Choi Yoon To Hwa Pyung (or Vice Versa, I'm Okay With Either) : "i Leave You Alone Once, I'm Not Doing

choi yoon to hwa pyung (or vice versa, i'm okay with either) : "i leave you alone once, i'm not doing it again"

(I really wanted to fit this into canon but I just couldn't make it work for the episode I was going to base it after. I hope you enjoy it regardless.)

After everything that he’s gone through, Choi-yoon knows that salvation, in the sense of how he’s been taught, is not on the cards for him. There’s too much he’s seen, done, and wanted and he knows his shortcomings well enough now that he's disillusioned.

It’s never really been about that, he supposes, not his salvation at least. If Choi-yoon could secure it for someone else, ensure that at least one soul, more, was going to a heaven he would likely never see, it would be enough.

Then, they lose Hwa-Pyung and he’s not so sure anymore.

It’s not a crisis of faith. Choi-yoon can’t forsake a god he’s put so much of his life into, so much of his heart, but he can admit that he’d been shaken. More than the exorcisms, more than the curse placed on him, losing the other man had rocked the foundations of his very belief like nothing ever had.

How could a man like Hwa-pyung, a good man, be taken like that?

Choi-yoon’s only comfort some nights, when his skin aches and he’s terrified that the invisible, festering wounds on his chest will reappear, is that Hwa-pyung had died selflessly. It’s also, if Choi-yoon is being honest with himself, his biggest regret. Not being there in time to stop it.

So, with all that in mind, no one can particularly blame him, that when he and Gil-young find out that Hwa-pyung's alive, Choi-yoon takes the opportunity to indulge in the pure relief he feels.

It’s after they get the tough things out of the way, the apologies, the explanations, the tears, that the three of them are sat, two days later, in Hwa-pyung’s small fishing cottage, a few bottles of soju split between the three of them. Gil-young is filling them in on a case she’s been working, trying to keep the tone as light as she can. It’s a moving gambling ring, dog fighting, and for them, it’s easily digestible small talk over drinks.

Choi-yoon is doing his best not to drink more than what will get him just to the edge of drunk but each time he looks over at the other man, hair so much longer but shoulders relaxed, Choi-yoon’s rosary around his neck, there’s an itch in his throat. It would be a lie to say that he’d chosen to sit on Hwa-pyung’s blind side unintentionally. Choi-yoon is still not convinced that this is real. The two days he’d had to come to terms with Hwa-pyung’s resurrection doesn’t feel like enough, and there’s a part of him that doubts, that believes if the other leaves his line of sight, he’ll turn into smoke and vanish like he’d done a year ago in the ocean.

Choi-yoon feels less self-conscious knowing that Hwa-pyung can’t observe him back from this angle. Then he feels guilty for those feelings and reaches for the shot that’s already been poured for him.

Out of the three, Choi-yoon is still the quietest, but he attempts to make it clear he wants to be here with thoughtful hums and acknowledgments that he's paying attention. He’d offered his own recap of the year for Hwa-pyung had been gone when the night had started, so there isn't much he can add to the conversation at large now.

When they finish off their last bottle Choi-yoon is a bit further gone than he’d intended to be, collar and jacket discarded, down to just his dress shirt, one button at the very top of his throat undone, vulnerable. Choi-yoon will blame his fuzzy head and flushed skin for the lack of composure. He thinks it’s more to do with wanting to be bare for these people, to shed away the stone walls of the clergy and be at peace with his friends (because that’s what they are) for the first time. No impending demonic possessions to facilitate the exposure of his secret self.

He’s still clear-minded enough to know it would be unwise for any of them to leave if his own inebriation is any indication. Hwa-pyung, who’s held his drink better than any of them, shares the same sentiment, and he and Gil-young squabble back and forth over who’s going to take the couch.

Hwa-pyung ends up winning, sending the girl off to get comfortable while he changes his sheets for her. In the meantime Choi-yoon busies himself with cleaning up their takeout boxes and bottles, limbs heavy and movements sluggish as he turns Hwa-pyung’s rusty taps to rinse the glasses.

