Chapter Text
Wonshik knocked on Sanghyuk’s front door with some trepidation. He’d woken up soon after dusk to a text from Sanghyuk that simply read, urgent, please come by my place, so here he was, nervously fidgeting on Sanghyuk’s worn welcome mat.
The door opened to reveal Sanghyuk whole and unhurt, and Wonshik breathed a sigh of relief. Then he was being yanked into the apartment, the door shutting behind him quickly. “Took you long enough,” Sanghyuk hissed. “We don’t have much time, I have to leave for work soon.”
Wonshik squinted. “The sun only set like an hour ago,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m a vampire. If the sun is up, I am not.” Sanghyuk shot him a sour look, so Wonshik relented, putting his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Alright, alright, well I’m here now, so what’s up? You look— okay. I was worried.”
“It’s not me, it’s Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said softly, urgently, and Wonshik’s stomach jolted. But he knew his loving maker was home, still snoozing, probably. He had been when Wonshik left, anyway. “He’s— last night Hakyeon talked to him.”
That had taken a turn Wonshik wasn’t expecting. “He— what?”
Sanghyuk exhaled, the sound frustrated, and he whirled away, running his hand through his hair before spinning back around. “Hakyeon. He— he told Jaehwan—” Sanghyuk’s mouth twisted. “He told Jaehwan that I almost fell in love with him.”
Wonshik blinked. “Wait. You what? He what? What?”
Sanghyuk visibly swallowed and he looked down at his dingy linoleum floor. “Back at the start of things,” he murmured, “I got— close. To falling in love with Jaehwan. It— it was a near thing, and even though I didn’t, in the end, it still had an effect on me. I confided in Hakyeon, and he— he felt Jaehwan needed to know. So he went over my head and told him.”
“Oh,” Wonshik said lamely. Hakyeon had left with some haste after Sanghyuk had, and Jaehwan had seemed a bit— off. But no more off than usual. “I— why are you telling me this? You know I can’t do anything about Hakyeon. He’s been this way since he was born.”
Sanghyuk shook his head. “I already spoke to Hakyeon,” he said darkly. “I just— is Jaehwan alright? I didn’t want him to know, I knew it would hurt him, I’m so mad—”
“Whoa, Sanghyuk,” Wonshik said, touching Sanghyuk’s shoulder gently, because Sanghyuk looked like he was building towards tears. “Easy, kiddo, it’s alright. Jaehwan seemed pretty normal last night— or at least as normal as he’s been able to get, these last few weeks.”
Sanghyuk looked surprisingly wretched. “He’s— he might just be learning how to hide it again,” he murmured. “I worry this might have set him back, might make him— relapse— check in on him, please?” Sanghyuk was outright wringing his hands, and Wonshik felt very wrong-footed. “I didn’t— I was worried if I came by myself it might make things worse, if he was in a bad place. But tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I— I’ll talk to him about it, if he wants. He can stop by.”
Wonshik took Sanghyuk in, the way he wouldn’t quite meet Wonshik’s eyes, the fidgeting and stiff posture. “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Wonshik murmured, and Sanghyuk winced, blood rushing to his cheeks. “You don’t owe him anything, you know.”
“I want him to get better, Wonshik,” Sanghyuk said softly, voice a bit thick. “I want him to stop suffering so much.”
Wonshik’s chest ached, because even after all this time, Sanghyuk was still so soft, when by all logic, he should be as cold and hard as Jaehwan had thought himself to be. “Oh, kiddo,” Wonshik whispered, “you’re too kind for your own good.”
Sanghyuk was shaking his head, laughing a little hollowly. “It’s not kindness,” he said, seemingly to himself, then his eyes darted to the clock on the microwave and he swore. “I have to go— please tell him, okay? Tell him that even though I said— I can’t be his crutch anymore— if he needs to talk to me about this, he can.”
“Okay,” Wonshik said, watching with wide eyes as Sanghyuk snatched his keys off the table then turned and flit right out the door, fast for a human, leaving Wonshik alone in his house.
Wonshik stood there, in Sanghyuk’s kitchen, until he heard the sound of his old car starting, the rumble of the engine an old friend. Once Sanghyuk had driven off, Wonshik locked the front door from the inside, then left through the living room window.
