Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Few had expected them to survive this long.

For a simple reason. After all, staring death in the eyes wasn’t something people were all that used to. While for Iron Fang and the Arclight Sorcerer Wooyoung it was almost an everyday thing. Facing nightmarish monsters had become as mundane as having a morning coffee.

Rumors and half-truths surrounded their names. 

San's personal favorite was that they’d faced a horde of black-tongued devils and came out victorious from the battle - gaining immortality.

Nocturners, to be precise, San placed importance on the lack of ambiguity. Especially when the monsters were those of a high importance.

They had been tracking those beasts for months until they finally came face-to-face with them. San didn’t like to recall that fateful encounter - the monsters had nearly defeated them, filling him with great shame and distaste. Nearly, but not close enough to truly beat them. That victory left Wooyoung with burn scars that took months to heal, and San still felt phantom pain in his torn ankle tendon.

Once upon a time, a daring scribe took it upon himself to archive their missions, meticulously recording every monster slain. The tally of their achievements stretched on endlessly, so much so that the scribe was frequently forced to unfurl fresh scrolls of parchment just to keep pace with the mounting list of slain beasts. 

No amount of ink could fully depict all the dangerous situations they have willingly put their lives in jeopardy for.

Most had given them a few months, at best, before their own pride finally swallowed them whole. 

Along with the fame that coated their names in sugary words - sweet praises of which they could never get enough - came the people whose judgments were far less kind. Spiteful voices whispered that their corpses would one day fall, swallowed alive by some beast that they would not be strong enough to face.

Those voices grew fainter with each passing day, until they were reduced to nothing more than murmurs. Very boring and repetitive, in Wooyoung’s opinion. Wherever the monster slayers appeared, skeptics were struck dumb as the almighty duo offered undeniable proof of their prowess. 

Across the vast expanse of the world - through scorching desert sands and frozen oceans, across muddy lagoons and through thickets of beech, alder, cherry, and palm - silence of awe followed in their wake. Proving these people wrong was like delivering a very satisfying flick to the nose.

San basked in the glory and power he had been dreaming of his whole life. It elated him. But rather than losing himself in glory and pride, he was still his old self. Just a man who found the most joy in the simple fact that he was no longer as lonely as he had been his whole life.

He found so much more exhilaration in chasing monsters when he had Wooyoung by his side. Their job never got boring. Not with his companion, San’s greatest support, and…

…the bane of his existence.

“Wooyoung!” San hissed through clenched teeth, stumbling over his feet when a sudden, viciously snug beam of purple light fastened around his ankles. He barely stayed upright, trying to take a step forward, but the restraints were stronger than a sailor’s knot. “You fucker!”

“One and only!” The sorcerer’s loud cackles resembled those of a fox. Foxes liked to play games.

The two had been running through the ancient woods toward the lair of a vinre, the monster they were tracking. Though now, running was an overstatement, as San was pinned to the forest floor while Wooyoung held the spell to buy himself some time to catch up after him.

A few seconds later, still sprinting, Wooyoung closed the gap San had managed to put between them moments earlier. He came to a stop just a step away from San, breathing heavily. 

Resting a hand on his hip, he derisively looked at San, who could not move an inch. “Having trouble finding your footing?” He snickered, a wide smile playing on his lips. “Maybe it’s time to retire if you’re too old to give chase, Fangie?”

“You’re cheating,” San hissed, smiling back. He could not wait for the moment he’d get his hands on Wooyoung. 

The forest they were in was rumored to be inhabited by a rare kind of woodland creature - the vinre. Rumored, as no one had ever managed to get close enough to actually see the monster’s lair. 

And if they had, hunters certainly hadn’t made their way back to the town to pass the story on to posterity. Inevitably, they had become part of the history themselves.

Not taking his gaze off Wooyoung, San licked his lips, with the tip of his tongue tasting fresh rain. 

He trashed in the magic hold, spiteful. The wet, sloppy sounds of him kicking his boots, twitching in the magical grasp, and digging his heels deeper into the muddy ground to set himself free were muffled by the drizzle of rain crashing against ferns and leaves, permeating the air with the exhilarating scent of a stormy summer night.

Through the years they had spent together, they had gone through many ups and downs. They had endured more squabbles than San had scars on his body. 

The contrast of their personalities and their differing approaches to life often drove a wedge between them. San tended to get too caught up in his own head, sometimes focusing too much on his own needs while neglecting Wooyoung’s - though he was truly working on changing that part of himself. Wooyoung, just as he had promised, stood by him and allowed him to evolve at his own pace. He was never rushing him, but was always there to guide San onto a better path, a less selfish one, and for that, San was deeply grateful.

It has been hard. So fucking hard at first, to confront such a different perspective on life. Ever since he was a child, he hadn’t had much contact with peers, which deprived him of many fundamental experiences necessary for his development. 

For San, the most difficult aspect of their relationship was Wooyoung’s constant need for attention. And don’t get him wrong, the teasing and the games they indulged in, like the chase they were currently in the middle of, weren’t the problem at all.

The problem arose in moments when Wooyoung expected San to be in the mood to spend time together all the time. Or when he needed more gestures and words of comfort, and San simply… didn’t know how to provide them.

They weren’t perfect. Not a bit. But perfection wasn’t something they were trying to achieve. They were happy - the happiest when they were together, and that was all that mattered to them. They believed this was the essence of a lasting relationship.

If it lacked ‘spice’, if monotony crept into their bond, then their connection would be less useful than a dull sword. Iron Fang dared not touch a sword that hadn’t been honed with care and fidelity - that much hadn’t changed. 

What also remained unaltered was the admiration he held for his husband.

With the grace of a predator, the sorcerer approached San. Wooyoung wasn’t rushing with his steps, mindful of the slippery terrain, the wet rocks lined with moss, and the even wetter mush of leaves. The drizzle that filtered through the forest canopy streamed down Wooyoung’s cape, which he had pulled low over his head. From beneath it, his lavender irises sparked with magic and mischief, narrowed as he watched his prey - San.

Never mind that they had forgotten who the real prey of their mission was, the vinre. They’d get to it… eventually. Iron Fang wouldn’t rest easy if a monster slipped through his fingers.

“It’s not cheating. I’m providing entertainment,” Wooyoung said lightly. “Where’s the fun if you’re running away from me? Paces away so that I barely see your silhouette. When I have you close, it’s much easier to get under your skin.” His sweet giggling reached San’s ears. 

In a gentle manner, he placed his hand on San’s chest, running it down teasingly. San’s nostrils flared, but don’t ask him whether it was from irritation, excitement, or pure arousal.

“Sounds like someone simply doesn’t know how to lose,” San mocked him in a sickly sweet tone. With practiced precision and caution, he twisted his wrist and angled his sword just so the tip of his blade rested against the underside of Wooyoung’s jaw, forcing him to lift his chin and look down at San.

Wooyoung huffed at him, swatting the weapon-holding hand away. San let him, lowering the sword to his side.

The playfulness they lapped up in was their way of finding entertainment in an adventurous lifestyle that, at times, became extraordinarily monotonous. As far as hunting monsters could get tedious. San loved the life he’d chosen for himself, but it could get repetitive once you get past the first thousand kills. To add more adrenaline they didn’t just compete with the monster, but sometimes - if the creature wasn’t that much of a threat - with each other.

A kind of foreplay, if you will.

The things they did under the rush of adrenaline were… not to be brought up in the middle of the day, unless San wanted to pop a boner on the spot. Not very professional for a monster slayer mid-work.

“You didn’t think I’d go easy on you, did you? How foolish it would be.” Wooyoung clicked his tongue in a pitying manner.

“Wouldn’t dare,” San huffed, cocking his head to the side to pose like a predator. Cornered, movement restricted, and overall fucked if Wooyoung decided to use a stronger spell to play with him - but a predator nonetheless.

“You shouldn’t have started running if you knew I’d catch you anyway.”

When it came to running, Wooyoung didn’t stand a chance against San. Though after years of training together, Wooyoung’s conditioning didn’t lag far behind - still, Iron Fang had decades of body conditioning behind him. Therefore, if they were racing to see who would find and subdue the monster first, as they were today, San clearly had the upper hand in terms of speed. He could outrun most people and a significant portion of monster hybrids. Except for felines and leporids. They were still unapproachable.

And wyverns. The fucking wyverns. That much was obvious, San could not possibly outrun a flying creature.

Though, he could outrun Wooyoung fairly easily. It was even easier when driven by the greed of winning their small bet. Wooyoung was cleverer, instead turning to his arcane powers rather than brute strength, which he had no hope of winning with against San.

“Do better, Fangie, and the monster might still be yours.”

A flick to his wrist, the grasp of the chains tightened. The wedding band adorning Wooyoung’s finger seemed to shine with his pure arclight in the moment. 

