Chapter Text
42
Jeonghan
Escape. Come to the Hero Association Headquarters. We will help you.
The message had gone out from the Echo server room only a week ago, and at first, nothing happened.
Well okay, that’s a dramatic understatement. Many things happened, storybook-esque and hopefully conclusive. The Assistant Director was stripped of his position in the Association and is being held in the villain prison until the completion of his trial. Jeonghan’s father had originally been sent there as well to meet a similar fate, but life would not be so kind to him. It was quickly discovered that he had no superhuman abilities, and the man was transferred to a regular prison, a slap in the face considering who he thought he was, who he strove and failed to be. Jeonghan immediately disavowed any claim he might have on his father’s assets and took no interest in what happened to the estate or Yoon Technology beyond the fact that both were being investigated by the police and the Association.
So ultimately, it was quite the eventful week.
Still, Jeonghan and Wonwoo became worried that something went wrong with the Echo project, whether in the coding or in the execution of the command. Had the devices rejected the message? Had there been a failsafe? They couldn’t know.
They could only wait.
Chan had reluctantly volunteered for the overnight shift when it happened. He’d been sitting at the table hidden off to the side in the Headquarters lobby, watching for people who appeared lost and forlorn. The young man who had entered through the grand doors with a hollow look in his eyes and in travel-worn clothes had immediately been cause for curiosity. It only took a few seconds of gentle, tactful conversation for Chan to call Jeonghan down from his room.
A very sleepy Seungcheol had tagged along “just in case, because I gotta keep you safe,” even if he could barely keep his eyes open.
They’d managed to free the young man of his Echo device without much of a hassle, and as per the Executive Director’s orders, they’d brought him straight to the witness protection unit.
It felt like a victory, tangible evidence that the message had been successful, and it soon became one instance of many.
There’s been an ebb and flow to the arrivals, and freeing some people goes more smoothly than freeing others. Jeonghan, unfortunately, always has to step away and let his friends handle the dangerous cases.
It’s…difficult, not being able to help them in ways that had once been so easy.
It’s during one of these altercations, when Jeonghan has to melt back into the anonymity of the nervous crowd, that someone stops beside him, familiar in her commanding, quietly confident presence.
“Madam Director,” he greets her without looking away from Seungcheol, who has managed to wrestle the person to the ground while Seokmin pulls the Echo device free.
“Yoon Jeonghan,” she says simply. “A word, please?”
“Of course.”
He follows her away from the crowd, out of the lobby, and onto one of the many arching walkways that crisscross the enormous Headquarters building. They stop in front of a planter, and a small cloud forms above it, leaving the foliage dewy beneath its cottony haze.
“Seungcheol attempted to return your S-Class license yesterday,” she says, her expression hard to read in its neutrality. Though, it doesn’t feel as if she’s trying to hide something from him. More like she’s gauging Jeonghan’s reactions, searching for answers with unbiased finesse. “It was the only one left unwanted. I find that curious.”
“Given our past, I doubt it was entirely unexpected,” Jeonghan replies carefully, not because of the Director, but rather because he hasn’t had time to fully process his own emotions on the subject.
It’s still bruise-sore, looming over him, a decision he didn’t want to make, consequences he doesn’t want to face.
“You don’t strike me as the type of person to let rocky beginnings get in the way of your morals,” the Director says.
The truth sits on the tip of Jeonghan’s tongue, honesty that might break the tentative yet historied trust they have in each other.
She continues after a group of staff members walks by, her voice calm, her demeanor collected, “I think you, of all people, know what good could come of you having this hero license. ”
“Madam Director, I can’t–”
“Because you lost the ability to control lightning?” she asks as if it’s such a trivial thing, amusement in the arch of her eyebrow.
Jeonghan freezes, but he recovers from the shock quickly. The Director is a smart woman. Of course she would have figured it out.
“Honestly, Jeonghan, you’re giving up too easily. It’s ultimately your decision, but I would advise that you reconsider.”
“Without powers, I can’t be a hero,” Jeonghan shakes his head, not following.
If she knows, then what point is she trying to make?
“Not in the usual sense, I suppose,” she says, looking out at the city.
Jeonghan chuckles quizzically, “There’s an unusual sense?”
“There are many kinds of heroes. Some of them have powers that are…showy.” The Director’s words are punctuated with a light pattering of rain on sun-warmed leaves from the little cloud in front of them. She continues, “Others have abilities that are more difficult to see.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem. I still don’t have any, and quite frankly, I don’t want them.”
“I’m sure you have your reasons, but I wasn’t talking about those kinds of powers,” the Director lets out a soft laugh. She reminds Jeonghan of Chan when she smiles. “Some abilities aren’t gained from rifts.”