He gets distracted like that, warm water flowing over his fingers, his head pleasantly heavy and the soju bottles clinking lightly as he sets them aside to dry out.

It’s how Hwa-pyung is able to sneak up on him so easily, the man offering a smile in apology when Choi-yoon jumps and almost shatters what’s in his hands. They stare at one another for a moment, the atmosphere somewhere between neutral and undercut with the tension that’s always been wrapped around them, before Hwa-pyung's smile softens into something smaller and he reaches forward, turning off the faucet.

“C’mon,” He takes Choi-yoon’s sleeve between his forefinger and thumb and pulls him towards the living room. Choi-yoon follows easily, leaving the last bottle on the kitchen counter as they go. The small table they’d been eating and drinking at is moved, pushed to the side of the room, and in its place is a large but thin-looking mat. The couch is also done up with a wool blanket and pillow.

Choi-yoon goes to kneel wordlessly by the makeshift bed on the floor and is stopped, Hwa-pyung’s hand going to his shoulder to halt him. He’s smiling still, looking at Choi-yoon like he’s being silly.

“You take the couch.” He makes an effort to pull Choi-yoon up by his shirt, but the priest stays stubbornly frozen in the awkward half-squat he’d been caught at.

“You’ve already given Gil-young your bed. I won’t.” Choi-yoon is used to being uncomfortable, the beds at the monastery are more like slabs of stone than the springs and foam they’re promised to be.

Hwa-pyung rolls his eyes at him and it’s odd, but the flare of anger that hits Choi-yoon's chest is welcomed. He’s missed it.

“I don’t want to argue over sleeping arrangements father, just sleep on the couch.”

If Hwa-pyung is somehow under the impression that a year has made Choi-yoon more agreeable, less bullheaded, he’s mistaken.

Instead of offering an answer, Choi-yoon lowers himself finally to the ground, even as the other man yanks on his shirt collar in a futile attempt to get him to stand. He bats away Hwa-pyung’s hand easily and slides under the thin sheet that’s been laid out and then rolls to face away from the other man, leaving no space to argue further.

When the light in the living room goes out he thinks he’s won.

He shouldn’t have assumed that Hwa-pyung had gotten any less stubborn himself.

Choi-yoon doesn’t expect the sheet to shift and a warm body to settle in next to him on the mat. He turns and feels his breath catch in his throat. Hwa-pyung is laying on his back, hands behind his head, his functioning eye turned towards Choi-yoon and a smirk dancing on his lips, triumphant.

“Hwa-pyung-!” The man throws out a hand to slap at Choi-yoon, silencing him.

“Let’s not argue about it, we both got what we want, no need to complain now.” They both know very well that Choi-yoon had not gotten what he wanted but he bites his tongue. It will only lead to a circular conversation and somehow he knows that Hwa-pyung will still end up on top.

Choi-yoon lets out a sigh and mirrors the other, moving to lay on his back as well and willing sleep to come and take him.

It doesn’t happen. Choi-yoon counts the minutes in his head until he gets to fifteen and cracks his eyes open.

He’s not used to sharing a sleeping space so close to others, even when he was a boy, the beds at the school had been a respectable distance away from one another, lest the boys get any idea to goof around in the middle of the night. Hwa-pyung is a living, breathing thing beside him, their shoulders practically touching, and Choi-yoon can’t help that his brain locks into the way that the other's body shifts and the heat of it, radiating towards him while they’re both under the blanket.

Unable to fight the urge, Choi-yoon turns his head to look. Hwa-pyung’s eye is closed, and his mouth is open slightly, breathing even and low. He looks surprisingly comfortable for essentially being on the hard ground.