San chuffed under his breath, unimpressed by his words, but not unaffected by him. Wooyoung passed him by, shot a playful wink in San’s direction before he broke into a sprint further into the woods. San clenched his jaw, tugging at the light restraints chaining his legs but the magic didn’t buckle. 

While the warmth of Wooyoung’s magic was a familiar feeling, one that never ceased to quicken the rush of blood in San’s veins, it infuriated him when it restricted him.

“You weren’t supposed to use your magic!” he called after Wooyoung.

“Wasn’t I?” He heard the sweet giggles from a distance. Wooyoung barely remained within his line of sight, vanishing into the thicket. “Ah, sorry Fangie, must have slipped my mind.”

A pause. Then, the shackles vanished from around San’s ankles, setting him free. He didn’t even blink before breaking into a full sprint, cutting through the maze of leaves and the heavy downpour, both of which severely limited his vision.

San ran, vaulting over hollowed tree trunks and leaping under dangling vines and cobwebs. Once he caught up to Wooyoung, the sorcerer attempted no further magical tricks. Sprinting ahead, San overtook Wooyoung without so much as a backward glance. 

Wooyoung looked on in confusion, watching as San didn't even try to retaliate, simply seizing the opportunity to gain the upper hand. 

They were nearly at the very heart of the forest now, closing in on the lair of the vinre.

Weaving through a cluster of supple young trees, San grabbed hold of a flexible branch, pulled it back with a wide arc, and held it firm until Wooyoung was right behind him. Only then did he let go. The branch sprung free from his grasp, snapping back to its natural position and landing a full whack right across Wooyoung’s face.

He could hear the clinking sound of Wooyoung’s jewelry coming from somewhere behind him. Stunned and struck by the leafy branch, Wooyoung shrieked into the muffled silence of the forest, stumbling to a halt as he tried to untangle himself from the mess of vines and sprouting leaves. 

San broke into a run again. From a distance, he heard Wooyoung hiss something about getting water in his eyes.

“Oops!” San called over his shoulder. “I think you just ran into a tree. Be careful, love!”

“When I catch you-”

San chuckled to himself at the threat.

By the time he spotted the shadow of a massive tree not so afar, his body was full of adrenaline. His muscles were burning, making it hard to tell the difference between the pain of exertion and the signals from his dagger. However, the vivid red glow radiating from his blade alerted him to a monster’s presence nearby. 

San narrowed his eyes, reading the forest surrounding them. A woodland on the plains, with not many places to hide made it obvious that any dips and dens in the terrain were where the monster could hide. 

Shadows of uncertainty were summoned by the heavy downpour and the wispy mist seeping through the gaps between trees. The monster could also be hiding somewhere in the massive tree’s hollow trunk. 

San crept forward slowly, with his palm tightened its grip on his sword’s hilt. With every step, the tree grew in size, appearing more distinct and terrifyingly beautiful in its majesty. His dagger had already fully alerted him, glowing brightly and aggressively. Even through his sodden clothes, its warmth seeped into the flesh of his thigh.

The vinres were creatures of shadow and rain; not shadows in the sense that they crossed the barrier of the Mirrored Realm, no. They lived far from human eyes, camouflaging their presence and blending one with their surroundings. 

Until they struck. And strike they did, emerging from hiding as soon as the first specks of rain kissed the thirsty ground. They would attack any travelers unlucky enough to be wandering the woods in search of mushrooms, wild berries or firewood. 

Upon feeling Wooyoung’s presence at his side, San asked, “Do you see anything?”

He intended set their game aside to focus on the task at hand, since he needed the sorcerer's help. Only Wooyoung’s light would allow them to see anything in the deep shadows of the trees and the blur of the rain.

Wooyoung, however, wasn’t quite ready to call a truce.

“No. I think I have a splinter in my eye,” he deadpanned.

Looking his way, San’s eyes widened when he saw the broad, red imprint of the tree branch across Wooyoung’s cheek.

Biting the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh, which would surely sign his death warrant from a man who was already fuming, San asked with care, “Did I hurt you?” San lifted his hand to caress Wooyoung’s cheek lightly. 

“Nah.” Wooyoung shrugged, fixing his cape. “Only my ego’s hurting a little.” Eyebrows narrowing until they met low on his forehead, Wooyoung’s irritation manifested in form of the sparks of wrath glinting in his purple irises. 

“It’s what you get for cheating in the first place.” 

Instead of leaning into the touch, Wooyoung threatened to bite him, teeth snapping loudly, and San withdrew his hand.

“Can you light up the surroundings?”

Faint fireflies of light danced on Wooyoung’s palm when he raised his hand. “Now you come crawling for my help?”

“We need to spot the monster if we want to continue with our wager.” San sulked. “Any clues about where to look for it would be welcomed.”

“I could just lure the monster out,” Wooyoung proposed, peering impatiently toward the tree. "Save us some trouble."

“I don’t think it’ll work well. The vinre gets easily spooked-” 

Wooyoung shrugged, already having decided on his move. San groaned low in his throat with irritation when Wooyoung disobeyed him, then watched the sorcerer already move forward with a brisk pace. The undying flicker of light radiating from his palm brightened, their surroundings taking on a purple hue. 

“Uncertainty never led anyone to success.” Over the mushy, wet sound of the mud churning under his boots, San heard him say in a witty tone, “I guess there can only be one winner between us anyway. Let the master do his work!”

Soon his footsteps ceased to ring out. The sloppy echoes were muffled, and San’s dagger continued to emit a violent glow. Narrowing his eyes and sharpening his senses through his battle wrath, San noticed the leaves Wooyoung was stepping on were a different shade than the rest. Larger, too, and surprisingly dry and stiff, edges too crisp considering the sickeningly humid weather.

The false ground rippled as Wooyoung shifted, the dry foliage puckering over unseen muscle.

Before his conscious mind had even assembled the full puzzle, San’s body was moving. The warning left his mouth as a sharp bark. At the same moment, the leaves below Wooyoung shifted, revealing that he wasn’t standing on solid ground but on a living creature. Alive for not much longer, though. 

“Watch out!” San leaped froward. 

Wooyoung didn’t even have time to blink before San had already scooped him up, his left arm wrapping around Wooyoung’s middle and using the momentum to his advantage, and San’s leap carried them in a low arc away from the monster.

Wooyoung’s shriek pierced the air, muffled by the sound of the monster shifting close to them, rising to its feet.

They landed hard on a rocky incline. San cushioned the impact, falling on his side and rolling with the force of his lunge.  

In the heat of the moment, Wooyoung ignited the light in his open hand, his veins bulging and illuminating as the arcana intensified, its aura brightening the entire battlefield and the vision cleared instantly - allowing them a clear look. With the grace of a sea eel among waves, the monster shifted through the forest floor. 

While San had been expecting some kind of camouflage, he hadn’t expected the monster’s body to blend so perfectly with the forest - its body resembled twisted roots, vines and twigs. Patches of moss were woven along its form, and only its eyes revealed the creature was alive. Glassy, like stones polished in a river stream, a row of white, unblinking pebbles stared at the sorcerer and the monster slayer beside.

The monster lashed out blindly, still hazy from its previous frozen state, sending a barrage of tendrils whipping through the air. On top of San, Wooyoung struggled to regain his footing while also casting another spell, the muscles in his forearms tensing just as he summoned a spell, light sharp like a blade, to attack the limb that grew and tried reached for them. The monster flinched back.

“Back, back!” San shouted.

San got back on his feet. Assuming the proper stance, he drew his blade and squared off against the monster. Its edge gleamed with Wooyoung’s purple runes. He lightly tapped the hilt, testing the hold and getting excited for the fight. The well-earned leather fitted to the callouses of his palm.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung rasped, still slightly in shock. “Our wager still stands?” he made sure, reading the look on San’s face. 

Smirking when he was hit with a fresh rush of adrenaline, San chuffed, “You bet.” That was all San said before lunging to face the beast with an overhead strike.

The vinre wasted no time, sprouting from the ground and taking on an anthropoid appearance rather than its vine-like form. Numerous sprouts grew from its body, reaching for San’s every limb, but he did no more than bat an eye before cutting through each with the freshly sharpened edge of his sword.

He threaded through the thicket with the grace of a dancer, delivering slashes in wide arcs rather than quick jabs. The dance wasn’t rhythmic, the moves were designed to mislead the monster and never give away San’s next move. From beside, Wooyoung sent strikes of light toward the monster. 

“Ugh,” Wooyoung groaned, leaping aside as a vine sprouting from the vinre’s side suddenly shot toward him. “Remind me never again to agree to missions during the rainy season. Right after I kill the monster, I’m packing up and going on a layoff somewhere hot. I’ve had enough of this,” he paused, focusing on drawing more energy and firing a bolt of light that severed a sprout which had managed to wrap around San’s ankle. He continued, “Enough of feeling like a wet rat in the sewers. We reek of mud. Yuck!”