“They’re passed down hereditarily,” Jeonghan says, the meaning of her words and their implications suddenly dawning on him. Chan had gotten this woman’s ability to control storms, and Jeonghan was gifted with his father’s intelligence.
“Personally, I believe that any power we have should be used with great care and consideration,” she replies thoughtfully. “I also believe that you are someone who cares and considers far more deeply than most. The Association would benefit from having a mind like yours.”
“You know my opinion of the Association.”
“I do. It’s precisely why I think you should stay. We need more healthy skepticism. Let me not mince my words,” she says. “It’s not often I meet someone as clever as you. No matter where you go, I doubt your talents would be wasted. However, should you want to stay, you’d have my full support and the hero license is already yours. It’s such a difficult process to take them away. You’d practically have to be a villain.”
Jeonghan huffs a laugh, “Me? A villain? Never.”
“Exactly. So, as long as you don’t do anything wrong, it’s no one’s business what abilities you do or do not have,” she says, turning to face him and offering a familiar black card. “Besides, I assume your friends would much rather you stay too.”
Jeonghan’s gaze settles on the license, his heart fluttering in his chest not with the hope of what the Association is, but rather, what he can make it.
Maybe power itself isn’t evil, as long as it’s used wisely and in moderation.
Unbidden but not unwelcome, an image of Minghao and Jun surfaces in Jeonghan’s mind, their relationship the epitome of a dangerous and delicate balance. He then thinks of Vernon with his flames, wild, but tamed with practice and confidence in himself. And naturally, Jeonghan also thinks of Seungcheol, whose strength he has always relied on, who learned gentleness and control not only for others but for himself as well.
My friends trust me, even knowing who my father is, and knowing what I could become. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss their judgment. Maybe I should trust myself too.
Jeonghan smiles, something small and content, and he reaches out, accepting the card.
Trust for trust.
“Wonderful,” the Director says, giving him a nod of approval. “I’ll let you get back to your efforts then. Keep up the good work.”
Jeonghan bows politely and they part ways.
He only makes it to the door before he runs.
Seungcheol looks up, alarmed when he sees Jeonghan rushing toward him, but he catches him easily, letting out a surprised laugh as Jeonghan loops his arms around Seungcheol’s neck.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m staying.”
“What?”
“I’m staying,” Jeonghan says, his words quiet with relief and hope and love for the man who is holding him. He begins to explain his conversation with the Director, but Seungcheol pulls away.
He searches Jeonghan’s eyes for only a moment before cupping his cheek and kissing him deeply. When they part, noses brushing and foreheads touching, Jeonghan laughs with petal-soft, blush-warm joy.
Wonwoo
The carpet is plush beneath Wonwoo’s socks, vacuum lines still patterning its surface. He idly wonders who lived here last. Was this only a place to eat and sleep? Or did they make this apartment their home?
Could this place feel like home to me, too?
He imagines a couch, a coffee table, some bookcases, pictures hung anxiously on the walls with the security deposit in mind. He glances at the small but efficient kitchen with its laminate countertops and dated appliances.
Wonwoo nods to himself, his heart satisfied. He could picture it.
“Okay, first impressions?” Mingyu asks, walking out of the bedroom with a nervous laugh. “I know it’s not exactly what we were hoping for, but it’s close to Headquarters! And the rent’s not bad. And–”
“I like it,” Wonwoo interrupts gently, giving him a small smile.
Mingyu brightens immediately, “You do?”
“Yeah. It'll be a great place to start. Figure out whether we can live together.”
“Seriously?” Mingyu snorts, amused. “We’ve pretty much already lived together at this point.”
Wonwoo shrugs, looking away because for some reason Mingyu is smirking now and it makes it difficult for Wonwoo to form complete thoughts, “We’ve slept in the same bed and shared a bathroom, but we haven’t had to do all the other mundane things.”
“Like what?” he asks, coy.
“Like cook, take out the trash,” Wonwoo starts listing things, but his thoughts start pleasantly scattering as Mingyu steps closer, somehow managing to crowd him in the middle of the furniture-bare living room, “buy groceries, change the toilet paper–”
“Wonwoo.”
“What?”
“I can’t wait to do all those things with you,” Mingyu says, his smile soft as he presses a kiss to Wonwoo’s forehead.
Before he can respond (which is probably a good thing because his face is so warm and he can’t seem to think of proper words), their earpieces crackle to life. Wonwoo switches the broadcast channel.
“Are you guys done yet?” Vernon’s voice asks. “I gotta go soon.”
“We just finished,” Mingyu replies, his dashing grin on full display. “Heading back now.”
