Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky was choked with smoke again.

Above the broken skyline of Sector 6, what little light filtered through the smog turned the city into a graveyard of towers and flickering advertisements. Somewhere beyond it all, past the barricades and beyond the drones’ reach, something flew - something blue. Something humans were trained to hunt.

They called them Blue Birds.

Not quite human, not quite beast - towering, winged anomalies with sapphire feathers that shimmered like oil in the sun. They had hands, feet, faces. Some even spoke. But their wings made them dangerous. Unnatural. And so, the world turned them into prey.

But the last Blue Bird Seonghwa saw bled like a man and begged like a boy.

Seonghwa gripped his rifle harder than he needed to. His father’s voice still rang in his head like a second heartbeat: “You owe me this.” And maybe he did. But standing here now, suited in polished armour and drowning in orders, he didn’t know what exactly he was paying back.

He wasn’t alone. He never was.

Yunho was beside him, quiet today. He always was on flight days. He hadn’t spoken much since the incident last winter - the one Command covered up. San perched above them on a rusted girder, watching the clouds like he was trying to remember what hope felt like. Mingi tuned the scanner unit with practiced boredom, humming a melody that didn’t belong in a place like this.

None of them had chosen this life.

Some, like Seonghwa, had been pushed into the corps by family legacies stained with medals and blood. Others had no one - no parents, no place to go, just a signature on a conscription form and a bunk in the barracks. They were called soldiers. But they were just boys, surviving.

And they were good at it. Too good.

Footsteps crunched over the gravel-strewn rooftop behind them, measured and unmistakable. Seonghwa turned just as Hongjoong emerged from the stairwell, flanked by Wooyoung and Jongho. Even before the squad leader spoke, the weight in his gaze said everything.

“It’s time to move, boys,” Hongjoong said, voice clipped, the wind tugging at the hem of his coat. “Command reports a sighting just outside the walls.”

One by one, the team rose - Yunho slinging his rifle over his shoulder, San stretching out his limbs like a restless animal, Mingi muttering something under his breath as he powered down the scanner. Wooyoung cracked his knuckles with too much energy, while Jongho stood quiet and unreadable, jaw set.

Seonghwa didn’t move.

He looked at Hongjoong - not at the insignia on his chest or the rifle at his back, but at his eyes. There was a promise there. One made last winter, in the snow and the silence after a mission that went horribly wrong. A vow between two boys pretending to be men: We bring them back. All of them.

Hongjoong gave the smallest of nods. He hadn’t forgotten.

Because for all their grace and beauty, Blue Birds still killed humans. Talons sharp as knives. Wings strong enough to crack ribs. Some hunted first. Some defended last. Either way, bodies were left behind - and not all of them wore feathers.

Seonghwa finally stood, tightening his gloves. His stomach twisted the way it always did before a mission. Not from fear of dying - but fear of what he'd have to do to survive.

The truck rumbled through the outskirts of the city, its tires grinding over cracked pavement and rusted debris. Inside, the air was tense, the silence thick enough to drown in.

Yunho sat behind the wheel, knuckles white against the steering column, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. In the passenger seat, Hongjoong monitored the comms, fingers tapping rhythmically against the screen, jaw tight with focus.

In the back, the rest of the squad rode in silence - benches lining either side of the armoured vehicle, knees nearly touching in the tight space. Seonghwa sat directly across from San, their eyes meeting briefly before Seonghwa looked away.

San’s scar caught the light - a deep slash running from his left eye, now clouded and useless, down to the edge of his right cheek. A Blue Bird had done that.

Seonghwa swallowed hard.

He knew why they were here. Why the corps existed. Why their missions mattered. Blue Birds were dangerous. More than once, they’d nearly lost one of their own - San had been inches from death, Jongho still felt pain in his shoulder from last spring’s ambush, and Wooyoung rarely slept without flinching in his dreams. Civilians didn’t stand a chance.

But Seonghwa… had never pulled the trigger.

He’d seen them fall. Watched his squad fire. Watched wings crumple mid-flight, bodies crash into rubble and dirt. But his own rifle had never gone past the first click. Something always stopped him. A look in the Blue Bird’s eyes. A flicker of fear, or humanity, or something worse - recognition.

His father’s words echoed like gunfire in his skull, bitter and cold: “I need a kill from you soon, Seonghwa, or they’ll charge you with mutiny. You’d disgrace everything I’ve built.”

He clenched his fists on his knees.

None of them had ever wanted to kill. Not Yunho, who still flinched after every shot. Not Wooyoung, who laughed too loud to cover up what he’d done. Not even Hongjoong, who carried every casualty like it was carved into his spine. But they had done it. Because it was their role. Their reality.

Seonghwa stared at San again - at the scar, at the eye that no longer saw. He tried to summon something sharp inside him. Anger. Hatred. Rage.

But all he could find was the hollow space where those feelings were supposed to live.

Still, he breathed in and made the vow under his breath, low enough only he could hear it.

"I will make our family proud, Father."

“We’re close to the wall,” Hongjoong called back, his voice steady but low. “Make sure you’re ready once we clear security.”

The hum of the truck's engine deepened as they slowed near the gate. Everyone wordlessly checked their gear. Rifles locked and loaded, safeties off. This part was muscle memory now - ritual etched into bone.

When the scanners finally flashed green, the gates groaned open, and they rumbled through the last barrier of steel that separated the city from what lay beyond.

Outside the walls, the world looked like it had exhaled centuries ago and never breathed in again. What had once been towns were now graveyards of cracked concrete and half-standing houses. Nature had begun reclaiming it all - vines crawling through windows, moss softening rooftops, trees breaking through roads like defiant ghosts.

Seonghwa looked out the narrow slit of a window and thought it was beautiful. Peaceful, even.

But peace was never why they came here.

Hongjoong turned in his seat, facing them fully now. His expression was different - heavier, eyes dark with something unreadable.

“We’ve got new orders,” he said quietly. “Still shoot on sight. Still kill, if needed. But…” He hesitated, just long enough for it to feel wrong. “If you bring one down and it's still alive - we’re to immobilise and retrieve it. Bring it back.”

For a second, no one reacted. Then the confusion rolled through the truck like a silent wave.

They were an extermination squad. That’s what they’d always been. None of them had ever brought anything back - only bodies, and not always their enemies’.

“Why?” Wooyoung finally asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

Hongjoong shrugged, but the movement was hollow.

“Something to do with the new research directive. High Command wants to study them - figure out why they’re so different. So… mutated.”

He said the last word flat, almost clinical. The kind of tone a doctor might use when describing a tumour. But it didn’t fool anyone. They all knew what that word really meant. A placeholder. A justification.

Because once, not long ago, Blue Birds had been human.

No one spoke after that.

The truck kept rolling through the overgrown deadlands, toward whatever waited in the sky.

The truck hissed to a halt in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees. Their trunks were thick and dark, their branches clawing at the grey sky like brittle fingers. The world out here felt quieter - like it was holding its breath.

“This is the location of the sighting,” Yunho called from the driver’s seat. “Everyone be ready.”

Without hesitation, helmets clicked into place. Armour plates locked down with mechanical precision. Rifles were shouldered, safeties disengaged. In the back, the six soldiers moved like clockwork, each motion drilled into them a hundred times over.

The rear doors flung open, and boots hit the ground in unison. The front doors slammed a second later as Hongjoong and Yunho joined them, the squad fanning out quickly into formation. Weapons raised. Eyes up.

Every branch creaked like a warning. Every gust of wind sounded like wings.

They moved as one - slow and controlled, rifles sweeping across the tree line, scanning both sky and ground. Seonghwa’s heart beat in rhythm with his steps. Adrenaline buzzed beneath his skin like static.

At the front, Hongjoong raised a hand, halting the squad. From his helmet, a soft blue light projected a flickering 3D map of the terrain in front of them.

“There’s a cluster of structures about two clicks northeast,” he said, pointing to a small grouping of buildings marked on the display. “Abandoned housing or an old maintenance outpost. Likely their nesting ground.”

“Nesting,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear.

San took point beside Hongjoong without a word. Jongho shifted to the rear, scanning behind them. Mingi adjusted the frequency on his wrist scanner, eyes locked to the pulsing radar.

Seonghwa’s rifle felt heavier than usual.

His trigger finger twitched against the guard, but not out of eagerness. His mind was already building the shape of what they might find ahead: wings curled inside rotting rooftops, feathers scattered among forgotten furniture, maybe even eyes watching them through the brush - not with malice, but with fear.

And still, one thought drowned out the rest.

“Today I will make you proud, Father.”

They were just cresting the ridge, approaching the perimeter of the marked structures, when a sharp voice tore through the still air:

“Hunters!”

Everything exploded at once.

From the rooftops and treetops, five Blue Birds launched into the sky, their wings unfurling in a violent rush of cobalt feathers and wind. The sheer force of their ascent kicked up a wave of dirt and leaves, and then the gunfire began - sharp, stuttering bursts that cracked through the trees like lightning.

“Eyes up! Fire!” Hongjoong shouted, already raising his rifle. “Split up if you have to - stay safe!”

The squad broke formation instantly, each one chasing a different target through the trees and sky, boots pounding, breath sharp in their comms. Yunho disappeared to the right, Mingi veered left. San vaulted a fallen tree like it wasn’t even there. Jongho took the rear. Wooyoung was already mid-sprint, laughing - whether from adrenaline or panic, it was hard to tell.

But Seonghwa didn’t move.

His rifle hung limp in his hands as he stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, staring not at the fleeing targets, but at what lay behind them.

It wasn’t an abandoned ruin.

The houses here were fully built - walls reinforced with new wood, windows repaired with scrap glass and cloth. A stone fireplace stood in the middle of the clearing, flames crackling under a cooking rack. Fish, freshly caught, sizzled over the fire. Nearby, makeshift furniture: stools, a table, hand-woven baskets filled with foraged herbs.

Not nests. A village. A home.

His heart hammered in his chest as the realisation washed over him, heavy and sickening. These weren’t beasts. This wasn’t a den. This was life. Family. Community.

“They’re living just like us,” he breathed.

But no one heard him. The clearing was already empty. The others had charged after their marks, rifles blazing, boots echoing through the trees.

Seonghwa stood alone in the silence, his finger still resting on a trigger he’d never pulled.

A flicker of movement caught his eye.

One of the wooden doors creaked open - barely a whisper - and a figure stepped out, staggering as though unsure of the ground beneath him. A Blue Bird. Younger than Seonghwa had expected, muscular arms, his feathers darker than the others they’d seen - deep sapphire with streaks of obsidian. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath ragged, eyes searching the sky like a frightened child looking for his family.

He’d been left behind.

Seonghwa froze, watching. The creature’s face was twisted in terror, but it was human - undeniably so. High cheekbones, wide eyes, trembling hands. His feathers shifted with every breath like they were alive on their own. Even in fear, even now, he might’ve been the most beautiful thing Seonghwa had ever seen.

Then the Blue Bird looked down - and their eyes locked.

Time cracked.

For a second, neither of them moved. The Blue Bird's chest heaved, his lips parted in panic. And then, suddenly, a scream tore from his throat - wild and sharp like a hawk’s cry. His wings flared open, stretching wide with a snap of wind and feathers.

Seonghwa jolted, instinct flaring. His rifle came up.

The barrel trembled violently, following the figure but never steady. His finger hovered over the trigger, twitching, uncertain. The Blue Bird stared back at him, unblinking, lips parted, panting. Waiting for the shot.

But Seonghwa couldn’t do it.

And the Blue Bird flew.

Wings swept down, powerful and graceful. The air cracked as he launched upward, past the smoke of the cooking fire and over the rooftops in a single, breathtaking burst of movement.

“No!” Seonghwa choked, and he ran.

Every strike from his father echoed in his muscles now. Every time he’d been called weak, been punished, belittled, warned - “You are not a soldier until you make the kill.” The looming threat of disgrace. Of prison. Of being disowned.

His boots pounded the earth, breath coming in ragged gasps as he chased the streak of blue disappearing into the trees.

He’d missed his chance. But maybe there was still time to catch it.

The Blue Bird weaved through the trees ahead, wings clipping branches, feathers scattering in his wake. He didn’t fly high - barely ten feet off the ground, skimming the forest floor like a panicked shadow. His flight was clumsy, frantic. Desperate.

Seonghwa sprinted after him, boots crashing through leaves and underbrush. The wind slapped against his visor, the forest blurring past. He raised his rifle again, breath sharp, vision narrowed.

Just shoot. Just end it.

He took aim, the barrel jerking with every step.

Take the shot, Seonghwa. Make your family proud.

But then another memory surged forward, sharper than any weapon he carried.

He was five. Too small for the weight of the rifle, too scared to question it. His cheek was still stinging from the slap - red and raw where his father’s hand had landed. His eye was watering, but his father stood behind him like a statue of fury.

"Take the shot, son," his father growled. "TAKE THE SHOT!"

Seonghwa’s fingers tightened on the trigger - his whole body trembling. And then, the shot rang out.

The Blue Bird in the sky shrieked as the bullet struck its wing. The sound it made wasn’t a monster’s cry. It was human. Pain and panic fused into one. It fell fast, feathers trailing behind it like pieces of a broken sky, and slammed into the ground with a hollow thud.

Seonghwa stood there frozen, unable to move. His first ever hit. And deep inside, the five-year-old boy who’d held his frist rifle was still screaming.

Seonghwa sprinted toward where he’d seen the Blue Bird drop, heart pounding in his ears, rope already clenched in one hand. He was moving so fast he almost missed the cliff edge that opened suddenly beneath him.

He skidded to a stop, boots digging into the dirt just inches from the ledge.

Below, the earth dipped into a narrow crevasse, a shallow ravine swallowed by moss and brush. And there - twisted on the grass, wings half-sprawled - was the Blue Bird.

He was screaming. Raw, hoarse pain tearing from his throat, feathers slick with blood. His right wing was mangled, crimson soaking the ground beneath it, and a jagged gash split across his temple, blood streaking down into his eyes. Dirt clung to his face in dark smudges. He was crying, struggling, flapping his wings in panic - but it only made things worse. Every movement caused a fresh surge of agony.

Seonghwa stood above, panting, trying to slow his breath.

Just rope him. Do it fast. Don’t think. Detach. Like Father always said.

He started down the rocks, boots scraping against stone, rope slung across his shoulder. His face was stone, but inside, his pulse thundered.

At the sound of footsteps, the Blue Bird looked up.

His eyes were wide, filled with terror. He tried to push himself away across the grass, leaving streaks of blood behind him. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. He flapped again instinctively, but his broken wing only crumpled beneath him.

Seonghwa hesitated.

His fingers tightened on the rope, but something inside him cracked.

He’s in pain.

He approached slowly, cautiously, ready to bind the creature’s wrists and ankles. The wings… the wings could be left alone, maybe. The right one wouldn’t lift anyway.

But every inch he closed, the Blue Bird shrank back further, flinching like a beaten animal.

“Please.”

The voice was human. It was deep. Clear. Trembling with fear.

Seonghwa froze. He looked around instinctively - was someone else here?

Then it came again.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught.

The Blue Bird’s lips were moving. His voice was broken and cracked, but real. Coherent. Human.

“I’ve never hurt anyone. I promise. I’m a peaceful bird.”

Seonghwa stood there, stunned, the rope hanging loose in his hands. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The world seemed to slow, sound fading into silence.

This was a voice begging for mercy. This was the moment everything Seonghwa had ever been taught began to unravel.

Seonghwa felt his chest tighten, something rising in his throat he hadn’t let surface since he was a child. He wanted to cry.

Everything he’d been told - all the briefings, all the propaganda, all his father’s cold commands - it was wrong. These creatures weren’t beasts. They weren’t mindless animals that hunted for pleasure. They lived in homes. They cooked meals. They spoke. They were afraid.

They were families.

Still, duty pressed heavy against his shoulders. He had to bring this one in. His father’s voice echoed cruelly in his mind: “No more mercy, Seonghwa. No more excuses.”

His fingers moved on their own, trembling as he crossed the space between them. The Blue Bird kicked weakly, eyes wide in horror, lips moving in panicked pleas that sliced through Seonghwa like glass.

“Please - please don’t - It hurts - please, I didn’t do anything-”

Seonghwa grabbed his ankle anyway.

The Blue Bird thrashed, one good wing flapping wildly, but he was too injured to do more than squirm. Seonghwa forced himself to work quickly, binding the bird’s legs with shaking hands, barely able to see through the blur in his eyes.

Every sob, every twitch, every broken word made it harder to breathe.

When the final knot was pulled tight, Seonghwa paused, his hands hovering.

He looked up.

The Blue Bird had turned his face away and shut his eyes, as if to make himself disappear. As if he’d accepted his fate, whatever pain was to come.

And for the first time, Seonghwa really saw him.