Unwavering, Wooyoung’s lightwork was like a hand trailing in water, a breeze ruffling the grass. It was beautiful. 

San only nodded toward him with silent gratitude for the help. “We’re leaving as soon as I kill it, you meant.”

"Did I stutter?"

When San's wrist was suddenly entwined by a tough vine, San felt much like he did when Wooyoung used binding chains on him, though the monster was less gentle than his husband. This time, he cut the restraints himself.

San stepped carefully around a tangle of offshoots, blade slicing through them as if they were nothing more than thin lengths of a thread.

The monster was merely an appetizer for them. Honestly, San found their banter far more entertaining than the fight. The only good thing about this mission was the pay of three gold coins and a warm meal at the local inn. 

Why three coins for such a boring monster, you may ask. San would say that the price of their services increased along with their reliability, for which people - however reluctantly - had to pay. Wooyoung, however, without beating around the bush would respond that inflation was hitting even the monster slayers. 

“I think I remember perfectly well who’s leading our ranking. You’re behind by four whole monsters.” Wooyoung’s words came in short, teasing bursts, punctuated by the sound of another vine snapping under a flash of his magic.

“And how did you even come to that conclusion when no longer than a week ago you were ahead just with one?” San’s voice was a mixture of outrage and laughter. 

“A week’s so long, Fangie!” 

Lost in the fight, San heard his heart beating as if it were trapped in his throat, wanting to jump out of his chest. He was buzzing with energy. He felt almost weightless, delivering strikes and slashes with ease that synchronized with Wooyoung’s attacks. Though competing, they never ceased to work in harmony.

The crack of branches breaking under their feet echoed through the void, emphasized by the fact that most creatures of the woodlands tended to be silent. The vinre made no sound except for the sway of its leaves and the raindrops shattering against its grey-green, velvety but firm body.

Thorns abruptly sprouted from the ground below Sana’s feet, and before he could react, the thicket attempted to pierce the flesh of his calves and shins. A second vine snapped out and found his ankle. San grunted and twisted, using the momentum to swing his sword, but the reach was awkward, and he only grazed the vine’s exterior.

The thorns retracted once met with a lavender barrier. Had it not been for the protection of Wooyoung’s runes, his flesh would have been cut, but the arcana embraced San with its protective virtues.

The monster recoiled, but instead of letting go, San got dragged by his foot off the ground before slamming him into a nearby trunk. He coughed, spat out a splinter, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fucking-” he hissed, shifting, and cutting the branches with brutal anger.

He was feeling humiliated by the pace of the fight, more like a gardener hedge trimming, than a monster slayer fighting. 

Through gritted teeth, San shouted, “Are you counting the Cerberus as three? I did not agree to that!” 

“It had three heads! A triple kill!”

The force of Wooyoung’s spell sent the monster staggering backward until it hit the trunk of a tree. The tree bent under the impact, a flock of birds taking flight from its canopy high above.

“If the vinre has at least ten limbs, do we count it as one monster or several?”

He heard Wooyoung giggle. “Well, depends who scores the kill.” 

In the places where San severed a limb, double the sprouts grew back. In the long run, it might have been tedious, though San managed to close the distance to the monster quite quickly. His stiletto dagger had already heated his skin to a burning red. 

With great relief, San reached for it to land the piercing strike to the monster’s core - soft like a rotten hardwood. Wooyoung called out, vaulting over a fallen log and launching a bolt of light through the foliage to hold back San. 

In a blink, Wooyoung was right beside him, radiating an aura that acted as a shield, neutralizing every reaching, frenzied attack from the vinre. 

They were side by side once again. Locking eyes, San saw fire in Wooyoung’s dilated pupils. In the heat of battle and rivalry, they could walk into the maw of a wyvern and they’d still do it hand in hand. Not because it was romantic - such bullshit would only appease the crowd but it had no place in a real fight. Scratch that. Neither of them would willingly fall a step behind the other, because neither settled with being second. That’s just how they were.

That’s what made them feel alive. The competition. The delight and buzz of a fight, and the aftermath that followed. 

Hunger and lust dripped from their gazes, eyebrows arched in a pair with cocky smirks. Wooyoung read his husband’s intentions, teasing San’s hold on the dagger with a thread of light that tickled his wrist. 

His own palm shone with greatness, alight with burning magic - a rearing touch of arcane power that could kill a beast. He reached for the monster, just in time when San’s dagger sank deep in the vinre’s core.

While by now he knew the finisher was nothing more than theatrics, as his sword strike would have been just as efficient, he liked this sequence. It always gave him satisfaction when the monster’s blood trailed down his palm, dagger piercing many layers of different tissues.

This time, the plant juices flowing from the vinre’s core mixed with fresh rainwater. San extracted his dagger just as the monster slumped to the ground, while Wooyoung took a step back. It landed on the mud with a thud equivalent to a tree falling. The duo leapt back, out of the striking distance.  

They were breathing heavily from the fight when they looked down at the corpse at their feet. The rush of blood sounding in San’s ears melded with the soft whistling of Woyooung’s gasps. 

A sick, twisted feeling of satisfaction saturated San’s body. His dagger’s light slowly ebbing away.

Once, Wooyoung would have scoffed at him for being a ‘freak’ for enjoying the sight of a corpse at his feet. Now, in his husband’s eyes, San met the same frenzy, the same sparks of excitement and exhilaration the moment stirred in them. 

Wooyoung’s eyes have taken on their most beautiful, violent purple hue. San could not look away from the sight that by now has become his favorite. 

“Who killed it?” San asked. The heel of his boot met the monster’s stiffening trunk as he nudged it lazily.

Wooyoung hummed. “I think we did at the same time.” Wooyoung pulled his hood back over his head, as it had fallen during the fight. His cape fell in waves over his shoulders and cascaded down his back in a dark, almost inky black shade.

San wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He scowled, wiping his dagger on his trousers before sliding it into the sheath strapped to his thigh with thick leather.

“What now?”

Wooyoung rubbed his wrists, assessing the state of his magic flare-up. San could tell it wasn’t the worst state Wooyoung had ever been in. The scent of his peppermint ointment - a cooling formula perfected over the years - only mildly laced the air, so his skin hadn’t overheated too badly. The rain had probably helped with that, too.

“I get six points, you get four. Good luck catching up now.” Wooyoung poked his tongue at San. 

“And how’s that fair?” San sheathed his sword, feeling at ease once the weight rested on his back.

Wooyoung knelt by the vinre, pulling a dagger from a sheath attached to his belt. Without even flinching, he began cutting through tissues at a wrist level that grew further and intertwined in the shape of a hand. A slightly deformed one.

Well, very deformed. The townsfolk would have to make do with this trophy. That was all three gold coins were worth. There was no way they were hauling the carcass back to town. Some clients had been crazy enough to demand that some time ago, claiming their religion required impure beings to be burnt on a pyre. While they agreed to that, San never understood the mindset. Monster or not, all beings were part of nature. Even such aberrations deserved a peaceful rest after death, their bodies rotting into nothingness on the forest floor.

“Because I found it first,” Wooyoung shrugged.

“You mean you accidentally stepped on it?” San teased. 

Wooyoung tossed the severed vines at San, not bothering to aim properly. San barely caught the vestige, clutching it to his chest as his fingers curled around it. Wooyoung cut the other ‘hand’ and took it himself, meant for their special commission. 

“Semantics,” Wooyoung grumbled, getting up and heading along the path back to the town. “We can call it a draw if it helps you sleep at night.”

The journey back was less eventful. The downpour seemed determined to drown the whole town and turn it into something like Atlantis. It bothered them. They both dreamed of nothing more than a bath in a tub of warm water and scented oils.

When the ground occasionally became slippery and treacherous, they reached out for each other’s hands, helping navigate through the woods until the sight of the town greeted them once more.

Ska’ar Vale

🗡️

A contented sigh left Wooyoung’s parted lips as he sagged into San’s hold, relaxing further and pressing himself deeper into San’s chest. The steam rising from their drawn bath clung to their skin and hair, pearling at their temples like fresh sweat.

The tub they were in was a tight fit, but they made it work by squeezing close until every inch of their skin touched. With their calves tangled together and Wooyoung nestled between San’s parted thighs, they shared the intimacy of the moment, reconciling after the rivalry of the hunt and seeking comfort in the arms of a loved one.

San’s lips found the line of Wooyoung’s neck, not in demand but in reverence. “Are you hurting anywhere?” His hands explored Wooyoung’s body. 

He was rewarded by a visible shudder, a ripple of pleasure, or perhaps it was the cold night air that sparked the reaction. 

The windows of their small quarters in the wayside tavern were tightly shut, cocooning them in thick, almost stale air laced with the scent of burning candle wax and the tangerine and bergamot oils permeating their bath. One of the few times Wooyoung didn’t lend his arcana to light up the room was when they took a moment to rest.

