had only gone to school for about an hour. For an appointment.

Wooyoung had been busy with studying, and they wanted to talk in person, so they had waited to bring up the subjects they had to discuss, and three days after the incident, grandma was going to visit her friend for dinner, leaving San alone—until he invited Wooyoung to come home.

After a lingering hug, they ate and then slid into bed for a well-deserved cuddle session.

“Are you disappointed in me?” San asked in a whisper.

His head was resting in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, legs thrown over the other one’s thighs to make the sitting position more comfortable. The younger boy tried to see his boyfriend’s face, but the angle prevented him from being able to.

“I won’t lie, I was a bit upset that you let three kids make you so angry you forgot about your values. But I know you tried your best anyway. It’s okay.”

“I didn’t try that hard, though. I just wanted to hit them.”

Wooyoung had tears in his eyes when he chuckled.

“They were mean to you, huh?”

“I wanted to hurt someone back. Even if I shouldn’t.”

“Don’t do that again, please. Don’t let someone blur your values. Don’t let someone change who you are.”

“I’m trying,” San said softly, fingers clutching the other man’s hoodie.

The younger one loosened his embrace, pulling his boyfriend completely on his lap instead, face to face so that San’s legs were on each side of him. He could hold him closer, cradle him like deserved. His head rested right against Wooyoung’s heart. 

“Then, I’m proud of you for that.”

“Yesterday, I talked with the school’s psychologist.”

Wooyoung’s hands found their way on San’s cheeks, thumbs brushing his high cheekbones, but avoiding the few bruises. Their gazes met, and San felt content at the genuinely pleased expression emanating from the other. Wooyoung was proud. It looked splendid on him.

“Seriously?”
“Yeah,” San muttered, gaze fleeing, “I think I need it a lot. ‘Hwa hyung told me it was never too late to get better.”

Wooyoung smiled. His expression didn’t exactly share his thoughts, though. He was a bit neutral. Because he had already known San wasn’t well, and he did try his best at giving him support and at helping him open up when the other wanted to.

But his boyfriend was secretive when it came to his traumas. While it was completely okay, it still prevented Wooyoung from being aware of the extent of everything, and it did worry him as well. The fact that San had sought help from a specialist didn’t only mean he did want to get better; it also showed that he felt himself slipping a bit too far. Wooyoung was, indeed, scared. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t ask San to tell him everything if the older wasn’t ready for that either.

There was a line not to cross—Wooyoung’s mom had told her son years earlier—when it came to comforting someone. It was respect. To respect one’s limits, to respect one’s feelings, and to respect one’s decisions, whether or not you were close to them. And to never, never, believe that you had the right to know about someone’s personal matter, even if you were to be very close to them. The only thing that could be done was to provide support. It started and ended there, and Wooyoung was more than glad to be able to give that to his boyfriend.

“He’s right, San. I’m proud of you. I’m glad you made that decision.”

“Are you ashamed?”

“What would I be ashamed of?”

“Having a boyfriend who has serious mental health issues.”

“I couldn’t be more glad to be your boyfriend. I couldn’t be more glad to know someone like you. Your medical condition has nothing to do with the way I perceive you. I wish you to know that.”

“But it affects the way everyone else would think of me. Is it okay?”

“Others have nothing to do with me and you. I just want you to be comfortable, San. I want you to be comfortable with yourself.”

San’s eyes—which were precedently dry—filled with tears, hearing those words. Wooyoung just hugged him.

“And if you want to tell me anything, I’ll be listening, okay?”

Sobs joined the choral of sniffling, slowly shifting into silent wails. San felt bad for the tears and snot stains on his boyfriend’s hoodie. Wooyoung didn’t even notice them. Slugged in an embrace that seemed eternal, bodies melding like puzzle pieces together, they breathed in the feeling of being together.

“I’m so afraid of scaring you away, Wooyoung. You have no idea.”

Words couldn’t prove a thing. Actions, though, could share further. So, he hugged San tighter.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Woo’. Perhaps everything. The psychologist said it would be a hefty journey. That it was hard to get a diagnosis at first since it comes down to so many years. I don’t know what that's supposed to mean, I just know there’s so much to unpack.”

The younger one’s fingers straddled strands of hair, smoothing them, and soothing their owner.

“I trust you, there’s only you I trust so much, but I’m so scared to say anything about whatever I’m feeling.”

“Don’t let fear stop you, Sanie. I’m not going anywhere, and your past can’t become your present if you don’t let it be.”

There were more sobs, more silent seconds passing and more tears wetting Wooyoung’s hoodie. There was that uncomfortable wait, on both sides. There was a shaky breath exhaled.

“Wooyoung, I hate my family.”

It was a fair statement. A true one. It felt mean to say. It felt wrong.

“And I may be a bad son for that, but I hate all three of them. I hate that they made me like this so easily. How frail they melded me. I hate how they probably barely remember my name at this point. I hate that I had to live in the same house as them for so long and that they don’t care about me. I hate that my sister left me alone. That she promised me lies,” he spat, frustration showing in his words. The door to his heart was unlocked, and it then seemed impossible to close it again. “I hate that they seem to have given up so easily and that I wasn’t important enough to make them try harder. 

“I hate that I never told them how insufferable they were. I hate that I still fear being thrown back to my mother. I hate that I’m not taking care of them either. I hate that my parents forced their traumas on me. That I’m stuck with whatever shitty genetics and shitty experiences they brought me. 

“I hate that I became so accepting of the normalcy they created for me. I hate that I have to love them nonetheless. That they’re my family after all, that I’m no better than them. That I’m actually even worse. I hate it all so bad, you have no idea.”

Wooyoung couldn’t answer anything. There were no words that could do justice to what San was feeling. To what he had admitted. There was only one thing that could be uttered.

“And you have the right to.”

The older man only chuckled wetly, trying to agree. He decided to stay neutral instead. He didn’t want to weigh Wooyoung’s mind with all his concerns, his traumas, and his struggles. Yet, the other boy didn’t seem to hate hearing him talk of his concerns; he was caressing the small of his back, under San’s T-Shirt to share a bit more warmth, humming to insist on hearing more. San decided to take that moment his boyfriend was offering him. To tell him more and help him understand because he knew Wooyoung was dying to understand. And he was dying to show how much he trusted him, despite being afraid. And if only San knew how much his boyfriend was thankful for that.

“When my sister died, I thought she had fallen asleep.”

San’s head suddenly felt heavy on the other’s chest.

“She told me she was okay, only a bit tired, and to leave her so that she could rest. She was really pale, looking back, I can recall that, but a kid wouldn’t notice it, wouldn’t understand what it meant. That night, my parents had seemed to argue harder than usual, and I remember putting my head under my pillow to not hear what they were saying. I was unaware they were actually crying from my sister’s death. My dad came up to me a few hours later, and he was probably high or something. I had to make him repeat because his words were so slurred. And when he said it again, I told him she would be mad to hear him lie like that because she promised me she was fine. When I went to sleep, I had nightmares, so I went to her room for her to comfort me.”

San’s voice became shakier. His chest was hurting. His fingers were sore from gripping his boyfriend’s hoodie so hard.

“I stepped in her blood, Woo’. My parents hadn’t cleaned it up yet. Hell , they weren’t even home. Maybe at the hospital for some papers or something. I don’t know, I just know that I didn’t even understand it was blood.”

San felt disgusted with himself. Ashamed, too. He felt like he hadn’t really changed, like he was all the same as back then anyway. Like he would believe her and trust her naively even if it were to happen so many years later.

“I literally touched her cold blood. I covered my hands with it. And when I figured out what it was, I ran to my parent’s bedroom. Actually, I ran everywhere, but I was alone at home. And I was scared. The neighbor came because I was so loud. I guess I thought my parents had died, too. I don’t remember more, I can just recall being so scared.”

Unconscious tears were still silently running down San’s cheeks. He had just said a lot. More than what he had admitted in the past few years. And it did feel great, in a way. But it was only one night recalled amongst many others. It was indeed part of the worst ones, but it was far from being the only hard memory—or trauma, as the psychologist had called them—haunting him.

“So scared that it stuck with me. I still am. I think I’ll always be.”

Wooyoung’s fingers brushing his memories away and pulling him back away from any imagery, San could now only cry, only focus on something else. A kiss was left on his temple.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared, San-ah. There’s nothing immature or cowardly about being afraid.”

“Are you?”

“Dude, I’m absolutely terrified of bugs,” Wooyoung joked lightly.

San giggled at that, sniffling and poking the younger one’s stomach.

“Of course you are.”

“And I’m scared of losing you, too.”

“Why?” he asked, frowning.

“Because I love you.”

“Yeah, okay, but why are you scared?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.”

He had never really thought about the fact that, maybe, Wooyoung was scared as well. Sometimes, San felt like he was only a weight to the other, and he had naturally eliminated the thought that Wooyoung didn’t want to lose them either. And now that it had been hinted at, the idea lingered in his mind. If they were boyfriends, it was because Wooyoung loved him as well. 

It’s not like he had never heard it, but hearing something and understanding it were two very different things, and San could finally feel a heavy weight on his heart, each beat thrumming harder. It was a pleasant weight. A breathtaking one. Like a warm, comforting hug.

“Do you really?”

“Of course, Sanie.”

“You don’t look afraid, though.”

“Because I’m not afraid when I’m with you, I guess.”

San straightened his back, raising his head, and left a peck at the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth, delicate as ever. No words were needed.

When he rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder again, he didn’t hide his face in his neck. 

“Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for telling me. And for letting me be there for you,” Wooyoung said, voice sweet and soft as honey.

“Thanks to you, Woo’. it means so much.”

Cheek squished against the other one’s warm skin and hoodie, San sighed, looking at all the pictures stuck to the wall up his desk. He hadn’t ever been so close to someone. He had never felt such a connection with someone else. It was exquisite. His gaze then fell on the mirror, where he could see a breach of their reflection right in the corner of it. He was lucky, he thought. To be cared for.

They stayed immobile for a long time, talking about random things here and there, never breaking the bubble of calmness they were in.

And then, San remembered he had more to talk about.

“Seonghwa has a gun.”

The reaction was immediate; Wooyoung’s body tensed, breath hitching.

“What? No, he doesn’t!”

“I saw it.”

“It must’ve been a toy… Come on, San, do you really think-”

“Don’t take me for an idiot, I’m your boyfriend,” he said, though there was no bite in his words.

Wooyoung forgot how to breathe, and San straightened himself.

“Fuck, San…”

“I’m in as well, now.”

“W-What?”

Wooyoung’s eyes looked at all his features, as if his nose could say much about how serious he was. He took San’s face in his hands carefully, to not touch the boy’s few injuries.

“No, you’re not,” he whispered, a calm panic rising in his tone.

“I am, though. From now on.”

“No! No, San. I refuse you to be part of it. I don’t want you in, alright? So, you’re not.”

“Why? What’s such a problem with me? Why are you two being like that? Seonghwa accepted, anyway.”

“It’s not you, San.”

“Then what?”

“It’s not like you to be doing that.”

“Well, it’s not like you either, Woo’.”

The younger one sighed, lips shaking and hands trembling.

“You don’t understand… And I didn’t get in because I wanted so badly. ‘Hwa was in a bad situation, so I decided to help him. That’s it. I wouldn’t be in it if he hadn’t been in trouble.”

“Since when?”

The frown on Wooyoung’s face grew, teeth gritting together. He rested his forehead on San’s shoulder, back quitting its position against the wall.

“Around a year and a half.”

“That much?”

“Yeah.”

“And is it still for helping him? Does he still need help?”

“It’s not like that. Once you get in, you can’t get out, San-ah.”

“Then let me be stuck in with you.”

“Grandpa wouldn’t want that, you know?”

“I didn’t want him to die, either.”

“San…”

“Don’t use my grandparents against me, Wooyoung. You know better than anyone you shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I still stand by my point, though. You can’t do that too, okay?”

“It’s not your place to choose.”

San felt sorry for his words, but he meant them. Wooyoung was now the one shaking in his arms. The older one tried to calm him down with caresses.

“My choice is already made and you know it.”

To which Wooyoung tightened his grip, holding him like a lifeline. They heard the entry door open and close.

“I’m back, San-ah!” grandma announced from downstairs.

The two boys sighed, and Wooyoung raised his head to look yet again in his boyfriend’s warm gaze.

“Don’t be so scared, ‘Young-ah. I know what I’m getting in,” he said softly.

Steps walked up the stairs, slowly.

“It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it? You don’t have to be scared of anything. It will be fine.”

Wooyoung kissed him as if to seal his boyfriend’s promise. It was a dangerous job, but he and Seonghwa had managed to stay safe. So, indeed, it would be fine.

Grandma knocked on the bedroom door.

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispered to San under his breath, letting himself be engulfed in yet another crushing embrace.

Grandma opened the door and smiled at them.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were going to be here, Wooyoung! Don’t go to bed too late, boys, there’s school tomorrow,” she said before leaving for her own bedroom.

The two teenagers didn’t talk about business for the rest of the night. The comfortable mood that had been there earlier wove back to them for lighter conversations. When they closed the lights, huddled up together, the silence was only haltered by their breaths. That was until Wooyoung spoke, so quietly San barely heard it.

“Promise me to not let anyone change you, Sanie. Not even the demons in your head.”

The older boy hoped the kiss he offered was enough. He hoped his embrace around Wooyoung was enough of a reassurance. He hoped Wooyoung wouldn’t worry. He hoped he, himself, wouldn’t become a weight.

San agreed silently to what the other had said, yet, he didn’t pronounce it. Promises were meant to be kept without a doubt.

Chapter Text

San was almost dizzy, retaining his breath despite having sprinted seconds earlier. His body craved oxygen, but he couldn’t afford to make any sound, not even the one of an inhalation. He couldn’t see a thing, could only feel the coldness of a wall behind him.

The door leading to the corridor finally opened, a string of light hitting the floor a few centimeters away from the point of his boots. He stayed frozen, in the shadow.

“I know you’re here. Are you scared? Is that why you’re hiding? Come on, I won’t kill you, I gotta let Seonghwa know a couple of things,” a deep voice cackled as he walked inside the room, closing the door behind him. 

Back in unwavering darkness, San was in his element. He could hear the loud breathing of the other man, his loud steps, the loud metallic clicks of his gun being manhandled to assure it was loaded with enough ammunition. He could visualize him walking towards the center of the room.

San headed towards the door with careful, silent steps. He kept counting the seconds at the back of his mind while focusing on his task. He had promised three minutes and a half to Wooyoung. He had around forty seconds left to fill.

“What should I tell my boss, then?” he asked with a chuckle.

The man turned towards him with a loud ruffle of his clothes. San moved aside right before his opponent's gun was fired.

“Hey, we’re talking! Don’t be so groggy, dude.”

Another bullet was shot, but San had already predicted it, making sure to jump out of range before he could be hit. He panted hard nonetheless, swearing under his breath to fake being touched. After a few whimpers, he started walking towards the door, slow, silent, and steady. Somewhat, his mind suddenly filled with the idea of making that man suffer. It was unlike San. He decided to ignore it and focus on the task at hand.

“If you don’t know what to tell my boss, then you can always give yours a little message from me. I do not tolerate rapists. Have fun in court.”

With that, he opened the door just enough to exit the room in an impressive rapidity, and closed it again, just in time for the metal to absorb a bullet. He slid a pin in the lock—while gripping the doorknob with enough force to not let the man twist it—and started picking it. He was usually pretty good at it, but having to keep the door closed at the same time made the job harder—not to mention it was an industrial lock, one that was made to be hardly picked. After a few minutes, he gave up on locking it properly and decided that what he had tried could block the door for a while if he stuck the pin in the hole properly. He let out a deep sigh, hoping his hypothesis would work, and then let the knob go, running away.

The corridors were empty, meaning that Wooyoung had succeeded in his part of the job as well. At this point, only one thing had gone wrong; San was late. He tried to run quicker but was already a bit too out of breath. The building was old, corridors creating a real labyrinth to weave through carefully. It wasn’t the moment to get lost.

A new count started at the back of San’s mind; the approximate time he had left to get out of the building before it would be filled with all the people Wooyoung had managed to distract after stealing the archives of the organization.

A minute. He had a minute before having to fight with dozens of enraged men to escape alive. That wasn’t an option.

He arrived in front of a set of stairs and hesitated. He didn’t have the time. San looked back at a door leading to a balcony. He was five floors from the ground. He had thirty seconds left.

San gave up the idea of going down the stairs and sprinted towards the door instead. As soon as he opened it, a gush of wind hit his face, making him hiss. He slammed it behind him and looked down. The balconies were all pretty distanced in height, but with a bit of luck, he’d manage.

He took a deep breath before crossing the railing. The wind was strong, making him feel unstable, but he didn’t really have the choice. San lowered himself until he could grab the lowest part of the barrier, and then let a leg swing free in the air. His fingers were white from his grip, and the coldness. He closed his eyes as he let his second leg give up on holding his weight.

Grunting from the pressure on his shoulders, he looked under him to see where to land. Just let yourself fall, who cares anyway? San ignored the thoughts disrupting him and focused on the balcony under him. With a bit of angle, he could swing himself on it.

He swayed his body twice with his legs, and then let go of his grip on the barrier. He landed on the balcony, wobbly, but alive. Four floors to go, stupid. San crossed the barrier of the balcony, positioning himself in the same way again, and landed on the one under again. He did the same to get on the second floor, but right before jumping, he froze. A man was smoking on the lower balcony.

San prepared a plan in his mind in a few seconds; he would jump, land, take the blade hidden in the side of his boot, stab the man a few times and then hurry to the first floor so as to not linger in a useless fight. The count at the back of his mind was alarming; he wasn’t only late, at this point, he was past the waiting time. Which meant that Wooyoung was supposed to have left the area, taking him for dead. Which meant his boyfriend was probably panicking, and about to make bad decisions, losing any professionalism.

He had to hurry.

San landed on the balcony, flinching at the pain in his knees from the impact, but not letting it slow his movements. His fingers slid towards the blade in his boot, and he lashed himself on his opponent. The man barely had the time to get rid of his cigarette before being attacked with the sharp weapon. After only a few hits, he fell on the floor and didn’t have time to get back up before San jumped on the next balcony.

With one last jump, he landed on the ground, shaking from exertion. However, San couldn’t stay there longer; the few minutes during which most of the organization’s men were occupied were long gone. He would be located in no time.

San looked around, trying to see where he was, and then gave up; it was too dark for that, and he was so out of breath he could barely stand straight. So, he ran. Sprinted, even, hoping to be in the right direction.

His legs were hurting. He was freezing. His right hand was covered in his own blood—consequences of using a blade without a handle. His lungs were burning from the sting of cold air. San could only hear his loud pulse, yet he knew he was followed, having only a few dozens of meters of advance.

His hand slid to his neck and grabbed the pendant of his necklace, pressing it three times to give his location to Seonghwa and Wooyoung. His speed was slowing down with every stride. He could only hope Wooyoung was coming for him.

As San kept running, he shared his location, over and over, fleeing from the four sets of steps following him in the not-so-far distance. He was about to stop running and prepare for a fight when the roaming of a motorcycle echoed in the distance. A few seconds later and the engine stopped right by San, leaving barely enough time for him to hop on and grab the driver’s waist, before accelerating.

He let his forehead rest against the leatherette of his boyfriend’s jacket, taking in the smell of his sweat. It was gross, but he didn’t care. He was with Wooyoung. They were fine.

They weren’t chased in the city; it would’ve been useless for any opponent anyway. At a red light, Wooyoung retracted his visor, looking behind his shoulder to talk to San.

“Are you injured?”

“No, I’m fine. Just a little cut on the palm from my blade.”

“You gotta learn punctuality, I almost went back inside, San-ah.”

“I’m sorry. The lock was more complicated than expected.”

The light turned green again and Wooyoung focused on driving back to Seonghwa’s apartment. The unfolding couch was their new bed three times a week since they finished working so late at night. They were starting to think about getting a mattress and sleeping in the extra room—which was currently only used for random things related to business.

When they got off the motorcycle, Wooyoung immediately hugged San, nuzzling in his hair, ignoring the frozen sweat in his boyfriend’s locks. He wasn’t much better anyway, and he craved proximity after having such a scare.

“You’re literally playing with my heart. How did you even get out? There were around twenty men getting back inside, all at the same time… Did they not see you?”

“Business is talked in ‘Hwa’s place only…”

“Oh, come on!”

“Jumped from balcony to balcony until I was on the ground.”

“Fuck, no, San! That’s so dangerous! Why did you do that?!”

“I didn’t have the time. And I’m fine. What’s safe about this job, anyway?”

Wooyoung huffed and they started the ascension of stairs leading to the apartment.

“You should be more careful, you’re still a rookie.”

“Woo’, it’s been months.”

“I don’t care, you’re a rookie!”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m not arguing with a rookie~”

“Fuck you,” San grunted.

“Serve yourself,” Wooyoung replied, winking exaggeratedly.

The older one slapped his boyfriend’s shoulder lightly, chuckling.

“Oh, shut up, can you? Anyway, It was a close call, but I was still in control of the situation. Did you find the archives?”

“Of course I did!”

“Then we’re good.”

San knocked at the door, and Seonghwa opened, after seemingly fighting with the double lock.

“Are you guys okay?!”

They giggled at the older man’s worry, before entering. San went to the sink to rinse off the blood from his split open palm.

“I received so many alerts, I was about to leave the apartment.”

“Hyung, if he sent you his location, it means we’re not in danger of death. If we were, we’d use the actual alert. The red code,” Wooyoung said with a reassuring smile.

“Then why did you send so many?!”

“Because I was running, so my location was changing. We’re both fine, don’t worry,” San answered.

Seonghwa went to the bathroom and brought back a bandage, wrapping it tightly around San’s hand.

“So…” he sighed, fingers still shaky from his earlier worry, “What about the mission?”

“Success. I have the archives. San shut down the security system right in time, and he locked the right-hand man long enough for me to slip in his office.”

“The only thing is that I thought the locks inside the building would be simple, but they were industrial ones. So, I got late. I was able to escape anyway, just… not in the predicted way,” San added.

“Okay, but overall it went alright?” Seonghwa then asked.

“Yeah.”

The older man nodded, satisfied.

“Great. Don’t forget to fill out the wrap-up document tonight. Tomorrow, we’re working as well.”

“What? Why…” Wooyoung whined. “It’s Saturday, we’re supposed to have it free…”

“I know, but there are too many risks with keeping such archives here. We have to send them to the police so that the organization will be surveilled as quickly as possible. Only then, they won’t risk attacking us.”

The two younger sighed, but agreed nonetheless; Seonghwa was right.

“So, Wooyoung, you’ll drop San off at the metro station. I’ll want you to do a quick round afterward, just to make sure nobody’s watching us. San, you’ll go close to a police station and locate a patrol car without anyone in it, pick the door’s lock, drop the documents, and then leave. I verified the type of lock, this time, and it’s something you’ll be able to manage in no time. A bit more complicated than a usual car lock, but nothing like an industrial one. You’ll have your face hidden, but the CCTV will capture you, so you have to be careful about identity recognition. 

“What we want is for the police to think it’s a treason from an insider of the organization. Walk to the building you were at yesterday, enter it, and then do a quick change to leave by another door with a different appearance. Make sure not to come back here directly, linger in the street. The police must not link us with the situation in any way. Woo’ and I will be monitoring the organization’s security and sharing the details to you with an earpiece. Is that good?”

Everyone nodded.

“Get some sleep, you two are leaving tomorrow at six in the morning.”

So, with three hours of sleep and an insane quantity of fried rice ingested, Wooyoung and San were back on the motorcycle, ready to apply the detailed plan. The younger one dropped his boyfriend off, taking the time to remove his helmet for a kiss, and then leaving with a “Good luck, rookie!” cackled mischievously. The first shifts of the day had apparently started, only four patrol cars aligned in the parking lot, unoccupied. San pushed his cap even further on his head, making sure his eyes were well covered by the palette’s shadow and tightened his backpack’s straps.

He approached a patrol car, kneeling right by its passenger door and putting on gloves before starting his task. He was about to finish picking the lock when an exclamation came from the station; a police officer saw him. San didn’t wait for the woman to catch up; he dropped the folder containing the precious archives on the car’s hood and ran away. His legs were still the slightest sore from his run the night prior, but nothing bad enough to slow him down.

“San, she’s following you, and her partner is also on the way with a car,” Seonghwa warned him in the earpiece.

“Did they take the folder?”

“Yes. Woo’ is looking into which entry is the safest, for now just keep leading them around. When they’ll see which building you’re heading at, they won’t follow you further. They don’t want to mess with that organization just yet.”

“Okay.”

“Enough stamina?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Keep a safe distance, we don’t need you under police surveillance.”

San focused on running around, as the older man had asked. His bag was bouncing on his back, not heavy enough to stay stable on his shoulders.

“Entry K,” Wooyoung said. “It’s on the opposite side from yesterday. It’s only one metallic door and it isn’t guarded since it only leads to a laundry room. You’ll want to leave around forty seconds later, by the emergency exit D. It’s on the same side of the building, but on the other corner. The access from inside is quite direct, but don’t waste time. I’ll look into the possibilities of running into someone, but it’s rather quiet for now”

“Okay.”

“We’ll go on with updates.”

He approached the building, starting to feel the effects of running long distances.

“The police gave up on following,” Seonghwa uttered.

“Entry K is still safe,” Wooyoung added. “It’s the one right after the small window.”

San smiled in his mask when he saw it, hurrying to enter. The laundry room was empty of any soul, as planned. He didn’t lose any second, throwing his hoodie off and grabbing a simple, thin coat, zipping it. San dropped his bag and the clothes he had given up on in a sink, pulled a lighter from his pocket and made sure the remnants of his visit were assaulted by flames before heading out of the room.

“It’s empty, San. Every room, every corridor with a camera, and every CCTV around show there’s nobody. I have no idea why, so hurry out of there, I don’t like it,” Wooyoung uttered in the earpiece.

Which he did, without resistance from the owners of the building. After a few minutes of thinking over and over why it had been so easy, he realized the members of the organization were probably aware of the missing archives. Scared. Great.

“Coming back?”

“Not yet, I’ll go change again at the closest mall. Just to make sure.”

“Yeah, okay. Want me to pick you up?”

“Sure.”

Once in the mall’s bathroom, San removed his coat, hanging it on a stall’s hook. He was wearing a bright shirt, making him look even younger than usual. He dropped his mask and cap in the toilet, just to ensure there wouldn’t be any trace of pure ADN on them, and got out. All of that in less than a minute, making it unlikely to be suspected with a simple look at the CCTV in the mall.

He met Wooyoung at a fast food place, both tired, but smiling. Once sitting at their table, a comforting silence floated between them. Completed missions were always a relief, but after working for so long on the same case, it was sort of a hard pill to swallow. The rest wasn’t in their hands, anymore. They had done all they could. And the police would get all the merit, despite their laziness over such a case. It was okay, as long as that organization’s trafficking would stop. Killing someone was a thing. Selling someone for rape was another.

San, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa knew they weren’t good people. If they were bound to be bad anyway, they just preferred to use it against some who seemed worse to their eyes. However, they also knew there was nothing such as good or bad people.

“Do you think the police will finally get them?”

“No business talks in public places, San-ah.”

The older one sighed, munching on his french fries.

“But I hope so,” Wooyoung added in a quiet voice.

“Me too. They deserve it. I hope the police will not be cowardly enough to ignore it.”

“They can’t, anyway. If they do, Hyung will send it to reporters, I’m pretty sure.”

San nodded, looking intently at his food, barely touched.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Do you sometimes surprise yourself with your own thoughts?” 

Wooyoung hesitated before nodding lightly.

“It used to happen. Why?”

“I don’t know, Woo’. When I was face to face with the right-hand man…” he halted his train of thought, words growing shaky. “It was weird. What I thought was weird.”

“Like what?”

The boy didn’t answer Wooyoung, an ugly feeling stopping him from doing so. He didn’t have the words anyway.

“Were they violent thoughts?”

He felt uneasy, facing his boyfriend. But no words were needed. It was like that, between Wooyoung and San.

“It’s okay, San-ah. It’s normal. Kind of. It’s just not something you’re used to, so it’s still surprising. It’s part of the job. But they’re thoughts, not part of the reality. You just have to remember that. As long as they only stay stray thoughts, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

Wooyoung laced their fingers together, pushing a chicken nugget to the older boy’s mouth. San frowned but accepted it.

“Let’s go home.”

San didn’t complain about the proposition. The motorcycle ride was calm, Wooyoung taking a longer path to drive on roads that were less busy. When they came back, Seonghwa smiled at them with a nod; a closure for that case they had been working on for so long.

“We received money. A thanks for making things move forward,” the older one announced.

“From who?”

“I don’t know their names, but they’re the same one we helped a few months ago, remember? They wrote it’s a payback. They don’t like owing people.”

