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They had company tonight, and Jaehwan stared at himself in the mirror for a long time before going out to face it. It was hard, trying to keep up the front of being put together, whole and unmarked, when he knew everyone knew. They knew he was in pieces, knew every secret. It was hard to still hold his head up high.
Taekwoon and Hakyeon hadn’t been by since— since Jaehwan had been low, had pitched that scene. He’d been feral, like a wounded animal. The thought of Taekwoon and Hakyeon having seen him like that made shame simmer in his belly.
Jaehwan recalled Wonshik saying that none of them thought less of him for being in love, for his pain, that they weren’t laughing at him behind his back. He wanted to believe it. He did. He just had a hard time with it.
Every hair was in place and all the wrinkles had been pressed out of his clothes, his belt buckle glinted faux silver. He was, outwardly, as calm and collected as he’d ever been, but he still felt he looked cracked, like his ravaged insides were shining through. But there was nothing to be done for that, so he walked away from his mirror and out of his bedroom.
The others were gathered in the living room, his living room, sprawled out on the various furniture. Even Taekwoon had deigned to take a seat for once, on the leather armchair Jaehwan himself usually perched on, while the other three sat wedged together on the couch. Perhaps Jaehwan needed another large armchair.
They all looked at him when he came in, tentative, though Hongbin smiled a little at him, and Wonshik greeted him with a soft, “Hey, Jaehwan.”
It grated, a little, the instinct was to snap that he wasn’t a spectacle and he wasn’t going to flop to the ground weeping so there was no need to walk on eggshells— but that was, probably, precisely why they were walking on eggshells. So he instead inhaled deeply through his nose and looked at Taekwoon’s mild expression and said, “Brother, it is good to see you.” He swept his gaze to the trio on the couch. “And you as well, nephew, child, and— adopted child.” Hongbin snorted, which made Jaehwan smile, though it was a bit brittle.
“You look— better,” Hakyeon ventured. For all that Jaehwan expected him to sneer and poke fun, he seemed— relieved, to see Jaehwan at least somewhat whole again. Seemingly.
“I’ve been eating my vegetables, so to speak,” Jaehwan said, grin turning a bit feral. He glanced down at the thermos in Hakyeon’s hands. It seemed convenient. Perhaps Jaehwan should start using one as well.
“You have also been talking to Sanghyuk have you not?” Taekwoon asked, nearly whispering it. His eyes were too keen, but Jaehwan didn’t know how much he knew, how much had trickled down.
The knowledge of last night hung heavy over Jaehwan. Wonshik and Hongin didn’t know what had transpired, Jaehwan had not told them and presumably neither had Sanghyuk— yet. But they at least knew Sanghyuk had been here, had smelled him, smelled the blood from Jaehwan’s tears. It was clear they had relayed this to Taekwoon and Hakyeon.
“I have been,” Jaehwan said, making a deliberate effort to stand straight, to not shy away from their gazes— pitying and judging and curious. “I am actually going to see him now. We— something has come up.”
Hakyeon’s gaze sharpened. “Is he alright?”
Jaehwan twitched, just a little, just a fraction. He almost wanted to tell them. If Sanghyuk wouldn’t listen to Jaehwan then perhaps he would listen to Hakyeon’s incessant nagging— but no, if it truly was Sanghyuk’s fate, nothing would make a difference. And Jaehwan did not want to violate Sanghyuk like that, not any more than he did before, going over his head and searching out his friend.
At a loss for anything else to say, he simply said, “He seems to be doing better than me,” which was vague and also an exceedingly low bar to set, really, but it was all he could give.
Taekwoon frowned, just a little, just enough to let Jaehwan know he knew something was off, but Hakyeon was sitting back and harrumphing, so he, at least, hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “Small mercies, I suppose,” Hakyeon muttered, and Wonshik shot him a look.
“Yes, Sanghyuk’s wellbeing is, after all, what really matters here,” Jaehwan said with a sharp grin, not really meaning the words all that sarcastically.
Surprisingly, Hakyeon flinched back, frowning. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did,” Jaehwan said, cutting him off hard, “you did, and it’s fine, Hakyeon. We’ve had bad blood between us from the start, and you never wanted me near Sanghyuk in the first place. You knew I had capacities to hurt him in ways beyond the flesh, even if he did not, and it is my fault, in the end, that I did not realize he had those same capacities. My suffering now is on my own shoulders.”
Taekwoon was staring at Jaehwan reproachfully, and Hakyeon’s face had gotten that pinched look to it.
