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Chapter Text

Three weeks later, Wooyoung is still alive.

Against all odds, they survived the overthrow of the SWARM overnight. Overwatch took over the state and dispatched all SWARM leaders. It happened fast and efficiently, bringing back the authority of the Federation over Spartha. That means that the HIVE has another enemy. Different name but similar poison. Overwatch will continue to govern the state with an iron fist, soldiers with another insignia will keep flooding the streets like viruses feasting of a weakened organism, and the citizens will remain exploited and mauled by the leaders.

The HIVE still decreed a day off to celebrate the fall of their original foe, and everyone spent the day on the camp except for the patrol watching over the vicinity. They should be safe now: after Wooyoung and San"s encounter with the patrollers, they decamped as a precaution, and they set up the new camp higher in the mountain, hiding the tents in a cave concealed by thick bushes.

Maximus allowed them to turn on the old radio so they could enjoy their night with music at low volume. Garnet and Wooyoung went all the way to the city to bring back food for the special evening, and the rest waited for their comeback to cook together by the fire.

Wooyoung has been freed from his splint a few days before by Stitch who especially came to check on him. It considerably lifted his mood, being allowed to leave the camp again and go back to the city for the first time in weeks. Seeing him smile again and laugh with the others makes San happy. He could almost forget the doom that looms over their heads.

Everything feels lighter when Wooyoung is lying against him, his back to San’s chest while they sit by the fire. San is resting against a tree, his arms around Wooyoung’s middle and his head against his lover’s temple. They’re listening to Putsch who tells everyone about an arrest she witnessed in the city, but when the radio starts playing a rock song, Echo and Wooyoung perk up at the same time.

Echo is the first to scramble to his feet, then he’s extending his arm to help Wooyoung up and San is left empty-handed. It doesn’t bother him because Wooyoung guffaws when he stumbles against Echo, and his smile brightens the night as he starts dancing with his friend to the low background music.

San was listening to Deadfall’s story but now, he feels like a ray of divine light has fallen onto him and he can’t tear his eyes away. Wooyoung’s just so gorgeous, it’s like he’s absorbed all the light of the sun and emits it from all his pores. San doesn’t even realize that a smile has crept on his face as he gazes at his giggling lover.

“Hey,” Wooyoung calls. San blinks, as if waking up from a dream. Wooyoung comes to stand before him. “Dance with me!”

He’s towering over San, his smile making his eyes crinkle with mirth. San’s heart tumbles and speeds up, courtesy of Wooyoung’s presence anywhere near him, saying that kind of sentence he’s been uttering since their first time together.

So he doesn’t hesitate to stand up, his hand in Wooyoung’s warm palm. The younger pulls him forward and San ends up pressed flush against his chest. He grins, linking his arms behind Wooyoung’s neck. Their breath mingle when he presses his forehead against Wooyoung’s, their lips at a hairbreadth away.

“Stop making us feel single,” Warbler sighs.

Wooyoung giggles near San’s ear, and his heart spreads out its wings to fly away.

“You’re so jealous,” Wooyoung says back, flashing a smirk at Warbler before he nuzzles against San’s neck and presses a kiss on his jaw. He’s swaying in rhythm with the music and San just has to follow his lead to get in sync with him, smiling like a stupid teenager as his lover rubs his back.

Then the music changes to an old jazz song, and Wooyoung beams. He takes San’s hand to twirl and twirl under his arm like a spinning top, and when he stops, he’s dizzy and crashing against San’s chest with a fit of giggles. San cackles, taking Wooyoung’s hands in his to guide him into old steps they used to master in another life.

There was a time when they were so good at swing dance.

“Dove! Do you have a gun or are you happy to see him?” Soar laughs.

Wooyoung huffs a laugh, his hand slipping under San’s shirt and into the holster where he keeps the gun he hasn’t taken off in weeks, even putting it under his pillow at night.

Technically, there’s no need to be armed in the camp. They make sure to be far away enough from any danger so as not to worry about being found out, but San’s been growing more and more paranoid as the days went by and nothing happened to Wooyoung.

San’s been following him everywhere, even argued with him a few times because Wooyoung wanted to spend time with other people instead of him, which was fine, but San just needed to make sure that Wooyoung wouldn’t come across the person who’d kill him when he was all alone. But that never happened. Not yet. Which only means it’ll be happening in next to no time, which also means that San needs to fight, even if it’s helpless. He just can’t let Wooyoung die without at least trying to save him.

So the gun’s been there all this time and Wooyoung knows it, and he’s teased him a bit but he knows the reasons as well.

Wooyoung resigned himself to the idea of his imminent passing. He isn’t taking many precautions, doesn’t look too worried about it though San can see him becoming antsy and upset when night comes, when it’s only them in their tent.

San can be cautious for both of them.

After years of being a killer, it’s only time he becomes a protector.

“He’s always happy to see me,” Wooyoung declares with a teasing grin, taking the gun from the holster to put it on the ground near the campfire. San almost stops him, an irrational fear that something terrible will happen if he’s separated from his weapon overwhelming him for a second all the while Wooyoung is donning an idle smile.

He must be pouting because the next moment, his lover’s back against him, slowly swaying his hips to the rhythm of a pop rock song with an arm loosely wrapped around San’s waist. The other, he uses it to pinch his cheeks so his lips are jutting; something Wooyoung really likes to do whenever he gets the occasion. He says San’s cute and his pout even more.

“Don’t think about that,” he whispers so no one but them can hear, a soft smile donning his lips. “I’m here now.”

