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[5] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "we both know you have gone far beyond that point."

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

a/n: 6/6 - 15k, i added another part because i cannot stand how much i need to scroll on this to edit so i've split it up accordingly - i know i'm sooo sorry for the delay. this fic WILL be done by the end of this year. setting-typical violence/executions, abusive dynamics, power dynamics, cheating, implied victim blaming (from y/n :/), this part is very word/dialogue-heavy rather than action-oriented but y/n is a rookie player in the games unfortunately.

-

you wake to an empty bed. you should not have expected anything more, yet your heart stilled in your chest as your fingers brushed through the empty space.

you'd done it to keep hongjoong from straying too far. that was what you told yourself as you lied spread on the too-big bed, gaze fixed on the ceiling tiles. that's what you told yourself to calm the tightness in your chest, and the soreness of your limbs, and the racing thoughts. that was what -

"you are awake."

you'd startled at hongjoong's voice. it was rough around the edges from sleep. you sat up, eyes fixed on hongjoong. he leaned against the door to the washroom, dressed in his robes for the day.

you drew the sheets closer, and you said, "you are still here."

a furrow formed between hongjoong's brows. he said, "i am called to court, but i did not think you would appreciate waking to an empty bed."

"no, i suppose i would not have." you could not fathom that hongjoong was capable of...thoughtfulness. yeosang had said as much, but who were you to believe him.

hongjoong laughed, and the sound burrowed right in your chest. you needed a bath.

"i drew you a bath," hongjoong said, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to the bed as he gestured to the bathing chambers. "i dismissed the servants, so as not to wake you, but i wanted to see you off before my appointments. i hope..."

you watched him falter over his words. hongjoong has never faltered. seeing him this way, somehow it was more intimate than the night before. somehow, his softness clawed at your chest. he was capable of it, you now knew, but you wondered, briefly, if it would be conditional. you knew you would always be cursed to wonder such a thing.

hongjoong cleared his throat, "i hope you will join me for lunch?"

you should have said no, but you'd long abandoned the should-haves.

you said, "i will."

hongjoong's smile was a sweet thing as he nodded in sheer satisfaction.

he left, and you slipped from the bed and into the empty bathing chambers. steam billowed from the bathtub, but you saw clearly that hongjoong had hung your robes - kim black and red - in plain view. it had been many moons since you wore your house's red and orange, yet the sight of kim red and black felt...final.

you sunk into the searing bathwater, sighing at the relief to your aching muscles, and you sunk until you could barely breathe with the steam and oils wafting around you. you tucked your knees close, and the heat reminded you of summer days in sunspear. of your brothers and your home and dorne red and orange. of the warmth of the sun on your skin, and the merchants shouting on every corner, and the giggles as you and wooyoung would weave through the crowds while yunho followed quickly behind - never so reckless, so undignified, as the two of you even when he was young. the reminders, however, were as hazy as the steam around you. and when you opened your eyes, the black and red robes were clear as day.

you could not find it in you to despise the colors as you once would have.

you told yourself you laid with hongjoong so he would not stray, but your heart was the one straying. your memories were the ones turning hazy and distant. cold even, you could dare say. in the haze of memories and steam, alone in a too-big room, you could admit that you might like hongjoong. more than you should have.

the thought made your eyes water. hongjoong gave you a crumb of decency and the touch you've craved since you stepped foot off your father's boat, and now you were fond of him? were you truly so easily pliable? were you truly so lonely? would you abandon your dornish roots so easily? your resolve?

you sighed as you sunk further into the lukewarm bath, eyes fixed on the red and black robes, and you resolved that even if you were any of those things, hongjoong would never know it.

you ignored the small voice in your head that whispered that he already did know.

~.~.~.~.~

should have, should have, should have.

you entered the dining hall with your stomach in knots, nerves settling there you had never felt before. you chalked it up to hunger.

hongjoong sat at the head of the table, his white-blond hair gathered into a messy bun, his robes loosened, his sleeves rolled up, his elbow propped up against the table as he rested his chin on the palm of his hand. he was enraptured in the person next to him.

park seonghwa.

you should have known.

should have, should have, should have.

park seonghwa sat to his left, and choi jongho to his right. san sat next to jongho, yeosang across from him. mingi sat rigid next to san. the only spot left was next to yeosang, across from mingi, and in full view of hongjoong at the head of the table as he leaned close to hear seonghwa speak.

your heart clenched, in worry and spite and the slightest hint of anger, towards who you were unsure. but you decided right then you were in fact only hungry. the knots were born of hunger. not nerves, never nerves, and certainly not for a kim. never for hongjoong, no no no -

hongjoong raised his eyes as the servants announced your presence. jongho and san, yeosang and mingi, park seonghwa, they all stood as you made your way to the empty seat. it was a show respect you were still not quite used to. hongjoong, however, remained seated, his head tilted to the side like a cat as he watched you take a seat. a sly grin tugged at the corner of his lips, his fingertips thrumming on the arm of his chair.

the small gesture left a burning ache in the pit of your stomach.

you should not have expected anything more.

should have, should not have, should have, should not have.

park seonghwa was seated to hongjoong's left, and as soon as the conversation returned, hongjoong's attention seemed to return to the pretty man next to him. park seonghwa in his dark cloak, and his dark hair, and a coldness about him that reminded you of everything you were not.

you should not have paid him mind.

yet, here you were.

jongho spoke of his uneventful visit, collecting taxes on behalf of hongjoong and the crown. he mentioned that he'd spent most of his time in king's landing recovering from his long journey. you'd frowned, glancing sideways at san. san met your gaze - a surprise since he did not do so often - and his brows were furrowed, his eyes almost...pitiful.

it sparked something inside you. you did not wish to be pitied. no, no, no.

your eyes flickered to hongjoong. his grin was a wide thing, his head too close to park seonghwa's. hongjoong's chin rested on his ring-adorned fingers, and his smirk lifted at whatever seonghwa murmured his way. seonghwa's dark eyes glittered like still water under moonlight, and that spark only grew.

your gaze flit between his friends. from jongho speaking to mingi and san. to yeosang inserting commentary here and there. every now and then someone would laugh. park seonghwa would snicker. jongho would shove at mingi's shoulder, his armor clattering, frowning ever-so-often in seonghwa and hongjoong's direction. yeosang would make a pointed remark, and san would raise a brow in utter amusement. hongjoong would watch them whenever his attention was pulled away from park seonghwa, and the adoration in his eyes - you'd never seen that before. not even the night before, when he'd cupped your face in his palms.

there was a fire in the pit of your stomach that had been lit many many many moons ago. a monster that lived there that you coaxed all those sleepless nights and restless mornings. it reared its head, roared something wicked, and the heaviness in your heart only grew tenfold. here you sat, adorned in red and black, knowing you'd given hongjoong what he wanted, perhaps in desperation or perhaps for other reasons, and you'd allowed yourself to become something you never wanted to be, only to sit at the head of the table as an outsider still. always made to remain a stranger peering on.

~.~.~.~.~

in the courtyard, you found park seonghwa.

you knew you'd find him there, as he had told hongjoong as much, whispered it sweetly, his eyes glittering, and waved everyone off before striding out the dining hall. when hongjoong dismissed everyone else, you'd merely bowed at hongjoong. he smiled at you, and the smile was a soft thing, kind almost, as he touched your arm.

"i shall see you for supper."

it felt more like a demand than anything.

but he left before you could respond, a flourish of robes and blond hair, beckoning for jongho and san to join his side, yeosang and mingi in tow as they reassumed their positions as kingsguard. you were left alone once more, watching them go.

you meant to return to your chambers, or go to the library.

instead, you'd headed to the courtyard.

park seonghwa sat on the very same bench you and san had your last tearful moments, and the memory only fed the growing beast that lived within you.

even under the sweltering sun of king's landing, seonghwa remained unwavering, cold. pretty. you understood then, why hongjoong wanted such a creature. you always knew he had an affinity for the unattainable. you'd feared for seonghwa, when you first caught hongjoong's distraction. you still feared for him. despite everything. you feared for what hongjoong meant to do with someone who looked so delicate, but, you feared what would become of you more.

that fear, you knew, would make you wicked, and to think after all these years, you'd fell to that fear at long last.

you did not fear the gods, or death, or the prince of the seven kingdoms. you feared what was to become of you. you feared that you would be damned to the same fate as the mad king's queen. you feared you liked someone who cared for another, and you would be punished for it. you feared you would become worse than you already were.

you feared the power park seonghwa could one day hold over your head, like a guillotine.

"surely my liege would like to take a seat?" seonghwa voice was soft, gentle almost, but his dark eyes flit to you, unyielding unlike his demeanor.

the beast at the pit of your stomach thrashed.

you stepped away from the shadows of the flower bushes, but you did not take a seat. you merely stood an arm's length from the bench, your gaze set upon seonghwa. he tilted his head up to peer at you, pieces of his dark hair obscured his sparkling eyes. he looked at you with a curiosity you could only compare to that of a toddler catching sight of the mundane parts of the world for the first time. pretty eyes that could capture anyone.

you were not jealous, but you were the future sovereign of the seven kingdoms. you would be delegated to nothing else, and you would be damned if you allowed park seonghwa to be the one to yield any power over you. if anyone were to condemn you to your death, it would be prince hongjoong or yourself. not this pretty, naive, foolish northerner.

"'liege'?" you frowned, repeating your old title. "surely you have not forgotten your place here, lord seonghwa?"

seonghwa's brows raised. you held his gaze. where you expected amusement, as you would have received in return from the likes of hongjoong or yeosang, you received a small nod as seonghwa rose to his feet, rounding the bench.

you held your gaze, feet planted, watched as he stood in front of you.

seonghwa bowed, and it was no half-bow made to mock you, no. it was full and respectful and honorable. you'd heard of the northern honor, even back in sunspear, but to face it in such circumstances? it boiled your blood in ways you could not articulate.

you watched as seonghwa straightened, holding your gaze all the while, and said, tone steady, respectful, "forgive me, your grace."

"have you?" you said, ignoring his apology, dropping all pretext. perhaps, you meant to intimidate the man, but you could tell he would not allow it. that fed the ugly beast inside you more than you'd cared to admit.

lord seonghwa's brows furrowed, "i do not understand, your grace?"

"have you forgotten your place?"

seonghwa's frown deepened, "i have no place here."

were you someone else, or truly a product of king's landing, you may have continued in this riddled conversation. but you could not.

you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "do not insult me." you said, "i am not a fool, and i should hope that neither are you. we both know why i am here, so let's push pleasantries and riddles aside."

seonghwa stared at you, an intense look that seemed to bore straight through you.

"and here i believed you did not care much for him," seonghwa's voice was musical, despite his words.

"i don't care for anyone," you said through clenched teeth, "but my place is at hongjoong's side. you must be out of your mind if you ever believed i would not care about that."

"and i said i have no place here," seonghwa said, "winterfell is my home."

"yet you are here," you stepped towards him, lowering your voice, "you let him into your bed."

"do you think i could have denied him?" seonghwa's words were quick. he gritted his teeth, "that i could ever deny a prince?"

that brought you pause.

seonghwa's eyes held something there, something you'd seen in your own reflection after you'd met with the king that first night. something you'd seen in your own reflection in steaming bathwater just this morning. it was a look that curled under your skin, that would not leave you. it would live with you, you knew, if you did not acknowledge it, understand it.

your heart ached for him, the way it had when you'd seen hongjoong first lay eyes on seonghwa. the way it had when hongjoong told you of the first time he used his dragon's fire on a little girl who had suffered at the hands of his father.

but you played the game for too long in this godsforsakened city to let yourself falter, despite the tightness in your chest, despite every bit of your conscience clawing at you to withdraw, to hold space for empathy. you bit out, "yes, you could have. he only beds willing participants, does he not?"

you would never forget his face then as he nodded at your question.

lord seonghwa's dark eyes flashed under the midday sun. cold steel against starless night sky. "i often wondered what you were like. hongjoong spoke of you sometimes...afterwards. your fury and your beauty. your sharp tongue." he said, "he spoke highly of you."

"you don't think i deserve it?" you asked, with another roll of your eyes.

"no, i do. i think you deserve him," seonghwa spoke each syllable with the precision of a blade against flesh. "you were made for each other."

the beast inside you roared. whether it was in glee or anger you had no clue.

you crossed your arms over your chest and said, "forget your place again, and i shall have you thrown in the dragon's pit. then, " you stepped closer, until you were mere inches from seonghwa's face, "i will have your ravaged body hung from the walls of king's landing for all to see. do you understand?"

"of course," seonghwa bowed his head, though his dark eyes remained narrowed. his pause was too long, your title venomous, "your grace."

you spun on your heels, marching away.

mingi stood at the entrance to the garden, straightening when he met your gaze. his eyes softened. he looked as at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you did was tear it down. all you did was allow seonghwa to haunt you, despite everything. your heart slammed against your ribs.

seonghwa was right, and that was the worst part. you were made for each other, you and hongjoong, and you did not know if you'd be able to reconcile with the fact no matter how long you lived.

~.~.~.~.~

father is ill. wooyoung believes it to be poison. y/n, i think this it. i don't think he'll recover from this.

you watched the letter crumble and curl into itself in the fire, your heart in your throat.

mingi cleared his throat.

you turned, and he fiddled with his fingers for a moment, before he stepped closer. his armor clinked lightly in the quiet library.

"is it bad news?" his deep voice was quiet. too kind for what you've been doing to him.

you swallowed the lump in your throat, merely nodding. mingi reached then, and you could catch every moment of hesitation in his movements. every emotion that fought for a place in his expression. he reached out and he placed a hand on your cheek. you froze.

not out of want or fear, but because it was clear as day from the way his gaze remained so soft, and his touch softer, from the grim set of his lips, that mingi did not just have a small liking for you. he adored you. and he was willing to touch you, despite your standing, despite his friendship with hongjoong, and you'd encouraged it for your own gain, and it has accumulated into this moment, and you should have stopped him in his tracks.

but yunho's jagged writing remained etched at the forefront of your thoughts. your father was dying, yunho would no doubt take his place, the change of hand would mean instability, and you did not know how the mad king would respond. you needed this still. you needed mingi's loyalty still, despite the means. you needed mingi to remain useful to you.

you closed your eyes when he fully pressed his warm, calloused palm to your cheek, allowing yourself to melt into his touch long enough to hear his breath stutter.

mingi said, face flushed, "i am sorry, y/n."

before you could respond, someone cleared their throat.

you both jumped apart.

maester haechan stood at the foot of the first row of bookshelves, fingers clutched around his maester chains, his eyes wide. the shock quickly morphed into a mischievous glint.

"your grace," he said, voice low and steady, mocking. even his bow held a mocking flourish. maester haechan smiled wide, "i apologize for the interruption. i will return later."

mingi blinked. your heart raced.

~.~.~.~.~

"oh sweet thing," yeosang met your gaze with a cat-like curiosity. "you are quite the mess."

you'd glared at him. his eyes flit to your hands, likely to the skin around your nails you'd picked at. you dropped them to your sides, covering them with your robes.

you were sat in the practice yard, wooden sword in your lap. you had come here to clear your mind with mindless sword swinging and fresh air, but this was king's landing. fresh air never existed, and you were terrible at the sword. you ended up pacing the training grounds before your feet had grown weary and you sat with your back against the brick wall at the far side of the grounds. when hidden from the courtyard doors and windows like this, you felt less confined by the red keep. you could also hide from your septa as she had made it quite clear to you that you were not meant to practice the sword any longer, as the spouse to the heir, and you did not care to hear her nag you on top of everything else.

yeosang was your designated kingsguard today, and you were grateful, despite the way yeosang's gaze bore into you, that yeosang before you meant you would not have to see mingi. yeosang remained quiet as you smacked at the training post with uncoordinated blows before you began pacing. you'd expected a sly comment, but he only stood guard and left you in silence, though his eyes remained fixed on your every movement.

it was infinitely better than having to face mingi. you hadn't seen mingi since the incident in the library. hongjoong had spent the night elsewhere, and you'd buried away the jealous monster inside you for the night. it was subdued anyway, worried more for what maester haechan would say, and, more importantly, to whom. worried hongjoong stayed away because he knew. your mind wandered too often to the essence of nightshade you still carried. it remained in the deepest crevices of your chambers, where you knew hongjoong, the servants, no one really, would bother to look. you'd considered inviting maester haechan for a civil discussion and pouring the essence into his wine. you'd dreamt of what it would look like. maester haechan's choked sounds. his lifeless eyes. the way you'd call for the royal doctors, bewildered. you'd imagined it all, and had not slept that night because of it.

besides, maester haechan was no fool. he'd made sure to stay out of your sight ever since, busying himself in mundane tasks far from your chambers.

yeosang stood beside where you sat, leaning heavily against the brick wall you were pressed against. you glanced up at him, and he met your gaze, peering down at you over his nose, and you felt as if he could read every thought running through your head. he opened his mouth.

"shut up," you mumbled, cutting him off.

yeosang laughed, the sound a musical thing.

you scowled up at him, and you said, "do you enjoy watching me suffer, ser yeosang?"

"very much so, your grace," yeosang said.

you frowned. "why do you hate me so?"

"hate is a strong word," yeosang grinned, but it was not amused. his eyes no longer held his usual twinkle of mischief. his smile was a sharp thing, a weapon in and of itself, that left your stomach turning. "as a matter of fact, a more apt description for my opinion of you would be something just a step below hatred."

you'd blinked up at him, craning your neck, head resting on the brick wall. yeosang was framed by the cloudy skies of king's landing, an apt backdrop for such a frightfully stoic sight. the hairs at the back of your neck stood at end in the silence. the atmosphere had taken a turn for something more serious. something almost sinister. frankly, you were taken aback by his honesty.

"i warned you, did i not?" yeosang spoke suddenly, and despite his quiet musical voice, and the casual stance he took, leaned heavily against the brick wall, his words draped over your shoulders like the fur cloaks from the north, heavy. the weight of the world. "to tie up your loose ends?"

you dragged a hand over your face. "i do not wish to hear you speak in pretty riddles any longer, kang. if you have something to say, then speak your mind. i am tired of your questions."

yeosang knelt then, the sudden movement making his armor clink and clang all around you. he squatted before you, his eyes level with yours, his elbows resting on his spread knees. yeosang's expression was cold and hard. his eyes grew dark. he looked...furious. you could not pinpoint why he would be. you were fascinated by the fury though - you'd never expected kang yeosang to show you such an emotion. he'd only come close once before, when you'd mentioned his mother on your name day long, long ago. his fury was genuine. alive. it was searing summer heat, and the burn of the sun against your scalp, your skin, and it was fascinating to face such a thing once more, after so long without it. especially from the likes of kang yeosang.

his musical voice remained low, pretty still, a juxtaposition to the way he set his unwavering fury upon you.

he spoke each word with a precision only a kang was capable of, "i know what you've done to mingi."

you'd blinked at him, breaking away from his heavy gaze. you started, "i do not -"

"look at me."

you'd whipped your head to the side, stomach curling at his commanding tone, bewildered by his audacity. anger sprung to the forefront of your mind, "excuse me?"

yeosang leaned close, and his gaze flit down your face for a moment, lingering here and there, on your eyes, nose, lips, before he met your gaze once more with a more controlled fury. you hoped, for his sake, it was because he realized his mistake.

he said, "song mingi does not deserve to be used as pawn. this is something we've all agreed upon. me, hongjoong, san, even jongho. he is not a part of this, because he is kind, and he is better than the rest of us. i should have accounted for the fact that you'd spent the better part of your time bewitching mingi and playing him as you saw fit."

"i have done no such thing."

"oh," yeosang's breathy laugh was a warm whisper against your cheek, "you are a terrible liar."

the world stilled. he looked at you as if he was waiting for a denial, waiting for you to dig your grave deeper. confirm a thought that lingered in his expression, one you could not decipher. however, you knew it would not work. you knew as well as he did what you had done, and you knew you could not fool kang yeosang. you did not wish to, at the moment, for some reason.

"you said the same of me once." you whispered, "that you'd all agreed i was too sweet to be a player in your games."

before your wedding, yeosang had escorted you back to your chambers after meeting with the queen and said those exact words to you with a sly grin on his face. they held counsel and decided the fates of the wards of the red keep as they saw fit, it seemed, and the thought made your fingers curl into fists at your side.

you asked, "what changed?"

yeosang shrugged, his voice soft as velvet, yet sharp as a sword, "perhaps everyone realized they were wrong about you. you're not sweet. not with the way you've wrapped mingi around your pretty fingers."

you'd flushed at yeosang's pointed drawl. you did not deny it this time either. you said, "and you all haven't done the same?"

yeosang's eyes darkened, "we are not using him."

you held his gaze, but something inside you trembled as you said, "will you tell him, then?"

your voice sounded small, even to your own years, and you despised yourself for it. you wanted to remain nonchalant.

"mingi? or do you mean..." yeosang's eyes narrowed, "hongjoong?"

two people now, two possible culprits, possessed valuable information over your head. two people could speak to hongjoong. would he believe a lowly maester of a small library? perhaps not. but yeosang? kang yeosang? hongjoong would believe yeosang, and it was a terror-filled thought. you dread mingi knowing what you were doing to him, but somehow hongjoong discovering your plans was...worse.

yeosang let out a breathy laugh once more as he said, "i do not hate you that much, y/n."

you are reminded, once more, of how aware hongjoong's closest circle was of his temperament. yet they did nothing. they would always do nothing. they were the same as him, then, were they not?

yeosang sat fully on the ground then, no longer hovering over you, but your heart still slammed against your ribs as if he remained a looming presence. yeosang's armor clinked and scratched against the brick wall, and the sound echoed between you both.

"do you think he will...?" you trailed off, frowning. you did not know what hongjoong would do, frankly. he'd spoken so carefully to you, and held you as if you were the most delicate thing to ever grace this world, and he drew baths for you, and sometimes he pressed a hand to your elbow or your back when nerves crept up your spine at dinners with his father, sometimes he thread his fingers through yours in public appearances. sometimes, he drew baths for you before he left for his schedules. yet he still disappeared some evenings. he still ignored you at dinners. you still did not know how he would react.

you still did not know prince hongjoong.

"i am not sure," yeosang shook his head. "prince hongjoong cares deeply for mingi."

he cared deeply for everyone but you, it seemed. you pressed your palms to your eyes then, dragging your hair out of your face. you breathed, "i care for mingi too."

"oh, do you?" the sarcasm in his voice was rough.

"i never wanted to -" you met his gaze, truly meaning every word, "i don't want to hurt him."

yeosang's dark eyes flickered over your face, before he nodded to himself and stood, brushing the dirt from his pants and his armor. he sighed, "i think we both know you have gone far beyond that point, sweet thing."

~.~.~.~.~

you were shocked to see hongjoong sat on your bed, his shirt unbuttoned, and his neck craned, as he leaned back on his hands and stared up at the ceiling, his legs spread. his chest rose and fell at a slow rhythm. you could not help but watch, frozen at the entryway, as he rolled his head to the side and met your gaze, his blonde hair falling from his bun and into his eyes. his throat bobbed as his gaze fell upon you, his expression unreadable.

this was, you realized, the first time you'd both been alone with each other since that night. yes, he called his servants to draw baths for you and only left when you woke to tell you of the fact. yes, he pressed gentle touches to your back, your arm, throughout the day during royal engagements, but neither of you had truly spoken to each other.

he'd either spend the night elsewhere, or he'd enter your chambers late at night smelling of alcohol and incense and someone else as he used to, and you'd both pretend to sleep so as not to speak to the other.

"what are you doing?" you spoke, stepping fully into your chambers. your voice rang too loud between you both.

hongjoong's eyes followed you, dark and heavy and watchful, his open posture remaining a calm juxtaposition to his expression. still, you noticed his fingers clench around the sheets - your sheets.

he drawled, "relax, my love."

you flinched at the term of endearment.

hongjoong laughed, a breathy thing, as he threw his head back.

you advanced on him then, though you were unsure why. perhaps it was the circumstances - yeosang's words and knowing maester haechan could open his mouth and yunho's words lingering over your head, everything a makeshift guillotine that could come down at any moment. your footsteps bounced off the walls as you stomped towards him.

he merely craned his neck as you came closer, eyes fixed on you, relaxed facade still so, so present.