Wooyoung chuckled.

“It’s not like we ever helped them on purpose either, they just happened to be there, and now they just happen to benefit from our work.”

“They don’t care about that,” Seonghwa sighed, rolling his eyes at the other’s attitude. “Wooyoung, if one of you two was to get stuck into that kind of trafficking, I’d do the exact same thing.”

“We didn’t do it for them! San and I didn’t fight with twenty men for another killer to get out of that trafficking.”

“Oh, come on, Woo’. You’re a killer too. Yet you don’t deserve to get sold to rapists. Accept their money and that’s it.”

“They’re going to think we approve of their ways. I don’t approve of the way they torture their prisoners, Seonghwa. I don’t approve of the way they want to kill. I don’t approve of the way their main goal is to spill blood.”

“Then they’ll be on our list. And we’ll get rid of them as well. Because I don’t approve of that either. But for now, we need money.”

“That’s dirty money.”

“That’s a dirty job .”

The younger one looked at his childhood friend, lips pursed. Seonghwa was always right.

“If they’re truly thankful, they should know that money can’t repay us for keeping that monster of theirs alive.”

“Aren’t we monsters, too, though,” San intervened, looking at his own hands, adorned by scars from all his knife fights.

Wooyoung looked at his boyfriend, frowning at his sincerity. He hated hearing San say those kinds of things.

“Well, I prefer being a monster that only hurts people who deserve it. I prefer being a monster who takes the time to deliver information to the police, at my own risk, instead of slaughtering the criminals. If I became a monster in the process, then at least, I’m a monster who won’t pull citizens into my shit, into the things I decided to do. And it annoys me that you look at yourself the same way you look at a rapist who sells children and who sealed the destiny of dozens of people. For fuck’s sake, guys! Do you really consider yourselves so low? Would you feel able to do all of that?”

Seonghwa’s and San’s eyes enlarged, mouth agape. Doing that? Willingly? The silence that washed over the room was freezing. Who would do that willingly?

“Well, I’m glad to see negation on both of your faces. We’re doing horrible things, but we’re not to that level. No torture. No rape. No kidnapping. No abuse. No killing for fun. And I hope you two also have the intention of making sure we’ll never change that. Because that isn’t anything that’s like us. We are criminals, not psychopaths.”

Wooyoung headed towards the bathroom but halted right by San.

“And you gotta get it back together,” he whispered. “I know you’ve got those demons in your head screaming you’re a monster, but those demons are only what you think. You think of yourself as a monster. And you should at least know that if you’re a monster, then all three of us are,” he continued, and hesitated before adding something else. “Doing good things isn’t reserved to good people. ”

His voice was so low San could’ve ignored it. He kind of wanted to ignore it. But even if he hated being desperate, the truth was that he was desperate about believing Wooyoung’s words.

“They’ll be next on our list, Seonghwa stated. “We’ll show them we don’t approve of their ways either. However, if we decide on attacking them, we do it following our usual guidelines. We are not ready to attack them right away and they’re a big organization. If we refuse their money, they will know what it means, which we can’t risk. I don’t like to backstab, but that will have to be our tactic.”

Wooyoung and San looked at the older one, not even realizing they had stopped breathing.

“You two have a week off. I’ll take care of the research and start the planning. I’ll call you when I’m ready for a debriefing.”

Everyone nodded, taking a deep breath as if to prepare for what would be coming up. They were up for a new mission.

“I’ll be off for the night. Use my bed, that couch will break both of your backs,” Seonghwa said, putting a coat on.

He was about to leave but then turned to face his friends.

“If you do anything more than sleep in my bed, you’re jobless.”

The younger men giggled, nodding. After a long shower and a good meal, they splayed on Seonghwa’s bed, eyes already feeling heavy. They were exhausted, with everything that had happened in the last two days. 

Tangled in the bedsheets, together. Together. San left a peck on his boyfriend’s lips, then nosing at his cheek.

“You have no idea how lucky I feel, just being with you.”

“And I feel the same way, San-ah, okay? We’re in this together.”

Drowning into a deep sleep to recover from exertion, San then understood why he had always been so unlucky—ignoring the voice screaming that it was from his own incompetence. 

To afford even one of Wooyoung’s smiles, he had to be extremely unlucky. Things had to balance out.

“Fight your demons, San-ah. You should know you’re strong enough for that.”

San wanted to reply that he would—fight the monsters lingering in his mind. He wanted to scream that he had always tried so hard and that he would keep going. That, if Wooyoung asked, then he’d do anything. He wanted to tell his boyfriend he would do better.

He wanted to admit that the reason for which he thought of himself as a monster, was because he grew up thinking he was like his family. And he considered them as such. San wanted to tell Wooyoung that he would try to grow out of his young mind.

But before anything, he fell asleep, words silenced to nothingness by regular breaths and relaxed muscles.

Chapter Text

“I’m taking care of him. You’re backup,” San muttered before sprinting towards the exit.

Their opponent effectively followed him, heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway. Wooyoung grunted, fingers overly tight on his gun’s handle. A cramp forced him to loosen his grip.

That was until a series of gunshots—muffled the slightest by a silencer—burst, making his ears ring. He hated the interrogation at the back of his mind, wondering on which end San was.

“Fucking move, Wooyoung!” the older exclaimed loudly between gritted teeth, strained voice echoing, before escaping the building.

The door closed behind him with a metallic thud. Wooyoung was now alone in what had originally been a trap. He sighed shakily, hurrying outside. San was waiting for him there, splutters of blood flickering his face, and the hem of his clothes drenched. Wooyoung’s mistake was the reason for more deaths on San’s hands. Again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I bet you are. What are you sorry for, though? Running headfirst to a dead end? Not even protecting yourself properly? Taking risks that were obviously going to fail? What are you even sorry for?!”

And San’s screams were raw, enraged, and pained. He was pained. He was scared. He was shaking.  

“I know I should have done better, I was just… Distracted.”

“You can be distracted with my life, Wooyoung. I don’t give a shit about that. But don’t you fucking dare to be so careless for yourself, have you heard me?!”

“I’m fine, San,” he tried to calm his boyfriend down. “Don’t be so loud, you’re going to pull attention to us.”

“Do I seem to care?”

“Apparently, no, but I doubt you’d want to end up face to face with more guys from this place.”

“I’d kill them gladly.”

It was said with such impartiality, with so much calm, that it scared Wooyoung. There was fire in San’s eyes. Ignited ambers.

“No, you won’t. Come on, let’s go back home.”

Seonghwa hadn’t been really pleased to see them bloody, even if it wasn’t from their own wounds.

“I told you to steal information, not to create a massacre!”

“Hyung-” Wooyoung tried to stop him, but San was quicker.

“Well then stop sending ‘Young-ah for missions like this one because he’s going to get himself killed.”

“San, can you please, please, stop being overprotective? I’ve been working in this for longer than you, I know what I’m doing.”

“That bullet flew fucking centimeters away from your head, Wooyoung,” his breath hitched, but he kept his gaze steady on the younger one to continue, “Not that you would have noticed, because you were too focused on the damn map. And I’ve been working for two years, quit using your experience against me. If you can’t utilize it, then it’s useless.”

“I can use a gun just fine, San. But I only use it when necessary. It’s not about being incompetent. It’s not about being scared either,” Wooyoung affirmed, voice filled with venom, teeth gritting together.

“Drop your fucking lies, or stop working with me. You were-”

“You’re both calming down right now, I don’t want to hear any more of that,” Seonghwa spat. “And San, stop talking like that, it’s getting on my nerves,” he said spitefully, walking to his bedroom.

“Talking like what?” he dared.

“Like your mother.”

Seonghwa’s bedroom door slammed shut. Two young men were left alone in the entryway, the apartment filled with tension, skin itchy with dried blood, muscles sore, and hands still trembling from the adrenaline.

“You scared the shit out of me, asshole,” San whispered to Wooyoung, lips trembling.

His affirmation was quickly followed by a muffled sob, and, suddenly, he was curled on himself, on the ground, trying to escape the fear still creeping in his tensed muscles.

“I’m fine, San-ah.”

“ Fuck… ”

Wooyoung sighed, looking at his own shaky hands.

“Did you mean it? When you said you’d kill anyone gladly.”

San raised a red-eyed gaze on the other, clenching his teeth.

“I don’t know,” he uttered with difficulty, throat suddenly dry, looking lost.

“Are you happy with killing people?”

Wooyoung seemed disappointed before even hearing whatever answer San was trying to pronounce.

“Did you really become like that?”

“Wooyoung, I-”

“Do you notice the weight of lost lives on your hands, or do you really not care? Is this a game to you? A game of fun? Do you realize that someone loses their family every time you’re killing a human? San, do you enjoy killing?” he muttered, voice trembling and tone filled with distrust.

“I try not to,” the older one answered in a raw whisper, shame forcing his eyes on the ground.

Whether that was sufficient for Wooyoung or not, he wouldn’t know. It probably wasn’t anyway.

“Don’t stay on the ground. Go clean yourself, I think I’m going to throw up at the sight of so much blood on you.”

He obliged. After washing himself in freezing water and disinfecting a couple of cuts, San took the time to tape a few weak fingers as well as his knee—since they were slacking a little from the previous fight. It had been a close call. If he hadn’t been there to get rid of half a dozen men, Wooyoung would’ve been trapped to death. He shook those thoughts out of his head and lightly knocked his own fist on the side of his head to try to erase the guiltiness of killing . He had done the right thing. Wooyoung was alive. Relief swelled in his chest. San ignored his own gaze in the mirror. 

Once finished, he left the apartment, opting to sleep at his grandmother’s house. It would be more comfortable, he guessed. It would be better for Wooyoung, maybe, since he was upset. The next morning, Seonghwa called him for another mission, as if nothing had happened.

“You’ll be the one in charge. Do what you’re the best at. Lure the target, and then get rid of him. He’s been pretty threatening during many of our last missions, we can’t risk him discovering yours or Woo’s identity. I sent you the information you need.”

“What about Wooyoung?”

“He’ll stay only as a backup for the next few operations. He requested it.”

“Okay.”

They didn’t end the call, yet neither of them talked for a few more seconds.

“San, you’re trying. That’s what makes you a good person. The fact that you’re trying to be a better one. Job aside.”

With that, Seonghwa hung up. San thought that Wooyoung wouldn’t agree with the previous statement, but he brushed it away. He had a job to do.

The mission was rather simple; Seonghwa had hacked a dating app and created a match between their target and San’s fake profile. Now, the latter just had to meet a serial killer at a park, pretending to be absolutely in love and ready for a crazy night, and bring him back to the apartment. That was easy. It would have been stressful if San had been afraid to die. 

He wasn’t.

Right after arriving at the meetup place, he recognized Wooyoung further away, playing basketball by himself. The younger one didn’t even look at him. San wasn’t sure it was fully part of the cover, but he decided not to mind it.

“Are you Lee Seungwoo?”

He was startled, looking at the man in front of him. His target.

“Yes! I’m happy to finally meet you, hyung.”

He seemed surprised at how San had called him.

“Are we comfortable?”

“Aren’t you, hyung?”

“Of course.”

San smiled, all dimples, his cold hand reaching the man’s one.

“I’m freezing!”

Warm fingers slid against his palm. He giggled, pulling on his target’s arm to make him sit by his side.

“When I saw your profile, I prayed for us to be a match! You’re so… Mysterious…” he sighed deeply, an oblivious smile plastered on his lips. “Oh, and charming.”

“I’ll return those words, Seungwoo-yah.”

“Aye, don’t lie… I’m nowhere near your beauty,” he uttered, trying his best to look sheepish. “I think we could have a great night, the both of us. Don’t you think, hyung?”

The man raised an inquisitive eyebrow, discreet smile pulling constantly on the corner of his mouth. That asshole liked the idea. San reminded himself that it was the whole point of luring but still felt suddenly uncomfortable. As easy this man was to pull in a trap, as quickly things could elevate. And with a serial killer, things could get very dangerous in an unexpected way. He had to be careful.

“How could I disagree, sweetheart? So, you’re in for a bit of fun?”

San’s hand brushed the man’s cheekbone, looking deep into his eyes.

“A lot of fun. Should we go to my place?”

“Mine’s right by. We’ll be at ease there.”

“Oh… I thought we could eat something first. I have cooked food at my apartment, wouldn’t it be easier?”

“Grabbing something at a convenience store would be even more simple, right? Let’s go, Seungwoo-yah.”

“But hyung I-”

“Will you keep questioning me like that?” he asked, tone scarily cold, controlled, yet filled with sudden anger. “I thought you were in for the night, not for an interrogation.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“If you want to cook so bad, do so at my place. I won’t repeat myself.”

The younger man smiled, holding his target’s hand close to his chest without touching it, out of fear that his quick heartbeat could be felt through the fabric of his coat.

“Let’s go, then.”

Anxiety rushed into his veins, scalding blood flooding rapidly through his body. San wanted to curl into a ball and scream until Wooyoung would come to save him

But he couldn’t act suspiciously. So, he let the man lead him towards a black car—which had tinted windows. Nothing reassuring. He discreetly glanced at his partner, who in the end wasn’t even looking towards him, focused on his basketball technique. Was Wooyoung really that mad? Mad enough to let him in the hands of a serial killer, alone?

This time, his demons didn't bother him. Maybe he would’ve liked the company. Maybe he craved the company. 

But they weren’t there. And he was alone. No, not alone. He was about to be alone with his target. Without a weapon. San was wearing shoes instead of boots—since he hadn’t deemed it necessary to keep a blade on him for luring with backup and his shoes also had a tracker implanted in their sole, which made him feel safer for such a job. Any other weapon would’ve been a hassle to keep constantly hidden. He was supposed to bring him to Seonghwa’s apartment anyway. He wasn’t even supposed to kill the man himself. So, bringing a blade didn't seem necessary while he was preparing… He couldn’t say as much now. Damned him, he wished to have taken something with him, really, anything.

They were about to get in the parking lot when a ball hit his arm, the impact detaching his hand from his target’s.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you guys okay?!” a familiar voice exclaimed in the distance.

Wooyoung.

San looked at the ball, then at him. Oh.  

“Did it hurt you, hyung?”

“No...”

“Alright, then,” he grinned, taking the ball in his hands and hurrying towards Wooyoung to give it back.

He bowed once, and then raised his head enough for his backup to hear his whisper.

“To his apartment. I’m unarmed. Please hurry,” San muttered quickly before turning his back and going back to his date, fear rooted deep in his stomach, yet hidden perfectly under a large grin.

Five minutes after the car had left the parking lot, San looked at the rear. Wooyoung wasn’t following. Abandoned you. Demons were back at it. He tried to shut them down and reassure himself; a working tracker could give his partners his location at any time. It would be more dangerous to follow the car. It would raise suspicion. Wooyoung would call Seonghwa and go straight to their target’s apartment to kill him as soon as they entered. Right.

He tried focusing on the song playing a low volume on the radio but ended up only hearing the melody tapped on the steering wheel by the man. 

“Are you still a student, San-ah?”

“Yeah. I’m studying to become a veterinarian.”

“You like animals?”

“I do.”

The lump in his throat was so hefty he could barely swallow his saliva. His heartbeat was searing.

“It may be indiscreet… But, hyung, are you still stuck on a past relationship?”

“No, why are you asking that?”

“You called me by someone else’s name. I’m Seungwoo. Lee Seungwoo.”

“Oh,” was all he replied.

San frowned, digging deeper in his role, transforming his felt fear into fake anger.

“You can drop me off, then.”

“What?”

“You’re not even apologizing! Is that guy someone you’re seeing? Or your previous date? Oh, you must have new dates rather often to miscall me, don’t you?” I don’t want to take more of your time.”

“You promised me fun, don’t be difficult. You want sex, I’ll give you sex.”

“I want more than sex!”

“Then you want a lot of sex, don’t you?”

“I want a date, not a fuck-buddy. Say sorry or I’m jumping off your car. Or you can always drop me off.”

“That would be both our losses, wouldn’t it? I’m sorry, Seungwoo-yah.”

The younger one slumped further into his seat, huffing and looking at the window.

“That didn’t make me feel better the slightest.”

“I’m stressed these days. It’s my mistake, alright? Now you can help me with this stress, I’ll make you feel much better, don’t worry, Seungwoo.”

San hummed, pleased. He wasn’t. He was internally panicking. When the target opened his door, the younger man looked around in the street. Seonghwa’s car wasn’t parked there. Nor was his boyfriend’s motorcycle. Wooyoung hadn’t followed. He didn’t come in advance. Wooyoung wasn’t there. Would he even come? San had to remember himself to trust his partner. It was necessary, but his shaky fingers really wanted him to just try and run away. San wanted to do so, and to hope that he wouldn’t get followed, to hope that it wouldn’t pull his friends in danger. He knew it would. So, he didn’t.

They walked up a set of stairs and a hand laid on San’s shoulder before slowly sliding down his spine. It rested at the small of his back, the tip of two fingers slipping into his underwear’s waistband.

The door was opened. Shoes were removed in the entryway. Coats got hung on a rack. Lights were dimmed.

“You wanted to cook. Serve yourself.”

He nodded, taking two eggs out of the refrigerator—which was pretty much the only thing still edible in there. Once he had finished cooking them, he took two plates out of the cabinets and blew softly on them to remove the dust. Those hadn’t been used recently. A hand slid in San’s pants’ back pocket, cupping his butt cheek. A shiver ran up his spine.

Wooyoung had to be there soon. He would come. He had to come.

“Why are you so tense?”

“I didn’t hear you enter the kitchen. Scared me.”

“You have something to take care of. Much, much more important than your stupid eggs.”

Something poked right between his legs, at the back of his thighs.

“I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Hurry. I’ve been patient enough. And I know you’re craving just as much to get between my legs.”

San smiled, turning his head to leave a peck on the man’s collarbone before finally leaving the uncomfortable proximity and heading to the bathroom.

“First door in the corridor,” the target said.

Once in said corridor, he noticed the lock was inverted. It was on the outside rather than the inside of the bathroom. San’s mind froze for two seconds before he ripped the tape from his injured finger, filling the hole in the frame—right where it would lock—and hurried inside. Almost naturally, as if trained. 

He took a second to calm his suddenly uncontrollable breath. Think about the blood. Think about his death. Stop being a coward, you got a job to do. He could do this. Right? Even when a serial killer could lock him in his bathroom from the corridor. Even when he didn’t have any weapons. Even when he was terrified. Even when he was aware that failing would lead to getting raped.

San opened the cabinet, looking through everything. Toothbrush. Hair gel. Soap. Nail cutter. Eyebrow plucker. Cream. Painkillers. Aspirin. Shampoo.

No scissors. No knife—obviously. No nothing. No weapon. His eyes scanned the content of the cabinet twice before choosing the eyebrow plucker. The ends were pointed, and while the grip was weak, it was enough to poke an eye or to surprise with a bit of pain. San used his strength to enlarge the gap between each arm of the instrument, and sighed once it was done. He flushed the toilet, then let the sink run, assembling courage. After a bit of hesitation, he gulped down two painkillers. In case things were to go further, he’d prefer to have his body a bit numb. To feel the least possible.

Finally, he slightly wet his hair, smoothing them on top of his head, and removed both his shirt and jacket, leaving the eyebrow plucker in the latter’s pocket. Ready for blood. He guessed it was better than being plainly afraid.

A metallic click pulled his attention to the door. The man had tried to lock it, but couldn’t because of the tape. San would’ve chuckled if the situation was different.

Instead, he opened the door, his jacket hanging on his shoulder.

“You’re ready?”

“Y-Yeah…” the target muttered, clearly surprised that he hadn’t been able to lock it. “Yeah,” he then assured, pulling him towards another room.

It was an office. A large wooden desk in front of imposing bookcases.

His pants were tugged at, and suddenly, he felt as if in front of a hungry animal.

“We have all the time we need, hyung, slow down.”

“I’m the one in charge, slut.”

San couldn’t help but flinch. He could endure a lot of things, but slurs had never been very easy to ignore. It disgusted him. The man placated him against the wall, and ran his hands up and down his body until one slid under his waistband. Enough. This time, San agreed with his demons.

A kick between the man’s legs forced him to fold in half, which San took as a cue to knee him right in the face.

“So, you’re really San? Seonghwa’s dog? His chihuahua?” the man spat, blood gushing from his nose.

“Who else did you think I’d be?”

San walked to the desk, taking the scissors in the pencil pot, feeling reassured by the cold metal against his palm. He had a weapon.

“You’re a dead man.”

“And so are you, but first, you promised me some fun, slut. ”

A hand grabbed the younger one’s ankle, pulling him to the ground. Fingers slipped in his waistband. Blood.

Open scissors were pushed into the man’s neck, piercing his esophagus. Blood gushed from the two large holes as San twisted the weapon before releasing it. He kicked the choking man in the chest and stared at him falling aside like a brick, stared at the hands reaching for the lethal wound. That man was a dead one, as promised.

San got up, putting his T-shirt on and swinging his jacket across his shoulder before turning away, ready to leave. A hand clasped itself on his wrist, fingers digging into the skin. The grip was so tight it almost felt like his bones were crushed. When it was released after another choking noise, San looked down at his forearm.

His skin was covered with a deep and dark crimson, his victim’s blood flooding along his own veins, following their paths. The liquid threaded the skin, reaching his sinews and dripping from his busted knuckles. Blood covered every crease of his pores, every inch of his body, asphyxiating him. 

With every droplet falling on the wooden flooring, San heard the echo of a sob. As blood pooled at his feet, sliding between the planks, San fell on his knees. His hands reached for the fleeting liquid, trying to stop it until he realized he couldn’t.

San crawled away, breath stuck at the bottom of his lungs. Dizziness forced him to close his eyes and he clawed at his hair, fisting them and tugging. The crimson covering his fingers damped his hair, slowly crawling down his forehead, tickling his skin. When his eyelids opened again, all he could see was blood.

A deep, scary redness, following him. Luring both him and his demons. He was choking on his breath.

“San, do you hear me? Please listen to me… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry… San-ah, I need you to take a deep breath.”

He couldn’t, as if the scissors had reached his own throat instead of the man’s one. San’s hand grabbed Wooyoung’s shirt, ready to be rescued from drowning in blood. He needed oxygen, but all he got was more blood, plasma even, falling down his cheeks, dripping from his eyes, replacing tears and drooling in his mouth. It stung his tongue, burned it like acid. It choked him. It muffled everything around him. 

There was something about blood, something that made the reality shift. It made him hear droplets fall on the flooring. It made him shiver out of fear. It made him feel things he’d rather not. It made flashes appear at every corner of his memory. It was terrifying.

“Breathe with me, San-ah. Please. Please.”

Wooyoung’s forehead rested against his, and San’s eyes could finally focus on something; the mole crowning his boyfriend’s cheekbone. How he got there, he didn’t know, didn’t care. He felt a warm exhalation fan on his face, tickling and blushing his skin. Air seeped into his mouth in racked breaths, and free fell down his trachea, thumping against the bottom of his lungs.

“We’re safe. You’re safe now. Please…”

San didn’t understand at first, why Wooyoung was pleading. His mind was hazed in a torpor. His limbs were now heavy. Even his demons were shut down.

“Please, we need to go…”

The older man’s eyes enlarged. Was someone else aware of their presence? Of their target’s death?

“W-Which door?” he muttered, fingers shaking under a sudden rush of adrenaline.

“The window.”

Wooyoung cursed—probably out of relief—and helped his partner to get up, leading him in a hurry to their exit. They climbed down a shaky pipe, San landing clumsily on his socked feet, and Wooyoung immediately taking his hand, pulling him in a run.

“Hyung will be here soon, I promise.”

San could barely run, lungs hurting with every breath. His whistling inspirations forced Wooyoung to slow down before pulling to a stop in an alleyway The younger man embraced the other, pulling San’s head against his chest and covering his ears with his hand. He rocked him, even if it was awkward when standing. He left a kiss on the crown of his boyfriend’s head. His heart was hurting from how shaken San was. He should've been quicker. He should’ve been there.

Wooyoung pressed the pendant of his own necklace repeatedly, hurrying Seonghwa. He hoped they weren’t followed. He hoped they weren’t looked for.

Like that, tears filling their eyes, they waited. They waited for Seonghwa to arrive. They waited to feel safe again. They waited for the emotions to cool down. They waited for the fear to tarnish.

It took a while for their friend to finally pull a stop in front of the alleyway. Seonghwa ran to them, pulling them both in a crushing hug, asking for injuries, repeating how scared he got, and apologizing for taking so long.

“There was so much traffic, god, I’m so sorry…”

They got back in the car, taking a moment for the adrenaline to escape their veins. Seonghwa didn’t ask about the result of the mission; he considered it failed for the state it made both boys in. No mission could be considered a success if it hurt them. No success mattered if it cost their health.

“Will you two be okay?” Seonghwa asked after a while of driving.

It took him long minutes to receive an answer from San.

“It will be fine.”

“It will be fine, but will you be fine? And what about you, Wooyoung?”

“We didn’t get hurt, Hyung,” San responded blandly.

Wooyoung never answered. He was still scared. He had arrived too late, and the memory of busting the door, hearing San let out strangled cries, was still lingering at the back of his mind. His hand tightened its hold on San’s

“It’s a success, ‘Hwa,” San continued. “How much is the client paying?”

It pained Seonghwa that this was the point they were at. He looked at his friends in the top rear, huddled up together, covered in a mix of sweat, tears and blood. He saw two young boys, afraid, and a bit broken. He wondered if that was right, already aware it wasn’t.

But what could they do? They were in for life, even if the three of them had entered that world too young to understand the cost of it. It was too late for regret. It was too late for letting the fear consume them. So, they wouldn’t. They would keep going, no matter what. They would only stop when death would stop them. They would let their decisions slowly lead them towards an end. The gears had already started anyway.

“Not enough for what it cost. We should take some rest.”

Back at the apartment, Seonghwa locked himself in his bedroom to work, as always. Wooyoung and San went to the bathroom to clean up. The latter halted his movements, sighing.

“Were you that angry?” the older of the two asked, flinching at his own broken voice. “It was terrifying, Wooyoung. And you weren’t there. Not even close to being.”

“Angry? I’m not angry, San… Fuck… I’m so, so sorry.”

“Then why didn’t you come? Why did you leave me alone with that man? You were my backup…”

“I ran the fastest I could, I swear.”

“What about taking Seonghwa’s fucking car? You know, driving. ”

Wooyoung blinked, expression falling.

“Hyung was the one driving me to the park, San. He left with it to come back in time here. I didn’t have his car. I didn’t have anything to drive.”

San could now remember seeing it on the mission’s document. It was his fault for relying on an option that was specified to be impossible. He lowered his head, apologizing. Wooyoung’s hands cupped his face but didn’t try to make him look up from the floor.

“Are you okay, though?”

San nodded, leaning in the warmth of his boyfriend’s palms.

“Did he touch you?”

“I stopped him before anything.”

“So, he didn’t hurt you?”

“He didn’t.”

“What made you panic? The blood?”

The older one bit his lip, eyes trailing to the side. There was more to it, but he didn’t know how to explain. San wasn’t even sure it could be explained. In the mirror, he saw something different than expected; there wasn’t much blood on him. Not as much as it felt like.

“I guess.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, San-ah. Really.”

“You couldn’t have run much faster than what you did.”

“I should’ve anyway.”

A soft smile lifted one corner of San’s lips. Wooyoung loved him. It was a very needed reminder. Not because the younger one didn’t say or show it enough, but because sometimes, it was hard to keep in mind.

“You came. A bit late, but you did. Thank you,” he muttered, gaze drifting back to the floor, away from Wooyoung’s reflection. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“If I hadn’t panicked it would’ve been easier.”

Wooyoung chuckled bitterly.

“Don’t you dare to put that on your fault. It doesn’t even matter. And it happens. I used to panic, I sometimes still do. It’s normal, you’re killing strangers, San. People who could be innocent to your eyes if you saw them in the streets. You just have to remember they aren’t.”

“I just wonder sometimes who I am to punish them. To decide that my safety has more value than theirs. I’m nobody. I don’t have the right to. I’m no better.”

“You’re saying this as if those people deserve to be punished by a specifically good person. Whether it’s by you, me, or someone else, it doesn’t change anything.”

“It does, though. Because you do it by obligation, now. For the money as well. While I… Well, I don’t know. And you were right, Wooyoung. It is disgusting that I even hesitate.”

San wanted to flee, but he couldn’t exactly. He was horrified by himself. Wooyoung didn’t answer, filling the yellowed bathtub with steaming water. He led his boyfriend into it.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” the older one muttered, so silently that Wooyoung almost missed it.

“No.”

“Even yesterday?”

“Yesterday, you said something that didn’t resemble you. That’s true. But I got my answer today, San-ah. You don’t like killing, San. You’re afraid of enjoying it.”

“I don’t know anymore,” he answered, expression twisting into a pained frown.