San hates when Wooyoung says things like that — a reminder that they’re together in that moment but might not be in the next. But it’s bittersweet, because the warmth radiating from Wooyoung’s body is very much real, the rich cordovan color of his irises isn’t just a memory, and the softness of his beautiful lips isn’t something San’s mind could make up so precisely when he presses them against San"s.

Wooyoung’s right. They’re pressed for time but San’s wasting it by being so scared to see it end.

The kiss is swift and comforting; it fills San’s heart with feathers, rendering it light enough for San to play along with Wooyoung when he starts doing some silly footwork and hairography. It doesn’t take long before San’s laughing, and not only him but about every other rebel on camp. More join them to dance until San ends up doing some mock waltz with Deadfall while Wooyoung giggles while rocking in a slow with Echo.

The evening goes by and the atmosphere grows quieter as the mild air of the night gets cooler. Wooyoung and Echo are the only ones who keep dancing and giggling while the others chat in smaller groups around the camp. It’s so calm, hushed voices and low music, that Doppler and Soar jump when Wooyoung makes a high-pitch sound of excitement, making all heads turn to him.

“Let Dove play, he’s a virtuoso!” he says to Deadfall when she comes out of her tent with a small mandolin, telling how she found it in a dump on the way back from her mission.

“How do you know that?” Garnet chuckles.

“Because he told me,” Wooyoung huffs, lying to her face with practiced ease.

“I think it’s broken, though,” Deadfall says as she hands the instrument to San.

San hasn’t played music in years. He never got to touch an instrument in this life, yet the contact of the polished wood under his fingers immediately triggers deep-rooted memories like a powerful madeleine de Proust.

“It just needs new strings,” San says, grazing the neck of the mandolin.

Wooyoung slumps next to him and leans over his shoulder to watch him tune the instrument. “It looks like that lute you played, but dustier,” he comments quietly, touching the body of the instrument where it seems to have received a shock that scraped the wood.

“It’s actually from the same family, it’s a mandolin,” San explains without looking, too busy adjusting the tuning pegs.

“Can you play?” Maximus asks when the mandolin stops emitting discordant, jarring squeals and San nods contentedly.

“Sure,” he grins.

San catches Wooyoung’s gaze, and he wasn’t expecting to see his face so close to his but what makes him chuckle is the grin on the younger’s lips.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m happy to see you play,” Wooyoung admits, lifting a hand to pet San’s cheek.

It’s just a mindless touch but it makes San’s heart pop from a glut of affection. He lowers his eyes to the mandolin in a vain attempt to conceal his silly smile.

Wooyoung’s still leaning against him, and San can’t think of any song but one. He adjusts his hold on the instrument and lets muscle memory move his fingers over the remaining strings.

The effect is immediate: everyone else seems to disappear from his vicinity, only leaving Wooyoung and his familiar warmth against San’s shoulder, the faint scent of incense that lingers on his hair, and the happy sound he lets out when he recognizes the notes of his song.

The excitation ebbs quickly, replaced by placid bliss as he rests his head on San’s shoulder and closes his eyes to feel the vibrations through his bones. San smiles to himself, letting his mind fly away with the music.

It’s a fun, untroubled night that manages to clear San’s head from his anxious thoughts. They draw it out even after he stopped playing the mandolin so some could go to sleep, and a few stay out in the open to watch the stars between an opening in the canopy.

Wooyoung’s stomach is firm under San’s head, and Doppler protested a little when San put his legs on top of his but in the end, he didn’t push him away.

It’s definitely the kind of night that makes San wish they could have more of them in the future.

⋆｡°•☁︎

Wooyoung is like the sun among the clouds, the brightest star of them all despite the tears that streak his blotched cheeks.

San only has eyes for him, even with the heavy rope around his neck and the jeers of the audience who came to watch his demise.

He’s terrified, acidic fear coiling in his stomach as his so-called crimes are dispatched in front of the faceless crowd. The voice that states them is blurred, the words like they’re uttered underwater. San knows what they’re about anyway. Adultery, enticement — not of anybody but of someone from a higher cast than his. But it’s just Wooyoung. San would love him no matter what the universe puts between them.

Wooyoung turns away to beseech, and San wishes he’d look at him because he wants to etch his eyes in his memory before he passes. But instead, all he sees as the hangman gets close to the lever is his lover on his knees and begging for San’s life. They both know it’s hopeless.

San calls his name. His voice sounds disembodied but Wooyoung hears it nonetheless. Their eyes meet, and then San’s world turns black, a full galaxy dancing before his eyes before a black hole swallows him whole. The last sound that graces his ears is Wooyoung’s wail of his name.

⋆｡°•☁︎

“Shhh,” San starts, blinking confusedly when his eyes open in the darkness. He whimpers, gripping the warm hand that cups his cheek. “Shh, my heart, you’re okay,” comes Wooyoung’s hushed voice, gentle like a caress.

He moves, making San fear that he’ll disappear, but Wooyoung only turns on their flashlight, bathing the tent with red hues. San takes in the tarp above his head, his lover’s face next to him, the bangs that graze his cheekbones. He’s wearing the black tank top he went to bed with, and his skin is warm when San touches his bare shoulder to pull him flush against him.

Wooyoung doesn’t fight; he wraps his arms around San’s neck and curls up against him, his face buried in the crook of his neck so his breath tickles each time he exhales.

“You were saying my name out loud,” Wooyoung says quietly, his thumb gently brushing San’s cheek in apology for waking him up.