"do not," you stopped in front of his spread legs, frowning down at him, "do not tell me what to do."

he tilted his head, amusement dripping from his lopsided smile, blonde hair a soft gold in the dim candlelight. he said, "you're quite wound up, my love. i am merely wondering why."

"stop calling me that." you gritted your teeth, "and get off my bed."

hongjoong's chuckle was low. he looked up at you through fallen strands of blonde hair, "make me. my. love."

your heart pounded against your ribs, but the dread at the pit of your stomach was worse. the anger, the fact that he hadn't spoken to you candidly since that night, the way things were tumbling all around you and you had no control anymore of anything - it made throw your hands in the air. you wanted so badly to make him shut up, to wrap your fingers around his throat. maybe kill him?

the thought was blasphemous, and when you met hongjoong's gaze, you felt as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. your breath grew tight, heavy, in your chest. it was guilt and want and anger and jealousy. there was always jealousy. you could admit that here, to yourself, in the comforts of your chambers.

you dragged your hands through your hair, and under hongjoong's scrutinizing gaze you felt exposed. vulnerable.

you hated it.

warm, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist. you realized you were shaking. hongjoong pulled you down. it was a light tug, and you could have counteracted it, but you allowed it. you allowed it.

you hated that too.

you landed on the mattress and immediately shoved him away. he let you.

you hated that the most.

you said, "why are you here? why are you - why won't you - why did you -"

why are you here? why won't you leave me alone? why did you touch me? why did i develop feelings for you? why did he return to seonghwa's bed? you could not allow yourself to say any of those words aloud because they held too much truth, too much power.

you were breathing heavily, each intake of breath a stabbing wound, and you pressed your palm to your mouth so as to muffle the sound.

he reached out once more. you smacked his hand away. your voice was a rough whisper, the words difficult to expel, as you repeated, "why are you here?"

"i was worried," he spoke softly, and his gaze held a softness in them that you do not see often.

you did not hate it as much as you should have.

"i am not yours to visit as you please when you grow bored," you said, "now leave me be."

he reached for you once more, and you scooted away from his touch.

hongjoong said, "i thought you were not afraid of me."

"i am not," you said.

you were. you were afraid that everything was crashing down around you, and hongjoong would know it soon. you were terrified of what he would do to you. or worse, if he didn't do a thing and let you live with it.

and, of course, he knew you were lying. his eyes grew so gentle then, you wondered briefly if you were asleep, dreaming this hongjoong up from the deepest recesses of your mind.

"i want to believe you so badly, y/n," he said.

"why are you here?" you repeated. you meant it in many, many ways. why did he return to your chambers? why did he look at you as if he cared for you? why was he here, in your thoughts, in your heart? how did he get there? you grit your teeth, and said, with as much venom as you could, "why are you here when you won't stay?"

it was the closest to the truth you could allow yourself to get with hongjoong. it was all you could allow yourself, without feeling absolutely powerless in his presence.

he reached out.

this time you let him.

he pressed his thumb to your cheekbone, dragging it across your thumb. it was a featherlight touch. "i am not meant to stay anywhere for too long," he said quietly, "but know that you are mine, and i am yours. do not doubt that, y/n."

"i do not want to be yours."

"but you want me to be yours?"

you didn't answer. you pressed your knees closer.

hongjoong laughed as he cupped your cheek, the rings on his fingers cold ice against your skin, "you want me to stay?"

you looked away.

his fingers remained your skin, your hair, along your jaw. his thumb brushed over your lips. he said, "you want me to hold you?"

his cold ring pressed roughly into the skin under your jaw, "you want me to kiss you and tell you i love you?"

he twirled a strand of hair around his fingers, before he tugged at it. your eyes flit to his, and hongjoong kept his dark gaze fixed on you. "you want me to make you feel safe?"

your heart slammed against your chest, the sharp painful breaths returning. hongjoong's other hand sat on your arm, his thumb brushing the burn scar there. it felt like a trap, like hongjoong was one condescending question away from telling you he knew of everything you had done, and he would make you pay for it.

you said, "i want you to be genuine with me."

"my love," hongjoong laughed, and he leaned so close you could count his eyelashes. his blonde hair tickled your cheek as he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. his eyes held a shine to them, manic in its amusement, "i have been nothing but genuine with you. i always have been."

the thought was harrowing. it broke something in you.

tears sprung to your eyes then, and you hated yourself for it. you hated it when hongjoong cooed and pulled you closer, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. you struggled against his grip for a moment, until he murmured, "i've got you, darling."

you hated that you wrapped your arms around him and let him hold you. that you clung to him, and you were reminded of how you could count on one hand how often you were held this way since you came to the red keep.

you hated that you allowed yourself to relax as he stroked your back. his touch dragged down your spine, and he held you as if you were a fragile as the flowers in the courtyards, as if you were not harboring a monster inside of you. his fingers gathered in your hair, and his rings were cold against your skin, but when you looked up at him, he smiled down at you, his expression a harmonious mixture of soft and sweet and dark. a chill ran down your spine, even as your heart skipped. hongjoong whispered, "come here."

he held his arms out as he scooted back to the head of the bed, your fingers entangled in his. you listened.

you wiped at your eyes with the heels of your hands, and he merely hummed don't as he pulled you towards him, as you fell back into his chest.

~.~.~.~.~

"i drew you a bath," hongjoong murmured.

you wanted to say more to him. you wanted him to know that your moment of vulnerability did not stem from him. it was not for him. it would not happen again.

you wanted to say more.

but you merely rolled out of bed, leaving him still sprawled in your sheets, and you entered the bathroom.

kim black and red draped over the hook as you entered. the bath steam made the room a blur. you slipped off your clothes, and entered the bath. all you could see was kim black and red, and this distinct feeling that you'd failed. you'd done something. everything was crumbling.

a light knock had you jolt in the tub. you looked over, sinking into the bathwater when you saw hongjoong leaning against the entryway to the bath, his blond hair pulled pack into a tight bun.

he said, "the king has called for a feast. he seems in a good mood."

that explained the kim robes.

the sound of the dripping faucet, and the heat of the steam, filled the silence. you settled lower into the water, until heat engulfed you up to your neck. hongjoong merely watched you through the steam. your stomach flipped at the feeling of his eyes on you.

finally, he said, "i will stay."

you wanted to say, no you will not.

instead, you said, "okay."

~.~.~.~.~

yeosang's brows were furrowed when you stepped into the hall. mingi stood by his side, his mouth pressed into a frown. it seemed as if they've stopped speaking as soon as you arrived. the beat of silence was broken when hongjoong pushed himself from his position leaning against the wall, extending a ring-adorned hand to you. his black and red robes were quite extravagant, his blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. he looked the opposite of how he did the night before. it reminded you of how undignified you had been.

you took his hand.

the walk to the feasting hall was quiet, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. the king often called upon the red keep to attend extravagant feasts whenever he was in a good mood. often those good moods were followed by jousting tourneys or a public execution by dragonfire in the courtyard. it often depended on the king's mad whims.

the king rose when you were both announced, raising his wine glass. his nails were claw-like, the queen was nowhere in sight, and the nobles lining the tables looked wary.

"alas, my beloved son is here with his lovely spouse. come, come, take a seat. today is a day of celebration!"

he raised his wine to the nobles of the red keep. the king's counsel - lord kang, lord choi, and lord song - stood to the king's right side as hongjoong took a stand at the king's left and you next to hongjoong.

the king pat hongjoong's back as he called, "here is a toast to new and better beginnings for not only the kingdom of dorne, but to the seven kingdoms."

you'd blinked at that, surprised. you felt hongjoong's fingers tighten around yours. you looked to him, and his eyes seemed stern, careful. he shook his head slightly.

"come now, raise your glasses!" the king turned his wine glass to lord kang, and they clinked glasses, drinking together. lord kang smiled brightly. it reminded you of yeosang's smiles.

"hongjoong, my son!"

hongjoong raised his glass.

the king turned to you. your heart dropped at the way his eyes fixed upon you. he said, "come now, my child. a toast to your father is in order."

your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, yunho's words of poison and sickness jumping to the forefront of your mind. no, you thought.

no, no, no -

"let us toast to our dear lord jeong. at long last, he's had the forethought to die." the king called to the crowd, "in his sleep, they say. a rather pathetic death, if i may so myself, but it seems with the dornish lord now at rest, we may move forward in negotiating peace with the new young lord jeong."

you could feel the eyes on you, gauging your reaction, and all you could manage to do was stand there and watch as the red keep toasted, as they celebrated the death of your father. you thought of yunho and wooyoung and your mother, and how you should have been there mourning with them. yet here you were, celebrating his death instead. you did not belong to dorne, not any longer, not like this.

"did you know?"

you looked at hongjoong long and hard, as you both sat at the head table, watching everyone eat and drink.

hongjoong still held your hand as he said, "i found out this morning."

you let him hold your hand still. you were terrified that if he let go, you'd drift away and you would not be able to return.

~.~.~.~.~

a tourney. the king decided to hold a celebratory tourney that afternoon. the chois offered to host, of course.

you needed to meet yeonjun, see if your brothers had sent you any letters. you needed to expel the heavy weight on your chest. you needed to get away.

yet, here you were, attending a tourney, watching as hongjoong defeated opponent, as his father hooted and cheered, and the people seemed to enjoy that their king was in good spirits for once.

your father is dead.

hongjoong knocked a man from his horse so hard, the man's helmet flew across the field. the kingsguard lined the back of the king's stands - he barely made public appearances anymore so it was quite apt that he'd have so many kingsguard around him - and mingi looked at you with worry in his eyes that you could not stand.

your father is dead.

the mountain stood next to mingi, a beast of man that brought fear down your spine. his stringy hair peaked through his helmet. you could swear he met your gaze then. you looked away quickly.

your father is dead, your father is dead, your father is dead.

hongjoong waved his jousting sword in victory, his final opponent slumped over in the corner. dead, you knew.

hongjoong galloped back and forth through the tourney field, taking in the cheers. he stopped, then, not in front of you, but in front of park seonghwa.

the crowd grew hushed as hongjoong laid a crown of winter roses, blue with frost, on seonghwa's lap. it slid from his jousting sword onto seonghwa's lap with a soft rustle that was heard throughout the silent tourney field. your septa had spoken of a tradition in tourneys, one that holds that the victor in a tournament may select anyone present and name them the regent of love and beauty, crowning them with a wreath of flowers and dedicating the their victory to them. never once had hongjoong done such a thing before. until now. until today. until the king called for a tournament to celebrate your father's death.

you sat frozen, even as the king cackled and hooted. even as your gaze flickered to familiar faces. a flicker of fury curled over jongho's face, and you knew then that this was not just a slight to you. hongjoong's actions would hold consequences, and you would suffer for it. it was clear from the way hongjoong grinned, the way he walked so easily, that he did not care what his actions entailed for you. he did not care. your father was dead, and he did not care, and you were not of king's landing, of westeros, either. you belonged nowhere, with no one.

choi san met your gaze, over the crowd, and his smile was a sad, careful thing. it was the first time he'd truly acknowledged you in a long, long time. it was a smile that reminded you of chaste kisses in a hidden courtyard, and hope, and then hope lost.

your father was dead, and you worried that soon you would be too.

~.~.~.~.~

you shoved hongjoong as soon as the door to your chambers clambered shut behind you both.

hongjoong grabbed your wrists - his grip was not tight or painful, but it was firm. a reminder of who you were and who he was to you.

"you're a fool," you bit out. you shook his hands off your wrists and gestured beyond him, to the red keep. "why did you do it?"

hongjoong stepped closer to you, but you stood your ground, eyes locked upon his.

he matched your tone, his eyes dark, his jaw tight, and he said, "mingi, y/n? of all the people at the red keep, you chose mingi?"

you froze then, in horror and guilt, and it felt as though the beast in your stomach was clawing its way to your heart, out your chest, and you let out a staggered breath as you searched his gaze. you wondered how much he knew. you wondered what he would do to you. you would have your answer.

you tried to push him away then, but he crowded your space, until your back hit a wall, your breath leaving you.

"mingi is my brother. he is...he is kind, y/n," hongjoong's eyes held a dark fury he never directed towards you. he clasped his fingers around your jaw, forcing you to look at him. his grip was not painful yet, but it was angry. "you could have ruined him."

"so you care about him?" you scowled, "you come pleading the case for a man who is not even your brother by blood, but what of me? you have made vows to me before the gods? what becomes of me? what of my ruination?"

your voice was shrill as you raised your voice, your shout echoing all around you. hongjoong's grip under your jaw tightened, his rings digging into your skin. it pinched at your skin. this time it hurt.

"i do not care what you do behind closed doors, as i've told you time and time again, but the tourney? park seonghwa?" you spat his name. his fingers squeezed tighter, and your breath caught in your throat, fear and something else, something akin to grief, curling under your skin. "you've condemned me in front of everyone, hongjoong. and even before all this you knew. you knew my father was dead, but you let me face that news on my own."

"i do not owe you anything. not my love nor my sympathies," hongjoong leaned so close, you could feel his breath against your cheek, his dark eyes blown out in madness, in anger, and in the very same guilt you'd seen in him that night. he said, "i am a kim. i owe you nothing."

"kims are not gods," you spat. "without your dragons, you are just like the rest of us. you will bleed red like the rest of us."

he yanked you closer by his grip on your jaw.

"is that a threat?"

"will you kill me if i say yes?"

his gaze flicked over your expression, your defiance, your anger, your fear, and his brows furrowed. he shoved you up against the wall. for a moment, you thought he'd kill you then and there. then he released you, retreating back. you blinked after him.

"leave mingi alone." his voice was controlled and quiet, his simmering anger barely detectable if you hadn't known what to listen for. "remove him from your schemes immediately. i know you have him do your bidding, y/n."

you remained with your back to the wall, your fingers curling around your jaw. you wondered, briefly, if he had left bruises. the thought that hongjoong was so close to knowing of yeonjun and your letters to your brother - it made your heart race harder.

"and if i do not?" you asked, teeth clenched. your other hand brushed over the old burn scar on your arm, squeezing it to find some semblance of control in this situation. hongjoong's eyes tracked the movement, his jaw tightening at your words.

hongjoong's eyes darkened when he met your gaze once more, "then i will do it for you, y/n. you will not like my methods. believe me."

you grit your teeth, but before you could answer, hongjoong turned away with a flurry of royal red and black robes and blond hair.

he left, slamming the door behind him. you slid down the wall holding you up, fingers curling around your jaw.

"fuck," you breathed.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

~.~.~.~.~

you were no stranger to grief. it was an old friend, really, but this time it crept up on you like a predator crept upon prey.

the mad king's trials had become weekly affairs, despite his occasional refusal to appear in public himself. that morning was cold and dreary, and the king sent a messenger in his place.

you sat beside hongjoong in the courtyard, front and center, in place of the king and queen. the whispers prior to the tourney had been quiet ever since hongjoong burned lord lim on your behalf, but it seemed the whispers had returned tenfold since the tourney. you did not expect any less. you doubted hongjoong would burn another important noble alive to preserve your honor when his attention was elsewhere anyway, and you figured everyone else at court believed the same. san, choi jongho, and park seonghwa had left for their homes at daybreak, and you had not heard from irene's little birds as to why they'd all left so quickly. the nobles whispered of your inability to keep the prince happy, of the slight against you at the tourney. they whispered aloud of what would happen next - an affair and your uselessness.

you sat beside hongjoong, ignoring the whispers, watching as guards dragged in a struggling figure. the king's messenger unfurled his scroll, rising to his feet.

the guards tied the struggling figure to the scorched execution post. the messenger called out his crimes, decreed by the king - a traitor to the crown and to westeros - and then the guard pulled the sack from the person's head.

your heart fell, then, to the pit of your stomach at the familiar face.

yeonjun.

it was yeonjun.

in that moment, you heard nothing, your ears ringing as yeonjun's twisted, defiant expression filled your vision. one of the executioners took the stand, green fire jars in his hand, and you could not close your eyes.

yeonjun's defiant eyes, usually so playful and amused, met yours through the crowd. he smiled.

fingers slipped through yours. your ears still rang, and the cheering of the crowd sounded far away as green fire filled your blurred vision.

you pulled away from the scene before you long enough to recognize that hongjoong was holding your hand. he did not look at you, his eyes fixed on the execution, green flames illuminating his dark features.

yeonjun was dead. your sole method of communication with your brothers was dead.

your father was dead.

what would become of you now?

~.~.~.~.~

you gnawed at your bottom lip as you both approached your chambers. the courtyard and yeonjun's burnt flesh was long behind you, but you could not shake it from your head. you knew it was your fault.

it had to be.

all of this - somehow it felt as if you were failing, as if you'd lost the high you were on earlier and everything was crashing around you and you were to blame for it all.

you were no stranger to grief, but as you and hongjoong walked through the empty halls in silence, the smell of burnt flesh still lingering on in your nose, on your clothes, your hair, yeosang leading the way, and mingi walking behind you - hongjoong only allowed mingi to guard you if he was with you, and you hadn't had a moment alone with him since the night maester haechan had walked in on you both - a wave of nausea and dread washed over you.

"he was only a barkeep," your voice was quiet, even to your own ears.

hongjoong glanced briefly in your direction. he said, "a barkeep who committed treason."

he kept walking as you came to a halt.

"a dornish barkeep," your voice bounced off the walls. hongjoong spun to face you, his black robes fluttering around him like tendrils of smoke. yeosang met your gaze over hongjoong's shoulder and shook his head at you. you ignored him. "my father is dead, and now you people are persecuting a dornish barkeep? do you think i am an idiot, hongjoong? when will i end up on that post?"

hongjoong glowered, "was he your lover?"

you blinked, "is that all that matters to you?"

"i know you've gone to visit him and his bar, y/n," hongjoong snapped, his fists clenched at his sides. "i knew for a while, but i thought perhaps your reasons were innocent. then i learned what you've been doing with mingi, and i thought it was mingi. it's hard for me to be angry with mingi. you must have known that though. but then. then i learned you'd started going to that bar alone."

you'd frozen at the mention of mingi, hyperaware that he stood behind you. mingi did not deserve this, you knew. however, the implications in hongjoong's voice, the fact that he could ever dare voice such a thing to you, let alone in front of yeosang and mingi - it fueled the fire that always burned in your chest.

"not too long ago, you burned a lord alive for saying the exact thing you are implicating me of right now, hongjoong."

"because i knew it was not true then. now i am not so sure."

the fire burned at your insides. you wished to scream at him, to tear the look from his face, and douse that in green fire the same way he had allowed his father to murder yeonjun.

"what of your lovers?" you shouted, your voice dragging through the silence. you hadn't raised your voice in so long, your voice grew gravely, harsh, at the volume. your skin crawled as you advanced on him, "what of all the people you've slept with after you swore yourself to me? shall we burn them alive as well, your grace?"

"y/n, lower your voice." hongjoong's voice was so much quieter than yours, but you did not care. the fire had burst from your stomach, and you no longer wished to quiet yourself. you no longer cared.

"fuck you," you spat. "you are a hypocrite, and you cannot stand to see me happy. that is the truth, hongjoong. my father is dead, by your father's hand for all i know, and the very next day you not only humiliated me in front of the the red keep, but you took away the only protection i have had the misfortune to have in this gods-damned place. your kim protection that you forced upon me when you married me. and now - and now you dare accuse me of adultery when you come to our chambers smelling of another more often than not? you were right, hongjoong. you are not like your father. you are much, much worse."

your chest rose and fell, your breathing unsteady. the silence that followed your shouts felt like a heavy fur blanket, warm and suffocating.

you broke the silence first as you said, "you made me believe i could trust you. perhaps i am a fool for ever thinking such a thing, or for willingly letting you into my bed. but now," you gestured around you, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "but now a war is looming, and you do not fucking care what that means for anyone else, do you?"

hongjoong was a collector of sorts, who liked to have the moon and sun and stars, but he did not think of anything beyond that. that was how gods were, were they not? watching from above, collecting, but never quite caring. they only lived to be worshipped. they believed they could not be touched. the kims were closer to gods than they were to men. you were a fool for ever believing his touches and his drawn baths and his late night talks meant anything. his sweet nothings were just that: nothing.

"the war will not touch you," hongjoong said.

he did not deny that it was looming, he did not address anything else you had said. you wondered briefly what your brothers have decided since your father passed. you felt, once more, in the dark.

"is that all you have to say?" you grit out instead.

"you are mine, y/n, and war will never touch what is mine," hongjoong said, his voice quiet, softer than you expected. as he meant to be comforting. a part of you did feel comforted, while a larger part of you felt everything but. "i understand your treasonous words are born of grief. it's made you unreasonable, and i will let that slide tonight."

frustration clawed at your insides. you said, "i hate you."

"i know," hongjoong's eyes flickered away from your face for a moment as he waved his hand. "yeosang, take y/n to my chambers. they need rest. guard the door. mingi, come with me."

hongjoong stepped around you, and you turned to watch him go. mingi met your eyes with something of an apology in his eyes, brows furrowed in worry, shoulders hunched. hongjoong walked on ahead of him, robes trailing behind him.

you felt a hand on your shoulder. you jumped.

"sorry," yeosang apologized withdrawing his touch. you shook your head. your frustration had clawed its way out of you in the form of tears, and you brushed them away angrily.

"do you still believe he is not a bad person?" your voice shook too much. you despised it.

yeosang did not answer, looking away as if to preserve your dignity. for once, you were grateful for it.

after a beat, you composed yourself enough to straighten yourself out, and you asked, "will he hurt mingi?"

"no," yeosang's response was instantaneous.

you nodded, an inkling of relief settling over you at that reassurance. you knew, deep down, he would not, but you could never be too sure with what you knew of hongjoong. you would not live with yourself if mingi ended up on a post because of you. yeosang trailed along beside you as you both headed to your chambers in silence.

your fingers stilled against the door when yeosang said your name. not your grace. not sweet thing. simply, "y/n."

"yes?"

he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. yeosang's brows furrowed with his internal struggle. you watched for only a moment, but after another moment of silence, you merely pushed your door open and shut it in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

shortly after yeonjun's execution, lord kang resigned as hand of the king.

before drawing your morning bath, you overheard the maids whispering that the mad king had laughed himself into a coughing fit when lord kang had announced his resignation in the throne room early that morning. by some miracle, the mad king had not decided the resignation was call for another execution.

hongjoong had not returned after he asked yeosang to escort you back to your chambers. you hadn't slept until early morning anyway, only to awake to the sound of the maids entering your chambers. your servants hadn't drawn a bath for you in a while, you realized then, as you listened to their hushed whispers. hongjoong was always the one to do it, no matter how late he returned. the thought made you want to crawl out of your skin in both anger and a residual type of grief that grew the more you thought of hongjoong or your father or your brothers or your mother or yeonjun or mingi.

in fact, the maids had left mid-morning, and you'd opened your door to find yeosang still standing guard outside of your room.

you'd blinked at yeosang in confusion.

yeosang blinked back at you, expression unreadable.

"you stayed?"

"i am simply following orders, your grace," his voice curled around your title with a hint of amusement you hadn't heard in quite a while. the familiarity was comforting.

you nodded, rolling your eyes at his tone. you meant to shut the door on him then, but the maid's whispers made you pause, turning to yeosang once more, "i heard lord kang resigned?"

"yes, this morning," yeosang said with a nod, his armor clinking loudly.

"why?"

"there are many reasons he is upset," yeosang shrugged, "one of which being that i am no longer eligible to take his place as lord of casterly rock as i have sworn myself to the kingsguard. he is without an heir now."

"but you'd joined the kingsguard a long while back. why bring the matter up now?"

"it seems my father's sights have changed."

"huh," you laughed at his nonchalance, "would you care to share those new sights with me?"