He flit through the darkness absently, thinking of Sanghyuk’s words. He understood why Sanghyuk would have thought Jaehwan might have have another break, he’d have thought so too, and yet Jaehwan had seemed relatively alright last night before they’d slept.
When Wonshik arrived home, he heard shuffling in the kitchen, but it was just Hongbin, getting his breakfast. “Hey,” Hongbin murmured, voice still a little husky from sleep. “You went out early.”
“Sanghyuk needed me,” Wonshik said briskly. “Is Jaehwan up?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I need to talk to him,” Wonshik said, turning and heading for the hallway.
Hongbin called out to him. “Is Sanghyuk okay?”
“Yeah,” Wonshik replied, not stopping, “he just needs me to check in on Jaehwan for him.”
Hongbin made a noise over that, a strange guttural snort, and Wonshik ignored him in favor of moving down the hall at vamp speed, figuring if Jaehwanhad had another break, he’d probably be in his bed, or on his floor, crying out enough blood for a sacrificial rite.
“Jaehwan?” Wonshik called, knocking tentatively on Jaehwan’s bedroom door before he poked his head in, peering around.
Jaehwan was not in his bed. Jaehwan was not on his floor. Jaehwan was, seemingly, not in his room at all, and Wonshik’s stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop, before he realized he could smell steam and rose petals.
He stepped into the room. “Jaehwan?” he called again and he heard the faint sound of Jaehwan’s put-upon sigh.
“I’m trying to cleanse myself, oh child of mine,” Jaehwan called from his ensuite bathroom.
Wonshik grit his teeth and then strode to the bathroom. The door was cracked, so he pushed it, gently, and it swung open enough to reveal Jaehwan laying in his bathtub, head tipped back and hair slicked off his face. He had a rose petal covering each eye.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Jaehwan asked, not moving, and Wonshik resolutely focused on his nose.
“Sanghyuk texted me,” Wonshik said, and Jaehwan went still, “he wanted me to go to his house urgently—”
Jaehwan sat up, the rose petals falling off his face and onto the surface of the water. “Is he alright?”
The urgency of that statement felt likely to slice Wonshik open. “Yes, yes he’s fine,” Wonshik said quickly, and Jaehwan settled back a bit, though it was clear Wonshik now had his undivided attention. “He was worried about you, actually.”
A pause. “Ah,” Jaehwan said delicately. “Because of the discussion Hakyeon and I had last night. Word does travel fast.”
“I have to admit that after Sanghyuk told me, I was also worried I’d come home to find you on the floor crying,” Wonshik said, watching Jaehwan’s expression closely, “but you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” Jaehwan’s voice was very light, almost forcefully so. “Perhaps I am falling out of love.”
We all know that isn’t true, Wonshik thought, face twisting at Jaehwan’s obvious bravado, and Jaehwan caught sight of the expression and laughed.
“I’ve lost my ability to lie, it seems,” Jaehwan said, still smiling. “No, I think, if anything, it is simply that— I am getting better at dealing with things. To a degree. And while this specific information was new— I already was aware I ruined this. I just ruined it more than I’d initially realized. It is simply one more drop in this overflowing bucket.” He sank down slowly as he spoke, so the water was up to his ears, head tipped back so his face wasn’t in it. “It doesn’t matter, both Sanghyuk and I know how this is going to end. This doesn’t change it. Nothing will change it.”
Wonshik frowned, not really sure what that meant. “He wanted me to tell you he was sorry, and that if you need to talk it out with him, he’ll listen, this once,” he said, and Jaehwan looked at him in surprise, as best as he could from being mostly submerged in the tub. “He seemed really worried.”
Jaehwan sighed. “He is too good for me,” he said, eyes fluttering shut. “But I must admit I do wish to speak with him about this. I will go see him— he is at work, yes?” Wonshik murmured an affirmative. “Mm. Thank you, Wonshik. Now get out. I forgot to bring my towel into the bathroom and I am about to stand up.”
Wonshik turned and left, faster than he would have done if he’d been compulsed.
——
Despite Sungjae’s request, and Ilhoon refusing to meet his eyes, Sanghyuk had gone out on patrol alone. He knew, logically, it made no difference, and in HQ it was easier to tell himself that, but once he was out on the streets he found it was harder to deal with.