Wooyoung got rid of his sticky clothes, getting in the bath as well, pulling San closer to wet his hair.

“Well, I do.”

The younger man cupped water in his hands, pouring it on the other one’s shoulders and rubbing gently his skin. He then continued on San’s left arm, erasing the dried traces of fingers, and diluting the sparse crimson coat blocking the pores. He gently rinsed the knuckles, red from irritation, before moving to the fingerprints and nails, cleaning the blood stuck in every crease.

“Do you want to restart therapy?” Wooyoung asked, still focused on his task.

“What would I even tell them? That killing people is absolutely terrifying, yet I’m also scared of starting to enjoy it? It’s useless, ‘Young-ah.”

“I don’t know… You could do like last time? Let out your traumas. Wouldn’t that help you?”

“If it had changed anything, would I need to get back to it?”

Wooyoung smiled sadly, taking San’s other hand to clean it.

“I guess not,” he admitted. “I’m here for you, though. Always.”

“I’m sorry for being like that.”

“No,” Wooyoung disagreed, shaking his head. “Don’t be. You don’t have to say sorry for being you. It’s fine. I love you, okay? You. ”

He looked at the older man, who seemed so ashamed, shoulders hunched, head hanging low. San wasn’t like that, Wooyoung thought. The years had made him forget that he was more than just someone who had to fight to stay sane. The years had stolen so much from him, including the man that had always made sure San would stay proud: his grandpa.

“You’re strong, San. It’s admirable. You’re not perfect, but you’re really human.”

San wasn’t proud, hearing those words. He was even more ashamed. Because he already felt like he had disappointed both his boyfriend and his grandpa; it was too late.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Wooyoung whispered, forehead leaning forward to rest against San’s.

The older man’s hand clamped on his boyfriend’s, closing his eyes, feeling the tears burn. Wooyoung kissed him delicately, with all the love he had, with all the care he could share. A voice at the back of San’s mind screamed that he didn’t deserve so much, but with more pecks, more caresses of fingers on his cheeks, more smiles when their noses bumped into each other, that voice was muffled. Silenced.

And when San hugged him, shivering in the lukewarm water, Wooyoung felt the hot tears run down the goosebumps on his shoulder. Without noticing, he cried as well, hands pulling his boyfriend closer, letting himself enjoy his presence.

“Maybe a therapist can’t do much, but you can. Those demons of yours… Fight them, San-ah. I know you can.”

To which the older one nodded, sniffling. San left a kiss on Wooyoung’s shoulder, like a silent thanks. He felt safe in those arms, at home. It was the only place where he could be himself—afraid. Wooyoung was that kind of person to him; that kind of person he would never let go of, that kind of person for whom he was ready to try, again and again, to be a better human, whatever that meant.

Tears didn’t stop. They lingered with his cries, lingered with his fears and with his demons. Blood felt sticky on his pristine clean skin.

Chapter Text

The cold air was thick with humidity. The darkness made them invisible, yet they couldn’t feel reassured by it; the organization was aware of their presence. Wooyoung and San were perched on a neighboring rooftop, sitting right behind a short brick wall, waiting for time to pass. There was too much movement to go on with the mission, and Seonghwa would be furious if he heard they took too many risks; they could still hear him repeating that any slight problem was enough to retreat. 

So, they waited, freezing fingers intertwined while their free hands held a weapon each. Wooyoung’s head was resting on San’s shoulder, eyes closed for some easy rest as the older one stayed alert.

The silence was comfortable but unnerving. Every brush of the wind was startling.

“Are you nervous?”

“As always,” Wooyoung answered, burying their laced hands in his hoodie’s pocket. “Are you?”

“A bit, I guess. Hyung made me feel nervous and unprepared. Let’s be extra careful, okay?”

“Of course. Remember, I’ve got your back, San-ah,” he whispered, leaving a delicate peck right over San’s jaw.

Somewhat, it made the older even more nervous. There was something at the pit of his guts, threatening. Isn’t this mission about blood? His mind was at it again.

“It’s been a while since the last man did his round. I’ll go lookout for their next guard and see what I can do from there. If I can, I’ll get inside without him noticing. If that’s not possible, then I’ll distract him with a little fight for you to enter, okay?”

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we go together?”

Wooyoung chuckled, grinning widely, eyes pressed in crescents.

“You sound the same as during your first mission,” he commented. “Isn’t it less risky if we’re not together, though? You’ll be able to look out for some exterior danger.”

“Right. Then, let’s do it. Good luck, see you down there.”

“Love you,” Wooyoung whisper-screamed, letting go of his boyfriend’s hand to send him a flying kiss, and go down a thick metal pipe.

“Love you too,” San’s voice answered, hoarse from the cold.

Wooyoung probably hadn’t heard it, already reaching the ground. The older man looked down to the alleyway, spotting his boyfriend moving along the wall. San scrutinized every detail around, to look for any threat, but it was clear of any menace. He recalled the leader’s computer’s password, just to verify that he still knew it by heart, without a doubt. Time passed, as he rolled his wrists and hopped on one foot and another—staying low enough to not be noticeable in the darkness. The blood rushed in his numb toes. His heart pumped a little harder, maybe out of expectation. Hands turning clammy, he wondered why he was so nervous, why there was the beginning of a strong panic blooming in him.

And then, focusing back on the sight down the roof, he understood. In a nook’s shade was cowered a weird shape. San saw it coming, yet was slightly too late. Wooyoung entered by the back door like planned but was quickly followed by someone else. The man had been hidden and Wooyoung didn’t see him . 

With that in mind, San’s fingers tightened on his knife’s handle and with his other hand, grabbed the pipe to slide down its length; he couldn't lose a single second, not when he was unsure Wooyoung was aware of the danger he was in.

But as soon as San opened the back door, he was wrenched backward. A weight placated him on the ground, face against the sandy tar and weapon knocked out of his hand.

“Your name?”

San didn’t even take notice of the man’s question, groaning in pain as he came back to his senses.

“Your little friend’s already in a bad position, I wouldn’t try to play the bad guy.”

“What if I tell you I don’t give a shit about that kid?” San panted with a light chuckle, his lie surprisingly convincing.

“I’m afraid Park Seonghwa would be fairly disappointed in you but thank you for giving me the permission to kill the apprentice.”

San tried to stay impassable to give the wrong idea to that man, hoping it would blur his interest in Wooyoung and make him safer, but just the thought of his boyfriend getting hurt lit a flame in the pit of his stomach. Choke him, San. Choke that guy slowly, painfully. Make sure he gets a beautiful red ring around his neck. And this time, he didn’t try to fight his demons. They were right.

An elbow knock in the ribs took his opponent by surprise, giving San the chance to shift positions, and suddenly, he was on top of the other, hands tight around a thick throat. The man’s eyes watered, skin slowly taking taints of reds and blues under the lack of oxygen. Beautiful .

But Wooyoung was in danger. We don’t care about him! San did. He got up, stomping on the man’s face with his foot before stealing his knife and heading inside.

The corridor was plunged in darkness, the bright red exit sign being the only light projected on the concrete walls. A smell of mold was immediately recognizable, followed closely by a scent of blood—which was both old and new, vice and sweet. Wooyoung’s name rang in San’s mind over and over as he ran down the corridor, trying to find another alley, a room, something .

When a metallic door was presented, he didn’t hesitate and entered boldly, hands shaking as he looked around and detailed the place. It was a stairwell. One high stairwell. A few seconds passed during which he tried to decide whether he should go back to the corridor, down the stairs, or climb them up, but all reflections were stopped when a loud bang echoed a few floors above.

Four stairs per four stairs, San passed the first floor, but didn’t slow down as he noticed the plateau was empty—and he tried to ignore the insane quantity of blood he could see dripping down the concrete, despite being in very dim lighting. A few steps into the next flight and a mass freefell in between the rows of stairs, landing on the first floor’s plateau with a horrible thud. 

San froze, mind spinning and hoping for anything, anything but what was his only hypothesis. Go back down, sweetie. There will be more blood. A soft plaint bounced up the stairwell’s walls, finally awakening San’s legs. He didn’t register his movements; running down a few stairs, and then missing a couple of them and falling miserably on the wet, cold flooring. Getting back up and hurrying to the silhouette rolled in a ball, and hoping, oh praying , that this was the guy Wooyoung had been determined to fight. That this slumped form wasn’t similar to his boyfriend’s under the sheets every night. That the emergency red light didn’t shine bright enough to see so much blood, but also some white rods piercing the skin. Broken bones. 

This time, the plaint was louder, languishing and transcribing suffering. It was something San had never heard from Wooyoung—hoped he would’ve never either—but as soon as he did, he recognized his lover for sure. There was no denying anymore. Wooyoung was in pain, blood beating out of his open veins and bones peeking under his skin. Wooyoung was in excruciating pain.

But it wasn’t too late, he was still alive.

“Wooyoung,” San breathed out, rushing to his boyfriend’s side, holding his hand.

The man’s fingers dug in the older’s skin, gearing up for another shaky, weak breath.

“Get out of here,” Wooyoung whispered. “I’m dying.”

“Shut up, Wooyoung. You’re not. I’ll get you on my back, okay? Might hurt, but-”

“San, the guy’s still-” he halted his sentence with a cry. “upstairs.”

Actually, the man wasn’t anymore. A knife stabbed San’s shoulder, dark blood dripping down. The latter got up, the blade still deep in his flesh, and walked backward, back colliding with his opponent and ramming him in the wall behind them. San took a step forward for momentum, and placated the man against the concrete all over again, this time screaming in pain as the blade hunched further into his own body.

His rival pushed him away from behind, but it only gave San the opportunity of crashing on the other’s body another time, increasing the impact. When his opponent’s knees gave up, leaving him to fall on the floor, San finally stopped, limping to his boyfriend.

He looked unconscious, though the couple of flutters of his eyelids proved the contrary.

Deep, red blood.

And San wanted to scream and beat himself up to death for letting his own mind get to those thoughts. Instead, he picked Wooyoung up—who cried out in pain, feeling his broken bones tear his muscles from the inside. San only whimpered. Whether it was from the knife still stuck into his shoulder, the weight on his exhausted body, the screams of Wooyoung, or the fear paralyzing his mind, he couldn’t tell.

As he ran away from the building, no one stopped him. Everyone was probably sure it was too late, worthless, anyway. Except for San. Because if Wooyoung was breathing, then Wooyoung wouldn’t die.

Colors, silhouettes, and shadows blended in a blur around him as he ran in the empty streets, hearing each and every plaint from Wooyoung and trying his best to not let his weight slow him down. Sweat rolled on San’s temples, hair sticking to his forehead, blood drying in crusts on his skin. The arms around his neck loosened with every passing second, with every step, with every weak breath.

And as San finally ran up the apartment’s stairs, he could feel deep relief rooting in his heart along with the fear. When he banged his fist on the door, the fingers grabbing the collar of his T-Shirt tightened the slightest bit, spreading hope in his chest as well.

“Seonghwa! Seonghwa!”

The door didn’t open. San kicked it. It didn’t bulge.

“He’s dying!” he screamed, and his throat burned, but it was nothing like the rage building up in his heart.

Because he could hear what was going on right behind that door, and it’s only then that he wanted to yell at whatever god everyone was praying for. That god was merciless.

And then the door opened, revealing Seonghwa who was heaving for breath, a deep cut straddling his left cheek, down his neck. Blood everywhere. Probably only a mere proportion of it was Seonghwa’s.

“Get him on the table. Now.”

The older man’s voice was authoritarian, barely surprised, barely affected, as if he knew it would happen. As if the sight of his childhood friend’s body, broken and bloody, didn’t bring him to the brink of tears, nor awakened any panic. It did .

San didn’t question the two or three corpses lying around in the living room. He put Wooyoung down on the table, gently, flinching when he heard a weak plaint from his boyfriend. He let out a hitching breath when he felt the blade shift inside his own flesh at the movement.

Seonghwa came back from the bathroom with the medical equipment they had—nothing much when you looked at Wooyoung’s state, but he would work with that.

“Call an ambulance, San.”

“W-What?”

“Call an ambulance. He’s dying. He will die.”

The words didn’t seem to register in the man’s brain.

“Don’t,” Wooyoung muttered. “I’m a dead man. Don’t take that kind of risk when it’s too late anyway.”

And if it was his wish, then Seonghwa knew he would have to respect it, taking the phone from San’s trembling fingers, and throwing it around. It bounced on the kitchen’s cabinet before landing in the sink with a displeasing, metallic thud.

Wooyoung murmured something for Seonghwa to hear.

“I will,” the older said, nodding shakily, refusing to let the tears sink down his cheeks. “You know I will. Don’t worry about that, Woo’.”

San stood frozen on his feet, looking at his bloody hands with wide eyes. You’ve got more blood on your hands. Another death. But how could Wooyoung die? How was it possible? Life without Wooyoung hadn’t ever seemed like a possibility, to him.

“San-ah?”

His voice was so rough, so broken, so desperate, so weak. It hurt to kneel by him. To grab his hand. To rest forehead against his tensed shoulder and to only smell blood. Vice. Bitter. Acid. Metallic.

“Can you hold me?” Wooyoung whispered faintly, his breath missing beats.

So, San did. His arms snaked around the other’s broken form, tucking Wooyoung’s head under his chin and tightening his hold. He felt the vibration of a pained sob against his chest.

“It will stop hurting, I promise. I love you. Thank you so much ‘Young-ah…” San said, voice off-tuned, yet so earnest. “Wooyoung, you have no idea… I’m sorry. You did so much for me. And you’re so-”

“And I love you more. I don’t regret a thing.”

Breaths slowed down, close to pulling a stop.

“Please take care.”

San felt the vibrations of those words against his heart. It’s the last movement he perceived from Wooyoung’s body, heartbeat losing itself and chest freezing, immobile as ever.

The apartment fell silent. The only perceptible sounds were San’s repetitive ‘no’ uttered over and over again. Quiet sobs joined the choral. 

San’s heart was tainted with guiltiness. Seonghwa’s mind was filled with regret. Wooyoung’s soul was lost.

Out of the three of them, they wouldn’t have thought Wooyoung would be the first one to die. In all honesty, they all believed it would’ve been San. The younger man had a family. Parents and brothers waiting for him to come home. Wooyoung had many friends, Wooyoung had been a normal kid, Wooyoung had a life outside of that nasty job. Wooyoung wasn’t really a killer either. He was everyone’s healer, and the only reason why blood was on his hands was from curiosity and empathy. Seonghwa once needed help. Wooyoung gave him, despite the protests. And Wooyoung died from it, years later.

He left too quickly, San thought. It’s unfair. It’s unfair that it’s him.

The next morning, the sun rose too quickly. Seonghwa and San sat side by side in the bathtub, ribbons of golden light seeping between the blind’s wooden slats. The water had turned pink. Their cuts burned from the soap. They didn’t say a word, washing up the remnants of a terrifying night. San tried to shut his mind up. To stop his demons from focusing on the bloody water, to focus solely on remembering Wooyoung’s lively face. He needed to.

Blood. Blood. Blood. So much blood. More blood. Always more. Please, San. More blood. Blood. Blood.

“Just shut up!” he screamed, voice breaking as his nails dug in his own scalp.

Seonghwa flinched, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t know how the younger one would manage to get better without Wooyoung. His hand slid at the back of San’s neck, massaging it slightly.

“I think I should go see his family.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“They’re going to hate me.”

“It’s not your fault, San.”

“If I had been quicker-”

“You weren’t! Don’t make him come back to life in your head, he’s dead. Accept it,” Seonghwa said, gritting his teeth, voice trembling.

A beat passed. Both of them were shaking.

“But I could’ve-”

“You couldn’t. Stop it, San. I can listen to you talk about many crazy things but stop talking about his death. Stop making it even more painful. Get out of your fucking head, this one time.”

Seonghwa had never cursed at him before since he hated to hear San do so. Seonghwa had rarely been this angry either. But he had the right to be, San thought. He totally had the right to be a bit selfish with his words for the first time, and to let out accumulated frustration, and to drain out some pain as well.

“Okay. Sorry.”

San got out of the bathtub, ignoring Seonghwa sobbing behind him and wrapping a towel around himself, leaving the bathroom. Once in their— his —bedroom, he barely dried himself, putting some sweatpants and hoodie on, before leaving the apartment. It was a bad idea, but he still had to do it, because guiltiness was already eating him alive as if to conceal the actual pain of losing Wooyoung. He didn’t know what was worse. Probably both.

To be completely honest, San had never even considered the option of losing him. It had been a certitude in his mind that he would get lost before anyone else. Maybe he should’ve worried about it when he still could’ve.

San knocked on the blue door. It opened on Wooyoung’s older brother. A bit like the first time he had come there by himself.

“San? Is everything alright? Woo’s not here for the week, I thought he would’ve told you.”

The younger man repressed a wet chuckle and closed his eyelids to stop more tears from falling. He kneeled, and lowered his head to the ground.

“What are you doing? San?”

When he was back on his two feet, he barely looked at the man.

“I’m sorry.”

And with an apology thrown in the air, he left, feeling his demons tugging at his arm. He let them.

Chapter Text

San missed Wooyoung the most in the morning. The younger one had always been there to help him start the day better. To get up from his bed. To smile a bit over idiocies. To eat well despite not being very hungry. To be a better person, from the moment he woke up.

Without Wooyoung, San couldn’t feel much except for fear. Everything was engulfed in frozen anticipation, terrifyingly.

He woke up looking at the unwrinkled sheets by him. He contemplated the pillow, still fluffy from being unused. San didn’t get up for a while, lethargic. When he finally did, he stopped in front of the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot. Blood. On his wrists and his throat were still bruises. Blue hues turning green. San scratched them as if to peel them off. His skin became red from irritation. He gave up.

The worst thing about mornings was eating alone. A painful reminder. A moment to let thoughts have the best of him. So, he called Seonghwa, who didn’t come out of his bedroom. Tears filled San’s eyes, but he retained them. The abyss in his chest was dug deeper, again. He knocked at the door.

“Please.”

Maybe it was his broken voice. Maybe it was the desperation brought by it. Maybe it was the sole plea that was enough. Maybe Seonghwa was just hungry. San didn’t really mind, because his friend came out anyway, looking as bad as himself.

“Let’s cook something,” the older whispered, a sad smile hunching over his lips.

Seonghwa then frowned, raising a hand to the younger’s throat and gliding the tip of his index on the damaged skin.

“Does it still hurt?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s fine.”

“I’ll give you some cream to help it heal.”

“Whatever.”

His whisper was hoarse, either from his injury or his cries. It didn’t matter. They headed to the kitchen, Seonghwa getting a pan for eggs, and San putting bread in the toaster. That was the highest level of cooking they felt capable of as for then.

“How are you doing, San-ah?”

They looked at each other for a while, not even blinking. Dark irises reflected each others’. San shook his head slightly. No. He was not doing great. There was no point in lying.

“You should pay a visit to your grandma. She’s your family. She must miss you a lot. And I think you’d need that as well.”

A frown took place on San’s face as tears slumped down his cheeks, lunging the curve of his nose, before pooling on his Cupid’s bow and falling on his twisted lips. Sobs racked his body, and he let them, reducing the space between him and Seonghwa, hugging the older man tightly.

“Don’t wanna leave you alone,” San muttered.

“Worry about yourself first.”

“You’re my family too, ‘Hwa. As much as grandma.”

They parted after a while, and San’s eyes shifted to the other man’s neck, where laid a grand cut, slowly scaring. That night had been a close call for Seonghwa as well, San suddenly remembered. He hated himself for it. For not asking daily how Seonghwa’s injuries were healing. For not really worrying about his friend—not because he didn’t care, but because his mind seemed to have gone blank for the last full week. For not really being there.

“Please don’t worry about me. You have it hard enough,” the younger one pronounced carefully.

Seonghwa gave a tight-lipped smile. He did lose his best friend. His childhood friend. One he considered as a brother. He didn’t have a memory of the time he lived without Wooyoung because they had been too young when they first met. Seonghwa would have preferred to never know what losing the owner of half his life’s memories was like.

“You do too, though.”

The toasts jumped, and San put them in plates. Eggs quickly followed. When Seonghwa poured the first glass of milk, he frowned; it had gone bad. They drank water with their meal.

The apartment was drenched in silence, safe for the regular clank of utensils against plates. It felt good to finally share a meal. The lack of words didn’t make the mood darker or colder, it only left space for the emptiness of their minds to take over.

Once everything was eaten, they stayed seated, facing each other, yet not daring to let their gazes cross. Nobody was there to lighten up the mood. The younger man got up, busying himself at cleaning up the few plates and utensils used.

“San-ah? Can I talk to you about business?” Seonghwa asked, voice husky from the lack of use.

The younger man’s eyes darkened, but he gave a short nod. They were in for life—hence why it had cost Wooyoung’s.

“The same organization is after us since I killed some of their members when they intruded mid-mission,” Seonghwa sighed, pointing at the nasty scar on his neck. “We’re both looked for. They don’t know the location of this apartment, since I eliminated everyone who did that night, but it’s really just a matter of time. We have to go back to work. They won’t just kill us, they’ll keep us for a while… I don’t wanna know what they’d do to us.”

They would be tortured. That was how it worked, in that organization. They both knew it; they had chosen to target them for that type of crime in the first place. 

Just imagining working without Wooyoung was scary. Just the idea of being there, alone. Just the obligation of not having his boyfriend’s presence to guide him through every step, to need his help back, or to just be partners. Just that was enough for San to need to sit back on his chair, legs suddenly shaking.

“What kind of work?”

“Ideally? Collect enough information to get rid of them, in a legal way. If not, then just threaten them and make sure they gain new enemies so that we won’t have to do the hard and dirty job.”

Both options were a bit sketchy. Dangerous as well. Both of them meant going on the terrain. Both options meant San had to build back his old facade to preserve himself, even in the middle of a chaos of violence.

“Like that organization of rapists when I was starting? To collect archives of their crimes and send it to the police?”

“Yeah, similar. This one’s bigger, though. And I don’t know if they do keep archives. Most organizations destroyed theirs when they discovered what we did. It’s really just luck we weren’t targeted after that,” Seonghwa sighed deeply. “I don’t have a plan. What we had organized with Wooyoung can’t work out if we’re only two. I also think I’ll get back on the terrain as well, you shouldn’t go there alone.”

San agreed, pulling his knees towards his chest and keeping a steady gaze on the ground.

“I don’t know how work will go, hyung,” he admitted. “I mean… I’ve always worked with him. And even then… Things didn’t always go well,” he whispered shakily.

Memories of all the times he panicked, of all the times Wooyoung was there to rely on, all the missions he would’ve died on if it wasn’t for his partner. Seonghwa bit his lip, looking away.

“I don’t like the idea either. It’s not a lovely situation. But you won’t be sent alone, and we won’t take risks. I’ll always be there to make sure nothing unplanned happens, okay? We won’t attack anymore, San-ah. We’ll stay low profile forever unless we get targeted. I don’t think I’ll ever feel ready to go back to old work without Wooyoung. I don’t think it’s safe for you to work alone either.”

A new pause set in, like usual. They were often silent, now that Wooyoung wasn’t there. On the brink of regret, at any second of the day.

“What about giving up?” San asked.

“That leads us to our death.”

To which the younger one shrugged his shoulders, gaze suddenly haggard.

“You want to die?” Seonghwa asked, tone changing.

Said this way, it sounded macabre. It was nothing new.

“Don’t even think about that, San. Don’t be selfish.”

“How is that-”

“What was Wooyoung’s last will?”

Tears got stuck in his eyelashes. His heart was thumping hard in his temples. His chest was hurting. And they were both in the same state. If their vision wasn’t blurry, they would’ve found the scene hard to see.

“You promised. I did too. And you also once said you’d never give up. And you also said I was family to you. Do you want to leave your family alone? What about grandma?”

“Stop trying to make me feel guilty for wishing to make things easier, hyung.”

“Then stop being irrational. I don’t want to lose you too. I’m selfish. It’s egoistic of me to make you feel guilty. I know. I don’t care . I don’t want to lose you too. I know I’m useless towards your pain, I know only Woo’ was able to help, and I’m so sorry, but I need you, San. Please . Y-You’re… You’re my little brother.”

San felt shivers simmering his skin, goosebumps blooming under his hoodie. He felt on the brink of dangerous thoughts and, for once, didn’t want to go there.

“Okay.”

It was almost too easy.

“Let’s start planning tomorrow.”

The next meetings were constantly halted by the need to get out of the living room, since it felt stuffy, without Wooyoung. The pauses were frequent, forced by the need for mourning. By the need to cope with one's sudden disappearance.

It took a full week to choose what would be their next move. If they were to be honest, they had no idea where to start, but they knew they had to do something. They couldn’t let that organization believe they were an easy target. Truth was… They were.

“We’re not advancing. There’s no other way. Let’s just go on with the mission Wooyoung and I couldn’t finish,” San uttered, words seemingly scraping his throat.

“It was too dangerous, even with two weeks of careful planning. That’s not something we should do. That’s not something we’ll be able to do.”

“Then what? Shouldn’t we take that organization down? They’ll never back off, they’ll be behind us up until our death. So, let’s ruin them first. And I’ll kill that asshole, to be fair. Job done, we’ll live a calm and fucking boring life. Perfect. We’ll love that, won’t we? Awesome! ”

“You’re not killing anyone, San.”

“What do you mean? He threw him down the fucking staircase, hyung. Of course, I’ll kill that asshole.”

“No. You’re not going anywhere intending to kill someone.”

“I am, though.”

“Then you’re not going anywhere. I’m completely serious, San. I’m not allowing you to enjoy killing. Ever. You hear me?”

“He’d deserve it.”

Seonghwa couldn’t agree more, but that thought only stayed in his head. Wooyoung’s last wish towards Seonghwa was to make sure San would stay himself. The older man felt the control over the situation slowly seep between his fingers.

“I don’t care about him. I don’t give a shit about that man, San-ah. He is absolutely not turning you into someone who likes to kill.”

San hissed, planting his elbows on the table and digging his fingers into his thick hair, pulling on the locks. His breathing quickened. His chest hurt a bit.

“Then I don’t know what to do. Fucking hell. What can we even do, hyung?”

“Do you remember what allowed you to do this job?”

“A lie. You lied, then, right? When you said I’d be out as soon as I’d work for violence. It was just a hope I’d never get to enjoy it, right?”

Seonghwa looked at his folded hands, smiling sadly, remembering the old times. They were also hard times. He realized both of them had never known easy times.

“Yeah. You can never get out of that kind of job.”

A hefty silence hunched their shoulders. Discomfort. And a wait. A long wait for more.

“You have to keep your promise anyway.”

San was about to chuckle, but it stayed stuck in his throat when he remembered.

“I never did. Never promised.”

He wished he had. Now that he was thinking about it, he wished to have sealed such a promise then. He would now have to keep it. But he hadn’t.

“You promised to Wooyoung you’d take care of yourself.”

San wished he hadn’t. It was ironic. He nodded nonetheless.

“Anyway. You were right. That organization won’t back off. Maybe we should try taking it down,” Seonghwa agreed.

“We should.”

“Then let’s do it. We don’t have enough information yet… We don’t even know what to target to incriminate them… We still have to make a move as soon as possible, though. Something not too dangerous, but enough to make them anticipate.”

The younger one sipped on water, then rested against the back of his chair, smiling. All dimples on display, yet eyes void of any happiness.

“Let’s send them money.”

“Money?”

“With a little message. You remember why we targeted them in the first place, right? It’s when they gave us money to thank us. And Wooyoung didn’t want anything to do with it,” San chuckled the words, tasting their bitterness. “We never approved of their ways. They still owe us a lot. The money they gave us a few years back doesn’t count in any way. It never did. Isn't the new year soon, anyway?”

Seonghwa let a dark smile lift the corner of his lips. They got up, headed towards the older one’s bedroom, and opened the safe. They filled a red envelope with the right amount of money and picked up a sheet.

May you enjoy your healthy life. You owe us. Happy new year.

It was folded, put in the envelope, which was then sealed.

“Let’s just get in the building, slide it under the main guy’s door, and leave.”

Two days later, they woke up from a close to sleepless day. The sun was about to set. They were ready for one hell of a night. San got up without looking at the other side of the bed. He ignored his own gaze in the mirror. Anger was boiling in his blood.

In the last rays of sunlight, they dressed, arming themselves and preparing the last details. They recalled the whole planning in turns. Seonghwa picked up a dagger San had never seen before. 

“Its owner was an intruder, that night,” the older man only said, pointing at the large scar on his neck. 

It wasn’t entirely healed, but it wasn’t critical at all anymore. After tightening their boots, they faced the door like an enemy for a few seconds before opening it and leaving. Seonghwa drove them a few streets away from the exact location. They waited in the car for long minutes, adrenaline taking over.

“Will you be fine on terrain? It’s been at least a year, right?”

“It's second nature to me. I’ll be fine. How about you?”