"lord kang is leaving for casterly rock in the evening." a small smile stretched across his pretty features, genuine in a way you have never seen. "that is all i know, your grace."

you doubted that was all he knew, but you'd nodded anyway. yeosang bowed his head, and you shut the door.

~.~.~.~.~

you are confined to your chambers. hongjoong does not say it aloud, even on the nights he returned to your chambers to clamber into his side of the bed, but you were no longer invited to the throne room or to meals with hongjoong. the servants brought you your meals. the kingsguard assigned to your room would block your way out when you tried to go for a walk or to the library, and they'd say, the prince said you must rest. none of them seemed all too apologetic. you would not recognize them most of the time. whenever you'd see the mountain standing guard, looming and heavily-built, terrifying in his presence, you'd merely shut the door without speaking to him. no one truly scared you at the red keep, but the mountain? he brought chills down your spine. why he had not gone with lord kang was beyond you, but perhaps the king did not mind such a terror in his kingsguard.

sometimes your keeper was yeosang, and on those days you'd open your chamber doors and have a short conversation with him.

oftentimes, it was merely you asking what was going on.

yeosang would shrug in response, or give you a cheeky smile and say, the usual without elaboration.

the days were slow and dull, and you spent more time than not leaning against the barred windows and watching the tiny specks of people go about their day, the bustling of king's landing trickling up to your barred window or sprawled on your bed staring at the high ceilings.

you started counting the days. you hadn't counted much in a while - you used to count your name days, but that was a thing of the past.

~.~.~.~.~

"do you plan to keep me here forever?"

you sat in the middle of your bed, watching as hongjoong stepped into the chambers. the mountain was guarding the door today, his large form darkening the doorway, so you'd spent your day ignoring the goosebumps trickling up your spine whenever you looked towards your chamber doors.

hongjoong kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his robes before he turned to you.

he said, "if that is what you need, then yes."

"what does that mean?"

"it does not concern you."

you scowled, "hongjoong."

hongjoong turned then, to really look at you, and there was a softness there in his expression you did not expect as his eyes flickered over your expression. he always did revel in your anger.

"my father has gone past madness, and your presence will only drive him further into the darkness," hongjoong said, finally. "i am keeping you safe."

you had not known this, and the information made your stomach churn. in your chambers, you did not even have access to irene and her little birds, though you did not wish to alert that network to any watching eyes anyway.

you asked, "by locking me away in your chambers?"

"yes."

he responded so quickly. he was so full of righteousness. you buried the urge to grow angrier. instead, you spoke into the quiet silence, trying for softness.

"you could just send me away, you know," you said, "instead of locking me away like this."

hongjoong stiffened, his fingers curling around the back of his chair.

slowly, you pushed yourself from your bed and stepped closer to him, until you were an arms-length from him. you knew he would not agree, yet somehow you felt you could convince him, somehow. or at least ensure that you would not remain imprisoned here, delegated to the same fate as his mother, to yet another cage. you wished he would set you free, for once.

you pressed your hand to the one he had clenched around the back of his chair, his rings cold against your palms. he did not flinch away, and hope flickered in your heart. for a moment, he leaned into your touch, his gaze settling over your eyes, your nose, your lips.

"send me to -" you swallowed, suddenly nervous, "send me away from king's landing. to sunspear, even?"

hongjoong pressed his other hand over your fingers, wrapping his hands around yours. his eyes remained fixed on your interlocked hands.

you spoke hurriedly, your voice quiet so as not to disturb the tension between you both, "it's safe there. my brothers won't hurt me. you can trust them."

hongjoong let go of your hand then, turning to fully face you. his fingers fell entirely from your grasp. the hope you felt was long gone, kindling for the fire in your heart.

he reached up and pressed his fingertips to your cheeks, a gentle, feather-like touch. he brushes his thumb along your jaw as his eyes flickered between yours once more. eyes, nose, lips, dark eyes like scorched earth.

he said, "how do i know that?"

"hongjoong-"

hongjoong cut your off with a shake of his head, "you are not dornish, y/n. not anymore. you are a kim. you are safest here. with me and my dragons."

he left then, shutting the bath door behind him.

~.~.~.~.~

a fortnight passed when you opened the door to check who was your keeper today. the sun had set and your dinner was already delivered by the servants. they'd entered your chambers while you'd been pacing, and you knew they'd whisper you'd gone mad when they left.

yeosang stood at attention by your door.

you asked, "will you be here tomorrow?"

yeosang usually would not answer your bolder questions, but tonight he seemed to take pity on you. an infuriating thought, really, but you'd gone too long alone to care much that people only ever interacted with you due to pity these days. the furrow between yeosang's brows, you've noticed, had become a permanent fixture on his expression. it did not quite suit him. you missed the mischief in his eyes from your younger days.

"not tomorrow." yeosang said, "but the day after."

"i'd love some ale," you said, with a grin you hoped was enticing.

he frowned at you. you dropped your smile.

you said, matching his frown "it's dreadfully boring in here, ser yeosang. i would not ask you otherwise"

"i'm sure it is, sweet thing," yeosang eyed your chambers , his expression growing apprehensive. "fine, i'll bring some."

"really?"

"you are much too excited for something as simple as ale, your grace."

you'd rolled your eyes in response, shutting the door behind in his face.

~.~.~.~.~

you were never meant for passivity. even when you'd first stepped onto the shores of king's landing, you'd been quite proactive in your distaste of westerosi traditions, of hongjoong's comments, of yeosang's prodding, of your septa's nagging.

to think that you were now relegated to such a passive lifestyle, escorted to the godswoods by your septa and your kingsguard keeper once a day just to leave the confines of your chambers, your meals brought to you by the servants, left to rot in your too-big bed, in your too-big chambers, while the madness churned throughout the seven kingdoms - it had you standing at the barred windows wondering if you could pry open the bars and toss yourself to your death just to have something to do. sometimes, you saw wisps of greenfire from the courtyards, and you were glad at least the mad king maintained a routine throughout all this. even when the essence of nightshade hidden in the deepest folds of your drawers called to you, you remained passive. too cowardly to die, and too cowardly to want to live, merely withering under the same fate you were so adamantly trying to escape.

hongjoong was kind to you sometimes - he brought you books from the library some nights, or he drew you your baths - but he was the reason for this. he knew it, and you knew it, and he knew you knew it.

you hadn't seen or heard from mingi. you did not ask hongjoong or yeosang about him.

so when you opened your door one night, and yeosang stood at attention, you let the fire in your stomach, in your veins, in your heart, burn so bright, so hot, it felt the way dragonfire had on your skin that night so long ago.

yeosang pulled out two metal flasks from his pack.

you peered at the large containers, grimacing at the strong acidic smell as you opened one of the flasks. the smell burned your nostrils and still had it at arms-length. "that's not ale."

"it's stronger," he said, with a shrug. "i thought you'd need it."

you grinned as you took a swig of the flask. the alcohol burned as you swallowed and you grimaced at the taste. you had not had liquor in a long time, not since you'd left your chambers and joined yeosang, mingi, and hongjoong in post-tourney festivities. that had been so, so long ago. yeosang chuckled at your grimace, before he gestured to your chambers.

"glad you like it," yeosang said, "now leave me to my duties."

you frowned, "it is bad manners to let someone drink alone, you know."

yeosang's brows furrowed in confusion, "i'd have thought i would be your last choice for a drinking partner."

"fortunately for you, your company is better than no company."

"ouch, your grace," yeosang pressed a hand to his heart, his eyes twinkling as it used to. "your tongue has gotten sharper."

"you could tell hongjoong to let me free. i find without practice, my social skills have become quite unsightly."

yeosang snorted before he shook his head. you took another swig of the flask, your throat burning as you swallowed, your cheeks warming already, and yeosang's eyes followed the movement, his brows furrowing once more. he said, "i was told to stand guard here. not drink."

you frowned at him, "fine, then i'll join you."

yeosang shook his head, "you are to remain in your chambers."

"i thought orders were merely suggestions to you."

yeosang rolled his eyes, "sometimes. but not these."

"fine," you dragged one of the stools in the sitting room of your chambers to the door, propping the heavy wooden door open. then you took a seat at the threshold, the doorway dividing the two of you. you looked up at yeosang, "i can drink like this, and you can have some if you'd like. i'll remain in my chambers, and you at the door."

yeosang peered down at you for a long, long moment. it was reminiscent of the time you both discussed what you had done to mingi. however, this time, he was not as furious. his eyes twinkled in amusement, but there was something else there - something you saw often in hongjoong's eyes these days, in the eyes of your septa as well when she'd take you to the godswood to 'pray as a proper king's spouse should'. you thought it melancholic.

after a moment, he bent to take a seat beside the door, facing the hall, his back pressed to the door hinge. the metal of his armor clinked loudly against the stone floors. it reminded you of mingi.

yeosang was not quite facing you, and it was strange to find it fitting of him, as if you knew him in some way. you did, did you not? you knew him as long as you knew hongjoong and mingi. very soon, you would know him, and hongjoong, and mingi, the red keep and king's landing, longer than you have known your brothers and parents and dorne. soon you would no longer be dornish, as hongjoong had said.

you took a bigger swig from the flask at that thought, wrinkling your nose at the taste.

"was this difficult to get?" you asked.

"no."

"what is the red keep like these days?"

"the same as it always is."

"you're quite entertaining, ser yeosang." you drawled, injecting all the sarcasm you could into your tone.

yeosang gave you a sidelong glance, "you talk too much, your grace."

so you asked more questions, and yeosang provided more vague answers.

whenever he was stationed outside your door, he brought you ale, liquor, or even sweets from the kitchen. you propped open your chambers doors. you asked questions. yeosang barely answered.

it became the highlight of your long, drawn out days.

~.~.~.~.~

hongjoong entered your chambers, servants scurrying all about in his wake. they were packing.

you frowned, "what is going on?"

"i am going north," he said, distractedly, "to winterfell."

you blinked, once, twice, three times. you whispered, "just you?"

and you did not mean for that curl of anguish at the pit of your stomach to drip into your voice. you did not mean to live in limbo for so long, only to feel as if you've been doused in ice water. hongjoong hadn't touched you, hadn't truly spoken to you, for a long, long, long time.

yet, this time your heart stilled.

hongjoong looked up at you, his fingers wrapped in his warmest cloak, black and red spilling from his fingers like blood and dragonscales.

your chest felt constricted as you stared down at him. you said, "you're leaving me here?"

"i am keeping you safe," hongjoong said, voice low. the servants continued to dash throughout the chambers, their footsteps echoing all around you, ringing in your ears, "the rebellion draws closer to king's landing by each day and i must head north to secure allies."

the rebellion. the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion, the rebellion. those words rang loud as the bells of a bell tower. there was a war, and no one told you. you were in danger, and no one told you. hongjoong told you nothing. no one told you, and you were going to remain here. like a bird in a gilded cage, you would remain in an empty castle while hongjoong secured his other possessions.

"the rebellion?" your voice cracked. you felt horror and relief and anger and terror and so many other emotions. hongjoong's gaze softened when he looked at you, strangely enough. he stood, pushing his blond hair from his eyes as he waved his hands.

"jongho's rebellion," hongjoong said, with a questioning frown. "you did not know?"

something flipped in you then, something that always flipped when you were in the presence of hongjoong's nonchalance. you seethed, "how would i know? how would i know when you've locked me away all this time?!"

your exclamation echoed off the walls. the movement in the room stilled. hongjoong waved his hands and the servants scurried from the room.

your chambers were too quiet.

jongho's rebellion rang in your ears. suddenly, the brothel visits made sense. why, you did not know, as they were brothers by all but blood, the chois and hongjoong, yet here you stood seething as hongjoong closed his eyes and pushed his hair from his eyes. "the details do not matter. jongho and san are traitors who must be dealt with, and this decision will keep you safe. i am keeping you safe. you are a target, y/n."

"then take me with you."

"no."

"why? because of seonghwa?"

"you are safest in the red keep."

"you told me i am safest with you."

"y/n, you are staying here."

you knew then, that there was no changing his mind. so you stepped closer, your anger turning to a sort of desperation you never meant to show kim hongjoong. you said, "then let me go return to yunho. to sunspear."

"so dorne can join the jongho's rebellion? so you can join san?" hongjoong snapped, venom lacing his tone, the same kind of venom the mad king held when he spoke of dorne. his eyes darkened, "absolutely not."

"fine!" you grit your teeth, "do the kims not have their own stronghold? from the old days? what of dragonstone? let me go there, at the very least."

you'd seen it on maps and read of it in an old, tattered book in the library. dragonstone was a castle situated on an island of the same name, and it was the stronghold for house kim before house targaryen moved to the red keep. the castle was used on occasion, and last you heard the queen was sent there by the mad king. the mad king remained at king's landing. the rebellion was headed this way.

"you will stay here, y/n," hongjoong reached out and cupped your cheek, his dark eyes flickering between yours. he spoke with a finality that made you want to scream.

desperation clawed under your skin, up your throat, lived inside you. you knew he would keep you in this gilded cage next to his father, open to danger from every which way, and you were reacting as a caged animal would. he did not care, you realized, as he watched you struggle with picking your next words. he did not care. he did not think.

you bit out, "with your mad father?"

hongjoong shook his head, brushing his thumb along your hairline, "he will not hurt you. i will keep a guard posted."

hongjoong was fleeing. the realization sent a chill down your spine. hongjoong was fleeing without you.

you'd never, not once, begged him of anything, even when he touched you. but as you stood there, desperation clawing at your skin. this decision would damn you to a terrible fate, and the way hongjoong looked at you, as if he did not understand the desperation clawing its way through you, made you want to shake him by the shoulders. jongho was rebelling, lord kang left king's landing, the queen was sent to dragonstone, and hongjoong was fleeing north. only the mad king remained. there was no hope left here.

you were being left for dead. or worse.

"hongjoong, please help me," you pleaded, fingers curling around the sleeve of his black and red robes. "just this once. please let me go anywhere but here."

you could have sworn that hongjoong’s eyes lit up, even as he stroked your cheek to comfort you. your grip on his sleeve tightened in hope. maybe he would listen?

his eyes fell to your fist, and he reached with his other hand to curl it around your wrist. his thumb grazed along your burn scar, and he observed it for a long moment before he returned his gaze to you.

your heart sank to the pit of your stomach when he murmured, "i’ve helped you time and time again already, y/n. this time you will stay and that is final."

you clutched at his sleeve once more. he peered down at your tight grip.

"then stay by my side," you forced restraint, if only to maintain some sort of dignity. you leaned close, blinking away the sting of tears, and said as softly as you could, "i want you to stay with me."

hongjoong smiled. he shook your hand from his sleeve. he circled both hands around your wrist, his thumb pressing into the burn scar there. there was a twinkle of satisfaction in his eyes, but there was no regret. he said, "i will return to you soon, my love. believe me."

you had no other choice, you both knew.

and so, you stayed.

~.~.~.~.~

omg the Uno reverse card??? Love this an unhealthy amount

Warrior God

ღPairings: Choi San × Reader(f) ღGenre: God au, Chinese Zodiac influenced, also anime influenced ღTrope: e2l (perhaps if i continue this???) ღWord count: 1,427 ღWarnings: fighting anime style, suggestive dialogue, reader has a dungeon apparently ღRated: 18+ MDNI, smut ღSummary: The Wolf God has recently been taking down the other god's kingdoms one by one, and your kingdom is next. Or at least, that's what he thinks ღDedication: @mejuii​ @downtoamagicalland​ my speedy betas, thank you loves ღA/N: this was burning in my skull after watching San's warrior cover, so I had to get it out! Enjoy~

“Mistress, he’s coming,” Seonghwa called from the window of your tower, no need to hold back the diaphanous window coverings for a storm was approaching.

“Then it is time for you to go, Seonghwa,” You commanded, finishing tying up your sash from your pants. 

Seonghwa rushed to your side, placing his hands over yours, not wanting to miss one moment of your preparations. “I will not leave your side,” he insisted.

You gripped his chin in your hand harshly, almost comically squishing his cheeks together. His large eyes raised to meet yours. “Are you questioning my authority right now?”

Seonghwa’s eyes moved downwards in subservience. “Never, Goddess, but--”

Your hand let go of him but instead patted his head. “You know why you must go. Now go.” You motioned with your chin towards your door.

Seonghwa’s lips parted, as if he wanted to speak more words but your face was hard for the upcoming battle and Seonghwa knew he could not afford to distract you with soft facts of love and adoration. “As you command, Mistress.” He bowed lowly, hand behind back and against his stomach and was gone in a flurry that his rabbit spirit afforded him.

ღღღ

San strode through the gates of your castle, confident steps as his warrior army surrounded him. His sharp eyes quickly assessed the battlefield and found there was only one body to meet him in this assault.

“Did you send everyone away, Goddess?” San barked across the courtyard as he continued to sweep inside. “Afraid I’ll kill all the people you protect?”

“Yes,” You replied melodically, “I did send all my people away. If they remained, they would get killed.”

San’s broad stance spoke of confidence. His jacket and chains of leaving his mortal life still clung to him. “I would have thought that the Horse God would be much more sure of her powers.”

The laughter that escaped your lips bubbled up in your chest and grew and grew in power. Soon the entire courtyard was full of your borderline crazy laughter. San at first was smiling, as if he was waiting to be let in on the joke and then slowly it dimmed into confusion. 

“I dismissed my people so that I can let loose my powers, San,” You cooly informed him. You pushed off your robe, left only in a sleeveless shirt and baggy pants. Your horse tattoo ran along your back, where your shirt did not cover, only wrapping around your torso, with loose sleeves dangling down your arms. Your magic, which was bright purple in color, waved around you, airy and whimsical. 

San’s followers quickly pulled off his jacket, revealing the majority of San’s tattoos. His with stark black against his golden skin. A wolf’s contenance sat on his left breast. He snarled like a wolf, pounding his chest and clenching his fists. His power appeared as if blue fire, raging like flames all over his body. His followers shrunk back at the heat and he almost killed the few that had aided in removing his jacket and chains. 

“I shall acquire your kingdom, just like I took the Ox’s and the Tiger’s,” San growled. But his fingers encompassed his wrists. He still felt his mortality, clearly.

You tilted your head, cracking your neck loudly. “You just received your godhead, Wolf. I have had mine for a millenia. Do you worst.”

San surged forward with a roar, his warriors behind him like an oncoming wave. The sky crackled and when San’s fist struck, lightning hit the ground around you, several forks striking San’s followers. 

You stood, not moving an inch, your power making a smooth barrier in front of you. San’s face was only a hairsbreadth away from yours but he could do nothing to get closer. Like in slow motion, San’s fist had hit your barrier but the force that was reflected back to him--his own power mixed with your own--sent him flying back, pummeling through the crowd behind him. He hit the wall of your castle hard. Cracks radiated from his form there.

“You will not touch a hair on my head, Choi San,” You said calmly. You flicked your wrists, one hand and then the other. All of San’s followers poofed in a cloud of smoke, a horse’s bellow echoing through the courtyard. It was only you and he left now.

But San’s confidence had not drained yet. He smirked slowly, drawing up only one side of his lips. “I’ll have my fingers tangled up in your hair with your mouth on my cock, Horse God. It is my destiny.”

You laughed under your breath, a smirk pulling at your lips now. You shoved your hands into the pockets of your baggy pants and casually strolled to where San was, still embedded in the stone wall. “Is that why you’re here? To bed me?”

San shook his head, hauling himself out from the hole he made. “No, I am here to take your kingdom and YOUR godhead. But I’ll have you too, while I’m at it.”

You held your arms out to your side, bent at the elbow, palms up. “You know, that’s not half a bad idea, Wolf God.” You bring your palms together. Your purple magic rushed in, surrounding San. His arms snap to his side and his legs are held together. San struggled to get free, his blue flames like an ember along his body, but not strong enough to battle you. “I think I’ll bind you in my dungeon and use your tongue for relief.” You walked to where San was held, using your index finger to raise his strong chin. “Think you could do that for me?”

The blue fire that burned within San’s eyes, within his soul made you excited. Your power exploded and his blue magic exploded from his body. Your hair and clothes moved with the pure, undiluted power radiating from San. “I came here to ruin you!’ He shouted.

You took careful steps back as San staggered forward. His power continued to stream from his body, any sweat steaming off his skin. He walked as if he was underwater but that was simply your own power holding him back. You didn’t even have to make it so, it simply was. San walked you to the front of your tower, grunting and bearing his teeth as his arms shook to cage you between them. You smiled coyly up at him. He wasn’t even aware that his movements were only allowed because you were curious as to what he was up to.

“This isn’t right,” He groaned, his voice low with rawness. His accent had changed, reverting to the language of his people when he was a mortal. 

Your coy smile grew into a confident one, the tips of your lips curling upwards. “Do you feel it, San?”

Your eyes traveled down to his chest, using a finger following the tip of his wolf’s ear on his chest. “Do you feel yourself weakening?”

San’s eyebrows furrowed inwards, both in confusion and worry. “No, I--”

Your smile is now a hysterical grin. “Since the moment you stepped through my gate, my power has been siphoning yours. I’ve been sipping from your godhead. The more power you exude, the more I drink, the more powerful I become. Why do you think I’ve been doing this for so long, hmm?”

San’s eyes become unfocused as he searches deep inside himself and finds that the well of his power is almost dry. “How?!” he demanded in disbelief.

You flicked his nipple and laughed softly. “I’m not about to tell you all my secrets, silly wolf. I’m about to have you trapped in my dungeon.”

“Do-don’t…” San’s head tipped downward to his chest, his weakness finally hitting him as your power began to let him go. If you took away his godhead completely, he would no longer be welcome in this kingdom of the gods. 

You pushed San’s arms away from barring your movement. You flicked your finger again and your power carried San’s body behind you, as you began the climb down to your dungeons. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it. Soon, you’ll be just like Seonghwa. A little doggy for me.”

Your power surrounded the entire grounds of your castle, flowing through the very walls, lighting up the surrounding forest and river with purple light, and then just as quickly, your body absorbed it completely and neatly. That was the signal for your people to come back. The battle was over. But your night had just begun.

Taglist: @hijirikaww @flurrys-creativity @mingsolo @starlitmark @stardragongalaxy @k-pop-ology Permanent suffer with me tag: @smallfrye

omg I'm so confused and i LOVE it

THE ANSWER: XXVI

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

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chapter word count: 10,791

“What the hell did you say to Hongjoong?” 

Seonghwa is quick to start grilling you as soon as San leaves the two of you alone, glaring at you across from the dinner table. It takes you a few seconds to even remember what he could be referring to, that conversation with Hongjoong taking the back seat in your mind to everything else that had happened today. 

You set your spoon down, resting your elbows on the table, “I could be asking you the same question.” 

Seonghwa scoffs, mirroring your actions. He leans over the table, though, getting closer to you, “Well I asked first.” 

Frowning, you look him up and down, trying to make him squirm a little bit. Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to find you very intimidating. In fact, he only leans closer to you, his face basically taking up your entire field of view. “What did Hongjoong say that I said?” 

Seonghwa’s eyes flit to your lips, but you pretend like you don’t notice. “He said that you told him we had sex. Among other things.” 

“I said no such thing,” you glare back at him, “I only heavily implied it.” 

“Why?” Seonghwa wets his lips, “do you want to get me in trouble, Princess?” 

You don’t want to be the one to back down from this confrontation, but being this close to Seonghwa without him touching you might actually make you insane. His stupid fucking hot ass fucking face. It’s too distracting. 

But… you’re more stubborn than you are uncomfortable. “Only if you want to get me in trouble.” He smiles a bit at that, but you continue, “if you must know, though, I had to use you as a bit of a scapegoat. I figured you wouldn’t mind, considering the lies you’re telling him about San and me.” 

“Lies?” Seonghwa says sarcastically, “what ever would I lie about?” The question is clearly rhetorical.

But you answer it anyway. “You told him that San and I are together.” 

Seonghwa’s smile grows, “and is that a lie? Aren’t you?” 

“Frankly, it’s not Hongjoong’s business, and it’s not yours, either.”

He brings a hand up to rest under his chin, shrugging his free shoulder. “Difference of opinion. Why should I lie to Hongjoong for you?” 