Sanghyuk was shivering as he walked, more from anxiety than cold at this point. He’d been out for a few hours already, and the pitch of fear he’d been on was exhausting him. His head kept swivelling, in a fashion he knew was hyper-vigilant, and probably looked exceedingly suspicious. But he couldn’t help it. The streets on his patrol grid were currently ghostly deserted, and there was a fog cover rolling in, simply adding to the haunted effect.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, lightly touching the hilt of his blade to give himself comfort. Just as he said it, there was a tingle on his wards, the sunburst warming with energy, and Sanghyuk’s heart skipped a beat and then proceeded to race.
He stopped walking. It was bad form, to let the vampire know you’d cottoned on to them, but Sanghyuk couldn’t pretend otherwise, his skyrocketing heartbeat would have given him away anyway. He looked behind himself, then back to the street yawning out in front of him, not seeing any movement, but the visibility currently wasn’t great.
There was a scraping noise, like shoes on brick, and Sanghyuk whirled to see a form jumping down onto the concrete. It straightened into a familiar silhouette and all the fear left Sanghyuk in a rush, leaving him feeling weak and like he may faint.
“Oh, Jaehwan,” he gasped, holding a hand over his stomach, trying to convince it to settle. “You scared me.”
Jaehwan stepped nearer, face somber as he blinked up at Sanghyuk. “Jumpy?” Jaehwan whispered. “Your heart is pounding.”
“Yeah, I— yeah,” Sanghyuk said lamely. He didn’t want to tell Jaehwan about the crazed vampire on the loose that had killed a VCF officer. Let Jaehwan make of this what he would.
“I received your message,” Jaehwan said, stepping up to Sanghyuk, very close, and then passing him by. He smelled like roses. Sanghyuk blinked and then trailed after him, so they were walking side by side down the street. “I could have sent Wonshik back with a reply, but I decided that since you were fine with it, I would come by myself.”
Sanghyuk looked down at Jaehwan, trying to garner something from his expression, since he was getting nothing from his voice. But Jaehwan’s face was schooled into neutrality. “Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
Jaehwan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he opened them again, he was very focused on the road ahead of them. “Wonshik said that,” Jaehwan said flatly, “but it is not your fault Hakyeon is— the way he is.”
Sanghyuk’s hands fisted at his side. “Hakyeon had no right,” he found himself saying with a good deal of heat in his voice. “He was out of line, far fucking out of line.”
To Sanghyuk’s great surprise, Jaehwan’s mouth quirked a bit at that. “It is refreshing,” Jaehwan said, glancing at Sanghyuk at last, almost coy, “to have you mad at someone else for a change.”
Sanghyuk choked, and then found himself laughing, the sound echoing down the empty street. After a moment, Jaehwan joined him, blunt teeth glinting white in the street lamps. It occurred to Sanghyuk that it had been quite a long while since he had seen Jaehwan’s fangs. It had also been a long time since either of them had laughed like this. It felt nice, easing the knot in Sanghyuk’s stomach.
Once their laughter had quieted, Jaehwan spoke again. “Do not be too angry at Hakyeon though,” he murmured, still smiling gently. Sanghyuk gaped at him. “He loves you and wants what is best for you. I cannot fault him that. Even if his methods may not be the kindest.”
Sanghyuk stopped walking, and Jaehwan did as well, turning quizzically, one eyebrow raised. “Jaehwan,” Sanghyuk said softly, “you promised honesty, please don’t pretend in front of me.”
“Would you rather I came to you weeping and in pieces?” Jaehwan asked, tipping his head, exposing the side of his neck. His smile turned a little sad. “Do you prefer me like that now? I suppose it is an improvement from how I was before.”
“No,” Sanghyuk immediately said, like it was involuntarily wrenched out of him, “no, I just— I was sure what he’d said would have— have hurt you.”
Jaehwan looked away, crossing his arms loosely. “Yes,” he said, “it did. I— I will not pretend it did not cause damage. But I am getting better at dealing with it. Or perhaps I simply cannot break any further.” He shrugged. “But what you said hurt me as well, and Hakyeon— it made it all come together, some things fit better, now. I understand. And I know now how to not repeat past errors. And why.” He looked up at Sanghyuk through his lashes. “You cannot ask honesty of me and refuse to give it yourself.”
