Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There's an unwritten rule to be followed at the temple filled with sorrow.

Do not lay your eyes upon the god when he's in the worship hall.

Hongjoong doesn't know how many times he's broken that rule.

And he is too afraid to count.

—

Hongjoong stares down at his bare feet that are dangling from the ledge under a spell he can't break. A frown sits frozen on his face, knowing that trying to hide it would not work, even if he wanted to. If he stretched his legs out just a little, just far enough, he might touch the cold water of the stream below with his toe, but even that small effort is way too much to handle right now.

He—very consciously—feels the rough texture of the stone below his propped up palms, lets the coarseness scrape against his skin. He closes his eyes, head tipping back—a silent plea for quiet in his restless mind.

The sun is warm and mild on his face, but its brightness annoys him. The clear blue sky annoys him.

Everyone around him is so disgustingly happy.

Everyone has a smile on their face.

Is that fair? No. But he can't control what they feel. And he doesn't want to let them see how much he suffers either.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn't care. It's easy to ignore his feelings when he's busy. He can just shake everything off and work until late, earning rare praises from the noonas and hyungs and pretend that he's doing well.

But then he isn't.

And he thinks he cares too much.

"It's finally time!" Wooyoung had said at breakfast this morning, "aren't you excited for tomorrow?"

Hongjoong was not excited. Is not excited, and will never be.

If anything, Hongjoong wants to die.

He opens his eyes and looks to his right where some other temple hands have gathered to work all the flowers they've received into wreaths, their energy bouncing over the temple grounds like something that has come alive.

The joyful mood should be infectious, even to him, but there's a blade lodged in his chest only he can see. Only he can feel. It twists with every unbidden thought and sneers at him haughtily, knowing it has the upper hand. And no matter how hard he tries to rip it out, it just stays, and grows, and snarls at him.

"Hongjoong hyung, here you are!" Yeosang's voice jolts him from his thoughts and he twists his body to meet him with startled eyes. Shit. He was hoping he could stay undetected just a little longer. "Eunseo noona has been looking for you everywhere. She's already threatened to replace you if you don't show up within the next ten minutes."

"Well, then let her. She can go ahead. Isn't that what she's always wanted anyway?" Hongjoong grumbles, looking back at his feet. The water below patters on, and he sees his own reflection in the stream. The face he sees there looks all wonky and shapeless. Incomplete. It's funny how that's a better depiction of him than any mirror could ever show.

"Oh hyung," Yeosang sighs. Hongjoong hates the pity in his voice. He comes to stand beside him, fingers splayed out on the ledge. "You're overthinking it too much. You've been chosen for this role and that can't be undone. And Seonghwa hyung is—"

"A god," Hongjoong snaps, even though he doesn't want to. He doesn't know why he's so irritated by the smallest things these days. Might be his sleep deprivation, might be the incessant anxiety setting his nerves on fire. "Yeah, that's what he is, Sang-ah."

Yeosang lets out a frustrated breath. "No, that's not—he's your friend, Hongjoong hyung. All those ceremonies, prayers, scriptures. They don't mean much. You and he. You will always be friends, regardless of what he is or what the noonas say. Or the ceremony."

Yes, Hongjoong thinks bitterly, friends.

He ignores the other word that terrifies him.

The knife twists again in his chest, and a shudder wracks his body, tangible and real. It's easier to bask in those little pangs of pain than it is to let go of them. Letting go of them would mean letting go of Seonghwa. And Hongjoong is not ready to let that happen.

Even though he should have, a long time ago.

"Come on now," Yeosang prods again, with so much gentleness that is just wasted on him, "Eunseo noona will understand that you're nervous about the ceremony." He starts dragging Hongjoong down from the ledge, and Hongjoong doesn't have it in him to fight against it. Just sighs and stands on uncertain feet. "But they'll have to prepare you regardless. It's very necessary, too."

"Are you saying I stink?"

"I would never," Yeosang smiles sweetly, shoving him in the direction of the sacred halls. Granted, Hongjoong barely had the energy to take care of his hygiene for the past few days, and his lethargy only got worse the closer the day of the ceremony came.

But who can blame him if his life is about to end and everyone around him just watches with glee?

The scent of incense wafts against his nose as they enter the corridor that leads into the building, his senses dulling almost instantly from the heavy fumes hovering in the air. He's never liked it very much. It has caused him headaches ever since he was brought to the temple so many years ago. He wraps his grey everyday clothes tighter around himself as if they could protect him from what is about to come.

"Damn hyung, your face," Wooyoung gasps the moment he lays eyes on him upon entering the ceremonial dressing room.

"What about it?" Hongjoong glances around anxiously, but there's no Eunseo noona in sight.

"It's scary."

"Fuck you."

"Love you, too, hyung," Wooyoung snickers and guides him to the seat in the middle of the room. He pushes him down by the shoulders until he's sitting as though he doesn't know exactly that Hongjoong hates everything about this.

"I hate you. I'm not even going to miss you one bit," Hongjoong grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the hard seat. There's a dull ache in his chest when he thinks about how he won't have the same chores as his friends anymore, how their lives will be mostly separate from now on. How he and Seonghwa won't get to hang out with them as often as they used to, and how they might inevitably drift apart. It pains him to even entertain the possibility, but he would never admit it out loud.

San barges into the room just then, short of breath. "Eunseo noona is coming, have you found—oh, thank god, you've found hyung!" Hongjoong presses the heel of his palms against his eyes, willing the dull, throbbing pain in his head away that threatens to tear him apart. White spots are dancing behind his eyelids.

He doesn't care.

He doesn't care about anything.

"Hongjoong!" Eunseo noona's voice booms in the echoing vastness of the space, laced with the kind of anger that would make anyone who doesn't know her tremble with fear. But Hongjoong doesn't even flinch. He heaves a tired sigh, knowing what's about to come. "Hwi-an was ready and where she's supposed to be over an hour ago! Everyone's only been waiting for you!"

"Sorry, noona," Hongjoong murmurs, gaze directed at his lap. He rubs his thumb nail with his other thumb before he absentmindedly picks at some loose skin there. It would be appropriate to feel ashamed, but all his senses are already occupied by dread.

"You are not going to ruin this ceremony for everyone, young man. This is going to be the single most important day of our lives—of all our lives—and you will behave and play your part just like it's unfortunately been written in the scriptures. Just behave yourself this one time, can you do that?" she rattles on while Yeosang and Wooyoung carry a small table in front of him, putting it down.

Hongjoong just stares at it with unseeing eyes.

A sudden image of Seonghwa during a moon night flashes in his mind without permission. A memory, almost faded. It was the hottest day of the year and Seonghwa wore his long silver hair in a messy bun to cool himself, some flyaway hairs catching the light like fine glistening silver threads around his face. He was so beautiful in that moment. Had seemed so impossibly close in that moment. But the distance between them stretched like an abyss.

Seonghwa had turned his head suddenly, but if he caught him staring, he didn't say anything.

Just smiled widely, the fireworks in the sky reflected in his eyes.

"And think of Seonghwa-nim, too!" Eunseo noona's voice close to his ears rips him out of his memories, his heartbeat accelerating. He looks up at her with wide eyes, lips upturned. She presses her thumb into a small pot on the table, covering it in dark blue ink. Then she roughly brushes Hongjoong's hair out of his face, causing him to screw his eyes shut, and swipes the thumb over his forehead in one fluid motion. It feels cold. "How many times must he have wished to take residence at the grand Central Temple in the capital instead of being stuck here in our modest countryside branch? Try to have at least some self-discipline. You don't want to embarrass him, do you? Hongjoong?"

Hongjoong's shoulders slump, ache spreading. "No, I don't, noona."

Eunseo noona holds his gaze briefly, then covers her thumb in ink once more, just to stain both of his cheeks with stripes as well.

"Good. From tomorrow onward, you will do everything in your power to make him proud and to serve him," Hongjoong can't breathe, "no more being late, no more being messy," there's tears stinging in his eyes that he refuses to let fall, "and most important thing of all, you will treat him with more respect; no more pretending that you're friends," Hongjoong wants to scream. "and no more corrupting of his thoughts. Now, get up, we can't waste any more time. Hwi-an is waiting, too. Boys, you know what to do?"

"We have rehearsed it just about a thousand times, noona," Wooyoung quips and tugs on Hongjoong's arm. Hongjoong stands, but there's no feeling in his legs. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and his vision darkens. Yeosang appears on his other side and he's glad they're there to catch him if he falls.

When he falls.

"Go, go!" Eunseo noona rushes them, then stays back.

His friends lead him through the passage on the other side of the room that leads to the hot springs, steam rising languidly in billowing plumes.

Behind him, San is solemnly carrying the white hanbok he is forced to wear starting from today.

Hongjoong wants to throw up.

"I don't feel so well," he whispers, so feebly that only Yeosang hears him.