“I was dying,” San says as an explanation. Wooyoung will understand because he always does.

“It’s over now,” Wooyoung placates him. He’s still petting San’s cheek, and he probably doesn’t know to which death San’s referring but it doesn’t matter because he knows how bad the memories are, no matter how they happen.

San swallows the lump in his throat, but it’s not enough to make it disappear. He tightens his hold over his lover’s shoulder. “You never said what happened to you after I was hanged.”

Wooyoung doesn’t move at first, so San wonders if he’ll answer at all.

San has never been able to imagine a life without Wooyoung, that’s why he never tried, yet he wouldn’t be upset if his lover had tried to find a meaning to his life even with San gone. He doubts he has, though, because he was utterly unhappy in that existence.

He used to call San his firefly on a dark night.

“I killed myself,” Wooyoung confesses after a bit. “I was forgiven after you died but it didn’t matter.”

San caresses his back, one of his hands coming into his hair to pet lightly.

His heart is so full of love for his man, it’s making San’s throat constrict painfully. He often doesn’t know what to do with his feelings. He’s so in love with Wooyoung that it’s overwhelming, the volume of his love brimming over in the form of tears he refuses to shed.

Wooyoung must feel the same way because he’s holding onto him as if he wanted to convey all his feelings through his embrace.

San wants to stay strong in front of Wooyoung so he keeps it in but it’s distressing him so much to know that this is one of their last moment together. Maybe their last embrace.

He"s waiting for the universe to wrest Wooyoung from him, and the wait is what’s making San so upset. He doesn’t want to let go of him. If he loosens his hold over Wooyoung, something terrible could happen to him.

“Love,” Wooyoung whispers, planting his chin on San’s chest to gaze at him. “I wanted it to be a surprise but I’ve arranged everything. We can join my family in Knossos in five days, if you still want to.”

San perks up, twisting his neck to look at Wooyoung. “Really?”

“Mm,” his lover goes, a grin donning his lips. “Maximus isn’t happy with us leaving but she gave her blessing.”

San cradles his face in his hands. “Five days?” he repeats, breaking into an irrepressible smile.

Wooyoung chuckles. He nods. “Five days.”

San makes a happy sound that has Wooyoung giggling, then he’s smooching him and smothering his laugh with his lips.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my mom,” Wooyoung says, his eyes twinkling with glee. “She’s going to love you so much.”

“I don’t think I’m son-in-law material—”

“Yes you are,” Wooyoung cuts him off. “Handsome, strong, a SWARM fighter,” he lists, raising a finger each time. “If you could keep it quiet you’re an ex-Fed though—” he adds teasingly.

“I repented!” San whines jokingly, lightly slapping his shoulder where healed burn scars mark his skin.

Wooyoung squeaks, between a protestation and a laugh. “That’s why she’s going to love you! Someone who switches sides for her favorite son, don’t you see? It’s a tragedy kind of love story.”

San shakes his head, unable to conceal his grin as he gazes at Wooyoung. They hold eye contact until Wooyoung gets shy and hides his smile in the crook of San’s neck, making the older huff a chuckle. San buries his hand into his long hair.

He’s going to meet Wooyoung’s family for the first time ever. If they manage to cross the border safely, they might finally be safe for the first time.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

San is getting late.

He carefully hid his overgrown hair under his hood, and the shadow of it conceals his face from the outside world. It’s easy to blend in with the crowd of workers getting out of the factory with the brown, ragged clothes he wears, and there are so many people scurrying to their homes that no one would pay attention to him at that time of the day.

San hasn’t come to the city in a while. He’s been sent on missions in the mountains instead — stopping convoys, gunning down patrols, meeting with rebels from other camps, helping refugees cross the border. Spartha proper is Wooyoung’s fiefdom and he’s been too happy to go back to his usual missions in the stifling, dirty cobbled streets for anyone to take his missions from him.

San hopes he won’t miss it too much once they’re gone.

A group of soldiers wearing the uniform of Overwatch controls ID papers near the tram. San can’t afford an identity check, so he takes another way and disappears among a group of workers getting out of a metal factory.

The junkyard is behind a makeshift market where unlicensed sellers offer cheap products on rickety stalls. They’re busy packing their stalls back, late customers trying to negotiate the leftovers that litter the ground. San scurries along the paths until the high fence of the junkyard comes into view. Black smoke wafts above the plant, and vehicles carcasses are piled up on the waste ground. From the wide opening in the fence, one can tell that the height of it didn’t stop thieves from sneaking in.

San uses one of those holes to get inside, walking toward the red truck Wooyoung gave him as an indication to locate him.

He’s meeting with an informant for the first time; a man called Bellerophon. Wooyoung never met him because the guy showed up during his convalescence, and Echo dealt with him first. He assured that it was legit, that Bellerophon was trustworthy, so Wooyoung is supposed to be safe but San promised to be with him at any time in case something happens, which none of them wants, not when they’re supposed to leave in two days. So San hurries to find him quicker because the meeting has already begun.

“Ah, there he is,” Wooyoung says when he notices him, breaking into a smile.

San doesn’t want to smile and appear soft in front of a stranger. He has to be the guard dog Wooyoung needs, so he remains impassive like he’s been taught to and tears his eyes away from his lover to glance at the informant.

Having that Wooyoung tunnel vision has always been his weakness. San should have considered Bellerophon sooner. When he does, it’s too late.

“Vix—” come here.

San’s warning dies in his throat when Bellerophon draws a gun.