“Well, San and I aren’t together,” you shrug as well, hoping he’s not picking up on the fact that you’re lying through your teeth. It’s actually a bit… uncomfortable to lie about it like this. You don’t want to have to deny… whatever it is that you have going on with San, but that’s just how it is. You suck it up and hope that Seonghwa can’t see your internal battle as you spit the words out.

Seonghwa bites his lip, “is that so? So he wouldn’t mind if I…” 

You do lean back, then, smacking his elbow out from under him so that his head falls, hopefully shocking him back into reality. “You wish, pervert.” 

He catches his head before he actually hits it on the table, gaping at you, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe that you really just did that. Honestly, you’re kind of surprised that you did it, too. Seonghwa is so fucking tempting. But you’re stronger than that…

“Plus, what would he think,” you tip your head in Hongjoong’s direction, not surprised to see him already staring directly at the two of you. He had been congregating with some of the Followers, but his attention is now clearly occupied, a sneer appearing on his face when he catches you looking. “He already thinks we had sex, no?” 

Seonghwa looks back over his shoulder to glance at Hongjoong, quickly spinning back to face you when he sees the look on his leader’s face. “Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. I had the time of my life trying to explain that I had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.” 

You shrug, “I needed some way to get his mind off of the fact that someone told me about Haneul. It worked.” 

His eyes really go wide, then, “Haneul? Who the fuck told you about Haneul?” 

“You did.” You smile, finally picking your spoon back up to eat some more of your soup. This is a damn good soup, you have to remember to compliment Wooyoung on it… if you guys are on speaking terms. You’re not sure about that. 

Seonghwa groans, also resuming eating his dinner. “I’m going to get my ass handed to me, Princess. Why wouldn’t you just tell him the truth?” He pauses, dropping his spoon back into his soup, “ wait, let me guess. San told you?” 

You shake your head, taking another bite, ignoring his eyes.

“Who else have you been alone with?” 

You shrug again, just to piss him off. 

It doesn’t work. “When San attempted to help Haseul with the escapade last night, did he have someone watch you?” Seonghwa smiles in disbelief. “He really covered his bases. Who was it?” He searches your face as if the answer will be plastered on it. 

It might be, frankly. “It had to have been Wooyoung. Am I right, Princess? Wooyoung watched you? And told you? How on earth did you get that out of him?” 

Staying silent, you opt to keep eating your soup. Wooyoung is the obvious choice, looking at the people that San is close enough to trust with such a secret, so it makes sense that Seonghwa would be able to guess him so easily. But you’re not about to tell Seonghwa that he’s right, so you do your best to keep your face plain. 

“Oh, this is quite fun information. What else did he tell you? Did you see his back?” 

That must be what Wooyoung had been referring to, where his scars are. But, again, you’re not going to ask questions or make Seonghwa believe that he’s right. The last thing that you want to do is throw Wooyoung under the bus for spilling cult secrets that he clearly shouldn’t have. 

Seonghwa leans closer again, whispering, “if I promise to not tell Hongjoong, will you tell me? I’m very curious.” 

You also lean in closer, putting your spoon down once more, “absolutely not. But will you tell me about Haneul?” 

He rolls his eyes, leaning back into his original position. “No, I won’t. She’s quite a sore subject around here.” 

… Yeah, you could’ve guessed that. “Can you at least tell me about Jongho and her?” 

“No?” Seonghwa looks at you like you’ve really lost your mind, “that’s not your business, Princess.” 

“Oh, so their relationship isn’t my business, but my relationship with San is yours?” 

“So you admit to having a relationship with San, then?” Seonghwa smirks, pleased to have finally gotten something out of you.

You sigh, “if you’re jealous, you can just say so.” 

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest, “why on earth would I be jealous of Choi San? If I wanted you so badly, you would be with me.”

You try to make yourself look disgusted at the mere prospect, “that’s bold, even for you.” You say this like the two of you had never been intimate. 

Seonghwa shrugs, looking you up and down before leaning closer once more. “If anything, I’m jealous of his ability to disregard Hongjoong’s orders.” The meaning of this admission isn’t lost on you.

You can’t resist returning the look, letting your eyes linger on the way the sleeves of his shirt strain around his biceps. Personally, you don’t give a damn about Hongjoong’s “orders,” but you’re not about to let Seonghwa win this by giving into him. And you have San to worry about. You lean in closer as well, smiling at Seonghwa. 

“You’re a pervert,” you whisper, keeping the smile plastered on your face. 

Seonghwa smiles, too, despite scoffing at your comment, “that’s really cute, coming from you, Princess.” 

“What is?” San’s voice appears from your side, making the both of you jump backward from each other. 

Seonghwa keeps the nasty smile on his face, looking up at San, “perfect timing, San. If you’d left her alone with me any longer…”

San gives you a puzzled look, sliding onto the seat next to you. He doesn’t get himself a meal, which is… a little strange, but you ignore it, going back to eating your own. 

He ignores Seonghwa’s comment easily. “I couldn’t miss the announcement, could I?” San asks Seonghwa, smiling tightly across the table. 

“Announcement?” You ask, looking between the two of them.

Seonghwa holds a hand up before San can start explaining. “You’ll see, Princess.” He smiles at you like you’re not going to like this announcement at all. “But, San, pray tell, where did you just run off to?” 

San gives you a sideways glance, and you can only imagine that he probably was doing something that you wouldn’t exactly care for. “I had a conversation that needed to be held, privately.” 

Seonghwa raises his eyebrows, “is that so? What ever about? Whomever with?” He asks these questions as if he knows perfectly well their answers, but wants to hear San admit it anyhow. “Why couldn’t your dear (Y/n) be in attendance?” 

You honestly aren’t really sure what San means, but the only explanation that you can think is… he apologized to Mingi? That would honestly make you rather happy, though, so you’re not sure why he wouldn’t want to say it in front of you. Maybe Seonghwa truly doesn’t know, and he wants to keep it that way? You’re honestly not too bothered by the fact that he doesn’t want to say. 

Before San can respond, the cafeteria falls completely silent. 

You twist in your seat to face the front of the room, not at all surprised to see Hongjoong standing there, his hands folded behind his back. He still has that weird outfit on, the ties of the robe dangling down, brushing against his knees with each small movement he makes. 

He looks to you, then, giving you a sideways smile before turning back to address the room. 

“It is with great joy that I make this announcement tonight.” The cafeteria is just as silent as the chapel. You look around, not at all surprised to see that not a single pair of eyes aren’t on Hongjoong. “Finally, we are prepared to start our harvest season.” 

A gentle applause starts, much like the kind you would expect at some sort of… gala, or something. Hongjoong holds a hand up and it immediately halts, everyone in the room once again waiting with baited breath. “Of course, this indicates the start of prosperous times for our group,” he gives you another glance, “but it also invites upon us some of the most troublesome ceremonies and events, as well as opening the door to… unwelcome possibilities.” 

… Yeah, whatever the hell that means. 

“As harvest will commence in the morning, our first event will happen during our morning gathering. I expect everyone to be in attendance, including children and those otherwise excused. It’s important that we are united as a group, as you all very well know.”

Everyone? Does that include Haseul? Surely it does, even if she hasn’t had a Choosing Ceremony. You want to believe that you’ll get to see your friend, but… You’re not sure. Hongjoong probably will keep her from you as long as he can; keep you on his little leash until he’s decided that you’re obedient enough again.

He waits, holding the attention of the room for a second longer, a tense look on his face. “You all must know that I don’t say these things to scare you. But the harvest season is trying for the Sign, and our connection is in peril every second that…” Hongjoong clears his throat around the words. “That we leave it unguarded. Those participating in the morning ceremony will be notified tonight.” 

With that, he turns away from the center of the cafeteria, eyes locking onto your table. Conversation picks back up as he strides toward the three of you, a smile replacing the tenseness. 

“Let me guess,” you say to neither Seonghwa nor San in particular, “I’m about to be notified of something?” 

Seonghwa smirks, “you can be so bright sometimes.” 

“(Y/n)!” Hongjoong calls your name when he’s a few feet away, closing the distance enough to rest a hand on your shoulder before asking, “Are you excited for your first harvest?” 

You blink up at him, amazed that he still even bothers, “you just made it sound like something to be weary of, rather than excited for.” 

He shrugs, squeezing your shoulder once before releasing you to sit next to Seonghwa. “We haven’t covered the Guardians yet.” 

“The what now?” 

Hongjoong waves his hand in the air to dismiss your question, “you’ll learn in due time.”

For a second, you think that Seonghwa even rolls his eyes, but that would be truly unfathomable. You’re happy enough to write off whatever the fuck the ‘Guardians’ are. The last thing you want right now is another lesson in cult lore.

“Anyhow,” he clasps his hands, resting them on the table. “You’ll be participating in the ceremony tomorrow. Its a fun one, too.” 

You look at San, though he’s looking anywhere but at you. Turning back to Hongjoong, you ask, “do I get to know what this ceremony entails ahead of time, or are you going to surprise stab me again?” You’re honestly surprised by how bold you feel, given everything that’s happened. Maybe seeing him cry reduces him a little bit… no, that’s not it. Whatever it was, you’re just not feeling particularly intimidated by Hongjoong at the moment, surprisingly.

Hongjoong waves a hand in the air, “there’s no need to be so dramatic, (Y/n).”

Honestly, you still think it was a fair question. But you feel lucky that he’s clearly in the bantering mood as well.

“You’ve already been Chosen; you won’t have to prove yourself again,” San offers, albeit rather quietly and more so to himself than to you. 

“I feel that its best that you’re prepared for the ceremony,” Hongjoong ignores San’s comment, “Seonghwa can cover it with you.” 

Seonghwa jerks his head toward his leader. “I can? I thought I wa—”

Hongjoong smiles, stopping Seonghwa in his tracks. “You’ll do as I say.”

He only nods in response, turning away from Hongjoong. To your relief, he doesn’t lay a glare on you once more, returning to his meal instead. 

“San, let’s talk privately for a moment,” Hongjoong rises, beckoning San to follow him. San furrows his brows, but stands anyway, following Hongjoong until they’re out of earshot from your table.

You turn your attention back to Seonghwa. “Let me hear it.” 

He drops his spoon again, looking annoyed at the prospect of having to spend anymore time with you. “I need a copy of The Answer to properly explain it.” 

“You’re telling me you don’t keep one on yourself at all times?” 

Seonghwa blinks at you. Leaning back, he unbuttons his jacket, reaching a hand to the inside pocket. Low and behold, he pulls a copy of The Answer from the interior pocket, gently placing it onto the table between you two. 

You had been half joking. 

He buttons his jacket again, sliding his tray away from himself. Wordlessly, he picks up the book, flipping to the back pages before landing on whatever page he was searching for. He turns his wrist, showing you the page.

Highlighted in yellow and underlined maybe five times is the title:

HARVEST PRACTICES

The chapter that follows is broken into a few different sections, from what you can see on the pages in view. The first subtitle reads:

INVOCATION AND PROTECTION

“Your hand is shaking too much for me to read that,” you complain, grabbing the book from Seonghwa’s hands. You slide your own tray away, setting the book on the table to read. 

The text continues.

Perhaps one of the most strenuous times a year comes during harvest season. Though the crop can be bountiful and the blessings many, there are also dangers that follow. This implicates the necessity to instate a protective guard around our group; a ward to protect ourselves so as to protect our Clones. 

On the first day of the harvest, the following ceremony must be conducted to insure safety throughout the season. The steps are outlined here; however HONGJOONG may adapt these provisions as he sees fit per the requirements of the year. 

Typical ceremony regalia should be worn by all Followers. Ten Followers are chosen at random to participate in the ceremony.

Participation is mandatory once selected; certain Followers may be required to participate every year due to their given role in Universe One. 

At 6 A.M. The ceremony begins. The ten Followers link hands in a circle.

They recite the following incantation, taking three steps to the left following each break.

On this day we make our vow.

The Answer is near; we shall not wonder or fear.

I myself am mighty and true. My blood will protect and provide anew

The barrier is weak.

United, we cast away the evil that would do us harm. We uninvite the spirits that dance between this Universe and the next.

Following the incantation, each member shall raise their hands. The ceremonial blade is presented, and each Follower shall gently open their left palm, letting the blood drop into the center of the circle while reciting:

I offer this vessel of myself for the betterment of the community. My blood banishes the evil from them, and calls it toward me. I swear this today and everyday.

At the completion of each vow, the final words will be said:

We call upon you to stay away.

The Sacrifice will then be presented. It is to be left on the altar for one day.

This is the conclusion of the ceremony.

This ceremony is not infallible. Should trouble arise before, during, or after, HONGJOONG and designated Followers will resolve the issue. 

You stop reading, looking up at Seonghwa. “Sacrifice?”

He nods. 

“That’s, like, pretty cliche,” you frown, “and that rhyme sucks.” 

“Be more respectful.” Seonghwa mirrors your frown, “Hongjoong isn’t a poet, he’s a prophet.” 

“Really? I thought he was God?” 

Seonghwa only gives you a more exasperated look, rolling his eyes.

You scan over the ceremony again, trying to make sure you’re getting the details correct. “What’s this about ‘calling the evil towards me?’ And the blood? Is that really necessary?” 

He glances over your shoulder, a relieved expression gracing his features, “San, you have a knack for perfect timing today.”

You turn to look back and, sure enough, San is approaching your table again. 

San looks between you, Seonghwa, and the copy of The Answer in your hands, putting the pieces together. “Questions?” 

“A few,” you mutter, suddenly not very interested. You don’t mind pestering Seonghwa for answers to all of your questions, but you aren’t keen on asking San the same way. “But it can wait. What did Hongjoong want?”

San takes his place next to you again, shrugging as he does so. “He was just letting me know the plan for tomorrow.” 

Seonghwa reaches for his book, plucking it out of your hands before you can respond to San. “I trust you won’t be needing my copy, anymore.” 

Resisting the urge to mock him, you respond to San instead. “Such as…?”

“When to be there, how to help you dress, so on.” 

So on… Why does it feel like there’s a lot more emphasis on the ending of that list? They had been gone for a good five minutes, there had to be more than that, surely. Why wouldn’t San tell you the whole truth? What good would that do for him? 

You stay quiet, trying to ignore your suspicions. If you can’t trust San, who can you trust? 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

It turns out that you have to wake up significantly more early than usual.

San shakes you awake at four, ignoring your pleas for five more minutes. “I waited as long as I could, (Y/n).” 

You grumble and moan, but find it in yourself to get out of bed. For Haseul. That’s what you tell yourself. All of this is for Haseul. Your cooperation is for her. Had she not been here, you’d be kicking and screaming the whole way. 

But, unfortunately, Hongjoong figured out how to play you like a damn fiddle. So here you are, tugging on the same black dress pants that you had put on… what, three weeks ago? A month ago? Longer? You have no idea. 

You manage to button your shirt correctly this time, though your face burns at the memory of Seonghwa having to help you dress. What had happened to you? You never would have thought that the day would come where you would voluntarily wear this… cult regalia. 

San watches, already fully dressed by the time that he woke you up. You have to admit that he looks handsome in all black, the clothes clearly tailored to fit him. Two or three silver necklaces hang down his chest, matching rings gracing his fingers. He hasn’t put his mask on, yet, or his hat, leaving his features exposed in the security of your apartment. 

“Let me help,” he offers, squatting to his knees to help you tie your boots as you pull them on. He ties your right shoe as you tie your left, lacing them with the deftness of well-trained hands. 

Of course, he finishes before you do. He takes over tying your left shoe, smiling up at you as you yield the laces to him. “Thank you.” 

He only pats your knee, standing back up and offering his hand to you. You take it and rise as well, glancing at the clock. 4:29. 

The ceremony starts at 6. You’re not really sure why you have to be in positions so early, but… whatever. You’re not going to fight it. You can do this, you’re sure of it. For Haseul, you’ll do it. 

San opens the wardrobe, grabbing your two hats off of the top shelf. Had you ever noticed them sitting there? You’re not sure. Maybe someone had brought them in. 

He hands you yours, swirling his around on his finger instead of putting it on. “How are you feeling?” 

You put the hat on. “Fine.” 

“You sure?” He sounds genuine enough, and you don’t doubt that he’s at least a little worried for you. And, obviously, given the circumstances with Haseul… 

“I just hope I don’t fuck up.” 

San frowns, reaching for your hand. You let him take it. 

“Everything will be fine,” he promises, rubbing your hand with his. “It’ll be over before you know it!” 

Forcing a smile, you nod. He’s probably right. If you just grit your teeth and bare it, the whole thing will be over as quickly as you can say the stupid little incantation. There’s no reason to be afraid or worried. 

… That’s what you really want to believe. But you can’t bring yourself to think that it will actually be that easy. Something is going to happen. Something bad. You’re sure of it, now, in this moment. You’re more sure of it than anything else. 

Hongjoong won’t just let this happen. He won’t just let this pan out easily. He has something planned, and you’re sure that it’s something terrible…

The sacrifice mentioned in the steps… you had never had the chance to ask about it. Something is going to happen then, you’re sure. At the moment of the sacrifice or the moment that it’s presented, it’s going to be something beyond even your imagination. 

Hongjoong’s insanity knows no bounds, and that is something that you know for a positive fact. He can’t just have something go well or normally when you’re involved. He will have to stick his fingers in the pie, have to meddle to make something happen. 

Your stomach flips as you consider the possibilities. You suddenly feel woozy. 

“Hey,” San calls your attention back to the moment at hand, grabbing your other arm with his free hand. “Are you alright?” 

You blink at him, “Just a little lightheaded is all.” 

“Do you want something to eat?” He starts to pull you toward the kitchenette, but the thought of eating only makes your stomach feel heavier. 

Planting your feet, you shake your head. “No, no, I’m fine. I just want to get this over with.”

You’re not lying. If something is going to happen (when something is going to happen), you would rather just have it be done and have it be over. 

Whatever it is, you’re sure that you can survive it. You’ve made it this far without losing your wits or dying, you’re sure that you can make it through a ten minute ordeal. Even if it is particularly nasty or horrible. 

Fuck, you just hope the sacrifice isn’t a person. You’re, like, sixty percent sure that it won’t be, but… that forty percent is still a question mark. At least you know it won’t be you. 

That’s probably not the right mindset. But, hey, that’s life, isn’t it? 

San looks between you and the clock, looking disappointed. “I guess we don’t really have time, anyhow. I’m sorry.” He apologizes, dropping his hands from you. 

You brush off the apology, following him as he leaves the room and approaches your door. 

“You’re sure that you’re okay?” San asks again, pausing by your front door. “I can make up some excuse if I have to.” 

You don’t have to force a smile, this time. “I’m going to be fine as soon as this is over.” 

He nods in acceptance, opening the door and holding it open for you.

The two of you head to the chapel in silence, other Followers wearing their all-black regalia crowding the hallways and stairwells. A few people smile and wave at you, though you can’t really say that you recognize them. 

As you squeeze through the halls, you wonder where Haseul is being kept. In one of the single rooms, you’re sure, but which one… 

You almost have the urge to start knocking on every door on the women’s floor, jangle each doorknob and greet each person until you find her…

But that would be silly, and you know that. You’d only be punished if you went looking for her. Worse, she would probably be punished for your stupidity, too. 

That’s not going to happen. 

So you fight the feeling, just as you fought your panic. Your stomach is still a wreck as you follow San. You don’t hold his hand, not in public, but you wish that you could grab him for some semblance of comfort. 

He would take your hand if you tried, you realize. Clearly, he doesn’t have much of an issue speaking about your relationship, at least with Mingi. 

The memory of their argument brings a sour expression to your face. You’re still not very pleased with how San had acted, or with how Mingi had, either. Even after the apology… 

And San never confirmed that he apologized to Mingi. Well, you had never asked him. 

But whatever. That has to be a problem for another day, for another you. Or at least for the you of three hours from now. You can’t go into this being pissed at basically the only two people that you like here. 

That doesn’t give much credit to Nayeon or Yunho or Wooyoung or Yeosang, you realize, but whatever. You don’t need to be debating who your friends are and who your friends aren’t.

After what happened with Wooyoung, anyways, would you really consider him a friend? Had you really processed any of what he had told you? What the fuck.

Your head swims with the reality of everything that has been happening to you in the past couple days. You’ve experienced enough goddamn trauma to let Dr. Phil run another 12 seasons on you alone. Fucking hell. Literally what the fuck.

You finally reach the big doors, relishing the feeling of stepping into the cool outside air. The hallways had been stuffy with the weight of all of the Followers, and the sudden breeze is refreshing; especially given your fucking outfit. 

The sun hasn’t even poked above the horizon, yet. You wouldn’t even call it dawn. But you don’t have to squint to make out the chapel in this distance. 

The sea of Followers in front of you lead the way to the holy place, a swarm of black across the farm. 

You wonder how many of them there really are. If Hongjoong said that everyone had to attend this ceremony… fuck. There’s a lot of people. Just the people you can see outside seem to outnumber what you would have originally thought. 

How in the world had Hongjoong recruited so many people? 

How many of these people actually believed every word that he said? You’d have to assume most of them. What would they do to make him happy? To keep him happy? 

The thought sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine, only making your stomach worse.

The walk isn’t long, and you soon find yourself passing the doors that are being held open by the swarm of people crowding through them. 

It’s fuller than you’ve ever seen it, the chapel. Some people are already seated in the pews, chatting with their peers. The majority of the Followers, however, are still standing, mingling in the aisle.

You follow San’s lead, presuming that he’ll take you wherever you need to be. He goes about halfway to the front of the chapel, stopping in a less-populated area of the aisle in what you assume is an attempt to make you calmer. You’re not sure that it helps, but you appreciate the gesture, anyhow.

You wonder who the other Followers that were chosen for the ceremony are. Will anyone that you know be up there to comfort you? It probably wouldn’t make a difference, but at least one familiar face would be welcome. 

As you glance around the room, you find your eyes tugging toward the Sign of the Answer, the huge one on the wall. Hongjoong’s chair is gone in preparation for the ceremony, so you’re able to see it in all of its glory. Per usual, the chapel is lit by candles, and the light glints off of the Sign exactly how you remember it looking the night that you had been Chosen. The memory makes you more nervous.

San puts a hand on your arm, calling your attention back to him. You glance at his face first, only to see him looking ahead as someone approaches. For a split second, you’re worried that its going to be Mingi. 

But it’s only Wooyoung, you realize. 

He stops in front of you, two glasses in his hands. “Hello,” he greets you, looking between the two of you.

San returns the hello, but you can’t bring yourself to respond. Something about the sight of him disturbs you. And the glasses in his hands.

He gets straight to business.

“Drink this,” Wooyoung holds out a champagne glass filled with something that is decidedly not champagne. Instead of sparkling, yellow liquid, this is a flat, blood red. 

You hesitantly take the stem, tilting the glass to watch the liquid move. Thankfully, it doesn’t actually seem to be blood. You take a sniff, not all that surprised to smell the familiar red wine scent. 

“It’s just wine. For the nerves.”

Shrugging, you take a sip. He’s not lying, but… “Last time you fed me in this room you also drugged me.” 

Wooyoung mirrors your shrug. “Don’t drink it then.”

You glance at San, who also shrugs. 

“Well fuck it, then.” In an action reminiscent of your college days, you down the glass; ignoring the bitterness as best you can. 

Wooyoung takes the glass back from you. “Good luck, then.” 

He excuses himself, wandering back into the crowd with the other glass. You assume that he’s handing them out to all of the participating Followers, but you opt to stop watching him to look back at San.

“Do you think that was drugged?” You ask San, rubbing your palms on your jacket. 

His eyes go wide, “I wouldn’t have let you drink it if I thought it was!” 

“I’m not sure I trust Hongjoong that much.” 

“I do.” San puts a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it gently. His words don’t offer you any comfort, but the hand is pleasant enough.

Well, you’ll know soon enough, anyhow. Maybe this would all go a lot more smoothly if you were drugged, somehow. Your heart feels like a damn jackhammer in your chest.