Even smeared in dirt and blood, his face was beautiful - painfully so. Jawline sharp, lips trembling, eyes squeezed shut like a child bracing for a blow. A red birthmark bloomed under his left eye, vivid against his pale skin. His whole body trembled with silent fear.

Seonghwa’s stomach twisted.

This is what I’ve become, Seonghwa thought. A monster wearing a badge.

He stared at the bound legs. At the ropes around the trembling ankles. At the tear tracks running down cheeks that looked no different from his own.

Then, slowly, he reached down - and untied the knots. The rope slipped free. The Blue Bird stilled.

A second passed. Then another. His eyes flew open. Wide. Disbelieving.

Seonghwa moved slowly, taking off his helmet, then reaching for the side pouch of his uniform. The moment he unfastened it, the Blue Bird flinched - sharp and instinctive, his wing twitching even in pain.

Seonghwa froze. “Sorry,” he said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not… I won’t hurt you.”

The words felt strange in his mouth - soft, human, the opposite of every command he’d ever been taught to give.

“I’m Seonghwa,” he added, gently easing the pouch open. “I just want to help. I swear.”

The Blue Bird didn’t reply - just stared at him, wide-eyed. The tear tracks on his cheeks had dried now, leaving faint streaks of salt and dirt behind. His brows were drawn in confusion, and though his body remained tense, he shifted ever so slightly backward - not out of fear, but caution.

Seonghwa pulled out his first aid kit, setting it carefully between them on the grass. He didn’t open it yet. He didn’t want to startle him again.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Seonghwa said, looking up slowly. “I was just… following orders.”

It sounded hollow even to his own ears, and he hated himself for saying it. But it was the truth. No matter how ugly.

The Blue Bird still said nothing, but his breathing had steadied. He was watching Seonghwa’s every move - still alert, still scared, but no longer bracing for a blow.

Seonghwa met his eyes. Steady. Honest.

“I want to treat your wing,” he said quietly. “If you’ll let me.”

The seconds that followed stretched long and tense. The Blue Bird didn’t blink. His face was unreadable now - eyes darting between Seonghwa, the kit, the path behind them. He could still try to run, even with one wing.

But eventually, he nodded - once, slow, unsure.

A fragile thread of trust had been offered.

Seonghwa nodded back, opening the kit with a soft click. Seonghwa worked in silence, hands steady but heart trembling.

He opened the antiseptic bottle and poured a small amount onto a cloth. As gently as he could, he began cleaning the wound on the Blue Bird’s wing.

The sting hit immediately. Yeosang flinched hard, a choked breath escaping through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice tight. “I know it hurts. But it’ll help. With care, I think your wing will heal.”

He didn’t know if he was saying it for Yeosang or himself.

Bit by bit, he wrapped the wing, careful not to press too tightly. The feathers were softer than he expected, impossibly delicate despite everything they’d just endured.

As he secured the final knot on the bandage, Seonghwa glanced up. “What’s your name?”

The Blue Bird hesitated.

Then, hoarse from crying, from screaming, from fear, he whispered, “Yeosang.”

Seonghwa’s throat closed. Guilt surged up, raw and jagged.

He’d hurt him. Chased him. Brought him down. Bound him. And now here he sat, treating the wound he’d caused like that might undo any of it.

He lowered his hands and sat back, facing Yeosang fully.

Yeosang slowly shifted, testing his wing. The movement was instinctual, desperate - a flicker of hope.

“Wait,” Seonghwa said, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t try to fly. You could tear it worse.”

Yeosang froze. His lower lip quivered. And then, slowly, tears welled in his eyes again.

“They left me…” he whispered. His voice cracked. “They all flew away and I couldn’t… I can’t fly anymore.”

Seonghwa said nothing, the ache in his chest unbearable.

“I’m useless now,” Yeosang continued, his words breaking into sobs. “What’s the point? I’ll die here, won’t I? I was supposed to stay with them-” He buried his face in his hands, trembling. “I wasn’t supposed to be left behind.”

His voice was soft, almost childlike in its despair. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just quietly, devastatingly lost.

And it shattered Seonghwa.

I did this to him.

Without thinking, he reached forward, placing a hand on Yeosang’s knee - grounding, warm.

“You won’t die here,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Yeosang looked up, eyes red and wet, mouth parted in confusion.

“I’ll bring you food. Treat your wing. Keep you safe. And when you’re healed…” Seonghwa’s voice wavered. “You can fly again. And go. Back to them. No one has to know.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, tears still clinging to his lashes. There was a long pause, filled only by the soft crackle of leaves and the distant wind.

Then, he nodded - cautious, uncertain.

But trusting.

Seonghwa felt something shift in his chest. The rope he hadn’t been able to untangle since childhood loosened just a little.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t following orders.

He was making a promise. To Yeosang. To himself.

Seonghwa glanced at Yeosang’s bandaged wing again, then remembered the fish - perfectly skewered, roasting over a hearth just like his own home. They eat like us. Live like us.

He reached into his own pack, unwrapping the rations he hadn’t touched since that morning - a small portion of dried meat, rice biscuits, and a sealed protein bar. Carefully, he handed them to Yeosang.

“It’s not much,” he said, “but it’ll keep your strength up.”

Yeosang hesitated, then took the food with both hands. He studied it curiously, sniffed it, and finally nibbled at the edge of the biscuit. His wings relaxed slightly, and Seonghwa could see the tension in his shoulders ease.

“We patrol this region every two days,” Seonghwa continued. “I’ll come back next time. Bring more food, fresh bandages. You just need to stay quiet. Stay hidden.”

Yeosang looked up, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. He nodded.

Seonghwa pulled a folded blanket from the bottom of his pack - the emergency one, thin but insulated - and laid it down beside him. “For the nights,” he said. “It gets cold out here.”

Yeosang reached for it with soft, hesitant fingers, as if it were something rare and precious.

Seonghwa stood, brushing off the dust from his knees, readying himself for the climb. But just as he turned, something gnawed at him. Without another word, he shrugged off his gear, dropping his pack to the ground, then unhooked the rifle from his shoulder and placed it gently beside Yeosang.

Yeosang stared. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll need protection. And supplies,” Seonghwa said simply.

“But won’t your squad-?”

“I’ll tell them I lost it during the chase. That I killed you. They won’t come looking.”

Yeosang was silent. He looked down at the gear, then back up at Seonghwa with something unreadable in his expression. Not quite belief. Not quite disbelief. Just… overwhelmed.

Seonghwa gave him a faint, reassuring smile and turned back toward the steep rock wall.

But then, just before he began the climb, Yeosang spoke.

“If…” he started, voice quiet and unsure, “If any of my family have been captured…”

Seonghwa turned to face him again, eyes meeting Yeosang’s.

“…Will you make sure they’re not hurt? That they’re safe?”

There was something so pure in the way he asked. No anger. No accusation. Just worry - gentle, human, and devastating.

Seonghwa’s chest ached as he nodded.

“I promise.”

Yeosang held his gaze for a second longer, then looked down, fingers curling gently around the blanket.

With one final glance, Seonghwa turned and began the climb out of the crevasse, the morning light filtering through the trees above.

Behind him, Yeosang sat alone, surrounded by a rifle, a blanket, and the first sliver of hope he’d had in years.

Seonghwa walked for what felt like hours. His legs were heavy, his hands still tingled with the memory of Yeosang’s trembling skin beneath the bandages. Every sound in the forest sent his nerves flaring - not out of fear for himself, but out of worry for the one he’d left behind.

Eventually, he heard voices up ahead. Familiar ones.

He pushed past a cluster of trees into the clearing where the truck was parked. His squad was gathered near the back, rifles lowered, heads scanning the trees.

“Seonghwa!” Hongjoong was the first to notice, striding toward him with urgency. “Are you alright? You were gone so long-”

He stopped in his tracks.

Seonghwa followed his gaze down to his uniform - soaked through with drying blood, smeared across his arms, streaked along his legs. Yeosang’s blood.

He swallowed tightly, keeping his expression calm. “I’m okay, its not my blood. I lost my gear during the chase, but I… I killed it. The blue bird.”

His voice barely held steady.

The others had turned to look now. Yunho, San, Mingi, Jongho, and Wooyoung - all of them still, quiet, unreadable.

None of them said a word of praise. No congratulations. No “you finally did it.”

Because they knew.

Seonghwa had never taken a life before. Never once pulled the trigger to end it. This job had always broken pieces off him - slowly, steadily - and now, even though they believed he’d finally done it, none of them smiled.

Instead, Hongjoong gently took him by the arm and guided him to the back of the truck. “Come on. Let’s get you warm.”

Someone - maybe Jongho - handed him a blanket. Wooyoung pulled him in without a word, wrapping both arms around Seonghwa’s and stroking up and down in soothing lines. The others made room, gave him space without asking questions.

Seonghwa let himself be folded into the warmth of his team.

But his eyes didn’t move.

They stayed fixed out the back of the truck, watching the trees blur as the engine started, staring in the direction of the crevasse. Of Yeosang.

Where an injured, frightened boy sat alone, armed only with a rifle he didn’t know how to use and a promise he had no choice but to believe in.

Seonghwa didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

He just stared.

And silently, he prayed the lie he’d told today would be enough to protect him tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Seonghwa hadn’t slept in two days. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw blue wings soaked in blood. Heard a voice pleading not to be hurt. Remembered the look of quiet terror on a face that was far too human.

The rest of the squad thought he was shaken from his first kill - a rite of passage every soldier went through. But Seonghwa hadn’t killed anyone. He had spared a life, lied to his team, and hidden a wounded Blue Bird in a crevasse.

Now, they were back in the truck, rumbling across cracked ground on another patrol. This time, Seonghwa had packed extra food, slipping it deep into the lining of his new gear. He’d been reprimanded for losing the old set, but a few quiet calls from his father had reduced the incident to a slap on the wrist.

His father had smiled when he heard the news - proud, finally, that Seonghwa had "become a man." That he wasn’t a coward.

The memory turned Seonghwa’s stomach.

The truck rolled to a stop, dust curling around the tires as the squad jumped out. The routine was familiar - armor check, rifle check, briefed orders repeated like a mantra. Scout for six hours. Report any sightings. Do not engage alone. And now, the new rule still hung in the air like smoke: retrieve any live subjects if possible.

Seonghwa barely heard it. His focus was fixed beyond the trees, to the ravine where he’d left Yeosang - alone, injured, and waiting.

He was just about to head in that direction when San’s voice called from behind him.

“Want me to come with you?”

Seonghwa turned, caught off guard by the offer. San’s tone was gentle, the kind that always made Seonghwa feel seen.

He managed a small smile and patted San’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Sannie. You take the south route.”

San didn’t move right away. His brow creased, the scar that ran across his face deepening as concern flickered in his eyes. “You sure? You don’t look okay.”

“I’m okay,” Seonghwa said softly. A practiced lie. “I’d rather be alone right now.”

San hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He turned and jogged to catch up to Wooyoung, falling into step beside him as the squad split in different directions.

Seonghwa waited until they were gone, then slipped into the trees and headed straight towards Yeosang.

Seonghwa walked through the forest with measured steps, every leaf crunch beneath his boots tightening the coil of anxiety in his chest.

As the ravine came into view, he slowed, hesitation seeping into his bones. Maybe I shouldn't do this. His father’s voice echoed in his head - cold, furious. If he ever found out…

But then, something drifted through the trees. Soft. Low. Melodic.

Singing.

Seonghwa froze. It was a lullaby - slow and haunting, rich with sadness. A deep voice, trained and achingly beautiful. And unmistakably human.

He crept closer, heart pounding, and peered over the edge of the ravine.

Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the grass below, wings draped around his body like a feathered cloak. He swayed gently as he sang, head tilted back to the sky, the sunlight catching in the silver of dried blood and the soft blue of his feathers.

Seonghwa’s breath caught in his throat. The creature below - the monster they’d been taught to hunt without mercy - looked more like a myth carved from a dream. There was no savagery, no violence. Only grace. Only pain.

He began to climb down slowly, careful not to startle him, and walked over to where the boy was sat, “You have a lovely voice.”

Yeosang jumped at his voice. His wings flared wide in an instant, a flash of shimmering blue and powerful motion. Seonghwa stopped where he was, stunned. He hadn’t realised just how massive they were up close.

“Incredible...” he breathed without thinking.

Yeosang’s eyes locked onto him, startled, guarded - but not yet panicked.

Seonghwa held his hands out, empty and open. “It’s just me. I came back. Alone”

Yeosang blinked, wings still half-flared, until recognition lit his face. Relief softened his features. “I’m glad you came back.”

Seonghwa stood frozen for a second too long, caught in the gentle curve of Yeosang’s smile, in the quiet honesty of his words. There was a faint colour rising in Yeosang’s cheeks - maybe from the cold, or maybe something else.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat more before the moment slipped into silence. Awkward now. Seonghwa cleared his throat and crouched down, pulling off his pack.

“I brought food,” he said, trying to sound casual. “And fresh supplies. I’ll check your wing first, though - make sure there’s no infection. Then we can eat.”

Yeosang nodded without hesitation, folding his wings in and sitting straighter, ready. Seonghwa moved closer and unwrapped the bandage slowly, carefully. His hands trembled slightly as he brushed through soft blue feathers, lifting them aside to get a better look at the injury beneath. His touch was barely more than a whisper.

Yeosang shivered.

Seonghwa glanced up. “Did that hurt?”

“No,” Yeosang replied quickly, his voice smaller than before. He turned his face away, letting his hair fall like a curtain to hide whatever expression might’ve followed.

He didn’t explain the shiver, and Seonghwa didn’t ask. But his hands moved more carefully after that, as if the feathers were spun from glass.

“The wing’s healing nicely,” Seonghwa murmured, brushing over the bruised flesh with featherlight fingers. “But… it might leave a scar.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, eyes calm. “I don’t mind,” he said. “It’ll remind me of the kind human who helped me.”

Seonghwa froze. The words felt like a warmth he didn’t deserve.

His hand paused mid-bandage. “Yeosang…” he said, voice low, “I was the one who did this to you. I’m the reason you fell. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember,” Yeosang said softly, and gently lifted Seonghwa’s hand from his wing, holding it in both of his own. His grasp was warm, firm, but comforting. “You said it yourself - you were just following orders. But... you came back. You sat here. You helped me. That tells me everything I need to know.”

Seonghwa blinked quickly, trying to will back the heat behind his eyes, but it was no use. A few tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.

Yeosang leaned forward and brushed them away with the back of his hand, touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to cry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa choked, the words trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Yeosang said. He didn’t pull away. “I know.”

They ate in quiet companionship, the kind that didn’t need words. Seonghwa found himself watching Yeosang more than he watched his own food - the way he held the bread carefully, chewed thoughtfully, thanked Seonghwa with every small glance.

It was… familiar. So achingly familiar.

It reminded him of sitting beside his mother as she stitched clothes in silence, of Yunho grinning across the campfire with food in his hands, of Wooyoung sharing snacks during their rare breaks. It reminded him of his squad - of home.

Only this time, the one seated across from him had massive, blue-feathered wings folded behind his back.

Yeosang was no monster. He was warm, polite, and so heartbreakingly kind. And Seonghwa was trained to kill him.

After the meal, a wave of exhaustion washed over him like a tide finally reaching shore. He blinked slowly, muscles slackening, the adrenaline of the day beginning to fade.

“You look tired,” Yeosang observed, concern softening his voice.

Seonghwa rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch. Four hours left before he had to return. “I haven’t really slept since… well.” He gave a weak laugh. “Since I left you here.”

“Rest then,” Yeosang said gently. “I’ll keep watch.”

That made Seonghwa smile faintly. “You’re the injured one.”

“But my ears still work,” Yeosang replied, tapping his ear. “And no one’s found me yet.”

Reluctantly, Seonghwa lay back on the grass, folding his arms beneath his head, letting himself finally exhale. The wind rustled the trees softly above them, and for the first time in days, his heart wasn’t racing.

Just as his eyes began to close, he heard it - that voice again.

A lullaby.

Soft and low, carrying through the quiet clearing like wind through feathers. Then, warmth. A blanket laid over him, tucked gently at his sides. He didn’t open his eyes.

Wrapped in the sound of Yeosang’s voice, the memory of safety, and the softness of something that should have been impossible, Seonghwa drifted into the first peaceful sleep he’d had in years.

Seonghwa woke with a start, eyes flying open to a dimming sky. The sun was dipping behind the trees, staining the clouds in shades of gold and violet. Panic surged through him - he had overslept.

His eyes darted to the side.

Yeosang was curled beside him, breathing softly, wings loosely draped over his own body like a shield. His expression, even in sleep, was peaceful - a serenity Seonghwa didn’t think possible after everything he’d been through. Seeing him like that made Seonghwa's chest ache.

He didn’t want to leave.