They exit the apartment and Wonwoo locks it with a simple tug on the code of the keypad. It’ll be their turn to sit in the Headquarters lobby shortly. Wonwoo can already see the list in his mind’s eye, more and more names and devices crossed off each day.
Jeonghan really is a genius, Wonwoo smiles, proud of his friend. He’s proud of all of them, really, including himself. It’s strange to think that just a few months ago, he’d been hiding away behind computer screens in a cubicle. Now look at what he’s accomplished.
He’s mastered complex biotech, opened a rift (which he will hopefully never have to do again), made some friends, and even got himself a boyfriend.
Wonwoo glances at Mingyu, who is stretching in the apartment complex courtyard, readying his wings.
How in the world did I snag that man? He thinks to himself, fondly, humorously. It must have been my charming personality and my perfect vision.
“What are you giggling about over there?” Mingyu asks, scrunching his nose.
“I’m not giggling.”
“I beg to differ,” Mingyu laughs, bounding over to Wonwoo and scooping him up easily. He’s gotten stronger lately, accustomed to Wonwoo’s broad frame. “Welcome aboard Air Mingyu. Please keep your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle at all times–”
“That’s a rollercoaster, not an airplane.”
“What a nerd.”
Mingyu steals a quick, playful kiss before he sprints forward and takes off with powerful beats of his mighty wings.
Wonwoo’s stomach swoops and he does his best to hang on tight, tucking himself close and burying his nose in the crook of Mingyu’s neck. With their speed, as they continue to gain altitude, the autumn wind is chilly against Wonwoo’s skin, but Mingyu is warm like the afternoon sun.
And Wonwoo’s heart soars.
Vernon
Vernon waves goodbye to Wonwoo and Mingyu, hurrying toward the elevator bay. He gets there just in time.
Seungkwan steps through a set of metal doors, one of many, looking curious, excited, and nervous. His expression is endearing, citrus-bright and summer-sweet, but then again, that’s what Vernon thinks about practically everything Seungkwan does.
Even through the crowd of heroes, staff, and tourists, he spots Vernon quickly and the nervousness melts away, replaced by a smile.
As soon as they’re close enough, their fingers instinctively lace together.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” Seungkwan asks, offering a bite of the pastry in his free hand.
Vernon takes it, tugging his friend along toward the front doors as he replies, “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”
“Aish–don’t eat the whole thing,” Seungkwan complains, which of course makes Vernon fake at taking another bite. They share a laugh as he finally hands the pastry back and Seungkwan smacks his shoulder. “Do I at least get a hint?”
“No.”
“Boring.”
They leave the immense building behind and head for the nearest bus terminal, a chilly breeze sweeping around them, rustling through colorful, fire-bright leaves on city-tree branches. Vernon makes Seungkwan cover his eyes when they get close to their destination, and for all the complaining he does, Seungkwan still humors him.
“Okay, you can look.”
“You brought me to a…parking lot?”
Vernon laughs, teasing, “Yeah. A great date idea, right?”
He watches Seungkwan’s face, waiting, because his boyfriend is smart and reactive and that, too, is endearing. Vernon sees the moment Seungkwan spots it, sees the change in his expression, the shift in his posture, and the blush on his cheeks.
“Is that an arena?”
“Yeah, for sparring and stuff. It’s supposed to be finished in a couple weeks. Apparently it’s a really great source of revenue for the Association, but Chan asked his mom to check into the finance records and she’s basically hounding the arena committee until they donate half the profits,” Vernon says, rambling because he’s excited. He grins, “So yknow, it’s as ethical as consensually beating each other up could be.”
Seungkwan stares at him for a beat before scrunching his nose to hide a smile, “I think that was the most words I’ve ever heard you say all at once.”
“I wanted to make sure you’d enjoy it. Because I got us season passes.”
“What? But Vernon, our hero licenses should get us in for free–”
“No, I got us season passes with box seating.”
Seungkwan blinks at him once, twice, then looks at the arena, then back at Vernon.
“I think this is the least words I’ve ever heard you say,” Vernon teases.
That seems to break him out of his silence, wind rushing wildly around them as Seungkwan slams into Vernon, looping his arms around Vernon’s neck as they’re almost swept off their feet.
“You’re ridiculous!” Seungkwan shouts, the smile in his voice so bright that Vernon can picture it perfectly. “There’s no way. How did you even–? No, don’t tell me. It’s better this way.”
He tries to pull away, but Vernon gently holds Seungkwan in place, enjoying their closeness.
After a few moments, Seungkwan hums happily, a sound that settles in Vernon’s chest like the comfort of a weighted blanket.
“Vernon?”
“Hmm?”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They’re no longer words between words, but something shared between them, simple and easy like their friendship.
Seungkwan leans back just enough for them to make eye contact, a playful pout in the purse of his lips, “You couldn’t have told me all of this back at Headquarters? Why did we have to come all the way out here?”