You try to look around, wanting to spot any familiar face in the crowd for any sense of comfort. It’s just so damn hard with everyone dressed like the fucking grim reaper. You think that you spot Nayeon, briefly, her long brown hair contrasting beautifully to the fitted black of her coat. 

Yunho is hard to miss, his height only exaggerated by the hat atop his head. You’re not entirely sure where you stand with him, though, given your place with Mingi. If Mingi’s still pissed at you (which, to give him credit, you’re not sure if he is), Yunho probably is too. 

Speaking of Mingi, he approaches Yunho, his own height rather hard to miss in the crowd. He grabs his friend’s shoulder, exclaiming something that’s a bit too quiet for you to make out. But you know Mingi’s voice when you hear it. 

After this, you have to talk to Mingi. Even though you might be a little… upset? Disappointed? At his outburst and his childish behavior, you have to make things right by him. Yunho, too, you suppose. 

You still hold out hope that Haseul will make an appearance, though you’re sure Hongjoong made arrangements to keep her away. Though… if Mingi is here, who's watching her? It probably wouldn’t be hard to find someone else, but someone else that Hongjoong trusted that much… that’s a different story. You know that you should probably just drop it, but there’s something in you that feels like she’ll show up… you certainly have a lot of feelings, this morning. 

A hand wraps around your elbow, startling you. You don’t have to look to recognize Hongjoong, his touch alone enough to identify him, burning hot even through your jacket.

“(Y/n),” he purrs, holding you close to him, “how are you feeling?” 

You try to pull your arm away, to no avail. “Like I’m going to be sick.” 

Hongjoong laughs, “you’ll be completely fine. You’re not the sacrifice.” 

That doesn’t do anything to calm your nerves. That’s not what you’re worried about. And you’d rather not have to play one of his stupid games. “I have a sense that some anvil is about to fall on my head.” 

“Hmmm,” he hums, “maybe. Maybe not. It depends on what you’re picturing.”

“I’m picturing what you wrote in The Answer.” You force the words out through gritted teeth. It’s so fucking annoying when he does this; when he doesn’t just speak his mind. You’d much prefer him telling you that, yeah, you’re about to be grievously harmed than have him just dangle the thought in front of your eyes.

“Well, either way, I’m sure you understand what will happen if you disrupt the ceremony.” Hongjoong’s voice is laced with that sickening smile of his, “or if you fail to complete your part in it.” 

He’s right, he doesn’t need to remind you in the slightest. You can only imagine the fear that Haseul is in right now, but your own fear for her must be ten times worse. The idea of Hongjoong putting his hands on her makes your gut churn.

The fact that he backed you into such a perfect corner is almost sickening. It pisses you off to no end. Why did he have to bring her into this? Not that you would want him to use this treatment on Mingi, but, like, fuck, he at least already had him here. Was it really necessary to involve a completely innocent girl? 

If you didn’t care what happened to her, you might just spit in the man’s face at this very second. 

“I get it, Hongjoong.” 

“Then you’ll do great!” He releases your arm, opting to pat your shoulder a couple times. “Simply stick to the outline. Do your part. And it’ll be over quickly.” 

You take a deep breath, “Hongjoong,” you hope that saying his name will make him listen to you, “can I see her, afterword?” 

His hand stops on your shoulder, squeezing. “Let’s see how you fare, first.” His voice seems harder with these words, more sharp. Hopefully that wasn’t some sort of huge overstep to him. 

He cuts off the conversation at that, leaving your side to rejoin the crowd of Followers. He’s wearing the same outfit he had been wearing yesterday, the shiny material catching the light of the candles ever so as he moves. 

“San,” you turn toward where San was standing, only to find him gone. You whirl around in a circle in a way that must look comical, searching for where he could have gone off to. He doesn’t appear to be in your near vicinity, somehow completely, wordlessly disappeared. 

Dread swirls in your stomach. You were going to ask him if he knew what the sacrifice was going to be, finally reminded.

As if commanded by some outside force, the majority of the Followers suddenly stop their conversations. The room falls silent as people make their ways to their usual pews, sliding silently into their seats. 

Per usual, you’ve been left out of the loop. 

Without San to guide you into place, you really have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing. You look toward the front of the chapel, expecting to find Hongjoong glaring at you, but not even he is there to tell you what to do. 

Looking around to the other Followers that are still standing, you’re mildly surprised to see Yunho only a couple feet away. He catches your eye, tipping his head toward the front of the room in signal. He starts walking, so you start walking. 

You’re hyper aware of the sound of your footsteps on the wood floors, your boots clicking with each step. Yunho’s do, too. The steps are the only sound in the chapel. 

With bated breath, you reach the front of the room. You glance toward your usual pew, hoping to see San sitting in your spot. He’s not, however, only making the rock in your stomach that much heavier. 

Yunho steps up onto the little stage, offering you his hand to help with the step up. You take it, joining him and turning toward the congregation of Followers. From this angle, you can see… it takes you a second to count the heads… eight other Followers approaching the stage. You try to find Hongjoong among them, but he’s not there. Neither is San.

After what feels like forever, Yunho and yourself are joined by the others. You read this part, you feel okay about it. Well, not okay okay, but, like, you know. At least you know what to expect. 

Yunho grabs your left hand, as someone you can’t recall the name of takes the place to your right; taking that hand into theirs. 

The ten of you link into a circle, hand-in-hand. 

You had kind of expected there to be more guidance from Hongjoong in this process. A narration or a sort of sermon over the top of your actions, but Hongjoong remains unseen and unheard as the Followers around you start their recitation. 

“On this day we make our vow,” you don’t jump into the speech until the next sentence, unsure of how they knew that it was time to start. “From henceforth we pledge ourselves.”

You take three steps to your left. The Sign of the Answer twinkles in your peripheral vision. The Followers in the pews have their heads bowed. 

“The Answer is near. We shall not wonder or fear.” 

Three more steps. 

“I myself am mighty and true. My blood will protect and provide anew.” 

Three more steps to the left. This time, you almost step on Yunho’s toes. You try to look at the other Followers in your circle, but their heads are similarly bowed. You look back down at your feet. You’re lightheaded. 

“The barrier is weak.”

Your hands float upwards, along with the rest of the circle’s. Still connected, everyone’s hands hang in the air of the center of the circle. 

“United, we cast away the evil that would do us harm. We uninvite the spirits that dance between this Universe and the next.” 

Someone, you’re not sure who, breaks the circle first. Your eyes are closed, you realize. You open them only when Yunho’s hand leaves your own; barely hearing his hushed whispering at your side. Before you know it, the knife is in your own hands. 

It’s already sparkling with blood. At least Yunho’s. The lowlight makes it hard to see, but the Sign of the Answer does a beautiful job of illuminating just enough to reawaken your nausea. What the fuck is happening, right now? What the fuck are you about to do?

Yunho’s blood drips down the blade and onto your hand. It’s warm. 

You’re sure that you’re going to faint. 

But you hold the blade to your left hand, anyways, saying the words as quietly as you can. Surely, this is all just some batshit insane cult ceremony, but the weight of speaking them outloud is still sickening. 

“I offer this vessel of myself for the betterment of the community. My blood banishes the evil from them, and calls it toward me. I swear this today and everyday.” 

You swipe the blade across your palm, handing it off to the Follower next to you as fast as you can manage. You close your eyes again. Your hand burns. You almost think that you can hear your blood, dropping from your palm and hitting the floor.

At some point, the last person finishes. The knife clatters to the floor, the only sound in the chapel. You know to take three more steps to the left. And to finish the words. 

“We call upon you to stay away.” 

The scream makes you open your eyes. 

Disorientated, you realize that you’re facing away from the crowd, staring directly at the Sign. But it’s not glowing anymore. 

You turn around, blinded. Every candle in the chapel has gone out.

Was that the source of the scream? The lights going out? What the fuc—

The door behind the stage slams open. You jump again, spinning back as though you’d be able to see anything, anyhow. 

Someone in the audience wails. 

Are they seeing something that you’re not? Your heart pounds hard, so so hard. Is this panic? The spell? A heart attack? 

You need to sit down. Yunho grabs your hand before you can stumble off of the stage. He pulls you behind him, keeping the arm behind his back to hold you there. 

You fist the back of his coat, probably soiling the material with your blood, but it’s all you can do to keep yourself standing upright. The urge to vomit hits you again, but you prevail, closing your eyes as tight as you can. 

Is this supposed to happen? This wasn’t in the outline. Are you meant to feel like such shit right now?

How did all of the candles go out?

Who the fuck is interrupting? 

Something, or someone, drops in the middle of the circle. 

You open your eyes again, peering around Yunho. The rest of the circle had stayed in place. 

At the center of your circle, now, is a head. 

Not a human head, thank God, but a pig’s. Your stomach still revolts, still tumbling over and over itself as you slide back into your spot in the circle. You clamp onto Yunho’s hand like its the only thing that you’ve ever known, grounding yourself the only way that you can. 

Its still so dark. You close your eyes again

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do now. Is it over? You hope to God that its over. You can’t take another goddamned minute of thi—

You open your eyes at the same instant that Yunho yells. Everything happens so fucking fast. 

Yunho falls backward, off of the stage. You process this secondly. Chiefly, however, your attention is caught by the figure now in front of you, where the pig head had been seconds before. 

It’s huge. You can’t comprehend it entirely, what it is that you’re seeing. It doesn’t even look human. It grabs your now vacant hand, pulling you away from the Followers. 

There’s a collective scream behind you, and you’re not surprised to realize that you’re also screaming. 

You try to look into the face. But it doesn’t have a face. It’s nothing. Is this death? 

You’re falling backwards, now. Before you know it, you’re on the ground, curling in on yourself.

Someone turns the overhead lights on. You cradle your hands to your chest, aware of the fact that you’re crying. The tears are hot on your cheeks. The blood is hot on your hands. The feeling of that, that, fucking thing making you want to retch. 

What the fuck was that? What the fuck? 

Hongjoong appears at your side, his face blurry. From your tears, from the panic? You’re not sure. 

He asks if you’re okay. You can’t answer him. You close your eyes again.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

In your sleep, you see it again. 

Even in this instance, you can’t tell what it is. It’s shaped like a person, but you can’t look directly at it. You know that if you look, it won’t have a face.

In your dream, it’s even bigger than it was. It towers over you, grabbing you over and over, your screaming and begging doing nothing to appease it. 

You can see its hands as they reach, as they latch onto you. They’re white. But they’re not skin. It’s cloth, you realize, gloves. 

The rest of it is white, too. But it certainly doesn’t look like clothing. You couldn’t ever explain it to someone if they asked, and you’re much too terrified to go digging into the details. 

All you know is that it doesn’t have a face. It’s not natural. Every part of you hates every part of this thing. 

You want to wake up.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

And so you do, in the infirmary. 

The first thing you see are the familiar ceiling tiles. The second thing is Hongjoong.

You startle awake, twitching in on yourself as you try to sit up. 

Hongjoong sucks in a breath, though he doesn’t get to his feet to help you. He’s still wearing that outfit. 

You’re still wearing yours, you realize. The pants rub uncomfortably against the blanket laying over you. You’re able to sit up easily enough, and you’re relieved to realize that nothing hurts. You feel fine.

“So, do you believe me now?” Hongjoong asks once you’re up, but he’s not smiling in triumph as you would’ve imagined.

“What the fuck was that thing?” 

Hongjoong sighs, “Exactly what I was trying to protect us from. A guardian.”

You blink at him, dumbfounded. There’s literally no fucking way in hell that Hongjoong has been right about any of this. He’s insane. He is fully, entirely, batshit insane. 

You can’t explain away whatever the fuck just happened, but you’re not about to accept that he’s been telling you the truth. That there are alternate universes and demons that can jump between them. That’s not real life. That’s not how the world works. 

Whatever just happened, whatever that was, there’s a reasonable explanation. Surely. 

Though you can’t imagine what that explanation would be, it must exist. The last fucking thing in the world that you’re going to do now is believe in Hongjoong. Like, what the fuck? What the fuck? Why would you fucking believe in a fucking religion that has fucking faceless demons fucking running around freely? You wouldn’t. You refuse. You will not. 

Even if that is the only explanation for the thing in white, you are not going to believe it. You would sooner believe that you have a hallucination disorder than accept that Hongjoong is right about anything. 

Thinking about it, you probably would have to have some sort of psychosis to accept any of this. But, then again, this is exactly the sort of thing that would trigger psychosis… 

You’re thinking way too fucking hard about this. It is simple. Hongjoong is a freak.

“Where’s San?” The question is natural. 

Hongjoong raises his eyebrows, “Interesting follow-up question. I thought it best to separate you two for now.” 

“Why?” 

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, he stands up. “How is your hand?” 

You had honestly forgotten about it. Holding it up, you examine your bandage. “Fine.” 

The two of you stay in silence. Hongjoong seems mad. 

“Is that really all you’re going to ask?” He asks, almost sounding whiny. Like a child. 

It’s certainly all you’re going to ask him. He’ll only lie to you. “Can I see Seonghwa?” You ask instead.

Hongjoong scoffs. He brushes his hair back, looking around the room as if he’s expecting some live studio audience to empathize with him. “I know you’re not fucking him.” 

You shrug. “Are you okay, Hongjoong?” 

His face falls flat. He crosses his arms over his chest, turning to fully face you again. “I’m great.” The words are strained. You’ve never known Hongjoong to be a bad liar. 

“You seem kinda pissed.” 

“I am not—” He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to his forehead. “I’m fine. I’ll have Seonghwa come visit, since you clearly won’t be speaking to me.” He says this like he expects you to apologize. But what the hell would you apologize for? 

Hongjoong leaves without another word once it becomes clear that you won’t be giving him what he wants. You’re sure that he expected more crying, more fear, more begging and pleading for answers. 

You save that for once you’re sure that he’s gone.

Trembling, you pull your knees to your chest. Your fingers twitch with fear, your hair feels foreignly heavy, your wrist burns and burns where the thing had touched you. 

You refuse to believe that it was real. It cannot be real. None of this can be real. There was some trick, some show, some plan that you weren’t privy to. Seonghwa will tell you. He’ll have to tell you. He’s honest, most of the time. He’ll explain it away, he’ll tell you how Hongjoong did it and why it seemed so real. 

Where was its face? 

How had they done that? Where the fact should have been, there was nothing. You couldn’t even say that it was a color. It was a void. An emptiness. There was nothing there. 

The memory makes you dizzy. You lean back against the pillows, praying to God that you’re not going insane. Had you really seen that? You couldn’t have. Because that’s just not something that’s possible. 

If Seonghwa can’t explain this, you might go crazy. You might. What else is there to do? It wasn’t real. But the fear that you’re feeling now certainly is. 

What if it comes back? What if they make it come back? What was it? Where was its face? 

Even though whatever the fuck that was wasn’t real, the memory certainly is. You’re going to be lucky to sleep soundly one night for the rest of your damn life. What the fuck. 

Seonghwa lets himself into the room only a few minutes after Hongjoong had left. 

“You like me so much that you ask for me now?” He smirks, approaching your side. 

His face falls flat when he takes a good look at you. “Stop that. Why are you crying?” 

“Seonghwa.” You feel that it’s quite obvious why you’re crying. 

He only blinks at you. 

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice shakes with the question. 

“I—” He starts, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Its complicated.” 

You cover your face with your hands. “Was it real? Just be honest.” 

You can’t see his reaction to your question, and he doesn’t answer it, either. 

“What was it?” You moan, hardly able to even spit the words out. To basically admit to Seonghwa that you were scared.

“I think it would be better if you talked to Hongjoo—”

“I am not talking to Hongjoong!” 

You take your hands away from your face, needing to look at him. You hate him. You hate him more than fucking anything. Why can’t he just be honest? Why is he Hongjoong’s little fucking doll? Why does he worship him to such a degree when he’s this fucking evil? Where would he draw the line? 

Seonghwa is stunned into silence. He only stares down at you.

“All I can say is that I didn’t know it was going to happen.” 

He looks blurry through your tears, only making you angrier as you recall Hongjoong looking the same way.

“Stop bullshitting me, please, Seonghwa,” you beg. “I think I’ll go insane if you don’t fucking answer me.” 

He turns away from your bed, striding to one of the medicine cabinets in an attempt to look anywhere but your face. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead momentarily. 

“What do you want to hear?” He asks, turning back toward you, though he keeps his distance. “Would you rather know what Hongjoong is capable of or would you rather keep the comforting thought that he’s right? Wouldn’t that just be easier for everybody?” 

“You’re saying that Hongjoong can do things scarier than the thought of fucking interdimensional demons being real?” You throw your hands out in front of you, almost yelling in frustration. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! Yes!” Seonghwa matches your tone. “He’s only going to come at you harder. He exists to make you break! Just fucking accept the truth for what he says that it is, and everything will come easily!” 

“I’m not going to do that!” 

Seonghwa laughs bitterly. “I’m sure you believe that, too, Princess.” 

You stare back at him, sure that you look insane. “Can you be genuine for one fucking second?” 

His face contorts into a scowl. “I’ve never been anything but genuine with you. You’re the one that deludes yourself.” He strides back to the door, freezing in the frame. “Is there anything else you wish to fling at me?” 

“I’m taking this to mean that it wasn’t real.” 

“If that helps you sleep at night.” 

Seonghwa leaves. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Can you bear some girl time? You’re not sure as Nayeon lets herself in, walking casually into the room as if the literal antichrist of her religion didn’t just make a physical appearance before her. 

“How are we feeling?” She asks, dragging out the vowel sounds in her question. 

“Uhm,” you look at your hand, the only injured part of your body, “fine, I guess.” 

“Perfect!” She smiles, reaching out to put her hand under yours. “The bandage looks fine. I don’t think it’ll reopen.” 

Nayeon had found time to change her clothes. She’s back to her usual farm girl outfit, smiling and happy. 

“Are you alright, Nayeon?” You ask, curious to know what a regular Follower made of what the fuck happened. 

She frowns, and then shrugs, and then smiles again. “I mean, it was, like, a bit scary. But Hongjoong made it go away, and he’s always with us, so it’s not like it can come back to hurt us. I was definitely scared at first, but then he showed up and I knew it would be okay.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, slowly. Nayeon has always been a valuable source of information for you. 

“It was just so valiant; do you remember how he saved you?” She giggles, “he still has it going for you. It’s amazing.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t say that I remember much…” Other than the fucking maw of emptiness. 

“Oh, well I got you.” She pulls up one of her rolling stools, sitting herself down right next to your bed. “So the ceremony went great. Textbook, really. But as it was finishing… I guess I’m not really sure how it happened, either. Like, one second everything was fine, and the next Yunho was on the ground— he’s fine, by the way; wind knocked out of him, but yeah, anyways— and the Guardian was there and everyone was screaming, it was so scary. I guess it grabbed you… and then Hongjoong appeared and it was like his presence just scared it away. I didn’t see what happened exactly… but the next thing I knew you were on the ground and Hongjoong was hollering for my help.” 

She shrugs. 

What you gather from that is that she didn’t see how it got there or how it left. Good signs, probably. She’d certainly remember seeing something… appear out of thin air. You almost want to smile. What a silly thought, that that could have all been real… haha… ha… yeah, funny…

“I see…” You respond, not sure what you’re supposed to say, “how much time has passed?” 

Nayeon looks at her watch, “like, three hours.” 

Great. Perfect, actually. It would be very unfortunate to find out that you had been unconscious for a week again, especially given the circumstances with Haseul. She’s probably already freaking out, but not hearing anything from you for a week… 

Is Hongjoong going to let you see her? After your brush with death? It wasn’t your fault that… whatever happened happened. Like, he planned that, not you. Surely he can’t hold this over your head. If anything, you basically almost just got kidnapped into a parallel universe, he should be treating you very kindly, right? 

Asshole. He’s probably going to bitch and moan for the next week about you not being scared of him. Fucking asshat. 

But… God, ugh, this is all so frustrating. On one hand, you’re pissed at him for, you don’t know, literally everything that he’s ever done to you, maybe? But on the other, you know that you’re going to have to play by his rules to get him to leave Haseul alone. Or, well, at least as alone as he can.

When is she going to have a Choosing ceremony, you wonder? Yours didn’t take very long… 

Well, if he doesn’t let you see her after this, at least you have that to… tentatively look forward to… ew, you don’t even want to be thinking like that. 

Nayeon stands at your side, bringing you back. 

You don’t realize why until you look behind her, only to spot Yunho standing near the doorway. 

He’s changed out of his clothes, thankfully. But just seeing him is enough to flood your mind with the thought of the thing, your stomach lurching over again as he welcomes himself into the room, clearing his throat. 

Nayeon pats his shoulder as she walks past him, excusing herself. Yunho stops at the foot of your bed. 

You have to admit that he might be one of the last people you would have expected to visit you, now. You had been thinking it before everything happened, but you don’t really think he has any lost love for you, given your circumstances with Mingi. 

“Thank you,” you break the silence, forcing the words out before you can think better of them, “for, uhm, trying to help me. And, I mean, actually helping me, too.” You can’t forget that he had kept you standing when the sacrifice was presented. How ruined is his coat?

He awkwardly looks at his hands, which are gripping the rail at the end of your bed. “Don’t mention it.” His voice is so meager that you barely can hear him. 

Yunho doesn’t look up. You’re not sure what else to say. So you speak without thinking, again. “How’s Mingi?” 

He peeks up at you, but then goes right back to staring down. “He’s… uhm, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

He pries his hands off of the rail, but then stares at them like he’s unsure that they’re even his hands. Tucking his hands behind his back, he continues, though he still doesn’t look straight at you, “I, uhm, yeah. Mingi is worried about you, and I think his worry came off the wrong way to you and San.” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod, slowly, and semi-sarcastically. You could’ve guessed that. “He has an interesting way of showing it.” 

Yunho takes a deep breath, “He doesn’t know that I’m here. I just thought that I would try and explain his side of things. From his perspective, he is the reason that you’re here and he feels guilty for that; but he’s also pissed that you’ve gotten close with San so quickly, because he doesn’t like him and he feels like you won’t take his concerns seriously.” 

“I don’t see what there is to be concerned about,” you plainly state, “do you have something against San, Yunho? Any reason at all to believe that Mingi could have reason to suspect that he’s not what he shows me?” 

Yunho startles when you say his name, like someone barely inhabiting their own body. “I mean, no. I think Mingi is probably just projecting his fear onto San, but don’t tell him I said that.” 

“Exactly. So why should I have to cater to Mingi’s ego?” The words sound harsh even as you say them, but its a genuine question. You don’t have much reason to believe that San would ever do anything to hurt you… besides him being someone that Hongjoong clearly trusts, but, like, you’ve been over that a million times before. 

Yunho just shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe you would hear me out, since I know it’s hard for you to be alone with Mingi.” He stops his nervous fidgeting, finally looking directly at you. “I wasn’t nice to you because I harbor any sweetness towards you, for the record. I don’t even care that you’re the new object of Hongjoong’s affection. I only tried to help because I knew that, if I didn’t, Mingi would have.” His voice is harder than you’ve ever heard it; a shocking contrast to how he had been speaking just moments earlier. He maintains eye contact with you, his eyes dark. 

You’re the one to look away, this time, disturbed by what he said. What a very random and slightly disturbing thing to say. 

When you look back up at him, Yunho is already nervously looking around the room. His hands are in front of him again as he plays with his fingers. 

“Well,” you clear your throat, “thanks anyways, Yunho.” 

“Yep,” is all he says before leaving your room, basically running. 

… That was strange. Very strange. 

Nayeon doesn’t return. You’re left alone, puzzling over that entire interaction.

What… what was the point of that? Like, okay, sure you can get him wanting to try and vouch for Mingi. But… uhm??? The last part? What? Why was that so ominous? Huh? 

You had never known Yunho to be particularly timid… or… rude… This all is just very weird. Maybe even weirder than the fake demon situation. 

No, scratch that, definitely not any weirder than that. That one is gonna keep you awake for a while. A good while. But Yunho’s behavior was definitely not his usual, which is almost concerning. Almost… only because you suppose that you don’t really know him that well. Maybe he’s only really nice and outgoing to strangers… 

That wouldn’t make sense, either. 