But he had to.

With slow, careful hands, he reached for the blanket Yeosang had once laid over him and now tucked it around the sleeping blue bird. He brushed a few stray feathers away from Yeosang’s face, whispering more to himself than to him.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

He checked to make sure the food was left nearby, easy to find. Then, reluctantly, he turned and began climbing out of the crevasse, heart heavy in his chest.

As he reached the ridge, he heard it - faint shouts in the distance.

“Seonghwa!”

His heart dropped. The squad was close. Too close. If he’d slept a little longer, they might’ve found Yeosang’s hiding place.

Seonghwa ran, branches slapping against his arms, boots pounding the earth. He broke through the trees just in time, breath ragged and sweat clinging to his neck. His squad was already gathering.

“Where the hell were you?” San rushed forward, relief and worry mixed in his voice. “We were about to sound an alert.”

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa panted. “I-I lost track of time. I must’ve sat down to rest and… fallen asleep.”

Hongjoong widened his eyes. “Asleep? You? On a sweep?”

Seonghwa nodded, exhausted and guilty, but grounded. “I didn’t mean to. It won’t happen again.”

There was a moment of silence, tension crackling in the air. Then Jongho clapped him on the back.

“To be honest we all feared you’d gone and offed yourself. You’re lucky we didn’t call in Command. Come on. Let’s head back before it gets dark.”

The others began to move, but Wooyoung lingered a little longer beside Seonghwa, watching him with quiet suspicion.

“You sure you’re okay, Hwa?”

Seonghwa nodded again, forcing a smile. “I’m okay now.”

But as he walked with them back toward the truck, all he could think of was the boy he’d left curled beneath a blanket, hidden in the shadows of a world that hated him.

And how close they’d come to finding him

Seonghwa never missed a visit.

Every two days, without fail, he returned to the crevasse with a pack heavy with supplies - bandages, dried meat, tea leaves when he could sneak them. But over time, it wasn’t the rations that made Yeosang’s eyes light up when Seonghwa emerged from the trees. It was him.

At first, their exchanges were little more than gestures and glances. Seonghwa would kneel at Yeosang’s side, carefully unwrapping the bandages with practiced hands.

“This okay?”

A small nod.

“You’re healing well.”

A flicker of a smile, then quickly hidden.

The silence stretched between them - not uncomfortable, just... cautious. Like neither of them wanted to press too hard and make the fragile space between them splinter.

But one day, Yeosang huffed a laugh when Seonghwa slipped climbing down.

“You’re getting worse at that,” he teased, feathers rustling with quiet amusement.

“I swear this rock shifts every time,” Seonghwa muttered, brushing dirt off his knees, but the grin pulling at his lips betrayed him.

The laughter came easier after that.

They began to trade questions, cautiously at first, like they were feeling around in the dark.

“Why did you join the army?” Yeosang asked one afternoon, his voice gentle.

Seonghwa paused in the act of pouring water into a tin cup. “I didn’t join of my own choice,” he said. “My Father signed me up the day I turned 18.”

Yeosang didn’t ask more. He didn’t need to.

A few days later, Seonghwa asked, “What’s it like? Flying.”

Yeosang’s smile was slow, wistful. “It’s freedom,” he whispered. “It’s… like nothing is holding you down. Like you could go anywhere, be anything.” He glanced at Seonghwa. “You’d like it, I think. You're always looking up.”

Seonghwa didn’t reply, but he looked up the sun longer than usual.

Sometimes they sat cross-legged in the grass, knees almost brushing, with torn scraps of paper laid between them in a makeshift card game. Seonghwa had taught Yeosang the rules on a whim, sketching suits with a charcoal nub: hearts, diamonds, stars. His drawings were crooked, but Yeosang never seemed to mind.

“You cheated,” Yeosang said, eyes narrowing as Seonghwa smugly placed down his last card with a dramatic flourish.

Seonghwa gasped, hand flying to his chest like he’d been personally wounded. “Cheated? Me? I would never! I’m just… incredibly skilled.”

Yeosang raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You shuffled the cards three times. Suspicious.”

“That’s called strategy,” Seonghwa shot back, already grinning too wide to be taken seriously. “It’s not my fault you keep falling for my master plan.”

Yeosang snorted. “Your master plan is loud sighing and acting like you’re losing.”

“And you fall for it every time,” Seonghwa teased, tossing a pebble gently in Yeosang’s direction.

They kept playing, round after round, and when Yeosang finally won - fair and square - he let out a small, triumphant, “Yes!” and pumped his fist in the air, his eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

Seonghwa froze mid-shuffle, watching him with a dumb smile tugging at his lips. Something about Yeosang’s quiet glee, the way he tried to hide just how proud he was, made Seonghwa feel warm all over.

“You’re really cute when you win,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

Yeosang looked up, surprised, cheeks pinking just slightly. “Then maybe I should win more often.”

“Not a chance,” Seonghwa said quickly, snatching the cards back. “Rematch. Right now.”

Yeosang only grinned. “You’re going down.”

When the cards were set aside and the quiet returned, Yeosang would sing. Not lullabies this time, but stories - legends passed down in verses, old tales folded into melody. His voice was softer than the wind, and every time he sang, Seonghwa felt the world slow, like time paused just for them.

They shared food. Stories. Warmth.

Sometimes, when the day was cold, Seonghwa would sit close - close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither of them spoke when it happened, but neither of them moved away. A blanket would cover them both, their breaths soft in the silence, the distance between them thinning until it felt like something might snap if either of them acknowledged it out loud.

Once, Yeosang’s hand lingered against Seonghwa’s as he passed him a cup. Seonghwa didn’t pull away.

There were no confessions, no declarations. Just stolen glances. Half-finished thoughts. The kind of ache that builds slowly in the chest when something precious must remain untouched.

And when the hour came, when Seonghwa stood at the base of the rocks with his pack slung over his shoulder, Yeosang would always look up from his blanket, lips parted like he might say something. But he never did.

Seonghwa would climb, feeling each step like a betrayal.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There wasn’t a single moment Seonghwa could point to and say that’s when it changed. But slowly, inevitably, Yeosang slipped into his thoughts at times when he wasn’t supposed to be there.

During training, when the others were focused and sweating, Seonghwa found his mind drifting to the sound of Yeosang’s voice - calm, melodic, always a little shy when he laughed. At night, lying in his bunk, he imagined those wide wings wrapped around both of them like a cocoon, keeping the cold and the world out.

He started looking forward to patrols like he never had before. Not for the mission, but for the quiet crevasse. For the boy waiting there with soft smiles and questions that made Seonghwa feel seen - not as a soldier, not as someone’s son, but as himself.

It wasn’t anxiety anymore that drove his thoughts towards Yeosang.

It was longing.

He missed him. Craved the warmth of their conversations, the way Yeosang tilted his head when curious, the flick of his feathers when amused. Seonghwa wanted to be near him - to hear him speak, to feel his presence - not because of guilt, not because of duty, but because he wanted to see him.

And it terrified him.

Because in Seonghwa’s world, wanting something like that - someone like that - wasn’t allowed. There were rules, expectations, consequences.

He wasn’t supposed to fall for a blue bird.

But every time he looked at Yeosang, gentle and kind despite all he’d suffered, Seonghwa’s heart betrayed him a little more.

And for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if maybe he didn’t have to be the person he was trained to be. Not if it meant losing this. Not if it meant losing him.

They sat side by side in the clearing, the sun warm on their backs, the late afternoon air laced with the scent of moss and wildflowers. Yeosang’s wings were partially stretched out behind him, soaking in the warmth, and Seonghwa sat with one knee drawn up, listening intently.

Yeosang’s voice was soft, distant with memory. “When I was little, before the raids started, we used to build these little floating lanterns,” he said, smiling faintly. “My sister would carve the bases from bark, and I’d find the flowers to decorate them. We’d light candles in the centre and let them drift down the river at night. I used to think the wind carried our wishes to the stars.”

Seonghwa watched him speak, eyes wide with wonder. He tried to picture it - blue wings glowing in moonlight, small hands releasing floating prayers into the dark.

“What would you wish for?” Seonghwa asked.

Yeosang tilted his head, feathers catching the light. “Something different every time,” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes for a good harvest. Sometimes for my parents to come home safe. But I remember one year, I just wished… to be loved. I didn’t really know what that meant back then. I just knew it was something I wanted.”

Seonghwa felt his throat tighten. Before he could find the right words to reply, a leaf drifted from above, fluttering down lazily through the air until it landed delicately in Yeosang’s hair.

Without thinking, Seonghwa reached out.

His fingers brushed through soft strands as he plucked the leaf away, his hand lingering for the briefest moment. Yeosang blinked up at him, brown eyes wide, and Seonghwa suddenly felt foolish for being so bold. He looked down at the leaf in his hand, ready to discard it.

“Wait,” Yeosang said quietly, gaze still fixed on Seonghwa. “Can I have it?”

Seonghwa paused, surprised. “The leaf?”

Yeosang nodded, and there was something in his expression - not playful, not teasing, but genuine. Like he truly wanted it.

Seonghwa placed the leaf gently in Yeosang’s waiting hands.

Yeosang cupped it delicately, as though Seonghwa had just handed him something priceless. He turned it over once, twice, as if memorising the shape and texture. Then he looked up at Seonghwa and smiled - not wide, but soft, and real.

A month had passed in the quiet rhythm of their companionship - shared meals, whispered stories, the silent comfort of each other’s presence. Seonghwa’s steps were steady as he approached the clearing that had come to feel more like home than anywhere else. He expected to see Yeosang sitting among the moss and dappled sunlight, maybe waiting with that soft smile he always tried to hide.

But the clearing was empty.

Then, movement - above.

Seonghwa stopped in his tracks, breath catching in his throat.

Yeosang was in the air.

High above the trees, wings spread wide like strokes of blue flame against the pale sky, he soared with a grace that made the world feel suddenly still. His feathers caught the golden light of late afternoon - brilliant sapphire fading to inky navy, tips flashing silver whenever they tilted toward the sun. He turned in an arc, dipping low before sweeping back up, and for a moment he looked less like a boy, and more like something ancient and divine.

Weightless. Free.

Seonghwa could only watch, rooted to the forest floor, heart thudding against his ribs like it wanted to follow. And as he looked up at Yeosang - wind tugging at his hair, laughter echoing faintly from above - something settled painfully, beautifully, in his chest.

He was in love.

It wasn’t loud, this realisation. It didn’t crash over him like the stories always said it would. It arrived quietly, like the way Yeosang’s voice always softened when he sang. Like the way Seonghwa found himself memorising the shape of his smile. Like the way this blue-winged boy, once trembling and injured in the shadows, had become the brightest part of Seonghwa’s world.

Yeosang was flying again.

And Seonghwa had never felt more grounded. Or more afraid of what this would mean.

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa called out, cupping his hands around his mouth.

High above, Yeosang turned mid-flight, his head swiveling toward the voice - and the moment he saw Seonghwa, his whole face lit up. That smile. Bright and unguarded and so purely him, it hit Seonghwa like a wave.

Without hesitation, Yeosang dove, wings tucking just slightly before he slowed and landed softly in the clearing, feathers still rustling with the breeze.

“You’re flying,” Seonghwa breathed, the words catching in his chest. His heart beat too fast. “You’re really flying.”

“Yes!” Yeosang beamed, his voice full of energy, cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “I woke up this morning and - there was no pain. Nothing. I stretched out my wings and it just…” he mimed the motion with a laugh, “...it just felt right. Like before.”

Then softer, more earnest: “You’ve done it, Seonghwa. You healed me.”

Seonghwa’s throat tightened. He should be smiling, celebrating this, and he did - he forced a small one, nodding slowly. But the words lodged behind his teeth. This was what they had been working towards, every bandage, every meal, every gentle touch and secret shared under the trees.

And now it was here.

The day Yeosang could go. The day he would go.

Something sharp twisted behind Seonghwa’s ribs, but he shoved it down. He wouldn’t ruin this moment. Yeosang deserved happiness, freedom, a sky that stretched further than any human border.

“I’m glad,” Seonghwa said, his voice quiet but steady. “That’s all I wanted for you.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly, as if trying to read him. But after a second, he just smiled again - warm, grateful, completely unaware that with every beat of those wings, Seonghwa’s heart ached a little more.

Because healing him had always been the goal. Seonghwa just hadn’t realised how much it would hurt to let him go.

They continued to stand in the quiet clearing, Seonghwa didn’t speak at first. He just looked at him - really looked. At the way Yeosang’s chest still rose and fell with exhilaration, at the sheen of sweat on his brow, the faint curl of his hair from the wind. The way his wings, no longer bandaged or folded in pain, flexed instinctively, like they were aching for the sky again.

But as their eyes locked, Seonghwa saw it: the joy slowly slipping from Yeosang’s expression, like sunlight retreating behind a cloud. His smile wavered, dimmed, and his wings drew closer to his body in a quiet, unconscious gesture. He knew. He felt it too.

Seonghwa forced himself to speak. “You can go home,” he said softly.

Yeosang blinked. “Oh.” The sound came out small, a breath more than a word. He looked down, his fingers knotting together. “Right. Of course.”

And then, after a beat, quieter still - “But… what about us?”

The words fell like a stone in Seonghwa’s chest. His breath caught. His heart thudded against his ribs, wild and disbelieving. For a second, he thought he imagined it. But Yeosang’s eyes met his again, wide and searching, and Seonghwa knew - he hadn’t been alone in this. The soft glances, the lingering touches, the quiet shared silences. Yeosang had felt it too.

There was an us.

But Seonghwa couldn’t let himself reach for it.

Not when everything in their world said he shouldn’t. Not when the blood on his hands and the rifle by his side made him a symbol of everything Yeosang should fear. Not when this - what they had - was the only secret keeping Yeosang safe.

So he smiled, even as it fractured something inside him.

“There can’t be an us,” he said gently. “You know that.”

Yeosang’s face crumpled, just for a second, before he turned away - just enough to hide it. His wings rustled faintly behind him, not in preparation for flight, but as if curling inward.

“Right,” he said, nodding stiffly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The silence returned, heavier than before. But neither of them moved. Neither of them could quite leave the moment.

“Go home, Yeosang,” Seonghwa said, voice flat. Detached.

He couldn’t let the cracks show. Not now. He didn’t look back as he turned toward the rock face, jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

But then - fwump - a rush of air. Wings.

Yeosang landed directly in front of him, cutting him off.

“No.” His voice was sharp, stronger than Seonghwa had ever heard it. He stood his ground, even though his wings trembled slightly, even though his eyes were glossy with unshed tears. “You can’t just leave. Not like that. I’m not letting you.”

Seonghwa blinked, stunned by the sudden defiance.

Yeosang took a breath, trying to keep it steady. “I - look. I know I’m not supposed to say this. I know it’s… stupid, or dangerous, or whatever.” He shifted his weight, wings twitching behind him, expression raw. “But I love you.”

The words landed heavy in the space between them.

“I don’t want to go back alone,” Yeosang continued, his voice low but clear. “I don’t want you to leave me behind like this. You - you’re my lantern, Seonghwa, my wish. You’re the reason I made it through any of this.” He gave a small, broken laugh, wiping his face quickly. “You’re the only person who’s ever looked at me and didn’t see a thing to hunt.”

He took a step closer, eyes locked on Seonghwa’s. “So no. I won’t let you pretend this didn’t happen. I won’t let you pretend you don’t feel it too.”

Seonghwa nearly crumbled right then and there.

Yeosang stood in front of him, wide open - nothing held back. His wings slightly spread, eyes glassy but steady, like he’d already made peace with his vulnerability.

But all Seonghwa could feel was the weight of history pressing down on them.

“You can’t love me,” Seonghwa said, voice shaking despite how hard he tried to steady it. “We - we’ve done nothing but hurt your kind. Humans have hunted you, locked you away. Made you hide just to survive.”

He swallowed, guilt clawing up his throat. “I hurt you. We only met because I shot you out of the sky, Yeosang. How can you love someone like that?”

Yeosang didn’t flinch. He just stepped forward - closer, slow and certain - and wrapped his wings around Seonghwa, drawing them into the quiet hush of feathers. The outside world disappeared in an instant, muffled by soft blue shadows. All that was left was warmth.

“There,” Yeosang said softly. “Now it’s just us. No war. No orders. No one watching.”

Seonghwa’s heart was pounding, but Yeosang’s voice stayed calm, sure.

“I don’t care what brought us here,” he continued, gaze gentle but unwavering. “If you hadn’t shot me down, I never would’ve met you. And I’m not scared of that. I’m glad it happened.”

He reached up, touching Seonghwa’s cheek with fingertips light as a breeze. “You showed me something I never thought I’d get to feel. You saw me - not just as a blue bird, not as a target. As me.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, small but real. “There’s no one else, Seonghwa. There won’t be. It’s you.”