"Hyung," Yeosang's grip around his arm gets stronger and he exchanges a look with Wooyoung, "what's wrong? You look pale."

The pool of the hot springs appears in front of him, steam curling in the air. It looks like the passage into another world. Or into a dream. It doesn't look real.

Then Hongjoong realises what it is.

It's a passage into another life. A new life. One he never wanted.

In his mind, he sees Seonghwa, smiling at him, and the knife twists and shoves itself deeper into his chest.

Impossible.

They're impossible.

Hongjoong can't breathe.

Because Seonghwa is a god.

And Hongjoong is in love with him.

—

There was that day one year ago when Hongjoong finally had to admit to himself that he's fucked.

It had been raining all day and the temple grounds were wrapped up in a kind of solitude that drenches you from the inside, all quiet and heavy. It was crushing down on Hongjoong, his mind even more foggy and occupied than usual. He was also sick with a cold and about to end it all. Fever stuck to his head that was threatening to explode, and his eyes hurt so monumentally that he'd have rather kept them closed.

"Munjeol noona ordered you to rest, Hongjoong-ah."

Seonghwa's voice is so very warm and gentle. It doesn't sound like the voice of a god; it sounds more human than a lot of the voices Hongjoong has heard in his life. Maybe it's the Moon Goddess in him. The fact that she was reborn in him to nurture, to soothe. He doesn't know what makes Seonghwa's voice so comforting. Only knows that it makes Hongjoong forget about the rain for a moment.

"Yeah, I know."

"So. Why then are you still mopping the floor like your life depended on it?" Now Seonghwa's voice has a teasing lilt to it. Hongjoong plunges the mop into the water bucket with more vigour than necessary and glares at him through his watering eyes, sniffling. The water sloshes around, causing Seonghwa to lift his feet while he's sitting on one of the window sills in the broad arcades that lead into the gardens.

"Because," Hongjoong says pointedly, "Hwi-an offered to do it for me."

"And? Isn't that nice of her?"

Hongjoong huffs, starting to scrub the stone floor with too much water, just shoving the dirt around like a lunatic.

He doesn't answer.

Of course it's nice of her.

That's what it's all about.

It's about being able to brag to Eunseo noona and the other noonas about all the work she's done. Look, I didn't only do my tasks, I did Hongjoong's, too! Am I not such a good and diligent servant? Unlike Hongjoong, of course.

No.

He's done with that. Not even his inflamed throat could keep him from finishing his commitments today.

"Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa tries again, frowning, "just ask Mingi or Jongho to do it for you. They still owe you for helping them with their oaths."

"I'm fine, Seonghwa, really. It's just a cold."

"Yunho? He hasn't had mop duty in forever."

"Seonghwa."

"I could do it for you."

A dry laugh bursts from Hongjoong's chest. "Are you insane?"

Seonghwa shrugs, lips pursed. "I can try. I'm bored anyway."

"If anyone catches me letting you do my shit they'll throw me out with a kick to my ass and never let me set foot on the temple grounds again."

"It's my wish, though."

"Sure, 'cause there's nothing more fun than to scrub the entirety of these endless arcades."

"No, not that," Seonghwa nudges his thigh with his foot and Hongjoong almost stumbles, "my wish is that you get your rest."

Now, Hongjoong finally looks up to meet his gaze, leaning against the mop's handle. He suspiciously eyes the look of conviction on Seonghwa's face. He keeps staring at Hongjoong with those big eyes of his that he knows make Hongjoong give him everything that he wants.

Hongjoong can't stand it.

Because it works every time.

"I can't, Seonghwa. I'm fi—" a sudden sneeze comes over him and shudders through his entire body, and his head almost falls off. The truth is, he wants to lie down and sleep everything away so badly, preferably for forever. But even stronger than the desire to wallow in self-pity, is his pride that doesn't allow anyone to help him. Least of all Seonghwa.

"Alright," Seonghwa says, sliding down from the window sill, his naked feet landing in the puddle of filthy water. Hongjoong looks on with horror as the seam of Seonghwa's hanbok gets dragged through the dirt, but Seonghwa doesn't seem to care at all. He grabs the handle of the mop and pushes it away so that it clatters to the floor, causing Hongjoong's breath to hiccup. He stands very close to Hongjoong and lifts his hands, palms coming to rest against Hongjoong's temples in a barely there touch that still manages to burn through him.

Hongjoong is frozen.

"What are you—"

"Helping you. In another way," Seonghwa murmurs, locking eyes with his.

Hongjoong swallows dryly. He desperately hopes Seonghwa can't hear his heart hammering against his chest. Or the blood rushing in his head.

"That's—that's forbidden," he tries weakly, but he already feels the low hum of Seonghwa's powers taking hold of his body. All encompassing and inviting. Impossible to resist. "Seonghwa, you can't—"

What is to Seonghwa a rule set down for him by humans?

Nothing.

It means nothing.

Hongjoong's eyes flutter shut.

"Yes, that's it. Just let it happen," Seonghwa whispers, and Hongjoong's breath catches in his throat.

Suddenly, he doesn't want to protest. He doesn't want to resist.

Just wants.

Wants Seonghwa to take care of him in the way only a god like him could.

It's not allowed, but what are the hyungs and the noona's going to do? How would they make Seonghwa stop? How could they scold him? Punish him?

They wouldn't.

They would take it out on Hongjoong.

And that's okay.

As long as he has Seonghwa's soft hands on his skin, in his hair, brushing down his cheeks.

Everything is okay as long as he has Seonghwa.

Hongjoong feels frighteningly small in front of the god, as though his body was only a fraction of what Seonghwa's is, but he's not scared. He invites the feeling, accepts it and lets it consume him as if Seonghwa was doing something mundane, like untangling a knot in his hair or wiping dirt off his cheek.

A tiny whimper escapes his mouth when he feels Seonghwa's powers seep into him, ancient and with a gravity so heavy that his body turns rock-boned and ungainly.

He can feel every hair rise on his arms, every inhale squeeze his lungs like a tight fist, the sheen of sweat covering his skin like hands roaming his body. Time slows down for them and then there's an abrupt shift and everything slams into him like a tidal wave that makes him float. Weightless. Senseless. Without direction. Pulled apart at the seams.

The pain flows out of him, the fog in his brain evaporates. The headache, the stuffy nose, his burning throat. All gone.

He grabs Seonghwa's wrists and holds onto them because his knees are too weak to keep him standing. He gasps for air and screws his eyes tightly shut as he just helplessly lets the pain rush out of his body, through Seonghwa's palms, right into his divine being.

It should be terrifying.

It should make him drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Should make him repent for taking something that doesn't belong to him.

Instead, he sinks into Seonghwa's open arms and drowns in his embrace.

"That's good. You did so well. Thank you," gentle fingers brush through his hair, calming his ragged breathing. Seonghwa smells pure, like the earth cleansed after a healing morning rain shower. Like the wind in the trees or the song of a bird. Like the sky during a moonlit night. There's something else beneath it. A bit harsh. Acidic. A lot more dangerous. "I'm sorry, Hongjoong, I'm sorry."

Seonghwa's apology feels out of place, but Hongjoong has mastered the art of ignoring warning signs.

"Hmm?" Hongjoong grumbles lazily, his eyelids too heavy yet to open. He feels blissed out, his body so light and unburdened, more carefree than he has felt in days. Maybe months. No pain. No urge to sneeze.

"Are you feeling better?" Seonghwa sounds hopeful and he's still caressing Hongjoong's head. Hongjoong had barely registered it before, but suddenly he becomes hyper-aware of Seonghwa's touch, his eyes finally snapping open. He gracelessly peels himself away from Seonghwa's body—heat bright and rosy on his cheeks—and clears his throat.

"'m fine. I told you I don't need—" he stops himself, knowing very well that he's just received a gift from Seonghwa other people would kill for, "I'm much better now. Thank you."

Seonghwa's lips spread into a smile.

And shit.

It's the most wildly beautiful thing Hongjoong has ever seen.

His heart is going to be sick.

—

"Hongjoong, are you awake?"

Just when Hongjoong thinks he's finally drifting off to sleep after staring at the dark ceiling in the unfamiliar ceremonial chamber for an agonising amount of time, Seonghwa's voice drags him out of his fuzzy state. The warm water of the hot springs earlier has put his body into a state of drowsiness, has turned his bones to stone, and he is barely able to lift his head.

"What the fuck?" he croaks, his bleary eyes searching for Seonghwa's face in the dim gloom. "You aren't supposed to be here."

"And yet, here I am," Seonghwa whispers, evidently pleased with himself.

"Okay? Go away, maybe?"

"Yah," Seonghwa tuts, and pushes his shoulder, signalling for him to scoot over. Hongjoong must have a death wish because he just lets it happen and moves closer to the edge of the already cramped ceremonial cot, the only piece of furniture in the entire room. The walls are threadbare and empty, and there's not even a carpet on the floor, just cold, hard marble like in the rest of this part of the sacred halls. There's a single window through which the moon sheds its light, as if Seonghwa himself had arranged it like that.