Sanghyuk jerked. “I was trying to protect you, Jaehwan. I don’t want to cause you any more suffering.”
Jaehwan was staring at him, unblinking, and Sanghyuk had to look away, afraid all his secrets would be laid bare by that gaze. His dreams of late, his fears of death and of love. His fears of Jaehwan.
“Give me honesty, Sanghyuk,” Jaehwan murmured, and it sent a shiver down Sanghyuk’s spine. “What Hakyeon said— it was true?” His voice dropped even further, so it was barely audible. “You almost fell in love with me?”
I’m almost in love with you now, Sanghyuk thought, and then shivered again. He didn’t want to go over this, was afraid of slipping up, of saying something more current. “I think so,” he said cagily, knowing full well it was true. “I— I got close to something. It's why when we eventually really fell out, it hurt me so much.”
“I did not— foster those sorts of feelings,” Jaehwan said, a hint of wretchedness creeping into his voice. “I did not want love. How did you— why? Why did you have— have feelings for me?”
“Why does anyone love anyone else?” Sanghyuk said, a little desperately. He didn’t want to think about this, about what it had been about Jaehwan that had first drawn him in, like sweet honey. Because those aspects were still in Jaehwan now, and they were still as tempting. “I just— you made me smile. You’re smart and charismatic and—” He glanced up at Jaehwan and cut himself off, hard, rearing back, because Jaehwan had this look on his face, sharp, calculating, like he was taking notes. “No,” Sanghyuk said, “no, Jaehwan, no, you— don’t. You can’t just trick me into loving you. I told you before, Jaehwan, you can’t play act it to make me hang around, that isn’t fucking fair.” He was trembling, wondering if he’d dodged that bullet in time.
“What if I am not acting?” Jaehwan asked, voice dropping intensely, “What if I actually sort through this, what if—”
“Will you?” Sanghyuk cut him off, his own voice going a bit high with fear, “will you do it before I die?”
Jaehwan’s face twisted, and he swallowed thickly. “I can try.”
Sanghyuk shook his head. “I can’t love you anymore,” he said, the lie acidic on his tongue. But he couldn’t have Jaehwan trying to make him fall in love, play acting to get Sanghyuk’s heart before he died. He needed to focus on his own recovery, on moving forward without Sanghyuk. For both their sakes. “It all went too wrong,” he found himself continuing. “I told you before, Jaehwan, friendship is all i can give.”
“You care,” Jaehwan said stoutly. “You cannot take that from me.”
“Yes,” Sanghyuk said, sighing shakily. “I care. I’ve told you that. And I’ve told you we can be friends, which we can, that is still on the table, but you said you don’t want that. You can’t do that.”
Jaehwan scowled down at the ground. “I have always been an all or nothing sort,” he muttered.
“Don’t I know it,” Sanghyuk said to himself. He was partially glad for it. He wanted to be near Jaehwan, but he knew it would be better if they didn’t see each other often, no matter how much he craved it. If Jaehwan kept up his recovery, if he tried, really tried— Sanghyuk would fall.
He was in trouble.
Jaehwan sighed, and he rubbed his hands over his face. Then he smiled up at Sanghyuk, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll let you get back to your patrol,” he said, turning away, and Sanghyuk jolted, a little.
“Jaehwan,” he said, and Jaehwan turned back slightly to look at him. “I’m— I’m glad. That you’re getting better. That you don’t need me so much, anymore.” In his mind, he was glad for it, but at the core of him, it was rubbing him raw.
Jaehwan’s eyelids fluttered down so he was looking at Sanghyuk through hooded eyes. “I am getting better at coping,” he murmured, some aspect of his voice reverberating in an utterly vampiric manner that made the hairs on Sanghyuk’s nape prickle, “but you are wrong, if you think I do not need you. You are wrong if you think my feelings have changed. I still love you as much as I did before. Perhaps more.”
Sanghyuk felt heat coming to his cheeks, and he gasped, a little, searching for words to reply with, but Jaehwan was already gone, the mist swirling in the place he’d just been standing.