“I can feel you staring.” Hwa-pyung’s voice is low, not a whisper but not exactly at the volume he usually speaks. Choi-yoon hadn’t expected him to still be awake but he isn't surprised either. The other man turns to face him and opens his eyes to meet Choi-yoon’s gaze through the darkness. Choi-yoon can still make out the stark whiteness of Hwa-pyung’s damaged eye and it makes his stomach churn, a terrifying reminder of all of their sacrifices. But Hwa-pyung is the only one who has to bear them...

It’s unfair.

Neither of them says anything for a long while, just staring at one another. It’s strange in that it’s not strange at all. Eventually, Hwa-pyung seems to find the words he needs to say.

“When you and Gil-young leave in the morning…” he pauses, and Choi-yoon feels like he’s suddenly on the edge of something scary, whatever the man is going to say, it won’t be favorable. “You should probably stay away for a while.”

Choi-yoon feels himself go very tense. He should have expected as much. The reconciliation had been too easy, the acceptance that they’d found him, even after learning the reason he’d never reached out. Choi-yoon feels like something is scooping at his insides. Even now, after all the loss, after all the struggle, Hwa-pyung is still offering his neck and wrists for shackles, content to keep the burden all to himself.

It makes Choi-yoon sick.

Unbidden, unstoppable, he reaches forward, face doing something complicated he’s sure, and the tips of his fingers find the top of Hwa-pyung’s scar, slicing into his eyebrow. To his credit, the other man doesn’t shrink away, just follows the path of Choi-yoon’s arm with his good eye. Choi-yoon traces the line and lets out a shaky exhale, forcing his thoughts to gather into something coherent.

“I leave you once…” Choi-yoon breathes the words, finger sliding down to where the scar ends, just at the top of Hwa-pyung’s cheekbone. ‘I leave you once and this happens,’ is what he’s saying.

Choi-yoon is tired, floating on whatever this strange energy between them is and wishing that it didn’t circle his heart like a vice. Choi-yoon knows what it’s called, but years of fear beaten into him refuses to let him name the emotion for now. He pauses there before letting his gaze drop to meet Hwa-pyung’s again.

Something deep inside, maybe the fact that Choi-yoon’s rosary is catching the soft moonlight from the half-shuttered windows, still around Hwa-pyung’s neck, is telling him he needs Hwa-pyung to know this. Maybe it’s just that selfish voice in the back of his head.

“Choi-yo-” Hwa-pyung looks sad, and Choi-yoon doesn’t like it, not how the expression makes him look years beyond his age, and not how it makes him feel.

“I’m not doing it again.” He’s resolute in this, Park Il-do’s possible return, the curse that may or may not remain, lingering over his head, he won’t leave Hwa-pyung alone again.

The other man sighs and even though he closes his eyes and offers a small nod of acquiescence, Choi-yoon knows that this conversation isn’t over. He’ll have Gil-young keep tabs on him just in case he tries to leave. He doubts Hwa-pyung would, not with his grandfather still needing him, but Choi-yoon feels like his minor paranoia is justified. Hwa-pyung opens his eyes again, and Choi-yoon doesn’t know what he sees. Whatever it is, however he looks at the other man, it takes the rest of the fight out of Hwa-pyung and the small frown is replaced with a tired smile.

Choi-yoon is slightly startled when a hand comes up to wrap around his own, having not fully realized he was still touching Hwa-pyung’s face, thumb absently tracing the lines of the scar.

“Go to bed Choi-yoon.” Hwa-pyung guides his hand down to the space between them and Choi-yoon notes, even as his eyes grow heavy, that the other isn’t pulling away from the contact. He uses that as some kind of justification for turning his palm and lacing their fingers together, a part of his brain still buzzed and exhausted, supplying that now Hwa-pyung can’t leave.

Choi-yoon is not destined for salvation, he’s promised no place in heaven, and he doesn’t know if Hwa-pyung is either. The least he can do, what he wants the do, is walk that path, if not next to Hwa-pyung, behind him, so that this time, if the other man stumbles, it’s not by himself. If the devil comes rattling at the door once again, they can both be there holding him back.

Mostly, selfishly, it’s so that neither of them has to walk it alone.