Jaehwan exhaled slowly, forcing his hands to relax from where they’d been fisted at his sides. He rolled his shoulders a bit, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “I do not have it in me to deal with you tonight,” he muttered. “I need to go see Sanghyuk.” He turned sharply, striding towards the entrance hall. “Some other night, Hakyeon, we can have the screaming match we’ve always been building up to, and then perhaps cry and hold one another, yes? Until then, adieu.”
He heard Wonshik sigh, either in exasperation or relief, Jaehwan wasn’t sure, while Hakyeon muttered nonsensically under his breath. It made Jaehwan smile at little, that some things, at least, could still be a bit normal.
Jaehwan did want to make peace with Hakyeon before Sanghyuk died, and Taekwoon too, if he could. That didn’t mean becoming close, just— okay. But right now he didn’t have the energy for it, he was still trying to make peace with himself. And at this very moment, he needed to go see if he could grovel his way back into Sanghyuk’s semi-good graces. After last night it didn’t look promising. He was wearing Sanghyuk down, exhausting him and dimming his light, he could see it, and it made him feel so guilty.
The tunnels were silent as he flit through them, and when he walked away from the grate, he heard not a whisper of sound. And yet when he stepped onto the street, he heard his name called in a soft, high voice.
“Jaehwan.”
Jaehwan almost ignored it. He knew Taekwoon wouldn’t chase him. But Sanghyuk said he needed to stop running, and Jaehwan was inclined to at least try. For him.
So he stepped back into the shadows of the alleyway and looked up at his brother. “I really do need to go,” Jaehwan muttered.
“You are hiding something,” Taekwoon said simply, cutting through the meat of everything to hit bone right off the bat. Sometimes it was refreshing. It expedited things if nothing else.
“I think you will find I keep much from you, brother,” Jaehwan said. “Ours has never been a particularly warm sort of relationship. Can’t I have my secrets? After how much I have had laid bare of late, I do think I deserve to keep some parts of me to myself.”
Taekwoon seemed to be made of stone, a permanent slight crease in his brow. “You’ve managed to bring the facade back up admirably, but Jaehwan— you are not as well as you seem. Your attachment to Sanghyuk is potent. And I need to know— are you plotting something?”
Jaehwan felt his own brow crinkling, stomach jerking guiltily. But Taekwoon didn’t know, couldn’t know about the imminence of Sanghyuk’s death, of Jaehwan’s plans to not outlast him by long. “I— I don’t know what you mean—” Jaehwan stuttered, genuinely unsure what Taekwoon was accusing him of.
Taekwoon seemed to square himself. “You cannot turn Sanghyuk against his will,” he said, soft but no less fervent for it, “you cannot”
Jaehwan recoiled as if he’d been slapped, disbelief and fury welling up in him with such a rapid intensity that it left him reeling. It was no wonder Taekwoon disliked him so, and Hakyeon too, if they thought he was capable of this. “I would never,” he spat. “I would never.”
“Jaehwan—”
“No, no you listen to me,” Jaehwan said, voice rising in his anger. “I know you think I am a cruel bastard, but I would never— I cannot even stand the thought of it. I would have to kill him and I am not sure I actually have the capacity to do that were he willing, let alone unwilling. The thought makes me feel ill.”
And it did. The thought of Sanghyuk crying in his arms, begging him to stop, begging for his life, while Jaehwan drank his life away— it was too horrific for words. He would never, could never, do it.
Taekwoon, in the aftermath of Jaehwan’s outburst, seemed a little ashamed. Jaehwan was so furious he was shaking. “I do not think you are honorless,” Taekwoon said softly. “I know there are lines you will not cross. But I also know how desperate love can make us. I know how desperate it has made you.”
The anger left Jaehwan, popping like a bubble, and in its wake he was cold and weak and so tired. “There are things I have done I shouldn’t have, out of love for Sanghyuk,” he murmured. “But I could never hurt him that way, I love him too much to want to submit him to the torment I watched you go through, even if I could stomach killing him in the first place.” He reached up to hold his own upper arms. “Now please— I need to go see him.”
Taekwoon said nothing, simply nodded, and now Jaehwan allowed himself to flee.
——
Sanghyuk curled his feet up on his couch, settling his laptop precariously on the arm beside him. He’d switched off all the lights so the only thing to see by was the glow of the episode of Law and Order: SVU flickering on his laptop screen. He had seen it before, it was constantly on TV, but that wasn’t the point. It was familiar and comforting, as comforting as something so gritty could be. It also was a good distraction, and he needed that desperately right now.