“Oh,” Sanghyuk whispered, touching icy fingertips to his warm face. “Oh.”
He stood there for a long while, Jaehwan’s words pinging around his head. It was— horrible of him, selfish and ugly, that they warmed him. He should want Jaehwan to fall out of love with him, and yet he himself was so close to falling in love, that he didn’t want to be alone in this.
He was terrified he’d fall in just as Jaehwan was falling out.
A sudden series of soft beeps interrupted Sanghyuk’s thoughts and made him jump, heart racing anew. He scrambled in his back pocket for his phone, switching off the alarm he’d set to remind him to start walking back to HQ. His shift tonight wasn’t a long one, thank god. He was very relieved to turn back towards HQ, jogging a bit.
The townhouse was quiet when he was approaching it, which belied the chaos happening inside. Sanghyuk walked into the main floor of HQ to a scene very similar to that of two nights before, dozens of people crowded in, a lot of hushed talking going back and forth. Sanghyuk’s stomach dropped, feeling like his heart was being squeezed. There’d been another attack. But was it another VCF officer, or this time, was it one of their own.
Sanghyuk tiptoed, scanning over the crowd looking for Ilhoon and Sungjae, hoping, praying— and spotted Ilhoon’s bright blonde hair, next to a person with black hair, that when Sanghyuk approached, he saw was Sungjae. Once he was right beside them, he caught sight of a third person, with short brown hair; Hyunsik, looking drawn. He hadn’t been into the office in a while, Sanghyuk wondered what brought him in tonight.
“Oh, Sanghyuk,” Sungjae said, reaching out, and Sanghyuk took his hand, found it trembling a bit. “Thank god.”
Sanghyuk scanned his face, found it pale, then looked to Ilhoon beside him, who also looked shaken. Hyunsik looked exhausted. “What’s happened?” Sanghyuk asked.
“Yixing was attacked, presumably by the same vamp that got the VCF officer a few nights ago,” Ilhoon said softly.
Attacked, Sanghyuk thought. “Is he—”
Ilhoon shook his head, but it was Sungjae who spoke. “He was dead when they found him; drained.”
All the air whooshed out of Sanghyuk, like he’d been punched in the stomach, and he felt his face go pale in a sickly rush. He hadn’t been close to Yixing, not like some of the others, not like Luhan and Minseok and Kris, but he’d known him, saw him nearly nightly, and he’d been a good hunter, a good person. He’d worked a bit with Sanghyuk during training. And now he was gone.
Sanghyuk wet his lips. “Are there— that is— do we have any leads?” he asked shakily. Sungjae was still holding his hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Like I said, they think it’s the same vamp that killed the VCF officer,” Ilhoon murmured. “Kris saw both bodies— he says the method is the same.”
“Draining is pretty much the chosen method of all vamps,” Sanghyuk pointed out, and tried not to think about dying like that, pinned by an unknown creature, slowly drained off your life.
“There’s apparently— more to it than that,” Sungjae whispered. “But Kris won’t say what. I think he doesn’t want to scare us.”
Fat lot of good that would do. There was fear seeped into the walls of HQ currently, sweeping from person to person. Sanghyuk could read it in the eyes of the people around him, in their shaking whispers.
Sanghyuk looked to Hyunsik, who looked very small, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Hyunsik?” Sanghyuk asked. “Did you come when you heard?”
Hyunsik shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “I came to quit.”
Sanghyuk jerked, looking to Ilhoon, whose face was like stone, then to Sungjae, who looked away. “What?”
“I can’t anymore,” Hyunsik said softly, voice trembling. “After what happened to me— I’m afraid, Sanghyuk, and now this— Yixing was a good hunter, very good. He was strong. Whatever is doing this is able to get around our wards somehow, and— I’m just frightened. I have been for a while. I want out.” He looked to Ilhoon, Sungjae, and Sanghyuk. “I wish you three would go with me.”
Sanghyuk flashed back to Ilhoon’s words. I know Hyunsik wants to quit hunting, Ilhoon had said, I know I’m not going to quit hunting.