Just left of the end of the cot is a passage without a door, leading to Hwi-an's chamber, a mirror of his own.

Hongjoong prays that she's fast asleep and doesn't hear them.

"You're going to ruin your own ceremony. Be careful with my face paint," Hongjoong mutters as Seonghwa climbs onto the cot and lies down next to him. He can already feel the onset of his usual heart palpitations, even before Seonghwa puts his arm around his middle, curling up against his overheating body.

Hongjoong is never going to sleep.

Hongjoong is going to die.

"Since when do you care about the ceremony," Seonghwa mutters while Hongjoong desperately tries to ignore how Seonghwa's thumb strokes over his side, just above his ribs. Or how his breath feels hot against his shoulder, even through the fabric of the new white hanbok he's wearing. "I just wanted to see you. Haven't seen you since yesterday."

"Yes, and you weren't supposed to see me until tomorrow in the worship hall."

"Aish. Such a stupid rule. If it was me, we wouldn't have to go through any of these rituals at all."

"The oracles would rather throw themselves off a cliff than let that happen." He feels Seonghwa's lips curl into a smile against his shoulder.

"If it was me, I wouldn't be here at all. I'd just go live somewhere close to the ocean, in a small cottage by the shore. Watch the sunrise every morning, go fishing, raise some chickens. Maybe collect some sea shells."

"Hmm, sure. Sounds nice."

"And you would make bracelets and necklaces out of them, or sculptures out of driftwood. And then we'd sell them at the local market and just buy the most necessary things from other sellers before travelling back to our home."

Hongjoong lets out an awkward cough. He didn't expect for him to be in the picture of Seonghwa's imaginary life outside the temple.

"Who says I'd want to live with you? Maybe I'd want to live in a big city and become a rich trader."

"What would you trade?"

"Lemon juice."

Seonghwa snorts and yawns. He looks so cute with his eyes screwed shut. "If that's what you want, that's fine with me too. But your business would do terrible."

Hongjoong is too exhausted to argue. Or to contemplate why Seonghwa would want to live with him even if they were not bound by the duties of the temple. He just wants to sleep and get that life-altering, jarring experience of the ceremony over with. He groans and buries his hand that isn't occupied by a drowsy god in his hair and wonders if he's committed some sort of crime in his past life that he is forced to deal with all this stress.

"Seonghwa, why are you here? You should go back to your room before the hyungs notice."

Seonghwa is silent for so long that Hongjoong wonders whether he's fallen asleep on him. But then there's a small sigh and the hold around his middle tightens for the tiniest bit.

"We're going to be okay, right?" Seonghwa whispers into the darkness, nose pressed against Hongjoong's shoulder. Hongjoong can smell the herbal rinse that was used to wash Seonghwa's hair. Rosemary and thyme. A hint of the sun on his skin.

"I—" Hongjoong swallows, "I don't know."

"Just tell me we won't change. Please."

"You're a funny god, you know that? Caring so much about how a little human like me is treating him."

"You're not just any human, though. You're my best friend."

There it is again, that word. Friend.

Sometimes Hongjoong wonders if he'd rather be friends with Seonghwa, or nothing at all. Because what he truly wants—selfishly, recklessly—is not something he will ever have.

"And Hwi-an?"

"What about her?"

"She'll be in the same position as me. She'll spend just as much time with you, will serve you the same way. Same duties and all."

"Yeah, but that's what she's wanted all her life. She's different from you. She wants this. And she's not my best friend," Seonghwa adds with a pout and Hongjoong feels the strange urge to push him off the cot.

"'kay."

"Can't you just—" Seonghwa groans, pushing himself up on his forearm and almost elbowing Hongjoong in the face in the process, "I just want to know that I won't lose you. You twerp."

Hongjoong stares up at the face hovering above him. If Seonghwa wanted to, if he was just as insane as Hongjoong is, he could lean down and kiss him. Close his eyes, press their lips together. It would be so easy. It would be so devastatingly stupid.

But it would be possible.

Of course Seonghwa doesn't. He wouldn't even think of it. Seonghwa has never imagined this like Hongjoong has. He has never kissed him in the shadows of his heart like Hongjoong has so many times before.

And if he knew about Hongjoong's sinful fantasies, he would surely not ask him to stay as they are.

He would want him far, far away from him.

Would be appalled that Hongjoong is shameless enough to dare to fall in love with a god.

And yet. It's not entirely fair of him to think like that. Hongjoong hates himself for believing that Seonghwa would ever be capable of hating him.

Hates himself more for believing he'd deserve it nonetheless.

"You won't lose me," Hongjoong replies, chest aching, "you'll be stuck with me forever."

"Good," Seonghwa says firmly, then snuggles back up to him. Hongjoong sighs.

Impossible.

They're fucking impossible.

—

The marble feels cold beneath his feet when he steps through the long corridor leading to the worship hall. He can barely keep his eyes open, no thanks to Seonghwa who left his room only when Hongjoong urged him to because he was on the brink of falling asleep on his chest. His eyes are bloodshot and he knows he looks like death. Feels like it, too.

On his left-hand side, he senses the suffocating presence of Hwi-an, her back straight and chin lifted with pride. She's exuding everything Hongjoong does not. Excitement, dignity. Purpose. She's filled with so much joy and delight that she's almost bursting at the seams, and it's clear just from the twinkle in her eyes that this is the best day of her entire impeccable, dutiful life.

Hongjoong lets out an uneven breath and fixes his posture, his hanbok rustling too loud in the quiet hallway with every excruciatingly slow step he takes.

"I heard you last night," Hwi-an whispers. Hongjoong almost stumbles over his own foot, heart dropping uncomfortably fast. He snaps his head around and gapes at Hwi-an who has a very self-satisfied and serene smile on her lips. She giggles. "What? I naturally couldn't sleep from excitement. Then I heard you and Seonghwa-nim talk."

Hongjoong's ears are ringing. He's too tired for this bullshit.

"Okay," he just says, looking ahead again.

"You broke the rules, you know that?"

"I didn't ask him to come."

"Tsk, trying to shift the blame on him. The audacity."

"What do you want from me, Hwi-an?" he hisses, stealing a glance at the hyung and the noona who are leading the way in front of them.

"Nothing. Just thought it was interesting. Very interesting. Would be a pity if Eunseo noona got word of it."

"Don't you dare—"

"I was also a tiny bit sad that he didn't visit me too. But I guess that's a privilege exclusive to you. You've always been his favourite."

The hyung in front of them clears his throat and glares over his shoulder. Hongjoong ducks his head and presses his lips together. He suddenly feels the weight of the hanbok, of the flower wreath on his head, of the face paint, of his future responsibilities pressing down on him, so crushing he can't breathe. The thinly veiled threat that Hwi-an is dangling over his head doesn't help with any of it.

They come to a halt in front of the menacing wooden door that leads into the worship hall. Just a few more moments and they would pass through it and go through the entire ritual that they've been rehearsing for weeks. But for real this time.

Hongjoong feels a little lightheaded.

"What did you talk about?"

"None of your business."

"Everything that happens between you two is going to be my business from now on," and that. That is what's really terrifying.

Because what she says is true.

It's torture, really. The fact that it's her Hongjoong will be stuck with for eternity. From all the children that have been picked up from the streets, or from rich noble families who wanted their child to grow up in the presence of a god, she and Hongjoong are the only ones the same age as Seonghwa's human body. And therefore, only she and him were eligible for this role as Seonghwa's attendants. A boy, and a girl. Suitable for a goddess reborn in a boy's body.

Everything Seonghwa does from now on will be shared between them.

No more secrets.

No more stealing away for adventures outside the temple grounds.

No more entire days of just lounging around in the gardens to the sound of the birds, the wind in the trees, and the rustling of book pages being turned; Seonghwa's head on his lap.

Seonghwa's head would have to be on her lap now, too.

The door opens and the bright light of the full moon floods through the glass dome on the ceiling, filters into the corridor. Silver and brilliant.

The hyung and the noona in front of them continue their ceremonious escort, and Hongjoong almost misses his cue to proceed, almost passes out. There's an ever-growing shadow around the corners of his vision and his stomach ties into knots that are impossible to untangle.

He almost sobs, but that would be embarrassing.

Immediately, the sound of ethereal singing voices hits his ears, and then he is inside.

Inside the hall, every oracle, elder and temple hand has gathered, even some from other temples in the country. They are wearing their finest clothes in their temple branch's colour. Hanboks in dark blue and yellow, mostly, some even silver. Each head adorned by a flower crown. A lot of them are clutching their hands across their chests, their faces bright and full of hope and reverence.