It happens so fast that San stops breathing, and when he inhales again, his own gun is aimed at Jongho’s head, just above Wooyoung’s shoulder.

Of course he wouldn’t leave him alone. There’s been that deep-rooted antipathy since day one, that mutual feeling that pushed them to play dirty and try to undermine the other’s performances to shine brighter.

The thing is, had San not Awakened, had their roles been reversed, he would have done exactly the same. That’s how he knows that Jongho will be the cause of Wooyoung’s demise.

He probably planned to lure San using him, and San fell for his scheme with Jongho doing much less effort than he initially intended.

All he has to do is pull the trigger and he’ll have his revenge. Killing Wooyoung is all it takes for him to win the cold war that’s been going on for fifteen years between them.

“That was easy,” Odysseus sneers, an impish grin on his lips.

He’s using Wooyoung as a protective screen. His strong arm presses on the rebel’s throat and the bore of his gun digs into his temple. Wooyoung can’t move, and neither can San.

San knows his ex-partner. He’s unbelievably strong, and he might not be the best shooter but it was nearly impossible to predict the outcome of a fight opposing him to San because they’ve always been level pegging. Meeting him is the worst thing that could have happened. San should have known better than to forget about him.

“If you kill him, I swear you’re not getting out of here alive,” San growls.

The muzzle of San’s gun is aimed right at Wooyoung, or actually, it’s aimed at Jongho who nearly disappears behind the rebel’s body. San is having an awful deja vu. He feels like he’s about to kill Wooyoung, and in some twisted way, if Wooyoung dies today, San will be the cause of his death.

And it’s even worst than the first time. Wooyoung was unaware the day of the Congress, he would have never thought that his time was running out, but today, he knows that he could be living his last moments.

Wooyoung knows, just like San, and San doesn’t want to face that reality, so he avoids Wooyoung’s wide eyes and stares right at his ex-partner, ignoring the tensed lines of his lover’s body.

“If I kill him, he dies,” Odysseus mocks. He continues: “It’s funny, I never thought you were the romantic kind.” He glances at Wooyoung scornfully, and San wishes to tear his eyes out so he’d never look at him again. “I always knew you were a dirtbag, but betray for a man? Really?”

“Who sends you?” San asks, trying to adjust his aim so he can shoot what little parts of Jongho he can see behind his lover.

San’s extremely confident in his shooting skills, but Wooyoung’s life’s at stake and he absolutely cannot take the risk of missing and shooting him instead of Jongho. There are also too many unpredictable factors, like the sneakiness of his ex-partner and the desire of the universe to cut the threads of Wooyoung’s existence. So San is stuck, and the smirk on Odysseus’s face tells him that it hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“The Commandant,” Jongho answers. “He"s so disappointed.”

San clenches his jaw, trying to murder his ex-partner with his mind only. It doesn’t work, Odysseus keeps grinning like the cat who got the cream, and he raises his eyebrows in challenge.

“I’ve known you more fearless, Chimera,” Jongho sneers. “What are you waiting for?”

There isn’t much fear left in San’s body, only adrenaline, wrath, and the wish to kill the man who’s threatening to take the life of the light of San’s goddamn existence.

What Jongho ignores is that he’s threatening the only thing that matters to San. He has nothing to lose except Wooyoung, and his ex-partner doesn’t know that hurting him would make San go apeshit in a way he’s never seen before.

There’s no scenario in which Odysseus gets out of the junkyard alive, may he manage to kill Wooyoung or not, because San’s revenge would know no end. Or well, actually, his own death by his own hand would end it all.

“Listen to me,” he snarls. “You’re gonna drop the gun and step away from him, then we can sort it out, just you and me.”

Odysseus chuckles. Of course he does. San can see his hold tighten over Wooyoung’s neck, just enough for Wooyoung to feel the lack of oxygen and flail. Odysseus presses the gun harder against his temple.

“You must like him very much,” Jongho mocks. “Didn’t know you were capable of that.”

“Drop the gun, you motherf—”

San’s eyes widen and for the first time, burning fear floods his veins.

He sees Wooyoung elbow Odysseus in the sternum. The FDA agent folds, and a gunshot is fired at the same time Wooyoung twists like a heel in the loosened hold over his neck.

San’s heart comes to a halt in his chest, his brain convincing him for a second that Wooyoung will drop dread at Jongho’s feet. But he doesn’t. Jongho raises the gun to open fire. Wooyoung finds himself face-to-face with the bore.

San sees him with a blown-up skull. Blood matting his hair, his glazed eyes open but unable to see.

Choking, unadulterated anguish coils in his guts.

He pulls the trigger.

Jongho collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut short.

San’s ears are ringing, his heart thrumming dully against his ribs. “Wooyoung,” he calls, his voice sounding far away, almost disembodied.

The blood in his ears pulsate to the rhythm of Wooyoung’s name, and San can’t see anything else but irises the color of myrrh oil looking back at him, stunned.

He stumbles backward from the impact when Wooyoung throws himself at him, alive, breathing, unarmed. “Who the fuck was that?” Wooyoung breathes out, looking at San with crazed eyes.

“Odysseus,” San says, and he’s panting for some reason, his hands shaking lightly when he cups his lover’s face to ascertain his state. “He’s my ex-partner — why didn’t you recognize him? You saw him the first time in the saloon.”

Wooyoung looks back at Odysseus’s body that lays motionless on the ground, a gunshot wound right between his eyes, the kind that ensures the threat will drop dead before they can even think of causing any harm. With the panic, San didn’t think he’d be able to aim so right, but years of training kick back as muscle memory when one’s brain’s overwhelmed.