Seonghwa’s breath hitched.

The moment felt impossibly still - like the entire world was holding its breath around them. The hush of Yeosang’s wings pressed close, cradling them in a cocoon of silence and safety. The kind of silence that didn’t demand anything. That only waited.

He didn’t deserve this.

But Yeosang was still looking at him like that. Like he was something more than the sum of his sins. Like he was worth saving.

And suddenly, Seonghwa couldn’t take it anymore.

He surged forward, hands cupping Yeosang’s face in a trembling grip, and kissed him - fiercely, desperately, like something inside him had finally broken loose. Yeosang let out a soft sound of surprise, but then melted into it, arms wrapping around Seonghwa’s waist as his wings curled tighter around them both.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was raw - too much and not enough all at once. A collision of everything Seonghwa had tried so hard to bury. Guilt. Longing. Regret. Hope.

And underneath it all, something terrifyingly real.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the close space between them.

“I tried not to feel it,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice cracking. “I told myself it couldn’t happen. That it was wrong. But you-”

He pulled in a shuddering breath. “You kept looking at me like I was worth something. And I… I wanted to believe you.”

Yeosang’s thumb brushed his cheek again, softer now. “Then believe me.”

Seonghwa closed his eyes, leaned into the touch like it was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“I’m so scared,” he admitted.

“I know,” Yeosang murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Me too.”

Yeosang didn’t pull away. Not when Seonghwa’s breath hitched again, not when his hands trembled where they held him. He only tightened his arms around him, resting his forehead against Seonghwa’s, his own eyes beginning to gloss again with the weight of everything they’d never said.

Seonghwa opened his mouth, tried to speak, but the words caught. His lips parted once, twice, and then-

“I love you,” he whispered, voice raw, breaking. “Yeosang, I - I love you too. So much”

The moment the words left him, something inside cracked wide open. All the walls he’d built - guilt, fear, duty, shame - they all came crumbling down in an instant.

He surged forward again, cupping Yeosang’s face in both hands, and kissed him. Not like the desperate clash from before - this time softer, reverent, like he was trying to memorise every part of him through touch alone.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispered against his cheek, pressing a kiss there, then another, trailing toward his temple. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you,” he breathed next, kissing the corner of Yeosang’s eye, where a tear had just started to fall across his birthmark.

The words tumbled out in fragments, half-choked by sobs now, his tears slipping freely down his cheeks, mixing with Yeosang’s. But Seonghwa didn’t stop. Couldn’t. He kissed every inch of Yeosang’s face he could reach - his forehead, “I’m sorry,” his jaw, “I love you,” the slope of his nose “I’m sorry, Yeosang, I’m sorry,” - each one a prayer, a plea, a promise. “I love you, I love you, I love you-”

Yeosang clung to him through it all, his own tears spilling over silently, his hands fisted in the back of Seonghwa’s jacket like he was afraid to let go, like letting go would shatter him.

“You didn’t break me,” Yeosang whispered finally, his voice rough with emotion. “You saved me.”

Seonghwa shook his head, helpless. “I don’t deserve you.”

Yeosang pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His lips trembled, but his gaze stayed steady. “Too bad,” he said softly. “You have me anyway.”

And then they were kissing again - slow this time, trembling, tearstained. But real.

They kissed until they were breathless - not just from the sheer rush of it, but from the weight of everything that had been held back for too long. Every press of their mouths was a breaking and a healing, a confession without words. Seonghwa’s hands trembled against Yeosang’s waist, and Yeosang pressed closer like he could sink into him completely, like being any further apart would undo him.

When they broke apart, Yeosang leaned in and buried his face in the curve of Seonghwa’s neck. His hands gripped the fabric of the human’s uniform tightly, knuckles pale, breath shallow and warm against Seonghwa’s collarbone.

Then, quietly - a plea.

“Take off your uniform. Please.”

Seonghwa’s breath caught, his hands stilling where they’d been resting on Yeosang’s hips. Yeosang lifted his head, just enough to look up at him, his expression open and unguarded, eyes shimmering with more than just desire.

“Take me as the real you, Seonghwa,” he said, voice soft but sure. “Nothing in between us. No hunters. No war. No guilt. Just you and me.”

And gods, the way he looked at him - like Seonghwa wasn’t a soldier, or a killer, or a ghost wrapped in sins - but a man. Just a man, wholly seen and wholly wanted.

Seonghwa’s heart squeezed so tightly it hurt.

“Yeosang…”

The bird’s fingers reached up slowly, moving to the clasps of his uniform jacket. Each one came undone with a quiet click, his breath shaking the whole time. He let it fall from his shoulders, the heavy fabric hitting the ground with a soft thud. Then his undershirt, pulled over his head in a swift, quiet motion.

Bare in the cool air, he stood there - exposed in more ways than one. His scars, his wounds, his past - all laid bare beneath Yeosang’s gaze.

And Yeosang didn’t look away.

He reached out, touching Seonghwa’s chest gently, reverently. Like he saw everything and loved him not in spite of it - but because of it.

Yeosang’s fingertips were featherlight as they traced the lines on Seonghwa’s chest - pale ridges, jagged edges, stories written in skin. He moved slowly, reverently, as if afraid to hurt him, even though the pain had long since passed. A scar across his ribs from a training rifle. Another along his side from a hunt gone wrong. Faint marks on his shoulder, his back - the oldest ones - from his father's anger, back when Seonghwa had still been too small to fight back.

Each touch felt like a question, and each one was met with silence - until Seonghwa couldn’t stand the weight of it anymore.

He reached up and cupped Yeosang’s cheek, thumb brushing the soft skin beneath his eye.

“I didn’t want you to see these,” Seonghwa said, voice low, thick with something he couldn’t name. “I didn’t want you to know what kind of man I’ve been. What kind of boy I was.”

Yeosang didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. He simply leaned into Seonghwa’s touch, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed a soft kiss into the center of his palm.

And in that moment, something gave way.

All the walls Seonghwa had tried to keep standing, all the reasons he’d told himself to resist - they collapsed under the simple truth of Yeosang’s touch, his gaze, his love.

Seonghwa leaned forward, slowly, and kissed him again - not out of desperation this time, but surrender. It was soft, full of aching reverence, a breath of “yes” spoken through mouths pressed together.

His arms slipped around Yeosang’s waist, pulling him flush against bare skin. And as their lips met again and again, slower now, deeper, Seonghwa knew: he could no longer deny him.

He didn’t want to.

Seonghwa’s fingers found the laces of Yeosang’s shorts, moving with quiet care as he slowly untied them, each motion deliberate, reverent. Yeosang mirrored him, hands sliding to the waistband of Seonghwa’s trousers, pushing them down with the same aching tenderness - not hurried, not frantic, just the shared rhythm of trust and want.

Inside the soft cocoon of Yeosang’s wings, the rest of the world disappeared. There was no past, no war, no blood between them. Only breath, warmth, and the steady pulse of two hearts choosing each other.

They kissed again - slower now, deeper - until the ground welcomed them. Seonghwa lowered Yeosang gently onto the grass, as though he were something precious placed into the earth's care. The sun kissed his bare skin, and Seonghwa reached up to brush stray strands of hair from his eyes, breath catching as he took him in.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice trembling with awe, like the truth of it was too big to hold inside any longer.

Seonghwa’s hands roamed Yeosang’s back with aching care, tracing the lines of muscle, the curve of his spine, the place where wings met skin. Yeosang trembled beneath the touch, not from fear but from the overwhelming gentleness of it. No one had ever touched him like this before. Like he mattered. Like he wasn’t something to hunt or hide or heal - but something to hold.

And Seonghwa did hold him, cradling him like something precious. He pressed kisses to Yeosang’s collarbone, his shoulder, his throat - slow and reverent, drinking in every sigh, every shiver. Their legs tangled together, skin brushing skin in a rhythm that wasn’t rushed but full of want, of love, of unspoken promises neither of them needed to voice out loud.

Seonghwa’s fingers moved with a patient rhythm, each brush of skin measured and filled with care, allowing Yeosang’s body to respond in its own time. He could feel the subtle trembling beneath his touch - the delicate surrender that came from deep trust - and it stirred something fierce and protective within him. Every soft gasp and shudder was a quiet testament to the courage it took for Yeosang to let go, to open himself completely.

Seonghwa leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss just beneath Yeosang’s ear, his breath warm and steady. His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. “Is this okay?”

Yeosang met him with a look of pure trust - wide, shining eyes filled with vulnerability and something tenderly fierce. Then, with a breath caught somewhere between nerves and longing, he breathed out a single word, green and glowing with hope: “Yes.”

That answer was all Seonghwa needed. Slowly, reverently, he traced his finger along the curve of Yeosang’s hole, letting the tip brush over the most sensitive edges before gently pressing inward. Yeosang’s breath hitched, a soft, breathless sound that mingled with the rustling of feathers from his slightly fluttering wings.

Seonghwa’s touch was patient and sure, never hurried, never forceful. He waited for every shiver, every small response, letting Yeosang’s body open slowly for him.

Yeosang’s breath hitched as Seonghwa continued, every touch slow, intentional. The quiet way Yeosang relaxed into him, gasping softly as his fingers worked, told Seonghwa more than words ever could.

He watched Yeosang’s expression the whole time - the way his lashes fluttered, the way his lips parted on a shaky exhale, the way he whispered his name like a plea and a prayer.

“Okay?” Seonghwa asked again, his voice barely a breath.

Yeosang looked up at him, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, a small breathless smile curving his lips. “I want you,” he said, sure now, solid. “Please, Seonghwa, I’ve never wanted anything like this.”

That was all Seonghwa needed.

He kissed him again - deep, slow, anchoring - before aligning their bodies, hands steady on Yeosang’s hips. Their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the charged silence between them.

Then, gently, Seonghwa pressed into him - slow, so slow - letting Yeosang adjust, letting every inch of this moment be something shared. He didn’t look away, not even once. He needed to see every shift in Yeosang’s expression, every flicker of pleasure, every wince, every gasp.

Yeosang held onto him tightly, fingers digging into his back, legs wrapping around Seonghwa’s waist as he breathed through it, his wings trembling above them like a soft canopy. He was open, raw, and Seonghwa was falling apart inside at how much he trusted him.

“I’ve got you,” Seonghwa murmured, brushing kisses over his cheek, his jaw, his throat. “You’re doing so well, love.”

Yeosang whimpered softly, the sound high and breathless, his head falling back as Seonghwa began to move - gentle, measured thrusts that built slowly, like the ocean rolling in soft tides.

Their hands never stopped roaming, desperate to stay connected in every way. Their lips met again and again between gasped breaths, like they couldn’t get enough of each other, like this wasn’t just passion but something more profound, something sacred.

Yeosang’s wings stretched wide, then slowly began to fold inward, the motion smooth and deliberate. The long feathers extended fully before bending forward, sweeping around Seonghwa’s body in a slow, protective arc. The broad wings curved closer, their tips brushing softly against Seonghwa’s arms and sides, the feathers cool and silky as they glided over his skin, shifting to fit snugly against the curves of their bodies.

As the wings closed further, the wide arcs grew narrower, pulling Seonghwa in closer with a firm but gentle pressure. The feathers folded tightly around him, like delicate petals wrapping a flower, enclosing them both in a tender, intimate embrace.

Seonghwa slowed his movements, savouring each moment, stretching the tension between them. Yeosang’s wings tightened instinctively around their bodies, folding and curling with deliberate grace.

The blue of Yeosang’s wings was unlike anything Seonghwa had seen before: a living tapestry of colours shifting beneath the moonlight. Deep sapphire flowed into pale sky blue, with hints of teal and silver shimmering in the soft glow. The feathers were soft yet strong, delicate but protective - each one like a gentle promise of safety.

Wrapped inside those wings, Seonghwa felt weightless, as though floating in air, yet deeply grounded by the fierce love holding him close. He pressed his face into the curve of Yeosang’s neck, breathing in the faint scent of earth and wildflowers that was uniquely Yeosang’s. Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm as he slid deeper, feeling the warm, welcoming tightness of Yeosang around him.

The feathers brushed over his skin again and again, like the caress of a thousand tiny kisses that never stopped. They enveloped him completely, folding and curling as if to shield them from the entire world, isolating them in a fragile bubble of intimacy.

Each subtle movement caused the feathers to shift and ripple, the gentle rustling sound like a whispered lullaby meant only for them. Seonghwa could feel the softness against his ribs, the downy layer pressing tenderly against his chest, while the longer feathers brushed along his arms and back with a feather-light touch that made his skin tingle with an impossible gentlity.

Their breaths tangled together - shallow, quick, and gasping - while their lips sought each other again and again, hunger and tenderness mingling in every kiss. Seonghwa’s hands traced the curve of Yeosang’s ribs, memorising the way his chest rose and fell beneath his fingertips, while Yeosang’s fingers tangled in Seonghwa’s hair, clutching him with a fierce need.

Soft moans spilling out like precious gifts from Yeosang’s lips, fragile and filled with raw emotion. Each sound urged Seonghwa onward, feeding the fire that blazed between them. The taste of Yeosang’s skin, warm and real beneath his lips, grounded him even as their connection soared beyond the physical.

When they reached the edge - together, bodies pressed so tightly there was no telling where one ended and the other began - it was like the final piece of something broken being placed back where it belonged.

And when it was over, when the shudders faded into stillness and their breathing slowed, Seonghwa collapsed gently onto Yeosang’s chest, his face buried in the crook of his neck, his hand still wrapped protectively around him.

Yeosang’s wings curled in tighter, tucking them into the smallest, safest place in the world.

Neither of them spoke at first.

And then Seonghwa withdrew slowly, his every movement gentle, mindful not to cause the slightest discomfort to the delicate soul beneath him.They lay tangled on the grass, breath still shallow, skin cooling in the open air. Seonghwa’s arm was draped around Yeosang, who was curled into his side, cheek resting just below his collarbone. His wings fanned out beneath them like a blanket made of sky.

Neither spoke for a while.

Seonghwa listened to Yeosang’s breathing, still slightly uneven, felt the way his fingers loosely curled against his chest. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been lying like that, but he didn’t want to move. The world felt far away, as if it couldn’t reach them here. Maybe it couldn’t.

Yeosang shifted slightly, his nose brushing Seonghwa’s neck. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this warm,” he whispered, voice low and drowsy. “Not just… body warm. But here.” He touched Seonghwa’s chest, just over his heart.

Seonghwa swallowed thickly, looking down at him. His hair was messy, and his wings were still twitching gently, as if responding to whatever emotion was passing through him.

Seonghwa brushed a thumb over Yeosang’s temple, unable to stop touching him. “You make me feel like I’m allowed to be human,” he murmured. “Like maybe I don’t have to carry everything alone.”

“You don’t,” Yeosang tells him softly, voice almost lost in the hush of the clearing. “Here, with me… everything is new. And safe. We’re nobody here. Just us.”

Seonghwa exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the fading light above them, his hand gently tracing circles across Yeosang’s bare shoulder. The stillness wrapped around them like a second skin - his body warm beneath the weight of Yeosang, his heart heavier than ever.

He didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to break the moment. But the truth sat lodged in his throat.

“I can’t leave,” he said finally, the words a whisper meant for only Yeosang to hear. “Not without risking everything. They’d call it mutiny. Treason. I’d be killed. You would be too.”

Yeosang didn’t flinch. He only shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look into Seonghwa’s eyes. “I know,” he said. “I knew you’d say that.”

Seonghwa reached up and tucked a strand of Yeosang’s hair behind his ear, his fingers lingering. “But I want to be with you.”

“Then be with me,” Yeosang said simply. “Here. This place - it’s ours, isn’t it? They don’t know it. They don’t come near it. You keep coming back, and I’ll keep waiting. We don’t need to be anything to them.”

Seonghwa stared at him, overwhelmed by the steadiness in his voice, the calm in his eyes. “You’d wait for me?”

Yeosang smiled, soft and unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They lay together in silence for a while, pressed close, the chill of the evening settling in as Yeosang’s wings curled protectively around them once more. It wasn’t a perfect future - not yet - but it was something real.

And in a world where they’d both been taught to survive without softness, the promise of each other was the warmest thing they had.

Chapter Text

Six months passed, and the world outside their clearing continued to burn and boil and break - but inside it, time bent gently around the edges.

Every time Seonghwa was sent out on patrol, he found a way to slip away. He was careful - always careful. A fake detour here, a delay there. No one questioned him too deeply anymore. His squad had chalked it up to aversion. They thought the killing had gotten to him. They thought he was still shaken. And maybe he was. Just… not for the reasons they believed.

Because while they hunted and burned through forest edges, Seonghwa was climbing down the rock face again, heart already quickening with the certainty that Yeosang would be waiting.

And he always was.