Wooyoung’s answer was a low, contented hum. He slid a little lower, letting the water lap at his chin, and pillowed his head against San’s chest. San instantly wrapped both arms around Wooyoung’s waist, lacing his fingers together at the front as if to trap him there forever. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Wooyoung’s shoulder, then rested his chin in the hollow where neck met collarbone.

“I’m good. That was no more than a warm-up.” Wooyoung’s hands floated lazily on the surface, occasionally threading through the water and sending small ripples around them. “The entry in the bestiary will be so boring, though. I’ll make sure to mention that one needs a pair of garden shears to fight the creature.”

San chuckled warmly against his skin, leaving another small peck on Wooyoung’s shoulder while his fingers deftly and softly rubbed his sides in a soothing, relaxing motion.

“How many monsters do you still want to add?"

“Three? Maybe four more. I already have plenty, but I’d love to include something special. If I’m being honest, the vinre was a disappointment.”

“I had told you not to get so excited about it. Vinres are intriguing, pleasing to admire, but their class is about as difficult to fight as an overgrown catfish in a river.”

Wooyoung grinned, his eyes were shut. “I was hoping for a burst of inspiration for the bestiary. I wanted to finish the draft before we reached Ascotville where I could have it published.” Wooyoung shifted slightly. Undertwater, he rested his palms on top of San’s, then interlaced their fingers so that their wedding bands pressed together - it drew a fond smile on San's face.

San’s heart softened at the gesture, and he gently squeezed back. “There’s no rush. We can always change our route and head back to any other city to have it printed. Or we can look for more interesting, new specimens to kill first, so you could describe them. The vinre just happened to cross our path. Perhaps its kind only poses a challenge to apprentice sorcerers at most.”

“Mhm… We could eat them for breakfast.”

San questioned the image with a playful arch of his brow, though Wooyoung couldn’t see it. His voice, however, carried all of his amusement. “The sorcerers?”

“Yah!” Wooyoung huffed, a lively cackle leaving him. “The monsters.” 

“Are you that hungry?” San’s finger poked at Wooyoung’s belly.

“It’s a saying, you brute. I have no intention of eating monsters. At least not if we have a promised lavish supper waiting for us downstairs.”

San made a show of sulking. “I’d rather stay warm with you for a while longer.” He then left a delicate kiss on Wooyoung’s temple, brushing aside a damp lock of hair as he did so. 

He noticed, in that closer inspection, that the pale streaks had multiplied, the white blonde threading through Wooyoung’s hair.

It had happened slowly, at first there was a single strand or two, easily hidden. Then, after a particular, harsh battle that took them half a day and drained Wooyoung to the bone, the pigment began to vanish in earnest. The bright highlights were as much a sign of aging as they were a testimony to a sorcerer’s power and knowledge. 

Wooyoung had raged against it - the blonde streak near his face, almost a part of the curtain bangs he adored so much. He had despised the change. He’d tried dyeing them, but the color wouldn’t cling. He then wanted to cut them to rid himself of the ‘foul,aging feature,’ but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Much to his comfort, San had reassured him that the look added a certain gravity to his appearance - made him look sexy, enchanting, and alluring. Eventually, Wooyoung was left with no choice but to embrace his nature.

After a pause, Wooyoung opened his eyes and asked, “We aren’t in a hurry to go anywhere, right?”

“I’m sure they’ll wait for us to join them for meal until we decide to head down. They’ll certainly want to hear some toe-curling stories from the expedition over a mug of wine.”

“I meant later. Tomorrow. Are there any summons waiting for us?”

“You know there are.” San chuckled, “The missives are barely fitting in my bag.”

Wooyoung turned his head to the side to get a comfortable look at San’s face. San held his gaze, melting just a little at the display of vulnerability that no one but him was allowed to see. 

Wooyoung was beautiful. He always had been. His aura, his looks - the intricate, tailored garments - paired with the extensive collection of jewelry he wore daily, created the image of a sorcerer whose sight lingered in the memory for a long time. When he dressed, even for violence, Wooyoung took time. He layered silk with leather, velvet with armour. Always mesmerizing.

Through the long months and exhilarating battles, through the shadows thrown by their own ambitions and the barely-contained violence of their world, San always found it startling how beautiful Wooyoung remained.

But the sight of him, naked in his arms, affected San like nothing else. Wooyoung’s bare neck and shoulders were a vision of soft, perfect skin. Skin that San dreamed of adorning with a thousand kisses that night, to make up for the trick with the tree branch earlier, even though Wooyoung wasn’t truly mad about it. 

Despite all their games, all their wounds, he wanted only to make Wooyoung feel cherished.

San kept staring, unable to pull his gaze away. His torso was coated in droplets of water, pooling in the hollows of his collarbones. San traced lines on his skin with his fingers, following the arch of his shoulders.

Wooyoung, noticing he was being surveyed, reached for San’s raven hair. Getting a firm grip on the back of his head, he pulled him in for a kiss that San hoped would be searing.

But it turned out to be soft. A simple peck to grab San’s attention, just the fleeting pressure of Wooyoung’s full lips.

“Sannie?” Without pulling back far, Wooyoung rubbed their noses together in a gesture of affection, whispering right against San’s lips, “If we don’t have anything planned, how about we take a layoff? I only mentioned it in passing earlier, but I wouldn’t say no to some more rest. I could finish the draft for my bestiary, I still have a few illustrations to paint, while you could-”

A knock interrupted them, its jarring loudness cutting through the tranquil, intimate moment.

“By the dragon’s breath, who on earth…” San growled.

“You said the innkeeper promised discretion. We weren’t supposed to be hounded by annoying drunks.”

“Maybe someone has the wrong room?”

“They’d better be looking for a courtesan.”

They held their breath, waiting for a second knock to confirm their suspicions. A mere second later, the sound repeated. Three rhythmic raps of the knocker echoed through the wooden door, which were bolted shut from the inside.

“Iron Fang? And… Sorcerer Wooyoung? Could we talk?”

Wooyoung all but rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. He dropped his voice to whisper, “Can we pretend we’re not here?”

The voice insisted, as if hearing them, “I know you’re here.”

Wooyoung groaned. He slunk deeper into the water until only his nose and dark eyes broke the surface, hair staying afloat. 

The voice continued, “It’s really important. The lives of hundreds depend on you.” The voice was wisplike, with a rough edge to it that cut even through the thick wall dividing them. 

San huffed. “Now, that’s a new one.”

San had heard voices like it before, always in circumstances that required a keen edge and a willingness to go home with blood on his boots. He could only guess the voice belonged to a man that didn’t favor being ignored, nor any slack upon his demands. To no surprise, there was the telltale scrape of a boot heel on the corridor’s worn flagstones.

“You ever notice that the more dire the situation, the more dramatic the messenger?” San’s question hung unanswered. 

If there was something Iron Fang hated more than the forsaken wyverns, it was people who thought they could demand anything from him. He was obedient when it came to fulfilling missions - not out of mercy or sympathy for others, but for the sake of his own discipline and the ironclad rules by which he lived his life. The only exception and a person that could command him was the man in his arms. That man, much like San, had grown irritated. 

Wooyoung, who had decided the best way to weather the intrusion was to submerge his entire head, resurfaced with a slurp, water streaming down his face.

“Mind telling him to fuck off? I’m off duty for today.”

“With great pleasure.”

Wooyoung made room in the tub for San to get up more easily, quickly kissing San’s hand in a silent expression of gratitude. The water rippled in the tub as the naked body of the monster hunter stepped out from it.

“Yah! Fang!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out just as San was about to leave the room, stopping him just in time. Wooyoung leaned out, snatching a spare towel they’d prepared beforehand and tossing it at him. “Some decorum might be welcome. Don’t answer the door and let the whole world see your junk.”

San grunted. “As if I care. I’ll make it very clear to him that the time he chose to disturb us is quite improper.”

“I do care,” Wooyoung glared at him. “I take pleasure in being the only one privy to seeing my husband naked, and it better stays that way.”

San, obedient in this at least, considered simply tying the towel around his hips, but settled on drying off quickly and throwing on his robe. 

He then tossed the wet towel aside. It almost caught on the back of an ornamental chair before sliding off the polished armrest. The cloth now dirtied the sophisticated rug, which was actually the hide of a dead monster. It must have cost a fortune. And it was ugly as fuck. 

He closed the door to the private bathroom, ensuring Wooyoung’s privacy as the sorcerer decided to soak longer in the aromatic oils. 

When they were assigned this prestigious, honored guest room in the hostelry, San had wondered who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to host a renowned monster slayer in a room so full of kitsch and… unnecessary clutter. Tapestries draped the walls of the cramped space, nearly falling under their own weight. Equally ornate fabrics covered the bed. San now looked upon it with longing. He wanted nothing more than to skip the supper and stay in their room instead. 