“I’ll focus on the mission,” San muttered.

He showed the envelope to the other man, jaw hurting from how hard he gritted his teeth together. His eyes were darker than ever. Seonghwa saw an ounce of familiarity in the rage filling San’s gaze. He remembered seeing it for the first time on the sidewalk, close to their school when they were still students. Right before San discovered Seonghwa’s job. Back then, as a teenager, the boy’s stare had held a new hatred for life, and a determination. Such determination wasn’t pointed towards any goal.

Now, that determination had found a purpose, the older man noticed. He couldn’t tell if it was a good one. Probably not.

“We have a job to do.”

Seonghwa didn’t have the time to say anything more before San exited the car. The older man looked at his friend’s back. He skimmed the silhouette as it became smaller and smaller. He found it sad, where they were at.

The envelope was crumpled in San’s hand, almost torn. 

It wasn’t because he hadn’t tried to escape his own anger; his childhood had been dedicated to fleeing from violence. San was scared of hurting people, had always been. San had ended up doing so anyway, despite hating it. And now, walking calmly to the enemy, he was filled with perceptible anger. With hatred. With rage. And also, with determination.

San didn’t enjoy violence, but he was bathed in it, had always been. And this time, he was too exhausted to stop it. So, he didn’t.

Chapter Text

Despite having worked together only a few times, Seonghwa and San were completing each other effortlessly, without even having to talk. They were similar, in a way. It was nothing new.

Six men to fight turned into three, and then two. It’s only when San’s elbow collided painfully with his opponent that he turned around, ready to help his partner. Instead, his eyes grazed a familiar face.

Right there, fighting with Seonghwa. Right there, a thick, purple strip ringing the full circumference of his neck, a shadow of San’s fingers from two weeks earlier. If he hadn’t been there, it wouldn’t have become too late… San saw red. His anger covered the rest; covered his goal, his professionalism, and his calm. He had never lost control during a mission. He had never failed to remember the main goal. But that man… He couldn’t bear the sight.

It was enough for him to pull his knife and separate Seonghwa from his opponent. It was enough for him to placate their assailant on the ground and to pierce him so many times the holes couldn’t be counted. There wasn’t an ounce of satisfaction. There wasn’t an ounce of relief. San had an ugly feeling building into the pit of his stomach, threatening to spill. The only thing that spilled was the man’s blood.

“It’s your fault,” he whispered, aware that the man wasn’t very conscious by now.

“S-San,” called someone behind him.

“Die. Just die.”

“San…”

“You killed him. If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have been too late.”

“San!”

“You…”

He wanted to add something, but his throat was burning, hurting, as if his vocal cords were twisted and tangled. His words got stuck as he gasped, choking on his will to talk.

“Stop this,” Seonghwa ordered.

San obeyed. He tried getting back up, but couldn’t, his whole frame shaking. Instead, he crawled a few meters away from the body. His tears were stinging the few cuts on his skin, mixing with the blood slowly drying in crusts.

Seonghwa held his hand out to San.

“Give me the envelope.”

The younger one did, pulling it out of his pocket. If it hadn’t already been red, the paper would’ve looked macabre, wet with blood. Seonghwa kneeled by the corpse, looking intently at the man’s neck. At the large bruise, the only proof of an old fight.

“Is he the one who killed Wooyoung?”

“No. He’s the one who stopped me from saving him.”

“That will do.”

Seonghwa had a glint of anger in his gaze, sparkling amongst his otherwise neutral traits. He pulled the dagger out of his boot carefully, removing the weapon’s leather case. Seonghwa put the envelope on the man’s pierced chest. The paper damped with more blood. After one deep breath, he raised the dagger in the air, and planted the blade in the envelope, lodging it deep between two ribs.

He got up and helped San do the same, walking down the staircase leading to the closest emergency exit. There were echoes of shouts from the corridor they had just left. They ignored them. No one chased them either. Each stair made San’s legs more wobbly until Seonghwa lifted him on his back. There were no traces of blood left on the concrete, but San could still see it in the darkness. There, Wooyoung had been thrown to his death.

When the older one opened the metallic door, a grinning man was waiting for them outside. Seonghwa took out his gun and shot him before the thug could utter a single thing. It was the first time in years he had used his pistol.

Seonghwa walked them to the car, San still shaking on his back. The ride back home was silent. They washed up with rags, and then changed clothes. The older one tucked his friend in bed, closed the light, and was about to leave when San breathed in shakily.

“Hyung? Are you disappointed in me?”

It took minutes for Seonghwa to walk back to the other’s bed, sliding under the sheets and pulling him in a hug. His chin rested on top of San’s head. His fingers caressed the locks of dark hair. The younger one could feel Seonghwa’s chest shaking under somersaults. He didn’t question his silent cries.

“I’m sorry,” San whispered, hugging his friend tighter. “We’ll be fine, right? It will be fine, ‘Hwa.”

The apartment fell back into silence. Like the new usual. It had become normal, not to talk. It’s not like they had anything to say anyway. The rising sun seeped through the frosted window. Like that, they fell into a light, troubled sleep.

When San woke up, he was alone in a cold bed. He sat, and then got up, shivering from the contact of his feet against freezing wooden flooring. He stopped his movement as soon as he saw the mirror. On his neck was a greenish stripe. He was no better. No better than the man he had killed.

San got out of the room, looking for his friend. Seonghwa was in his own bedroom, working on his computer.

“What are you doing?”

“Planning our next mission.”

“Hyung, I’m unsure.”

“I’m sorry. We can’t stop there. They were already after us and we threatened them.”

“I don’t think I’m able to go back to that building, Seonghwa.”

“I know. I’m looking into stealing from another organization. I found one in the morning. The plan is not even close to being complete, but we still need to lay it out.”

“Did you even sleep?”

Seonghwa smiled softly.

“Enough to work. Whatever. There’s this organization… We’ve dealt with them once, by mistake. They’re not too dangerous and they have values. But that’s not the most important; they have information about almost every organization out there. I was able to hack their system a few years back when I was still alone, and there was a lot to find. They have reinforced their security since then, though.”

“Who are they?”

“They don’t really have a name, but I’ve talked to you about Hongjoong, right?”

San nodded, frowning at the familiarity of the name.

“He’s the leader. He went to our school, too. Not an angel, but not an asshole either.”

“What do you expect of me?”

“To not go past your limits,” Seonghwa uttered sternly. “That’s the most important.”

“Okay, but what about in terms of mission?”

“Enter their organization. Find the information. Disappear from their lives.”

“Why don’t we just pay?”

“Hongjoong doesn’t sell his goods. I told you: he has values.”

“Are they easy to enter?”

“Not at all. The last member got in three years ago. They’re all very close, from what I know.”

“Then I have to get close to them first?”

Seonghwa opened a folder on his computer and showed a document to San.

“There’s this guy, easily approachable, going to the bar with another random member once or twice a week. Song Mingi. Here,” the older one said, pointing at a picture

“Send me the documents. I’ll see what I can do.”

The older one nodded with a soft smile, trying his best to be reassuring. San feigned to have bought it. The planks creaked under the man’s feet. They were both waiting. They didn’t know for what.

“Why don’t you go visit grandma? Or your cousin?”

“They wouldn’t like seeing me this way,” San only answered, voice raw. 

With that, he left the room. 

It took four days for them to complete a plan… It took them something close to a year to pull the folder out of a dusty pile.

“I don’t think we can keep delaying this, hyung.”

“We’re not ready. You’re not ready.”

“It’s not about being ready anymore. You got followed again this morning. I got followed two days ago. If I hadn’t noticed, I would’ve led them to grandma’s place. It’s a matter of time before they get tired of searching for our apartment. It’s a matter of time before we get kidnapped, to be honest.”

“Right.”

Seonghwa skimmed San’s expression, and then chuckled, looking at the ground.

“So, you think you’re ready for luring?”

When he raised his gaze again, San felt like fire bullets were piercing through him.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s what we planned, San-ah. Luring.”

Luring was one of his past specialties. Seonghwa had never been good at it, but when San started working, they discovered he had a natural ease with acting. Not only acting but also finding the right words to pull someone into a lie and make it extra believable. It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but in that line of work, it was a great advantage. And so, with years, San had been attributed missions created specifically for him; for luring. Wooyoung or Seonghwa were a backup at all times during those types of plans, and he’d solely focus on pulling people into his net of lies. 

Sometimes, only being friendly worked well. Sometimes, he had to flirt, and sometimes, it ended up getting close to a bed. Wooyoung had permitted the kisses and flirting. Even more if it was to stay safe. It was work, after all. But even when San knew he was allowed, even when he tried immersing himself into his role, he always ended up with an aftertaste of disgust with the simplest cringe words he’d have to say or hear. Every finger against his skin had been burning like acid. He had never found it pleasant. Only Wooyoung was supposed to be allowed to do all of that.

“I’m just wondering if you’ll be able to fake being in love, San. Even just showing interest.”

Love was reserved to Wooyoung. Even when he wasn’t there to receive it. The older man sighed deeply, eyebrows knitting. He got up and approached the other.

“Hey, sit down, let’s have a talk,” Seonghwa said, voice calm as he pulled the younger one on his bed to sit side by side. “I promised him to tell you. He wanted me to tell you. But it wasn’t the right moment, and you weren’t ready to hear that. Now isn’t the best either, but I feel like I should finally tell you, San-ah.”

“What is it?”

Seonghwa had tears in his eyes when he smiled. He looked pained but in peace with the memory. He had learned to accept it. They had learned to live through it.

“When he was dying, he asked me to take care of you, and to make sure you’d stay true to yourself.”

San lowered his head in shame. He felt like he had deceived that wish so many times.

“He also said one more thing.”

Seonghwa took San’s shaky hand in his. He englobed them with his other palm, holding it with constant, light pressure.

“He allows you to find love again. He wants you to find someone to be happy with.”

Tears crumbled down San’s face as he shook his head.

“I can’t… I- can’t. I miss him too much. Hyung, I-”

A loud sob racked his body.

“Wooyoung means so much to me.”

The fact alone that he didn’t use the past tense showed a lot.

“I know. I know you’re not ready, San. But if you ever want to… Then it’s okay.”

It wasn’t really, despite knowing that Wooyoung had meant what he had said. It wasn’t okay to walk past him. To love again. San didn’t feel like he had the right to live through another love story, to feel freed by it. He had done too much and too little at the same time. It was painful to even think about it. San would forever hold himself accountable for having made Wooyoung’s days harder.

“You’re allowed to feel happy, San-ah. So, please, don’t give up on that. Please try to be happier. For him. For yourself.”

A heavy silence settled in as San tried to calm down and dry his tears. When he succeeded, he waited a bit more, to be more composed.

“Let’s just get back to work, hyung. It’s not really a choice anymore, anyway.”

“You literally just said you-”

“I’ll be fine. I’m going to try to become part of their organization, I don’t need to become someone’s lover for that. Next time you see him entering a bar in the CCTVs, tell me. I’ll be ready.”

San got up, and was about to leave the room, but looked back at Seonghwa. The man’s face was still glistening with tears. The younger pulled the sleeve of his hoodie to dry his friend’s cheeks, smiling gently.

“I told you already. We’ll be fine.”

And they were. A few days later, San was on an uncomfortable stool, back hunched as he sipped on an alcohol-free drink. A beer was proposed to him by a random girl, but he refused politely, not even looking away from his own fingers tapping on the fogged glass. San twirled the liquid absentmindedly, looking here and there around until he spotted his target. Song Mingi.

Anyone’s first impression of the man would be focused on his height. Mingi did seem imposing physically, but the constant large grin he was bearing sold his personality. San wondered for a brief minute what such guy was doing in that line of work before remembering Wooyoung must’ve looked the same to others. Though he was good at his job, he was not someone who should’ve turned out this way.

But those were thoughts he had to save for later.

San’s gaze alternated between a specific, random man, and Mingi—who was now dancing along with a girl, each of their moves highlighted by bold silliness. His target seemed truly careless, though he probably was making sure to stay a minimum alert, just in case. Or maybe that was someone else’s job, someone who walked up to Song Mingi, and told him a few words before heading to a stool right next to San’s. Kang Yeosang.

If someone had told San he’d get lucky, he wouldn’t have believed it. Yet, that was the luckiest he had been since… Since a long while. He had to focus, to stop the memories of Wooyoung from making that mission fail.

Yeosang bought a drink, gulping half of it down in a second before leaning his elbows on the counter. He sighed, seemingly deep in thoughts, and then looked behind his shoulder, as if Mingi could’ve disappeared in a matter of seconds. Maybe, with that job.

San took the opportunity to reach for Yeosang’s glass and push it away from him.

“People are assholes, here,” he muttered, faking frustration. “Hey, I think your drink was drugged when you looked behind. I can’t spot the guy anymore, though.”

Yeosang looked at his glass—now out of range—and then at San, scrutinizing his every feature. He didn’t find the lie that was hidden there.

“You’re talking to me?”

“Yeah. Be careful, assholes are quick, here.”

The other man hummed, nodding, and then smiling.

“Thank you.”

“That’s basic decency.”

San went back to observing his own drink, not sipping on it anymore since the artificial taste started to make him nauseous.

“What are you doing here? You don’t seem to like partying,” Yeosang asked.

The door to conversation was open.

“A friend forced me to come with him, but he left as soon as he could. With a girl. I decided to stay a bit.”

“Well, same here. Playing the babysitters for the night,” Yeosang giggled.

It surprised San. He hadn’t heard someone laugh in months. And he had to fake being gleeful as well. So, he smiled. And it was faked, but at the same time, it brought a distant wave of warmth.

“I’m Yeosang.”

“San,” he answered.

Yeosang—San discovered—was easy to talk to. Someone who didn’t need a constant conversation to feel comfortable, but also someone who liked to add little things, or who said out loud little details he noticed about one’s speech. Yeosang cared, it was his major character trait. Yeosang was a bit blunt, a bit funny, and a bit calming. They could’ve become friends in another context.

When San left the bar, pleading a growing weariness and a long motorcycle ride back home, Yeosang grinned, wishing him a good night . And San smiled. Not enough for dimples to show, but enough for feeling the slightest more light-hearted. Maybe he lacked human interactions after all.

He got on his motorcycle, and stayed there, waiting a bit. The wind brushed his cheeks, blushing them as well as his ears. A few cars honked in the distance. San was used to be in a more secluded part of the city, where crimes were less surveilled, not in busy streets.

Once back home, Seonghwa didn’t ask him how it went; he only offered him a hug and fried rice. A classic. San took three bites before shaking his head, pushing the plate on the side. He couldn’t. Not that night.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have cooked that.”

“Don’t say sorry if you did nothing wrong, ‘Hwa,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes. Seonghwa’s munching was slow, hesitant, as if he was forcing himself. It seemed like they were feeding themselves poison. San focused on trying not to think about Wooyoung. Tried to forget that it was their go-to meal whenever they didn’t know what to eat. Tried to break the correlation. But even then, he couldn’t enjoy it anymore.

Despite what grandma had once told him, despite trying, despite the clock ticking away brittle memories, San knew. He knew that time wouldn’t make the loss of Wooyoung easier. Knew that what was linked to Wooyoung would stay his forever. And San was glad, even though it was painful.

He wouldn’t want to forget a sole detail about Wooyoung.

Chapter Text

San lingered in the aisle of cereals, hands becoming clammy. At the corner of his eyes, he could see a man dressed in black, a hand hidden in his pocket. That man, along with four others, was following him since he first entered the grocery store. San picked a random brand, dropping it in his cart. He didn’t even like that one, but that wasn’t really important anymore.

As he walked past his stalker, a tension built in his core. San was scared. It was ironic since he had never really held deep value to his life… But not caring about dying was different than being willing to get kidnapped and tortured, he guessed. His hand hovered over his necklace, but with a shake of the head, San decided not to press the pendant.

He didn’t want Seonghwa to be mixed into the situation this time. He preferred getting kidnapped alone, at least. He was starting to get tired of fleeing those men.

San stepped in the line to pay for his food—which wasn’t much since he couldn’t really focus on grocery shopping with such a threat—but a hand grabbed his biceps.

“San?”

He spun around, genuinely afraid, until his gaze fell on Kang Yeosang. The latter offered him a tight-lipped smile. San cursed Seonghwa in his head for not telling him that their mission’s targets were living close by. That was the type of thing that could sell them.

“Do you want to hang out?”

San chuckled, looking discreetly behind Yeosang’s shoulder, where two of the men were waiting.

“Sorry, I have some plans. It’s nice seeing you again, though,” he replied with a large grin.

With a slight bow of his head, he turned back towards the rest of the line. He wouldn’t pull another organization into this either.

“Hey, San…” Yeosang insisted.

The older one took a step closer to him and approached his mouth to San’s ear.

“Do you know you’re followed?” he whispered, a hand resting on the younger one’s shoulder to make the position more natural.

San gritted his teeth together. So, Yeosang had noticed…

“Yes.”

“Do you know how dangerous they are?”

The younger one nodded with a weak grin, dropping his cereal box, carton of milk, and three apples on the counter for the cashier to scan them since it was his turn to pay. 

“Will you be fine?”

San hesitated for a bit but surprised himself when he shook his head, a sad smile resting on the curve of his lips. No, probably not, but you shouldn’t care.  

“Then let’s go hang out. Just a bit, for them to leave you alone, okay? That’s not safe.”

“I’m able to deal with it.”

“I insist. Unless I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Yeosang wasn’t the type of person to make anyone uncomfortable, actually. That’s how they ended up in a cafe, San sipping on a black coffee, and the other one looking at the drink weird as he gulped down some hot chocolate.

“How do you drink it black?”

“Bitterness wakes me better than caffeine.”

The older one giggled, amused.

“It’s four in the afternoon, San. You’re still waking up?”

He smiled back, but there was no happiness shared with it. San did not answer. To be honest, he hadn’t slept during the previous night. He had had to keep an eye out for Seonghwa, who was out to make a deal with an informant.

“You look shaken. Is it the first time they followed you?”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

And like that, Yeosang and San told themselves lies until the sun started to set. Talking about daily lives at school. At work. It was ironic, how San appreciated conversing with the older one, even when he was aware it was mostly about blunt lies. It was distracting, he guessed. 

And then, lies slowly turned into half-truth, until San couldn’t find the reality in Yeosang’s but also in his own words. Discussing random subjects, even laughing here and there. Throwing anecdotes and jokes. 

“You seem very very close to your friends.”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve ever known friends like that, but they’re like family, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

That was both a lie and a truth since San couldn’t remember what a real family was, but his best guess was that Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and grandma were his. Maybe he could consider Jongho, too.

“What about you? Do you have close friends or are you really one mysterious loner?” the older man asked.

“It turned out complicated.”

“Okay.”

Yeosang sighed, clacking his empty cup on the table.

“Want me to lift you back home? I can tell you’re not in the mood to hang out anyway.”

“It’s not like that, I-”

“San, it’s fine. I just want to tell you that if you’re… in a bad situation, then I can help you, okay? Let’s not dwell here, you look tired.”

He got up, and San did the same, hands shaking from the caffeine. The ride back home was short and silent, but comfortable enough. He somewhat felt like he had known Yeosang for a long, long time, buried in the illusion he had built. San gave a fake address.

“Take care, and sleep early, you look absolutely wrecked from the lack of rest.”

He kept it in mind as he started walking towards his actual block—only once Yeosang was out of sight.

When San entered his apartment, Seonghwa was sitting at the kitchen table, a mess of papers laying around as he typed frantically on his laptop. His eyes were drooping close, liveliness long swallowed by his dark circles. His hair was in a mess, as well as his clothes—a white, coffee-stained shirt and old sweatpants. Seeing his friend overworking himself so hard, he realized how broken they now were, and he wondered if there was anything to do about it. They had lost the link to their team. The only one that had the power of keeping them sane, apparently.

“I got followed again this morning,” Seonghwa muttered, gaze still hooked on the graphs taking up most of his screen.

“Me too.”

His eyes averted from his task, looking briefly at the younger one, as if to make sure he hadn’t been pierced by a spear or something like that.

“I decided to keep a record of every time we’re followed. The date, time, place, and how many of them were after you. Oh, and if you notice anyone familiar. The notebook’s on the couch,”

“Why, though?”

“It’s getting out of hand. If it becomes truly life-threatening, we can send those records to the police. A simple search on the CCTVs and they’ll incriminate them.”

“Seonghwa, that also implies the authorities are going to look into us.”

“It’s that, or it’s getting kidnapped.”

“Hyung! We’ll get in prison!”

“Maybe we deserve that, though.”

“We do, but getting imprisoned would also mean that the organization we’re after would keep doing what they’re doing until the police decide they’re not afraid anymore. I’m not going to jail until they are.”

Seonghwa sighed, chuckling.

“Whatever… You’re right…”

“What are those statistics you’re looking into?”

“The number of people abducted by them through the months. And the number of cases listed by the police. Maybe the eight of them were legally recognized. All of them were concluded with a lack of evidence. The correlation with that organization was too low to get a warrant. If we find details about a couple of cases, then maybe it will do.”

“Where would we find them?”

“No idea. I think our best bet stays Hongjoong.”

“Okay…” San agreed. “I think I’ll take a few days off soon.”

Seonghwa looked straight at him and offered a robotic smile. He was tired. Too tired to ask questions and to get his mind off of whatever situation they were stuck in. The younger one decided to explain nonetheless.

“My cousin texted me earlier… He got in a fight with his mom and wants to get out of his room for a bit, but he’s scared to rent a motel room alone,” San chuckled. “Might go there in a few days.”

“Alright, don’t forget to be careful… Don’t get followed. Tell me when you’ll come back, okay?”

“Of course. No need to worry.”

Worrying was Seonghwa’s specialty. San couldn’t really blame him.

Going back to Namhae was a bit weird. Uncalled for. He didn’t really like that place, but if Jongho needed someone’s company—and money, San was aware—then he was ready to take that bus. Jongho was younger by only a year, but unlike his cousin, he was still studying, hard, to get a good job. Despite having grown up in a usual way, he had also grown attached to San since they were kids at the playground. The older one had taken care of him almost by instinct, and involuntarily, later on, it also made Jongho hyperaware of his cousin’s family situation. 

Jongho was the one who had first told their grandpa that San’s mom was annoying. They weren’t talking to each other very often, but they were close. The kind of closeness that could only be gained from barely seeing each other.

When San arrived at the motel, the younger man was waiting, sitting on the curb.

“You’re such a kid,” San grinned mockingly, pulling Jongho on his feet and swinging an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go rent that room.”

And like usual, they sat on the fatigued bed, side by side, talking about every single annoying thing in their lives. Rambling repetitively about the smallest issues. Their habit was to let out frustration, anger, weariness about daily life, but never once would they shed tears.

“You didn’t upgrade me on Wooyoung. How is it? Still in love?”

Until then. Until San heard those words, bringing him back to Ilsan, where life was worn-out by the lack of someone’s presence. Until he splayed on the bed, looking at the yellowed popcorn ceiling. Until the tears were burning his eyes, rimming them with red. Until he decided he really had to accept it because dwelling on his feelings wasn’t about to change anything.

“He died, Jongho.”

Jongho didn’t look surprised, even though he most certainly was.

“And it hurts so bad.”

The thing that was nice about Jongho was that he always knew when to talk and when to listen. He never judged, always seemed to understand. Jongho had a heart made out of gold. And what was also nice about those nights passed in motel rooms, talking, was that they weren’t obligated to talk either. So, little by little, San uttered a bit more, sentence per sentence, spilling how horrible he felt about everything. And when there was nothing left, he dried the stray tears he hadn’t been able to contain, and he felt pitiful. He didn’t want pity. San was too aware of his negativity, ashamed that it was following him everywhere he went, and afraid that it would stain everyone else’s mood.

That, too, was nice with Jongho. Sometimes, he was so neutral nothing seemed to be able to affect him.

“Stop it, hyung. You’re turning your memories with Wooyoung sad. You shouldn’t do that. You were happy with him. Be happy thinking about him. Cherish those times you passed with him, and make sure to remember them. You always described him as your soulmate, for fuck’s sake… Why are you hurting yourself?”

He was right, San thought. He was pushing everything that was linked to Wooyoung away, in fear of being hurt. Maybe that was the worst of it all. To not only lose his soulmate, but also all his memories of him at the same time. To pry away from those golden times and to stay hidden in the darkness, in fear of being eaten by it later on anyway.

“Because it’s hard. And it hurts.”

“I don’t doubt it. What I doubt, instead, is the efficiency of fleeing the memories that would usually make you so happy. He’s still with you if you let him be.”

Words came back to his mind. They were old ones, but he could still recall them perfectly. Those words had always made him feel safe. They still did. I’m always with you, okay? When you’re scared, remember that. And even when he knew Wooyoung couldn’t really be anymore, San was soothed by them.

“Thank you, Jong’.”

Maybe that was what he had needed all along. Maybe Seonghwa had been right, too.

“No worries.”

The following days with Jongho had surprisingly made San feel much better. Like a deep breath after lacking oxygen for so long. But at some point, he had to go back home and help Seonghwa deal with the rather critical situation they were in.

“I’ll need to leave tonight.”

“Should we take a drink, then?” 

San scowled, unhappy about the proposition.

“You know how I feel about drinking…”

“Please… We’ve never drunk together! Come on, have you even drank one drop of alcohol in your life?”

The older man’s silence made Jongho roll his eyes.

“Okay, we’re definitely drinking, then.”

“Jong’...”

“Why are you afraid? It’s not like you’ll turn out like your dad just because of a few drinks. It will be fine and relaxing, okay?”

And it was, truly. It was all nice, until San got on that bus to Ilsan, and felt nausea triggering his stomach. Not enough to actually throw up… Just enough to be uncomfortable. San clutched to his chest the two water bottles Jongho had given him, resting his head against the window. 

There was that constant dizziness, but also that specific overstimulation of his senses. He could hear the woman snoring softly a few seats behind, and the kid crying in his mother’s arms, and the few teenagers talking, and the loud roaring of the bus’ engine, and the rain pouring on top of it.

San chugged a full water bottle before falling asleep, head hitting the window with every imperfection on the road. When he woke up, a discreet but constant pounding behind his eyes, he groaned.

“Relaxing, my ass, Jong’,” he grumbled at his cousin, despite him not being there.

He sighed, sending a message to Seonghwa to tell him he was on the way, and then falling back asleep.

When San got out of the bus, the rain had slowed down, steadying into a drizzle. The atmosphere was thick, air barely breathable. He could tell it wasn’t only from the humidity. 

Something was weird. Wrong. A shiver ran up his spine. He was now alone in the parking, everyone having left already. Yet, San still felt uncomfortable. So, he listened to his instinct, and headed back home, the quickest he could… Which was slow. Very slow. It’s only a dozen minutes of walking later that he froze on the spot, looking behind his shoulder.

He was followed. He was followed. The words echoed at the back of his mind and took a while to process. Long enough for the three men to be a bit closer, even though they didn’t seem particularly in a hurry. They had no reason to hurry; no one else was outside at this hour, in this part of the city. Only San, them, and maybe some members of another organization—not that their presence would change anything.

When San’s drunken mind finally understood the danger he was in, he restarted to walk. But his pace was slow, steps everything but straight, and unstable on his feet. His heart was now beating even more quickly, pounding at his temple, and awakening a deeper headache.

Suddenly, San couldn’t remember the way back home, despite knowing it wasn’t even a block away. He turned in a street, and then realized it was an alley; dark and bordered by stinky containers. The man swore out loud, aware that he was in a bad position, yet feeling impotent towards it. He wasn’t even armed. He wasn’t even sober.

San swore louder, looking around, displeasing nausea triggering his stomach. He shuddered, feeling the weight of loneliness, and trying to find a way to defend himself. Approaching a container, San pulled on a wooden stick that was keeping the trap close. It was the slightest bit wet, but he’d do with it. The men were getting closer, not even bothering to keep their laughs quiet. They were mocking San. Giggling over the fact that he was helpless.

San’s fingers tightened around the wet wooden stick, ignoring the mold that was probably weakening his auxiliary weapon. He walked backward, brandishing his only protection around, shaking both from the cold drizzle and the fear. His breath was heavy, and he unconsciously hissed, eyes drooping as he fought his dizziness. A deep plaint—between a growl, a groan and a choked cry—vibrated from his chest, provoking more laughs from his assailants. It was a sound of distress.

A man stepped forward, and San fell as soon as he hurried to stay out of reach. His scraped hands palpated his torso, moving from his stomach to his chest, and finally grazing his neck, grabbing the pendant resting against his skin. His fingers pressed the metal, holding it for a few seconds, before letting it hang on the chain. San had never used the necklace this way. He had never used the emergency call on it. Usually, giving the location was enough. This time, he knew, it was almost already too late.

“Stay away…” he sobbed, even though no tears were spilled from his burning eyes.