Sometimes Yeosang would be perched on a high branch above the crevasse, watching the sky. Other times he’d already laid out their blanket, humming softly, wings tucked behind him, eyes lighting up the second he saw Seonghwa appear.

They greeted each other like the world owed them nothing but this moment.

Six hours. That’s all they had, each time. And in those hours they lived a secret life.

There was talking - about dreams, about what they would do if things were different, about what the stars might look like in the other’s home. There was laughter - Yeosang’s radiant when Seonghwa got flustered, Seonghwa’s breathless when Yeosang teased him just to hear the sound.

There were kisses, lazy and deep and reverent.

There was more than kissing, too - those quieter moments afterward when they lay tangled in the grass, Seonghwa drawing constellations on Yeosang’s skin, Yeosang trailing his fingers over Seonghwa’s scars like he could erase them with touch.

They held each other like people who didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Who weren’t sure the next patrol wouldn’t be the last.

But Seonghwa didn’t let himself think like that. Not when Yeosang was curled into his chest, humming something soft against his throat.

Not when he pressed their foreheads together before he left and promised, quietly, “Two more days.”

Two days, and he would come back.

And so far, no one had stopped him. No one had seen.

He told himself they didn’t suspect. That they just thought he was avoiding the violence, the killing. That he was just the quiet one, the strange one, the one who wandered off and came back with dirt on his boots and silence in his eyes.

Let them think that. Let them keep looking the other way.

Because if they ever saw what he was really doing - if they ever found Yeosang - then all of this would vanish like smoke.

So he smiled when they teased him. He nodded when they joked about his disappearing act and tired eyes. He kept his secret stitched tightly beneath his uniform.

And every two days, without fail, he returned to the boy with blue wings.

Every night, when Seonghwa lay in his narrow cot beneath the humming lights of the barracks, he closed his eyes and imagined escape.

Not the fantasy kind - no running into the sunset or dramatic midair rescues. Just… him and Yeosang, somewhere far from here. A cabin in the trees. A cave lined with moss. A place where no one would come looking. A place where no one cared that a soldier had fallen in love with a blue bird.

He’d run through a hundred plans in his mind - supply routes, timing, stolen uniforms, even old legends about passageways beneath the eastern cliffs. He traced every possible outcome, mapped every danger. But no matter how many times he tried to thread it together, it always frayed in the same place:

He didn’t know how to survive out there.

Yeosang could. Of course he could. The wilderness was in his bones, had raised him in feathers and wind. He moved through the forest like part of it - unafraid, instinctive. Seonghwa had watched him snatch fish from a river in bare feet, climb trees like they were ladders, tell the weather just from the scent in the air.

Seonghwa, on the other hand, was a city boy.

Raised between concrete and routine, his only skills were forged in obedience and discipline, not survival. He didn’t know how to live off the land. He didn't know how to build shelter or track safe water or hide from the wild things that weren’t human.

And it wasn’t just that.

It was the other fear. The bigger one.

The government wouldn’t let them go. If they found out - if anyone found out - there’d be no trial. No mercy. He’d be branded a traitor. Executed, maybe. Disappeared, more likely.

So each night, Seonghwa stared at the ceiling with clenched fists and bitten lips, the longing for Yeosang a constant ache in his chest.

He wanted to run. God, he wanted to run more than anything.

But every plan led to death.

And yet… doing nothing felt like dying too.

So he stayed in place, caught between courage and fear, between the warmth of Yeosang’s touch and the cold weight of reality.

But everything changed the day Seonghwa returned and found Yeosang waiting with a strange look on his face - head ducked low, wings slightly folded in, like he’s was trying to hide.

At first, Seonghwa’s heart spikes in panic. His pace quickens as he crosses the clearing.

“Yeosang?” he calls softly.

The blue bird doesn’t look up. Just shuffles his feet, his weight shifting nervously between them.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa says again, closer now. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone see you?”

His voice comes out too sharp, too fast. He’s already checking Yeosang over with his eyes, searching for blood or broken feathers, but there’s nothing - just the deepening pink of Yeosang’s cheeks.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Yeosang mumbles, barely audible, eyes glued to the ground.

Seonghwa stills. His breath stutters in his throat. “What… what do you mean?” he asks, carefully. “What happened?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He just bites his lip and turns away a little, clearly mortified.

Seonghwa’s mind leaps to every worst-case scenario. “Please, just tell me,” he pleads, stepping in front of him. “I need to know. Whatever it is - whatever happened - we’ll figure it out, okay? But don’t shut me out.”

Yeosang finally lifts his eyes to meet Seonghwa’s, and there’s a strange mix of fear and wonder swimming in them.

“I think I might be nesting,” he whispers.

Seonghwa blinks. “Nesting?”

Yeosang nods, flustered. “It’s- It’s something blue birds do, when they…”

Yeosang doesn’t answer right away. He looks almost afraid, like saying it aloud will make it real.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa says, softer now. “Please. Talk to me.”

Finally, Yeosang swallows, eyes lifting to meet Seonghwa’s. “I think I might be pregnant.”

The words knock the air from Seonghwa’s lungs.

Yeosang rushes on before he can respond. “I’m not certain, not yet. But I’ve felt strange - tired, nauseous sometimes, and now the nesting. It’s instinctual. It only happens when we’re… preparing. I didn’t mean for it to happen, I swear. I wasn’t trying to-”

“Hey,” Seonghwa says, stepping forward, gently taking Yeosang’s hand. “Stop. It’s okay. Breathe.”

Yeosang’s lips tremble. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just… I don’t know what to do. I’ve never - this isn’t something I ever imagined, but the thought of having part of you, part of us…”

His voice fades, and Seonghwa watches the vulnerability settle across his features. The proud blue bird who once hid his pain now looks open and fragile, and so incredibly beautiful.

And suddenly, Seonghwa understands. The nest, the tenderness, the instinct - it was all love. Fear, yes, but love most of all.

“You’re not alone,” Seonghwa says quietly, tugging Yeosang closer, until their foreheads touch. “If you are… pregnant… we’ll figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yeosang’s breath hitches, and for a moment, everything is still - just the two of them, wrapped in a truth bigger than either of them expected.

Yeosang’s sickness and nesting persists for a couple more weeks.

Every time Seonghwa visits, the signs are stronger - the way Yeosang keeps adjusting their spot in the clearing, lining it with soft feathers and bits of fabric Seonghwa had once brought to keep him warm. The way he grows more tired, napping curled up in the same place again and again. He gets nauseous after eating, then suddenly ravenous hours later. And always, the faint flush of his cheeks when Seonghwa asks if he’s okay.

“I don’t mean for this to happen,” Yeosang had mumbled once, half-hiding under his wing, too embarrassed to meet Seonghwa’s eyes.

Seonghwa had only kissed the top of his head and murmured, “I don’t mind. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Still, he worried. Something inside him knew, but he didn’t let himself think it - not really - not until the day he arrived and saw Yeosang already waiting in the clearing, bathed in soft golden light, and…

And there it was. A bump. Small. Noticeable now, even under the thin fabric of his clothes. Yeosang was standing with one hand lightly pressed to it, as if he was still getting used to the weight of it.

Seonghwa stopped in his tracks.

Yeosang looked up at him and gave a sheepish, almost guilty smile.

“I was going to tell you today,” he murmurs, eyes shining. “I think… I think it’s really happening.”

Seonghwa walks to him without a word and cups Yeosang’s face gently, thumbing away the tears already falling.

“You’re scared,” Yeosang whispers.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa admits, voice thick. “I am.”

Because this is no longer just about the two of them in a secret clearing. This is a life. A future. One that could be torn apart if they’re found out. A child born into a world that wouldn’t want it.

“I hate the thought of you out here alone,” he says, pressing their foreheads together. “Protecting yourself, protecting them. And I’m just sleeping in a barracks like nothing’s changed.”

Yeosang leans into him. “But it has changed.”

Seonghwa nods, and his hand slips down slowly, resting over the small bump. His fingers tremble just slightly. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It really has.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. Yeosang’s breathing evens out a little, comforted by the warmth of Seonghwa’s presence.

Then Seonghwa clears his throat, hesitating. “…Can I ask you something?”

Yeosang blinks. “Of course.”

“I just… I didn’t know male blue birds could get pregnant.”

Yeosang tilts his head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well… male humans can’t.”

Yeosang jerks back a little, eyes going wide. “What?”

Seonghwa can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. “Yeah. That’s… not a thing. Like, at all.”

Yeosang stares at him for a beat, utterly shocked. “Then - then how do you know which of you nests?”

“We… don’t,” Seonghwa says, grinning now. “There is no nesting. Just… parenting. Later. Together.”

Yeosang’s expression twists into something caught between horror and fascination. “You mean to tell me… all your babies just appear?”

Seonghwa laughs again, arms sliding around Yeosang’s waist. “Not exactly. But it’s… a little more structured.”

Yeosang lets out a breathless chuckle, burying his face against Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Your species is so weird.”

“Says the nesting bird.”

They both laugh then - quiet, nervous, but full of warmth. A moment stolen in the middle of uncertainty. A moment that belongs only to them.

“We’ll run,” Seonghwa says quietly, the words feeling heavier than air. “You and me. We can’t stay, not now. We need to find somewhere safe - somewhere they’ll never find us.”

Yeosang’s breath shudders.

Seonghwa continues, his voice steadier now, protective and sure in a way only he can be. “I don’t know what kind of father I’ll be. I never thought I’d even get the chance.” A shy, brief smile. “But I know I’ll try. I’ll keep you both safe. I swear it.”

Yeosang lets out a quiet, broken laugh, burying his face into Seonghwa’s shoulder.

And Seonghwa just holds him tighter, already planning their escape with the weight of a promise in his arms.

Two days. That was the plan.

Just two more days and Seonghwa would be back in the clearing, and he and Yeosang would run. They didn’t have much - a tattered satchel, some dried food, a stolen compass - but it would be enough. It had to be enough.

But two days suddenly felt like an eternity.

At the barracks, Seonghwa couldn’t sit still. His leg bounced under the table, hands fidgeting with a loose thread on his uniform sleeve. The others were gathered around, playing cards and half-laughing through bad hands, but Seonghwa barely looked at his own.

“Dude,” Yunho said, nudging him with a knuckle. “You good?”

Seonghwa blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been weird for months, but now it’s like you’re not even here.” Yunho’s voice wasn’t accusatory, just concerned. “You keep zoning out. You didn’t even notice Mingi cheating five minutes ago.”

“I did not cheat-” Mingi started, but Yunho waved him off.

Seonghwa forced a tight smile. “I’m just tired. I’m alright, really.”

San raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You look like you’re about to explode.”

“I promise,” Seonghwa said, his voice a little too steady to be natural. “Don’t worry about me.”

He picked up his cards and tried to pretend he wasn’t listening to the clock tick so slowly overhead. In his mind, he was already climbing the edge of the crevasse, already whispering Yeosang’s name into the forest air.

But then a sharp, piercing alarm cut through the room.

All five soldiers stiffened instantly.

The red lights on the wall began to spin, bathing the barracks in rotating flashes. A moment later, the announcement came over the speakers, mechanical and cold:

“Blue bird sighting confirmed. Sector 6. All squads mobilise immediately. Repeat, all squads mobilise immediately.”

Seonghwa’s blood ran cold.

Sector 6. His sector. Their sector.

The playing cards fell from his hands.

“No,” he whispered, barely audible.

The others were already on their feet, grabbing gear and rifles in a practiced scramble, but Seonghwa stood frozen, stomach twisting into knots. A sickness washed over him like a wave of rot. The air felt thin, like he couldn’t get enough of it.

What if it was Yeosang? What if someone else had found the clearing? What if he was already-

“Seonghwa!” Wooyoung barked, tossing him his rifle. “Move!”

He caught it on instinct, but his hands trembled around it.

He hadn’t run fast enough. Two days. He’d needed just two more days.

And now, everything might be falling apart.

Seonghwa barely heard the roar of the engines or the barked orders over the comms.

He sat in the transport, rigid and pale, his hands clenched so tight around his rifle that his knuckles had gone white. Every bump in the road jolted through his spine. The weight of the gun felt heavier than ever in his lap. His lip was bleeding - he'd chewed through the skin without noticing.

Never before had this many squads been dispatched for a single sighting. Five entire units. Fully armed.

They didn’t want to kill this bird. They wanted to capture him. They wanted this bird alive.

Alive meant interrogation. Alive meant cages. Alive meant torture.

“Hey!” San’s voice pierced the thick fog in Seonghwa’s brain. “You’re bleeding.”

Seonghwa blinked down at his hands, dazed, then swiped the back of his wrist over his mouth.

“Seonghwa?” Wooyoung asked, brows knit in concern. “You’re shaking.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t lie. Couldn’t make words. Couldn’t stop picturing Yeosang with shackles around his wrists, a muzzle over his mouth, his wings pinned down-

The truck lurched to a stop, and the door was thrown open.

“This is your drop!” the driver yelled.

The squads poured out into the forest, boots thudding onto damp soil, weapons raised and eyes scanning the trees.

But Seonghwa didn’t wait. The second his boots hit the ground, he ran.

“Seonghwa?!” someone shouted behind him. “Where the hell are you going?!”

He ignored them. The pounding of his own heartbeat drowned everything out. He sprinted across the forest floor, branches clawing at his sleeves, mud splashing up his legs. He ducked under limbs, vaulted over roots, not even stopping to catch his breath.

Please don’t let it be him, he thought, panic swelling in his chest. Please let him be safe. Please let me be wrong.

He reached the familiar rocks, his lungs burning, and scrambled up without hesitation. His knees scraped against the stone, but he barely felt it.

The clearing lay just ahead - golden grass, soft wind, the echo of memories.

And Seonghwa ran toward it, praying to any god that would listen that he wasn't too late.

Seonghwa burst into the clearing, breath ragged, his heart clawing at his ribs.

“Yeosang!” he shouted, voice cracking. “Yeosang!”

Silence.

The grass swayed peacefully in the wind. The stone where they used to sit was empty. The blanket was gone. No feathers. No warmth. Just… absence.

His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, praying for the familiar flash of blue, for the rustle of feathers, for anything.

But the clearing was silent.

No. No, no, no.

Maybe Yeosang had gone into hiding. Maybe he sensed the patrols and escaped. Maybe - maybe he was safe.

Seonghwa took a step forward, about to call out again -

- and then he heard it.

A cry. Sharp and wounded, cutting through the trees.

Familiar. Too familiar.

It was the same sound Yeosang made when Seonghwa had shot him down weeks ago. It had haunted his dreams for nights after. And now, hearing it again-

“Yeosang!” Seonghwa gasped, and without thinking, he ran.

He sprinted toward the sound, stumbling over roots, branches whipping against his face. The trees blurred around him as he crashed through them, following the echo of pain and fear.

He didn’t care if anyone saw him. He didn’t care if his squad followed. He didn’t care if he was caught.

The only thing that mattered was that scream - and the blue bird who made it.

“Yeosang!” he shouted again, voice nearly hoarse. “Please - where are you?!”

Another cry answered. Weaker. Further away.

Seonghwa pushed himself harder, legs aching, vision burning.

Please, he begged the universe, don’t take him from me.

Seonghwa tore through the underbrush, branches snapping against his uniform, lungs burning, until the trees gave way to a clearing he didn’t recognise - smaller, darker, shadowed by towering pines. And in the center of it, lit by shafts of cruel sunlight, was Yeosang.

Bound. Bleeding. Caged like an animal.

Seonghwa stopped dead, his breath torn from him as if punched. His legs trembled.

Yeosang was on the ground, wings tangled in thick netting, the glossy blue feathers twisted unnaturally. His arms and legs were bound tightly with coarse rope, a blindfold pulled over his eyes. Blood trickled from his nose, and his lip was split, smeared red. He lay still but breathing, trembling with each breath.

A squad - uniforms he didn’t recognise - stood around him, rifles slung, eyes watchful. One of them had their boot planted inches from Yeosang’s wing.

Seonghwa moved before he even registered the decision.

“Get away from him!” he shouted, voice full of fury and fear, and then he was charging forward - shoving past one of the soldiers who tried to stop him, throwing himself to the ground beside Yeosang.

The others yelled, but he didn’t hear them. All he could see was Yeosang.

He dropped to his knees, pulled Yeosang into his arms, the blue bird’s body fitting perfectly against him despite the restraints.

“It’s me,” Seonghwa whispered, panicked, cradling Yeosang’s face. “I’m here, I’ve got you - I’ve got you.”

Yeosang flinched under his touch at first, but the sound of Seonghwa’s voice had him going still, then crumbling into his arms with a sound like a sob.

“Don’t touch him!” one of the squad barked, stepping forward, rifle raised.

Seonghwa turned, shielding Yeosang with his body. “You’ll have to shoot me first.”

There was silence. Thick and stunned.