Whatever, you really can’t be worrying about that right now. You have priorities. 

Priorities of which you would list, at least in your head, if San didn’t come barreling through the door the next moment. 

You startle, shocked by his sudden appearance. He’s changed, but he doesn’t look great. His hair is a mess, his lip is split, his shirt is untucked in places.

He reaches out for you, and you reach him halfway, grabbing his forearms as he grabs yours. Wordlessly, he looks over your face hastily, pressing his lips to yours before you can ask what happened. 

Your lips part, and he puts his forehead on yours. “We need to get out of here. As soon as possible.” 

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i audibly let out a squeal when I saw the new chapter had been posted, and inadvertently woke up my dog.

mists of celeste ➻ 50

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language ➻ summary: Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act seven ➻ part two

​​​

The transport can barely hold the entirety of your crew as it stands now — your extra guests included — and it makes for a rather cramped setting. Part of that feeling could be due to how San stands close to you still, his hand overlapping yours on the handle hanging down from the ceiling of the vehicle as you stick to the edges where it gives you a clear view out the windows. Hongjoong’s figure lingers in your peripherals, seated not far from where you’ve parked yourself, but as the rest of the crew fidgets to make themselves comfortable, San shifts to block your line of sight with the captain. You turn to the right and look across the transport. Mirroring you on the opposite end stands both Berserkers, but it’s Mingi who you make direct eye contact with. In a movement that’s invisible to all but prying eyes, he shakes his head every so slightly left and right.

It’s a pointless gesture, as you had already settled to resign yourself to the fate Hongjoong laid out for you in this mission. Maybe he’s simply warning you against fighting back again. Maybe he’s answering some unknown question you haven’t even thought to ask yet. He knows more than he lets on, that much is true, and now you know it for certain given his presence at the pinnacle of your humiliation thus far.

You’ve been asking yourself what your defiance is for a great many times since sharing that conversation with him, however, for better or for worse. The answer is always the same anyway.

The transport lurches as it moves off the dock. Far below, the waters running through the gorge glisten with the sunshine reflecting off its surface. Though a vibrant bright green, the color appears more milky than it is clear even at this distance, and thick tendrils of fog paint the darker corners of the base of the gorge. A far cry from the beauty you saw waiting across the dock, what lies below doesn’t look at all inviting.

Beside you, San is picking at a loose thread on his form-fitting top, and you lightly swat his hand away from the spot before he pulls a hole in the fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs just quietly enough to avoid prying ears.

“Hey,” you echo back. Silently, you push your body closer to his until you’re close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

San presses his cheek against the side of your head.

“Just like any other mission. You’ve got this.”

“One without you. And Seonghwa.”

San tuts gently as he leans further down to your ear. “But with Jongho and Mingi.” He passes you as reassuring a smile as he can manage, and it does little to ease the bundle of nerves coiling in your gut. Your brief time in the open air on this planet was enough to make your skin crawl and itch. “I would go if I could,” he continues, and his gaze flits like he wants to look back over his shoulder at his captain but thinks better of it at the last second.

The barge lurches to a halt, and you lay a hand against San’s jacket to keep yourself steady when your body threatens to throw you backward. He covers your fingers with his own, remaining that way until everyone has filed out of the transport. A man stands beside the doors, though he isn’t much of a friendly face with the way a scowl seems to be permanently etched into his features. He shoves something into your hands and then into San’s before slapping the side of the transport to signal for the doors to shut.

“Remember protocol unless you’re looking to be outta your damn minds!” he yells across the small crowd that forms your crew. One glance down shows you that he’s handed you a gas mask, and everyone around you bears a matching one. He wears one similar, bound around his neck with a clasp that must be like the one attached to the back of yours. San silently takes it from your grasp and brings it up and around your neck — a crude echo of a romantic gesture one might do with a real necklace. “Masks up when the church bell rings three times at night, no later than that. Kid’ll need a smaller one from one of the stalls in the market, so be sure to get ‘im one before nightfall. As for where you stay at night, be sure to find some reputable spot with air filters. Otherwise, you’ll be wanting to wear them masks while you sleep too.”

“Gas masks and air filters…” you mutter as you thumb over the item now attached to your neck. “What’s up with this place?” San hums and steps to your side. He falls into step alongside you, and in that same moment, Yeosang deigns to turn where he stands and look you over.

“Natural hallucinogens in the air. They come up from the water below. When the sun is out, you will be unaffected because the heat from the sunlight prevents the toxins from spreading beyond the water so much, but once the sun sets, it becomes potent enough to enter your bloodstream and settle in your system. At that point, you wouldn’t be able to tell reality from whatever fantasy your mind conjures up for you.”

Your fingers tighten around the gas mask.

"What a lovely vacation spot for us then," San grumbles.

However, despite that inherent danger now looming over your head, the town ahead is quite visually stunning, and its intrigue only grows as you walk into the streets alongside the crew. Hongjoong, of course, hangs near the front as both your captain and the one who knows where you're all headed. Jongho and Yunho drift back to where you and San walk close enough to touch hands, but neither one of you makes the move to do so. It's sharply contrasted to how Wooyoung walks beside Yeosang a few steps away, with such little space between them that their shoulders overlap and Wooyoung's feet threaten to collide with Yeosang's at every step. Cute, in a sense, and a welcome sight given the falling out you had witnessed some time ago now, but it still lingers in your memory every time you look at them interacting. Off to your right, Mingi has found a place beside Luca, and on the other side stand the other three recent additions to your crew. It only leaves one unaccounted for, but the soft sounds of footsteps behind you give you a clear enough idea as to where Seonghwa is.

You've been refused the pleasure of sensing his emotions since your more explosive fight. Though you haven't done the same to him in return; if anything, you hope that he can feel the sharp edges of your anger each time you look at him.

You must be scowling now at the mere thought of the man because San’s fingers dance across your knuckles before securing his index finger around your pinky — a display of affection discreet enough to hide from prying eyes.

“I don’t like the vibes of this place,” Yunho mutters from a few steps ahead of you. He coughs as you pass by a pillared torch that burns purple flames and opaque smoke across the streets. Given their multitude on either side of the cobbled roads, you’d make the safe assumption that these are meant to be street lamps to light the streets, minus the electricity, and it would make a good amount of sense for the atmosphere to shift the color of the flames in some manner. Though there hardly seems any need for the lights when you were so adamantly warned against setting foot outside after dark, unless the natives ignore such warnings for themselves.

“This is where we’ll be staying for the duration of our stay here!” Hongjoong’s voice booms back across the group, and when he turns around to face his crew, your eyes glance across each other for a split second before they fall to the man behind you. “You’re welcome to go in and make yourselves comfortable, or you can explore the city as you see fit. Everyone stay connected over the comms channel and be indoors by dark.”

The group disperses for the most part, though you stay close to San’s side, content to follow him instead of deciding what to do yourself. The building is nice enough: simple in its design and very minimal in terms of windows, but you suppose that makes sense given what you’ve been told of this place thus far. It blends in with the other buildings on the street with its dark brown wood and ivory trim, and the lanterns that hang from the overhang of the roof bear the same purple-hued flames that the streetlamps do. It does make everything bear a sort of ominous atmosphere to a certain extent — it would be far more unsettling in the dark, as most things are — but a promised safe haven is simply that: a safe haven.

“You—” Hongjoong lunges for Yunho’s arm as the man tries to turn into the hostel “—keep close to me. Normies are particularly desired in places like these.”

As Seonghwa steps around you to head for the doors, his glare on the back of Yunho’s head is as apparent as it is heavy. Yunho himself is equally caught off guard as he is confused, but he receives no further explanation beyond that simple ominous statement.

“I’ll get everything sorted and take care of the payments,” he says to the captain, earning nothing more than a firm nod and a wave of Hongjoong’s free hand. His gaze sticks even when Hongjoong’s does not. While the only witnesses to the affront are you and San, it's still uncomfortable to a high degree. It doesn't continue for much longer at least, as the man finally steps through the door to the hostel and leaves the rest of you in silence. Your gaze drifts over to view San’s side profile. He glances down to look at you in return, eyes turning to pretty crescents, and you loop your hand around his elbow.

"I imagine this won't be a stress-free trip as we wish it to be," he whispers, pulling you closer to his body as you start to follow behind Hongjoong and Yunho. You can’t respond right away. The pair ahead of you pulls your focus for a moment, in a stance so similar to your own with San that it causes realization to dawn on you.

“We’re okay, right?” you ask out of the blue. For a moment you think San hasn’t heard you, but he very clearly has based on how stiff his expression becomes. Lie to me. I’m so desperate for your lies.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we are.” It tastes sweet and feels heavy on your skin.

“You know, Y/n, it was San who recommended that you have an important role in this mission.” Hongjoong’s voice slices through you at a diagonal, hunting the spot where it will hurt the most like it’s for sport, and his timing is so apt that you believe he’s heard the words exchanged behind him. You don’t give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. San lifts his free hand to lay it over the one you have secured around his elbow like he fears you letting go but your grip is still firm. Nails dig into his exposed skin. You know it will leave a mark.

San’s face is ripped to shreds with a mixture of regret and sympathy. His expression is too genuine for you to find any deception in it.

“I didn’t think he would take it seriously, I… in retrospect, I must look fucking stupid because I thought that he would take both of us on the mission.” San’s eyes drop to the ground. “I asked to go. I wasn’t expecting him to choose Yunho over me.”

Again, Hongjoong pushes himself into a conversation not meant for him.

“San isn’t fully healed to the point of mission clearance. Both of our resident doctors said as much, for differing reasons.” You wish that the claws he’s dug deep beneath San’s skin to twist around his heart and make him do as he pleases were not so tightly wound. You wish you could know with certainty that removing them would not kill San in the process. You wish you could know that the blood seeping from San’s chest in the aftermath would not be on your hands.

None of those things are certain or doomed to change, however, and you must remain firmly in place where you are with San and hope for an outcome other than agony by his side.

The captain reaches down between his body and Yunho’s, and you watch the man lace his fingers through Yunho’s in a way that almost seems natural enough to believe that it’s a regular occurrence. Nothing more than an attempt to keep the man by his side, however, and you turn your chin away from the sight partly because you feel like you’re encroaching.

“Go on and pick out whatever you need,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds far sweeter than you know the man to be, with a sort of melodic lull to how he speaks that makes your skin itch. This sort of intimacy is unnatural for him. You cannot tell whether it’s genuine or not either. The tips of Yunho’s ears are stained red; you can see as much from where you stand despite the man’s efforts to keep his head firmly forward. “Do you want me to get you anything nice while we’re here?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is as stiff as he is, yet his hand clings to Hongjoong’s like the other man will let go at any second and he can’t bear the thought of such a thing happening. “We just need to restock some medicines, and I want to see what they have in the way of ingredients. I imagine they’ve got lots of local stuff I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. It would be nice to try some new stuff. Do you think there’s an apothecary nearby? Having some options other than pills would be good… the locals ought to have some recipes I can’t get anywhere else. Oh, and painkillers! I’m running low, I could have sworn I had a few extra bottles in stock—”

“You mentioned you had forgotten to restock them last week.”

“Ah, did I?” Yunho finally dares to glance down at the man walking alongside him. Despite the clear question in his tone, what you can see of his expression from his side profile does not match that — because what do a sharp stare and taut frown have in common with confusion?

“You’ve been frazzled lately; it’s understandable.” Hongjoong turns to look up at him in return, and a smile that’s soft around the edges pulls at the corners of his lips. His free hand moves up to brush down the strays in Yunho’s bangs. “Let’s pick up some more just in case you're unsure, yeah?”

“Do you wanna sneak away on our own?” San’s voice comes from close to your ear, closer than you expect it to be, and you inhale sharply as your gaze tears off the discomforting scene unfolding feet ahead of you. He’s already pulling you away before you even offer up a few nods in response, and if Hongjoong or Yunho notices your departure, neither one comments on it. You quickly discover, however, that you are not alone in your discomfort as San speaks again under his breath. “They weren’t speaking at all days ago and now he acts all domestic like that with Yunho as though nothing happened… it’s infuriating to watch.”

“Not at all surprising though, is it?” your words come out through a mutter. You expect some level of retaliation from San given how staunchly he’s defended Hongjoong to you in the past, but now he’s quiet. “Love isn’t easy.”

“Love’s not, but what he does is.”

What he does to Yunho and Seonghwa both — those things should not be considered love to any degree, but you aren’t sure how a man such as Hongjoong shows love. If he feels it at all, that is.

"I'm not sure there's a single one of us who has done it perfectly, I suppose," San continues after a breath of hesitation. "But we can try. To mend the wounds we may cause by accident along the way, and to meet others halfway. Learn how best to love." He doesn't look at you directly but the words are spoken into your heart and soul. You cling to his arm tighter still.

Is this real or am I lying with a lion intent on devouring me for the sake of another?

San gives you his love, and you do not doubt that one bit — those around him have vouched for his fragile heart and kindness far too much for you to doubt him to that degree. There is simply a line in the sand you cannot decipher, where San’s love intersects with Hongjoong’s influence over him. You don't wish to think of these things as of now, however. This trip is meant to be a vacation to some degree, even though you're tasked with other things, and you want to take a vacation from thinking about your captain and his manipulative bullshit as well.

“Did you do this sort of thing often? Before I joined the crew, I mean.” San resituates your hand so that it now sits encased in his, and he pulls it down to dangle between your bodies. The action feels natural, coming with an inherent comfort that makes your heart pulse with emotion.

“From time to time here and there. I wouldn’t say we made a habit of it by any means, but it was a whole lot harder to take trips like this when the crew was more full.”

“Not even after the crew got smaller?”

“Oh, we had a few! But Hongjoong was—” San pauses and his face contorts a little before he continues “—working himself to an early grave at that point. Early on, we took a small trip when it was just Jongho and me on the crew. Hongjoong was doing business, of course, and Seonghwa was still in the phases of not letting him go off anywhere alone, so Jongho and I got to have something of a break.” The memory must be a rather fond one given how wide the smile that pulls at his lips is. “After Hongjoong discovered Jongho in the cargo bay, he changed course to Yuki and we stopped at Rohtah for a short while. Mostly for Captain to find some fresh faces for the crew, so I had to be at his beck and call when necessary. Jongho and I got to bond quite a bit during that trip though so it was… really nice. One of the most pleasant memories I have of being with the crew. At least until Yunho came along! He made the atmosphere so much livelier once he came along, and we started to do some recreational stuff on the ship instead of saving it for when we were planetside. Things we still do now like cards and games, and Jongho got a guitar at one of our stops so we started having music nights and — and everyone would be there, and Hongjoong was there and he would actually be there with us. Not in the corner of the room doing that thing he does where he just stares at us like we’re part of a different world that he can’t join in on.”

San’s rambling is endearing, complete with a sort of child-like excitement that makes his face light up, and you wish desperately that you could share in those happy memories of his with the same joy that he seems to be experiencing at present. Melancholy cuts through it with a jagged edge too, however, making the smile break before it reaches his eyes. The nights where the whole crew partakes in games and fun are so few and far between that they seem distant, and you’ve only seen Jongho pull the guitar from his room on a handful of occasions when you’ve occupied space in the ship for a decently long amount of time now.

“It was inevitable,” San continues just as you’re parting your lips to offer him some kind of comfort, “in many ways. The crew grew too large to keep that atmosphere. We didn’t even have rooms to ourselves at the height of the Scourge’s reign of terror over the starry skies; I shared with Jongho back then, and Yunho before that for a while. The ship was crowded as hell to the point where you couldn’t so much as walk outside the bathroom in your own room without seeing another person there, but it felt so lived in.” You’ve lost sight of Hongjoong and Yunho at this point, and as you continue to walk further into the city, the streets are filling out with the hustle and bustle of locals going about their days. “The Horizon was rarely quiet back then, and I can’t imagine how that impacted our Berserkers, even the several we had outside Jongho and Mingi. It was jarring going from that to… what was virtually silence in the halls.”

“Do you miss those days?” you ask. San’s eyes wander from stall to stall, occasionally searching the doors and signs hanging from buildings along the way.

“Yes and no. I so preferred it when the crew was small and close-knit the way it was before. And even though it’s small now…” Gaze becoming distant, San slows to a halt in the midst of the cobbled street. You don’t push him to keep moving and instead just pull yourself next to him without a word. “Someone ruined that peace we had before. There are still nights where I lie awake, incapable of even closing my eyes because I wish so badly that I had snapped his neck when I had the chance, even if it risked my captain’s hatred and punishment. I wish I hadn’t been a weapon then so that I could’ve acted on my own accord, to do what needed to be done and spared everyone the horror that followed. But that’s not how the universe wanted it to play out, I suppose.”

“Why did Hongjoong not kill that man?” you inquire under your breath, barely looking over at San out of the corner of your eye. He seems all too eager to kill me if I so much as breathe in his direction the wrong way. How could he not kill someone who truly betrayed him so deeply?

“That’s a question for him, not me.” San’s lips twitch in a sorry attempt at a smile. “I have wondered the very same myself for a long time though, so you aren’t alone in your wonder. Come on, I saw a stall over on this side that I wanted a closer look at.” You find some reassurance in the knowledge that San is as unaware as you are, for once, but that creeping thought makes you feel worse about yourself so you push it to the side and let San guide you over to one of the street vendors.

“Come to look at my wares, young ones?” An elderly woman greets you with creased eyes and a smile that brings wisened lines out of her face. “I have all sorts of honeymoon jewelry if that’s what you’re looking for!”

You glance over at San in a panic, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips and you can’t fight it nor can you pinpoint where it comes from to begin with. He’s biting back a grin himself, one that’s a tad more reserved than your own, though his gaze doesn’t fall away from the lady’s for a second.

“Please, show me your favorite pieces. We aren’t married but I would like to find something nice for my partner nonetheless.”

“Not married yet, I see, I see. There’s still time yet! Our little city here is quite the romantic getaway if you know the right places to look, and if you’re up for a little adventure.” You look up from the display of jewelry before you only to make direct eye contact with the woman from across the stand, and she passes you a more than a little obvious wink that makes you exhale what can only be described as a pained laugh. Without thinking too deeply about it, your hand drifts towards a set of earrings on the display case.

"Do you like those?" San asks, eyes flitting over to watch your movements closely. You lay your hand flat against the glass as you lean forward a hair and take a closer look at them. Simple, silver, no gems adorning them, and clearly hand-twisted metal that winds itself into the shape of a curved seven. One of the two has a chain attached to it, short but with a cylindrical shape dangling downwards. 

"They're pretty," you murmur before withdrawing your hand and smiling at the woman.

"These are a special set, yes," she hums, "the chime here is a charm of protection." She opens the case and lifts one of the cuffs out, showing off the piece in its full glory with the chime tinkling as she moves it. The sound isn't obnoxious, more like a softer version of the windchimes you saw outside some of the buildings on your walk, and the metal is so polished that you can see your distorted reflection in it. "It is meant to ward off foul intentions and spirits if blessed by a loved one. A very charming piece indeed."

"Ah…" comes your quiet noise of acknowledgment, and the woman reaches out to lift your hand with her own, exposing your palm to the sky as she sets the piece there and nods towards you. You understand the implication of her action, and if you were a bit more bold in that area of things, you would ask San to give his blessing with no shame. It shouldn't be difficult for you either considering how the old woman has already clocked the two of you as a couple, but it feels far too intimate to ask San to do something like that in front of her. Hell, you don't even know if he believes in such acts or if you do yourself really. Would it be too much to ask from him or—

San's hand comes across your vision and covers your palm briefly, and when he pulls away the piece of jewelry is gone from your hand. He clasps his hands together in front of him and lifts them to his face, lips brushing against his thumb as he mouths unknown words against it. In a way, he seems like a man praying before an altar. When his eyes snap back open, he unfolds his hands and presses a kiss to the earring.

"There." San's focus turns to you in that moment, and your eyes meet, and there's a second in which your heart clenches so tightly in your chest that it burns. Your chest aches, eyes stinging from the sudden onset of emotion you see in San’s gaze, and you can do nothing but stand completely still. "Does it go this way?"

You get a moment to breathe again when he diverts his attention back to the shopkeeper so that she can show him which side to put the piece on. Yet when he comes back to you, his hand is reaching up to move the hair around your right ear out of the way, and you can't keep from clasping your fingers around his forearm just to secure yourself to the man in some way. His fingers are hot against your skin (or maybe your ears are flaming with embarrassment) but the metal is blessedly cool as he secures it in its proper place.

"Is it comfortable?" he inquires through the same cat-like grin you recall him wearing the first time you laid eyes on each other. The memory hits you out of nowhere, flashing before your eyes in a split second. Here you are all this time later, in a position and a place you never imagined you would find yourself in, and there's so much love in you as he moves your hands together so that you can cling to him better.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply. Love blooms so beautifully before your eyes and in your chest as he tucks his chin to his chest and hides glowing cheeks and red-tinged ears.

Turning back to the elderly lady, you find her waiting with the other cuff in hand, and you take it from her with a quiet word of gratitude.

"I'd like these two pieces as well, please," San requests, though you can't see what he's pointing to clearly, and your heart won't calm down enough to let your thoughts return to normal coherence. So, you leave it be and busy yourself with tucking the second cuff around your other ear on your own while San collects his items and pays the woman with his credit chip. He tucks everything into his pocket once she hands them over, and she sends the two of you off with an excited wave.

“I hope all goes well for the two of you. May the spirits watch over you.”

“Thank you, may the spirits watch over you.” San bows his head at her before the two of you walk away. He tilts his head towards yours, whispering as close to your ear as he can get without knocking your heads together. “This city is very firm in spirituality and religion. When I looked at a map with all the buildings shown, I found at least six churches in a fairly small radius. But the spirit shops can be found practically on every street corner depending on what road you’re on. On our walk into the city, I heard almost every native say that phrase in farewell to those they were talking with, so it must be something customary regardless of belief.”

You reach up to toy with the chime hanging from your ear. 

“Is that why you blessed this then?”

“Maybe I… an added layer of protection never hurts, especially in our line of work. Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

“San.” 

He reaches around your side and pinches your waist between his fingers, a laugh on his lips that echoes against the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the air.

“Come, let’s keep wandering around before we’re called back to our captain’s side.”

────────────

Evening comes quickly, and with it something you dread. The slight consolation you have is that you’re less and less apprehensive with each meeting you have with the therapist-psychologist-psychiatrist medley that is Minho, but it doesn’t keep you from fidgeting in the seat you find yourself in now. Seated outside, the sun has yet to dip under the edge of the mountain range so you can still enjoy the outdoor air some without fear of insanity or whatever else night may bring. Said doctor sits near you, mulling over a mug of what seems to be coffee based on the aroma hanging about your small shared table, and he too watches the edge of the mountains.

“What’s been on your mind recently?”

Despite anticipating such a question, you let out a noise akin to a ‘hm’ and let silence pull back over you. 

“A lot and nothing at all, at the same time. And you?”

Minho grins but it’s clear that he does not appreciate your attempt at a joke. “I’m enjoying fresh air and nature that is not confined to a rocky and putrid desert. Our last little planetside visit was far from pleasant vacationing scenery, no?”

“Unless one enjoys freezing winds and bland landscapes, but yes, I’ll agree with you on that.”

The doctor clears his throat around a mouthful of coffee, and you know it’s as subtle as he’s going to be about prompting you to shift the subject to other things. Minho is nothing if not a patient man, however, for better or for worse. You have no way out here, and he is not going to prompt you for a response so your only option here is to answer him.

“I have been having a hard time understanding some people on the crew. Their motives and intentions with me — that sort of thing,” you admit while squinting at the table. In your peripheral, you catch Minho’s glance and continue speaking before he can even begin to ask you to elaborate. “It’s hard to find the line between where they’re being genuine and where they’re trying to get something out of me. I did try to solve the problem on my own. I spoke to someone about it, and yet that led to a rabbit hole and now I find myself doubting much of what I thought to be true. That line of thought only makes me wonder further though. I didn’t doubt so much before. Now I can’t determine whether I was blissfully in the dark or if I’m being led to believe things that are untrue.”