As Hongjoong's eyes dart around, he spots his friends on the right. Of course they'd be waiting on the side he's walking on. They give him some subtle thumbs-ups and mouth what must be encouraging words to him, but Hongjoong is too stressed to really register any of it. He counts only three of them before he remembers that Jongho, San and Yeosang are in the choir.

Then. Seonghwa.

Hongjoong isn't supposed to look at him, but for a split second, he does, only to regret it.

Hongjoong will never get used to it. To how different this Seonghwa is in the worship hall compared to the Seonghwa he has to himself. When they're alone, Seonghwa is just his silly best friend with his stupid antics and beautiful eyes, constantly led by the need to hug him and coddle him despite knowing that Hongjoong hates it.

Here, in the worship hall, he's a god.

And he let's everyone know in no uncertain terms.

Even Hongjoong.

There is something ancient about him. Something so old that predates all life on earth, that might be older even than time itself. When he moves, the air seems to bend around him, and when he inhales, the universe holds its breath. He shifts, and the room shifts with him. He blinks his long white lashes, slow and measured, and reality dips out of existence for a moment.

He's holding life itself in the palm of his hands.

And he could crush it any second.

Effortlessly intimidating.

Here in the worship hall among marble and light, he is love and he is kindness. He's also law and fear and the need to throw yourself down to the floor to kiss the ground he walks on. He demands for you to feel small when you cower by his feet.

Hongjoong hates it more than anything.

Seonghwa is seated above everyone else in his flowing ceremonial robes, on a throne made of moonstone. A short staircase of exactly five steps leads up to him, and Hongjoong and Hwi-an come to a halt just in front of it, heads lowered, hands pressed to their chests. The singing of the choir continues and it's driving Hongjoong insane. He could swear it's getting louder and louder while at the same time all the voices and the oppression of the devout hush penetrating the hall drifts into the background.

The noona that has accompanied them turns around to the crowd and says something, voice carrying through the hall. Hwi-an puts her feet onto the first step, then she says something in the direction of Seonghwa.

A bead of sweat trickles down Hongjoong's back. This is all going too fast. It wasn't supposed to feel this rushed and meaningless. It was supposed to feel grander than this, more polished. But now Hongjoong realises that despite everything he had imagined, this is nothing but a bad theatre play, a performance carried out by amateurs. No one here knows what they're doing. Least of all him.

Hwi-an reaches the top of the steps after pausing on each one and reciting her oath. Hongjoong can't help but glance up, watching how she drops to her knees and waits for Seonghwa to do his part.

Suddenly he remembers that one time he and Seonghwa snuck out of the temple to go see the performance of the travelling bard that was all the rave among the other temple hands. They had never seen the bard perform in person, but they swore that he could turn music into magic, and his voice into gold.

Seonghwa wanted to see the spectacle so bad when Hongjoong had told him about it.

And as always, Hongjoong couldn't tell him no. Even if he wanted to.

They watched the performance from a rooftop that they climbed up to. Hongjoong was dying a thousand deaths, already made up excuses and explanations in his head as to why he allowed a god to drop from the roof of a house in the town and injure himself, but nothing of that sort ever happened. They sat there and listened to the music, and Seonghwa's round eyes shimmered the entire time with wonder and admiration.

Hongjoong knows this because he was watching him more than the small stage, mesmerised by how so much light can be contained in one single person.

Seonghwa had hummed the tune of one of the bard's songs for weeks after that.

And Hongjoong thought of ways to rip his heart out and switch off his feelings every single time he heard it.

Hwi-an steps beside him again then, her whole being glowing and her lips faintly stained blue. As if she had been kissed by the moon itself, its very essence flown into her.

Hongjoong's heart is pounding because he knows it's his turn now.

And he would be lying if he claimed he didn't want Seonghwa's light, too.

The problem and the entire source of his misery is just—he wants it all to himself. Selfish and greedy.

The hyung he had almost forgotten about then turns around, and addresses the spectators. And Hongjoong. Him too, of course, though that part feels more like an afterthought.

"Today, tomorrow, and in all the days to come, the light of the moon shall be within you."

It's thrilling and dizzying all at once to feel every single pair of eyes on him, expecting him to say his oath. The reverent anticipation sinks onto Hongjoong's shoulder, heavy and burning through him like a fire. All he can think about is that he's about to forget all his words, and that he wants to sink into the ground, swallowed up by a deep hole.

He presses his hands to his chest so hard he can feel the erratic thump of his heart, the uneven cadence of his breathing.

Then he lets go and lets instinct take over completely.

"I shall forever be bound to the light," he manages, just loud enough to be acceptable. He takes a step on the stairs. "My hands shall remain pure, and never cause any ripples in the water." Another step, another shuddering inhale. He's practised this more times than necessary. He can do it. "The moon's will alone shall be my purpose, my breath, and my only truth, on this earth and in the realms beyond."

He knows he's speaking too fast, should take more time. But the words tumble out of him like an excuse quickly made up. Not good enough. Not holy enough. Just a disappointment to everyone who had expected him to be the perfect servant, the perfect shadow to the god who deserved so much better than him.

"For you whose true name is held by the night sky, grant me, this night, the strength to stand within your grace," his feet almost catch on the final step, making him stumble for a moment, heat rushing to his cheeks as if he was not already burning up. He suppresses the whine that dies down in his throat, and his voice sounds even more strangled now. "And let me not confuse the shadow of the man for the light of the Goddess."

The final words taste like bile on his tongue, the bitter truth a reminder of his own inadequacy. But it's too late now. He's here now, at the end of his former life, and at the door of the one that has been destined for him ever since he got picked up as a dirty stray on the streets of the town.

Hongjoong's footsteps still at the top of the stairs. His gaze remains trained on the tiny, low table before him so that he doesn't feel tempted to look at the overwhelming presence of Seonghwa. Waiting. Only for him.

There's a bowl of hot water and a fresh towel one of the temple hands has brought out between Hwi-an coming down the steps and Hongjoong going up, exactly like it was when they practised.

Hongjoong bows deeply towards Seonghwa, one shaking hand put on top of the other between his knees. Then, still not looking up, he kneels down onto the cushion at his feet, the velvet doing nothing to keep the cold of the marble floor away.

His chest constricts around nothing.

He's so nervous he might die just then and there and he almost laughs out loud at the mental image of him dropping lifelessly to the side and rolling down the stairs, lying motionless and all crooked on the floor. That would cause such a hilarious and nonsensical scandal.

The noonas and hyungs and even the oracles would hate him and talk shit about him even when he's dead. His friends might cry for a while and be sad, but then their lives would go on and they'd eat breakfast in the dining hall like every morning. They'd fulfil their cleaning duties and spend prayer hours at the sanctuary, and sometimes they would ask each other whether they still remember the most important ceremony of their lives that Hongjoong fucked up by dropping dead.

And Seonghwa—

Seonghwa is a god.

He's infinite.

Why would he even care?

He swallows hard when Seonghwa's shadow appears on the other side of the table to kneel down across from him. An act that brings him level to Hongjoong. A sin any other time. A sin Hongjoong has committed on so many occasions it's become a habit. But the only one who could absolve him from blasphemy is the god who led him to temptation.

Is someone like that still a god?

Or something else?

Seonghwa's cold fingers curl below his chin, causing Hongjoong to suck in a sharp breath, feeling winded just from the touch alone. He allows his face to be lifted by the gentle grip, meeting Seonghwa's eyes with his own in the flickering light filtering through the glass dome above.

The world stills.

Seonghwa is even more overwhelming from up so close and it isn't easy for Hongjoong, it has never really been easy for him, but he forces himself to pretend that it is.

Being face to face with a god.

It's just a little sickening when his thoughts instantly start to drift. To the strands of Seonghwa's silver hair that fall over his brows so delicately, to the sweetness of his lips that would taste like honey on Hongjoong's filthy tongue. Bitter-sweet. Melting him, filling him up, turning to ash inside his mouth.

Just like the withered heart inside his chest.

"Behold me," Seonghwa says, just loud enough that Hongjoong hears, "from now on and forever."

Hongjoong doesn't know if he had expected Seonghwa to smile during all of this. To giggle like he did when they had mocked the whole thing during a secret trip to the library. But he doesn't, and the absence of all familiarity hits Hongjoong harder than he had anticipated.

There is no smile on Seonghwa's face. No warmth in his piercing eyes.

Only sadness.

Hongjoong opens his mouth but no sound comes out. Like he physically can't. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, before he sucks in a desperate breath. Then he finally manages to choke out a small: "I will behold you."

Only for him. Only for Seonghwa.

A faint, reassuring smile appears on Seonghwa's lips when he retreats his fingers, and some of the tension trickles out of Hongjoong despite becoming aware of the sweat that disgustingly clings to the entirety of his back. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to get out of here, to get himself to safety.

He could just grab Seonghwa's hand and run.

And Seonghwa would run with him. Would ask no questions. Would go wherever Hongjoong wanted to go.