But there was a quest at their doorstep, and so he went to answer. His steps sounded with irritation and anger, heavy against the rattling wooden floor. The lock clicked, the handle twisted, and when San pushed the door open, a silent evaluation immediately commenced. He sized up his guest from head to toe. He didn’t usher his guest inside, and the man didn’t dare to cross the threshold uninvited. 

Tailored boots, much like San’s own high-grade leather pair; trousers that were loose but not airy, providing plenty of room for movement and dodging. Pockets were sewn in almost everywhere, not just on the pants but also on the tight-fitting shirt, hiding secrets and trinkets away from prying eyes.

The man was of a massive build - not bulky in the way the guests carousing downstairs were bloated with beer, greasy meals and bravado. This man wore his muscles like a hardsuit. Just one glance at his shirt bulging with muscle left no room for doubt, he was in peak physical condition. By his side, he carried a light rapier, making no pretense of appearing unarmed before a monster slayer. It was a choice San respected, but did not necessarily approve of. 

The man was a warrior - that much was obvious. San felt challenged just by the sight of him, the tilt of his chin, carrying himself proud.

When he extended his palm, offering a peaceful greeting in the form of a handshake, San realized he was much more than just a warrior. As his sleeves slid down, they revealed a row of runes etched into his skin as ink tattoos. 

A sorcerer, then. An Enchanter, to be precise - they could be distinguished by those marks.

“Pleasure to meet you, Iron Fang,” the man solemnly nodded, humbly. 

His appearance suggested he was younger than San. Short, blonde hair was styled in a curled mullet that barely reached his eyebrows. Only a faint stubble masked his features, his face was free of wrinkles, and only a few scars marked his skin, painting a picture of a man in his early twenties. It made San wonder if they had crossed paths back at the Academy, or was the man too young.

San didn’t display any tokens of hesitance as he accepted the handshake. 

“Likewise, Sir…?”

The handshake was a minor duel and a test of strength to assess dominance between the two. San gripped the hand with excessive force, grinning when he saw the man wince and draw back.

“Yuk Sungchul,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“What brings you here?” San asked, not bothering to mask his boredom. He spoke the next words loudly and clearly, ensuring Wooyoung could hear them from the other room. “What does a sorcerer like you need help with? Is it a tarrasque? A shrieker? Or perhaps a swarm of mephits that have troubled you?” San wanted to mock him further as a vendetta for interrupting their peaceful evening, but he bit his tongue.

It was not a concern of Iron Fang’s to be nice to strangers. The monster slayer did not bother to form closer relationships with anyone. He negotiated, did his job, and disappeared. That was his code of conduct.

The sorcerer inclined his head in a gesture of indulgence, but his eyes burned with a fierce intensity when he held San’s gaze with determination. 

“It’s a long story involving many details about the monster, one I’m not willing to discuss over the threshold where a… commoner could hear us and spread rumors.” The man looked around, dropping his voice to a whispered tone. “Grant me the honor of a private talk with you, and I’ll tell you everything. You and your partner.”

“That goes without saying.”

San’s gaze raked over the man’s distinguishing attributes. Sharp lines of complex and mind-boggling runes decorated the entire length of the man’s rapier, from the fuller to the point. They were difficult to skim through in a hurried manner, especially for someone like San - a self-trained adept who, even with Wooyoung’s help and years of teaching, wasn’t as skilled as his passed grandfather, Warden Choi.

Sharpen. Swiftness. .?. Accuracy. ?. .?. Target: Arcana.

Some of the runes were written illegibly, either in the sorcerer’s distinctive handwriting - the messy strokes matched those on his forearm - or because their meaning simply reached far beyond San’s comprehension.

“Why would we waste our time when you don’t even want to reveal any details to me?”

“Does that mean you’re turning down a challenge? I believe you’re in possession of wealth that makes the rewards offered by average townspeople no longer interesting to you. How about gaining some notoriety? Taking part in this mission would undeniably be noticed by everyone, not just the residents of this town.”

He wondered how the sorcerer knew exactly how to speak to him. Had he grown to be so predictable? So transparent in his desires for greatness?

San gritted his teeth. Other than the fire burning in his gaze, nothing betrayed how much the words affected him. They were like an arrow aimed straight at the heart, soaring past the confines of his ribs and landing the shot perfectly.

He swerved the topic, though his interest had already been piqued.

“Do you come from the Westlands?”

“Good catch,” the sorcerer laughed. “Was it the accent?”

San smirked to himself. It was the accent, the tongue of someone who had undeniably spent his days in Kae Alora. The long vowels and wispy-sounding consonants were sounds San knew all too well. Though his own accent wasn’t quite as glaring, having been tempered by years of traveling the realm, he would recognize his home tongue anywhere.

“Unless you know of a place other than the Academy where sorcerers are trained. I’ve been there, once or twice.” San waved his hand dismissively. 

“Right, right.” The words were followed by a sound close to a hiss. “I suppose we have a lot in common.”

San cut him off, his gaze searing. “We don’t.”

The man flinched, but his eyes lit up with curiosity rather than rejection or fear. He took a step back toward the stairs leading to the main hall.

He was smirking impishly. “Still, it’d be my pleasure if you would consider my proposal.” 

"In about half an hour we'll be in the main hall,” San decided.

The man nodded and disappeared around the corner.

Though the sorcerer had shown a relative amount of respect to Iron Fang throughout the interaction, San could tell it was merely a facade.

When the click of the closing door echoed between the walls, a sudden sense of qualm took root at the back of San’s head - had he accidentally overlooked a certain missive that contained more information about a monster that could not be defeated even by an enchanter? It couldn’t be just any beast.

San leaned over the dresser by the bed, rummaging through his belongings in search of the discarded letters. He carefully laid everything out: a cigarette case, his favorite lighter, random scraps of leather, some sugar cubes… At the very bottom, he found a stack of letters. 

He pulled out the stack of papers. His brows furrowed, he flicked through them one by one, re-reading everything. He crumpled the brown paper between his fingers until the corners were all crumpled. 

When he’d gone through them just a few days ago, he hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary - there were two invitations to lavish dinners with wealthy families; a letter requesting help in hunting a monster that was terrorizing the bottom of a lake near one of the villages; and some other interesting cases that, to his dismay, were a good few weeks’ journey away from them.  

Caught up in the task, he didn’t realize Wooyoung had already left the bath. Only when Wooyoung’s arms wrapped around San’s waist, he turned his attention to him. His husband’s head leaned over his shoulder, peeking with interest at the letters he held.

“A sorcerer, you said?” Wooyoung asked, clear intrigue lacing his voice when he addressed the earlier conversation. “What did he want?”

San continued reading one of the letters before tossing it back onto the pile of other irrelevant, unworthy letters, picking up another one. He hummed, but even as he focused on the reading, his body was perfectly attuned to Wooyoung’s touch - the hand that slid up from his waist, creeping with the grace of a viper beneath the parted lapels of San’s robe.

“I don’t know yet. He wasn’t keen on sharing details.”

“Is that so?” Wooyoung clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Aren’t all sorcerers talkative? Why bother us if he didn’t even want to chat.” 

His chin hooked over San’s left shoulder, resting there gently, while his hands continued to explore San’s torso. His fingers deftly teased his skin like the stroke of a brush, prompting a wave of goosebumps to paint his flesh.

“He asked to meet us later.” San clenched his jaw to stay composed, but the touch was very distracting. “Young-ah…”

“Mhm?” Wooyoung asked innocently, just as the pads of his fingers encountered San’s nipples, circling them and teasing, mirroring the touch on both sides of his chest.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped San - half sigh, half a whimper. He glared at the next letter in self-punishment and tried to focus, but the words ran together like a meaningless torrent. 

The insistent pleasure skated along the length of his spine. San was helpless in concealing his reaction. His breath hitched and his chest expanded with heavy, deep inhales. The robe slipped further, and Wooyoung’s wandering hands mapped every inch of territory claimed in its wake, trailing heat and goosebumps in alternating waves.

He continued reading one of the letters, a missive from a remote outpost. There were mentions of noxts, be’rhirs, and something that was probably just a jackal, though the villagers had described it with the desperate hyperbole of a people in need of rescue. 

It was the last letter, and with a sigh of surrender, San tossed it onto the pile. Buried beneath the heap of letters lay San’s dagger, he hasn’t noticed blanketing it with the papers. 

Though subtly and shyly, it glowed with crimson. San might have noticed the alarm softly glowing from beneath, if Wooyoung hadn’t distracted him with such loving touches.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” 

Wooyoung’s breath ghosted over San’s neck suggestively. “Can’t I?” He pinched San’s nipples for good measure, and the monster slayer didn’t even have time to trap the whimper - another small sound of submission that escaped his parted lips with a shaky exhale. He leaned his back against Wooyoung's chest, pressing even closer. 