You jerk your chin to the left and stare your companion down, hoping that he’ll understand you’re done venting for the time being. He raises his brows at you over the edge of his mug without ceasing his movements, and after what seems to be a purposefully drawn-out sip, he leans back in his chair and rests the mug on his thigh.

“Interpersonal relationships are difficult by nature. When there are two people close to you saying things that are at odds with each other, it becomes harder. How does one decide who is telling the truth? Are they perhaps both telling some portion of the truth? If you lean more towards one side then does that make you biased? Does it mean you care for one more than the other? Sometimes we fear how our reactions will affect relationships more than what the truth truly is.”

“I do trust one more than the other,” you add through a slight shake of your head. Minho jolts forward a little with an inhale as his lips part to speak again.

“I anticipate that you will not want to use actual names when discussing this, so how about we use hypothetical names in place of them?”

“I’m certain you already know,” you counter in the same breath.

He matches your tone as it drops to a whisper. “What I know or don’t know is not important. This is for your comfort. If bringing their names into this makes you feel uncomfortable or as though you are blaming them, then using fake names can mitigate those feelings. Call them anything — day, night, tree, rock, stone, fuckass and shithead even — whatever you please.” His words have their intended effect in making you let out a breathy laugh.

“I trust… Rock more than I trust Stone.” That goes without saying really because you have known San (or Rock rather) far longer than you’ve known Nightingale. “But Rock doesn’t always answer my questions and often speaks around my questions in such a way that it makes me have doubts. I don’t need him to tell me everything, of course, and I do trust him more than Stone by a landslide. It’s just that what Stone said threw me off.”

“Why are you so quick to take Stone for his word if you trust Rock more?”

“Because it was so eerily close to reality that I was frightened.”

“Did you ask if Stone knew about your reality? Or ask Rock if he spoke about it with Stone before your conversation?”

“I — I didn’t even think to.” Minho is watching your face very carefully, a wry smile planted on his lips. “I’ll do so though.”

“That might be worth a try,” he answers in the same kind tone as always. “Start there, and if the results are not enough to ease your concerns, then we can revisit the conversation at another time.”

“I like that idea.” 

“Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me these days, Y/n?”

“I do,” you say, though Minho hardly looks convinced by your answer. “I really do. It’s far easier to have a second voice to offer an opinion. Even if the topics still do make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, that feeling is natural. Those who find it easy to disclose the deepest and darkest parts of themselves to others are often either unaware of their flaws or hiding some pain. We as humans tend to realize what things might be perceived as bad or ugly to others, and thus there is some extent of shame surrounding talking about those things. Even if the perceptions come from stigma.”

“I wouldn’t say I fear your judgment necessarily.”

“Then, shall we try something a bit different today?” Minho’s words are accompanied by the unwelcome noise of his chair scraping against cobbles, and you twist at the waist to follow him with your gaze as he moves away from the table. “Would you be open to laying down over here on your back?” He gestures down towards a bench not far away, one close to the tree that the whole courtyard is centered around, and without verbal response, you move to do as asked. 

There’s no need to bother with asking what he wants you to do this for; that question would result in a snarky ‘you’ll see’ or a quick ‘is that a no then’. So, you seat yourself on the bench and lay flat against the cool stone until all you can see are the branches of the tree and bits of darkening sky over your head.

“Close your eyes. I want you to envision your parents first.” Minho’s voice moves around your head, from ear to ear. You see nothing behind your eyelids though, not even a wisp of an idea of the people who are supposed to be so fundamental and crucial in a person’s memories. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. There’s no need to answer them verbally to me but try to answer them to yourself to the best of your ability. Did you know your parents? What did they look like? What role did they have in your life? What were they like as parents? As people?”

The sole memory you have of them is nothing more than figments and knowledge that was passed onto you by another.

“Happy birthday, my darling. I can hardly believe you’re seven already!” The first voice to touch our ears is deep enough to be that of a man, and the second comes out more feminine and has a certain warmth to it that catches you off-guard.

“Dear, they’re waiting outside.”

“Just… give me but a moment with our child, Marina. They won’t die if I take a few minutes to celebrate our daughter’s day.”

Your father at the very least seemed to love you. Perhaps your mother did as well, in some odd and convoluted way.

“If you can’t recall them well, then a childhood friend? What of them?”

Wooyoung is the most obvious answer to that question, though only because you are aware that you should remember him from your childhood. That remains just as hazy, however, with nothing more than tiny fragments that you have been trying hard to piece together for some time now. He was your childhood friend. Bread boy. Tsukio. The boy with lavender hair who reached for your hand in unending waters time and time again before he could finally reach you. 

“Now yourself? Who were you as a child, Y/n? What games did you play? What did you wish to be when you grew up and what did you become? What led you to join the military, pushed you to forget everything and start over?” Minho’s questions are coming too rapidly now for you to keep up with, and you let a noise of frustration slip from your lips as you try to find the answers to everything in your mind. “It’s okay to get frustrated and annoyed. That’s part of the process. But don’t give up quite yet.” His voice comes to a standstill somewhere behind your head, but it still sounds somewhat far and away. “Your identity changed at a certain point, did it not? When you were fourteen years old and decided to take that serum to forget everything that had happened to you before. Who were you in the military?” A killer. “What was your rank, your position, your duty, your unit — what was your purpose?” To kill. “Who were you and what did you become?”

“The Ghost of Eros,” you say aloud without thinking. Something touches your shoulder without warning and every muscle in your body tenses at the sudden breach of focus. Your eyes snap open in hopes of finding the offending touch, but instead, you make eye contact with Minho, who now crouches beside the bench near your head with a very firm and unnerving stare settled on you.

“Who were you before joining the Scourge’s crew?”

Frustration creeps in a second time because you don’t get it. Minho is trying to make a point with all of this, and you still don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to convey to you. 

“The Ghost of Eros.”

“And who are you now?”

You sit up, forcing his hand to fall away from your shoulder, and all you can do for several seconds is stare at your lap while shaking your head.

“I’m… it hasn’t changed? I’m still as I was.” Your eyes seek to find Minho once again for answers. He smiles back at you.

“Exactly. You are still the Ghost of Eros, but you need to let yourself believe that again. Your strength didn’t go away, just as you told me that your skills are still with you. Your willpower, intelligence, the things that brought you out of that place you were in — those are skills just the same, and they have not gone away. So you need to stop believing that they have.”

“I-I don’t — what are you trying to get at?” His words seem so intentional and pointed that it makes your head spin somewhat. What does he know that you don’t?

“You are equipped to withstand any trial set before you. Yet when we have these discussions, I find a deep-rooted sense of self-doubt in you. Whether that comes from the confusion of not wholly knowing who you are or from the influence of external forces, it is a hard thing to uproot and remove. I cannot give you a shovel and tell you to dig it out, but I can give you the means to break it down so that it will not grow further. I can remind you that you already have the tools needed to do so if you remember where to look.” Minho sits down in the space behind your back, and you sling your legs to the side so that you can sit parallel to him before the tree ahead of you. “There was a time when your name was second only to the Scourge’s in bars and amongst pirate crews. Is that legacy meant to play second fiddle to his? Is that what you desire? Some parts of you must not want that because you resist authority so heavily. You have forgotten that name and in turn, let him forget it as well. I did not see you cave when faced with the ghosts of your past. You did not cave to a king you perceived to be a tyrant. You have pulled yourself away from so many things, wearing your name as a mantle that represents who you are and what you are capable of. Why do you hesitate to remind your sole competition of the same?”

Minho stares ahead at the tree yet you look to the ground with fingers clenched hard around the edge of the bench. You recall the first time you laid eyes on Hongjoong in the flesh, outside of wanted posters and scant dossiers that did nothing to fully encapsulate the man who is the Scourge of the Black Sea. Even back then, he had looked past you as though you were nothing to him, yet in return, you did not find yourself afraid of him at all. Have you become afraid of him now? Why?

“I wish to be acknowledged as that,” you state resolutely. “Someone strong and fearsome and on his level. He doesn’t treat me like I’m the Ghost of Eros still. I-I want him to.”

Minho hums. “It would be easier to fall in line, would it not?”

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for.

You realize the answer to that question now. Mingi laid down his mantle as the Brute of Kebos for a multitude of reasons, and you can understand now why he views defiance to be a shoddy decision. What he had before was nothing pretty or desirable. The same could be said of your past as well, but you have never desired to set your mantle aside and become something small and diminishable on the Scourge’s crew. A weapon is only as good as the one wielding it, and Hongjoong frankly does not wield you and your abilities as he should.

“It would…”

“With its feet tied and wings clipped, what hope does a caged bird have?” Minho pats your knee before standing up. From where you sit, you can just barely glimpse at the ugly brand sitting on the back of his neck, crude scars and all. “It can still carve its way out with its beak, no? Do not let yourself be buried by those with the intent to put you beneath them. Be strong.” He leaves you with that, alone on the bench in the courtyard before a blooming tree whose roots stretch and pull at the stone meant to cover it.

For the first time, someone is telling you to fight, and fight, you most certainly will.

There’s a good amount of time where you sit in the same place without moving because the conversation has left your head a bit fuzzy. The only reason you don’t linger any longer in the courtyard is because the sun is continuing to dip closer to the horizon and you are not eager to find out what the nightlife is like. 

The air clings to your skin a bit when you step through the door, not too different from the humidity outside, but the warmth is welcome in a different way. Music hits your ears at the same time, and you find yourself drifting toward the source of the noise out of sheer curiosity. The sight you find unfolding before you brings pause to your step, though only briefly because your feet are once again compelled to move and push you forwards. 

Jongho is the first one you see, sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar of some sort in his hands — one that must be local to Gorgon due to its foreign appearance. Yeosang sits nearby, close to the couch on some sort of box that he taps the flats of his hands against, and his rhythm matches Jongho’s so perfectly that you’d be hard-pressed to believe that they’ve never done this before. The table that had been set in front of the couch has been dragged to the side to make more space available, and right now Wooyoung occupies that space with Mingi, hands gently folded around Mingi’s forearms like he’s trying to both steady and guide the man at once. You only catch sight of a fifth and final person once you approach the back of a loveseat, and it’s San who sits just barely hidden from sight there. Your arrival brings his attention upwards to you, and you look at each other upside-down. Perhaps it’s the mood in the air, but you allow yourself to indulge a bit here and now, leaning over the back of the sofa to lay a kiss against San’s forehead as he reaches upwards for you. Hands slotting together, he clings to you while you round the loveseat fully and sink down onto the cushion beside him.

“Y/n, Y/n, you have to join in!” Wooyoung laughs as he pulls Mingi around in a circle, eyes not lingering on you for more than a second. Every bit of skin that’s visible on the man is flushed, and the balls of his cheeks are so bright and round that you can’t help but smile just seeing the evident joy on his features. He takes the gesture as an invitation. He’s giggling as he moves Mingi over to the couch where Jongho’s perched before flitting over to you in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to let go of San’s hand before Wooyoung is tugging you up from the loveseat.

“Wait—” 

“Indulge me just a little tonight, please?”

Your protest dies in the back of your throat and falls on deaf ears. You wish you had put up more of a fight moments later when Wooyoung starts pulling you into a rather fast-paced and intricate set of footsteps that you can hardly keep up with without trampling his toes every beat or so. Yet — Wooyoung is laughing and happy and throwing his head back so far that the sound of his laughter resonates with the music Jongho and Yeosang are creating. This fragile peace hangs by the thinnest of threads, tied into small knots, and you’re mesmerized by the joy radiating off Wooyoung in waves. It’s not just you either: Yeosang’s eyes follow his lover with every slight shift in muscle, so rapt in his attention yet still not missing a beat as he continues to drum his hands against the box beneath him. Wooyoung spins you out in San’s direction, hand squeezing hard around yours so that you don’t tumble, and in that split second, you make eye contact with your own lover. 

It startles you to see the expression on his face. He looks to be in utter awe of what’s unfolding before him, even though you’re certain it’s a mess on your end, yet there’s also a faraway gleam to his gaze that makes you realize he’s not wholly here in this moment with the rest of you. You want to ask what’s on his mind, to know what he’s seeing in his head right now, or what memories are replaying themselves to him if that’s what it is. It’s hardly the time or place for such things, however.

Wooyoung twirls you back into his arms, hands sliding down to secure at your waist. The metal hanging from his neck is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin and breath as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. You aren’t prepared to brace his weight and stumble back over your feet with Wooyoung still clinging tightly to you until you hit the edge of the loveseat. San’s hand juts out to catch you when the two of you tumble to the cushions. Wooyoung is laughing the whole time, hot on your neck, and he sits up on one knee as though nothing happened.

“Change the song!” he requests, returning to his post at the center of the rug. San’s hand drifts towards yours but he only takes hold of your fingers rather than your whole hand as he usually does. You jolt upon looking over at him, solely because there’s another body behind the loveseat and a face pressed between yours and San’s that you were not expecting to see. It’s Yunho who fills the space between your face and your lover’s — mostly recognizable through his side profile and also his blond hair that’s beginning to grow in dark at the roots. He’s clearly fresh out of the shower if his damp hair is any indication of such along with the faint scent of something minty radiating off of him. 

“What are we watching?” he asks, bringing his elbows up to rest on the back of the couch.

“Wooyoung is putting on a show for us,” San hums in response, and his fingers curl around your index finger. “You just barely missed Y/n’s ever-so-graceful dance moves too!”

“Oh, stop,” comes your whine as embarrassment washes over you with San’s confirmation that it was indeed a very messy ordeal. Yunho laughs, head pulling up to watch Wooyoung’s new performance. The music shifts, first with Jongho then with Yeosang changing his rhythm to follow along with the Berserker on the box drum. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and the music takes hold of him like a spell has been cast on his body. There’s a certain delicate nature to his movements now that is far different than how he danced with Mingi and in turn you. The collar around his neck drags up and down against his skin with each twist of his body, yet his happiness persists even with what must be an agonizing discomfort. If not for his upbringing and what you know of his youth, you would imagine he made a living out of this at some point in his life. He has both the grace and the appearance of a dancer, between his lithe figure and his pretty features, and it wouldn’t be impossible to believe that there are many people who would pay a great deal to see him perform. Here you sit, surrounded by crewmates and friends, watching the scene unfold without a credit spent. Luck comes to mind because it does feel something like a blessing to experience this in such a joyful atmosphere. Wooyoung’s voice rises into the mix alongside Jongho’s, though a tad more breathy than the latter’s due to the fluid movements he’s trying to maintain while singing.

“Pardon, but the master asked that I bring freshly brewed tea for our guests. Mushroom tea, a local specialty. Please enjoy your stay here with us.” You and San both take the teacups handed to you on a silver platter by the young woman who has approached the loveseat. Yunho is the only one to refuse it yet gratitude still pours from his lips nonetheless, and the lady bows her head. She moves over to Mingi next, careful not to disturb the rest who are bringing the merry festivities to the room. 

The tea is close to scalding but just shy of it so you can sip comfortably from the top while watching Wooyoung’s performance continue to unfold. The words of the song are solemn in comparison to how upbeat the music itself sounds, even down to the smile pulling at Wooyoung’s lips while he sings along. You hardly need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of it — it’s a tried and true farewell song, one saying goodbye to times past and people no longer present, sung with a dissonant joy that makes the tea taste bitter on your tongue.

Yunho inches out of your peripherals, and you angle your head in his direction only to catch him walking towards the stairs without a word. At first, you wonder if the song is what compelled him to leave or perhaps he simply wishes to retire for the night and not disturb everyone on his way out. Content with that reasoning, you redirect your focus once again, only to catch sight of someone else at the other end of the room, tucked away a bit and somewhat hidden from sight. Not enough to be wholly hidden, obviously, but enough so that he will not disturb anything happening in the main area. It’s Hongjoong, of course, because any other member of the crew would have approached without care for being perceived. This is not the first time you have been witness to your captain’s insecurities surrounding his crew; however, seeing the man appear so small in his attempts to hide himself fills you with an odd sense of justified satisfaction. Has he earned a place at this table? Suffered the way these people have for his whims and desires? The answer is clear in your mind — no, he has absolutely not. 

The song draws to a close, and you down the rest of your tea before ridding Hongjoong of your attention. San leads with a round of applause, one that both you and Mingi quickly echo. Wooyoung’s attention returns to you before anyone else.

“Jongho knows lots of traditional songs that we know,” he exhales through little gasps for air. “Yeosang and I, I mean. Songs we learned growing up on Aera.” He blows off the fumble of words so easily that you don’t even see a shift in emotion on his features. 

“That one was rather sad.”

“It’s a funeral song! Or — a dirge, rather, for people who have departed. Either from life or gone off to new places in the universe, so that’s why the lyrics are so dismal. The song itself and the dance are for celebration though. Celebrating the life and time shared with those departed. I’ve done it a few times before just for fun like this!”

“Never for its true purpose?” you inquire out of sheer curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile turns into a close-lipped one that’s soft around the edges.

“Only once for that purpose.” He lets his words hang long enough for you to feel the weight of them, then he flits over to where Yeosang sits and drapes himself over the man like a blanket. Jongho’s fingers don’t rest on the guitar strings, and he continues to strum out another tune that Yeosang joins in once again, but Wooyoung rests his feet for now. Not his voice, it seems, as he continues singing quietly, words pushed into Yeosang’s shoulder rather than to the entire room.

“The tea made me a bit sleepy, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” you say to the man beside you. San nods a few times but refuses to let go of your hand even when you stand up from the loveseat. He comes along with you, in fact, setting his cup down beside yours on the nearby table. The energy of the night is beginning to wear off, and it’s draining fast from your body. San is humming beside you to the song Jongho plays, and you feel him tapping out the melody against your knuckles. You have felt this kind of peace more times than you can count while part of this crew, but it has seemed quite far away for a while now. You squeeze tighter at San’s hand like you’re waiting for the inevitable, like glass is about to shatter and the illusion of peace will become nothing but shards before you. Yet, none of that happens, and you revel in this moment you’re living in while climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hostel. 

San pushes the door to your joint room open with one hand, tugging you in alongside him as a giggle tears from your lips. There’s a moment where you fall into his side, hand bracing on his hip when you collide into each other’s space. Then San is drifting away from you and letting your hands return to your sides. He steps over to the dresser with a song still on his lips.

“Hi,” you say to break the lull in conversation.

“Hello, star,” he replies with a fond little smile. You return the gesture as you slowly shut the door.

“Finally alone, hm?”

San’s focus pulls harder toward you. He gives up on his current task of pulling a change of clothes out to stare directly at you.

“Careful, my darling, a man could take such words to mean all sorts of things.”

You dip your chin to your chest and laugh, shaking your head as you push into the room. It’s not that you’re looking for anything in particular — sexual, you mean — and the two of you haven’t fucked around in several days, mostly out of joint avoidance and going straight to bed once you’ve gone about your days separately. You aren’t keen on anything now, either. There’s a knot in your gut that won’t unfurl, coupled with the recollection of what occurred last time. You thought of another man. San called you treasure. There was some degree of an argument which resulted in you asking for sex to feel better, and San, who is one to voice when something is not okay in the bedroom, complied eagerly. Maybe you both made mistakes that night, and all you could do to patch the wounds you left on each other was fuck it out of your systems.

San watches you carefully as you make your way to the bed and sit on the edge of it. He mirrors your movements by sitting on the dresser, hands clasped around the edge of it. The impending conversation must weigh on him too given how his usual teasing jokes don’t persist. Though your peace was far from an illusion and you do not wish to tarnish it, you do know that letting your thoughts fester any longer will cause monumental problems in the long run. As it is, you have already told yourself this can wait until tomorrow, let’s just enjoy tonight time and time again. If not now, then when because there will always be another excuse you can pull out of your back pocket to explain why it’s not a good time to speak.

“You called me your treasure the other night.”

“I— um, did you… when was this?” San fidgets in his seat, and you see him visibly nervous for the first time in a long time before you. “I’m not trying to play dumb, I just genuinely don’t recall th—”

“Why did you call me that? In that moment, what made you say that?” It isn’t your intention to interrupt him so harshly, but you fear losing your nerve or caving too soon when this conversation needs to happen desperately.

San exhales slowly and blinks at you several times.

“Y/n…?”

“It was when you went down on me while I was crying for fuck’s sake, San! Do you really not remember?”

“I… I do. Well, I remember that night, yes, but — Y/n, I truly don’t remember calling you that.” His mouth hangs slightly agape as he looks at the floor, searching for nothing in particular. “I went down on you because I wanted to make you feel good because you asked me to make you feel good. I wanted it too, I would have said something if I didn’t, and I would never push for something I didn’t think you wanted either. I wanted you to feel good and cherished because you weren’t feeling that way in that moment, I wanted to s-show you physically how much I want you. It wasn’t for any other reason, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove that to you but please say the word and I will do whatever to do so.”

Your jaw snaps shut, and you tighten your hold on yourself by pulling your arms tighter around your body.

“I wouldn’t… would never call you that, Y/n. That’s something that — Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that. I wouldn’t dare call you that too.” He frowns. “I know things are still shaky between us and that you don’t trust much of what I say in relation to him, but please believe that this is me being wholly honest with you. I would not call you such a thing because I do not want you to believe that I view you the way Hongjoong views Seonghwa.” He inhales and looks towards the door as though someone will be there to tell him off for what he wishes to say next. “That would be cruel.”

You go so still that even your breathing halts for a few seconds. San presses his lips into a thin line and swallows around nothing. He appears more determined when he speaks again.

“Implying that I view you as a mere treasure to be had and used would be cruel. In my eyes, you could hang the very stars in the sky if you so wished, you are the stars themselves, and in my next life, I hope to be a galaxy so that I can hold you in my heart for as long as I live. I love you. I truly do. I would not wish for us to ever be like them or have a relationship like theirs and I do not want you to believe that my love is conditional on your being useful to me because it's not.”

It speaks volumes to both his character and how he views his captain. And yet, it also shows you how deeply roots the seeds Hongjoong has planted are, and you fear for your sanity for creating such a thing out of thin air like that. Silence hangs. San is smart. You’re more than well aware of that. He’s perceptive and intelligent in many ways, which means that if what he’s saying is what he perceives to be truth then he can put two and two together. You thought he called you his treasure, Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that, you were thinking of Hongjoong while having sex with San.

"Is that true?" Your voice comes out meek. Shame creeps in alongside embarrassment and humiliation because in retrospect (and when you look past your muddled feelings of anger and confusion) San’s explanation does truly make more sense. Why would he call you that? He has not been cruel to you when it comes to Hongjoong. Even if he were toying with you, he has not been heartless.

"I swear on my life, Y/n. If that's not enough then I will gladly set myself before Minho or Yunho or Mingi and have any of them interrogate me in front of you. They’ll know whether I’m lying or not without fault." San steps away from the dresser, yet your gaze is still firmly set on the ground when he comes to sit beside you. A laugh escapes from your lips as the mattress dips next to you.

“Is this what Seonghwa feels like? Going fucking insane and it’s all because of that… that man.” You don’t need to look San in the face to know what expression he wears, because he reaches for one of your hands and takes it between both of his. “Before I went to see Hongjoong that night, I had fought with Seonghwa. About a lot of things but it’s all left me with a lot to think about. Much of what he said hurt me deeply, especially hearing him tell me that I was a substitute for someone else in his mind.” The admission that you did the same lies on the tip of your tongue, and it’s already partly out in the open, but there’s not enough bravery in you to tell San that now, or that you thought of Hongjoong more recently either. “He also told me there are many ways in which Hongjoong has been orchestrating my destruction from the very start. Going from that fight to an argument with Hongjoong too was very damaging to my confidence and my psyche say the least.”

“What happened with Hongjoong?” San inquires, still careful in how he broaches the subject. “I was told that you were forced in line, but is that true?”

“He made me kneel. Or rather he ordered Mingi to make me kneel, and he did. I did.” Pressure hits your shoulder, the full weight of San’s head as he pushes his cheek to your arm and leans into you. “Seonghwa is suffering some sort of mental breakdown of an insane degree and has no one to help him out of the grave he and Hongjoong both have dug beneath his feet.”

