Chapter Text
As if I have dreamed in a dream
San opens his eyes. He’s sitting on a beach looking out on the waves. The sky is gray, the clouds making it impossible to tell the time of day. The ocean is loud, but everything else is quiet.
San sits alone until it gets dark, letting his thoughts drift. It’s peaceful here.
The waves reflect a bobbing light coming up behind him. He turns to see someone approaching along the beach. Two someones, San realizes as they get closer, both tall, walking so close and comfortable that they must be lovers. The leaner one looks like he could be anyone’s best friend or boyfriend if that was their preference. He’s handsome in a non-threatening way, an easy smile gracing his lips.
The second man isn’t threatening exactly, but he certainly has a presence. His shoulders are broad and his waist is narrow. His well-muscled body is banded with scales. They’re stunning, catching the light from the flashlight and reflecting glossy gray with hints of green and gold.
San opens his mind to his host and learns that these are his friends. The one with scales is Mingi, the other is Yunho. Wooyoung is…
“Thinking about your boy?” Mingi asks. His voice is deep, rolling like the ocean. “I thought you might be, tonight.” San remembers another Mingi, from the idol universe. There had been a Yunho there too.
San takes a deep breath and opens his mind again, letting his host’s memories wash over him as gently as the waves on the shore.
Wooyoung is dead. He’s been dead for a long time. He died of sickness and abuse and neglect. The memories are soft, colored deep with grief, but thin. Comfortable somehow. Like a very old shirt, so worn it’s almost see-through. Kept safe in the back of a drawer, only taken out on rare occasions.
San—this universe’s San—is absolutely certain he’ll see Wooyoung again. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know when. But Wooyoung was phoenix-kin, and even if it takes another 500 years, San will see him again.
San doesn’t see how this could possibly be a comfort. He wants Wooyoung now, brilliant and happy and full of life. Alive.
“Yeah,” San answers. “I don’t… I just…” He thinks carefully about his next words. “Sometimes I forget how to live without him.” He gestures for his friends to sit. They settle on the sand, one on either side of him. Mingi opens his arms invitingly, and San lets himself be held. “Tell me,” San continues in a small voice. “How do I do it?”
Mingi hums thoughtfully, the sound a comforting rumble where San’s ear is tucked up in the crook of the larger man’s neck.
“With joy,” he replies after a moment. “And laughter. And beauty. He loved to dance and sing and take care of people, so you do all of that for both of you. And sometimes you’re sad, but most of the time you’re happy. I know he would have wanted that.”
San sniffs back tears. Mingi rubs his back. Yunho hasn’t said anything, but he’s a warm, steady presence at San’s other side.
“Everyone says that,” San says eventually. “He would have wanted to be alive.”
Mingi snorts, squeezing San tight. “Well sure, but people can want more than one thing, dumbass.”
This startles a bark of laughter out of San and Yunho both. San glances at the other man. His host’s memories tell him they haven’t been friends as long as San and Mingi have, but that San likes and respects Yunho and is delighted that Mingi and Yunho found each other.
San pushes a little further into his host’s mind but can’t find even a hint of resentment or envy. Just pleasure in his friends’ happiness.
Yunho smiles, a little hesitant, but so bright and genuine it almost hurts to look at him. He rests his hand lightly on San’s shoulder. “I never met him,” Yunho begins. “But… it feels like a piece of him is still here? In the stories everyone tells. Those recipes you all say Keonhee never gets quite right even though they taste great to me. How you sometimes leave a little empty space for him or a little bit of silence.” He shrugs awkwardly, like he’s embarrassed for talking so long. “Sometimes I feel like I knew him, too. He’s not gone.”
Mingi hums and reaches around San’s back to grip Yunho’s upper arm. “What he said,” he grins. “Come here, you big sap.” He yanks on Yunho until he collapses, squishing San between the two of them. It’s awkward and a little uncomfortable, and San suddenly realizes he loves them both.
I have friends, too, San remembers, closing his eyes as fragments of memory fill his mind. A different Mingi, a different Yunho. How many versions of me have known versions of them? If you can imagine it, it exists somewhere.
Himself and Wooyoung teasing a third man, kissing his cheeks. Yeosang. Yeosang getting them back in his clever, unpredictable way.
Brilliant Hongjoong, passionate Seonghwa, confident Jongho.
Friends. San’s friends.
And he has family, too. A mother and father. Grandparents. A sister. Two brothers—Wooyoung’s by blood, but no less dear to San’s heart. Wooyoung’s parents, who always welcomed San. San remembers when his nephew was born, followed by twin nieces. He and Wooyoung used to carry the girls everywhere. They’re too big now, but their uncles will still do anything for them.
He’s only half aware of his body as the memories flood back, of the men holding him. Yunho’s singing something. He has a good voice.
San’s father has a good voice too. His whole family loves to sing. They go caroling with Wooyoung’s family every winter, as many of them as can get together.
San misses them desperately. They must miss him, too.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into Mingi’s chest.
San takes a deep breath, detangling himself so he can look at the two of them. He holds one of their hands in each of his.
“I didn’t think I could live without him. I didn’t want to risk living without him.” They look a little confused, but Yunho nods encouragingly. “I guess I just have to do my best to carry on the way he’d want me to. And remember that he doesn’t have to be here to be with me.”
“Only in the most literal sense of the words,” Mingi replies kindly.
Yunho looks appalled and slaps Mingi’s shoulder. San bursts out laughing. The memory of Wooyoung’s laugh echoes in his mind.
“Thanks,” San says when he can speak again. He squeezes their hands. “For everything.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m about to forget we had this conversation. Sorry about that.” He can almost see the way home stretched out before him. It’s easy, now that he knows the way.
His home. His body. His friends. His family. His life.
***
Choi San opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room. He has no idea what time it is. He has no idea what’s going to happen today. He’s not even entirely sure who he is.
“Hey,” Wooyoung says quietly. He’s sitting in a chair next to San’s bed. He looks like he’s been living off instant noodles, energy drinks, and three hours of sleep a night. He’s perfect.
“Hey,” San replies. He takes a deep breath. He feels sore all over, stiff and completely exhausted. He feels wonderful.
“I’m back.”