“We have to get dressed and leave for the hall. The sorcerer is waiting for us. He said the information he wants to give us is very important, so let’s go and see what all the fuss is about. He wouldn’t have barged onto this floor and found our room if the matter wasn’t serious.”

Wooyoung’s canines shyly, teasingly nipped at San’s neck. “Is the monster really worth it? We were supposed to take a break…”

San was helpless against the influence of Wooyoung’s touch, his body arching until he felt the firmness of his husband behind his back. He considered his options - ghosting the man and taking a break as Wooyoung wished, or seeing what the fuss made by the enchanter was about. It was almost as if a gauntlet had been thrown down by the sorcerer, and Iron Fang could not let it pass.

“Just one more monster…” His voice was a shuddering whisper, partially because he was affected by Wooyoung continuing to grope his chest, and partially because he felt guilty about not being able to refuse the challenge.

Wooyoung’s touch ceased, and San felt a sigh of exasperation tickle his neck, close to where Wooyoung rested his head.

“You are so boring sometimes, Sannie,” Wooyoung grumbled. “Just this one… you always say, but it never ends up being true.”

“I promise, love, this really will be the last one, and then we’re going on a second honeymoon.”

“If it happens to be a lie again, I’m stealing your sword and dulling it on the first tree I find.”

“No you won’t,” San sing-songed. 

“I will, actually. Separation would hurt you less than damaging your… How do you call it? Your firstborn?” Wooyoung laughed, his hands falling to San’s sides in a casual need for touch.

San made a show of sulking, twisting his head so Wooyoung could see his pout. “Forgive me for being attached to my own sword.”

“It’s okay, Sannie. It makes you special.”

He puffed out his cheeks. “Are you mocking me?”

“A little.” Wooyoung let him go to get dressed according to their plans. 

The truth, which neither felt the need to voice, was that many of the words they exchanged were meaningful jabs, playful bickering intended to tease and provide amusement. They loved each other endlessly. When the situation demanded it, being more serious, both could find solace, understanding, and a sense of security in one another.

San felt comfortable pushing for one more mission because he knew Wooyoung well enough to tell that the sorcerer didn’t truly mind. He’d have insisted otherwise. 

They had learned the hard way, more than once, that even they had a limit to their strength and power. When the battle with the demons occurred and the aftermath left them reeling and utterly drained, Wooyoung had demanded a long break. And although San felt torn apart from the inside by those two weeks of inactivity, he was simultaneously grateful to Wooyoung for standing his ground - for being persistent even when San tried to protest.

They were so perfectly in sync that words were often unnecessary. Wooyoung was a master at nurturing San, instinctively knowing how to support him. While San acted as a mirror to Wooyoung’s soul. He could identify a flicker of distress in an instant, bringing Wooyoung the comfort that only a true partner could offer.

Wooyoung was his forever person, and San was his. 

Should Wooyoung wish to trade their dangerous travels for a long, uneventful life in their hut among the lavender fields, San would comply because he loved him so much. He wouldn’t do so with a light heart - adventure was the core of his existence - but he would do it nonetheless. Nothing in his life provided the same level of happiness as Wooyoung did.

The rush of a brawl was all well and good, but San was becoming a bit of a connoisseur for the comedown - those quiet moments when he and Wooyoung rode out the adrenaline high together.

He could travel the world, far beyond the borders of maps known to commoners, but it would all be meaningless if he didn’t spend every morning watching the rays of the rising sun brush against Wooyoung’s cheeks. And San, being the jealous man he was, always made sure to compete with those rays, kissing his husband’s cheeks until the warm flush on his skin was brought by San’s lips, and not the beams of light.

Wooyoung began to button up San’s shirt, his gaze drifting the runes etched into his skin. His eyes settled on a particular row of them, a line running along San’s ribs on his left side, right at the level of his heart.

“They’re fading,” Wooyoung noted. “I’ll have to repaint them in a few days, but I think if we deal with this monster quickly, everything should be fine. They were still working today, right?”

“Yeah, it felt stable during the fight earlier. We’ll worry about that later.”

Wooyoung nodded. 

Once dressed they left the room. An odd sensation troubled San shortly after. Something felt off. The thought prickled at his nerve endings, persistent with unsettling him, but he couldn’t quite grasp what was the source of torment. 

He patted himself down from his shoulders to his thighs, checking his pockets, yet nothing aroused his suspicion. Though the strap at his thigh was empty, it didn’t click in San’s mind that the void left by his other weapon was exactly what was bothering him.

His dagger lay forgotten back in their room.

🗡️

“I’m telling you! It was ten feet tall at least!” Wooyoung waved his arms in every direction, heating up the tale of their last adventure for the people who’d joined them for a meal. They all gathered in the main hall of the inn. 

He nearly smacked San’s head in his enthusiasm. A warning glare sent his way prompted Wooyoung to calm down slightly. As an apology, he rested his hand on San’s thigh, and there it stayed. 

The truth of just how boring their latest adventure actually was would remain between San and him, as Wooyoung put a great deal of effort into giving color to the story for their audience.

“With many branches that were as nimble as a limb!” A lie. “It was so strong that it ripped smaller trees out by the roots and hurled them at us. I had to quickly summon a massive barrier of light to block the attacks.” Another blatant lie. “And from its body grew thorns and vines that tried to reach us from every possible side.” Well… that much was true. 

Gathered at a massive banquet table, lavishly set just for them, Wooyoung and San were surrounded by a group of curious locals. They were mostly wealthy collectors, people who prided themselves on possessing countless trophies of monsters of all kinds and origins. San recognized some of them by sight. They always came back for the duo, conveniently acting in their own interest as well as Wooyoung’s and San’s. 

While the collectors fed themselves the delusion of doing something honorable, in reality, it was the monster slayer duo who dirtied their hands. The two didn’t mind accepting their commission from time to time. Agreeing to the arrangements as long as their coin purses were full and heavy, clinking with the gold stashed inside.

The feast was heavily fortified with various drinks that lulled the crowd’s focus and ensured they didn’t question a single word. Rice wine, beer, soju, whatever their hearts desired. They all sat with their mouths agape, soaking up every sentence like a man in the desert desperate for water. The duo, however, didn’t touch the alcohol, refusing to let their guard slip.

Although both were greatly admired, their names known far and wide, there was a distinct difference in how people perceived them. 

Wooyoung was loved, San was respected. 

San thought it was a fair deal. As soon as the sorcerer opened his mouth, he just became the life of the party, someone so warm in his manner, open, and eager to help. He couldn’t judge people for falling in love with Wooyoung when he himself hadn’t resisted much back when they met. Wooyoung was simply himself, and people unceasingly fell in love with his way of being. He was a source of light for others, like the sun in the sky, which didn’t decide how it shone, with what intensity, or in what color - it just did. 

While San was like a moon, taking some of Wooyoung’s light for himself, but not illuminating his surroundings on his own. San sat quietly by the table. To his right, he overheard a random conversation about some clerk’s affairs. Opposite of him, someone audibly gasped at the end of each sentence said by Wooyoung.  San rolled his eyes. Someone kept staring at him, but when San looked back in her direction, the woman glanced away, frantically flapping her handheld fan.

People rarely approached him to strike a friendly conversation. When they did, more often than not they left a cold, safe distance of repression and caution. Perhaps it was because San looked downright scary when his face was relaxed. He didn’t feel the need to force a smile on his lips, instead looking like some sort of a predator - a grumpy panther. 

It made things easier that way. Less strings attached meant less problems to deal with. Iron Fang felt no need to be loved by people. Reputation and respect were always what mattered the most. Respect can be earned in many ways, and San gradually earned it over the years by performing his work with an efficiency known to few.

A half-eaten chicken leg sat on Wooyoung’s plate while he was swept up in telling tall tales for the crowd’s delight, being the lively soul he was. The rings on his fingers caught the flickering light. His radiant character and mannerisms drew people in, and they naturally flocked to him like moths to a flame. 

A man with a beard that nearly reached the brim of the beer mug on the table sat up straighter. Acting as the voice of the crowd, he asked, “How did you defeat it? Weren’t you afraid to face it?”

To Wooyoung’s right, San snorted at that. When a portion of the crowd turned their eyes toward him, he quickly shrugged it off and concealed his amusement with a fake cough. Wooyoung shot him a stern look that clearly said, ‘don't ruin my show,’ though he shared a quick smile with San. 

San listened attentively to him, trying his best not to betray his amusement. His eyes sometimes flickered to Wooyoung with a focused look and an easy smile. Other than that, San maintained a nearly undisturbed, natural grimace for the crowd, while he was feasting on glazed ribs. 