Wouldn't he?

Suddenly, Hongjoong isn't sure anymore.

Hongjoong picks up the white cloth that is placed beside the bowl and dips it into the hot water. It's painfully obvious how much his hands are trembling, and he doesn't manage to carry out his movements without having to use his other hand to steady the one holding the towel.

His brain doesn't miss the chance to tell him that he's fucking pathetic.

When the fabric is soaked and the tips of his fingers have turned red and tender, he wrings out the towel and holds it out to Seonghwa with both hands, head slightly lowered. Seonghwa accepts it without a word and folds it—just like he's practised—then holds Hongjoong's chin again.

The cloth is warm against Hongjoong's skin as it touches his cheek. His eyes fall closed and he lets Seonghwa wipe away the smudged ink stains that remain on his skin. It's probably better not to see his best friend during all of this. For his sanity. For his shrivelling heart.

He ignores the tears that sting behind his eyes and swallows down the lump in his throat.

Seonghwa takes his time, every brush deliberate and carried out with intention and so much care that Hongjoong might melt. The singing from the choir still continues, the high and low notes swirling around them loud and clear, and Hongjoong is grateful that the music drowns out his own rabid pulse thudding against his skull.

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa murmurs, and Hongjoong's eyes fly open, the brightness blinding as if he's never opened his eyes before.

He panics.

Seonghwa isn't supposed to say his name. He shouldn't even think of his name. This was not part of the rehearsal.

He frantically searches Seonghwa's face for a hint of why he did that, but there's nothing written there at all—just a slight pinch between his brows. Seonghwa wipes his cheeks with the towel again despite already having thoroughly cleaned off the ink, confusing him even more. Hongjoong sways when the god finally lets go of his face and dunks the towel back into the water before wringing it out and placing it back on the table.

The bowl. The final step of the ritual. All he has to do now is take a sip, make the whole farce complete, make everyone believe he wants this. But in his mind there is only Seonghwa's voice and him saying Hongjoong, Hongjoong, Hongjoong.

Seonghwa is the first one to drink. Just a bit, just enough. Then he hands the bowl to him in slow-motion, his own movements nothing but rehearsed and mechanical. An instinct more than a conscious decision. Hongjoong stares at the blue swirls in the water for a second before he brings the vessel to his lips, swallowing down the bitter taste.

Hongjoong's body tingles.

Did he do something wrong? Did he miss a cue?

He doesn't have time to dwell on this right now, dear lord, he has to get up and move and go back down the steps and just act fucking normal.

He forces his legs to obey and stands, bows to Seonghwa one last time. Pretends he isn't falling apart.

The way back down the stairs seems endless to him. So much longer than when he went up. So much more dizzying and scary, too. His chest feels like it's filled with stones, but that's exactly what doesn't leave any room for more pain. At least that's what he tells himself. After all, the truth is that the emptiness has never really left him.

When he finally reaches the bottom and stands next to Hwi-an, his body shaking and his vision blurry, he realises that he's crying.

—

The air is stifling in the dining hall.

Music is playing cheerfully in a corner of the room, driven by clapping hands and the loud toasts of the tipsy temple hands closest to the ensemble. More chandeliers than usual have been lit, and the tables are full of hearty food, so much of it that there is no way everything is going to be eaten that night. The spicy and fragrant scent clings to Hongjoong's nose in an attempt to make him sick—and it's working.

It's the overwhelming abundance of everything, when all he wants is quiet.

Seonghwa is sitting to his right, but he cannot look at him. Hasn't for the entirety of the evening.

They both don't know it yet, but they're different now. Will be different. Even if they pretend like they're not completely unrecognisable to each other.

"Hongjoong didn't knock over the water bowl this time, at least," Hwi-an laughs across the table, everyone laughing with her. It feels like a slap, disguised as a joke. Hongjoong knows exactly what it is, though. It's not the first time she's insulted him in jest. "He will do so great from now on, I'm sure. We just have to ensure that he doesn't accidentally set Seonghwa-nim's room on fire."

More laughter. Hongjoong stares at the untouched food on his plate. Shoves a half-falling-apart gimbap around with his chopsticks.

"Yah, Hwi-an-ssi," Seonghwa chides, his voice so much gentler than Hongjoong could ever muster. "I do not know your intentions, but as my first request as your and Hongjoong's ward, I implore you to treat others kindly, as you would want to be treated with kindness. And I especially request it for Hongjoong."

Hongjoong sees Seonghwa pour himself more tea from his peripheral, drawing back the sleeve of his hanbok with his free hand in the process, revealing his slender wrist. Hongjoong pinches his thigh, hard, scolding himself inwardly for even noticing the motion in the first place. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to will down the tingles in his limbs. He's already been humiliated enough. No need for the others to also discover that shameful part of himself.

"Your first request?" Hwi-an gasps, "and it's to me?" She giggles and her lips spread impossibly wide. Her friends all gleefully bite their lips or pat her shoulders. "Of course, Seonghwa-nim! It will be my delight to fulfil your benevolent request and all requests to come!"

Seonghwa puts down the tea pot and smiles.

"I'll make sure to hold you to your word, Hwi-an-ssi," he says. Something cold seeps through his voice, but no one seems to catch it. No one but Hongjoong—and his body involuntarily stiffens.

He slowly turns his head, just enough to glance at Seonghwa.

For a moment, there's a shadow on Seonghwa's face and a faint twist on his mouth. The jewellery—on his head, in his ears, around his neck—glimmers as he brings his tea cup to his rosy lips. Innocent. Pure.

But Hongjoong saw it.

The flicker of the god he was in the worship hall.

He saw it.

Dangerous and impending.

Like a thunderstorm looming in the distance.

—

The sound of Hwi-an humming the tune of Seonghwa's favourite song makes Hongjoong's skin crawl when he enters Seonghwa's room. With mild frustration he notices that Seonghwa is not here yet.

"Is Seonghwa's service taking longer today? Again?" he asks, putting the fresh clothes he collected from the laundry room on Seonghwa's bed.

"Seonghwa-nim," Hwi-an corrects, annoyed, eyes narrowed. "He's very devoted to his duties, unlike certain others. He wouldn't want to turn anyone away that came to see him. And there's been so many people who come to him for solace." She looks proud for something she has no part in, but she doesn't seem to care. She doesn't seem to get it.

Ever since Seonghwa has started his public service after the ceremony, people have flocked to their god in droves, making it hardly possible for Seonghwa to see and tend to everyone who came in the short time frame he had available. Thus, the time slot for his receptions have grown longer and longer. And it worries Hongjoong to bits, but no one else here seems to care. And it's frightening. Maddening.

"He shouldn't work so much. His body is already a battlefield."

Hwi-an rolls her eyes. "Hongjoong. For someone who has spent so much time with him, you really are dense, huh? Let me spell it out for you, slowly, so that even someone like you gets it: Seonghwa-nim. Is. A. God. He's immortal. That earthly vessel of him? Just a temporary aid to be among us. If it's broken, he'll just get a new one." She shrugs, then looks him up and down, giving him a judgemental look. "Nothing to worry about. Except for your work ethic, maybe. That's probably the thing that endangers him most."

Hongjoong grits his teeth, his jaw tense.

How can she say something like this? How can she be so dismissive of Seonghwa's well-being?

Seonghwa may not be human but he is—

He is—

He deserves at least a little bit of compassion. A little bit of decency.

"I'm going to fetch him from the worship hall now. His service is about to be done. Make yourself useful while I'm gone."

Hongjoong clenches his fists as he watches Hwi-an leave. Suddenly the air feels suffocating inside the room, so he opens the window, sucking in the crisp evening air that rushes in, embracing it for just a moment.

His head feels heavy. And there's something lingering at the back of his mind, almost irritating.

Something he doesn't want to ignore any longer.

Hongjoong has felt trapped and forlorn for so long that he's stopped way too rarely to ask himself a very important question, one that he should have held above everything else whenever he spiralled down a vortex of self-pity.

Because this is not about him. Nothing here is about him.

All he's ever wanted is for Seonghwa to be happy.

So, is there more he could do for him? Is there a way he could take all his pain and make it his own instead, piling it on top of all the sadness he's already gathered inside of him? Could he just take it to fill the emptiness inside his chest, make it mean something?

Would Seonghwa understand?

Would he know?

After all this time, would it actually matter?

No.

Seonghwa's happiness is what matters.

The only thing that is important.

The door to Seonghwa's room opens just when he's done preparing the bath, steam curling in the air that smells like amber. He puts away the bucket he used and hurries out of the bathroom to the sight of Seonghwa walking in with a bright smile plastered on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he chuckles at something Hwi-an just said. His hair is a little matted, sticking to his temples, but he looks ethereal nonetheless, as always. Good. Healthy.

At contrast to what Hongjoong had expected.