Ilhoon shook his head. “That isn’t in the cards,” he said, smiling weakly at Hyunsik, and Sanghyuk swayed, gripping the edge of a nearby desk to steady himself.
“There’s Kris,” Sungjae said suddenly, looking over Sanghyuk’s shoulder, and Sanghyuk turned to see Kris coming into the room, flanked by Luhan and Minseok. Kris’s eyes were red, and he looked like a man haunted, while beside him Minseok looked like he was made of pale marble, eyes blank, and Luhan had silent tears streaming down his face.
“You’ve all heard by now,” Kris said, voice unusually thick, “I do not want to repeat it. We’ve lost someone, tonight, and— and I’m stricken, but more than that, I’m worried. I’m worried because this thing, this vampire, isn’t simply killing for sustenance, it seems to be targeting us, and it has proven itself to be very dangerous, and we have no leads.” He looked around the room. “We have to keep doing our jobs, just as the VCF do, but for tonight, I want you all to stay until dawn, for pre-caution’s sake.”
Sanghyuk found himself reaching back, blindly, and it was Sungjae who came to his side, tucking himself in against Sanghyuk comfortingly. Out of the corner of Sanghyuk’s eye, he saw Ilhoon rub his hands over his face.
“I’m afraid too,” Sungjae murmured.
Sanghyuk closed his eyes and wondered how much longer he had.
——
Jaehwan took the long way home, wondering if he’d been out of line, telling Sanghyuk he still loved him. But he figured no, it wasn’t like Sanghyuk didn’t know. Surely, he couldn’t think Jaehwan’s feelings had been diluted.
And Sanghyuk— I can’t love you anymore. Jaehwan had expected as much, and he hadn’t let himself hope otherwise, but it still weighed heavily on him. He still wished, in heart of hearts, that somehow, Sanghyuk would fall for him.
“And then what?” Jaehwan murmured viciously to himself as he dropped into the tunnels leading to his home. “You’ll get to kiss and fuck a few times before he dies, takes you with him, and then you can be buried side by side? Splendid. The happy ending I always wanted.” The grate slammed shut after him. “I’m such a fool.”
He needed to stop wishing for Sanghyuk’s heart, needed to stop tormenting himself thus. He’d never have it, he’d never feel Sanghyuk’s skin against his again, never taste him on his tongue again. And he needed to make peace with that and maybe— maybe have the sight of Sanghyuk be enough to sate him, the sound of his voice, his presence near Jaehwan. Sanghyuk kept offering friendship and it wasn’t that Jaehwan didn’t want it, it was merely that from Sanghyuk, he wanted more. But perhaps he should take him up on it. Better that than nothing at all. And they had so little time left.
He would have sensed it far earlier had he not been preoccupied with his thoughts, but as it was when he walked into his living room he got a slight shock when he was greeted by the sight of his broody brother and nagging wife. Hongbin and Wonshik were nowhere to be seen, so perhaps they were out.
“You should start calling ahead, brother dearest,” Jaehwan said casually, eyes sliding over Taekwoon and lingering, for a beat, on Hakyeon’s pinched face, before he looked to the hallway, intent on breezing right through the room. “That way my children would know when to expect you—”
“We came to see you,” Hakyeon said, his voice ringing through the darkness, and Jaehwan stopped, marginally keeping himself from swearing. “I need to speak to you.”
Jaehwan whirled. Hakyeon was standing nearer Jaehwan, while Taekwoon lingered back, hovering near the sofa. “Again?” Jaehwan asked, acidity dripping off the word. He didn’t care. He didn’t have it in him tonight to take more harm. “Come to tug my stitches off so I can bleed more? And with your bodyguard in tow this time, I imagine this is going to be even more unpleasant—
“I wanted to apologize,” Hakyeon said, gritting it out. That stopped Jaehwan short. “I didn’t want to make you suffer, Jaehwan, but I don’t want Sanghyuk to suffer either, and it’s simply that when it comes down to the two of you— you know who I am going to pick.”