He cut a portion and placed it on Wooyoung’s plate; serving him some more food to ensure Wooyoung actually ate something, chewing in between the pauses to his story. 

With little interest in the crowd, San finished his meal and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. The ones that had been exchanging rumors about the clerk, changed their topic. San turned his attention to them, gaze anchored to his plate while he eavesdropped without shame.

“Have you heard about it?”

“What? What it? You dumb fuck. Finish the sentence, I can’t read your mind.”

“The-” the man stopped, then looked around warily. He licked his lips, dropping his voice to a whisper that got muffled by the booming voices, music, laughter in the distance and chairs scraping the floor. “The… wa….”

Thankfully, his friend wasn’t as careful. 

“The warlocks?” He shrieked with terror.

“Shhh!” The man did not hesitate to land a whack at the back of his head. “Be quiet!”

Over their conversation, San heard Wooyoung’s continuation of the story. 

“We had to quickly devise a new plan, one where Fang would get within arm’s reach of the creature.” His irises were full of small, dancing sparks of purple light and excitement. “He risked his life, but that was the only way to subdue the beast. There was this spell, you see-”

San turned his attention back to the duo. 

“What? Why?” The man continued in a whisper. 

“News arrived this morning from the west. Six bodies were found along the trail leading to The Bare Summit. And an emblem that must have belonged to a warlock was found nearby. It’s not the first attack, but it’s the most brutal one so far.”

“Fuck. I haven’t-...”

San felt a palm squeeze his shoulder, forcing him to pull his attention somewhere else.

Sungchul leaned over the back of San’s chair. “I don’t want to interrupt, but my business truly accepts no delay.” He tilted his head suggestively toward the bar, which was empty and offered a shadow of privacy.

San hummed low in his throat, preparing to stand up. He licked his fingers, which were sweet and sticky with glaze. He then leaned toward Wooyoung, whispering in his ear, “The sorcerer is an impatient one. Mind stopping your story there?”

Wooyoung right away cut off his narrative mid-sentence. He turned to San, intrigued, then he surveyed the figure behind him. His gaze was heated, but once it found the sorcerer San had mentioned, recognition flooded his features. Surprise and delight chased each other across Wooyoung’s face, his eyes flashing with excitement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Elated, he shot up from his seat. “Sungchul? Is that… by the dragon’s breath! It’s really you!” 

Before the enchanter could even respond, Wooyoung already had him in a bear hug, his hand coming up to ruffle the enchanter’s hair with a complete lack of formality.

Grumbles of annoyance rippled through the room as Wooyoung left his listeners hanging, stopping right at the climax of his story. Iron Fang looked at them menacingly, arching his brow in a bland warning to settle. They silenced their complaints after that and didn't dare speak up, but the white-knuckled grips on their chalices and the smoke of the cigarettes some lit in the heat of the moment betrayed their frustration.

“Hey,” Sungchul laughed shyly, returning the hug, though he lacked the same sheer compassion that radiated from Wooyoung. “Been a while, but I finally found you.”

“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!” Wooyoung took a step back, clasping his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“I was what? Seven? Eight years old when you graduated.”

Smiling, Wooyoung took the man by the arm and led them to the spacious bar, where they sat side-by-side at the counter. Sungchul sat to Wooyoung’s right and San to his left, and they ordered a weak cider, barely stronger than apple juice.

“You were ten,” Wooyoung corrected him. “Just a baby back then,” Wooyoung cooed, nearly reaching out to pinch his cheeks.

The man blushed, swatting his hand away as befitted a grown man. 

“You know each other?” San asked.

“Wooyoungie was...”

Hold on. Wooyoungie? The hair on the back of San’s neck stood on end, his posture rigid.

“You could say I practically raised Sungchul,” Wooyoung chimed in with pride laced with amusement. “He was one of the orphans living on the streets of Kae Alora. When someone noticed one day that Sungchul had powers, he was brought to the Academy and taken into care. I was one of the volunteers who looked after children like him. I got him assigned to my dorm, which was just a fancy way of saying I was babysitting this troublemaker.”

The man nodded to each sentence.

“He was my student for three years, till I graduated from the Academy and someone new took him over.”

“I became an enchanter.”

“Even though I tried to convince him to master the school of conjuration,” Wooyoung said scoffingly. Sungchul just blinked at that, nodding like he’d learned something new. 

“So that’s what this is about? If you wanted to meet with Wooyoung, you didn’t have to cook up that story about a monster,” San grumbled, it wasn’t adding up.

A shadow passed over the man’s face. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

Wooyoung glared at San, scolding him in a low hiss, “Fang, be nicer.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I know how it might look to you, but I really need your help with this one. In Ska’ar Vale, a mob of people has been profiting for years from monster fights held in secret. Every week, they gather in deserted locations and organize underground brawls between the living monsters. They’ve been doing this for a long time, and only recently did someone spill the beans and new information surfaced. They operate outside the law, but regular law enforcement can’t get a handle on them since they can’t fight the monsters.”

“And why exactly should we care about the laws of that city? Monster fights are organized all over the world, right under the noses of the authorities. Killing monsters is one thing, but we are not squaring up against humans, even if they’re outlaws,” San explained.

“I knew that wouldn’t be enough to get you interested. They’re worse than your regular bookies,” Sungchul lowered his voice, expecting a grand reaction from them as he declared, “They’re growing mutants. Aberrations of regular monsters, which I’m sure you realize is far worse than just monsters.” 

San clenched his jaw. Sungchul had his interest there. Aberrations, in the long run, affected the entire world order of monsters. Genetic mutations influenced whole generations of creatures, making them grow stronger, more powerful, harder to combat, and more aggressive - eventually, affecting San’s work more than he’d like. 

“We won’t harm humans, if that’s what you expect,” the words fell firmly from Wooyoung’s lips. San was with him in the resolution. 

“But you could kill their monsters. I’m not strong nor experienced enough to do it by myself. When I heard you were in town, I knew I had to find you.”

“What are you doing here in the first place? Have you graduated already?” Wooyoung bounced in his seat, piqued. 

“No, not yet. Actually, I’d been sent here to take care of that case. As a warm up for the final exams, the Wardens said.”

Wooyoung shared a fleeting glance with San. 

“Final exams?” they both asked at the same time. 

Sungchul froze. “Aren’t there… Didn’t you have those?”

San remained silent, his lips pulled into a thin line of contemplation. Wooyoung answered for them, “No, back in my days sorcerers graduated differently. We just had to go through five years of training before we officially took the oath in front of the Wardens, then we were free to either stay at the Academy to train for a Warden position, or we could leave the grounds to serve as sorcerers.” Wooyoung played with the bottle of cider, swirling the liquid inside. “Has anything changed over the years?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sungchul continued in a flat voice, “There are exams. Like, tests…? Yeah, tests for everyone to prove they’re ready to take the oath.”

San asked, “When do they take place?”

“In two weeks.”

“About the time you prove yourself with the monsters, eh?” Wooyoung tried to joke. “I was hoping you’d grow out of your habit of leaving everything to the last minute.”

Sungchul chuckled, his head tipping over and leaning on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “That’s why I was looking for you.” Whether it were the words that irked him, or the gesture, San barely held back a growl. 

Wooyoung’s previously excited expression melded into a new one - full of worry. They were left with Sungchul’s dark eyes boring into them. Silence fell, but it was only a fragile and fleeting illusion as the booming voices of the people still feasting just a few paces away broke the tension the words had inflicted.

The enchanter continued, “I really, really need your help.”

The blood in San’s arteries began to flow faster. Greed and appetite for monsters’ blood already dulled his senses. A roar filled his head, and he began formulating a plan. 

In moments like these, San was reminded that Iron Fang was something of an aberration himself. A persona that had been meticulously created, trained, and adjusted until it was perfectly tuned to react to monsters of all kinds. Whether standing face-to-face with a beast or merely hearing one mentioned, Iron Fang was ready to hurl himself into the fray. That was his chosen destiny.

It was only thanks to Wooyoung that San could see which fights were worth picking. Wooyoung, his voice of reason.

But now, Wooyoung looked conflicted on his own. He had sworn to always put their safety first, to analyze the risk. At the same time, he was eager to help his former student. 

Wooyoung bit his lip, agonizing over making the right choice.

San reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing them with care. Wooyoung looked down at their joined hands, letting out a long, tired exhale. San could tell the battle being fought in Wooyoung’s mind was a tough one, and he wished he could help him carry the weight of it. 

But San had already made his choice, instinctively picking the reckless path as long as it provided the adrenaline rush he had become addicted to.

“Wooyoung, I know it’s a lot to ask for, but you’re my last hope.” The enchanter’s plea helped to seal the deal, because how could Wooyoung say no to that?

San felt excluded for a moment. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from his twisted possessiveness and jealousy. Or perhaps it was because of the inkling at the back of his head, kind of a gut feeling telling him not to trust the man just yet, even if a close bond had connected him and Wooyoung years ago.