The soldiers froze, caught off guard by the sight of one of their own - clean-cut and loyal Seonghwa - protecting a blue bird like he was something sacred.

Like he was someone loved.

Yeosang’s blindfold slipped, and he blinked blearily at the light. “Seonghwa…?” he croaked, barely audible.

“I’m here,” Seonghwa whispered again, pressing a shaking kiss to Yeosang’s temple. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

In that moment, Seonghwa didn’t care who he was before. Didn’t care about his father’s legacy, the military, the rules he was raised to follow.

All that mattered was the boy in his arms. The boy with feathers and starlight in his eyes. The boy he loved.

“Get away from the blue bird, soldier.” The voice was sharp, commanding, laced with authority. A rifle was leveled at him. “I will not hesitate to shoot you.”

Seonghwa didn’t move.

He held Yeosang tighter instead, eyes flicking rapidly around the clearing for an escape - anything - but they were surrounded, boots pressing into the mossy earth, the metal scent of weaponry thick in the air.

Then, thundering footsteps. Voices.

His squad burst through the trees - Hongjoong first, followed by Wooyoung, San, Yunho, the rest - and the moment they took in the scene, they all stopped, eyes wide.

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong’s voice cracked with disbelief.

Seonghwa looked up, heart pounding.
Hongjoong’s eyes dropped to the blue feathers, to the blood streaked down Yeosang’s neck, and back up to where Seonghwa was hunched over him like a shield.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice trembling.

Yunho stepped forward, slowly, palms raised in a quiet plea. “Hwa… it’s okay. Just come over here, alright? You don’t have to get hurt. Let us help you.”

“Let go of him,” San said gently, eyes scanning the soldiers surrounding them. “You’re not thinking clearly, we can figure this out. Please - just come with us.”

Seonghwa shook his head, almost violently. “No,” he said, voice low but unshakable. “I’d rather die than let you take him from me.”

Silence rang out like a gunshot. Then laughter.

Cold, cruel, mocking laughter from the soldiers who had captured Yeosang.

“Oh, now that’s rich,” one of them jeered. “The model soldier - what’s wrong, got yourself feather-drunk?”

Another chimed in, “Didn’t know you had a thing for monsters, Seonghwa. Bet your whole squad feels sick.”

The first one stepped forward, sneering. “You know what this makes you, right? You’re the enemy now.”

Yeosang stirred weakly in Seonghwa’s arms, his breath rattling. Seonghwa didn’t look away from the soldiers, even as his chest heaved.

“If loving him makes me the enemy,” Seonghwa said, voice loud and unwavering, “then I’ve been on the wrong side this whole time.”

Behind him, no one spoke.

Even his squad had gone silent, the shock hitting like a blow.

But Seonghwa didn’t feel fear anymore.

Only resolve. Only love. Only the burning need to get Yeosang out of there alive.

“Seonghwa hasn’t been well,” Jongho said suddenly, stepping forward with both hands out, trying to keep the rifles from escalating. “Not since his first kill. He’s been… different. You can’t blame him for this - he’s not thinking clearly.”

But the soldiers just laughed harder.

“Oh, so now he’s crazy?” one scoffed. “What, crying over a little bloodshed? That’s what he signed up for.”

“Your golden boy’s just soft,” another added with a sneer. “Mentally weak. Should’ve weeded him out months ago.”

“We’re done wasting time,” the commander snapped. “He’s compromised. He’s coming in - with the creature.”

He motioned to his men, and two soldiers advanced toward Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s squad immediately reacted - Yunho stepping protectively in front of him, San’s hand already going to his weapon, Wooyoung bristling with fury.

“Don’t touch him,” Hongjoong warned, his voice like steel.

But rifles were already raised - turned now not just on Seonghwa, but on his entire squad.

“Stand down,” the lead soldier barked. “Any interference, and you’ll be treated as traitors. You want to be arrested too?”

Seonghwa held up his hand before his friends could speak.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. And somehow, impossibly, he smiled. “I’m okay guys, please don’t get arrested for me.”

His eyes dropped to Yeosang, who lay limp in his arms, still bleeding, still shaking. The blue bird’s eyes were wide with terror, wet with tears that slipped silently down his cheeks.

Seonghwa leaned close, brushing their foreheads together. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “I promise you, Yeosang. I’ll find you.”

Yeosang tried to respond - tried to say something - but all he managed was a soft, pained sound, his mouth trembling.

Then they were torn apart.

Yeosang was ripped from his arms, and Seonghwa surged forward instinctively, but hands seized him, twisting his arms behind his back and forcing him to the ground. Rope burned against his wrists, and a blindfold was yanked tight around his eyes.

But he could still hear.

Yeosang’s scream - the panic in it, the raw, animal desperation - ripped through the air as they threw him into something metal. A cage. A truck door slammed shut. The locks snapped into place.

And even in the darkness of the blindfold, Seonghwa felt the loss like a wound to his chest.

Boots stomped around him. Orders were shouted. A harsh tug pulled him upright, and he stumbled forward blindly, guided by force toward another vehicle.

Then, a voice. “I’m going to fix this, Hwa!” It was Hongjoong.

Ragged, furious, certain.

Seonghwa’s breath caught.

And for a moment, as the truck door closed behind him and the world went dark and cold and metal-bound, he clung to those words like a thread of hope.

Yeosang woke with a gasp, his throat dry, body aching in too many places to count.

For a split second, he expected to see trees. The soft bend of forest canopy above him. Maybe the rock, maybe the grass. Maybe Seonghwa.

Instead, light.

Too bright. Artificial.

He blinked rapidly, only to find himself staring through walls of glass. Thick, spotless, cold. Panic clawed up his throat.

Where-?

His body hurt. Muscles tight. Wings stiff. He was curled on the cold floor, but something felt wrong - off - and it took him a moment to register the horrible chill against his skin.

He was naked.

A fresh spike of terror raced through him. He curled in on himself immediately, wings wrapping around his body like a shell, trying to hide, trying to protect-

ZAAAAP!

An unbearable, searing pain tore through his neck.

Yeosang cried out, his body arching violently, wings flaring wide against his will. The pain forced him upright, exposed. Vulnerable.

It stopped just as suddenly.

He was panting now, wings trembling, eyes wide and blurred with tears as he stared at the source of the shock: a man in a white lab coat. Smug. Unbothered.

“No hiding,” the man said flatly, tapping something on a remote.

Only then did Yeosang feel it - the weight around his neck. Thick. Heavy. Burning.

A collar.

Not the kind worn with pride or tradition - no, this was brutal, utilitarian, a tool meant for control.

He reached a shaky hand up, brushing the edge of it, and immediately winced at the heat and rawness of his skin beneath. He couldn’t even look at the man again. He stared down at the sterile floor, at the faint reflection of himself - wild-haired, bruised, eyes blown wide with horror.

His mind raced.

Seonghwa.

Was he safe? Was he alive? Yeosang’s last memory was Seonghwa’s face - gentle, determined - smiling down at him, saying it would be okay. Promising.

Yeosang wrapped his arms around his middle, the instinct now stronger than ever. He lowered his head.

Please be okay, Seonghwa. Please.

And then - the baby. His baby. Their baby.

He whispered a trembling prayer in a tongue older than books, pressing a hand softly to his belly. He didn’t know how far along he was, not exactly, but he felt it - something new growing inside him. He needed to protect it.

But how?

He took a step, and nearly crumpled - his legs shaking. His wings dragged behind him like wet cloth, weak and aching.

And then he noticed what surrounded him.

Cages.

Dozens of them. Glass cages. Just like his. Each one glowing faintly under bright fluorescent lights.

In the one closest to him, a boy - maybe no older than Yeosang - sat motionless, his wings slumped, collar tight around his neck. In another, a girl sobbed quietly, head in her arms. Then another - and Yeosang’s breath hitched.

A man with no wings. Just jagged stumps. Blood dried on his back. Eyes blank. Skin pale.

Yeosang felt like he might be sick.

What is this place?

He staggered backward. That’s when he caught the mark on the wingless man’s arm: a black tattoo, stark against his skin. A serial number.

Yeosang looked down at his own arm.

It was there. Burned into him.

He wasn’t a person here. He was a specimen. A prisoner.

And in the reflection of the glass, beneath the collar and the bruises and the tremble in his lips, Yeosang saw it in his own eyes:

Terror. But not defeat.

Because somewhere, out there, Seonghwa was still alive. He had to be. He promised.

Yeosang pressed a hand against the glass. He didn’t care who saw.

“Come find me, Hwa,” he whispered. “Please.”

A couple of hours passed.

Or at least, he thought it was hours - there was no sun here, no sky to track time, just harsh fluorescent lights that never changed. It could’ve been days. It could’ve been minutes.

Yeosang sat pressed into the corner of the glass, arms around his belly, wings slack behind him. Every once in a while, he glanced at the other cages. He tried not to stare too long at the ones with blood.

Finally, cautiously, he tapped on the glass.

Across from him, a younger blue bird flinched at the sound but looked up.

Yeosang tilted his head, trying to smile gently. He mouthed the words: Are you okay?

The boy blinked.

Before he could respond, a sharp beep sounded from above, and suddenly Yeosang’s world flared white with pain.

ZAAAP!

He collapsed to his side, body seizing as the collar pulsed electric into his neck. He cried out, twitching, clutching the floor.

“No talking.”

The blue bird across from him went pale, his eyes wide with terror as he backed into his own corner.

Yeosang didn’t try again.

He just lay there for a long time, panting, skin slick with sweat, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach. He whispered in his head, to the baby he hoped was still okay: I’m sorry. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.

Eventually, footsteps approached.

The hiss of hydraulics echoed through the hallway.

Yeosang looked up - heart lurching - as his cage doors slid open.

Two soldiers stepped in. Black-clad. Helmets down. One held a rifle. The other, a remote.

“Stand,” one barked.

Yeosang moved, slowly. His muscles ached from lying curled for so long. He didn’t want to disobey, not with the remote in view. Not with the baby inside him.

“I need to ask about-” he tried, but before the words could fully leave his mouth, one of the soldiers grabbed his jaw roughly, forcing it shut.

A thick black strap was pulled over his mouth and tightened at the back of his head.

Muzzled.

Yeosang stared at them, wide-eyed, panic rising. Where are you taking me? Where is Seonghwa?

But he couldn’t say a word. They led him out of the glass cage.

His legs trembled. He stumbled once and felt the hard jab of a baton into his back. He didn’t dare speak. The man holding the remote kept his thumb hovering near the red button.

Yeosang walked. Naked. Shaking. Wings limp.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew this: He couldn’t fight. Not when the zaps that cut through his neck stopped just short of his heart. Not when he was carrying their child.

He just had to stay alive. For them both.

Yeosang was ushered through stark corridors under fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead, his bare feet dragging across the cold, sterile floor. The collar around his neck itched, but he didn’t dare scratch. Not with the remote in the soldier’s hand.

The door they stopped at hissed open, and Yeosang immediately felt the air shift - clinical, sharp with antiseptic and something metallic beneath. Three men stood waiting in lab coats, eyes devoid of warmth. At the center of the room, a metal examination table glinted under harsh light. It had thick leather restraints at every corner.

He tried to resist, but resistance only earned him another sharp zap at the base of his neck. His knees buckled. Hands shoved him forward. He was lifted onto the slab, and cold metal bit at his skin as the restraints were fastened - ankles, wrists, wings. There was no wriggle room, no space to breathe.

Then, one of the men stepped forward. His gaze roved Yeosang’s body with slow, clinical disdain, and when he spoke, it dripped venom.

“So this is the one my pathetic son clung to like some filthy secret,” he said, fingers brushing Yeosang’s collarbone in mock inspection. “A little monster he cradled like a lover.”

Yeosang’s heart stopped. This man - this was Seonghwa’s father.

The realisation hit hard and fast, the way Seonghwa had spoken about him, always careful, always bitter around the edges. But to see it firsthand, to feel the cruelty in the man’s touch - it lit a fire in Yeosang’s chest.

He bared his teeth, rage flashing in his eyes despite the gag muffling his protest. His wings strained against the restraints, desperate to strike, to claw, to protect.

But the man only smirked, unbothered.

“Such spirit,” he said coldly, looking over his shoulder at the other scientists. “Maybe we’ll bring him to Seonghwa’s execution. Let him watch what happens to traitors. Teach him the power of man.”

Yeosang froze.

Execution?

No. No, no. They couldn’t-

His scream tore through the gag, a garbled wail of panic and fury. He thrashed, every part of him screaming Seonghwa’s name, but another zap to the collar sent him collapsing, limp and gasping.

The man laughed quietly. “Feisty little thing. I’m shocked my coward of a son managed to make it obey.”

Yeosang’s fists clenched in their restraints. His vision blurred with hot, helpless tears.

Yeosang lay still, the cold slab beneath him unforgiving, his wings aching in the restraints. The scientists didn’t look at him like a person. They didn’t speak to him. Only about him.

“Specimen 043-B,” one said, scribbling notes onto a clipboard. “Responds well to electrical deterrents. Mild resistance, typical for its age.”

Its.

Yeosang stared at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing, trying to protect the tiny flutter of life inside him with every inch of his will. He flinched as gloved hands moved over his ribs, then pressed into the space below his belly. He wanted to scream. He wanted Seonghwa. He wanted to disappear.

They poked, they prodded, they drew his blood - without explanation, without permission. Just tests.

“We’re logging elevated hormone levels,” one of them muttered. “Might be reacting to trauma.”

“No,” another said, narrowing his eyes at the screen of the machine hooked up to Yeosang’s body. “There’s… something else.”

Yeosang followed their gaze. A flat grey monitor blinked with two different rhythms. Two different heartbeats.

One steady. One smaller. Softer.

His own heart dropped into his stomach.

There was silence.

“You said this blue bird was male, right?” Seonghwa’s father asked, his voice icy.

“Yes,” one of the scientists answered. “Confirmed biologically at intake.”

“Then why-” the older man stepped closer, glaring at the monitor. “Why am I hearing a second heartbeat?”

The room chilled. No one moved.

Yeosang wanted to pull his wings over his body, to protect the child growing inside him. But he couldn’t. His body wasn’t his anymore.

“Could be a parasite,” one of them said blandly. “Or… some sort of symbiotic evolution we haven’t recorded before.”

Seonghwa’s father stared at Yeosang with a look of fresh disgust, his mouth curling. “Or the creature’s been bred.”

“Get a blood sample,” Seonghwa’s father ordered sharply, the earlier intrigue now layered with something colder - suspicion, or perhaps disgust.

One of the scientists moved quickly, retrieving a sterile needle. Yeosang barely flinched when it pierced his arm. He didn’t care anymore - his mind was a haze of fear and fury. He didn’t trust the rhythm of his own heart; it felt like it was beating for two now, and that terrified him more than the pain ever could.

The silence in the room was thick as the sample was rushed into the machine on the far wall. It whirred softly, calculating, scanning, confirming.

The result popped onto the screen with a quiet beep.

Positive. Pregnant.

Seonghwa’s father stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing. The tension in the room shifted - no longer filled with just scientific curiosity, but with judgment. He turned slowly to face Yeosang, his lip curled in a sneer.

“Should we abort it?” a scientist asked flatly, already reaching for another syringe.

Yeosang’s scream shattered the air, muffled by his gag but full of desperation. He thrashed as much as he could in the restraints, tears rolling freely now, not out of fear for himself - but for them. The baby.

The tiny, precious proof of love still inside him.

“Wait.”

The room froze at the sudden command. Seonghwa’s father stepped forward, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze remained fixed on the monitor. On the second heartbeat.

“This…” he said slowly, as if savoring the idea, “this could be our opportunity.”

Yeosang stilled, dread clawing at his spine.

Seonghwa’s father turned toward the other scientists. “Imagine it - our first domesticated hybrid. Raised under human guidance. Fed discipline, not rebellion. Conditioned to obey. It would bridge both species.”

He glanced at Yeosang then, with that same unsettling smile.

“And besides,” he added, “it is my grandchild. I couldn’t possibly kill it.”

Yeosang thrashed against the straps, muffled sobs wrenching from his chest. His body shook violently. No. Their baby wasn’t a weapon. It wasn’t an experiment or a tool to be conditioned. It was theirs - his and Seonghwa’s. Something created from love, not hatred. Not war.

Seonghwa’s father didn’t seem to notice - or didn’t care. His voice remained calm, almost pleased. “Assign a pregnancy-specialist team to this one,” he ordered the scientists. “I want weekly progress reports. No harm to the fetus. Once it’s born, we’ll start behavioural conditioning. And as for him…” he gestured toward Yeosang, “when he’s recovered from this pregnacy, place him in a controlled breeding program. This time, pair him with other blue birds. We’ll make a flock of loyal birds.”