The man was kneeling right in front of him. He slapped San once, twice, and then hit him right in his stomach. Hunched over the ground, San coughed wetly, reaching for the pendant again, pressing it. A kick at his temple made him dizzier, vision blurring for a few seconds. He frantically tapped the metal, again and again, alternating between calls and simple location shares. Panic settled deep in his chest, bringing back nausea. San couldn’t think anymore.

His hand reached for the wooden stick he had dropped, and with the swing of an arm, he hit the man in front of him twice. He was either lucky or just an unconsciously skilled monster. San stumbled on his feet as the other men ran to him, and with one last plaint, fell heavily on the ground, rolling on a meter or two. And without having even realized it, he was on the sidewalk, heaving for a breath he didn’t have. 

The traffic light a street further was burning through his irises. The faint rain seemed to weigh him down. Fingers hooked around his ankle, pulling him back towards the darkness.

“San-ssi?!” someone called him in the distance.

Suddenly, the hand retracted, and San crawled a bit further from the alleyway, breathing loudly, gagging through the heavier gasps for air. He had recognized that voice, though unsure of who it belonged to.

“What the fuck… What-”

San’s hand still held the pendant, metal cold against his palm, as he looked towards the alley. In the dim darkness, three silhouettes stood, one raising his arm to point a finger gun right at him. A second later, the men ran towards where they came from, fleeing.

“Mingi, follow them,” the same voice uttered. 

Said man obeyed. Seeing the darkness engulf him, San hunched over the ground, throwing up all the alcohol ingested, as well as the paralyzing fear that was glued to his guts.

“Fuck, what the hell happened… Are you hurt?”

San looked at the voice’s owner and took a while to recognize him.

“Y-Yeosang?”

Half an hour later, he was sitting on a stranger’s bed, too uncomfortable to cry but on the brink of doing so. His breathing was still unstable. He already missed Jongho’s presence, which had erased all problems for a few days…

The couple of injuries on his face were treated by Yunho, delicately. A hefty silence coated the room, leaving no space for discussion. San had recognized the boy, with whom he had danced with as a teenager. If Yunho did too, he didn’t specify. Maybe it was better not to dwell on such futile memories. 

Deep in thoughts, he was left alone for a few minutes. San felt like he had forgotten something really important, yet couldn’t quite recall what. His head was hurting with every second passed thinking about it.

When Yeosang came back to the bedroom with a glass of milk, San felt like a child who was being taken care of. A bit of a burden. He didn’t like that.

“You’re not intolerant to lactose, right?”

“No,” he mouthed, voice too quiet to be called a whisper.

“I… I like to drink milk after alcohol. A weird habit, I know” Yeosang nervously chuckled.

San had never heard him being so awkward.

“Those were the same guys following you last time, right?”

He sighed, wishing his eyes wouldn’t have teared up after hearing those words. He was desperate and excruciatingly weary. San hoped it didn’t show.

“Yes.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware you were being followed?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled.

“You should go to the police station tomorrow morning. They must be able to find evidence on the CCTVs.”

“There are no working CCTVs in this specific area of the city. Some things, the police can’t help.”

Yeosang sighed, shaking his head.

“Of course they’ll help you, San.”

“Maybe,” he only mumbled, letting his head dangle forward, not believing it for one bit.

San was the one supposed to get arrested, for all he knew. After a short silence, Yeosang quit his seat on the bed, tucking a lock of hair behind San’s ear.

“I’ll let you sleep. Let’s talk tomorrow. Will you be alright?”

San’s eyes opened, glassy. Stray tears ran down his cheeks without crowding his vision. His body felt a bit numb, but also uncontrollable.

“I-I think I’ll be sick.”

He tumbled out of bed—with the help of Yeosang to not get hurt in the process—and limped to the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet. Only when he vomited bile did he allow himself to get back up, walking back to the bedroom—or more like let the other man support the entirety of his weight. Under Mingi’s and Hongjoong’s gaze, San felt miserable. He didn’t relax once the door was closed.

“Do you want me to stay in here?” Yeosang asked him after tucking him under the sheets.

“I want to sleep until fucking forever,” he slurred, his mind ignoring everything else than his level of comfort, after such a night.

It didn’t erase the lingering nausea, but it did relax his body, the comforter imprisoning warmth in his core and releasing the tension in his every muscle. His nose dove in the sheets, inhaling a soft scent of coconut.

“Alright. Whatever it is, I’ll help you, okay? Let’s deal with it tomorrow morning. For now, focus on resting.”

San wondered the reason behind the other man’s kindness. There had to be a reason. Yet, without showing intentions of any kind, the older man sat on the ground, back against a wall, and played games on his phone to kill time. Despite his mind being fuzzy, half-conscious, San only fell asleep after hours. When he woke up, it was from Yeosang shaking his shoulder gently.

“Hey, your phone keeps buzzing. Thought it might be important.”

San groaned, limbs feeling heavier than ever, yet picked up what was given to him. He blatantly ignored the confusion washing over him as to where he was and why, and answered the call.

“What do you want from me?” Seonghwa sobbed, tone exhausted and desperate. “Anything. I’ll give any fucking thing… Just don’t hurt him.”

San had to wait a few seconds for the pieces of the puzzle to appear. Almost a minute later, a wave of mixed panic and comprehension hit him. During the previous night, he had pressed emergency calls on his pendant dozens of times, and he hadn’t told Seonghwa he was now safe. That’s what he had forgotten.

“Fuck, hyung, I’m sorry,” he heard his own raw voice utter.

“S-San-ah?!” the older one croaked, too loud for San’s headache, but bearable.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m safe. I’m fine. Sorry.”

“What… What the hell is wrong with you? I thought- I thought they had you! I thought- San, fucking hell! It’s an emergency button, not-”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I know. They followed me, but… Someone helped me and brought me back to safety.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, they barely touched me. I’ll tell you later.”

Seonghwa sighed loud enough for San to hear it, tension deflating all at once. He was still crying, sobbing, and sniffling. The younger one felt horrible for that.

“Fuck… Okay. Okay. Where are you at? Should I pick you up?”

“It’s fine… I’m at Kang Yeosang’s.”

“At this point, should we even care if the mission fails?”

“Yes, hyung. Don’t be stupid, I’m fine, now. I’ll go somewhere and send you my location, okay?”

After one last greeting and a promise to be alright, they ended the call. He had completely forgotten the fact that he was on a mission.

San could feel Yeosang’s gaze on him. He was too tired to make up creative lies, but couldn’t exactly leave without an ounce of explanation.

“It’s very complicated, Yeosang. I don’t think you wanna hear the full story.”

“Okay, then. Are you fine with answering just a couple of questions instead?”

The younger one shrugged his shoulders. It was taken as a ‘yes’.

“Since how long are you regularly followed like that?”

“Half a year, maybe a bit more, but back then it was rarer.”

A few months after Wooyoung’s death, actually.

“What did you do for them to be so eager to get you?”

It was tricky to explain without revealing the presence of Seonghwa, or the existence of his current job.

“I’m a beeline to a friend… He’s in that kind of job, and I was pulled into this after not minding my own business.”

Which wasn’t a lie at all… The circumstances had just been a bit different than how they were described.

“So, you’re in an organization, now? And who’s he?”

“Not really. And he’s…” San sighed shakily, grounding his voice. “Jung Wooyoung.”

Yeosang seemed to search at the back of his mind, a flash of recognition igniting his irises.

“Oh, so you must know Seonghwa?”

“Park Seonghwa? I know his name,” he sighed, voice growing more and more silent. “Any other questions?”

The older one’s expression wasn’t impassible anymore, a grimace crumpling his features for a few seconds.

“Do you need help?”

Yeosang’s voice was hushed, delicate. He sounded like he cared, and San felt bad about it since he didn’t deserve such. Instead, he deserved the situation he was already head deep in.

“What kind of help?” he dared to ask in a whisper.

“Whatever kind you’d need. What do you want to do about the situation?”

“I wanna take them down.”

“How?”

He could’ve asked right there for folders over that organization. He could’ve done his job right and followed the plan perfectly. He could’ve used his charms over Yeosang and Hongjoong to get handed every single bit of information on a golden plate. 

But San didn’t, for many reasons, one being that Yeosang wasn’t blinded by that kind of lie. He wasn’t the type to get seduced; he was the kind to get touched. And San felt like he was manipulating Yeosang’s heart, even though none of this had been planned. He was okay with leading someone’s penis to false expectations, but someone’s heart? It was the first time. A thought tensed his diaphragm as if trying to force him to speak, but he couldn’t. He ignored it, the same way he ignored how comfortable he was with Yeosang’s hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find a way.”

Dainty fingers rubbed circles on his trapezius. The air alleviated with a tension San wasn’t used to. Maybe it was solely from the lack of any surrounding sounds or their quiet voices. Maybe it was because they had met at a bar on a random—or not-so-random—night, and kept running into each other since then. Maybe it was only because it was them. Whatever was the reason, it was intimate. San didn’t like the feeling bubbling at the pit of his stomach, the one that he had loaned to such a small number of people during his life.

“It’s okay. I’ll help you, San-ssi.”

Trust. Trust was trembling in his guts, running up his esophagus to try and reach his heart, and San wanted to scream until he couldn’t utter a single word. Because while he didn’t trust his own parents, he had involuntarily given such a precious part of him to someone he was supposed to trick. To someone he barely knew. Just because of his aura, or something, he didn’t even know himself.

And for a second, San wondered if he was the one who was getting played with since those simple words pulled so easily his heart into a frenetic sprint. He trusted someone he wasn’t supposed to and had no idea where to go from there.

Chapter Text

San declined the call but received another one. His gaze drifted from his sketchbook, waiting for the screen to turn black before focusing back on the fox drawing he was thoroughly shading with a blue pen. He had decided against red ink, for whatever reason his instinct couldn’t explain. San’s mind was blank as he tried his best to chase memories away. It had worked, in a way. The emotions, though, weren’t so easy to repress.

After four more calls from the same unknown number, he finally decided to pick up.

“Yeah?” he muttered between gritted teeth, massaging at his temples to scare his growing headache away.

“Hongjoong’s organization got attacked,” Seonghwa’s voice uttered through the phone. “I think one of their members was kidnapped. Mingi’s been running full speed behind a van for a few minutes.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, getting up and putting on an earpiece and a bomber coat hurriedly.

“It’s that same organization. The one we’re after. And the one that keeps following us.”

San got out of the apartment, running downstairs.

“Do you have their location?”

“Not right now, but I’ll find it in a couple of minutes. I’m cutting short a meeting and I’ll go in the car to see what I can do from my laptop. Should we help them?”

“Like hell we are. Share the location when you can.”

“Do you have your earpiece? I forgot my phone at the apartment.”

“I do. Where do you think they’re headed?”

“Probably to a secluded area… Close to the organization’s building. Hurry, we’re not going in that building again, though, and even less for another organization.”

He forced his helmet on, closing the visor. The engine roared as he pushed his motorcycle’s power button.

San drove recklessly, going past the speed limit and snaking through the few cars he met. The call was transferred to his earpiece, and with the indications of Seonghwa, he finally caught up with Mingi—who was still running despite being way too far away. The man’s breathing was whistling, and his strides were irregular, losing power. The only thing keeping him from stopping his run was the determination and desperation of not losing a brother.

San drove past him, accelerating until he was close enough to the van. He dropped the motorcycle and sprinted the few meters of advance the van had, grabbing a metallic bar on the ladder leading to the top of the engine. San looked behind, at Mingi who couldn’t recognize him. Still running, until he fell on the ground, not getting up.

“I’m on it,” San told Seonghwa. “Mingi’s down.”

“Be careful not to get recognized.”

He looked at the lock on the back doors, cursing. He didn’t have anything to pick it, and it was certainly too strong for kicking it off. San climbed up the ladder, and once he was on top of the van, moved forward. He took a deep breath before kicking the windshield with full force. It didn’t break. 

So, San jumped on it, sliding on the hood. He kept hitting the windshield and eventually made it crack. Then, he pulled his knife. Enough with patience. After multiple hits, parts of the windshield exploded. A gun was shot. San felt the impact on his arm but only a dull pain came with it. He was on adrenaline.

San jumped on the man occupying the passenger seat, planting his knife right in his larynx. With restricted movements, it took him a few hits on the thug’s temple to knock him out. He was about to turn to the driver when he noticed the van had stopped. 

Looking at the place beside him was no one. An opened door. San pulled himself out of the cramped seat by the holed windshield, groaning at the glass grazing his skin and clothes. He then hurried behind the truck and stopped his steps when he met two corpses lying on the concrete, right in front of the closed back doors. Shots echoed and multiplied. After a total of five shots, it stopped. In San’s mind, it clicked; the thug was reloading his weapon, and there was no lock on the doors anymore.

San forced them open, chains barely doing a job at restricting the movement. Two men were in a fight. One was so injured he could barely stand straight. San jumped on the other—the van’s driver—restricting his airways. A blade threatened him, but only cut the slightest his forearms. Another scar to add to his collection. It took around a long minute before his opponent finally passed out, falling limp on the ground after giving so much trouble to San. The latter sighed, muscles relaxing with the lack of menace.

“I got them,” San whispered for Seonghwa.

He looked at the prisoners, four in a pool of their own blood, immobile—dead—and two still alive, injuries obviously threatening. Among the two still alive was Yeosang, his eyes half-lidded, face covered with cuts and blood. He was desperately trying to move, but chains retained him from any movement. San approached the other victim, who was crawling on the ground. He grabbed the man’s face between his index and thumb, detailing his bruised features.

“Aren’t you from that organization, though? I remember you. Are you a traitor?”

“I’m not with them anymore,” he babbled, voice strained and oh-so weak. “Don’t kill me, please. I’m sorry… Don’t kill me…”

“Oh, I won’t. You’re already dead anyway,” San muttered. “You shouldn’t expect an enemy to save you.”

He let go of the man’s face, whose head fell on the ground. He was too weak anyway. He would die. San would have liked to feel empathy, but he couldn’t. Traitor or not, he had once done atrocities. It was only natural for him to die at such a young age. San approached Yeosang, this time, kneeling by him. He saw fear in his eyes. Yeosang hadn’t recognized him, his visor making it impossible.

San grabbed the chains and pulled on them. Yeosang whimpered, trying to flee, but groaned from the pain. He had been stabbed and cut in multiple places, San noticed. The latter unrolled the metallic bonds, and grabbed Yeosang, pulling him up on his feet.

“Why are you helping me? Are we allies? Which organization are you from?”

“We aren’t enemies,” San simply said before jumping off the van, and then helping Yeosang down.

They started to walk, the younger man leading them to the street where he had left his motorcycle, but he understood right away that, at that speed, it would be way too long. So, San kneeled in front of the other, pulling him on his back. He groaned when Yeosang’s arm weighed on his shoulder.

“Not on that arm, please.”

“You got hurt?”

Yeosang’s question stayed unanswered. It was funny, how the man was worried for someone whose identity was unknown, while he was the one having almost been kidnapped.

San was still slow, weariness growing on him, but it was still a bit better, a bit faster.

“Hey, uh…” Yeosang hesitated, voice shaky, before continuing. “Are they after us?”

The younger one turned around, looking behind. Half a dozen men were sprinting towards them.

“Fuck,” both men babbled at the same time.

San took a step forward before starting to run, not even knowing how long he’d be able to keep the speed. The helmet was suffocating him, his used, warm breath hitting his face over and over again. Yeosang felt heavier on his back with every passing second. What was the point of hiding his identity if he’d die anyway? It’s not like Yeosang would look him straight in the eyes in this situation either.

San pulled the visor up, cold air finally hitting his face, and hoping that he had enough energy to drive them to safety.

In the distance, he could finally see his black motorcycle laying in the middle of the desert street. He hurried, groaning as Yeosang kept sliding down his back, unable to keep himself from falling. With a few more seconds of sprinting, San finally reached his engine, starting it and sitting on the seat, Yeosang sinking on the one behind him.

“You’re holding tight?”

Yeosang’s reply was a weak hum, shivering against the younger one’s back. With that, San roared away from the men chasing them, pulling his visor back down, and seeing them hurrying in the rear. His heart was beating harshly in his chest, almost hurting, but he focused on the street. Only a few seconds later did he notice the hands at his waist were dangerously loosening.

“Tighter, Yeosang,” he ordered loudly, over the wind.

The older one obeyed. The biker slid fingers to his own neck, pressing the metallic pendant thrice. Hopefully, Seonghwa was close enough to give him a hand. A few minutes later and his partner’s grey car was effectively driving past him, blocking the road for his pursuers.

Yeosang slowly became heavier on San’s back, hands sliding away from his waist. The younger man grabbed them right in time.

“Yeosang! Stay conscious, grab me tighter.”

This time, the man didn’t reply, his fingers barely moving back in place. It was getting late, almost too late… Until the motorcycle’s tires screeched on the tar, pulling a stop right in front of the apartment complex where Hongjoong’s organization stayed at. San could only hope for it to be safe after the attack.

He pulled Yeosang’s arm around his shoulders, and with a groan, helped him down the seat, on his more than wobbly legs.

“We’re almost there,” he uttered, muting his own whimpers of pain.

After climbing up two flights of stairs—or more like pulling the other’s half-unconscious body up them—San finally found the right apartment. He thumped on the door, Yeosang’s weight resting on his injured shoulder painfully. An impression of deja vu brushed his mind, but he shook it away, kicking the door instead. 

It opened, the barrel of a gun pointed straight at him. San didn’t let Yunho think anything, pushing Yeosang in the other man’s arms and walking away at a hurried pace. He ran down the flights of stairs, quick steps following him along with Hongjoong’s voice telling him to stop right there.

He didn’t. A hand pulled at his shoulder, grabbing his coat and holding it tightly.

“Who are you?” Hongjoong groaned.

San tried to escape but instead tumbled down on the plateau, trying his best to keep his balance before being shoved against a wall by the older man. The latter grabbed at the collar of his clothes so firmly that he felt choked.

“Why did you help us? How did you know- Who are you?”

He stayed silent, only whimpering at the raw pain from his arm. 

“What are you waiting from us? What does this mean?”

Hongjoong pulled at the helmet, trying to remove it from San’s head, but the fit was too tight, a strap holding it well in place, restricting his airways at the same time. It gave the few seconds the younger one needed to kick him away, running down the last flight of stairs. San lurched himself on the motorcycle and drove away, Hongjoong tumbling in the reflection of his rear an instant too late.

When he arrived at the apartment, Seonghwa was waiting for him, bruised here and there, but without massive injuries. San smiled at that, relieved.

“Did you get hurt?” the older one asked.

“A little… Can you help me remove the helmet, please?”

Seonghwa obliged, unclipping the strap to slide it out of his friend’s head delicately. San sighed, finally feeling able to breathe properly.

“Got a bullet… I think… I don’t know, I can’t feel it properly, it’s just painful. On the right arm.”

He was led to the kitchen table, sitting on it before his jacket was removed and shirt torn to get better access. San looked away—a habit he was stuck with since his first major wound—letting the older do whatever was necessary. After a few minutes of Seonghwa palping and looking intently at the injury, he only felt the sharp sting of disinfectant.

“You were lucky, it only grazed you. Quite deep, but at least the bullet didn’t hole your biceps. Nor did it burst against a bone or something… And those cuts only went through skin, so you’ll be fine. It will still hurt for a while though.”

San thanked him, voice almost silent. The older one didn’t say more, working carefully on every cut. It did feel familiar, to get his wounds treated by Seonghwa. For a few seconds, it was as if they were back to a year or so ago. San decided he shouldn’t go back there, and shouldn't dwell on the past. It always took a bit of will to remember, but it was better that way.

“How did it go?” Seonghwa asked after a while.

“Yeosang was the one who had been kidnapped. All the other…Prisoners? Whatever they’re called… They got killed. It was a pretty long shot…”

“You saved a life, and you saved a couple of people from being tortured as well, though they died. You did well.”

The younger one didn’t reply, only displaying a tight-lipped smile. Seonghwa ignored it. After a basic meal, they were both too exhausted to do the dishes. The older man was about to go back to his bedroom when San called for him. Tired eyes bored into tired eyes.

“Can I have a hug, hyung?”

He didn’t have to ask more before being pulled on the couch in a warm embrace. Rocked like a kid, a hand cradling his head under the older man’s chin. San wouldn’t have needed the hug to last so long, though he wouldn’t complain, nor would he ask about the reason behind his friend’s heavy breath. It was uncalled for. After all, he knew Seonghwa also found comfort in caring for someone.

Seconds turned into minutes, and hands cramping in a T-Shirt’s fabric became limp. No tears were cried. No words were uttered. None of that was needed, nor would it have been pertinent. Jaws unclenched, leaving sore muscles. 

“San-ah?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you get attached to Yeosang?”

Did he? He didn’t answer. He preferred to not even think about it. Instead, he let his head grow heavy, he let his thoughts shut down, he let the few fears linger uncontrollably, and he let himself pretend to be fast asleep—convinced himself he did. Seonghwa didn’t insist.

San wasn’t sure if the other knew he was awake or not. The soft and shaky tone of his friend’s voice shared that maybe he wasn’t aware the younger one was still conscious.

“It’s okay if you did. I think they’d be taking better care of you.”

The words were said so earnestly San’s heart seemed to break. His arms tightened their hold on Seonghwa’s middle, face nuzzling just a bit more against his hoodie’s fabric.

“I wish I could make you feel safe. I wish… I wish we wouldn’t have to be in such danger. I’ll find us a way out of that situation. I promise.”

“I feel safe, right now,” San replied, giving up on his act, making the other’s muscles tense up. “And we will find a way. We’re in this together,” he then slurred.

Seonghwa stayed silent, but his hand drew circles on his friend’s back. The apartment fell into a trance, its occupants prying the slightest bits of comfort they could find in their own lies.

It could’ve been funny, how lies brought them comfort. It could have been funny, how they were huddled up on a cheap couch, rolled in a ball as if they were each other’s only hope. It would have been funny if it hadn’t been true. If their lives weren’t on the line.

Was there even a way out?

Chapter Text

He could only lie to himself for so long. San was worried about Yeosang, and it was useless to deny it. So, after two days, he drove to the organization’s apartment, parking his motorcycle a street away, just to make sure. He waited for a bit in front of their door, anxious. There was no way they would link his sling to the incident… Right?  

San sighed, removing what kept his arm tucked to his chest, and throwing it in his almost empty bag. He had already driven without it, another dozen minutes wouldn’t kill. It’s not like he had a dislocated shoulder either, it wasn’t that painful.

He was about to knock when the door opened to Yunho, who froze at the sight of the other man, a trash bag swinging limply in his hand.

“Oh, San.”

“Hi! Is Yeosang here? Woah, how did you bruise your jaw so badly?” he feigned cheerfulness and ignorance.

“He is, but he’s resting.”

“Oh, I didn’t know he took naps. Well, then… Tell him I came here, and to call me tonight! I want to thank him properly for helping me last time,” he explained, grinning largely.

“He might not be able to call you tonight, but I’ll make sure to tell him.”

“Uh? Is he okay?”

Yunho exuded a sad aura, one that augured nothing good. San heard his own heartbeat accelerating, thumping so hard it grew into the only thing he could feel, fear building up.

“Is he alright?!”

“It was a close call, but he’s recovering well.”

The younger man calmed down, relief washing over him.

“Okay… Alright.”

“Be careful on your way back home, San. ‘Sangie said they were after you too… You shouldn’t go around alone.”

“What happened?”

“I can’t really tell you, but they’re dangerous. Please don’t go outside alone. Maybe you should go to a police station for them to provide you safety.”

San frowned, looking at the taller man. Everyone in that apartment seemed to care, it was disturbing. 

“I’ll be fine.”

The younger man’s gaze slid down to the hardwood flooring, at the poor state of many planks, color streaked from impacts—blades, San guessed. Fight marks.

“I’ll go see if he’s awake if you want.”

The smaller one nodded, a naive hope building in the pit of his stomach. Yunho kept the door open, but the other didn't dare to enter. Instead, he waited, deep in thoughts. Yeosang was alive, resting, and recovering. It was okay. Yeosang was okay. A few minutes later, Yunho came back with a soft smile, signaling him to enter.

Entering Yeosang’s bedroom felt familiar—which immediately surprised San since he had only ever come there once. When his gaze lay on the other, a soft smile bloomed on his lips, mirroring Yeosang’s.

“It’s nice to see you there.”

“I’d say the same thing if the circumstances were different… What happened?”

“It’s not important. I’m fine now. Just tired, mostly.”

“I don’t think Yunho would agree,” San chuckled, fingers twitching as his eyes trailed down the older’s bruised arm.

The specifically pale skin was cut in multiple places—though not deep nor long—and dark marks were hovering around his wrists, where chains were previously retaining him. Yeosang looked frail, like that, much different than when he was healthy.

“They’re just bruises and cuts, San-ah.”

The younger man nodded, a tight-lipped smile adorning his lips. He tried to be the most nonchalant he could about it, but anger built up in his chest nonetheless, heartbeat still steady, yet seemingly stronger. It’s only then that San realized just how deeply he cared, too, about him. Though it hadn’t been long, it hurt to see him like that, and whatever that meant, San didn’t want to know. 

He got attached. Just a little, but he still did while he shouldn’t have at all. He got attached to that man he only went on a couple of dates with. To that man who cared for him on a level he shouldn’t. To that man who looked at him without seeing the thousands of lies San was.

Yeosang was too earnest for him. Too real. Too himself. But most importantly, Yeosang had a kind soul, and he didn’t deserve one bit to be hurt like that.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”

The smile he received was too broad to be from one in that situation.

“I think I should go now. I’ll let you rest.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” Yeosang muttered.

San’s heart was still quick, beats vibrating and pulsing through his whole body. Don’t get attached. It was a bit too late, he was aware. There was a tiny parcel of his heart that Yeosang had claimed. Though it was really, really small, though Seonghwa’s and Wooyoung’s parcels were threatening it by their sizes, it was still there. And San could only hope it wouldn’t grow.

He turned around, but before he could even take one step, a hand grabbed his forearm.

“Wait, I-”

A whimper came out of San’s mouth, his body jostling slightly towards Yeosang to release the pressure on his shoulder. The few stars in his vision disappeared almost as quickly as they had come.

“Shit, sorry, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

San smiled uncomfortably, his mind spinning to find an excuse. There wasn’t any to cover his mistake up.

“A bit. It’s nothing much, it will heal in no time.”

“Did you take care of it? Yunho could take a look at it. I’ll text him.”

“No! I mean, yes, but don’t text Yunho, it’s fine. I have a cast, I just removed it to drive, I’ll put it back at home.”

Yeosang stayed silent, a frown distorting his delicate features. His gaze riveted on San’s coat and then hovered to his arm, his face, and back down his chest and hands.

“Yeosang?”

Suddenly, his eyes widened, shooting back to San’s face.

“It’s you.”

The younger one’s blood froze in his veins, his brows knitting.

“What?”

“You’re the one who saved me.”

“What do you mean?” San croaked, hands folding into fists.

“Your arm. You hurt it when you saved me. It’s the right shoulder. The bomber coat. It’s the same one. It’s slit right on your injury and there’s a gray patch on each elbow. Your voice. The way you say my name.”

What could he do? Deny? It was useless.

“You have a motorcycle, right? You told me when we first met… It’s you… Right?”

He should lie, he guessed. But San didn’t know what was to say. Yeosang wouldn’t just brush it away. He’d look into it, and then he’d eventually find out. And then, the mission would fail. That’s why San shouldn’t want to lie. To not let the mission fail. That wasn’t the real reason, but that also wasn’t important.

“Yeah.”

“Oh my- San! What the hell? You can’t just go to a gang like that and attack them… Are you aware of how dangerous they are? They’re a gang, people who are trained to… To kill. A citizen can’t rival…”

It was almost funny, how Yeosang didn’t realize that if San was the one who had saved him, then he was also the one who had brutally killed the driver right in front of his eyes. It was cute, but it was also a matter of time before San would have to elaborate on his capacities. That in itself was a problem since it was seemingly impossible to explain without revealing the presence of Seonghwa.

“Wait, how did you run with me on your back, with a helmet, and all of that after fighting? Your stamina is no joke… Wait, you were the one fighting them? You know how to fight someone? How did you stop the truck?”

Here it was. San shot an embarrassed smile to the other. His lips parted but then fell back together. He didn’t know what to say. At all.

“I know how to defend myself, Yeosang. I’d be dead or kidnapped if I didn’t. Someone taught me.”

“Jung Wooyoung?”

He almost choked on his breath, looking away.

“Yeah.”

“And you perfectioned your skills all those times you got followed?”

That was an interesting hypothesis, San had to admit. Could’ve been possible, and wasn’t entirely a lie either.

“I didn’t really have the choice, you know.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I’m not someone you should be sorry about,” he uttered, tone suddenly colder. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay. I should go.”

Yeosang gulped, looking at the blanket covering his lap.