Instead of turning to the enchanter, Wooyoung searched San’s face. Those eyes, mysterious and intelligent, flicked from side to side, trying to silently communicate, to read San’s thoughts. 

It reassured San that no matter what, they came first.

“What do you think?” Wooyoung asked in a quiet voice.

San smirked, bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing Wooyoung’s knuckles. “I think you know.”

Wooyoung swatted his hand away, laughing brightly, feeling better now that he knew they were on the same page. 

“You want us to get rid of the aberrations,” Wooyoung asked for confirmation. When Sungchul inclined his head in an affirmative nod, he asked, “How could we do that without directly facing the outlaws? I really don’t want to harm anyone.” 

San barely restrained a scoff as Sungchul answered lively, having had his response prepared, “I’ve already thought about everything. Actually, it’s the way I wanted to do it myself, but my magic might not be strong enough to see the whole plan through from start to finish.”

“Strong enough for what?” Wooyoung pressed.

“To control a monster. A living one.”

San could see fireworks of excitement erupting behind Wooyoung’s dilated pupils when he realized the meaning of his words. 

The enchanter continued, “Enter the brawl. Field your own monster to kill the aberrations.”

Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. “You think it’s possible to enchant and control a monster with just runes?”

Sungchul took a long sip of his cider, a suggestive smirk appearing on his lips as they wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “I’m sure of it.”

They hashed out the details of the plan for a longer while. 

San had to admit, the plan seemed solid; they only needed to make a few minor adjustments. Wooyoung seemed to warm to the idea with every passing moment. 

However, one thing about the plan didn’t sit right with San.

“I won’t let him go alone,” San protested. “There’s no way you think I’ll let Wooyoung go in there unarmed to stand face-to-face with outlaws we know next to nothing about.”

“He’s not unarmed. He’s a sorcerer. And it has to be done this way if we don’t want your cover blown. Everyone in the area knows what you look like, and with all due respect, Iron Fang, even a blind man would recognize you the moment he heard the clink of your sword buckle. Wooyoung can disguise himself and pose as a commoner looking to sign up for the fight.”

San was fuming. The idea of letting Wooyoung out of his sight unsettled him deeply.

Sungchul continued, “Besides, in the meantime, you’ll have to secure the monster. I believe you can trap something in a cage instead of killing it on the spot.”

San gritted his teeth. He could tell Sungchul had picked up his witty personality from Wooyoung during his younger years. They weren’t too different - both outspoken and brave.

“I advise you, boy, to be more careful with your words,” San growled. His fingers curled at his side, catching on the straps wrapped around his thigh. He cursed internally when he finally realized that he had left his dagger behind.

“If you’re so worried, I’ll go with Wooyoung and back him if something happens. Which I’m sure won’t. They’re outlaws, ordinary men, not masterminds who pose any real threat to a sorcerer like Wooyoungie.”

Wooyoung had sat silently through the entire exchange, tongue poking his cheek in thought, arguments flying over his head like archer;s arrows, each sharper than the last. 

Only now did he speak up, “Let’s do this.”

San watched him, shocked. And worried. The rush of his blood was no longer sparked by excitement, but by uncertainty. His heart thrummed rapidly in his chest with vivid concern. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Wooyoung or his abilities. No one - and he meant it - no one knew Wooyoung’s capabilities and power better than he did. 

It was just that it would be their first mission in years where they would have to separate. San might not have cared about his own life. But Wooyoung’s life? It was the dearest value he would guard until his very last breath. He felt cornered, left with no way out in the face of a decision already made. 

When he looked at his husband’s face, he knew that the years spent together haven’t left Wooyoung unchanged. Wooyoung had caught San’s bloodlust. The thirst for power. The hunger for recognition and glory. That plain desire was written across his features in the form of a cocky smile. Mischievous and valiant.

They became notorious for their combined recklessness. Wooyoung would not back down now. And Iron Fang wouldn’t either. The cunning smile curving Wooyoung’s lips gave him a look so alluring, San’s breathing stuttered. Wooyoung looked so hot like that, fallen into the same madness of monster-lust. 

As each of them reached the bottom of their respective bottles, they parted for the night, agreeing to meet the following morning to put their plan into action. Wooyoung bid Sungchul a fond farewell, patting him on the back and telling him how good it was to see him again. San simply offered a handshake, devoid of any unnecessary sentiment.

As soon as San shut the door to their room, Wooyoung pinned him against it, his hand striking the wood with a sharp crack. 

San took a half-step back, his spine hitting the hard surface with a dull thud as he met Wooyoung’s frenzied gaze.

“And what was that about?” Wooyoung asked, closing the distance. Amusement laced his words, and his tongue poked cheekily past his lips, wetting them briefly.

A low chuckle slipped out of San, his eyebrows rising in mock indignation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lifted his right hand with deliberate slowness, winding it around the back of Wooyoung’s neck to pull him closer.

“You do. Quite well. Were you perhaps jealous of my old student?” A subtle hint of lavender permeated the air just as the glow of Wooyoung’s magic illuminated the room.

A hand caught San’s face; a palm that met his cheek, cupping it and angling his head upward. It was warm and delicate, but it wasn’t the kind of touch San was craving at that moment. 

While his husband was just an inch away, their knees brushing, Wooyoung had summoned a limb of arcane light that was now maneuvering San to his will.

“Tell me,” Wooyoung nearly murmured. “Why were you acting so off?”

San jerked his head to the side, trying to shrug the illusory palm off his face. “I don’t trust him.”

“Why?”

“Gut feeling,” San huffed, refusing to meet his eyes. “I trust his stories. Monster fights are a lucrative business, especially here in the East where most monsters are harmless and easy to catch. If outlaws are making a living out of it, that wouldn’t surprise me. But I can’t pin down exactly why Sungchul had to ask for our help.”

Wooyoung tilted his head. He manipulated the spell so that the light-hand pinched San’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. San expected to find irritation there, but he was met only with worry and apprehension.

Wooyoung pulled his physical hand back from the wall, no longer hovering over San, and straightened up his spine. “He’s a good kid,” Wooyoung said in a small voice. “He himself said why he can’t do this, he doesn’t have enough experience yet to enchant a monster. He hasn’t even graduated from the Academy.”

“Then how can he be so sure that enchanting a monster is even possible? Why didn’t we hear about it back at the Academy? Wooyoung, do you realize the things my grandfather was capable of? What he showed me was beyond anyone’s understanding, yet he never once mentioned using monsters as… weapons.”

The grip on his chin loosened. The light vanished like smoke scattered by the wind as Wooyoung let the spell die, haunted by second thoughts.

Seeing that he had struck Wooyoung speechless and planted a seed of doubt in his mind, San pushed off the door. 

“Maybe they hide the fact that you can tame monsters so people don’t start using them in fucked up ways,” San whispered. “I want to believe it’s just because the Academy has a different focus when training sorcerers,” 

Closing the distance, he took Wooyoung into his arms. The sorcerer allowed himself to be held without protest. San hooked his chin over Wooyoung’s head, cradling the sorcerer into his arms and inhaling his beloved scent.

“But you don’t,” Wooyoung finished for him, nuzzling closer against San’s chest. “You don’t believe it.”

His hands circled San’s waist, sneaking under his shirt to feel the direct heat of his skin. Wooyoung’s many rings scratched lightly against the small of San’s back.

“It’s not easy, Wooyoungie. It goes against everything we were taught, everything we were raised to believe.”

Wooyoung’s fingertips wandered over San’s back, tracing the many runes etched there. Though slightly faded now, Wooyoung’s handiwork adorned San’s skin in several places, wrapping him in protective layers of enchantments.

“It won’t hurt to try and help him.”

San shivered as Wooyoung’s nails accidentally scraped over one of his newest scars, a finger-length mark crossing his lats, dealt by an aggressive monster a few days prior. The scab had formed faster than it would have for a normal human, thanks to Wooyoung’s healing runes.

“It’s not as if we didn’t know runes could be placed on a living creature,” Wooyoung continued. “If it’ll work… fuck, Sannie, do you realize the opportunities it’d offer us?”

San let out a sigh of resignation. He kissed Wooyoung’s forehead, then his right cheek, and the other one right away, noticing how the worry was beginning to line his face. San wanted it all gone; he wanted to see him happy, or at least relaxed. He pressed his lips to Wooyoung’s in a gentle, reassuring kiss, a seal of devotion and trust.

“Don’t get into a fight with the outlaws, alright? I’d be jealous.” 

“Of them?”

“No, of you getting to kick their asses.” San rolled his eyes. “Just don’t get hurt. Sign us up for the brawl, and come back to me.”

Wooyoung giggled. “I’ll be back before you even manage to catch the monster and return here.”

“I’m holding you to that.”