“Oh, I booked us a tour too. It’s in like, five minutes.”
“Why didn’t you start with that? We’re going to be late!”
They break apart and Seungkwan spirits them across the vast parking lot.
But only after lacing his fingers with Vernon’s.
Joshua
“Ha! Look! I did it!” Chan laughs, equal parts shocked, anxious, and excited if his expression is anything to go by. He points up at the little cloud above their heads, rain pattering on the training field beneath it, as if it doesn’t have Joshua’s full attention.
“You did! Good job.”
Seokmin claps enthusiastically, “Alright, I owe you some cake later.”
“Cake means nothing when we can literally get it for free anytime we want in the food court,” Chan complains, giving Seokmin a playful shove. Or trying to.
Seokmin laughs, dodging aside easily, “What? I have to buy happiness for your achievements? What do you want? A car?”
“A house.”
“I’ll buy you the moon and then you can go live on that instead.”
“Damn. I’d be the coolest guy around.”
They giggle, and Joshua can’t help but smile.
Pride weaves into his heart as the tiny rain cloud quietly disperses in the afternoon sun. Microweather, precise and typically unstable, was something Chan had yet to accomplish. He’s been meditating lately, though, just like Minghao had taught him. He’s also been talking to his mother more often.
Joshua tries not to pry about it, but Chan seems happier, more relaxed and confident.
And what else could he ask for? Aside from the moon, apparently.
With a deep breath, Joshua retracts his shield. He’s been working on stretching it, shaping it, and controlling it, building it like muscle memory. Of course, he still has years of practice and training ahead of him, but that’s okay. His shield has become more of a friend that he can rely on than any of his duplicates had ever been.
Speaking of friends.
“Chan, are you sure you don’t want to go to the hero museum? It’s cheesy, but I think you’d have a good time,” Joshua says, not because he thinks Chan would enjoy the exhibits but rather because it would be fun for them to go together.
“Oh, uh…” Chan sighs as he slows to a stop from chasing Seokmin. “Sorry. I can’t. My mom wants me to sit in on some committee meeting.”
“Ew. Do you even want to pursue administrative hero work?” Seokmin asks, empathy in his grimace.
“I have no idea, but it couldn’t hurt to get the experience while I can.”
“Great idea,” Joshua says, placing a hand affectionately at the back of Chan’s neck. “You’ll do just fine, and then you can tell us all about it when we get back.”
“Sounds good,” Chan replies, his smile just a touch brighter.
After washing up, Joshua meets Seokmin outside of the Headquarters building. They aren’t scheduled for the Echo project shift until later tomorrow, which gives them just enough time to run this little errand.
The busy city street is much less urban-whimsical in the afternoon sun, the neon lights day-dulled but still colorful enough to draw attention in the visual noise. Joshua sticks close to Seokmin as they make their way into the almost garish, comic book entryway amidst a river of people, passing beneath the oversized hero statues and the flashing sign that reads “ANYONE: HERO HALL OF FAME.”
The distinct mixed scent of popcorn, metal, and frigid air clings to Joshua’s lungs.
Do they even sell popcorn here?
Maybe this time they’ll stay long enough to find out.
“Do you think they’ll recognize us?” Joshua whispers, a little nervous but mostly giddy with excited anticipation as they move with the disorganized throng of people pushing toward the front desk for their tickets.
“How could they? We were wearing masks last time,” Seokmin grins, unbothered as they approach the counter.
“Hello! Welcome to Anyone, the hero museum of–wait a second,” the costume-clad employee behind the desk narrows her eyes.
They both offer her bright smiles, though Joshua suspects his has a touch of the same nervousness that leaves him feeling a bit too warm despite the blasting air conditioning.
“You’re Joshua! From the Association!” the employee beams. “The one from the commercials!”
Joshua tries not to sigh in relief, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“How neat. Hang on, let me grab my supervisor! I’m sure we could get you guys in for free.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it–”
The employee waves off his concern, “It’ll be fine! Wait here.”
The employee returns with their supervisor, a middle-aged man with a friendly smile. He greets them with genuine enthusiasm, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I heard we have a special guest.”
“Two, actually,” Joshua says, gesturing at Seokmin and presenting their license cards.
“Wait, Joshua Hong? You’re featured in an exhibit.”
He cringes, recalling the last time they were here, “Yes, with the arena.”
“Where’s your staff?”
“I lost it recently,” Joshua replies, even if it wasn’t actually that recent.
“Would you like another one? We have a couple dozen downstairs.”
“Dozen?” Seokmin asks, shocked.