“I wasn’t looking at anyone but you back then,” Wooyoung confesses in a small voice, his eyes finding San"s again.

How can San still drown in the cordovan hues of his eyes? Why did the universe give them another moment of respite?

San drops his head against his lover’s, taking a second to breathe deeply and realize that the warmth emanating from Wooyoung will not fade away.

Not yet. Another day. Every moment they earn is a victory.

“We should go in case he called backups,” the younger says, and San nods though he doesn’t break contact immediately. Wooyoung closes his eyes, a soft grin on his lips. He lightly pats San’s back and presses a comforting kiss on his lips.

“Are you really okay?” San whispers, drawing away to look him in the eyes.

“Yes my heart, I’m fine, I promise.”

Wooyoung smiles. San can’t help but brush his cheeks with his thumbs, enticed by the softness of his features. He’s alive and beautiful, and so full of unexpected resources that he survived one of the deadliest FDA agents in circulation. That was Jongho’s mistake — he gravely underestimated him, didn’t think he’d have the spunk to fight back, but he did. If Wooyoung hadn’t unsettled Jongho, San wouldn’t have been able to dispatch him.

Wooyoung adjusts San’s hood on his head, and they get rid of Odysseus’s body before they leave the junkyard, San soothingly squeezing his lover’s hand as they make their way into the streets.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“Eat,” Wooyoung commands, putting his fork in front of San’s lips for the umpteenth time.

San’s mouth is still full from the previous bite he took from the same fork. He tries to slip away but Wooyoung chases after him. San scowls and pushes him. Wooyoung dramatically folds as if San had put any force behind the gesture.

“Leave me alone,” he mutters, chewing on his food.

“Eat!” Wooyoung repeats.

He brings the fork up again, making San whine and twist to avoid it but in an instant, the younger is towering over him and wrestling him with a pout on his lips.

“Will you leave that man alone?” Maximus calls him out.

San’s keeping Wooyoung at a safe distance with hands on his shoulders, his head tilted back to avoid another mouthful of broth. He ate his plate already but Wooyoung seems pretty determined to have him finish what’s left in the pan.

“I know that man, actually,” Wooyoung deadpans. “He’s gonna whine that he’s hungry in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t whine,” San protests, glaring at him.

Wooyoung huffs, and here comes the fork again. This time, San accepts it though he doesn’t break eye contact. Wooyoung beams nonetheless. San rolls his eyes at him, making him cackle.

“One more.”

“No,” San watches his lover scrape the pan for the last remnants of broth, and of course, Wooyoung doesn’t listen because he’s unbelievably stubborn when he’s got an idea in mind. “Come on, someone stop him,” San calls for help.

The others shrug; Brook smirks. “You wanted him, you deal with him.”

The fork pokes San’s lips, and he glowers at Wooyoung but decides to give in anyway, accepting the last bite to make him happy. It works; the younger breaks into a proud smile and bumps his shoulder against San’s. San takes advantage of it to grab him in a loose choke hold, pulling him toward him until Wooyoung falls across his lap with a cry.

“Disgusting,” someone huffs like they always do when any public demonstration of affection happens in the camp.

“Get a room, I’m begging you,” Deadfall says with a mock-exasperated look.

Wooyoung struggles against San’s hold but San doesn’t let go, making sure to keep him pinned against his body. “We’re not doing anything though,” he comments, pressing a fleeting kiss on the younger’s lips. Wooyoung looks up at him through his lashes, jutting his lips in a silent request for more, but San doesn’t give him anything.

He releases him, a grin on his face, and gets a slap on the chest in retaliation.

They help clean the camp and then, they linger with the others around the smothered fire, enjoying their last moment with the rebels. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to want to go to bed, instead, he’s lying on a blanket with his head cushioned by San’s thigh, chatting quietly with Echo, Garnet, and Maximus. San’s listening too, of course, though Wooyoung’s voice tends to lull him to sleep. It’s very late after all, the waxing moon high in the sky.

They definitely should be sleeping by now. In just a few hours, they’ll have to wake up and undertake the trek to the border, then walk more until they reach the house where Wooyoung’s family moved in. But San doesn’t have it in him to tell him it’s time to say goodbye.

“We’re gonna get a little sleep,” Wooyoung finally says, sitting up.

San knows from Echo that the others plan to wake up with them so they can say their last goodbyes, but they kept it a secret from Wooyoung, hence the long hugs and whispers the younger exchanges with his friends before they make their way to their tent.

San changes to his night clothes while his lover washes up at their basin, and San wouldn’t have suspected anything if he didn’t know Wooyoung so damn well. He’s sniffing from time to time, and one could have thought he just inhaled water when he washed his face but San knows better. He lets him have some privacy, though, waiting for him on their mattress, his hands folded under his head.

The scent of incense wafts to his nostrils like it has been every single night for days now.

Wooyoung’s been trying everything to ward off the curse, even appealing to the Moon goddess once more.

When Wooyoung comes to bed, San has closed his eyes. He’s tired enough that he could doze off despite the flashlight being on and his lover not being there.

“We’re leaving,” Wooyoung whispers, and San’s eyes snap open when he feels him kneeling next to him.

Wooyoung opted to sleep in pants only, so San’s eyes drift over his honey-colored stomach, his defined pectorals, and the dip of his throat before he meets his eyes.

San was right, his lover’s eyes are a little too bleary for it to be normal.