“I’ve been trying to help,” San interjects quietly, though it’s staggered by wetness in his tone that’s hard to ignore, “to no avail whatsoever.”

The thought of running away from it all crops up in your mind again. To take San and Wooyoung and Yunho and Seonghwa and everyone — taking them all away and running without looking back. Yet, if you were to do that, everything would so quickly fall apart that the ends would not be worth what it took to bring you there. Hongjoong is many terrible, awful things, but in the very least he contains in him the inherent ability to unite people under his command. You couldn’t do such a thing, nor could you in good conscience be harsh when the time came. What’s running rampant through your mind correlates with real life, and you squeeze San’s hand over yours harder.

“Hongjoong purposefully isn’t letting Seonghwa on this mission because he’s worried too. That’s why Yunho is going instead. Seonghwa is hardly happy about it but he needs the break.” San exhales a quivering sigh. “He needs a break from his duties as lieutenant, at least for now, and Hongjoong is trying to let him have that. There are things only he can do of course — like the dealings with the cargo and having that all settled but those are easier in comparison. Seonghwa doesn’t usually let anything slip when things are awry in his head, he keeps his mask up, and he tries his best to put on a front for the crew. Though it’s never been explicitly stated before the whole crew, everyone pretty much knows that he is not an Elitist. We just… know our boundaries and respect that we should not expect to be told. I was told, as the captain’s left hand. I respect secrets, and I respect privacy. Anything told to me in confidence will be taken to my grave unless I am told it is information safe to be shared. I do not hide things out of malicious intent. That being said, I will do my best to be more open and honest with you moving forward. Would you please do the same in return?”

“I am honest with you already,” you cut in almost in an instant. San’s hand flexes around yours. “But I will… I’ll continue to do so.”

His frown is felt against your shoulder.

“If that were true then you would not be revealing truths to me now.”

“I’m sorry.” The tension that rises in your muscles forces his head off your arm. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not chastising you, beloved, breathe.” You’re already turning to look at his face when he reaches up with a hand to cup your cheek. “I love you. So deeply and so dearly.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s do this without having sex. Right now, let’s just talk… without it turning into sex.” You nod against his hand. San is gnawing hard at his lower lip, and it’s already swollen from what must be continued abuse in an attempt to keep tears at bay considering how red the corners of his eyes are. “Do you wanna go out on the balcony?”

Your hands do not separate when he stands, and you stay as close to him as possible when following him to the door like he’s the one thing keeping you tethered to reality at the moment. 

Outside, night has fallen, but the small balcony before you sits covered and enclosed by panes of glass. Below you can see the courtyard where you and Minho were earlier, exposed to the night air and the toxins it brings, but up here it’s like another world. The torches continue to bloom with their purple flames along the buildings, fluorescent green lights accent places where the streets are too dark to be lit by flame alone, and silver chimes glint every so often when the wind nudges them in the right direction.

“The town looks pretty at night,” you note as San leads you to a seat near the glass. 

“Quite beautiful indeed.” He squeezes your hand one last time before pulling away at last and sitting down in the chair beside yours. When you glance his way, you find him picking at the skin under his nails and watching the skin peel back to reveal something raw and tender beneath. “I am going to tell you some truths that are hard for me to admit, let alone process still. Despite thinking about it and practicing what I want to say in my head time and time again, I may struggle with how to say things. After you went to the bathroom to wash up that night with Seonghwa, he told me that Hongjoong was the sole person on his mind. That hurt me to hear, so I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to pass that pain onto you as well. I overheard a bit of the commotion in the kitchen when the two of you fought, and Seonghwa had told me that he would be honest with you eventually. I wouldn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it wouldn’t go over well. Foolishly, I had thought that I could be someone to help mend the hurt both of you were feeling — your hurt from how things between you and Seonghwa ended, and Seonghwa’s hurt from once again being tossed away by his love. Seonghwa’s eagerness made me believe that it was more okay than it turned out to be, or perhaps he went into it from the start with one thing — or person, rather — on his mind.”

You remain quiet in the face of San’s admissions, even when he takes a moment to breathe and stare out at the city. His hands still in his lap and finally let his fingers have a break from the harm he was doing to them just seconds ago. He grips the armrests of his chair hard and uses his momentum to turn it more toward you. You’re faced with his rapt attention now, as his elbows come to rest on his knees and he clasps his hands between them.

“It’s true that I once had a physical relationship with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Never just one of them alone; I was always asked to be the third for when they desired it, and I was more than happy to be that for them. We’ve discussed my views on relationships and romantic versus sexual partnerships before, and I’ve had those beliefs for a long time. However, I haven’t fully learned that it’s not so easy for everyone to fall into those roles and that the act of being a third is not always cut and dry. It’s suited for some people like myself, and not for others, which is understandable and completely fine. I thought as well that the two of you having experience with each other sexually would provide comfort and ease. What I did not do was take into consideration the hurt left between you or how sensitive the situation was for everyone involved. I take full responsibility for that night, regardless of who was thinking about what during, and I am so deeply apologetic for being the one to facilitate that. I wanted to speak and apologize to you first, but I do want to offer the same apology to Seonghwa as well.” He waits then with teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that it disappears from the pressure. It’s your time to speak, to offer an explanation or an acknowledgment of all that he’s poured out to you, but your mind is so full of a clusterfuck of thoughts that all that comes out in the end is —

“I feel like a whore.”

It stuns the both of you in the same way, and San’s expression freezes as he simply stares at you unsure of what to say to that. The shock is almost comical if not for the severity of your conversation at present.

“Would you please tell me why you feel that way?” he asks once the initial shock of your comment passes.

“I was not very present that night. I didn’t feel like I was in my right mind, but know that I did not feel pressure to do anything out of my comfort zone. I was the one who misread my own signals and sought something in physical comfort to ease my thoughts. Seonghwa was clearly not wholly there either, as we know, and the two of us took it out on each other. Since then, I’ve been feeling the way I did that night during sex and it’s driving me mad. I don’t wish to have those thoughts or constantly be reminded of that night but it comes on of its own volition.”

“Okay then full stop, we slow down. Sex isn’t a must.”

“Well, it’s difficult because we depend so heavily on being physical to show affection for one another.”

“That just means we can find new ways to share our affection,” San says through a smile, “and we can still cuddle and hug and kiss even. Being physical and offering comfort is not inherently sexual. I have to learn that too. I’m such a physical person in every way. I adore giving in every way I can physically to show my feelings, but that clouds and muddies things a lot. A healthy relationship with sex doesn’t mean always having sex though. There are other ways we can do things together or other ways to connect and be with each other intimately. But—” he leans back and squares his shoulders, still smiling ever so softly at you “—while I’m thinking clearly, I’m going to say that I know continuing to have sex while you are struggling with your thoughts during it and we’re both in need of healing our relationship towards it is not the best thing to do. I’m not at all willing to ask it of you until you definitively tell me otherwise.”

“I love you so much,” you murmur, and San’s nose scrunches at the sudden confession. He blows a kiss your way as he leans back in his chair once more, settling into it more comfortably now that his thoughts are out in the open.

“You know, I’ve been reading some of the books you keep on your shelves lately. The Siren ones, I mean. Since you told me of your identity, I’ve been curious to learn more about what it means to be one. I didn’t know you were so cool.” Your laughs echo in the enclosed area of the balcony, mixing together.

“Sorry, but I can’t show off or anything. I don’t know how to do much at all.” 

San reaches an arm over to your chair and you seek his hand with your own like it's second nature to do so.

“Even the little things about you impress me. You don’t need to do much.” His thumb rubs methodical little lines against the base of your index finger. “The music and the dancing were lovely, weren’t they?”

“It was all very nice. Lively too, and happy.”

“I’ve always loved performances like that,” San says with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “When I was younger, growing up with the Taskmaster and Father — my captain at the time, I mean — I got to have one tablet. At the orphanage, I wasn’t allowed any personal belongings, and though I spent most of my time confined to one small cell, it still had a few things here and there to make the space mine. Besides the collar on my neck and chain keeping me to the wall, of course.” The crude attempt at a joke doesn’t make you laugh as much as it makes you terribly sad. The times when San openly discusses the grim details of his youth are few and far between. The more you learn of how he was forced to grow up, the more your heart aches inside your check, and the desire to close yourself around the icy stake in his chest spikes exponentially. “It had all sorts of training videos on it to help me learn to be more effective in my role on the crew. Part of the combat training videos were dances, meant to teach how to move in a way that could conserve the body’s energy. Since my abilities are so dependent on stamina, that sort of training was beyond crucial. But instead of using them for that purpose, I used to hide under the covers on my bed and watch those dances in secret though, just for fun rather than learning. And I got caught once by my father.”

“Did he punish you for it?” 

“Rather than punishing me, he instead took me to a performance. Taskmaster Cara disagreed with the choice vehemently but Father didn’t pay her any mind. He simply wanted to bring me to the show. It was a night circus, traveled across the stars with the act, but we ended up seeing the show on Kebos of all places. It was a different city from where Mingi and Yunho grew up, so the coincidences stop there, though that would have been pretty special if it had been. Um… if I remember right, it was winter and snowing at the time, which was a first for me too. In the tent they had set up for the circus, there was this enormous rink of ice. Father got us seats right up by the railings and—” San cuts himself off with a laugh as he pushes his free hand out in front of him like he’s reliving the memory “—two automatons were dancing on the ice with wheels in place of feet to help them move. I remember it was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I had seen in my life. That memory — it was my happiest as a child. So seeing Wooyoung dance… it always reminds me of that experience and that feeling I had then. But seeing the two of you dance together tonight made me especially sentimental. Even though it wasn’t the same… I felt like I was seeing it all over again. Thank you for taking me back to that place.”

You squeeze your fingers around San’s. 

“I hope we can share a lot more of those kinds of memories too.”

San’s response comes in a rounded smile, then he settles back in his chair with his eyes shut and a hum in his throat. Though you don’t recognize the tune, you can only imagine it’s that song from the dance he witnessed all those years ago. In the descending night, you think that maybe the two of you will be okay after all.

────────────

The blissful peace that hangs in the air remains undisturbed until you and San are getting ready for bed. It’s then that a knock comes at your door, and with San in the bathroom washing his face, you take it upon yourself to be the one to answer it. You could have thrown at several guesses as to who would be waiting on the other side, and even the idea that it might be someone who works at the hostel would have come to mind before the man who is actually waiting there.

“Mingi…” you exhale in partial shock.

“Would you please come on a walk with me, Ghost?” His gas mask hangs loose around his neck, and he reaches up to point at it when your gaze flits downwards. “Bring yours if you’d like to come along.”

“Why not here?”

“There are too many eyes and ears here. The walls are thin. I would rather not talk about this in front of San. I do not want it to go back to the wr—to other people.” Every bit of his reasoning comes across as very matter-of-fact, but it all makes sense and you can’t argue with it.

“Okay,” you say through a nod, “okay, hold on.”

Mingi remains at the door as you move back to the bathroom, leaning through the doorframe to catch San’s attention while he’s brushing his teeth.

“I’m going out for a little bit with Mingi.”

San hums before leaning over the sink and spitting what’s left in his mouth out. “Be safe and bring your mask. Don’t worry about waking me when you get back if I’m asleep, just come in comfortably. I’ll try to stay up until you return though.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The way he’s smiling at you implies that he won’t listen to your words. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too. Dearly. Let me know if there are any pretty sights out there at night!”

You retrieve your mask from the top of the dresser on your way back to where Mingi is patiently waiting.

“I apologize for bringing you out so late,” the Berserker says once you shut your bedroom door behind you.

“No, it’s alright. You’ll be awfully busy with the cargo tomorrow as well, so this is fine. Besides, part of me is curious about what’s so special about nighttime here.” Mingi doesn’t laugh when you do, but he does plaster on something semi-adjacent to a smile. The two of you both secure your masks around your faces before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, although you have to fiddle with the straps a lot more than he does to make it sit comfortably over your nose. Mingi presses the door open with one hand, and you brace yourself for something dramatic or violent to happen yet that never comes. Air filters in and out of your gas mask, not even leaving a scent to pass through. 

“Please, follow me. I found a spot while I was making cargo trips today that looked quite nice. I think it’ll be a good spot to talk.” He walks slow enough for you to keep up without a struggle, even if you are somewhat distracted by examining every inch of your surroundings as you go. It’s fascinating to a certain extent because, despite all the warnings and concerns about nighttime, you still find an inordinate amount of people milling about the cobbled streets freely. No masks in sight on many, and some have them on their being but only hung about their necks like the masks are nothing but a statement piece and nothing functional to be used. The sight makes your skin itch and burn, a certain level of discomfort washing over you as you urge yourself to keep pace with Mingi. The chime hanging down from your right ear jingles with every step you take, and it sounds so awfully loud against the thick material of the mask.

The Berserker brings you over to the edge of the gorge, somewhere along the very place you initially arrived at, where there is nothing but braided rope stretched taut between lampposts to keep people from tumbling to an unsightly doom. Those same lampposts bear purple flames just as the others you saw in the city, but to see them against the night skin makes their glow seem all the more ominous. Down below lies that foggy ravine, although you can’t bear to look at it for long.

Mingi pauses by the ropes and grips the topmost one with both hands. You join in alongside him, squeezing the material tight as you look over across the gorge. In the night, you can just hardly make out the outline of The Horizon in the distance, yet it looks so terribly foreign and desolate with it’s lights fully shut off.

“May I ask you something about Sirens?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely, though I may not be ab—”

“Is Jongho a Siren?”

“—what?” You blink at your companion several times before his words sink in. “What?!”

“Is Jongho a Siren?” he repeats like nothing he said was out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“He’s — he’s a Berserker. He’s got the red eyes, and the strength of at least twenty men combined, and he can do things the rest of us can’t.”

“Yes, but he can influence emotions, no?” Mingi lets one hand fall to his side in favor of turning more toward you.

“Well, yes.”

“Can you? As a Siren?”

“Not like that, I can only—” you’re forced to bite your words back when the risk of exposing the others presents itself. Mingi will know if you’re lying, he’ll feel the increase in your heart rate surely like a shark smelling blood in the water. You must do your best to choose your next words so carefully that he won’t even suspect there are others amongst the crew. “Sirens can only sense other Sirens’ emotions. I cannot feel what you are feeling at this moment. The best I can do for anyone who is not a Siren is sympathize or empathize with them from person to person, but I cannot genuinely and truly know what they’re feeling. Nor can I feel those feelings myself. What Jongho does is different. He feels everyone’s emotions as though theirs are his own, like you do I’m sure, but he’s no Siren.”

“He draws emotions out of others like a siphon and takes them onto himself. Sirens are not capable of anything like that?”

Again you bite your tongue. What Mingi knows of Sirens must be very cut and dry — anything that could be drawn out of a book or fed to him through people such as Hongjoong or Yunho. If Seonghwa spoke to him, there’s no way of knowing what extent of the truth the man shared with Mingi. For the best, you would be wise not to mention the existence of Sirens such as Wooyoung and yourself.

“No, they are not.” You look down at where your hands cling to the rope barrier, finding your knuckles white with the effort of gripping it. “The most I can do is try to soothe another Siren by projecting my feelings towards them like some sort of projection, but that does nothing to force any certain emotion onto them. They will still feel the same as they did but simply be made aware of what I am feeling too. And that ability does not work on people who aren’t Sirens.” Except for the fact that I have forced thoughts into Hongjoong’s head somehow.

Mingi redirects his gaze to the gorge.

“Part of me desired a different answer honestly.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I wished to hear that Jongho’s abilities were that of some strange cross between a Siren and a Berserker that muddled the genetic pool of his abilities. For years, he has been the one to assist me in coming down from episodes. While Captain and Healer have made attempts to do so themselves, they consistently require Jongho’s help. He is always the one called to do so. I know for certain that there are times when I feel myself fighting back urges, when I am strong enough to win back control from the voices without Jongho using his little ability… I still cannot help but doubt how much of it comes from my own efforts and how much is his influence with that trick.” The Berserker’s voice remains void of any clue as to what he’s feeling, but the stare he casts over the gorge seems so forlorn that it makes your chest ache. “I know why he does it, but I also know why he does it without telling those he’s taking from most times. Because he knows they would not approve and that, in his mind, there is something morally grey about it.” It draws a sigh out of Mingi’s lips, and he turns around, leaning against the railing with his elbows propped up on the rope. “Do you not find it selfish?”

“I understand Jongho is trying to help so it’s hard to say that there is something inherently bad in what he’s doing,” you say as quietly as you can manage while still being audible. “I caught him doing it to me one time, and that enraged me beyond belief because it was against my will. I was robbed of the choice to feel my emotions. Is that selfish?”

“Yes.” You expected as much. “Doing something that robs another of a choice is always selfish and self-serving, even if there is good to be had in doing it. I do not wish to think of him as selfish because I’m aware that he has very particular reasons for doing what he does — as an act of self-preservation and to try to even out the moral scales that he believes are tipped against him.”

“What would truly be different if he were a Siren?”

“Ah. Well then, I could at least assume that Captain was the one pulling the strings behind Jongho in an attempt to keep me on my leash. Not that that would be needed for me in particular. My loyalty has never wavered regardless of what Captain has done in the past, but then again, he has never tried to do anything to me directly.” Mingi’s gaze slips down to you, torn from the scene ahead of him that consists of watching natives move above the streets. “Sorry.” The single word is flat and void of any semblance of emotion.

“Why’re you saying that?”

“Because that’s what people do when they desire to console others.”

“Do you feel that I need to be consoled?” His words hadn’t made you feel any type of way — positive or negative — so it’s a wonder why Mingi would think you need to be comforted by an apology right now. The Berserker tilts his chin back, and it forces his gaze to the night sky overhead. 

“No,” he starts, “you feel oddly neutral tonight with me.” Though you cannot see a smile thanks to his gas mask, you are the recipient of a rare laugh from the man. You have no clue what caused him to laugh, but it’s nice to hear the sound nonetheless.

“You don’t need to say sorry. I understand why my loyalty needs to be twisted into place in Hongjoong’s eyes.”

“You killed a king before, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

The question stumps you not because you cannot think of a reason but rather because many immediate answers fight to be at the forefront of your mind.

“He was a bad person.”

“Yet you view Captain as such too.” Mingi once again redirects focus to you. this time you make direct eye contact with the man, and the deadpan expression across his face combined with his next words makes your gut twist with anxiety. “Were you to try to kill him then I would kill you.”

“He would kill me himself long before I got the chance to even dream up the thought of doing such a thing.” Mingi does not appear wholly convinced. “Oddly enough, I do not want him dead so I suppose we’re all safe.”

Mingi clenches and unclenches his fists, easing his elbows further back on the railing. You can see the ship in the distance still, far across the gorge and still settled on the landing pad. It looks strangely lifeless in this light, with the knowledge that no one is aboard, yet you think that it is a long overdue rest for all her hard work and flights of late.

“Do you view yourself as a good person, Y/n?” Mingi angles his body towards you as he poses the question. Rather than giving you an opening to respond, he continues on speaking, “In the books I read, good and evil exist, and good always tries to end the evil. So do you view yourself as the good trying to kill the evil in this universe?”

“No.” You clear your throat before beginning again with more confidence in your tone. “No, I do not. What’s bad in my eyes very well may be good in others. There were many who were happy with the king, who thought him good, and he did do good at times. He was not all bad, but I perceived him as such for a short time. All it takes is that short time to want to do something bad to someone you think deserves it.”

“I fail to understand it that way,” your companion retorts. “My father told me before every match in the arena that the opponent was nobody of worth or value in the universe. They were neither good nor evil by his standards. Just a life that did not need to be lived, and it was my job to make way for other lives in place of theirs.”

“Then your father was trying to teach you that you were doing something good?”

“To an extent, sure, but I never understood it that way because I never had an understanding of emotion or good versus evil back then. And maybe good and evil don’t exist at all, maybe it’s all perception that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He angles his head further down but looks off over your shoulder with a sort of faraway gleam in his dark red eyes. “Perhaps at the end of the day… all we do are things that are based on a perception that we try to convince ourselves is a universal truth.” He sees something behind you, yet there is nothing but air and a freefall there. A ghost, perhaps, that has come to haunt him for merely breathing the faintest mention of his father. 

All of a sudden, he shoves away from the railing and steps off like he’s going to head back the way you came.

“We should head back now before it gets too late.”

“You go on ahead, I want to stay out a bit longer.” In the blink of an eye, Mingi is back at your side, head drawn so close to your ear that his mask bumps against yours.

“It would be best to leave now and save the sightseeing for later.” His hushed tone urges you to glance back at your surroundings, and what reads as concern to you is fortified by the lingering stares sent your way by those on the streets.

“I understand.” Yet still when Mingi tries to leave again, you remain rooted to the spot. Something else crosses your mind suddenly, something San had said to you in regard to his honesty. “Mingi. Have you ever seen San be cruel?”

Silence.

The Berserker turns his body until it’s perpendicular to yours and finds you still lingering at the railing.

“What does it look like?” you continue upon deciphering his silence as affirmation.

“…Like nothing you have ever seen.” He extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

How would you know that, how could you know such things, when doors are shut and I’m in his arms? Who could possibly know?

Your heart soars with his words nonetheless. Despite it all, here Mingi stands still trying to reassure you.

Your gaze lingers on the foggy waters below, with their odd glow and minty green hue. Something rattles you, another thing beckons you.

“There’s something down there,” you utter once you release your grip on the railing and take Mingi’s hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, “I hear it too.”

Mingi delivers you to your door safely and in one piece. He bids you goodnight with a small bow of his head but not a single comment concerning all that the two of you discussed on your excursion outside. Just as you’re turning the door handle to go inside, he pauses in the hallway and thanks you for your time. The conversation plays on repeat in your mind as you change into nightclothes and wash your face. When you join San in bed at long last, he has already fallen asleep with a book folding over his bare chest. It seems he really did try to stay awake waiting for you to return. You turn the light beside the bed off. Your mind is still far too busy to let you shut your eyes right away, so you spend some time facing San and staring at his profile through the darkness.

Mingi had seemed so sure of what he said. You rest a hand on San’s cheek and turn his face towards you just to see his features better. He barely shifts at the touch.

“Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

The trinkets on your ears feel so heavy under the weight of that blessing.

“Missed you,” San mumbles suddenly, clearly less asleep than you initially thought. He adjusts to drape an arm around your body and brings your head up to lay flat against his chest. No more words are exchanged as he goes right back to sleep, but you lay there with your ear atop his heart listening to the steady and rhythmic thumping like it’s a lullaby to put you to bed.

Good people can do bad things just as bad ones can do good. Those are the words you wished you had shared with Mingi earlier. But in his perspective, that is entirely incorrect.

Maybe people are simply that — people. Good and bad are things normal, regular, plain people do, but not definitive of what they are at the end of the day. It’s a rather beautiful outlook on the universe, you must admit.

──────────── a/n: yoohoo big summer (delayed delayed delayed) blowout! moc style! aheem aheem. i apologize every chapter for delayed updates so im certain lots of yall are like yeah yeah caly okay... okay... but! here we are. i wrestled a lot with many parts of this chapter and was super unhappy when i finished (beyond just being relieved it was over) but after my besties read it and gave me feedback i feel so much better about it and my writing so i am very happy with this <3

so! from this chapter on (i will be mentioning this again in the next chapter and the subsequent ones) i ask that you very much pay attention to details... this act is a dicey one and there will be much interchanging between things that are real and things that are not. there are cues to clue you in on when it is real versus when it's not!! of course i will happily help show those clues where i can bc i don't want anyone to be in the dark or clueless but do not that i do not want the writing to suffer bec im attempting to overexplain it in the text! that being said i hope this chapter was well worth the wait and thank you always for being patient and kind with me 🙇‍♀️

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

my wife (ao3) is dying of tuberculosis (down again) and she grows more faint each day (keeps going down almost every fucking day)

happy birthday to gay people omg