The supervisor laughs, “Yeah, a few weeks ago two hooligans stole the one off of the display in some flashy heist, and now it’s become some kind of running joke amongst visitors. Every few days, someone else tries to steal it. Sometimes they’re successful, sometimes they’re not.”
“And you just let them?” Joshua asks, amusement and astonishment lacing his tone.
“Yes and no. It’s easily replaceable, so the Association doesn’t mind. In fact, it brings in a lot of foot traffic, which means more tickets sold and more funds and resources for rural Association outreach.”
Seokmin and Joshua exchange a look.
“So…do you want a staff?”
Joshua laughs, “You know what? Okay. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize the exhibit’s legacy.”
“I’ll be right back then. In the meantime, if you two would like to tour the museum, go right ahead.”
Seokmin and Joshua thank him, then head toward the curtained tunnel that will take them to the first exhibit. It’s much the same as it was during their last visit, but this time they’re able to stop and actually look at the displays.
As Joshua admires the old costumes, tools, and weapons of his predecessors, his thoughts begin to wander.
If that supervisor is telling the truth (and he has no reason to lie), then it seems like the money made at the museum is going to a good cause, no matter how tacky some of the exhibits are. Joshua idly wonders who is in charge of this place, and whether or not he might have a conversation with them.
He can almost picture it in his mind’s eye, reworking some of the displays, integrating guest speakers, replacing the videos that simply glorify the Association with footage that’s informative, exciting, and hopeful. The cheesy, theme-park nature of it appeals to Joshua’s sense of humor, but…this place could also be so much more.
It could be a place where people can see what it's actually like to be a hero, a place that proves not all heroes are the same, a place that truly embodies its name, showing that anyone can be a hero.
Joshua looks at Seokmin and wonders if this would be something he’d be interested in doing after the Echo project.
Eventually, they find themselves in the walk-through theater where Seokmin’s parents are fighting a monster on the freeway overpass in perpetuity. Seokmin glances up at the screen, pausing to watch, and Joshua stops beside him.
Seokmin’s voice is quiet amidst the booming audio, his eyebrows pinched and his arms crossed, “I’ve been thinking about visiting them.”
“Your parents?”
“Yeah. Now that I’ve got my hero license, I guess…” he trails off. “I don’t know, never mind.”
Seokmin laughs, too loud, too bright, and tries to walk away. Joshua catches his wrist, pulling him off the path. They take a seat on one of the many empty benches. Joshua makes sure their back is to the screen.
His friend has something to say, and he definitely won’t say it in the next crowded room.
“If you want to visit them, then do it. But you don’t have to prove anything to them,” Joshua says kindly. “Hero license or not, you’re doing great.”
Seokmin’s expression softens, "Thanks. And for what it’s worth? So are you.”
He nudges Joshua gently with his elbow and they share a small smile.
“But I probably should visit them. Make sure they know I’m still alive and all that fun stuff,” Seokmin sighs, but he seems to be in better humor.
“Would you want me to go with you?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“For moral support.”
“You know what? If you’re offering, sure. No take-backs.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t going to follow through,” Joshua retorts.
“Perfect, because I’m gonna need someone there to watch the looks on their faces when I show them this,” Seokmin says, dramatically pulling out his S-Class card. Joshua bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Seriously?”
“No, I’m kidding.”
“Right.”
“I am. Mostly.”
They share a giggle that cuts off as the supervisor finds them.
“Here you are,” the man says, offering Joshua a wooden staff. “Please let me know if you need anything else. We’re happy to accommodate.”
“Thank you,” he says, accepting the replica. “I’ll be sure to give it a good home.”
As soon as they’re alone again, Seokmin turns to Joshua with a mischievous grin, “Looks like our afternoon plans were ruined, huh?”
“It’s probably better that we didn’t steal it,” Joshua replies, looking down at the staff in his hands. The weight of it has become less familiar in its absence from his life. He finds that he doesn’t quite mind.
Seokmin teases, “Well that’s no fun at all.”
“Weren’t you just bragging about your S-Class Hero license?”
“You have no proof.”
Joshua playfully jabs (pokes) Seokmin with the staff.
“Hey!”
“What? You can’t dodge it?”
“Listen–”
Joshua pokes him again.
Seokmin leaps to his feet, laughing, and plucks the staff from Joshua’s hands, “It’s mine now~”
“Give it back!” Joshua gives chase as Seokmin escapes the room, weaving agilely through the crowd with all of the scant traces of superspeed he can muster.
They pass between the numerous displays, upbeat heroic music booming in Joshua’s chest, fueling the amused flutter of his heart. He can see that Seokmin is headed for the exit (the proper one this time), and they’ll be passing the arena exhibit.