“Mm,” he goes, reaching for Wooyoung’s thigh he gently squeezes.

“I’m going to die tomorrow,” Wooyoung says gloomily.

Suddenly, the tranquil beating of San’s heart stops. He frowns.

“Why would you say that,” he mutters.

They talked about it since Odysseus’s death. Wooyoung’s survival is odd and unexpected, but maybe the curse is simply lifted. Maybe their former God got bored of watching them suffer. Maybe the Moon goddess took pity on them. San doesn’t care about the reasons, all he knows is that Wooyoung had plenty of reasons to die but none of them were his demise. It has to be a good sign, right?

One thing that San is sure of is that he doesn’t want to consider that the worst simply got delayed. He refuses to accept that Wooyoung might die during their trek, that they could never reach his family. They’re so close. They will make it. They have to. They deserve it.

“Because it’s true,” says Wooyoung. “You know we ain’t that lucky.”

San knows. That’s what upsets him so much.

But instead of starting to cry too, he sits up and tackles Wooyoung on his back, hovering over him with his hands bracketing his face.

“You told me not to think about it, don’t do it either,” San reminds him.

Wooyoung is gazing at him with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted and one of his hands holding onto San’s forearm. So beautiful that San might actually start to cry for a different reason.

“I’m scared, Sanah,” Wooyoung confesses quietly, his voice breaking on San’s name.

And of course, San knew it. He knew because he’s terrified too, because he knows that dying is painful and scary, that the agony is even worse but that waiting for it to come is what’s actually unbearable. But San would give himself up if it could spare Wooyoung. He knows Wooyoung would do the same in spite of everything. But no one ever is ready to die.

What breaks San’s heart the most is hearing his lover voice it.

Wooyoung isn’t the type to complain; he never said anything about being terrified because he wanted to protect San’s feelings. That makes his confession all the more horrific. Wooyoung’s laying himself bare, letting San see where’s the most vulnerable.

San wishes he could alleviate all of his anxiety, and he knows he can’t but he’s always been good at distracting Wooyoung and himself at the same time.

“Can I touch you?”

Wooyoung nods, roaming his hands along San’s arms until he can slip them in the sleeves of his shirt. San gives him a soft smile he hopes is comforting, then he lowers himself to lay a kiss on his lips. He’s hesitant, afraid that a move too rough will shatter him to pieces, that what Wooyoung needs is a tight embrace and San’s voice to tell him that everything will be okay though they both know nothing ever is. But Wooyoung comes back for more with a fierceness that takes San aback.

His lover latches to his mouth, pulls him closer with his hold over his shoulders, and San drops to his forearms so their bodies are molded together, just like they’re meant to be. Wooyoung hooks his ankles around San’s waist to bring him closer, and San complies, rolling his hips against him to garner a content hum from his lips.

Wooyoung rakes his fingers in San’s hair. The scent of incense is stronger on his skin, reminiscent of a different time when they would have never thought themselves condemned. San pushes the thought away to nose at his lover’s jaw, inhaling the faintest fragrance of his perfume concealed by the stronger scent of soap, and Wooyoung tilts his head back to bare his throat.

San loves his neck lots, so he honors it with open-mouthed kisses that have his lover writhe under him. His fingers tighten in San’s hair, and he arches his back to press against him.

“My beauty,” San whispers against his skin.

Wooyoung keens, the sound muffled but suspiciously akin to a sob. Thus San redoubles his efforts to make him feel good. He slides a hand along his lover’s thigh, caressing it as Wooyoung devours his lips. The younger never loosens his hold, as if he fears that San would disappear if he let go, and San keeps whispering comforting words in his ear until Wooyoung’s legs release his waist and his hands come to cradle his face.

“Fuck me like you did in the saloon,” he breathes out, looking San in the eyes.

It’s a given that San would do anything his lover asks, throw himself from a cliff included, but something about that particular request doesn’t sit right with him.

“No,” he says, and Wooyoung’s already opening his mouth to protest but San beats him at it. “You know why?” Wooyoung shakes his head. “Because I didn’t love you back then.”

He leans in to pepper wet kisses along his lover’s jaw, finally gliding down his body and showing interest in his chest and belly.

If San likes Wooyoung’s neck, he’s also particularly enthusiastic about his pecs. Just like he is about anything related to Wooyoung, actually. So San lingers over his lover’s nipples he licks and caresses until he has him squirming under him. Then, his hands on Wooyoung’s hips, he teases the edge of his pants, his breath fanning over the younger’s stomach as he looks up to check on him.

“Talk to me,” he demands, unnerved by Wooyoung’s lack of words. That’s unlike him. San loves to listen to his thoughts.

“I want you,” he says. “All of you,” and his eyes are still bleary but San wants to change the reason for it.

He rids him off his pants and props his legs on his shoulders. Immediately, Wooyoung’s hand comes in his hair, for grounding or encouragement, and San smiles at him before he licks a long strip along his perineum to the head of his soft cock he engulfs without further notice.

San doesn’t take his eyes off him as he blows him, letting drool coat his shaft to ease the glide of his hand, and in a matter of minutes, Wooyoung is hard in his mouth and biting on his own hand to remain silent.

That’s when San deems him distracted enough. With a light caress on his thigh, while he keeps licking along the shaft, San gathers saliva on a finger he eases in his hole.

He can feel Wooyoung tense around him, so he takes his cock in his mouth and goes down until he’s slightly gagging from the intrusion in his throat.

“So good, Sanah,” Wooyoung marvels, already out of breath.