"I'm going to help tidy up in the worship hall now. I hope you will be able to enjoy your bath, Seonghwa-nim, that would be most wonderful," Hwi-an says as if she has prepared the bath herself, and hot anger flares up in Hongjoong's chest before it quickly dies down again and tapers off like the remnants of a firework bloom.

His stomach twists uncomfortably when the smile completely drops off Seonghwa's face the moment the door closes behind him.

Seonghwa's eyes dart to him, but there's no sweetness there. Not anymore. Only pain.

Hongjoong jolts into action when Seonghwa holds his own middle, knees slightly bent, eyebrows pinched. Hongjoong knows it's forbidden, and he shouldn't, but he rushes to Seonghwa's side and puts his hands on him, fully, propping him up from the side with one hand to the shoulder, the other to his arm. Coaxing him into leaning on him.

"You overdid it again, didn't you," Hongjoong states rather than asks, leading him towards the bathroom. He notices the limp in Seonghwa's steps and wants to burn the entire fucking temple down. Seonghwa lets out a small grunt, head drooping. "You really need to learn how to say no. You're allowed to say no, you know."

"I know."

"Then why don't you—" he sighs, steering Seonghwa towards the bench in the entirely white-marbled bathroom. Behind them, a window that goes from floor to ceiling opens to a vista of the forest and the town below, the glittering shore far off in the distance with the setting sun dipping everything into a pink hue. "You're their god. Just send them away."

"But I don't want to, Hongjoong-ah, precisely because I'm their god. They sometimes come from far away and it wouldn't be fair to make them wait," Seonghwa says as he sits down and it's the small, pained whimper he lets out that makes Hongjoong almost lose his shit and do something drastic. He feels his hands shake by his side as he curls them into fists, watching as Seonghwa fumbles with the ribbons of his hanbok.

"Aish, let me do this."

"Hongjoong-ah—"

"You're obviously too weak to do it yourself."

Hongjoong can feel Seonghwa's eyes on him as he unties the ribbon, the hanbok loosening around his frame. The seconds feel longer than they actually are, but despite the nerves igniting inside of him one by one, he ignores the way Seonghwa's stare follows him as he proceeds to take off the pieces of his clothes, very carefully and slowly.

He's gotten used to it.

To the forced intimacy of it all.

To the torture.

But.

Seonghwa's happiness is more important than Hongjoong's pain.

Something ugly twists in his stomach then. A thought he's tried to shove to the very back of his mind so many times before, but rises to the surface whenever this scene plays out after Seonghwa's service. A fact. A mantra.

At least no one else gets to touch him like this.

The robes fall away from Seonghwa's body then, pooling around his lap, and Hongjoong bites his bottom lip so hard he almost draws blood.

The familiar stirring in his gut is quickly tamed by the sight that Hongjoong dreaded even before Seonghwa's service had began before noon.

His chest tightens as he glances at the scars, the smattering of purples and reds where Seonghwa's skin is bruised and sore, some parts of his skin chafed and tender. An image so out of place. So not belonging on the body of a god. Painted there by the people who sought him out for their own self-serving needs, and the pigment they used was the pain Seonghwa took from them and infused into his body.

Selflessly.

Recklessly.

In a way, Hongjoong understands. He understood that day one year ago when Seonghwa did it to him. When he felt the agony of his fever flow out of his body and into Seonghwa's. It felt like pure elation. Euphoria. When Seonghwa's powers had surged through him, it was like he was in touch with the universe, his mind open and free and high above anything else. Not bound by earthly restraints.

It felt like what salvation must feel like.

And then he crashed, right into Seonghwa's arms, and he knew right then and there that he will never experience anything like that again.

What he didn't know was that he gave Seonghwa one of his first scars. That he blemished him. That he's no better than all these people seeking him out to cure their ailments.

He hates himself just as much as he hates them.

Because now he knows what taking the pain of others does to Seonghwa.

He helps Seonghwa stand up, the clothes dropping to the floor without a care. Hongjoong will put them away later. Now he's too focused on touching Seonghwa just where it doesn't hurt, clenching his jaw when Seonghwa winces as he climbs into the free standing tub in the middle of the room, guiding him down into a sitting position until the warm water has engulfed his body completely.

"Thank you, Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. Despite everything, he still looks so beautiful. His skin is glowing, his cheeks a rosy pink, his silver hair a halo around his head.

But he also looks so much smaller than usual.

"Always," Hongjoong replies quietly, gathering the discarded hanbok from the floor. He makes sure Seonghwa is safely soaking in the water before he leaves the room and throws the used clothes into the laundry basket. He also closes the window and enters his own chamber through a nondescript adjacent door that leads from Seonghwa's room directly to his. He picks up his log book in order to write down the time and a note about the bath. He also records the extent of Seonghwa's lesions.

"Hongjoong?" Seonghwa calls from the tub, and Hongjoong drops the quill faster than a lighting bolt, rushing back to the bathroom.

"Yes?" he asks wide-eyed, instantly checking if everything's okay. Seonghwa's eyes are droopy as he looks up at him from the tub, his flushed skin glistening with the steam that has settled on his face.

Hongjoong wants to cry and wonders if maybe he pinched himself hard enough, he could squeeze his improper feelings out of his body.

Because how could he not imagine kissing Seonghwa when he looks like this? So beautiful and comfortable and a little dazed and pink and just so utterly perfect.

And then he giggles, giggles, and Hongjoong is gone.

"Could you wash my hair? Please? My arms just don't want to cooperate."

Hongjoong swallows thickly. He's not sure if he can speak.

"Yeah. Sure," absolutely no problem. He's done this before. It's nothing knew.

Yet—he doesn't know why it feels so different today. So—almost wrong. Maybe because he just doesn't seem to be able to reign in his impure thoughts today. The weakness that has taken hold of Seonghwa's body must have also messed with Hongjoong's willpower.

And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

He kneels down on the stool next to the tub behind Seonghwa and picks up the small bottle that contains the herbal rinse. He pours it directly onto Seonghwa's head, careful to not spill anything over his face. His hair has gotten longer again after he had cut it off as an act of rebellion a few months back.

"I'm glad," Seonghwa says, tipping his head back a little as Hongjoong begins to massage his scalp.

"About what? Having a personal hair washer?" Hongjoong earns a weak slap to his forearm for that, but it makes him smile for a second.

"No, twerp. About us. That we're still good. That we haven't changed."

Hongjoong stills for a moment, fingers carding through Seonghwa's wet hair. He clears his throat.

"You think we haven't?"

"Not much, anyway," Seonghwa murmurs. A small, content sound spills from his throat when Hongjoong massages the hair at the back of his head. "Ah, right there," he purrs, and a flash of heat surges through Hongjoong's lower body. He is this close to drowning himself in the tub like a fish that can't swim.

He licks his dry lips and tries not to stare too much at the patch of unblemished skin at the junction of Seonghwa's neck and shoulder. Wills down the image of him leaning down and pressing feather-light kisses to his bruises, moving along his shoulder blades, licking over the damp skin before sucking into his neck and making him moan and—

Fuck. What the fuck is he doing?

This is not right.

He's not supposed to daydream about Seonghwa with Seonghwa sitting naked right in front of him.

Any day now, he's going to slip up and make a mistake and then—

No.

Hongjoong doesn't even want to imagine what would be then.

The look of betrayal on Seonghwa's face. The realisation that being his friend was apparently not enough for him. That their friendship is nothing but a lie built on desire and want and—

Seonghwa would see what a disgusting piece of shit Hongjoong really is and—

"And yet I miss you," Seonghwa continues, making Hongjoong's brain shut right up, "isn't that funny? We spend so much time together now, yet I still miss you. But I know it's not because we have changed. It's more like—because our surroundings have changed. Our duties. Hwi-an. Ough, she never leaves me out of her sight when I'm not in my room. There's never time alone."

"We're alone now," Hongjoong says meekly, his fingers smoothing over Seonghwa's hair. He's almost done, but he doesn't want to be. Wants to touch Seonghwa's hair forever.

Seonghwa giggles again, his shoulders shaking a little with it. Now, Hongjoong is just endeared.

"We should sneak out again sometime soon. Just you and me."

"Forget it," Hongjoong retorts sternly, picking up the wash bowl, "that's not gonna be a thing anymore. You're even more important now than before, and if anything happened to you out there, I would never forgive myself."

He tips Seonghwa's head back gently and starts rinsing his lathered hair off.

"But, Hongjoong-ah. Dearest Joong-ah, my sun and stars," the pout in Seonghwa's voice would be audible from the next town over, and yes, it does things to Hongjoong's heart that he would like to ignore, "we'll be careful. And won't go too far. We can come back to the temple any time. And I'll wear a hood."

"Seonghwa," Hongjoong warns, "I'm gonna dump this bowl over your face if you don't stop."

"Joong-ah," Seonghwa sing-songs.

"No."