Yeosang let out a scream so broken it went hoarse halfway through. His body seized with panic, tears soaking into the metal beneath him. He couldn’t think - could barely breathe. His baby. His child. His love. Gone. Everything would be taken from him.

The heart monitor shrieked with rising beeps.

A hand slipped into his hair. Fingers ran slowly over his scalp, gentle. Mockingly so.

“There, there,” Seonghwa’s father cooed, his voice honey-sweet. “There’s no need to panic, little bird. You should never have been allowed to live long enough to breed. But no matter. You’ve done exactly what we needed, without even realising it. You’ve just become my most valuable test subject.”

He leaned down beside Yeosang’s ear, his tone lowering into something quiet, intimate… twisted.

“I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Yeosang thrashed weakly, the restraints biting into his skin.

Then, just as suddenly, Seonghwa’s father stood upright, smoothing the front of his coat as he turned away. He faced the two waiting scientists across the room, who had been silent this whole time - watching.

“Sedate him fully. Prep the oral cavity. We’ll begin with the tongue.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened, but then there was a needle in his arm, and the world began to blur at the edges, drifting into black.

Chapter Text

Seonghwa doesn’t know how long he’s been in this cell. There’s no window, no clock, just a tray that slides through the door three times a day. He’s counted each one, clung to it like a thread of reality, and he thinks it’s been three days.

Three days since they tore him from Yeosang.

Three days since he last saw the blue bird’s face, streaked with tears, bound and trembling in his arms.

Three days since he failed him.

His hands are ruined - knuckles cracked open, palms bloodied from pounding on the heavy metal door until they went numb. He tried screaming at first. Begging. Demanding. No one came. No one ever comes.

The silence eats away at him.

He’s been sentenced to death. They haven’t said it directly, but it’s in the way the guards look at him with hollow eyes. Like he’s already gone. Like he’s no longer human.

Maybe he isn’t.

He can’t stop thinking of Yeosang. The soft flutter of his wings, the way he smiled only for Seonghwa. The delicate tremble in his voice when he said, “I think I might be pregnant.”

And now? Seonghwa curls in on himself on the hard floor, fingernails bitten to the quick, stomach twisting. What if they’ve hurt him? What if they’re using him? What if he’s alone, terrified, still waiting for a rescue that may never come?

I did this, Seonghwa thinks, hatred burning in his throat like bile. I should have run sooner. I should have protected him.

He presses his forehead to the cold concrete wall, breath ragged. “Please,” he whispers. “Please let him be okay.”

It doesn’t matter what they do to him. Not anymore.

He would die a hundred times over if it meant Yeosang could live. If it meant their child would survive. Be free. Be loved.

He closes his eyes, clutching the last memory of holding Yeosang, the warmth of his skin, the gentle heartbeat against his chest.

“I’ll get you out,” he murmurs to the dark. “I swear. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

A few hours pass. The cold has crept into Seonghwa’s bones, the hunger into his gut. His head aches, his limbs feel heavy, and sleep tugs at the edge of his vision. He fights it - he doesn’t want to be caught unaware if someone comes - but his body is beginning to give in.

He slumps against the door, head resting back on the metal, eyes slipping shut.

Just as he starts to drift off, there’s a sound.

Click.

His eyes snap open. The lock.

And then - whispers.

"Are you sure this is the right one?"

"Yeah. Just open it."

Seonghwa scrambles backward on instinct, blood pounding in his ears, his whole body tense. He’s ready to fight if he has to, to die swinging. His fists clench, his shoulders coil.

The door creaks open. Light floods in - dim and flickering, from flashlights. And through it, shapes. Figures. And then - faces. Familiar ones.

Seonghwa blinks. “...Hongjoong?”

His squad fills the doorway, eyes wide and searching. San pushes forward, gripping his arm. “Holy shit, you’re okay.”

“You came,” Seonghwa croaks, disoriented.

“We’re getting you out,” Mingi says, already crouched to check the bindings on his wrists. “We don’t have long.”

“But - how?” he whispers.

“Don’t ask questions,” Hongjoong says, stepping in and pressing a rifle into his hands. His eyes are hard. “Just follow us. We’re not leaving without you.”

The words barely register before Seonghwa’s knees buckle.

As Seonghwa steadies himself, gripping the rifle Hongjoong handed him, he turns to the squad, urgency in his eyes.

“We have to find Yeosang,” he says, voice low but firm. “He’s still here. They’re… they’re probably doing things to him. He’s pregnant, and he’s scared, and I won’t leave without him.”

The others blink in surprise.

Then Wooyoung grins, shaking his head. “So that’s the name of the bird you fell for.”

Seonghwa stiffens slightly, but the teasing in Wooyoung’s voice is light, not mocking.

“We knew you were up to something,” Wooyoung adds. “Six months of sneaking off during patrols? Honestly, we thought you were hiding a secret cottagecore lifestyle in the woods.”

“Definitely thought you were writing poetry in a cave,” San mutters.

Seonghwa huffs a short laugh despite the weight on his chest.

Hongjoong claps him on the back. “We’re just glad you didn’t actually kill him that day, Hwa. And that you didn’t let yourself become who your father tried to turn you into.”

There’s quiet agreement all around. No judgment. Only understanding.

Seonghwa swallows the emotion that rises in his throat. “Thank you,” he says, voice soft. “All of you.”

“We’ve got your back,” Yunho says. “Let’s go get your blue bird.”

They move as one, slipping through the winding corridors like shadows. Hongjoong leads, navigating guard rotations and security checkpoints with practiced ease. San and Mingi disable cameras, while Wooyoung keeps an eye on their rear.

It’s slow work - painstaking - but they’re ghosts in the dark, a family bound by loyalty, by love, and by the unspoken promise that no one gets left behind.

And ahead of them, somewhere in this hellish place, Seonghwa’s heart waits - terrified, violated, but alive.

They finally reach the cold, reinforced door at the end of the winding corridor - the place where the captured blue birds are being kept.

Rifles ready, the squad stacks up against the wall.

“On three,” Hongjoong whispers, gun raised.

“One… two…”

“Three!”

The door crashes open with a deafening bang, the muzzle flash of rifles lighting the dim corridor like firecrackers. Shouts fill the air - guards scream, a siren begins to blare, and the squad moves with brutal efficiency. Seonghwa’s focus narrows to his aim, his vision edged in red. He doesn’t think - he protects.

A few guards drop where they stand. Others, seeing the overwhelming resistance, throw down their weapons and raise trembling hands.

“Clear!” Wooyoung calls, breathless.

Silence follows, only broken by the whimpers and soft cries of those locked inside the glass cages.

Seonghwa spins, heart hammering as he moves from cage to cage. His chest tightens with every step. Every blue bird inside is in ruins - bloody, bruised, broken. Their wings are mangled, their eyes glassy with exhaustion and pain. Some don’t even react to the commotion around them.

And none of them are Yeosang.

“No,” Seonghwa whispers. “No, no-”

He rushes to one cage where Jongho is gently helping a limping blue bird out, carefully lifting wires from its arms.

“Where is he?” Seonghwa breathes. “The blue bird with the birthmark, a spot near his left eye - where is he?”

The bird looks up slowly, body swaying with fatigue. His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “They took him… three days ago.”

Seonghwa’s heart stops.

“He never came back.”

Silence falls like a death knell. The cage room spins for a moment as dread pulses through him.

“No,” Seonghwa says again, louder, firmer, as if repeating it might change the truth. “Where did they take him?”

The bird only closes his eyes, too weak to speak further.

Seonghwa stumbles back from the cage, and the squad is looking at him now - worried, waiting for what he’ll do next.

He closes his eyes, jaw clenched tight. Yeosang is alive. He has to be. And now they’re running out of time.

He runs out the room, his boots pounding against the sterile floor, echoing through the dim corridors. He ignores the calls from his squad behind him - he can’t stop now. Not when Yeosang is still missing. Not when every second wasted is another second Yeosang might be suffering.

He throws open door after door, eyes wild, lungs burning. Empty room. Empty room. Another lab. Another storage chamber. He’s starting to spiral, fury and fear twisting inside his gut - until he turns a corner and skids to a stop.

His heart nearly stops.

There, through a wide glass window, is a brightly lit room. And inside…

Yeosang. Kneeling on the floor.

A heavy chain is attached to a black collar around his throat, bolted to the ceiling. His wings - those beautiful, once-skyborn wings - are tattered and red, feathers stiff with dried blood. His head hangs low, but his body is eerily still, like he’s not truly there. His hands rest limply in his lap. His eyes are open, but glazed. Empty.

Seonghwa feels like he’s been punched in the chest.

But Yeosang is not alone.

Kneeling opposite him, unnervingly close, is Seonghwa’s father.

He isn’t touching Yeosang. He isn’t looking at him. In fact, he seems to be speaking to himself - quietly, calmly, as if delivering a monologue in a chapel. His posture is relaxed. His uniform pristine. One hand rests on his knee, the other gesturing softly with every word.

It looks like a priest speaking to a penitent. Or a man whispering to a ghost.

And Yeosang - Yeosang doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Seonghwa’s breath catches in his throat. He bursts into the room, gun already drawn. “Yeosang!”

His voice echoes, raw and desperate. But the figure on the floor doesn’t move - not even a flinch. Still kneeling. Still staring through the space in front of him like he’s not even there.

Across the room, Seonghwa’s father slowly turns toward him with a calm, almost delighted smile.

“Ah, Seonghwa,” he says, voice smooth and maddeningly composed. “You’ve escaped. How fortunate.”

His hand strokes over Yeosang’s limp wing almost tenderly before he straightens. “I was just talking to my grandchild. Did you know babies can begin to hear in the womb? It’s important they recognise my voice.” He smiles, as if proud. “Bonding starts early.”

Seonghwa trembles, unable to respond at first - because Yeosang still hasn’t looked at him. Still hasn’t moved. Not a flicker of recognition. As if he’s already-

“What did you do to him?” Seonghwa breathes, voice trembling with rage and grief.

His father’s expression doesn’t change. He casually pats Yeosang’s hands where they rest unmoving in his lap and then walks around behind him.

“Just a few alterations, that’s all,” he says mildly. “It’s only the womb we need, you see. The rest? Excess. Sentiment.” He shrugs. “But this vessel - this one is strong. Fertile. Valuable.”

He stops behind Yeosang and slowly bends, gripping his jaw in one hand. Yeosang’s head lolls slightly with the force, but he still doesn’t resist.

Seonghwa lifts his rifle. “Let him go.”

His hands shake. His finger hovers near the trigger, but his breathing is uneven, fractured. His heart is screaming at him to shoot - but his father only smiles, serene, like a man who’s already won.

“You won’t do it,” he says softly. “Because despite everything, you are still my son. And you were made to follow orders, not fight blood.”

With a gentle pull, he pries Yeosang’s jaw open wide.

Seonghwa’s knees nearly give out.

Blood. Dark red, congealed at the back of Yeosang’s throat, stains his teeth, spills down his chin.

And then Seonghwa sees it.

Yeosang’s tongue is gone. A mutilated silence. A final act of cruelty.

He drops his gun in shock.

“No…” he whispers, staggering forward a step.

Yeosang doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t make a sound. Seonghwa’s little blue bird had lost his voice.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” Seonghwa’s father murmurs. “I made sure he’d stay quiet. Wouldn’t want him influencing the child with any misguided ideas. No lullabies. No lies.”

Seonghwa’s hands curl into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms until he draws blood.

He stares at Yeosang - his beautiful, brave Yeosang - who once danced in wind and defied death with fire in his voice. And now? Now, he is voiceless. Wings stained. Eyes vacant.

And it’s his fault.

“Get away from him,” Seonghwa chokes out.

“Oh? Finally ready to act like a man?” his father scoffs. “What do you plan to do? If you shoot me, you’ll hit your beloved bird and child too.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flick back to Yeosang. Even broken, even butchered - he is still everything to him.

He picks up the gun.

“I don’t care who you are to me,” Seonghwa says, voice steady now, though his hand trembles. “I’ll never let you touch him again.”

His finger brushes the trigger, but he doesn’t pull yet.

His father chuckles, low and bitter, as though he’s amused by the very thought.

“Listen to yourself,” he sneers, circling Yeosang’s broken form like a vulture. “Shaking like a boy holding a toy. You’ve always been weak, Seonghwa. You couldn’t even follow orders without your heart getting in the way. And now? Now you point a gun at your own father?”

He crouches behind Yeosang again, one hand resting almost possessively on the curve of his stomach.

“You wouldn’t dare. Because deep down, you need me. You need someone to tell you what to do, who to be. Without me, you’re nothing. Without me, this… creature,” he grips Yeosang’s jaw cruelly, forcing his slack head up, “is nothing but a vessel. A womb. You really think you can protect him? Protect the thing inside him? I’ll carve it out with my bare hands if I have to, and you’ll watch. Just like you’ve always watched.”

Seonghwa’s breath catches, his grip tightening around the gun. “Stop.”

“Or maybe,” his father continues, tilting his head with mock thoughtfulness, “I’ll wait until it’s born. Raise the child myself. Make sure it grows to despise the pathetic excuse of a father who couldn’t even pull a trigger when it mattered.” He laughs then, sharp and cutting. “You’re not a killer, Seonghwa. You don’t have it in you. You never did.”

Seonghwa’s chest heaves, his entire body taut with rage and grief. His father’s words are knives, slicing into every part of him he’s tried so hard to bury. It’s true - he isn’t a killer. He isn’t ruthless, isn’t cold. But then his gaze falls to Yeosang, bound and broken, blood staining his lips where his tongue should be. Yeosang, who still clings to life. Yeosang, who carries their child inside him.

And in that moment, the decision becomes both impossible and the easiest thing in the world.
Seonghwa raises the gun higher, the weight of it anchoring him.

“You’re right,” he whispers. “I’m not a killer.” His finger curls around the trigger, steady now, unshaking. “But I’ll kill you.”

The shot rings out.

One, clean, final.

Seonghwa’s father drops instantly, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. He falls forward, slumping heavily onto Yeosang’s lap, blood blooming across the pale fabric of the lab coat, staining Yeosang’s legs, his chest, his wings.

For a second, everything is still.

Then Yeosang jerks, as if coming up for air after drowning.

A choked, garbled sound tears from his throat - not a scream, not quite - just raw, confused noise. His eyes go wide, panicked, darting around. He tries to move, but the chain around his collar yanks him back. He claws at the weight on top of him, hands slick and shaking.

“Yeosang,” Seonghwa breathes, and rushes forward.

He grabs his father’s body, shoves it away, uncaring of the lifeless limbs as they thud to the floor. The blood on Yeosang’s lap is warm and still wet.

Yeosang recoils, flinching violently when Seonghwa touches him. His hands push weakly at Seonghwa’s chest, legs kicking as if to scramble away.

“No, no, no - hey - Yeosang, it’s me. It’s me,” Seonghwa says quickly, pulling him in, wrapping both arms tight around his trembling form.

Yeosang resists for only a heartbeat longer. Then recognition hits.

He freezes - then he collapses.

He clutches at Seonghwa like he’s a lifeline, fingers digging into his arms, wings folding around them both as if to hide. And then the sobs come.

Not words. Not a cry. Just a low, broken, animal sound - gut-wrenching and hollow.

Seonghwa holds him tighter. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “You’re safe now. I swear it, Yeosang. I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry...”

He pulls off his own shirt, trembling hands wrapping it around Yeosang’s blood-streaked body. He rocks him gently, pressing kisses to his forehead, his damp cheeks, his temple, as Yeosang shudders and clings.

“You’re okay,” Seonghwa repeats like a prayer. “You’re okay.”

But then Yeosang tries to speak.

His mouth opens and a strained, garbled noise escapes, barely a whisper of breath. He tries again. Nothing but a rasp. He frowns, blinks, then reaches up, confused fingers brushing over his lips, his tongue.

When he feels nothing where there should be something - his eyes widen.

Seonghwa sees it.

The realisation hits Yeosang like lightning - and then he screams.

A silent, voiceless scream.

His face twists in horror, in pain, hands slapping at his own throat, shaking his head as if trying to undo it, as if he could wake up from this nightmare.

“Yeosang, no - don’t-” Seonghwa grabs his wrists before he can hurt himself. “Stop. Please, don’t-”

Yeosang is sobbing again, only now with pure terror in his eyes. He clutches at Seonghwa again, wild and trembling. It’s as if the full weight of it is crashing down on him all at once. The mutilation. The imprisonment. The pregnancy.

His voice. Gone.

Seonghwa cradles him tighter, rocking them both on the cold floor.

“You’re safe,” he whispers again, voice wrecked with grief. “You’re still you. I swear, Yeosang - nothing they did can take you away from me. We’ll get out of here. You and me and our baby. We’re going to make it. I promise.”

Yeosang buries his face into Seonghwa’s neck and cries.