He pets his lover’s hair in appreciation before the shift of San’s finger in his ass, grazing against his prostate, makes him tighten his grip. “More,” he demands, his hand caressing San’s cheek and cupping his jaw, requesting something that San doesn’t get at first. That’s until he comes off his cock and lifts his gaze to peer at him.

Wooyoung’s staring already, his lips slightly ajar and his lids heavy. “Kiss me,” he says when he seems to realize that despite his best endeavors, San hasn’t developed the ability to read his mind and it becomes obvious that he’s just wondering why Wooyoung signaled him to pay attention.

At least, the request makes San grin. “Do this, do that,” he sing-songs, but he crawls up his lover’s body nonetheless to drop a kiss on his lips. It makes Wooyoung growl disapprovingly.

“You’re a bitch,” he hisses, yanking San against his mouth.

He roughly shoves his tongue in, meeting San"s halfway just to make it surrender seconds later. San’s feeling weak in the knees, anticipation and desire filling his brain with statics. He quickly rids himself off his pants and guides Wooyoung’s hand to his cock, silently begging for a relief his lover gives without a question.

The glide of his palm along San’s shaft is slow and deliberate, the angle playing against him, and San just knows he’s keeping it that way to be annoying. He can tell from the way Wooyoung makes the kiss messy and more tongue than anything else, nothing but attempts to conquer San’s mouth.

When San has enough of it, he twists his finger and pulls it back to add a second, collecting a moan from his lover’s lips, which only seems to spur him back into action.

The kiss gets wet again, echoing the squelching noises of San’s fingers, the glide of Wooyoung’s palm and the occasional, smothered hums of contentment against his lips. Wooyoung cinches his waist with his legs again, undulating his hips against San as if to ride his fingers, and soon enough, San pushes another in and finishes to prep him to soothe the pleas for more.

“You’re ready?” San whispers, voice low against his lover’s neck.

Wooyoung hasn’t stopped jerking him messily, but San’s worked up enough by the heavy makeout session and his lover’s panting, the clammy warmth emanating from him, that he could come just like that if only Wooyoung tightened his grip.

“I’ve never been readier in my life,” the younger bites back.

San glances at him as he straightens up on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head. “You said that already,” he observes.

His free hand caresses Wooyoung’s thigh, his pupils flicking from the cleft of his ass to the face of his lover who mutters a “Fuck you” that has San raising his eyebrows, amused.

“Actually—” he teases, and lets a bead of saliva drip from his mouth. He watches as it trickles down his lover’s taint, and when he looks up, Wooyoung’s already staring with his lower lip bitten between his teeth. “Pretty,” San comments without thinking. The corner of Wooyoung’s lips twitches in a contained smile.

San guides his cock to Wooyoung’s hole, and the blush that spreads on the younger’s cheek could almost have gone unnoticed with the way he tilts his head backward, exposing the column of his throat as San pushes in slowly.

He doesn’t stop until he’s fully ensheathed in his lover’s tight heat, hips pressed flush against ass, and Wooyoung’s tongue peaks between his teeth as he swiftly humidifies his lips, gazing back at San.

He’s looking steadier, no sign of tears or suspicious, alarming sounds. San’s happy with it. Knowing Wooyoung’s feeling unwell is what gets closer to torture to him, and not doing anything about it feels like complete heresy when he knows such good ways to take his attention away from the pain.

San rolls his lips smoothly to test the water, and Wooyoung’s lips stretch into a lazy grin. So San grips his thighs and finds a rhythm that seems to work for the both of them, the one that has Wooyoung’s mouth go ajar and his lids flutter shut as relish coils in San’s groin and bubbles in his lower belly.

It feels so good to connect with Wooyoung so intimately. San knows him inside and out, he’s learned more about his psyche than he’s ever known anybody else, but this is different. This is the most trust Wooyoung could put in him, and San is determined to show him how much he values it by making him feel good.

He leans forward to cage Wooyoung between his arms, the shift making him open his lids to look at San with his brown eyes that hold a thousand swirling stars. “I’m gonna choke you,” San tells him quietly, watching as excitement in the form of pure light pools into his lover’s irises.

Wooyoung nods energetically. San smiles, and Wooyoung mirrors him before their lips meet in a bruising kiss.

San keeps grinding deep inside of him, punching from Wooyoung’s throat low hums that he swallows from the source.

But he cuts the flow of them with the hand he sneaks around his neck, and Wooyoung tenses instinctively. He reaches for San’s wrist, his lids heavier and heavier as the pressure increases. His body slackens. San monitors every tension on his face, from the slight crease between his eyebrows to the barely visible twitch of the corner of his lips.

They’re ajar and shiny with spit, adorned with the beauty spot San uses as a beacon for the soft kisses he lays around and on his mouth.

San releases his hold, and Wooyoung gasps. His gaze’s hazy when he looks at San like he’s the most precious treasure on Earth. His arms come to circle San’s back and his fingers graze his spine with something akin to reverence.

San smiles. Wooyoung smiles back naturally, enticed by the sight of two endearing dimples and the crinkling of his lover’s eyes.

He’s the one who pulls San into a kiss, fingers of one hand raking through his hair, the other gripping his ass. Wooyoung’s undulating his hips to meet his thrusts halfway and his quest for more spurs San to accompany him toward the edge. He puts more power behind his thrusts, hips snapping against skin in a way he’d find embarrassing if he weren’t so keen on making his lover feel the best he can.