Joshua’s mannequin is still standing stock still with the others, Mingyu’s among them. It’s a duplicate by right, masked in white and holding a staff, yet Joshua strangely feels no emotional attachment to it, at least, not the same way he did before.
He slows to a stop, his smile quirking a little, becoming a grin.
“That man has the staff!” he shouts into the room at large, and the collective attention of over fifty people swivels to where he’s pointing: Seokmin.
Cameras come out, some people start yelling, some people start laughing, security gives half-hearted chase, and amidst the chaos, Joshua turns to the mannequin. He slips the staff out of its posed hand, chuckling to himself.
He’ll apologize to Seokmin later.
Soonyoung
“Did you see Jeonghan wore a turtleneck today?” Soonyoung asks with his Cheshire grin.
“No.”
“Well he did.”
Jihoon stares at him, bored, “And?”
Soonyoung wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “I’m like, ninety percent sure he was covering something up.”
“Yeah. His neck. It’s cold.”
“You’re literally no fun,” Soonyoung huffs, turning away and flicking Jihoon with his tail.
“Fine, then I’m leaving.”
“No,” Soonyoung wines, spinning back around, ready to catch Jihoon’s wrist or his jacket, but he hadn’t even attempted to move. Soonyoung clings to him anyway.
“How can you say I’m no fun when we’re literally at a carnival?” Jihoon asks.
Soonyoung butts their heads together affectionately, “You’re so much fun. The funnest.”
“Funnest isn’t a word,” Jihoon grumbles, but a poorly-suppressed smile is clear in his voice.
“Next in line!” the ride attendant calls, and Soonyoung’s heart leaps.
They approach the Ferris Wheel platform, climbing up a rickety set of metal stairs, dusty with footsteps and sprinkled with dried hay. Soonyoung plops himself down excitedly in the poorly-padded bench seat. As soon as Jihoon sits down, cautious, a creaky metal bar is lowered into their laps.
“If you rock the chair, I’m going to turn you into an ice cube,” Jihoon mutters, gripping the safety bar much too tightly.
“What would make you think I’d do that?”
“Your lack of self preservation.”
Something about the way he says it reminds Soonyoung vaguely of Minghao, probably the grumpiness–or rather, it would be more accurate to say that in some ways, Minghao reminds him of Jihoon.
Maybe that’s why Minghao had been so easy to trust all those weeks ago when Soonyoung had found himself in a new place surrounded by strangers, unsure whether he was simply in another cage. Minghao resembled his best and only friend.
“I’ll be good.”
“See you say that, but I don’t believe you.”
“I promise.”
Jihoon opens his mouth to retort but it dies on his tongue as the Ferris Wheel moves. It stops abruptly, letting on the next set of people.
Soonyoung sighs and gently takes one of Jihoon’s hands, “Do you want to get off? I’m sure they’d let us go if we asked.”
“No. I’m okay,” Jihoon says, taking a steadying breath. “It’s just been a while.”
The ride moves, then stops again.
“You remember those guys that used to beat me up?”
“I think ‘beat you up’ is an understatement. They threw you in a tiger cage.”
Jihoon lets out a small laugh, “True.”
“Yeah, I remember them.”
“They used to lock me in different rides and run them for what felt like hours. It was probably minutes, but yknow.”
“Why didn’t you say something earlier? Let’s ask–”
“I’m fine. I…want to do this.”
In the gilded tones of an autumn evening, surrounded by the scents of fried, sweet, and salty foods that linger in the air and on their tongues, Jihoon meets Soonyoung’s gaze.
He sees his own feelings reflected in Jihoon’s eyes, the determination that brought Soonyoung here, to this carnival.
It isn’t the circus where they met, but that doesn’t matter.
It still represents a cage, one that they’d both broken out of by tooth, nail, and ice. Returning to it was freeing, in its own way.
A choice.
Facing their fears, seeing the iron bars from the outside.
The Ferris Wheel moves again, bringing them high enough to see over the striped tops of the booths.
Colorful.
Soonyoung smiles.
I’ve always wanted to see what the lights looked like from up here.
Jihoon’s hand slips out of his, drawing Soonyoung’s attention away from the view. The worry eases out of his heart, though, as Jihoon gives him a small smile.
“What?”
“This was a good idea. I’m glad we did it.”
Soonyoung grins, teasing lightly, “We’re still doing it. It’s not over yet.”
“Don’t remind me.”
They share a quiet laugh and Soonyoung lifts a hand, placing it on top of Jihoon’s head, right between where his tiger ears would be, if he’d had them.
Granted, he doesn’t, but Soonyoung has always thought Jihoon was as brave as a tiger. As fierce as one too.
“I’m glad we did this too,” Soonyoung says quietly, lowering his hand and watching his companion fondly. “And I’m really happy you decided to come with me.”