The past few months had been a hurricane of emotion, tearing at him in large and small chunks, and he wanted one night, just one night, where he was free of it. Where he could sit mindlessly and not think about any of the fucked up events of late. He was beginning to feel that he couldn’t hold anything more in his head without it exploding.
Sanghyuk didn’t — couldn’t — think about the night before, with Jaehwan. He still felt gutted, pulled open so that his insides were raw in the air. He was still so angry with Jaehwan for what he had done, but all of it had been dulled by the knowledge that underneath it lay a well of— not fondness, not really, but something close enough to be scary. Close enough that Sanghyuk was dangerously near making himself vulnerable.
He shook himself to clear the thought from his mind and turned back to the episode he was watching.
The end credits had just started when there was a ripple along his house wards, his tattoos prickling. He stiffened, dread and anticipation washing over him, before a knock sounded at the front door. His head jerked up, staring towards his kitchen for a couple of moments in slight confusion. Front door knock probably meant Wonshik, or Hakyeon. He wasn’t sure he was up to coping with Hakyeon, not after the realisation he’d had the night before. He hoped it was Wonshik, preferably with Hongbin; it was easier to get Wonshik to think of things other than Sanghyuk when Hongbin was around.
He set his laptop carefully on the couch and padded to the door. His feet had been warm underneath him but were already growing cold against the tiles. He unlocked his door and pulled it open and was greeted by Jaehwan, deep shadows cast over his face.
Sanghyuk blinked. He nearly closed the door again, and his tattoos sent out a ripple of energy, skittering over his skin. “Hi,” he said, after the silence had almost stretched into rudeness.
“Hello,” Jaehwan said. His mouth twitched, like he was thinking about smiling, but then his face settled back into neutrality. Neither of them seemed to know what to do with him being on Sanghyuk’s doorstep. He motioned to the open door. “May I come in?”
This wasn’t the first time Sanghyuk had had a vampire standing on his front step; you’d think he’d be better equipped to handle it. It was lucky that nobody was likely to be looking into the hall, and that in the slight light escaping from his apartment it would be difficult to notice what Jaehwan was anyway. Nonetheless, he stepped back and ushered Jaehwan in.
Jaehwan stepped into his kitchen, moving to stand beside Sanghyuk’s table rather than going further into the apartment proper. He looked strangely incongruous standing here rather than in Sanghyuk’s bedroom or living room. He didn’t belong here. This was where Sanghyuk and Hakyeon sat and talked. It was not a space for what he and Jaehwan had been to each other, whatever that meant on either part. They hadn’t fucked in Sanghyuk’s kitchen, after all, and judging by the way Jaehwan was looking around, he was standing there precisely for that reason.
It felt like there was a wall between them, and it made Sanghyuk want to crawl out of his own skin. He didn’t want to be thinking about what had happened the night before and if Jaehwan was here being a beautiful spectre, it was impossible to avoid. And Jaehwan was just standing there.
Sanghyuk sighed and set about making himself a cup of tea. “I didn’t expect you to come,” he said, filling up a cup with water and setting it in the microwave. Jaehwan watched him with interest, sitting down at the table.
“When you left last night, you didn’t make any plans to come see me again,” Jaehwan said, once the heated water had been retrieved. “I wasn’t— I was unsure if you wanted to see me again, after what happened. I’d understand if that was the case, though I do not wish it.”
Sanghyuk went through the motions of making his tea, gnawing at his bottom lip. He didn’t say anything. He might tell Jaehwan the truth if he did, that he did want to see Jaehwan, and that was the whole problem.
“Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan said softly, to Sanghyuk’s back, “I know talking to me is a miserable experience, but I do think it is helping. It's causing me an intense amount of pain, but it is helping. You're helping.” There was a pleading note towards the end.
Sanghyuk turned towards him. Jaehwan’s gaze was fixed on the table in front of him, his fingers poking at leftover breadcrumbs dusted across the surface. The sense that he was avoiding Sanghyuk’s eyes was almost palpable.
Sanghyuk sat down opposite him and said, as softly as Jaehwan had spoken, “I think that you need to start talking to Wonshik, or Hongbin, instead of me.”
Jaehwan went still. Sanghyuk was dismayed to find that the urge to touch him had returned. He wanted to reach across and press the tension out of Jaehwan’s slim shoulders, trace fingertips down his spine. He couldn’t explain that to Jaehwan, couldn’t explain that in seeing Jaehwan vulnerable and open, he’d cracked all across his surface and now there were too many places for Jaehwan to get inside him. It was self-preservation, it was cowardly, but it was necessary.