"But, but—"

"No," Hongjoong laughs, more water flowing through Seonghwa's soft hair. "You're impossible. Such an insolent god. Always causing trouble."

"I had the best teacher," Seonghwa says with a broad grin plastered on his face. Because he doesn't know how to deny it, Hongjoong doesn't reply anything to that statement, just focuses on Seonghwa's soft hair. "Please—I just want to live a little. I don't have much more."

Hongjoong purses his lips, his brows furrowing with understanding despite wanting to remain firm.

"The night market has started a week ago. It lasts until the end of summer," Hongjoong murmurs reluctantly. He puts away the bowl and stands, his knees hurting like a bitch as he stretches his legs out. Seonghwa turns around in the tub to beam up at him, his eyes sparkling.

"So, we're going?"

Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

"Get out now, the water is getting cold."

"We're going, right?"

Hongjoong picks up a fluffy white towel and drapes it over his shoulder before helping Seonghwa out of the tub. He can't help but notice that Seonghwa's skin is appearing a lot better already. Despite his body looking like someone has committed a massacre on it after every service, it also heals insanely fast. Some of the scars and bruises remain, but the rest of his skin is again golden and silky smooth.

Hongjoong is glad about that, because otherwise he would be on his way to the high oracles right now to tell them exactly what he thinks of their shitty, abusive asses.

"We'll see. Only if there's an absolutely perfect and air-tight opportunity," he says as he wraps the towel around Seonghwa's body, "and if we manage to get rid of Hwi-an for a night."

"Oh, I'm sure there'll be a way," Seonghwa says giddily, a small smirk on his mischievous face. Hongjoong flicks his forehead. "Ouch!"

"You really are impossible. Into the corner of shame with you!"

"Hey!"

"Come on now," he pinches Seonghwa's side through the towel and steers him back to the bedroom, a soft smile on his face.

It could be so light. So easy. It could always be like this.

But then he remembers.

Not only Seonghwa is impossible.

It's them.

They both are. Together.

—

It's been months since Hongjoong came to the underground candle workshop. He has not missed the place. Is not fond of coming back to it either.

Yet, here he is. He came here by his own free will and he's pretty sure he's already regretting all his life choices.

The basement is packed from floor to ceiling with boxes of raw beeswax, tallow blocks and barrels of stinking oil, an insanely generous donation of candle making material that got delivered to the temple's door steps a few days ago, courtesy of an elderly wealthy estate owner from the capital who tried to secure the favour of the Holy Moon for his next life. Or whatever.

The smouldering heat from the melting cauldrons that has spread under the low ceilings of the basement is unbearably hot against Hongjoong's skin, and the grease and sticky scent in the air seem to cling to his hair stubbornly like resin.

"Had I known you'd be down here all day, I wouldn't have come," he mutters, tying another wick to a long stick on his lap. Of course he would be too damn generous to refuse helping his friends with the candle production. As if he could ever say no to their pitiful whining and pleading eyes.

"Oooh," Woo-little-shit-young coos, "poor Hongjoongie hyung. Not used to getting his hands dirty anymore."

"Hyung didn't even miss us," Jongho adds, one corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. "Now that he gets to spend so much time with Seonghwa hyung."

"Good thing then we didn't miss him either."

"You guys suck," Hongjoong bites back, exasperated. The other two just laugh.

The truth is. He did miss them. He's missed them so much it hurts.

Ever since he's started his servitude to Seonghwa, there wasn't much time anymore for anything else but following rules, preparing meals, baths, clothes, write log book entries, do this, do that. It's been weeks since he was last able to spend time with his friends. The quick encounters in the sacred halls or sometimes in the dining room could hardly be counted as spending time together.

Still.

He had imagined to spend his rare free time differently than. With whatever this is.

"Stop teasing him, guys," San gently interjects as he puts down some fresh bundles of candle wick. He sits down with them and picks up the scissors in order to cut the long rope of wick into appropriate lengths. "Hyung is working hard, just in different ways than he used to."

"It's okay, San-ah," Hongjoong sighs, picking up the next stick to be filled with wicks, "they're not wrong. The work has gotten a lot easier, and whatever I have to do for Seonghwa, I like doing. It's just—it's weird. Being his servant. Who even came up with that ridiculous idea?"

"You're not his servant, Hongjoong hyung," Wooyoung scowls, getting up to place the finished sticks with the wicks dangling from them over the wax cauldrons.

"Wooyoung hyung is right," Jongho agrees, "that whole attendant thing is just some ridiculous custom some ancient oracle hundreds of years ago came up with and wrote down for future generations who could potentially be hosting the Moon Goddess one day. They probably patted themselves on the shoulder for their glorious idea back then. Doesn't mean you have to do the same."

"I don't, but everyone around me seems to suck the scriptures' dick. They're all so strict with the rituals, the way we have to address him, the rules about touching him and how we should best avoid that altogether. Even the way his breakfast gets served is meticulously regulated down to where to put his chopsticks. It's ridiculous."

"But Seonghwa hyung is glad to have you close, no?" San's question hits Hongjoong's gloomy thoughts like a blow, knocking them out of his head all at once. Hongjoong gapes at him, mid knot-tying. "I'm sure Seonghwa hyung is glad it's you and not anyone else. He's kinda obsessed with you anyway." There's a small grin on San's lips that causes Hongjoong to instantly switch to defence mode again.

"Tsk, we're just close because we're the same age and have known each other for years."

"We have also known Seonghwa hyung for years, but he's not crawling into our cots in the dorm room at night. He only ever did that with you," Wooyoung calls from the other side of the room, causing Hongjoong to glance around to make sure they're alone down here.

"Oh, shut up," Hongjoong feels treacherous heat creep onto his cheeks, and he messes up the knot he's been trying to tie for the past three minutes. He starts the knot afresh, but fails again, the frown on his face deepening.

"He really loves you, hyung, and no roles or rituals in the world could ever change that," Jongho says softly, not looking away and Hongjoong wants to hide from his lingering stare. I'm right and you know it, it says, loud and clear without it having been turned into words. And Hongjoong knows he's right. He knows.

It's just that there are different shapes of love and how they fit into the cutout moulds inside a heart.

And Hongjoong is terrified of what the shape of Seonghwa's love for him might look like.

That it might not fit into the frame Hongjoong has built in his.

—

It's at dinner in the dining hall when Hongjoong's day turns from good because he spent time with his friends, to miserable and utter shit in an instant.

It's nothing grand. Nothing anyone but a few others might have caught.

But he heard it. And he's pretty sure he was supposed to hear.

"I think Hongjoong hyung is in love with Seonghwa-nim."

Followed by a giggle and more whispers and a few interested gasps.

"What, what? What makes you think that? Tell us!"

"You know what Hwi-an said?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it."

"Hongjoong has always been a bit creepy."

"He's trying to isolate Seonghwa-nim as if he was the only one who's allowed to be close to him."

"He really thinks he's special."

"Do you guys think they've fucked?"

Hongjoong recognises that last voice. He's often dreading it when he walks through the corridors alone and it pops up in the distance. He's dipped into empty rooms countless times in the past to wait it out and let it pass, before he hurried back to his room with sweaty hands and a racing heart.

The person who has always been even more jealous of him than Hwi-an herself.

Yunsuk.

Hwi-an's best friend and resident asshole. The guy who immediately started bullying Yeosang and Mingi when they came to the temple the year after Hongjoong did. The guy who was born only one day too late to be the same age as Seonghwa, and is therefore one age bracket above Hongjoong's.

And he hates Hongjoong for it. Loathes him. Would cheer for his downfall.

Something cold and toxic slithers around Hongjoong's ribcage, dripping into his stomach like lead. His mouth is suddenly way too dry to speak and his fingers tighten impossibly harder around the chopsticks in his hand, some kimchi dropping back down into his bowl. He looks up in a fit of misplaced courage and regrets it when he meets Yunsuk's stare.

There's a knowing glint there, on full display. A challenge. A prove me wrong if you can.

Yunsuk revels in it.

Revels in the empty look of detachment on Hongjoong's face.

Because he knows Hongjoong won't deny it. He knows Hongjoong has long since given up on trying to defend himself from him.

Knows that only Seonghwa is his shield.

Hongjoong tries to steady himself.

To control his fear before it controls him.

But the damage has already been done.

Yunsuk's lips morph into a satisfied smirk.

—

That night, Hongjoong dreams he is a dark lake.

Night falls, and the full moon is reflected in him, its glow perfectly still and serene on the smooth surface of the water.

Hongjoong embraces it, cradles it in his depths, caresses its crevices and the round shape of its body.

Sucks it in. Inhales it.

It plunges into him.

And then it's there in its true form. Is Seonghwa.

It's Seonghwa's body on top of him. In him. All around him. Like a prayer.

Seonghwa's lips brush over the shell of his ear, then teeth graze his earlobe and make him squirm. He suppresses a moan because he cannot let Seonghwa know how weak he is.