Jihoon looks away, his cheeks dusted pink, his lips set in their familiar almost-frown.
The Ferris Wheel moves again. They’re almost at the top.
“Yeah well, who else would have?”
“Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have chosen anyone but you.”
Minghao
Autumn paints the mountainside in brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow, the last rays of the sun dwindling over distant peaks.
Jun and Minghao materialize in a flash of light and a whisper of shadow.
The rich smell of roasting meat and the earthy fresh scent of vegetables are the first things to greet them, reaching over the patchwork wall that shields the small village from the monsters of the forest.
Minghao glances at Jun, who offers him a small smile.
Neither of them have ever been inclined to rallying cries or grand speeches, so in the comforting quietness of one another’s presence, they approach the gate.
“Hello?” Minghao calls out, trying not to sound as hesitant as he feels.
“Who’s there?” someone asks on the other side.
Another voice murmurs, “We don’t have any more merchant visits scheduled today…”
The door opens before Minghao can identify himself, and the stares that greet him are cold with suspicion. It doesn’t last long, though, as wonder floods the expressions of the two old men.
“Minghao? Junhui?”
“Where have you been?”
“You’ve been gone for years.”
“Are your parents expecting you?”
They talk over one another, and the mild chaos doesn’t help Minghao’s already frayed nerves. He tries to quell the spike of defensive irritation.
They aren’t mad. Take a deep breath.
“We apologize for our absence,” Jun says with a gentle smile, one of his hands coming up to rest on Minghao’s back, grounding. “And for our unexpected visit.”
“Come in, come in,” one of the men waves, moving out of the way. “I’m sure you’ve traveled far. Let’s get you some tea and find your mother.”
A woman passes nearby, dressed in the bright regalia of the Harvest Festival and carrying unlit lanterns. She pauses briefly to glare.
“Some nerve they have coming back here,” she murmurs before walking away.
So their arrival isn’t entirely welcome, but at least they haven’t been kicked out. Yet.
The two old men bring them to the village center, sitting Minghao and Jun down at one of the large tables. People of all ages are puttering around, carrying baskets of food and wrapped gifts. It’s somehow both the same and different.
The village hasn’t changed much, aside from the repairs that were completed after Minghao had almost destroyed it. The people haven’t changed much either, except the addition of a few more wrinkles on some faces and a few inches of height gained by the children.
Minghao graciously accepts the tea he’s offered, his heart soothed by the deep, still-familiar aroma. As he takes the first sip, he finds that it mends some part of him that he didn’t even realize had been broken.
“Xu Minghao.”
He looks up and meets the gaze of the one person he’d been truly dreading to see. Minghao could handle the scorn of the elders, he could even overlook wary glances from the other villagers. But no amount of meditating could brace him for this.
“You go against the command of the elders. You destroy the village. You run away with my son. And now you come back after all these years without even sending a single letter?” Jun’s mother stops a few paces away, hands on her hips. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Minghao rises so quickly that he jostles the bench and almost spills his tea. He bows deeply, trying to keep the waver out of his voice, “There is nothing I can say that will fix what I’ve done, but still, I’m sorry–”
He barely has the words out before he’s pulled forward, stumbling into the hug.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” she says, releasing him and gently patting his cheek. “After we saw what you turned into, we all thought you’d…but it doesn’t matter. You’re here, and you’re okay.”
Become a monster. That’s probably what she wanted to say. The fact that she hadn’t, though, is telling enough. Minghao isn’t a monster, no matter what people think or say about him.
“Junhui.”
“Mother,” he says. The expression he makes is half a wince, half a smile.
“Thank you for writing. It’s been nice to hear from you, though I would’ve wished it was more often,” she says with a nod.
Jun sighs in relief, letting out a quiet laugh as he gets up and hugs his mother too.
“So what brought you back? I assume something bad, otherwise you surely would have visited sooner.”
“The opposite, actually,” Minghao says, his nerves having settled a bit. “We’ve brought help.”
“Help?”
A few of the people passing by subtly slow to a stop, listening. As Minghao continues to speak, the crowd grows.
“The people we’ve been working with have resources. Building materials and food and ways to close the rifts.”
“But we have nothing to offer them in return.”
“Hospitality,” Jun says brightly.
“This is what they do,” Minghao reassures her. Or at least, what they’re supposed to do. “It only took some…intense persuading.”
Mostly paperwork, but also some yelling on his part and quiet, persuasive words from Jeonghan to not make the people in the Resource Allocations Division afraid of shadows for the rest of their lives.
Small mountain villages aren’t exactly high on the priority list when set against whole sections of destroyed city, but this is important to Minghao.
It always has been.