He couldn’t give Jaehwan something half-hearted, like softness, or fondness, even to this extent, and watch Jaehwan twist it into something it couldn’t be.
“You know now, that I’m going to be dead soon,” Sanghyuk went on, and had to sit through Jaehwan’s subsequent flinch. It hurt. “You can’t keep relying on me. It will make things— difficult, later. Wonshik and Hongbin are your— your children, you will have them for eternity. They can help you, Jaehwan. Just as well as I can. And they care about you, too. They’ll want to help.”
Jaehwan looked like he wanted to argue with that — not again, Sanghyuk thought — but then he pressed his lips together. “Yes, of course,” he said, after a moment. It was stiff, formal, like they were strangers discussing the local increase in bread prices.
The silence stretched out between them, long and hard. It felt like, a couple of times, Jaehwan shifted as if he was about to start speaking, but then he didn’t. For his own part, Sanghyuk didn’t know what to say. Words were completely failing him.
Eventually, Jaehwan seemed to give himself a little shake. It was a strange move, from him. “Well,” he said, barely more than a murmur, “I suppose this is goodbye then.”
The jerk of Sanghyuk’s stomach felt like being winded. He didn’t want this to be goodbye; he didn’t want to say goodbye to Jaehwan at all. Not like this. He didn’t want to let go now, didn’t want this to be where their relationship finally died. He didn’t want the previous night’s fight, and this— this cold and barren conversation to be their last memories.
But it was more than that, and Sanghyuk couldn’t lie to himself anymore. The past few weeks had shown him that, through all his relationships, what he’d been looking for was probably— this. Sitting under his nose the entire time. And it was too fucked up to have. All the more reason to let this go now, but he wanted, he wanted so badly for this to somehow— be fixed.
“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” he said, very carefully, “not unless you want it to be. I said that I could be your friend, and I can still do that. I can still come visit, and we can still talk, sometimes. I can be that— if you want.”
Jaehwan shook his head. He half rose out of his chair and then sat back down, a little heavily. “We can’t,” he said, and Sanghyuk’s stomach sank like a lead weight. “We can’t because I love you and I can’t stop loving you. We can’t because I want to touch you so badly and I catch myself a lot, catch myself reaching out to brush your hair out of your eyes, or to take your hand. And I am going to slip up, one day, Sanghyuk. I'm going to call you love or touch you when I walk by and I can’t—” He broke off, baring his teeth in a gesture of frustration. They looked a little odd, bared like that without fangs. “I can’t be your friend,” he finished.
He was right. There could be no denying it, as much as Sanghyuk ached inside. And he felt the same, which was even worse— he wanted to touch, wanted to reach out and put his hand on Jaehwan and feel his feverish heat, the softness of his skin under Sanghyuk’s palm. He knew where this— where it could go, if he didn’t cut it off. He would fall for Jaehwan, and there would be no way to stop it.
It hurt all the same.
“Okay,” he said softly. He could let Jaehwan go; it was less cruel for both of them, in the end. “Okay, I understand. But, Jaehwan, we— we’ll see each other, sometimes. When I come to see the others.”
Jaehwan looked at him, his dark eyes inscrutable. “I know.”
“This isn’t actually goodbye.”
Jaehwan’s expression was carefully blank. Sanghyuk wanted to know so badly what he was actually thinking. Jaehwan just nodded, after a moment, and stood. He seemed like he was going to hold out his hand for Sanghyuk to shake — Sanghyuk saw the twitch of his fingers — and then he just nodded again.
“Goodbye, Sanghyuk,” he said.
Sanghyuk went to pour his cold tea into the sink so he didn’t have to watch him leave. When he heard the click of his front door, he gripped edge of the counter so hard the old plywood surface creaked.
——
Jaehwan flit through the alleys and the shadows of buildings on his way home, going quickly, feeling the magic of his being coursing through him. He put a lot of thought into it, into every movement, one foot, the other, trying to keep up the repetitive thoughts like the beating of a drum, like the sound of Sanghyuk’s heart.
He choked on a sob and stopped suddenly, on a fire escape in the black of an alley. The metal screeched for a moment at the sudden weight on it and he flitted up quickly onto the roof before someone looked out a window to see what had caused the noise.
He had a hand over his mouth and was biting down hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, keeping his fangs in check, but hard enough to be painful. It brought him back, kept the next sob from ripping out of him. He didn’t— couldn’t— let himself break down, not here, not like this. Not at all, if he had his own way.