And Seonghwa holds him, gently and fiercely, as the world burns around them.

Yeosang’s hands claw at his mouth - panicked, frantic.

His fingers yank at his lips as if trying to tear back time, as if peeling away the skin will reveal the voice that was stolen from him.

He sobs without sound, mouth wide in a scream that doesn’t come. His body shakes so hard Seonghwa fears he’ll break apart completely.

“No - Yeosang, stop,” Seonghwa pleads, grabbing his wrists, pulling his hands gently but firmly away from his face. “Don’t - please don’t hurt yourself.”

Yeosang fights weakly for a second longer, but Seonghwa is already pulling him close again, guiding his hands down, cradling his face with trembling palms.

He presses his forehead to Yeosang’s, closing his eyes.

And then, so quietly, he whispers into Yeosang’s ear.

“You’re still beautiful.”

Yeosang gasps - a wet, shuddering thing.

“You’re mine,” Seonghwa breathes. “You’ve always been mine. You always will be. This - what they did - it changes nothing.”

Tears stream down Yeosang’s cheeks.

Seonghwa brushes them away with soft thumbs, tracing the contours of the face he loves more than anything in this world.

His chest tightens, the words caught behind his teeth.

I’ll never hear your voice again… That voice I fell in love with.

The thought almost breaks him.

Yeosang wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s neck and holds on so tight it aches. And Seonghwa holds him right back, pressing soft kisses to his hair, his forehead, anywhere he can reach.

He rocks them slowly, whispering again and again, like a mantra:

“You’re safe… You’re still you… I love you.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flickered to his father’s lifeless form sprawled on the cold floor, the cruel smile forever frozen on his face. His breath hitched, a storm of anger and sorrow swirling inside him.

Carefully, Seonghwa knelt beside the body, his hands trembling as they searched for the keys clipped to his father’s belt. His fingers brushed cold metal; the jingle was a lifeline. He grabbed the keys, heart pounding with urgency.

Turning back to Yeosang, his eyes scanned the heavy chain attached to his neck and the cruel metal collar biting into pale skin. Each link was a reminder of all the torment Yeosang had endured.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he inserted the key into the collar’s lock. The mechanism clicked open, and with a soft clatter, the heavy chain fell away - the first tangible sound of freedom in what felt like an eternity.

He didn’t hesitate. Carefully, he lifted Yeosang into his arms, cradling him bridal style. Yeosang’s body was weak, barely responding, his wings dragging behind like torn silk trailing in the wind of their escape.

Just then, the rest of the squad rounds the corner, weapons raised - but the sight before them halts them in their tracks.

Their eyes shift from Yeosang’s limp form to the corpse on the floor. Seonghwa’s father lying in a spreading pool of blood, eyes open, lifeless.

Seonghwa doesn't explain.

He just meets their eyes and says, voice raw and determined, “We have to leave.”

“We’ve loaded the other blue birds into the truck. Yunho’s waiting in the driver’s seat,” Mingi says, out of breath but steady.

Before anyone can speak again, the shrill wail of the alarm pierces the air.

The red lights above begin to flash.

They’ve been found.

“Go!” Hongjoong barks, taking point.

Together, the squad runs down the corridor, the sound of boots against the cold floor echoing behind them. Seonghwa carries Yeosang close to his chest, shielding him from the chaos, never once loosening his grip. Yeosang’s eyes are wide and unfocused, flicking around, lost in the noise and motion, overwhelmed and trembling.

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa murmurs, holding him tighter as they burst through the back entrance, just in time to see Yunho swing open the truck’s back doors.

“Get in!” he calls.

One by one, the squad piles in, rifles ready in case they’re followed.

Seonghwa climbs in last, still carrying Yeosang. Inside, the truck is crowded with freed blue birds - some barely conscious, others staring with hollow, disbelieving eyes. They all glance at Seonghwa and Yeosang as they pass, but no one speaks.

Seonghwa sees them all.

He wants to drop to his knees, beg forgiveness - for his silence, for his family, for the cruelty they've endured - but right now, only one thing matters.

Yeosang.

He moves to the corner and gently lowers Yeosang down onto a pile of blankets, careful of his wings. He doesn’t let go, just shifts to cradle him from behind, arms wrapped around his middle, grounding him.

Yeosang’s eyes search the truck, darting from face to face. The noise of the alarm still echoes in his ears. His breath comes in short, panicked bursts.

“Shhh,” Seonghwa soothes, stroking back his hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

Yeosang can’t speak, but he burrows into Seonghwa’s chest, hands fisting in his shirt, clinging tight.

The truck lurches forward. The engine roars.

The truck roared down the stretch of the compound, the wheels trembling beneath them as Yunho pushed the engine to its limit. Seonghwa could feel every vibration through the floor, through the metal walls, through his bones.

They were going too fast.

Far too fast.

Then he saw it - through the front windshield, past the heads of his squadmates - the security gate.

Still intact. Still locked. Still heavily guarded.

And behind it, soldiers with rifles already aiming.

“Hold on!” Yunho shouted from the front, voice strained.

The air shifted in a terrifying second.

Gunshots cracked through the night like thunder. Bullets struck the truck - pinging off metal, punching holes in the side panels. Seonghwa flinched, turning his body protectively around Yeosang as he held him impossibly tighter.

A sharp cry from beside him - “Hongjoong!” San called out, grabbing at his captain. Blood was already soaking through Hongjoong’s glove. He’d been shot in the hand, his fingers trembling as he bit back a curse.

San moved to help, dragging Hongjoong down behind the bench seat for cover.

Yunho didn’t slow down.

He sped up. Faster. Faster. The gate wasn’t opening.

Seonghwa closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Yeosang’s temple. “Hold on,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone.

Then - impact.

The truck slammed into the gate with a deafening, metal-on-metal scream. The sound rattled through the vehicle, glass cracking, bodies jolting.

Seonghwa felt Yeosang’s body tense in his arms, just before the momentum surged forward again.

And then they were through. The wall was gone. The gate, splintered in half.

In the side mirrors, Seonghwa caught a glimpse of the destruction left behind. The compound shrinking in the distance. The lights fading. The men - his father's men - left shouting behind the cloud of dust.

They made it. They were out. They were free.

The shock of it hit him almost harder than the crash.

He blinked, stunned, and then looked down. Yeosang was still in his arms, his face pale, eyes wide but unfocused.

“We did it,” Seonghwa murmured, brushing a trembling hand through Yeosang’s hair. He leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. “We’re free. We made it out.”

Yeosang blinked slowly, his gaze finally shifting toward Seonghwa. Their hands tangled together, fingers tightening just once-

And then Yeosang’s eyes fluttered shut, his body going limp.

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked, panic rising.

But Yeosang was breathing. Just unconscious.

Seonghwa held him tighter.

He wasn't sure what came next - what dangers still waited for them outside these walls. But they had made it through this night. They were no longer prisoners.

And Yeosang was still in his arms.

That was enough.

For now.

The truck rolled through the early dawn, its tires humming against the ground, carrying not just passengers - but survivors.

Before heading to safety, they stopped once more.

At the site where the other blue birds had been taken - abducted from their homes, stripped of their freedom - they opened the doors. The blue birds inside stepped out hesitantly, some blinking up at the pale morning sky, others weeping quietly.

Seonghwa watched as a young blue bird ran into the arms of what had to be her parents, wings wrapping around her as she sobbed. Another group embraced in the distance. There were tearful reunions, shaky laughter.

For once, the air wasn’t filled with mourning.

The squad helped however they could, standing back as the freed captives returned to the woods and skies they had been taken from.

Only once every last blue bird was safely gone, did Yunho climb back into the driver’s seat, nodding at Seonghwa through the mirror.

They drove on for hours, deep into unknown territory.

And when the trees thickened and the road turned to wild terrain, they finally stopped - far, far away from the shadows of the old world.

There were no fences here. No cages. No walls.

Just trees as far as the eye could see. Open skies. Sunlight filtering through the leaves like a promise.

The engine cut off with a final sigh, and silence fell over them.

Seonghwa stirred first, brushing the hair from Yeosang’s face where he lay curled against his chest. “Yeosang,” he whispered gently. “Wake up.”

Yeosang’s eyes fluttered open.

The light of dawn hit them both like a balm.

Seonghwa helped him out of the truck, one arm steady around his back. Yeosang’s legs trembled beneath him, uncertain and sore, but they held. He stood, leaning against Seonghwa, and slowly turned to look at their surroundings.

And then - his expression changed.

His wide eyes drank in the canopy above, the gentle sway of grass underfoot, the sheer untouched vastness of the place. For the first time in days, there was no steel. No straps. No glass walls.

Just green. Just sky. Just freedom.

Seonghwa didn’t want to break the moment, but he needed to know. Even if Yeosang couldn’t answer him aloud, he needed to ask.

“Do you like it here?”

Yeosang turned to him, still leaning heavily on his shoulder. A small smile curved his lips - and he nodded.

It wasn’t much. But it was everything.

The squad had already started setting up a temporary camp - tents rising under trees, a small fire beginning to spark with Jongho and San's teamwork. They wouldn’t stay long, Seonghwa knew. Just a rest stop. A chance to breathe.

But for him, it was more than a pause. It was a moment he’d waited for since the first day he met Yeosang.

He turned to him fully, holding both of Yeosang’s hands in his. The wounds were still fresh. The pain far from gone. But the blue in Yeosang’s eyes shimmered beneath the rising sun, full of life.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispered. “For everything. For not protecting you. For letting them hurt you. I swear to you, Yeosang… no one will ever touch you again. Not you. Not our baby. I’ll fight for you, for both of you, until my last breath.”

Yeosang looked at him, silent, but tears welled in his eyes - not from grief, but from the overwhelming weight of love.

And Seonghwa didn’t need to hear the words to understand the response.

He saw it in the way Yeosang leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. He felt it in the way Yeosang’s fingers curled around his. He knew it from the way Yeosang’s wings, though still ragged and weak, trembled with emotion.

I love you.

We’re going to be okay.

They didn’t need language anymore. They had each other. And in this place - silent and sunlit - they would begin again.

The sea shimmered beneath the setting sun, casting gold across the sky. The breeze carried the scent of salt and earth, wrapping itself around the quiet home nestled at the edge of the world.

Seonghwa sat outside their small wooden hut, legs folded in the grass, hands resting on his knees. Beside him, Hongjoong laughed softly as Seonghwa's two year old son toddled between them, his tiny wings flapping with every unsteady step. His curls bounced with each fall and rise, and his laughter was sunlight.

Inside the hut, Yeosang was in labour with their second child.

Every now and then, Seonghwa’s eyes drifted to the closed door, his chest tightening with love and nerves. Wooyoung was inside helping - he had learned enough from medical training in the military to act as their midwife. It brought Seonghwa peace knowing Yeosang trusted him completely.

As the ocean murmured in the distance, Seonghwa found himself lost in memory.

The beginning had been hard.

Yeosang, beautiful and broken, had fallen into a silence deeper than the one forced on him. He would wake from nightmares gasping for air, his body slick with sweat, unable to cry out. And Seonghwa would hold him through every tremble, pressing kisses to his cheeks, whispering comfort until he calmed.

During Yeosang’s first pregnancy, joy had been a stranger. The trauma clung to him like frost - quiet and heavy.

Seonghwa remembered the morning he woke to find the bed empty. Panic had gripped him, but he followed the trail of footprints through the sand.

Yeosang was there, sitting alone by the waves, watching the sunrise kiss the sea.

He was still as beautiful as the day Seonghwa had met him - when he’d first seen him gliding through the sky like a secret. When he’d taken that shot with trembling hands and brought down the creature who would one day own his heart. That moment, once a source of shame, now felt like the beginning of everything.

The golden light bathed Yeosang’s skin in a soft glow, making him look almost unreal. His silhouette was framed by the soft orange of dawn and the shimmering ocean stretching endlessly behind him. His long hair danced gently with the wind, his wings resting behind him in delicate stillness, no longer hunted, no longer shackled.

His stomach was very round now, full and heavy with their child. The pregnancy, though hard, had brought with it a strange, reverent glow. His body had changed, softened in places, but to Seonghwa, he looked more divine than ever.

He looked like an angel - an angel forged not in heaven, but through fire and survival and love.

Seonghwa’s breath caught as he approached, feet quiet in the sand. He didn’t want to disturb the moment, but his heart called to him, drawn to Yeosang as it always had been.

Yeosang didn’t turn as Seonghwa settled behind him, only leaned back into the warmth of his body, a silent acknowledgement that he’d been waiting for him all along.

Seonghwa wrapped his arms gently around Yeosang’s middle, hands splaying over the curve of his belly, feeling the small, fluttering kicks of life inside.

And Yeosang had written in the sand.

I’m damaged.

Our child will never hear me.

How will they know who I am?

The words shattered Seonghwa’s heart, but he kissed away every doubt.

“You are not damaged,” he whispered. “You are everything. They will feel you in every heartbeat, every embrace. They’ll know you - because you’re love itself.”

That morning, for the first time since everything had been taken from him, Yeosang had turned to Seonghwa and kissed him.

It was a slow, aching kiss. Nothing rushed. Nothing desperate. Just love - endless, raw, healing. For a moment, nothing else existed. No pain. No fear. Just them.

The pregnancy remained difficult, Yeosang’s body still haunted by the torment he had endured. But months later, he gave birth to their son - a tiny being with their father’s eyes and mother’s quiet strength.

That was when things began to shift.

Yeosang began to bloom again, in his own way. He crafted his own form of sign language - gentle hand gestures, soft expressions that spoke volumes. The squad learned it, too, especially their son, who now signed with his small fingers as naturally as he breathed.

And Yeosang became a wonderful mother.

He was patient, tender, and endlessly loving. He would cradle their son to his chest and hum softly, wordlessly, melodies that somehow always soothed him, even when his cries shook the little hut they lived in. He rocked him through fevers, cuddled him through tantrums, and danced with him in the rain when the storms passed. He taught him how to read the sea, how to speak without words, how to feel deeply without fear.

Their son adored him.

He clung to Yeosang's legs when ever he could, mimicked every one of his gestures, and lit up brightest when he smiled. And with every touch, every curious look, every little hand signing I love you, he showed Yeosang - again and again - that he didn’t need words to be a mother. He didn’t need a voice to be everything their son would ever need.

And to Seonghwa, watching them together was proof of the miracle they had built - proof that even after all the pain, love had endured, had taken root, and had blossomed.

And when the time came, Yeosang was the one who taught him to fly.

Seonghwa watched from the hilltop as their son ran toward the cliff edge, wings flaring wide with delight. And beside him - guiding, steady, radiant - was Yeosang. For the first time in years, he didn’t shy from his wings or fold them away in shame. He opened them fully, proudly, letting the sunlight catch in their feathers. No longer symbols of captivity, they had become something else - freedom, legacy, love.

And Seonghwa saw it - Yeosang had come to love his wings again. Not as the cause of his suffering, but as the reason he could now stand beside their son, show him how to soar, and feel the wind that once only carried pain now lift them both toward something beautiful.

And as Yeosang found himself again, he also found a close friend in Wooyoung, his irreverent humour always drawing laughter from Yeosang’s shoulders even when he couldn’t make a sound. Now, it was Wooyoung helping deliver their second child, in the very same hut Seonghwa had built with his own hands.

Seonghwa’s thoughts were interrupted by a cry - a small, shrill wail piercing the stillness of evening.

His heart lurched.

He stood instantly, scooping his son into his arms as he rushed inside.

Yeosang was there, bathed in golden light spilling through the curtain, skin glowing with sweat, chest heaving. His wings lay open, limp from exhaustion. But his eyes… his eyes were alight.

Wooyoung stood at the foot of the bed, gently cleaning a squirming newborn, whose tiny wings trembled with life.

Seonghwa dropped to his knees beside Yeosang and cradled him tightly, kissing his forehead again and again.

“You did it,” he whispered. “I’m so proud of you.”

Yeosang leaned into his embrace, breathing shaky but content. A soft, tired smile curved his lips.

Their newborn daughter was placed on Yeosang’s chest, skin to skin, her cries quieting the moment she felt her mother’s heartbeat.

Seonghwa held their son close, his head resting on his shoulder as he peeked at his baby sister with wide eyes.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong quietly stepped outside, leaving them alone.

And in that moment - four of them nestled together on the bed - there was peace.

They were not untouched by the past. Some nights, the memories still returned. Some wounds still ached. But the pain no longer ruled them.

Here, they were safe. Here, they were whole.

Yeosang, now smiling more freely, kissing more easily, communicating with a grace that words could never match - he had found his way back.

And Seonghwa had never stopped loving him.

Their love was carved into every breath, every heartbeat, every step forward.

And as their son giggled and their newborn sighed against her mother’s chest, Seonghwa knew… The future was theirs now.