“Please pass by anytime,” he said, voice quiet. “Thank you, San. I owe you. And not only for saving me.”

The older man’s gaze slipped toward San’s shoulder.

“It’s nothing. Really. I’m glad I went there.”

He let a few seconds pass before walking away, closing the door behind him. San headed to the hall, but stopped right by the living room, where Yunho was talking with… Hongjoong. He was about to keep going, but the older man’s eyes fell on him. Clearing his throat, San forced a smile on his lips, trying his best to look relaxed despite the knowledge that if Yeosang had noticed he had the same coat, even when he had barely been conscious, then there was no way Hongjoong wouldn’t recognize it the second his eyes would dwell on San’s clothes.

“I gotta hurry, but thank you, Yunho! I’ll probably come back sometime soon if you don’t mind!”

And with that, he rushed to the entryway, hurrying his feet in his worn-out shoes and getting out of the apartment that felt so stuffy out of nowhere. He heard Yunho’s cheerful greeting through the door right before he headed downstairs. Hongjoong hadn’t looked down from his face. Hopefully, it would be fine.

As he jogged down the stairs—arm held tight to his body to minimize the shots of pain from the reverberations of his steps—he finally came to a conclusion. The difference between Hongjoong’s organization and Seonghwa’s was that they were smiling, laughing, having fun, and most importantly, separating well enough the professional and personal. Hongjoong also kept his organization under conviction and strict thinking, that much was obvious. They were careful about their every move, resting when they needed to, and they were mentally strong enough to do what they were planning to do. 

Seonghwa and San didn’t have what was required of an organization anymore. They were only still one because of the obligation. They were exhausted, broken, and haggard. It would never work out the way it used to. If they were to be attacked the way Hongjoong’s organization had, it would be their end. No one would help them, no one would care, and they wouldn’t have the strength to resist any attack.

He tried to ignore how critical it was. How scary to know that if he’d receive an emergency call from Seonghwa’s necklace, then it would truly be the end. That he’d finish powerless, facing the fact that his brother was in life-threatening danger.

San started the engine of his motorcycle and lowered his visor, taking a breath that didn’t even feel oxygenated. He stayed immobile for a bit, mind slowly filling with worries. They just had to take down the organization that was after them, and then, they’d be fine. Right? Maybe. Hopefully. 

So, he’d have to get the information he needed soon; there was no other option. Something else was a problem, though… Hongjoong didn’t seem to like strangers. He wasn’t as welcoming as Yunho. Seonghwa had once told him that Hongjoong’s priority was his members’ safety, and from the glimpse of him San got until now, he could totally approve the fact.

He’d get suspected if he wasn’t careful enough. He’d eventually get suspected if he wasn’t already. San sighed deeply, striking his motorcycle’s kickstand, and drove away from the alley. In the rear, Hongjoong appeared, his run pulling to a stop. San accelerated though the older wasn’t actively following him. He cursed under his breath, heart racing even once he was too far to be in sight. 

What the fuck was Hongjoong doing there?

Chapter Text

Discreet silver strips were shining on Yeosang’s skin under the sunlight. San’s fingers slid down the thin scars, eyes scrutinizing them without really looking. He was elsewhere, back to that truck, more than half a year earlier. He had so much to lose, now.

“You’re lost in your thoughts again,” Yeosang nagged, and he had to nudge the other’s temple with his nose to carefully pull him back to reality. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

San’s lips pulled into a tired smile, eyes filling to the brim with tears. He let them dry. Yeosang didn’t notice them. Something about this was wrong, and San knew exactly what it was. He knew, and he couldn’t help feeling guilty but didn’t do anything about it. Because though he wasn’t earnest enough with Yeosang, being with the latter still made him happier than anywhere else as for now. The parcel in his heart had grown, and San wasn’t sure where all that space came from, since his heart itself didn’t seem big enough to appreciate as much as five people. To feel attached to five people all at once. He was not used to having people care for him. He was not used to caring for so many people either, even though the word many was subjective.

Some people out there in this world lived with dozens of people they loved. San couldn’t understand how they stayed sane. His days were wearied by the weight of fear.

San was terrified. He had so much to lose.  

“We’ll be so sunburnt. Should’ve put some sunscreen on.”

His teeth tortured his chapped lips. His fingers were cramped on the fabric of his own hoodie. His eyes watered again, but this time, it was only because he looked directly at the sun for a few seconds before closing them, dots covering the back of his eyelids.

“Are you hungry?”

The following silence made the anxiety grow in San’s chest. So much to lose. His breathing was still regular, though, almost silent. For a few seconds, he wondered if his body was shutting down under so much fear. You deserve to feel so much fear. You’ll be left alone soon.  

“Have you fallen asleep?”

His lips seemed to have turned into rock. You’re losing yourself, San-ah, he heard a faint voice whisper at the back of his mind. Wooyoung. His tone hadn’t changed one bit. His lazy way of pronouncing San’s name was still the exact same. Time could wear out some memories, but a couple of them were etched for good in one’s mind.

You’re losing yourself. But it was already too late. It had been too late for so long, right? Or maybe not. Maybe San was just a pessimist. Maybe he should be remembering Seonghwa’s words, maybe his friend was right, maybe it was never too late to get better.

“No, I’m awake,” he whispered under his breath.

San’s eyes pried open the slightest, head tilting to get a glimpse of Yeosang’s features. At the beautiful details that made him so human, at the glint of care San could always find in his eyes, at the feeling of home he could reach just by seeing him, at the reassuring smile that never failed to bloom on his lips. Except, this time, the corners of Yeosang’s mouth sank back to seriousness.

“What’s wrong, San-ah?”

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

The older one’s gaze went back up, looking at the immaculate sky. His arms tightened their hold on San—though the two men were already specifically close from the lack of space on the long chair they shared.

“Me too.”

“Do you think Hongjoong would let me access some organization’s information?”

It came out of nowhere before San could stop it. It wasn’t even about the mission, anymore. It was just to be able to live without a death threat up his loved ones’ heads. He didn’t have the intention to leave Yeosang’s life anymore, though that contradicted the mission’s plan. Seonghwa had never asked directly why the operation had been lingering for so long. He knew, probably.

“Not without a reason,” Yeosang answered. “What would you do with that, anyway?”

“I’d take them down.”

“You can’t take down a large-scale organization by yourself, San. It’s not realistic. You need to be sure of your shot, you need to make sure it’ll work out, and even then, any organization has allies that will go against you.”

It was a risk he was willing to take, but it’s not like he could exactly tell everything to Yeosang. Though if he could, he would.

“You can talk about it with ‘Joong, but he’ll ask you for a detailed plan to make sure it’ll work out. He wouldn’t put us in danger by spreading information about another organization. That could make us enemies we don’t want.”

San wouldn’t ask Hongjoong, he knew that much. Months had passed, but the leader was even more careful about staying away from the other. He didn’t like San. He was right.

“Which organization is this about? And what are your motives?”

“I just want them to rot in prison.”

There was too much hatred in his body, too condensed, too full, and too flaming. It was bound to fail.

“We can make a plan together, then. How about that?”

“No. I’ll do it by myself.”

“What am I there for, then? Come on…”

“Hongjoong’s right,” he said, though it burnt his tongue to do so. “It will put you guys in danger.”

“Okay, and what about you?”

“I’ve always lived in danger.”

“That sounds dark,” Yeosang chuckled.

San giggled lightly, humming as his gaze lost itself in the sky.

“I owe to protect you, though. Remember? Which organization is it about?”

“The same one who tried kidnapping you.”

Yeosang kept silent for a bit. His index twirled San’s baby hair over and over until his lips could finally part again.

“It’s not just because of what they did to me, right?”

Yeosang wasn’t dumb. San hadn’t expected him to be.

“Right.”

The atmosphere seemed to shift, though the younger one couldn’t depict exactly why.

“You’re in Seonghwa’s organization.”

It wasn’t even a question. It was a fact. Yes, he was. It was true, and San didn’t have the strength or the determination to deny, nor did he have the right to ask how the other discovered it. He didn’t want to lie to Yeosang. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach, thrumming erratically, mouth drying up as he tried to formulate an answer. He had so much to lose.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“W-What? That’s it?”

San’s eyes were wide with disbelief. The other didn’t sound mad. Yeosang wasn’t screaming at him nor pushing him away. He was okay with that? That didn’t even make sense.

The younger man didn’t have the chance to ask; fingers gently grabbed his jaw, and turned his face slightly, until his eyes were boring holes into Yeosang’s irises. The latter’s breath smoothed on his face, his own pulling to a stop.

“San, I… Is this fine?”

His eyebrows furrowed into a frown, but he nodded as if hypnotized. Delicate but plush lips pushed against his, almost caressing. San’s hands flew on the other’s shoulders, cramping himself on them as if scared to fall, and perhaps he was—scared to fall in love again.

The kiss prolonged until the younger man felt a knot tie his stomach. And suddenly, his hands weren’t on the Yeosang’s shoulder to brace himself, suddenly they were there to gently nudge the other away.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t…” 

“No, it’s fine, I am sorry,” Yeosang babbled, gaze averting.

“It’s not that I didn’t… I just…”

San’s heart was hurting. He buried his head in his hands, his jaw clenching to stop himself from screaming. If he started to scream, he’d never end. Too much weariness to get rid of for a single cry to be enough. His mind was messy with fears, interrogations, and blurred emotions. 

Overwhelmed, that’s what it was. The sole fact that Yeosang accepted so easily San’s admission was unreal. A kiss… That was even more to process. Not that he hated it. What he hated, instead, was hurting Yeosang like he had probably just done. Like he would probably end up doing.

“It’s fine, San-ah.”

“I really, really appreciate you, Yeosang. Genuinely. It’s just a lot.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t know how to say what he meant. So instead, San looked back at the other, at an angel’s face twisted with concern. His hand brushed the frown off of Yeosang’s face. It was a simple gesture… But the older man seemed to relax from it as if he had understood just a little.

A strong might swelled in San’s chest; the will to love again since it was within the reach of his fingertips. It was new and unexpected. It was also buried, under guiltiness, pain and memories. There was such an armor around San’s heart that loving, loving, was inaccessible. It was hidden under so much fear, so much trauma, so many years, so much… Blood. Red, scarlet blood.

Though Wooyoung allowed him—even asked him—to find another lover, San couldn’t allow himself. Because he still loved Wooyoung. Because he didn’t deserve someone’s love again. Because he didn’t want to hurt yet another person. Because Yeosang deserved someone more genuine, more alive, more suited.

“I don’t even think I can love someone anymore.”

The older man only frowned again, eyes squinting the slightest, and San found himself lost towards what Yeosang was thinking. He was indecipherable. That was something he both hated and liked from Yeosang. As lost as it made him feel, San also appreciated the way it forced him to stop analyzing the other’s every movement or reaction. With Yeosang, he wasn’t on his guard—couldn’t be; it was useless to analyze someone’s facial expression if it didn’t provide more information on one’s thoughts. So, instead of analyzing Yeosang, San stopped his mind from running, and only looked at him, waiting for words.

“That’s okay,” the man whispered, a sad smile pulling on his lips. “You don’t have to force yourself. It would hurt.”

Yeosang’s fingers flew back to San’s baby hair, playing with them and closing his eyes as if nothing had happened. Was he hurt? Fine with it? Happy? Deceived? Nonchalant about it? The younger man couldn’t tell.

“W-What? I mean you can… You can be mad. I played with you, I-”

“What do you mean? Mad?”

“Yeah? Well first, I’m in Seonghwa’s organization.”

“Okay, and what about it? San, I couldn’t care less that you’re in his organization. That dude hasn’t even once threatened us. Actually, you guys saved my life… And that wasn’t a one-time thing.”

Was there a way out?

“But Hongjoong does. He does care. And he doesn’t like Seonghwa, nor does he like me”

Yeosang nodded, shifting to look at the inside of the apartment, through the sliding glass door, where his three best friends were.

“And you’re gonna tell him,” San whispered, to which the other didn’t answer.

Of course, he would. And that would also mean the mission had failed. San felt a sting on his heart, not because he cared about the plan itself, but because of the repercussions of his failure. What would he and Seonghwa do? 

Yeosang’s arms tightened their hold, pulling San closer to his chest.

“I’m glad you told me the truth. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t.”

It was another pang in the younger man’s chest. There was more he was hiding. He hadn’t really lied about much but he had hidden a lot, and San didn’t know what was worse out of the two. Maybe the worst was something else; Yeosang believed he was fully transparent. Maybe that was even more painful.

So, San got up, sitting on the long chair instead of laying in it, escaping the comforting warmth of the other’s arms.

“Wooyoung was my boyfriend,” he admitted, throat dry.

“W-What? Shit, you should’ve told me, I didn’t want to-”

“ Was, Yeosang. Was. Something around two years ago. I didn’t really count.”

“Oh,” the older breathed out, laying back in the chair he had almost startled out of.

“It was a particularly complex mission, but we had threaded a careful plan. Risky, but doable enough. Wooyoung insisted on entering first while I backed him up. I ended up being too late. He was thrown down a flight of stairs,” he ended, voice shakier than ever. “Died a few hours later. That’s reason number one to take down that organization.”

It was hard to be honest. Yeosang shifted behind him, but San didn’t let him say anything before continuing.

“That’s also why I’m love-constipated, I guess. Sorry,” he grumbled, clearing his throat. “That same organization has been threatening us since then. You saw them following me a couple of times, fine, but that’s not… They’re even worse on Seonghwa. They’re twisted. That’s number two.”

“I don’t think you need more reasons.”

“They kidnapped you. Three. They torture and trade people. Four. They’re trying to find my grandma’s place. Five.”

“Why did you build yourselves such an enemy?”

“Didn’t Hongjoong do the same? Why did he?”

“Values,” Yeosang answered with a chuckle. “Right.”

San frowned, head shooting up to glare at the apartment complex facing him. Hongjoong has values, Seonghwa had told him. A bell seemed to ring at the back of San’s mind as he remembered the first reason why they had gone against that organization. Wooyoung hated the sight of such dirty money, and his teammates had agreed on that. 

They had values. It made San pause violently. 

He had values. He wasn’t a complete monster. He, along with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, had agreed to go against an organization, just because of what they had done to other people. People he didn’t even know. Maybe there was an ounce of good in him. But then, the image of a man’s pierced body—a dagger keeping a letter full of hatred on his chest—reached his mind. Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster, but he was a monster nonetheless.

“I’ll talk about it to Hongjoong. We can help.”

“Don’t,” San looked behind his shoulder to lock eyes with Yeosang. “I didn’t tell you all of that for a pity party or anything. Don’t put your organization in danger. Seonghwa wouldn’t want pity either. I just wanted to be honest this time. You deserve so.”

When Yeosang pulled him back in his arms, leaving a sole, gentle peck on the crown of his head, San melted in the embrace, returning it. Whatever their relationship was, now, he wasn’t alone just yet. That was enough. More than enough. More than anything he could ask for.

It also proved further how much he could lose.

When Yeosang fell asleep, face in the crook of his neck, San lifted him to the bedroom. Not even the sun would hurt that man.

Chapter Text

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve last felt so alive,” San admitted silently.

Snowflakes melted on his skin, beads of freshwater water rolling down his cheeks. The ground was cold against their backs, even through their coats.

“And I wish I could make you feel the same too, but it’s… Difficult, to try to focus on the present, when the past is holding such a gigantic part of me, as a person.”

“You do make me feel alive, San-ah. And I know you’re having a hard time in many, many ways. I don’t blame you for that.”

Their breaths changed into sparkles of ice mid-air, creating constant clouds. The snow thickened. Yeosang’s hand reached for San’s fingers interlocking. And suddenly, they felt like boys, hearts thumping in their chests as if it was their first time—which it wasn’t.

“I wish I can be trusted with your concerns, one day.”

“I already trust you, though. But… I won’t make the same mistake again, Yeosang. I’m sorry.”

Yeosang looked at San, pausing a few seconds to take in his sharp profile, features cut neatly.

“Is this about Wooyoung?” he carefully uttered.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.”

“I do, though. Because I should feel able to give you back all the love you deserve, I should make you feel loved, I should spoil you and I fail at that.”

“San, don’t… Don’t break the moment like that. I’m content with our current relationship. I’m not the guy who needs thousands of kisses and reassurance, being with you suffices me. I don’t… I don’t necessarily need romance from you. I want to be with you. To enjoy moments like this one with you. I wouldn’t complain if those moments would be punctuated by kisses, or whatever, but they’re still moments I cherish, even without… status.” 

A shaky exhale cut his words, giving him the time to find more. 

“And it hurts to hear you say sorry when you’re making me feel great. If I’d be unsatisfied, I wouldn’t be here right now. It would be unfair for me to be expecting more than what you’re capable of giving. Let me appreciate being with you without tinting everything with your guiltiness, please. Because whatever this is is enough for me. What we’re living together, it’s better than what I ever asked for. Even though we’re not a lovey-dovey couple, even though we’re not an actual couple. It’s perfect for me either way.”

San looked back at Yeosang, a frown twisting the previously straight line of his eyebrows.

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course, I do,” he murmured with a gentle smile, padding closer to rest his cheek against the younger man’s shoulder.

Cold hands cupped Yeosang’s face, chapped lips leaving a soft kiss on top of his cheekbone before burying him in a crushing embrace. Fingers threaded his snowy strands of hair, which sent a shiver running up his spine.

“Thank you, ‘Sang.”

“For what?”

San’s free hand held Yeosang’s, pulling it on top of his chest, where strong heartbeats vibrated through his ribcage.

“For this. For making me feel alive and pulling me out of my head and for… For being so… Whatever. I don’t know how to call it. Thank you.”

Yeosang giggled, content. And for once, San could say he was, too. His relationship with Yeosang was weird from the beginning, built from a ghost-like status and indefinite outlines. But it was really okay. As long as they were pleased by being together, that was okay, and if San only gave short kisses to the other once in a few weeks, Yeosang couldn’t mind less. 

San didn’t want his moments with Yeosang to be covered by memories of Wooyoung, and so, sometimes, it did bring limitations, but once in a while, he could commit fully, without feeling fear related to either his own self or the past. Without thinking about anything else than the man in his arms. Yeosang had once brought it up, calling them kisses of gold. They’re little treasures. I love them. I mean, yeah, I do love your kisses, but what’s even better is their meaning. When you give them, it means you’re finally fully out of your head for a bit. It means the little moment we’re living together is healing you, and it makes me happy. It shows me so much more than what an ‘I love you’ could, so thank you for those.  

Those words were to be etched in San’s mind forever. Yeosang was a sweet talker, but what was so impactful about what he said was the honesty in every syllable. He didn’t only talk, he shared, he showed.

However, San was also hyper-aware of something; he wasn’t someone who exactly brought joy or happiness into others’ lives. His oxygen was polluted with negative thoughts, traumas, fears, and, most importantly, a lack of self-trust. He had never trusted himself the way others believed in him. That’s because you’re the only one who knows. Knows what? San, too, wondered. He wasn’t exactly sure of the meaning behind his own thoughts.

“Please don’t get attached to me,” he whispered, without realizing he had verbalized his own fear.

“Uh? What? Why? Why would you say that?”

San’s throat dried up. His eyes weren’t really looking at the snowing sky anymore, no, they were scrolling through memories, scrutinizing his sister’s blood gliding on the planks of her own bedroom. After so many years, it still hurt to have lost her. And I’m the exact same.

“I don’t know, ‘Sang-ah. I don’t want you to become sad because of me. Everyone surrounding me does. I don’t want that for you too.”

“Well, I don’t want you to only be surrounded by sad people.”

“I’m being serious, right now.”

Yeosang sat up and then leaned on his arm to be facing closely the other. Their used breaths mixed in together. San deviated his gaze, focusing on the older man’s shoulder, instead.

“Me too,” Yeosang added. “I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The cold tone made San flinch, face twitching at every word pronounced. There was some sort of venom in the way he had said it, but it wasn’t directed at the younger man at all.

“We’ve known each other for what? A year and a half? And you’re asking me not to get attached now? And you’re insinuating you want to be sad alone?”

“I’m not sad…”

“Like hell you are, San. You’re… You’re not happy. At all. I can tell. Since I met you.”

San lowered his head in shame. The conversation had turned back to him. Again. He felt selfish, even though he hadn’t meant to be the center of the discussion at all.

“And it’s okay, San. It’s okay, but sometimes, I look at you and I wonder how you’re still standing after so many hits. And I know that the hits I saw you taking aren’t even a quarter of everything that bruised your soul. And it’s scary, but at least… At least I can pull a couple of smiles out of you, here and there. At least, I know that though you’re not telling me everything, what you are telling me is honest. At least… I don’t know, at least I can be with you.”

“Okay.”

His voice had shaken. San wanted to reassure the other, wanted to giggle and tell him to stop being dramatic or something, but he couldn’t because first, at some point, he would involuntarily hurt Yeosang, it was written in the sky, and second, was there even an answer to what he had said?

“San, can I kiss you?”

It was the first time Yeosang had asked, since their first kiss. Usually, he would only be accepting golden treasures when they were given to him, but now, he was looking intently at San, eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“Please. Just this once.”

And San could only close his eyes—despite his whole mind screaming to open them—and nod. Yeosang stole his breath, lips delicate as ever as if fearing to break him. But as gentle they were, as assertive they also were. The older man’s hand cupped San’s cheek, slender fingers sliding through the baby hairs at his nape. The latter’s palm rested against the one on his face, cold, but soothing nonetheless.

Words were built in San’s chest, throbbing and almost tearing apart his thoracic cage. It’s when Yeosang parted for half a second that the other blurted it out in a silent whisper, lips brushing the older man’s ones.

“I love you.”

And maybe he shouldn’t have said that, maybe it would get Yeosang even more attached, maybe he should be regretting to love a human he didn’t deserve, but for fuck’s sake, San could only hold on tighter on Yeosang’s hand when the kiss deepened, lips quivering but still responding.

And maybe Yeosang hadn’t heard it. It was okay. It was okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

“Me too, San. And please let me love you like you deserve.”

San wasn’t sure if he deserved anything like that, but he stayed silent, leaving one last peck under Yeosang’s eye before hiding in his neck, where the warmth made him feel safe, where no voice could reach him, where thoughts were silenced into nothingness.

His heart was beating fast. Or maybe was it Yeosang’s, he wasn’t sure.

“Hey, San, it’s okay.”

He didn’t understand why Yeosang was saying that. Yeah, it was okay. Very okay, even.

“You’re okay, San-ah. It will be fine. I’m there.”

Confusion washed over the younger man. Yeah, Yeosang was there, he was holding him. He knew.

“I promise you’ll be alright.”

Oh. He was shaking. His whole frame was trembling, actually. His fingers were hooked on Yeosang’s coat, hurting in cramps from the tightness of their hold. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t all that okay.

“I’m here.”

San wondered briefly why. Questioned himself as to what he was bringing to Yeosang, except for troubles. Searched for what Yeosang loved in him. Built a headache over why Yeosang stayed right there when he could be with anyone who was bringing others happiness, who wasn’t broken, instead of someone who barely had the guts of saying ‘I love you’.

Fingers massaged his scalp. A heartbeat quickened against his chest. A sleek cheek nudged gently at his head.

“I’m scared too, you know? Of losing you. But it’s fine. We’re fine.”

And just like that, Yeosang brushed all the possible ‘whys’ away.

“Let’s go home, okay? Come back home with me. Let’s get some good sleep, San-ah.”

So, they did. Cuddling up in a cold bed, warming the sheets with their shared body temperature. Limbs tangled together. Nose poking at the other’s cheek. Fingers holding lazily the hem of a shirt. Hair tingling the face’s skin. Heartbeats calming. Breaths regular through parted lips. Believing everything was okay, whether it be only for a night.

Dreams seeping into their unconsciousness, shadowing reality.

The wind bashing at the window without awakening them.

Comforter tangling up in every sleepy movement.

Embrace turning into a back hug.

A toilet flushing, the sound barely passing through the bedroom’s closed door.

Consciousness blooming back into one’s mind before being stolen once again.

Oxygen slowly turning into carbon dioxide, trapped in the room.

Back hug turning into even more of a tangled mess.

Peaceful, peaceful night.

Until San woke up from the bell-like notification popping on his phone. The last time he had heard that exact sound was when Seonghwa was showing him how the emergency call worked with his necklace. San himself was the only one who had ever used it, once.

The man stumbled out of the bed, grabbing his cellphone and opening the tracking app, rubbing hurriedly the sleep away from his eyes. Seonghwa’s name was flashing in red on the map, immobile, at their apartment.

That didn’t look good. San dropped his cellphone, not even flinching when it clacked against the wooden flooring. He emptied his bag until he found a knife and his set of keys and threw a hoodie on.

“San-ah? What are you doing?” Yeosang grumbled, bedside lamp flicking open.

“I gotta go. Right now.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer, rushing out of the room. If a motorcycle wasn’t made to be used in the snow, San couldn’t care less. A minute later, his engine was roaring and he was blasting away, eyes teary from the lack of a visor. He hadn’t taken the time to put his helmet on but started to regret his decision as he couldn’t see much with the speed. San only accelerated.

Arriving at the apartment, he got off his motorcycle, letting it drop to the ground without a bother. San ran up the sets of stairs, hands grabbing the railing to be the slightest quicker, knife between his teeth. Any second mattered.

The thumping of his hurriedly laced boots against the flooring matched with his heartbeat, and suddenly, he was right in front of that oh-so-familiar door, fingers circling around the knob to twist it, to shake it, to pull and push. It didn’t bulge.

His mind spun and it’s without even thinking that he ran back down the stairs, sprinting outside. San didn’t try to find the breath he had already lost, and instead, jumped. His hands grabbed the balcony’s concrete with force, skin breaking—though he couldn’t even feel it, nor did he notice the strain it put on his injured arm. With an unknown strength, he pulled himself up and ascended. A mixture of rage, desperation, fear, and determination blurred the difficulty of climbing, and minutes later, he had finally reached the railing of Seonghwa’s balcony, on the third floor, falling over it. His back landed on the balcony’s concrete, the snow melting on his hoodie.

San immediately got up, pulled open the sliding door, and rushed inside, not even caring about the noise he was making. He would fight whoever was there. He would kill whoever would threaten Seonghwa’s life, whether that be immoral or not. San’s heart slumped down to the pit of his stomach when he heard a laugh echoing along with splashes of water. Whatever that was didn’t sound right. Not at all. Not when Seonghwa wasn’t the one laughing.

It was instinctive; running past the door frame and to the bathroom, jumping on the first man that was there, his knife’s handle hitting the thug’s temple before the blade got to the same person’s throat. And then was the turn of another one. And another one. And another one.

San didn’t register whatever he did to whatever amount of man that was there—maybe two, maybe three, maybe more—nor did he notice his own blood being spilled. When the thugs ran away, trailing their coworker's body behind, San could only pull his hoodie off to dry Seonghwa’s face and sponge his hair. He couldn’t even stop his own tears; the sight was too hard to bear.

The older man was there, back against the bathtub, neck, chest, and face bruised by rough hands. He was drenched in icy water, shaking, goosebumps covering his skin. Seonghwa’s eyes were filled to the brim with hot tears, without spilling, as he heaved for breath. It came in and out of his trachea with a constant wheeze.

It should be punished, San thought. It had to be punished. And he’d have to be the one taking things into hands.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” he sobbed, holding the man whom he considered a brother, words slurring into wails.

Seonghwa’s hand found the younger man’s hair, quivering fingers slipping between sweaty locks lazily, but caringly nonetheless.

“I’m okay, San-ah.”

“Hyung… I’m sorry… How…”

“You came. Thank you,” he sighed, fingers trailing to the other’s back, clutching his friend—or his younger brother, he wasn’t sure anymore—against his chest.

“Of course… Of course… I should’ve been there, I’m so sorry, hyung…”

San kept a steady embrace on Seonghwa, rocking him, heart thumping against the other’s irregular one. The older man’s breath was rough, coughs covering the silence here and there. Even long minutes later, he was looking for breath. He was shaking. He was crying. And San wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not having been there.

“Go lock the door,” Seonghwa said between two sniffles.

“No. They can come back. I’m waiting for them. I swear…”

“San-ah… Please.”

The man’s voice broke into the plea. San’s frown deepened, jaw clenching. Those locks hadn’t kept him safe, yet, he was still counting on it.

Instead of immediately complying, he pulled towels from their cabinets, engulfing Seonghwa in them, and removing the most water he could from his hair. San then helped the other get up and led him to his own bedroom, away from the balcony. He figured it would feel safer.

San laid the other on his bed, brushing humid strands of hair away from his forehead before leaving the room for a bit. Not only did he lock the front door, but he also pushed the couch against it. At this point, though he knew they wouldn’t get attacked again in the same night, he had to admit it also made him feel safer to plainly barricade themselves like that. He locked the balcony door, sticking a broom in the knob to make the task of an intruder harder. 