Perhaps he was still in shock. He’d never thought he’d be the one telling Sanghyuk goodbye, to be the one cutting Sanghyuk out, rather than the other way around. That was not— what he had thought would happen tonight. He still couldn’t believe he had done it. It seemed so fantastical. And it hurt. It was a fishhook in his stomach being yanked every time he thought about it.
He wasn’t even sure that this was going to change anything. In fact, he thought it wouldn’t change anything whatsoever. He was going to be in love with Sanghyuk until the day he died, which he now knew was going to be sooner, rather than later; Sanghyuk’s lifetime seemed so much more important now. But Jaehwan couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t pretend to be friends with Sanghyuk when seeing him was like another death all over again.
He didn’t think Sanghyuk knew how hard it was not to touch him. The question now, was, could Jaehwan survive not seeing Sanghyuk. Would it be worse than having to endure his presence when he was so fixedly out of reach. Possibly. Probably. But at least this way Sanghyuk was safe from him, safe from Jaehwan fucking up, again, again, again, and touching him or calling him love or—
Jaehwan needed to get home. He needed to be in a place that was safe, relatively speaking, before he could let himself break down over this. And he could feel that he was going to break down, eventually. He was trying so hard to hold all his pieces together and they were going to shudder apart at some point. He couldn’t do that here. He prayed Taekwoon and Hakyeon would have left by now. Someone up there needed to have mercy on him at some point.
He stepped down off the rooftop and back into the shadows, travelling as fast as before, trying to get faster, until he was racing through the tunnels that led to his house. It was so dark down here, so quiet; comforting, in a way, for once. He had resented being alone, in silence, with no one for so long, it was almost ironic that he could take comfort in that now.
The house too was quiet, and Jaehwan almost sobbed in relief. He was glad he held it back though, because while Hakyeon and Taekwoon were gone, and Hongbin was nowhere to be seen, Wonshik was in the living room, sitting on the couch, stretched out with a book open across his lap.
Jaehwan came to a stop, arrested by the sight of him. “Oh,” he said, before he could stop himself.
Wonshik looked at him, unsure, over the top of his book. He half-closed it, looking like he was getting ready to leave. Jaehwan, after all, was notoriously— unstable, after he’d spent time with Sanghyuk. He had the awful thought that in the past, he might have been proud of how much Wonshik looked at him like a force to be feared. But not anymore.
“Hi,” Wonshik said. He sounded wary.
“My brother and his incestuous lover left?”
Wonshik’s nostrils flared. “Yes, about a half hour ago.”
“I see. And where is my other son?”
Wonshik squinted at him, which was better, at least, than him cowering in fear. It wasn’t a bit intimidating. “In the library.” He paused and then added, “He says that I have a habit of muttering under my breath when I read and it’s annoying”
Jaehwan snorted. That did sound like something Wonshik would do. The snort did something strange halfway through as the night caught up to him. Wonshik looked at him carefully, his scowl dropping off in favour of a curious, slightly surprised look.
“Are you okay?” Wonshik asked. His voice was so cautious. Jaehwan thought about what it must have taken for Wonshik to ask him that, knowing that Jaehwan was likely to lash out at him for it. He had asked it anyway. Perhaps Sanghyuk was right, had been right all along, about Wonshik.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, before he could back out.
Wonshik marked his place and shut his book slowly. He set it aside on the coffee table. He didn’t take his eyes off Jaehwan. “Yes? What about?”
“I—” Not for the first time, Jaehwan wished he could still get high. He had often missed the pleasant effects of opiates through his life as a vampire and he thought he could really do with some to take the edge off right then. “It’s about Sanghyuk.”
That caught Wonshik’s attention and he stood up quickly, stepping forwards. “What? What about Sanghyuk?”
“There is nothing wrong with Sanghyuk, don’t worry,” Jaehwan said quickly, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. He took several slow steps towards Wonshik so they could be face to face, stalling as he thought about how to continue, how to explain what had happened and what the outcome had been. He had thought he would get more time than this to become acquainted with this empty feeling inside him. “It is not— it is I who—”
He broke off, feeling the catch at the base of his throat, and suddenly he just— couldn’t do this anymore. He leaned forward — slumped, really — resting his forehead on Wonshik’s shoulder, hands dangling uselessly at his side. Wonshik went still. Jaehwan could feel the nervous confusion rolling off him in waves. There was a long stretch of silence. He thought he felt the brush of something against his arm, Wonshik lifting a hand to touch him, perhaps, and then thinking better of it.