Jaehwan eyed Hakyeon warily, one hand coming up to grasp the opposite arm in a slight defensive gesture. “I do understand, but your meddling is, and always has been, unwelcome, and this particular instance was pointless,” he said. “Sanghyuk is furious with you, and it has changed nothing of our relationship. Despite what you said— he cannot love me, Hakyeon. Perhaps he once could have, and perhaps he still suffers for it, but he will heal, because in the now, he is free of it. Whether I change or not doesn’t matter. The ship has sailed. And I am trying to come to terms with it. So please do not torment me with false hope.”
Taekwoon was staring at the back of Hakyeon’s head, while Hakyeon’s gaze was settled on Jaehwan, a scowl wrinkling his brow. The corners of his mouth were tight. “False hope,” Hakyeon echoed.
“Indeed,” Jaehwan said, cocking his head to the side. “When you spoke to me— you asked if I could change, if I could be the person he almost fell in love with, but without the sharpness that drove him away. It’s most curious, but one might have thought you were implying— implying hope, that he and I could be together, could work against all the odds.” Jaehwan sighed, the sound fluttering out of him. “I don’t know your game, Hakyeon, but— we can’t. He’s told me that he cannot love me, and even if he could—”
Jaehwan cut himself off, because he couldn’t tell Sanghyuk’s secret. Even if he could, he’s going to be dead before I can change into someone worth him loving. If I even am able to.
“Even if he could?” Hakyeon prompted, and Jaehwan should have known he wouldn’t drop it.
“Even if he could, he is not so foolish,” Jaehwan murmured, smiling thinly. “He is much smarter than you give him credit for, Hakyeon.”
“He is, but he is also young, and we don’t always have control of these things,” Hakyeon said, glancing behind himself, at Taekwoon, and Jaehwan sighed again.
“We are not you and Taekwoon, Hakyeon,” Jaehwan said, remembering Sanghyuk had said just that. “And I accept your apology, by the way. But you need to apologize to Sanghyuk too. You need to set things right with him.”
“Sanghyuk will forgive me in a few weeks,” Hakyeon said, smiling a little, fondly, softly. “He always does.”
Yes, Jaehwan thought, feeling sadness sweep through him, but waiting is a dangerous game, when we’re so close to the finish line.
Jaehwan nodded shortly, and said, “Perhaps. But still, you should set things right.” That was all the advice he could give without saying more, and as it was Taekwoon was frowning slightly, noticing something off. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something I need to look into. Please feel free to wait for my darling children to return, if you want. They shouldn’t be out long.”
Thankfully, thankfully, Hakyeon said nothing more and Taekwoon made no move to stop him, so he flit down the hallway to his room, shutting the door behind himself and breathing out a sigh of relief. After a moment, he slid the lock for good measure.
He strode with purpose to his dresser, opening a drawer and pulling out a sizeable wooden box. The box itself wasn’t important, it was the spell laid on it that made it special. Jaehwan took it out of the drawer and brought it to his bed, setting it down. There was a latch but no lock, and Jaehwan flipped it open and raised the lid.
Stuffed into the box was a pale grey hoodie, worn and frayed at the edges, small holes poking through the fabric. Jaehwan carefully picked it up, like it was fragile and infinitely valuable, and buried his face in the fabric. It smelled thickly of Sanghyuk, of his soap and shampoo and fabric softener and skin. The box had a stasis spell on it, which kept the hoodie frozen in time, making the smell linger.
Jaehwan, truly, had returned everything Sanghyuk had accidentally left at his apartment. This, on the other hand, had been something Jaehwan had lifted out of Sanghyuk’s hamper, many months ago. It had been an invasive, creepy, and gross thing to do. He’d known it then, and he knew it now. But here he was, with his face buried in a stolen, dirty hoodie. This was what he’d been reduced to.
He would return it. Tomorrow night, for dawn was coming soon. Maybe Hakyeon was content for Sanghyuk to come around on his own, but Jaehwan knew they didn’t have the luxury of time. So he would go himself. The hoodie gave him an excellent additional excuse, and would also get it off his chest.
But for now—
Jaehwan closed the box, without replacing the hoodie, and moved it back into the drawer, empty. After a beat of hesitation, he undid the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off, and then pulled the hoodie on over his head. It was quite overlarge, no doubt meant for sleep, which was exactly what Jaehwan was going to do in it. The smell of Sanghyuk surrounded him, a painful comfort.
He tugged the hood up, and then climbed into bed.