And then, San went back to the kitchen, pausing as he heard Seonghwa sobbing. This was unbearable. His teeth clenched, his heart seemed to tear apart, and his breath picked up with the anger flaming in him. He had something to do, though. He had to make sure Seonghwa was okay. He couldn’t just be angry.

San opened the fridge, pulling out kimchi and eggs. They didn’t have vegetables left. He decided to go grocery shopping sometime soon. Luckily, the rice cooker was still half full. With the slightest bit of cooking, the result came out decent, despite his lack of skills. When he put the plate of fried rice on Seonghwa’s lap, sliding beside him in the bed, the other’s tears only renewed. But it wasn’t in a bad way, this time.

Seonghwa ate slowly, head leaning on his friend’s shoulder.

“What did they do?” San asked though he had a vague idea already.

He knew it was a bad idea to nourish his rage like that, but there was a strong urge to know, one he couldn’t ignore. It took a while for Seonghwa to find the words. He didn’t want the younger one to feel guilty. He didn’t want to restart crying either. He had been scared, terrified even, but it wasn’t a first. It probably wasn’t a last either. Seonghwa did wonder what extent that kind of attack would reach. It could probably go a thousand times worse, still.

“I was sleeping, I don’t know how they did it. I just heard the locks clank and the door open. I didn’t have the time to get a weapon, they just dragged me to the bathroom.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“For how long did they put your head in the water?”

Seonghwa refused to answer.

“Hyung?”

“I don’t know, San-ah. They did it a couple of times, I lost the notion of time for a bit. It doesn’t matter.”

“So, they drowned you. Repeatedly.”

San’s words hung in the air. The other finished eating, leaving his bowl on the nightstand and pulling his younger brother under the sheets, arms tightening in an unbreakable hold. Seonghwa hid his face in the crook of San’s neck, sniffling away his new tears. He forbade himself to think, trying his best to solely enjoy the warmth he was engulfed in.

In his younger brother’s hold, Seonghwa felt safe. Safer than anywhere else, as for that day. Calmer, too. Comfortable, even. Okay, almost. Almost.

Seonghwa fell asleep… San couldn’t.

Chapter Text

Loud knocks against the door. Not even a day of rest was given to them. In the morning, they were already attacked again.

“They’re gonna kill us,” Seonghwa whispered, cradling San against his torso.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No.”

The man’s grip tightened on his little brother, flinching at every series of thumps and tensing up at every silence in between.

“Hyung, let me go, I’ll be quick.”

“No, San, you’re not going to sacrifice-”

“Seonghwa, listen to me. There’s no sacrifice we’re talking about, none of us two is dying. I’ll take care of whoever’s behind that door and I’ll be careful as ever. I promise. It won’t be long.”

“San-”

“They won’t be patient,” San uttered, loosening Seonghwa’s grip on him.

His hands cupped the older man’s face, looking at him straight in the eyes.

“I’ll be fine and you’ll be fine, okay? Stay in the bedroom and lock the door. I’ll come back in a bit.”

San waited for the other to hesitantly nod before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Two daggers would do, he assumed as he hid one in the side of his boot. As the thumps became more insistent, he removed the broom and slid open the balcony door. The neighborhood was empty enough for no one to question a man climbing down balconies… The descent was almost smooth, apparently becoming somewhat of a habit. The pain in his biceps didn’t slow him down.

It wasn’t scary anymore. His hands didn’t hurt on the cement anymore. His numb fingers didn’t threaten to give up anymore.

Once back on the ground, he calmed down his breath; San couldn’t afford to get noticed. He had to use of surprise to get an advantage. His palms turned clammy, fingers quivering under the tension. Though he had shown confidence for Seonghwa to see, he just couldn’t be sure of himself, not when he hadn’t properly slept, not when he was alone against possibly many men, not when he had also a deep laceration down his back from his precedent fight.

But San had no choice. Seonghwa couldn’t fight anymore, or at least, not that very morning. Not for a while. Despite trying to be strong for his younger brother… Seonghwa couldn’t keep up anymore. It was too much.

So, San was the one who had to get up and be strong, now, or they would be crumbling down. And they couldn’t. Not when that organization was still thriving.

So, San held tight on his daggers.

So, San entered the building, climbing stairs per four, teeth grinding together, breath picking up with the adrenaline flowing in his veins.

So, San ignored the fear once more to protect one of the few people he actually cared about, and who cared about him, too.

The ascension seemed to take hours, though it really was a matter of seconds before he was on the right level. San opened the door in one swift move, preparing mentally for a fight, but with a step in the corridor, he instantly froze.

Yeosang, right in front of him, looking distressed until he recognized San and threw himself in the latter’s arms.

“For fuck’s sake, what was that?” the man exclaimed. “You just left on a motorcycle in the middle of a snowstorm, and didn’t come back in the morning, San, what the fuck? You didn’t even bring your phone…”

“W-What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you, damn kid…” Yeosang scowled, parting from the embrace to look at the younger man from toes to head as if making sure he was all in one piece.

“There was an emergency. I’m sorry.”

“What kind of emergency requires you to-”

“The organization attacked Seonghwa. He was alone.”

“Oh, shit… Are you okay? Is he okay?”

Yeosang’s voice had turned deeper, even more serious than previously. The relief in his eyes got washed over by professionalism, a frown hovering on his face. San’s head tilted the slightest in uncertainty.

“Alive.”

Even that was only half the truth. He was breathing, conscious, and his heart was beating. However, he wasn’t sure if he had the ability to feel alive anymore. To say that the day before, he did…

Yeosang’s hand reached for San’s before freezing. The man looked down, eyes widening.

“What are those daggers for?” he asked in a strangled whisper. “Are they still around?”

“I thought it was them thumping on the door.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Couldn’t call you… You didn’t have your cellphone.”

San nodded, taking back what the other was handing him.

“How did you know someone was at your door, though, if you weren’t in the apartment?”

“Climbed down. The balconies.”

From the look he received, he thought good to mention more.

“It looks worse than it really is.”

Yeosang chuckled, humorless. San offered him half a smile before walking to the door of his apartment and knocking a specific sequence on it—an old code from when Wooyoung and San were still going out on missions. It seemed like so long ago.

“It’s me, hyung,” he said, voice loud enough to pass through the door.

It took a few minutes—the time to unlock all three locks and remove the couch—before Seonghwa opened the door, hands close to ramming themselves on San’s shoulders to immobilize him and scan his whole body, from head to toe, and back to the head.

“It was Yeosang. I’m fine.”

The man looked behind the younger one, gaze fixed on Yeosang. Seonghwa’s emotions were lost in the darkness of his own irises, making him look almost impassible. He was terrified. He only gave one short nod before going back inside.

San stayed in the entrance, awkward, before inviting Yeosang inside.

“It’s the first time anyone comes over, actually,” he laughed dryly, hand scratching the back of his neck. “I- uh… I don’t think Seonghwa likes the idea of another organization knowing our exact address. Sorry, the past few weeks haven’t exactly been calm, let alone yesterday...”

“It’s fine, San. I get it.”

A short silence lingered, Seonghwa cooking mindlessly a breakfast in the kitchen while the two other men stood face to face, not really knowing what to say.

“Do you need help, San?”

“Actually-”

“We don’t,” Seonghwa answered, almost slamming a pan on the countertop.

The younger man flinched, looking behind his shoulder, glaring at his brother. A silent conversation flashed with the single eye contact.

“San, we’re not pulling another organization into this. We talked it out thousands of times, and you agreed. It’s not because this time I was the one getting attacked that we’re putting that discussion we had to trash.”

“It would be beneficial for both of our organizations,” Yeosang added.

“We don’t need help,” Seonghwa affirmed, turning back to what he was doing.

San would usually agree… But not after what Seongwha had experienced the night before. So he lowered his voice, getting closer to Yeosang so that the older man wouldn’t hear.

“Do you have ammunition? For a Smith and Wesson police handgun.”

“Depends on the bullet size but yeah, we have some. A limited quantity, though.”

“I’ll pay.”

“No need to.”

“Hyung?” San called, a bit louder. “I’ll go pick up the things I left at Yeosang’s place. Won’t be long.”

If he felt bad about lying? Maybe… Probably. The younger man walked into his bedroom to get changed, closing the door behind himself.

The silence filling the apartment didn’t last long.

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa softly called, approaching nervously the other man. “Please take care of San. For me. I’m getting bad at it. I owe you a lot already but please… Take well care of him. He deserves it.”

It was a surprise to hear that from the Park Seonghwa. The silent, mysterious, yet strategic and dangerous Park Seonghwa. His organization was neither known nor unknown, but one thing that was for sure was that not much information was circulating about it. Hell, Yeosang had learned about Wooyoung’s death from San himself, at least a year after the happening. San’s identity wasn’t disclosed either, or Hongjoong would’ve found it already. Park’s security system was no joke. Yeosang’s leader himself had once thrived to understand how it worked to go for a similar approach. However, it had been so complex that Hongjoong had given up, though he wasn’t stupid at all.

And now, the Park Seonghwa was asking him to take care of his own organization’s only other member—though the reason for which Yeosang knew they were only two was, again, San.

“Of course. You didn’t have to ask me. We really can give you help, though. I mean it.”

The man in front of him smiled softly, teeth refusing to show.

“It’s useless, Yeosang. We’re not an organization anymore. We’re a failure.”

It felt so wrong to hear that, but before Yeosang could contradict him, Seonghwa walked away, to the kitchen. A few seconds later, San was back in the living room, halting to wrap his arms around his brother from behind, saying he would be out for less than an hour.

“I’ll go to the grocery store, too. Our fridge is seriously sad. Lock the door behind me, hyung. will you be fine?”

He received a nod and took it for a positive answer. It was… But before being a reply, it was a lie.

Once Yeosang and San were in the street, the first man was too deep in thoughts for a conversation to be initiated. Even then, it didn’t feel awkward. San drove them to Hongjoong’s organization’s apartment—which was really only a block or two away—and as soon as they entered, the leader’s presence made San feel uncomfortable. Just by being there.

It wasn’t against Hongjoong himself, really. It was about how strict the man was when it came to his friends’ protection. After all, though Yeosang was clement to San’s admission of being in someone's organization, his leader wouldn’t agree to that, and San could absolutely understand where it came from. That didn’t mean it made Hongjoong any less imposing.

The man was really just sitting in front of the television, typing lazily on his laptop, legs dangling from the armrest, yet as soon as he noticed San’s presence, something seemed to shift in his eyes; a gaze turning into a glare. Maybe that was just part of the younger man’s overthinking, maybe not. He’d probably never know.

“We’ll have to wait for Mingi to come back,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, looking straight at San. “He probably won’t be very long.”

The younger man nodded, leaving his coat on a hook, right beside the helmet he had left there the previous night.

“You know, the movie I talked to you about, a few days ago? What about watching it?” San proposed.

“Alright, let’s do that. I’ll just go take a shower first, and then we can cuddle!”

Yeosang had said it in a shining enthusiasm which didn’t exactly resemble him when it came to physical touches but that was something only Hongjoong was aware of as for the people currently in the apartment. San felt the older man’s eyes on his back but tried not to pay it any mind as he simply grinned back, nodding.

“I won’t be long, do whatever!”

And with that, Yeosang disappeared for a minute or so in his bedroom before going straight to the bathroom. San, though, stayed stoic in the entryway for a bit; he didn’t know what to do. He was about to head to Yeosang’s bedroom to flee the eagle eyes on his person when Hongjoong got up, approaching slowly.

Truth was, there couldn’t be any more denying; San felt very uneasy, alone with Hongjoong, for whatever reason. The older man’s eyes were glued on him, an emotionless expression painted on his face. Immobility hung over them for about a minute as if unbreakable.

“What’s your relationship with Jung Wooyoung?”

The younger man’s breath froze, lungs paralyzed, surprised by the question.

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is, though. I’ve waited long enough. Your motorcycle’s plate corresponds with his. Which means you’re riding his motorcycle. Which also means… You’re hiding something from us.”

Hongjoong had always looked like a brilliant man, honestly, but he originally didn’t seem to be that observant… Which made San wonder how many more things had he not been careful enough with. Probably so many, since his head had been too busy with worries.

“What do you expect me to be? A mafia boss? A gang’s leader?” he chuckled, trying his best at lightening the atmosphere.

“Don’t play ignorant with me. Was it you, who helped us out?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” San uttered, his voice suddenly raw.

“Oh, yeah? That dude who’s there as soon as my organization is in trouble. Like he did a year ago, the one who saved Yeosang. Or half a year ago, when Mingi had been cornered. That same man helped him. And a few months ago, again, and last week, too, when Yunho had disappeared after a solo fight with an organization before reappearing, his wounds from the attack stitched up. That dude I tried removing the helmet from once.”

Indeed, San hadn’t been careful enough. The other had linked him easily to all the times he anonymously helped the organization, and that could only be bad. Questions would come, and San wasn’t ready to pull Seonghwa into this. So, he wouldn’t.

“When that man brought Yunho back… You must know who I’m talking about, the man who was hurt right there,” Hongjoong replied with a smirk, hand grabbing at San’s biceps, thumb pushing on a half-scarred wound. “Still hurts?”

The younger one’s teeth clenched, drawing blood from his lower lip.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t play with my organization’s members like that,” the leader growled, fire in his eyes, and San could only feel small.

“I only helped.”

“I know that, San, and I’m thankful. Really. But you have motivations and goals I can’t wrap my head around. You don’t deserve a place in my organization. Come back with honesty.”

“Hongjoong, I didn’t ask to take part in-”

“Then why are you still here? Why do you refuse to answer my questions? Be earnest, San, for once, for fuck’s sake! Why are you always here?”

San’s eyes had widened without him noticing. His jaw was dropped in a gasp. Sweat was building on his temple and in the palm of his hands.

“Because of Yeosang,” he whispered, and he was shocked by the honesty he found in his own answer, not used to telling the truth to someone he didn’t trust.

“What do you want from him?”

“Nothing related to your job, Hongjoong.”

“How do you know Wooyoung, and what’s your relationship with him?”

The younger one couldn’t answer that question, though, gaze fleeing.

“Get out,” Hongjoong ordered, words pronounced with such spite that it seemed painful.

“Please, just- What does Woo’ even have to-”

“Get out! You’re not welcome here.”

The man’s voice was now shaking, and San wasn’t sure if it was from disgust or torment.

“Don’t come back, please.”

Distrust.

“W-Why… I just… I can’t just…”

“How do you know Wooyoung?”

Seconds passed, and the tension didn’t fade out, only heightening as it lingered. And then, the bathroom door opened on a freshly showered Yeosang. He paused and looked at the other two men, San almost pressed against the wall by Hongjoong's presence.

“Hyung, what the hell?” the newcomer asked, pulling the older one at least a meter away from San.

“He’s hiding something. He knows Jung Wooyoung.”

Yeosang let out a shaky breath, gaze shifting to the younger man for a second. That was delicate.

“Hyung, I don’t think-”

“As long as I don't know his intentions-”

“It's not necessary, San’s not-”

“Well I’ve met Wooyoung once and he-”

“‘Joong-”

“He didn't exactly do some pretty things to the man in front of him! And I will have to talk to you, too, Yeosang. If Wooyoung’s after-”

“He’s fucking dead!” 

San’s enraged scream made everyone freeze, words hung in the air.

“They killed him and I was too late. That was my relationship with Wooyoung; he was my boyfriend. And they threw him down a staircase, high enough for it to be deadly, but low enough for him to stay conscious. That’s what you wanted to know? Or do you want more details? Woo’ has absolutely nothing to do with why I’m close to Yeosang!”

San tried to compose himself and act but it would've been too hard, so he focused on saying the truth without revealing too much.

“And if you want to know how I learned to defend myself, well he taught me everything. To protect me."

Hongjoong chuckled, squinting his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Did he pull you into this to protect you? He was either very stupid or you’re lying again, San. Getting pulled into this job is everything but safe.”

“He didn’t pull me into this, I’m the one who pulled myself in whatever shit I’m stuck in,” San raised his voice, stepping forward. His few centimeters of difference made him look imposing. “Don’t you dare talk bad of him ever again or you're building yourself an enemy.”

“Then stop lying.”

Hongjoong hit his fist against the younger man’s chest, not strong enough to fully push or hurt him, but enough to force a step back and feel a slight impact. His knuckles stayed glued to San's chest.

“There's something that isn’t clean about you, San. I’m not stupid. You’ve been acting suspicious for months, even more than that. And if you're not the one telling me the truth behind your act, then I’ll be the one to find out. Lies are never well-tolerated, here.”

“I’ll think twice before helping your organization again, then. If that’s what I gain from it.”

He didn’t mean those words—since he hadn’t done it to actually help the organization in itself, but more to make sure Yeosang, Mingi, or Yunho were safe—but that was something the other didn’t have to know. 

“Don’t put your curiosity and fears between me and Yeosang. That’s the only thing I’m asking from you. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

San pushed Hongjoong away and pulled his coat and helmet off the hook, barely taking the time to put them on as he got out of the apartment, speeding straight down the stairs. 

Until he faced a man.

“Oh, aren’t you that little superhero? The one who keeps getting in our way… You’re the one who comes to save your friends every time, aren’t you? And who failed to save your other friend a while back,” the thug chuckled, a smug smirk crowning his unaligned teeth.

Of course. It had to be that very day. It had to be right when he was about to break. He had to face another thug right when he only wanted to cry himself to unconsciouness.

It was all planned; Hongjoong’s and Seonghwa’s organizations were both targeted specifically often during the past few months. After the previous day’s events, it was Hongjoong’s turn to be attacked. 

San would’ve run away if he thought it was worth it, if he wasn’t so tired of fleeing.

“I didn't expect to see you here tonight but I guess it’s a good thing,” the man kept going. “We'd need a little talk over what you keep doing to my men. And I find it a bit low of you to always hide your face. I wonder if you’re really Park’s dog… Are-”

“Hey, San, wait!" Yeosang exclaimed from up the flights of stairs, the echo of feet hurrying down accompanying his words.

San didn’t even look behind him, taking a few steps forward and pushing the thug. The man barely stumbled, thick fingers circling San’s throat, blocking harshly his airways. The younger one grabbed at his opponent’s hair, cramming his own hand into a fist. San could barely get any momentum from his position, but the multiple hits he gave weakened the man’s grip. 

That thug was here for Hongjoong’s organization. And like every time, San wondered to which extent the people he knew would keep getting hurt . He wasn’t supposed to care, though he did. Strangely enough, he could see in Hongjoong’s organization what had disappeared from his very own. It was too late for Seonghwa and him to be sane and safe. It was too late for them not to live in constant fear, but Yeosang? Yunho? Mingi? Even Hongjoong…

Well, they were still an organization, one that worked better than Seonghwa’s. One who was even more calculated, to avoid mistakes. It wasn’t too late for them. Though they were a target...

Not on my watch.

All San could see was the blood slipping down the man’s nostrils, down the edges of his mouth, and down the slit arc of his eyebrow. Through the tinted visor of his helmet, he noticed the skin getting irritated, tiny strips of purple crawling over the puffy redness on his face. Slowly, the injuries were covered with black dots, until San fell on his knees, until his fingers slipped away, and until all he could see was blurred. He could only hear an almost symphonic cacophony; exclamations, thuds, and grunts echoing in his mushy mind. 

San closed his eyes before he could hear Yeosang telling him to stay awake. He was so, so tired.

Chapter Text

San woke up in his own bed, tired. No, exhausted. His whole body was so heavy he could almost feel himself sink in the mattress. Sunlight was seeping by breaches between each slat of the blinds. It wasn’t enough to make him feel warm. It wasn’t enough to make him feel anything.

His throat, head, and chest hurt, yet getting up wasn’t specifically hard. Habit. Looking to his left, his gaze brushed his cellphone resting on the nightstand. The screen was cracked, shattered even, but as soon as San pressed the home button, it lit up without a glitch. He stared at the picture of him with Jongho and Wooyoung, hidden only partly by the large, round numbers indicating the hour.

The first thought that came to his mind was that he missed them. So, without thinking, he called his cousin.

“Hyung? You never call, what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he almost choked, coughing his dry throat out.

“What?”

“Sorry for never calling. I wanted to get some news. Are you fine with your mom, now?”

“Yeah, sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, stop acting, you’re not sorry for shit,” San chuckled audibly, though he winced violently at the state of his voice. It was painful to talk. “And it’s no trouble.”

“Hey, you should visit grandma, you moron. She told me she hears from Seonghwa more than from you.”

“I will,” he agreed quietly.

She would be deceived, too. Again.

“I gotta go, but let’s take a drink again soon, alright?”

“Hell no, I’m not drinking that shit ever again.”

“Then pay me another motel weekend,” Jongho giggled.

“You’re such a greedy kid. Oh, by the way… The other day, I sent a pension to your mom. For my dad’s detox’. I know she doesn’t want me to pay but… I want to be his son, for once. Someone should care for him, outside of that center. Tell her that, please.”

“Of course, hyung. She’ll let your dad know when she’ll visit.”

“No need to.”

Jongho stayed silent for a bit.

“Okay.”

“Thanks. Love you, dude.”

With that, San ended the call, shy. He didn’t want the other to laugh at the sudden use of those words. He didn’t even know why he had said that; it was unusual of him—of them. He hoped Jongho would remember it, though. 

San got up, flinching at the cold flooring, and his own instability pulling a ragged breath out of his sore lungs. How could one be tired of breathing, he didn’t know, but San was pretty sure he was nonetheless.

His body stood almost limply in front of the large mirror by the bed, reflection sharing a strange image. An unfamiliar one. San couldn’t recognize himself. A large ring was back around his neck, skin covered in dark bruises. He felt choked by the sight.

His lips were cut and chapped. His fingers were shaking, loosely resting against air. His eyes didn’t reflect a single emotion—which was surprising since he felt so many. A quiet storm was raging inside his chest, but even his own eyes couldn’t notice it.

The only thing San could heed was the empty bed behind his reflection. It didn’t even look cozy or homey; it seemed uncomfortable, instead. Cold. Lonely. A strong urge to leave the room engulfed him. He didn’t hesitate to do so.

Seonghwa looked like he hadn’t slept. My fault. San joined him on the couch, posture straight until the older man pulled him delicately in his arms, rocking them from left to right, every gesture careful for the other’s injuries.

“I’m okay, hyung.”

“Not really, though.”

To which San only smiled, eyes staying cold and emotionless.

“How did I get here?”

“Yeosang called me with your phone.”

That was weird; he would’ve expected him to call Yunho for medical assistance, but to bring him to Seonghwa? They didn’t even know each other.

“You were unconscious. He was afraid for your life.”

Oh. San did feel bad; horrible, even. He was constantly worrying the both of them when all he wanted was to keep them safe and carefree. He was a weight on their mind, though they would never admit it. He was tiring them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

But he really was. Because in the pit of his stomach was resting a lingering rage, one that wouldn’t ever leave until he spilled blood. Blood. Yes, blood. And San knew it was technically unlike him, that what made him be—or even think—like that were the actions of others, that he was slowly sinking towards being a person he didn’t want to be. But he couldn’t stop; he had already slipped.

And in the back of his mind, despite Wooyoung’s voice repeating that he wasn’t like that, San’s own mind answered that, unfortunately, he became like that. Because of the family he was born in, because of the way all his traumas weren’t acknowledged during his childhood, because of the way one decision led to another, because of the way he had committed the worst mistake in his entire life, one he regretted with his entire being; letting Wooyoung go in that building first.

But most importantly, because of himself, the way he acted and reacted, the way he hadn’t had enough will to change what he was bound to become. He had let himself change. He had let himself become someone he didn’t want to be. Maybe San had tried to change, but he hadn’t tried enough. And he had failed. No one else could be blamed for that.

“San, I don’t know what we should do anymore.”

Seonghwa was only voicing their concerns; what they both knew, but what they were too stubborn to say.

“I don’t know either,” he admitted back.

“I don’t think we can pull that organization down. We are missing some important data for the police to incriminate them.”

“But we have no other plan.”

“Let’s dissolve the organization.”

San frowned, looking straight at Seonghwa.

“Are we even an organization?”

“Whatever, San-ah. Let’s get rid of this apartment and everything related to this job. Let’s part our ways, too.”

“What?! Seonghwa!”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and you-”

“No!”

“It’s the right decision. For safety measures.”

“You know it’s not, hyung. How can you even think about it?!”

“How? By seeing you, San. When I see you take so many risks, put your life on the line and end up bruised, cut, injured, wounded… That’s how. And now, you keep doing that because I am unable to protect myself. And I can’t bear it, San-ah. I can’t bear the fact that I slowly see the boy I consider a younger brother… die inside. You’re dying on the inside. Because you’re not trying to stop it from happening anymore. And I only worsen it. And this job only worsens it.”

“You can’t put my mental illnesses on your back, Seonghwa. You can’t try to bear the weight of keeping me sane. If I am dumb enough to not make the right decisions—like not getting in this kind of job in the first place—then you can’t do anything about it, and you can certainly not put it on your fault. It’s unfair to say I’m a victim when the fault relies on me anyway.”

“Stop being so hard on yourself.”

“Stop thinking that whatever is happening to me is your fault. Acknowledge that I will never be healthy and don’t ever say that you want us to part our ways. Please Don’t make me lose you too. I can’t lose you, hyung. I can’t. And you can’t be alone, right? You’d be alone, you- No.”

Seonghwa looked assertive, though.

“I can be alone.”

Tears beaded in San’s eyes; despair joined the fear. He had so much to lose.

“You’ll leave me alone?” he asked, voice broken from both his injury and the worry.

San didn’t want pity, but he guessed he did look pitiful with tears rolling down his hollow cheeks, bottom lip agitated by a constant tremor, and brows knitted tightly into clear sorrow.

“You’re not alone, San-ah. Even without me. You have grandma, Jongho, Yeosang.”

But the younger one shook his head, looking away.

“Hey, look at me. You’ll be fine, I promise,” Seonghwa murmured, hands taking the other’s face in reassurance.

San kept shaking his head from left to right and back to left. His shoulders hunched, his knuckles turned white from their grip on himself.

“San…”

“Why don’t you get it? Do you think leaving me will protect me? At least find a decent reason… Do you think you’re the one putting me in danger?”

“Maybe not. But still, I’m not-”

“It’s not ‘maybe not’, it’s absolutely not, Seonghwa. You’re absolutely not the cause of the danger I’m in.”

“I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you. I don’t want to see you die like him. And it’s the organization that killed Woo’. It’s my organization that killed him.”

“But it’s too late to think about that. Remember? You can’t leave a job like that. It sticks with you. If I die, it’s on me. I was bound to die young anyway.”

So, Seonghwa dropped his hands and rested further into the couch. Having to hear San say that would one day kill him.

“They don’t know your identity, though. If I dissolve my organization, they won’t get to you.”

“ I will get to them,” San said, tone cold and sharp. “Wooyoung wanted them in jail, I’m pulling them in jail.”

“Not if it pulls you to death. Not if it kills you. Can you please, please, be rational?”

“Says the one who wants to get rid of me,” he chuckled, a sour smile pulling his lips upwards.

Seonghwa’s mouth dropped, gasping to babble an answer, but San didn’t let him.

“It was a joke, hyung. But don’t you dare drop me. I’ll go take some air, it feels stuffy in here.”

He left the couch and ignored the older man’s hefty silence.

“I think you should accept Yeosang’s help,” San declared.

“They’re going to end up like us if I do.”

“It’s Hongjoong’s choice to take. Not yours.”

“If I can prevent them from ending up like us, then it’s my choice as well.”

San’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding as he put his boots on, sliding flat a blade between its fabric and his calf just in case.

“You can’t save the world, Seonghwa. You can save yourself, though.”

“That’s unlike you, to say that.”

The younger man chuckled dryly, hand reaching the locks and pushing them out of their nest to open the door, but as he took a step outside, an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. He stopped every movement before looking behind his shoulder—at Seonghwa who was also staring at him—before getting back in the apartment, shortening the distance between them and hugging him tightly, resting his cheek against the older man’s shoulder.

The bitterness that had filled the air immediately dissipated.

“I never said you can’t help others. I just meant that you should look after yourself before anyone else, now. You deserve at least that. Love you, hyung. I’ll be back.”

San left after the other replied with a soft smile and a ‘love you too’ whispered back.

He actually had no idea as to where to go, so he let his feet guide him. The time seemed both slow and quick as he advanced towards a familiar neighborhood. When he finally stood in front of his grandma’s house, San wasn’t sure if he should knock or just enter. It didn’t feel like home anymore, since he hadn’t visited her enough in the past weeks.

He took a deep breath, tightened the scarf around his neck, and opened the door.

“It’s me,” he said, voice the slightest shaky.

Grandma’s smile was medicine in itself. She was there, sitting in her old wheelchair—which she refused San to pay her a new one—smiling with open arms. She was there, rolling hurriedly to be the one rushing to San and not the contrary. She was there, hugging him tightly, repeating how much she missed him and how glad she was to see him.