“Jaehwan?” Wonshik whispered.
“Sanghyuk has asked that I talk to you, and Hongbin,” Jaehwan said. His voice was a rasp.
“What about?” Wonshik’s voice was so soft it made Jaehwan’s eyes sting.
“About the things that he and I have been talking of. About my— issues.”
“Your issues?”
“Yes. He has been helping me piece through my turning, and everything after it. I have— many things built up. He believed if I sorted through everything up to now, I’d have an easier time dealing with, well, the now itself. That way I can function, live, without needing him. So he can walk away.”
“Oh,” said Wonshik, and Jaehwan could hear something there, in his voice, that reminded Jaehwan that Wonshik knew what it was like to be forced to live without the one that he loved.
“He and I—” God, why was it so hard. He still had his head pressed to Wonshik’s shoulder and this time he did feel the slight pressure of Wonshik’s hand coming up to touch his own shoulder in comfort. “Some things have happened. We have said goodbye,” Jaehwan managed to say.
“Oh,” Wonshik said again, and the inflections were different yet again. He stepped back a little, his hand holding onto Jaehwan like he feared he might collapse without it. “Are you okay talking to me and Hongbin about that kind of stuff?”
No, Jaehwan wanted to say. Instead, he laughed, and was horrified to hear it come out brittle. “I should be asking that same question of you. I shouldn’t imagine it’s a pleasant prospect for you.”
Wonshik gave him a look that seemed to be full of sympathy and was one that would have made Jaehwan want to claw his eyes out a few months ago. “Jaehwan, we’ve told you so many times, but we do care for you. For all that you’re a difficult bastard—”
“You do me too much credit, Wonshik.”
“We do care,” Wonshik continued, glaring at him for the interruption. “It’s not just Sanghyuk that wanted you to get better. We all do. And I can’t speak for Hongbin, you’ll have to ask him, but if there’s something I can do to help, even if it’s just listen to you talk, I can try to do that for you.”
Jaehwan wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He caught himself wondering if this was an elaborate joke and then, uncharitably, thought that Wonshik probably wasn’t capable of such a prank. He was being sincere and serious; Jaehwan probably owed him the same.
“Thank you,” he said. It was too much. He could feel himself wobbling further, inside, all his pieces starting to jar against each other in warning. “I— perhaps— I shall ask Hongbin tomorrow. For now, I need to—”
He motioned towards the hall. Wonshik nodded and stepped aside, his face as serious as Jaehwan had ever seen it. Jaehwan — fled, was probably the only word for it, but he hadn’t managed to leave the room before Wonshik said his name, low and calm. Jaehwan turned to him.
“I’m sorry,” Wonshik said. “About Sanghyuk.”
“As am I,” Jaehwan said.
He at least made it to his bedroom before he started to cry. He was grateful for small mercies, at this point, and he flopped on his bed, curling up on his side. It made him feel small, and he reached out, fisting a hand in the blanket where Sanghyuk should be laying beside him but wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be again.
——
Sanghyuk held up the jar in his hands, glass cool against his palms. “You know, if you were planning on seducing me later, showing me the shrunken head was not the best plan,” he heard himself say with an affected wrinkling of his nose.
“Love, you know very well I don’t need to have a plan to get you into my bed,” Jaehwan said from behind him. Sanghyuk turned to stick his tongue out at him, and Jaehwan laughed, teeth glinting bluntly in the low light.
“Ego,” Sanghyuk said, a reminder, and Jaehwan just smiled at him, lacking all his sharp edges. He stepped forward, making his way around objects Sanghyuk couldn’t see, couldn’t remember, a fuzzy halo around Jaehwan, who remained crystal clear. The jar wasn’t in Sanghyuk’s hands anymore, forgotten, faded.
“I love you,” Jaehwan said fondly once he was in front of Sanghyuk, still smiling that soft smile. Sanghyuk reached out for him with his empty hands, craving to touch so badly, to feel Jaehwan’s warmth. Jaehwan stepped forward quickly, dodging Sanghyuk’s hands, and suddenly his mouth was a breath away from Sanghyuk’s, and Sanghyuk gasped sharply.
The air smelled like laundry detergent. Sanghyuk opened his eyes.
He was lying facing his bedroom wall, and he slowly rolled over so he was on his back, blinking up at his ceiling. His breath was coming quickly, and tears stung at his eyes.
“God damn you, Jaehwan,” he whispered. “God damn you.”