"You and I," Seonghwa whispers, his breath hot against his skin. His hands wander over Hongjoong's ribcage, down to his hips, holding him in place, pressing into him. An ancient power seeps into every fibre of Hongjoong's body and fills him with light.

Hongjoong sobs. Seonghwa kisses his tears away.

The dark water engulfs them and Seonghwa's voice cracks.

"You and I."

—

Loving Seonghwa, Hongjoong has learned, is an impulse.

It comes in waves, and ebbs and flows with the tide—just like the sea does.

It's always there, thrumming beneath his skin like a memory that lies forgotten, and sometimes like a hungry fire that laps on his soul, burning its edges.

Loving Seonghwa has become a habit. One he can't shake off. An addiction. Sweet, yet deadly.

But he has made peace with the fact that one day he's going to die from a broken heart. It's not the worst way to go. At least he will die knowing that his love is immortal, part of Seonghwa's ancient being. Proof that he has lived and existed in this universe, for the length of a breath.

When it becomes too unbearable to be in love with a god, Hongjoong goes to sit on the stone bench under the domed marble gazebo in the gardens. To repent. To forget. Sometimes to daydream.

He thinks it's just natural.

To think of a life where Seonghwa is not a god incarnate. Where they are just two hearts, beating in the same rhythm. It would be safe. It would be happy.

He would totally go live by the shore with Seonghwa, if that meant they could be free.

He's just about to close his eyes, hugging his knees, when Seonghwa appears out of thin air right beside him, jolting him out of his reverie. Accompanied by an embarrassingly loud yelp, he tumbles off his bench with the grace of a wet cabbage head and plops down on the cool stone flooring with a hard thud.

"What the fuck, you divine dickhead, do you want to kill me?" he exclaims, peeling himself off the ground with his chest heaving, cheeks burning.

"Sorry," Seonghwa rushes to help him, but he's evidently trying to hide a grin, "sorry, I didn't want to startle you."

Hongjoong dusts off his behind and glares at his best friend. But his flustered annoyance quickly subsides and he furrows his brows in worry.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at service?"

Seonghwa shakes his head.

"Not today. I cancelled it."

Alarm bells go off in Hongjoong's head instantly. Seonghwa has never cancelled service before.

"Is everything alright? Are you hurt?" He pats him down, looking for any severe injuries or bruises. Seonghwa just chuckles and holds him at arm's length, preventing him from panicking further. A gentle promise that nothing bad has happened or is going to happen.

"Everything's fine. I just didn't feel like it today. And I needed a change of scenery for a while."

There's something left unspoken. Hongjoong can see it in Seonghwa's eyes, in the barely there pinch between his brows.

But Hongjoong doesn't prod. Just nods, accepting Seonghwa's words as they are. He can satisfy his curiosity later by squeezing the answer out of him.

"Do you want to sit down with me?" he asks instead, "mindlessly watching the clouds go by for the past half hour has been absolutely thrilling."

Seonghwa hides a smile by pressing his lips into a thin line and nods. They sit down side by side on the warm stone in the sun, the breeze rustling the trees above them.

And then, Seonghwa's arms are around him, and his face is smushed into the crook of his neck.

Hongjoong's breath hitches.

"Everything sucks," Seonghwa mumbles into his shoulder, "I'm so tired."

"Yah, you just told me that everything's fine, you liar," Hongjoong awkwardly pats Seonghwa's arm that snakes around his chest, desperately trying to reign in his uneven breathing.

Too close. Too warm. Too much Seonghwa.

He hopes the other man can't hear how hard his heart is pounding in his chest.

"Hongjoong-ah? Did something happen with Yunsuk?"

Hongjoong almost flinches. His brain shuts off.

His eyes flick to Seonghwa's silver mop of hair and his chest seizes.

No.

Oh no. No no no.

This cannot be—

This is just a coincidence.

Seonghwa wouldn't know what the temple hands were talking about in the dining hall. That they're gossiping about Hongjoong. That he wants to touch him in ways that would get him expelled from the temple if anyone knew. That he's in freaking love with him.

He wouldn't have heard of it, he couldn't have—

And if he had, he wouldn't believe it. Would think it's ridiculous and nonsensical. Would think better of Hongjoong than that and—

Hwi-an.

He could have heard it from Hwi-an.

Hongjoong's stomach turns.

"What do you mean?" he chokes out, the collar of his hanbok suddenly feeling impossibly tight. There's still hope that this is about something else entirely and that Hongjoong is just jumping to conclusions.

Seonghwa shrugs. "Yeosang told me he's been acting like a dick around you again, but wouldn't tell me how. And Wooyoung has threatened to kill him, so—"

"It's nothing," Hongjoong shoots back a beat too fast, "just ignore him. He's always been like that, right? I can handle it."

"Hm," Seonghwa hums against him, the vibrations of his voice travelling down Hongjoong's spine like the caress of finger tips, "but I don't want to ignore him if he keeps bothering you. I think—I think I want to teach him a lesson."

Hongjoong swallows, his heart thudding hard in his throat.

Seonghwa has never actively tried to chastise anyone—not Yunsuk, not any of Yunsuk's friends, not ever. Has always just been a shield, his protection coming from the fact that he's a god and happens to be Hongjoong's best friend. No one ever dares to touch Seonghwa's friends in his presence.

So Hongjoong has no idea what he's thinking of doing.

"A lesson?"

Seonghwa is love. Seonghwa is mercy. He is the light in the darkness that leads you home.

But there's something else slumbering in him. Hongjoong can feel it. Has felt it for a while. Felt it when he was touched by his powers. It runs through his body like his voice just did, vibrant and quivering, waiting for something or someone to wake it up.

It is cold, and it is hard.

It's unspeakable.

Seonghwa smiles and snuggles up to Hongjoong even closer, his body moulding against him perfectly like one piece of a whole. And then he purrs, terrifyingly pleased.

"I think I want to play with him for a while."

—

Hongjoong has made it his mission to avoid Seonghwa's services like the plague.

He doesn't want to see how his best friend is getting abused, how his powers are nothing but an amenity to the people who visit him for their own benefit.

But today is different. Today, there's an intervention, and Hongjoong must be present because that's what it says in the rules.

Do not lay your eyes upon the god when he's in the worship hall.

That doesn't apply to him anymore. He is allowed to behold the god, no matter where, because he must.

Everyone else, however, is banned from looking at him. Every visitor from outside, every temple hand, old or new—even the oracle who is currently on his knees at the bottom of the steps leading up to Seonghwa's throne.

Hongjoong is watching the oracle, cowering and grovelling, hands splayed out on the floor.

"Yunsuk-ie is cursed," he says, voice tearful, "he tries to eat, but whatever he consumes, he just throws up. We have tried to feed him anything we could think of, but he can't keep anything down. Nothing at all." The oracle presses his forehead to the ground, snivelling. "He's withering away. Please, oh Holy Moon, please save him."

Hongjoong straightens his back, his hands clasped together over his chest as is custom. He only sees Seonghwa from his peripheral, his old habit of avoiding to look at him not completely broken.

Seonghwa's legs are crossed, his posture laid back and light, hands folded on his lap. Without a care in the world. His jewellery is gleaming in the candle light, but there's a shadow across his face.

It makes his eyes appear empty as he looks down on the oracle begging by his feet.

Condescending.

Emotionless.

"I beg you, oh Holy Moon, he's not going to make it much longer. His gums are bleeding and his body is frail. If only he could eat—"

When Seonghwa told Hongjoong he would teach Yunsuk a lesson, he would have never expected. This.

A prank, maybe. Maybe frightening him in the dark when he least expects it. Taking away some of his favourite things; influencing the hyungs and noonas to give him more work than all the others so that he wouldn't have time to go around and bully Hongjoong and his friends.

But this?

This is cruel.

And Seonghwa is not cruel.

The oracle is squirming on his knees, pleading and praying, pouring his heart out, scared and desperate. Hoping for benevolence.

For a moment, everything is quiet except for the small sobs and hiccups that cut through the stillness, every oracle present fighting the urge to look at Seonghwa in order to gain a glimpse, a hint of what his answer could be and why it takes him so long to announce his verdict.

And then it comes.

"No."

One word.

And it's more deafening than anything else he could have said.

Hongjoong's breath catches as a stunned hush falls over the worship hall. The sinister reality slowly sinking in.

The oracle on the floor slowly raises his head. Tear streaks are staining his cheeks, but the rest of his face is frozen in fear, eyes wide. He lifts his gaze to Seonghwa, despite not being allowed to, and then Hongjoong sees it too.

The small smirk on Seonghwa's face.

The pleased glint in his bottomless eyes as he uncrosses his legs and crosses them again, reclining in his seat. He props up one elbow on the armrest of his throne and leans his head against his palm, levels the oracle with an icy stare.

"I'm not going to help him."