It’s why he went to the shrine in the first place, why he got his powers. He loves this village, even if it doesn’t quite feel like home anymore. He loves his people, even if they scorn him. And he would love Jun even if they weren’t bound together in a delicate balancing act.
He wants to save them, to protect them, because it’s the right thing to do.
They spend the evening helping with the Harvest Festival, visiting with relatives and old neighbors, eating, and hiding from the village elders.
As Jun clears away their dishes, Minghao glances around, taking in the traditional clothes, bright lanterns, and joyful music. His gaze eventually wanders upward, and Minghao momentarily loses himself to the view.
It’s been so long since he has been able to see this many stars in the sky, twinkling against the satin blanket of night, pinpricks of light in the darkness.
Beautiful, he thinks to himself, and the pearl-sized light in his chest glows.
“Hao.”
The playful whisper causes him to startle.
Jun gives him a smile, bright and adoring and shaded with a touch of mischief, “Dance with me.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” Jun says, sweeping Minghao from his seat and leading him toward the crowd bathed in both music and lantern light.
Red and gold brush across Jun’s cheeks and through his hair as they dance.
Around them, the shadows and light dance too.
Seungcheol
It’s futile. Seungcheol already knows, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least try to be quiet when he opens the door.
The dimmed light from the hallway spills gently into the room, falling across the bed like an unfurling silken ribbon that comes to rest over Jeonghan’s waist. His back is turned to the door, his breathing slow and even.
Maybe I didn’t wake him up…
Seungcheol smiles to himself at the small victory, slipping into the room and so, so quietly closing the door.
Jeonghan takes a deep breath, letting it out as a soft sigh, the blankets shifting around him.
“You’re late,” he complains, but humor laces through his tone.
“Sorry. We had a few last minute, ah, difficult arrivals. The good news is we’re halfway done with the list.”
“Half? Already?”
By the thread of light in the crack at the bottom of the door, Seungcheol hums a confirmation as he climbs into the warmth of the bed, looping an arm around Jeonghan to tuck him close, their bodies fitting together with the ease of familiarity.
“Are you surprised? It was an incredible idea.”
“Wonwoo did most of the work. I just came up with the verbiage.”
“Which is just as important as the code itself,” Seungcheol retorts, pressing a kiss to the nape of Jeonghan’s neck. “Take the compliment.”
“What if I don’t?”
“You have to.”
“Make me.”
Laughing, Jeonghan squeaks in surprise as Seungcheol throws the blankets off of them, rolls him onto his back, and shifts his weight over Jeonghan easily, playfully trapping him against the mattress.
“Take the compliment,” Seungcheol repeats, his voice teasing and low in the darkness of the room, their noses brushing.
“Mm, no.”
“Yes,” Seungcheol smirks, giving Jeonghan a ghost of a kiss before pressing his lips gently to Jeonghan’s pulse point, then along his jaw. Jeonghan tilts his head, his hands finding the hem of Seungcheol’s shirt, slipping beneath fabric, cool fingers on warm skin.
“I’m getting mixed messages,” Jeonghan says, his smile clear in his voice. His thighs tighten around Seungcheol’s hips at the first hint of teeth on his neck.
“Really? I think I’m being pretty clear.”
Jeonghan laughs breathily, and Seungcheol feels pleasant warmth blossom inside him, happy that the man he loves is here, safe and comfortable and maybe just a little flustered. It’s not an easy accomplishment, and it’s something that pleases Seungcheol immensely.
“But if I do what you want, are you going to stop?” Jeonghan asks, tugging at Seungcheol’s shirt until he props himself up enough to pull it off and toss it away, lost to the darkness beyond the edge of the bed.
“Do you want me to?”
“No” Jeonghan says, fingers tracing idle, appreciative patterns along the scars across Seungcheol’s chest and shoulders.
“Then admit that you’re smart.”
Jeonghan lets out an amused sound, smiling innocently, his fingers moving down to hook in the waistband of Seungcheol’s pants.
“I’ll admit nothing.”
Seungcheol catches Jeonghan’s wrist, pinning it beside his head on the pillow. He dips down to give Jeonghan a searingly slow kiss. “But why? You’re the cleverest, kindest, most beautiful person.”
“Okay fine. Whatever you say,” Jeonghan chuckles, and Seungcheol lets go of his hand, allowing it to wander.
Light, teasing touches across sensitive skin. A shiver. A shared, quiet laugh.
“You must enjoy flirting with danger.”
“Maybe I do. I’m dating someone who is significantly stronger than me. What would be the fun in that if I didn’t get thrown around a bit?”
Seungcheol huffs, fond and in love, “You really do put a lot of trust in me.”
Jeonghan smiles softly, his voice quiet in its affection.
“Of course, it’s you.”