Grandma’s medicine was to care, without asking. She didn’t scold his apparent lack of sleep, nor did she talk about the bruises littering a few parcels of his skin. She didn’t ask what was wrong when he sobbed, knees giving up. She didn’t say anything about all the days he didn’t come back home. Instead, she held him, hushing him with a regular hum, the same one as always, repetitive, but oh-so soothing.

“Let it all out, my little sun. Oh, poor kid, hurting so much. It’s okay, San-ah, don’t stop. Don’t stop crying, you held it in for too long.”

Grandma held him, engulfing him though she was much smaller, palm rubbing miracles on his back. Somehow, she had the power to make him feel like a child again, one who had the right to cry because he wasn’t responsible for his unluckiness—though he was actually well aware that it was his own wrongdoings that had brought him to that point.

Was there even a way out? He had so much, but so little to lose.

When his cries quieted, the only thing she did was pressing a firm kiss on his forehead, erasing his tears, and smiling brightly.

“Get rid of your guiltiness, San. Get rid of your mental debts. Get rid of those worries you put on yourself. Living shouldn’t be so hard.”

Isn’t it too late, grandma? he wanted to ask. 

He didn’t.

“Listen to me, San. You’ve got so much in front of you. Don’t let the pain blind you from that. Let yourself get rid of the pain. Let your heart beat freely. Let life flow effortlessly.”

“Grandma, I miss him so much.”

“I know, San… I know…” she murmured, and he wondered how she had understood who he was talking about. Maybe it was obvious.

“It hurts. It really hurts. He was the one pulling me away from the pain. And I feel so bad.”

Her warm hands caressed his face gently.

“It’s scary to live, grandma.”

“Once you know it, it gets easier.”

But it didn’t really. It only got easier to accept. To accept that life wasn’t a fairytale, and to mourn from your childish expectations. It wasn’t made to be pretty. No one was born to be happy. That was something one had to fight for, to try hard, and to make the decisions concisely, along with that. San had failed from the beginning, and even before he himself did, his parents had already failed him— them.  

The metallic chain around his wrist was heavier, tighter, for no reason. The weight of memories.

Though he had been left alone by her, though he had been too young for her to get to know him, though he had failed to be enough for her, though she wasn’t even there anymore, San felt understood by his sister. She had chosen a different path than him, but in the end, her soul was probably happier than his.

When he left his grandma’s place for her to nap peacefully, his bracelet was still as heavy, almost pulling at his arm, almost guiding him.

San was scared.

He was lonely, though Wooyoung had promised to always be with him. He was lonely, though he had a home to come back to. He was lonely, though he had an older brother, now. He was lonely, though Yeosang was only a call away. He was lonely, in the middle of the street, as the nth snow of the year gently twirled to rest around him as well as on his hair and shoulders. Flakes stuck to his face, unpleasing. San’s fingers were numb by the cold, but that was nothing— nothing —compared to his freezing heart.

San was lonely, even though he wasn’t really.

Chapter Text

San wasn’t sure why he had called Yeosang. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve called him either. Probably not. Actually, he already felt dents of regrets grazing his skin. His mind was hazed, heavy emotions weighing down his mood. He was a bit dizzy and couldn’t tell if it was only physically or also emotionally. San didn’t feel alright.

After talking with his grandma, he had realized he would never get better. He was at the summit of his happiness, and it hurt more than it should have. Love wouldn’t cure him. Couldn’t cure him.

He had never expected Yeosang—or even Wooyoung—to be his healer, that was for sure, however, they had both brought him so much that he had hoped it would be enough, in a way. He couldn’t deny it; Wooyoung had made him feel like getting better was possible, he had been lining him on the right path and helping him so much with processing his emotions and with, simply, living . The man wouldn’t even have had to try; just being with him was sufficient. With Yeosang, it was a bit different—hence why he didn’t like to think about both men at the same time. The older was a breath of fresh air. He was someone with whom San was a bit less close, but still so comfortable. Someone who had inexplicably taken ahold of his heart. Or maybe he couldn’t find the explanation because he was too holed up in the black cloud constantly hovering over his head. San cherished deeply Yeosang, though he hadn't had the time to understand the purpose and the depth of those feelings yet.

The problem that wouldn’t change, though, wasn’t about them; it was that San would never become who he wanted himself to be. He would never suddenly feel fine enough to be in a normal relationship with Yeosang. He would never completely get rid of the violence haunting him day and night, of the thoughts and fears. He would never be a normal kid for fuck’s sake, whether his differences with others were slight or not.

San had tried, yet could’ve done more to get better, he guessed. But he hadn’t. All his youth, he had felt like he didn’t have control over his life. It had been stolen from him since he was a kid. They had pulled him from a household to another. Pushed him away from the life he had gotten used to. Brought him back where he felt unsafe before he was finally given back the opportunity to go back home, the one with his grandma. Someone should’ve told him to stop being scared of losing everything. Someone should’ve told him to make more friends, to create himself life goals, to plan out his future. But no one did. And maybe it was also San’s fault, maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t matter. No one had to be faulted; it was too late either way.

Because either way, no one had told him to solidify a future for himself, no one had told him that at some point, he’d be the one taking the reins and even his mother wouldn’t be able to steal them from him. No one had told him and he had never realized, but here he was, having never learned to care for himself the slightest bit. Here he was, hating himself a bit too much, constantly overthinking and overwhelming himself.

And now, here he was, sitting in snowy grass, waiting for Yeosang. He had decided to tell him the whole thing. From the reason why he had met him in the first place to the fact that he was about to go crazy from the anxiety ravaging his insides every day since he first heard his parents shout at each other from his bedroom.

He wanted to be transparent as to how broken of a human he was, once for all. He was done. Done, done, done.

When Yeosang arrived, he sat right by him and slid cold fingers against San’s bruised neck, as if hoping he could soothe the pain.

“Are you okay?”

“That’s not really what I wanted to talk about,” he admitted quietly, and if it was also a way to divert from the fact that he wasn’t okay, then so be it.

“Oh. Thought you just wanted to hang out. Alright, whenever you’re ready, I’m listening.”

The older man took San’s hand, and the latter was startled, about to slide it away, when he felt a second palm engulfing it, warming up his fingers. He stared at Yeosang, who wasn’t even looking back. Detailed the fine lines of his each and every feature, mapped his birthmark with the brush of a glare, located the few moles on his skin, despite the tame darkness.

San had a lot to admit to that man, but first, he had interrogations, too.

“Why didn’t you tell Hongjoong about my identity? Wouldn’t it be safer for your friends? Actually, wouldn’t it be safer for you too? How do you trust me?”

“That’s your insecurities talking again, San-ah… We know each other for too long for me not to trust you. And you would’ve hurt me already if you had that as a goal. Hongjoong doesn’t trust others. He’s protective. And I don’t think he needs to know since whatever is between us has no link with either of our jobs.”

“What if I told you it was all based on a mission?”

San winced at his own words, even though Yeosang stayed impassible. Honesty stung.

“If you’d tell me we met because of a mission on my organization, I wouldn’t be surprised,” the older one uttered carefully, yet without any trace of hesitation. “But if you’d add that everything about us was for the sole purpose of a mission, I’d be hurt.”

The younger man squeezed the other’s hand a tiny bit tighter as reassurance. The mission had always been long forgotten when he was with Yeosang.

“No, of course not. But why aren’t you surprised?”

“The circumstances, San. I’ve worked in this field for a bit, just like you. I know how an infiltration works. I’ve had my doubts, though they were all only hypotheses. I’m pretty sure no one drugged my drink, I would’ve felt their presence behind me. I always do, it’s a skill I perfected years ago.”

Yeosang chuckled, looking straight at San.

“And the fact that you were talkative, too. I remember noticing that you didn’t look in the state to get to know someone, yet you seemed very open to discussing.”

“I didn’t think that would sell me.”

To which the older shook his head before resting it on San’s shoulder. The latter’s heart picked up at their proximity and he almost wondered if he was back to being a teenager. For a bit, he was lost on Yeosang’s words, on his soothing voice.

“It didn’t. It’s when I got to know you that it did. When I saw that a dangerous organization was constantly after you. Why the hell would you go in a bar in that kind of condition?” he sighed deeply but continued. “I mean it, though, I didn’t know. I just had somewhat of a feeling. I mean I discovered you were with Seonghwa, and I also knew he had already taken down an organization with information… It just kind of made sense when you asked me if Hongjoong would give you some documents.”

“Though you had suspicions over me, you weren’t even careful.”

“I’ll be honest, I’m aware Seonghwa isn’t the type to order a death or even an attack without reason, and I see no reason for you to attack me or my organization. And even before I knew you were with Seonghwa … I just looked at you, San. I mean… It’s easy to figure out if someone is ill-intended when you know where to look. When you look at the unnecessary details. Things like bringing me hand cream when you see my fingers’ skin is dry… If you were so focused on a mission, you wouldn’t have noticed,” Yeosang affirmed, and he took a deep breath when he saw that San didn’t seem convinced. “I mean, you would’ve brushed a strand of hair out of my face. You would’ve brought me a drink. You would’ve bought me flowers. You would’ve shown interest in a common way. You wouldn’t have cared about details that would go unnoticed, not with a clear goal in mind. You were never ever threatening to any of us, San-ah, not even to Hongjoong who can’t bear your presence and who made it very clear. You’re a kind soul. A kind but sad soul. And I know it. I knew it early as well.”

Those words didn’t have a negative connotation, yet, San had a bitter aftertaste stuck on his tongue, gliding down his esophagus and seeping in a vein to settle in the depths of his heart. That’s the way he had always seen his own father: as a kind but sad soul. The same. Yeah, the exact same as his family.

“My mission was to gain your trust, steal information on that organization, and disappear from your life.”

“And you only did one of the three.”

He didn’t deserve Yeosang. He didn’t deserve someone so forgiving. San wished he was saying all of this in front of Hongjoong. To get screamed at, pushed around, to hear atrocities about himself, and maybe even receive a slap or two. But deep down, he knew Hongjoong wasn’t like that either. No, the leader would only scrutinize him with distrust, and utter to leave, voice filled with spite. Because contrary to San himself, Hongjoong wasn’t exactly mean or violent. Instead, he was right. He didn’t like blood, he wasn’t cruel, nor was he reckless. Hongjoong thought before acting.

The younger one chuckled lightly, and before his humorless laugh turned noisier, he pulled the blade out of his boot, making it shine under the moonlight. He could almost see temptation in the cold metal.

“What are you doing?”

Honestly? San didn’t have an answer. He could only recall the same gliding on the bracelet at his wrist, almost calling for him. His fingers were acting without a single thought given.

The thing was: San hated himself. And as weird as it was, he sometimes hoped others would too. Wished they would see in him what he himself saw. Sometimes, San truly believed he would deserve them to hate him the same way he did.

San would feel better knowing Yeosang hated him. But Yeosang didn’t. And it hurt, somehow. It hurt because he knew he was giving troubles to him. Always. It hurt because Yeosang made him doubt the words his mother had etched in him, and doubt hurt more than certitude. You’re hurting me, San. Always. By being there, and by leaving me. Always. It hurt because he constantly heard his mother’s words in Wooyoung’s voice at the back of his mind. It hurt because at that exact moment, Yeosang was a literal angel, but as soon as San would be left alone, he would hear the exact same thing from that deep, honey voice as well

It hurt because it was always the same, would always be. Tears welled up in San’s eyes, his breath hitching.

“Hey, San, are you okay?” Yeosang asked, suddenly worried at the other man’s silence.

“Of course.”

But he could hear the lie between his carelessly blissful answer. Anyone could have.

“Talk to me…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s up with me today…”

“Don’t apologize. Is it the shock from yesterday?”

It took San a bit to even remember what had happened the previous day. A lot had happened and it washed over him with so many emotions that he immediately felt a thousand times worst. He couldn’t breathe, yet physically, he wasn’t hyperventilating.

“No, I had forgotten it to be honest. I don’t know, Yeosang. I shouldn’t have called you, sorry.”

Faint confusion blurred his thoughts. He couldn’t even tell why he had called the other in the first place. So, so weak. Might as well disappear here all alone.

“No, it’s fine, San-ah. I’m glad you did. Really. You look tired, though. Emotionally and physically. You should go rest. Do you want to come back to my place? Or… Do you want me to walk you back to your place?”

The park suddenly seemed eerie, shivers pulling goosebumps on his skin. San wasn’t dressed enough, but he knew it wasn’t because of that. His skin crawled. He hated this feeling; it was an old one he had got to know when he was only a kid. With a wince, his head hung.

“It’s fine, ‘Sang-ah,” he replied in a murmur. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit. To clear out my thoughts.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“There’s nothing such as a ‘good idea’ anymore. I don’t know. I think I need to be alone. I have no idea why I called you, you shouldn’t… Right in the middle of the night… You shouldn’t have come. Sorry.”

“For the millionth time: it’s fine, San-ah. Really. You, though, don’t seem so fine. And I’m not sure it’s a good idea to let you alone, outside, at this hour of the night. And in whatever state you’re in. Isn’t that why you called me?”

The younger man blinked a few times before shaking his head, suddenly remembering.

“No, I called you because I’m tired of myself and I thought you should know that I won’t get better. You deserve better. I’m wrecked. It won’t change. That’s it.”

“And whatever kind of self-deprecation you’re on, it won’t change anything about us either.”

“You must be an angel,” he sighed, and he had expected tears to bloom in his eyes, but it didn’t happen.

San felt detached from everything his brain was trying to process. ‘ Traumas’, a therapist had called it when he was a teenager. She had also mentioned it was necessary to help your brain process it to prevent further damage. Too late, honestly.

“Thank you, Yeosang.”

He wasn’t answered for long minutes. The older man knew he was supposed to leave, now. That’s what had been asked—though San felt horrible for making him come and then leave. However, he was pretty sure that if he would apologize once again Yeosang would shut his mouth with duct tape.

“I think I should bring you back to Seonghwa. How about that?”

“I’m not ready to go,” San muttered, so low that he wondered if the older man had heard him.

He didn’t want to be difficult, he didn’t want to worry Yeosang like that, he didn’t want to make him come to a park in the middle of a cold night, he didn’t want to be so annoying, but he was. San had a physical blockage at the thought of going back home.

“Good night, ‘Sang-ah. Text me once you’re safe in your bed,” he said with a smile, draping his scarf around the man’s neck and over his head to protect him from the snow.

“Come with me?”

Yeosang grabbed his hand tighter, looking at him straight in the eyes, trying to convince the one man he knew he couldn’t convince. San was stubborn because he was always following the depth of his emotions, and no gaze could erase those feelings, unfortunately. And so, the younger man carefully shook his head but smiled warmly.

Despite looking so hollow, fearful, and weary, as soon as his lips curved upwards for Yeosang, his eyes shone sincerity. And for a second, the other forgot that San had become fragile, in a way, because he looked like the strongest soul, deep dimples displayed earnestly. Yeosang was the one convinced that he should go back home alone, though it hurt, because even if it wasn’t exactly safe to let San there, well he had to respect his request. 

And if anything was to happen to San, Yeosang would run back to him without hesitation. A thousand times. So, he nodded, leaving a gentle peck on his lover’s—if he could allow himself to call him like that—forehead.

“Thank you… I-” the younger man froze, his warm gaze turning more serious, fingers curled tighter on the other’s hand purposefully. “I love you, Yeosang.”

San saw the hesitancy in Yeosang’s moves as he ruffled his hair and then walked away—after having reciprocated the words, of course—but was thankful, really. Again, he couldn’t tell what the other was thinking but he hoped it was peaceful.

And it was, because Yeosang was content with his decision. It was the right one. He trusted San. The latter deserved to be trusted whatsoever.

Once alone, thoughts hustled in the younger man’s head—head which ended up in his hands. He was indeed a sad soul. Like his dad, like his sister, and it was so painful. To stay strong. To breathe. To exist. To be there, feeling lonely.

But what hurt wasn’t the fact that he was lonely, not anymore. There was so much more depth to it.

The knife twirled between his fingers, cutting open the pad of his index by mistake. Blood took over the flow of his emotions, mind haunted by memories. Not only his sister’s blood, no. Wooyoung’s too, obviously. Seonghwa’s. Yeosang’s. His own.

He could almost hear all their voices telling him he’d be okay, promising. It will be fine, sunshine. But San heard those words as bitter, not calming, anymore. This time, tears burned his eyes. Because he didn’t feel okay, he didn’t feel fine, and he didn’t even want to at this point.

San was done. Done, done, done.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Wooyoung repeated to drop his knife. Seonghwa and Yeosang, too. It’s Hongjoong’s voice telling him to come back with honesty that somewhat broke his trance. For a second, he wondered if he should walk there and tell the leader everything. Ask for help despite Seonghwa’s refusal. Beg for Hongjoong to help him—them—and be earnest, for once, after so long. His fingers were about to let go of the weapon. They really were. 

But then, he realized how useless all of that would be. San didn’t even feel safe with himself, he had some problems rooted deep within his brain and heart, outside of everything he had buried himself in.

San’s grip on the knife tightened. No, he couldn’t let go of his weapon. Not anymore. His whole mind asked for the sight of dark, crimson blood. He had never gotten better, he had never changed since kindergarten—when his eyes would follow anything that was scarlet enough. San finally understood; he would never change. Every fighter lost at least one fight… It was time for San to lose his.

His whole body relaxed under the realization of a conclusion, after so long. He wouldn’t fight anymore. His eyes turned glassy as he nodded, acceptant. It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

And for once, it really was. For once, as his weapon’s blade pierced skin, he felt no regret. So, he kept going, once, twice, thrice, and he lost the count.

The pain was so strong it was muffled, so harsh it was bearable. The next thing his senses registered was the shout of his name, in a not-so-far distance.  His eyes followed the call and fell on that man whose expression was painted in horror. Running to him.

Yeosang hadn’t left. He had stayed further away to watch over him. And out of all the things he had expected to witness, this probably wasn’t it.

With a wet cough, blood spilled on San’s chin, a few drops freefalling on his jeans. Blood. That’s what he had needed all along. But not anyone’s blood. His . Truth was, he wasn’t exactly a monster. He only wanted to kill himself more than anyone else.

His weight was too heavy for his muscles to support but he stayed sitting nonetheless, body hurting too much to move and lungs threatening to give up. It was okay, though the demons had won.

Arms held him, giving rest for his muscles.

“Please don’t feel bad,” he muttered, eyes fluttering towards his loved one’s pained face.

“San…. San-ah… W-What did you do…. San… Please stay awake...”

“Don’t feel bad, I’m tired of making others sad.”

“Sweetheart… I-I’ll call someone who can help… I’ll call Yunho. He’ll save you. I’ll save you. Someone will be able to save you, you’ll be fine.”

“‘Sang-ah… I’m tired of being sad. So, don’t feel bad, please. For me.”

The man’s skin became pale, oh-so pale. Yeosang grabbed his phone and called Yunho but before he could put it to his ear to say anything, San whimpered, choking on his blood. He angled the younger man to let his lungs breathe, red spilling everywhere; on their clothes, skin, and on the ground, staining the snow.

“Stay awake, please…” he sobbed, eyes closing, fingers grabbing a cooling hand.

“I could never show you properly, I’m sorry. I love you. It will be easier for you, now,” San slurred, a thin smile resting on his bloody lips. “I’m okay, now. Tell ‘Hwa I’m sorry. It’s so much better. It was so hard. It was too tough. It will be easy, now. I’m happy, ‘Sangie, so don’t cry, uh?” San’s shaky breath brushed against Yeosang’s face. “I don’t regret anything.”

Despite his words of reassurance, he had tears in his eyes, too. Tears that, once he blinked, fell down his hollow cheeks, his bloody chin, and his bruised neck.

“I’m scared. I’m sorry.”

Regret was visible on the younger man’s face. He had lied, obviously. Of course, he regretted so many things. Dying wasn’t part of those. Leaving the ones he cared about, though, was unbearable.

Yeosang wouldn’t let him leave feeling bad. He wasn’t dumb; it was impossible to save San with the number of wounds he had inflicted himself. However, one thing he could do was reassure him one last time. Making sure that for once, he would stop being scared, would stop regretting. Yeosang would only let him go with a peaceful expression, that was the least he could do.

So, Yeosang forced himself to look, to see life on that face he had detailed so often. His eyes stuck to San’s gaze.

“Don’t be scared. Don’t be sorry. It will stop hurting. You made your decision. It’s okay, San-ah.”

Yeosang engraved in his mind the dimples dug from a weak and sad smile. He couldn’t risk overlooking a single detail about such an beautiful human. Inside and out. He couldn’t afford to forget anything about that beautiful, hurting soul. 

Because no matter what he had done in his life, a part of him tried to bloom. A part that was beautiful. So, so beautiful. Something Yeosang never saw in anyone else.

“Love you,” San finally uttered, every syllable delicately cut out, eyes giving up on resisting the urge to close.

San felt like he had forgotten something very important, a bit like that time when he got back from visiting Jongho. Except this time, he remembered. He remembered his promise, and how empty it sounded now that his eyelids were so heavy. He had acted like a monster, once again. I’m sorry, hyung. I didn’t come back home.

“I love you more. You’ll finally get back to Wooyoung, you’ll be fine,” Yeosang answered as San’s slow pulse got lost. “Don’t be scared, I love you.”

The hand in his tightened its hold one last time before resting.

The night was cold and silent. The snow still fell delicately around Yeosang. The world kept turning as if it hadn’t suffered a loss.

The man was numb, shaking, but the tears had stopped. There were no more memories to create with San. He had already seen all the smiles he ever would from him. He had already enjoyed all the hugs he was allowed from him. Yeosang had effused of all the little attentions he would ever be able to give or receive from San.

His heart was hollow, but not with regret or distrust. It was hollow with love and hollow with loss .

Yeosang still trusted San. The latter had only done what he believed was the best for himself.

San had always been this way; a bit different from the others. Something had always been wrong with him. It was slight, really, but it was there. It had always been and would always be.

Chapter Text

The place was almost empty. Yeosang found it sad. Perhaps that loneliness was one thing that made things elevate in the wrong way.

On a wheelchair was an old lady. She wasn’t crying; she was smiling softly, sadly, as if memories were replaying endlessly at the back of her mind. There was also a man—who looked vaguely older than Yeosang himself—in a school uniform. On the plaque pinned to his shirt was engraved a name. Choi Jongho . Yeosang wondered if he was San’s brother, or if they had only been friends. He would never know. There was a man who looked in no state to be there, eyes red-rimmed, gaze intoxicated. And then another, much younger than the previous one, familiar.

Tell ‘Hwa I’m sorry. It’s so much better. It was so hard. It was too tough. It will be easy, now. I’m happy, ‘Sangie.

Park Seonghwa looked like an ordinary young man. He didn’t fit in the room, though, even when no one really did. A killer at someone’s funerals… That was ironic. Two killers at someone’s funerals… That described well why things had ended up this way, Yeosang guessed.

No one in the room moved, simply staring at the framed picture of a smiling San. It didn’t look like the kind of formal photo they would usually use for such an event—Yeosang presumed they didn’t have one that was properly fitting—but at least, it portrayed San well. Not someone who always smiled, because that would be one big fat lie, but instead, someone who was still able to smile through the difficulties, even when he really had no reason to still have that ability.

Everyone’s gaze got stuck on Seonghwa when the man walked towards the old lady and kneeled. His head hung low as he murmured an apology everyone heard perfectly.

“I’m sorry. I failed to protect him.”

“Don’t kneel like that in front of me, kid. Kneel in front of him. I failed too, we all did.”

The woman’s bony hands pulled Seonghwa straighter—even if the man could barely hold his body under the strength of his sobs—and hugged him.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Seonghwa-yah. San deserved to be happier than that. San deserved an easy way of living. You made life a bit more bearable for him and I’m thankful for that. My poor boy is now free.”

She was right, Yeosang was aware, but it still hurt to accept it. It hurt to look away and find San’s reassuring smile. To know that he could only see it from a picture, now, because San wasn’t there anymore.

“Don’t cry like that, poor thing… I always knew, Seonghwa. I always knew he would be a sad kid,” she uttered, voice husky from the years of usage. “When his sister died, he apologized to me. A nine-year-old taking his older sibling’s suicide on his shoulders. That day, when I was ready to leave, I saw him fiddling with his sister’s bracelet, the metal still covered with dried blood. That’s when I knew it was too late. I brought him here, yet, I knew deep down he would never heal.”

Despite the few tears blooming in her eyes, her sentences were filled with gentleness and acceptance. Care was clear in her tone, something Yeosang could recognize from San.

“San was a kid with a shining smile. He was a bright kid, but not a happy one. He thought he had to earn everything that brought him happiness, and maybe that’s one thing that broke him. One thing I should’ve tried harder to change.”

Her words were so true no one had anything to add.

“He was not happy, and he wanted to be. So, so bad… But the only thing he wanted even more was to die. To stop suffering. I think we should all be glad his soul is finally resting because he wasn’t himself anymore. He was growing very tired, and it was hard to see him like this.”

Yeosang would’ve never thought it would be difficult to see Park Seonghwa break down like that, tears crashing down his cheeks and nose runny, struggling to find enough oxygen to keep crying. He would’ve never thought, yet, it was heartbreaking.

“And I think that, right there,” and she flattened her palm against Seonghwa’s chest, “should rest memory and remembrance, rather than regret. Because there’s one thing about this world I learned from that kid, one thing that never changed in San. It’s to remember in order to never make the same mistake twice. Come visit me, Seonghwa, or I’ll feel lonely.”

The man agreed with a nod, sobs growing silent. 

Yeosang closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to contain the flood of tears coming at him. There were so many things he would never know about San. So many things he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t asked about or hadn’t had the chance to discover. Yeosang had thought he had all the time in the world for that. He had believed he could wait for San to talk to him about his happiest childhood memories, to explain the unhealing scars on his forearms, to accept a bit more easily his kisses, and to present Seonghwa properly to him. He had thought he would get to eat a full meal with San and the three men Yeosang considered family, to go out on so many more dates, to drive until they would be at the beach, to try embracing life together, whether it be by small or big bites.

He had been wrong. He had been wrong because he had assumed San could still find moments to embrace in life, moments that weren’t just either painful or a bandage for what had been painful. Maybe Yeosang had been naive to think that he was able to truly help San by being there. Maybe San had been the one to help Yeosang. Or maybe no kind of help could’ve helped San enough after everything that had happened to him. So many maybes, yet no answer.

He looked at Seonghwa’s hunched form and wondered if the latter wished the same futile thing Yeosang did, if he wished he would’ve been more there. It was a bit of a dumb regret because they had been there, but those times seemed insufficiant now.

When Seonghwa calmed down, he decided on leaving, kneeling one last time in front of San’s picture before walking away, head hanging low. Yeosang followed, jogging to catch up, and grabbing his wrist to stop him from continuing.

“What do you want?”

The younger man let out a shaky breath, biting his lower lip to brace himself. Seonghwa frowned at his attitude.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Yeosang. You’re not the one who should be.”

“I still stand by my proposal. If you need help, we’re a block away.”

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care, dude. Leave me alone,” Seonghwa muttered, eyes glistening, showing nothing more than emptiness. He was about to leave, but instead, added something. “And if being alone kills me too, I’m a hundred percent fine with it, so stop caring, you shouldn’t.”

Park was the exact same as San, in a way. They processed emotions just the same. No wonder they were both depending on each other so much. Yeosang wondered briefly if Jung Wooyoung had once brought balance, pulling them out of their dark mindsets and caring for them the same way they probably cared for him. Then, he answered his own question; of course. Of course, Jung Wooyoung’s death had been the turning point of Park’s organization.

And now, the man was losing the one he considered a brother more than a coworker. Yeosang couldn’t even guess what it felt like, even with the deep hollow dug in his own heart. Because he had friends—or rather family —to lean on, to count on. Seonghwa didn’t, anymore.

“He wanted to tell you he was sorry,” Yeosang said, his voice cracking.

New tears welled up in Seonghwa’s eyes.

“He wanted to tell you he was happy now. That finally, things weren’t hard anymore. Things would be easy. Things would be better. And he also felt bad for leaving you, regretted leaving you. Was scared of it.”

“I know,” the older whispered, sniffling away the need to cry more. “I know.”

A slight silence filled the corridor, and their red-rimmed eyes met.

“But he’s okay now,” Seonghwa affirmed as if trying to convince himself.

Yeosang wished he could have gotten to know an ‘okay’ San… But he didn’t. So, he clung to the memories of glimpses of happiness he had occasionally seen in that dimpled smile. 

San had been a kind, but sad soul, it was true. However, there were a few times when San had also been a slightly happy one too. They were rare, but they were still there, stuck into his loved ones’ memory, bound to be remembered.

“He won’t regret anything anymore. He’s with Wooyoung.”

The end.