He squeezes Wooyoung’s neck and watches him unravel before his eyes. The pressure makes him lightheaded. His hold over San’s wrist loosens until he drops his arms on the mattress to simply grab San’s forearm next to his head, his breath coming out as ragged puffs of warm air on San’s face.

As a response, San intertwines their fingers on the mattress.

When he lets Wooyoung’s brain receive his unrestricted blood flow again, the younger mutters a vague curse that makes San grin.

San knows he’s teetering over the edge, and the dizziness will only make the free fall rapturous.

He spits on his hand and seizes Wooyoung’s cock to jerk him with quick strokes and wicked twists of his wrist, the way he knows his lover likes. In response, a breathy moan escapes Wooyoung’s lips.

“Fuck, I love you,” Wooyoung babbles. His back arches magnificently, and his fingers that are not crushing San’s hand are digging into his shoulder blade.

San chuckles, but his amusement is short-lived when Wooyoung tightens around him like a vice. Wooyoung comes hard with a strangled moan, his nails digging indents in San’s shoulders and his head tilted backward, baring his throat that San devours with his open-mouthed kisses.

Wooyoung is shaking lightly, his fingers soothing the scratches he left on San’s skin as he inhales sharply.

San lets his head loll forward against his lover’s shoulder, panting in his neck as he chases his own release. Everything is hot and clammy. San’s attention zeroes in on the warm feeling spreading in his core and the man under him.

Wooyoung has tensed under him, his skin sweaty and burning so much that San is convinced that they’ll thaw and merge into a single entity. But they don’t melt. Wooyoung softly runs his heel against his San’ side and San’s heart combusts before the fire in the pit of his belly expands tenfold.

“You’re so good, my love,” Wooyoung pants in his ear. “Come for me.”

San feels lightheaded, his brain in a haze that’s only pierced by Wooyoung’s voice and the sensation of his strong body against San’s.

He makes a humming sound, planting on Wooyoung’s shoulder a wet kiss that morphs into nibbling that turns into a bite. But San keeps his jaw slack so as not to hurt, simply occupies his mouth as he moans low in his throat.

It registers in some part of his brain that Wooyoung is whispering words of affirmation and encouragement in his ear, but San barely hears as his orgasm blows up in his core and he comes deep into his lover’s body, Wooyoung smothering his cry with a crushing kiss that finishes to take San’s breath away.

He’s barely keeping himself above Wooyoung when he realizes he dropped onto his forearms at some point, half his weight resting on the younger.

San shifts to remove himself from him but Wooyoung stops him. He snakes his arms around San’s neck and keeps him close, forehead against forehead, their heavy breath mingling together.

“I love you too, with my whole heart,” San whispers.

It makes Wooyoung smile, something akin to nostalgia welling in his longing eyes, and San presses a kiss on his lips to try and replace it with joy.

It works to a certain extent. Wooyoung giggles lightly and kisses him back.

They make out until San complains about the stickiness of their bodies, and Wooyoung teases him a bit but he smiles fondly as he watches San retrieve a flannel. He’s happy to lay there until San has cleaned them both, and he embraces him the second he plops back on top of him.

San presses a kiss in the crook of Wooyoung’s neck before he nuzzles there, humming contentedly.

“Can you do something for me?” Wooyoung says quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that fell over the tent. San was actually about to doze off.

“Anything,” San hums, repeating what he already promised earlier. It’s almost offensive that Wooyoung still thinks he has to ask.

“I want to be buried with something of you.”

San finds himself choking on air, his body tensing subconsciously. But he doesn’t move, refusing to see the shadows that might be dancing on his lover’s face.

He really hoped that proving his love to Wooyoung would take his mind off the doom, but of course, it hasn’t. If only it was that simple. The sex only was a short-lived distraction.

“Please don’t ignore me,” Wooyoung pleads when San stays silent. But San isn’t ignoring him, it’s the lump in his throat that prevents him from forming any word.

His thoughts are swirling, each one more distressing than the other, and San wishes he could freeze time so Wooyoung would live forever by his side.

“I’m not ignoring you,” San assures, guilt adding to the choking knot in his throat.

He lifts himself so he can look his lover in the eyes, so Wooyoung can see that he’s genuine. And he was right to be scared. Wooyoung’s gaze has lost its blissful, glutted quality. It’s just haunted and gloomy now, the black of his pupils swirling with sorrow but also with something darker, something fierce. Something like determination.

“We’ll be buried together,” San reminds him, unable to smooth the upset frown that creases his forehead. “You’ll have all of me.”

“San,” Wooyoung says lowly, a warning, clearly upset too. It has ebbed, the post-orgasmic haze that made them cuddle together in silence just a minute ago.

San sighs, trying to alleviate the ball of anxiety in his chest.

He stands up, slipping pants on as he pads to his duffle bag in the corner. While he’s rummaging through his stuff, San can hear ruffling behind him and he just knows that Wooyoung sat up to watch him. His stare’s burning San’s back. Wooyoung probably believes that San is ignoring him again, and so he calls his name, urgent, pleading, and slightly annoyed.

San doesn’t answer before he finds what he’s looking for. When he comes back to his lover, he finds him exactly like he imagined him: side-sitting on the mattress, furrowed eyebrows and his eyes riveted on San.

San sits in front of him, opening his hand to reveal the necklace he retrieved under his packed belongings.

Wooyoung’s pupils linger on the dog plate before they flick back to meet San’s eyes, unreadable. “I don’t have anything else,” San admits, and he thinks he knows why Wooyoung’s reluctant to take it. Not only is it a symbol of the Federation, those who implicitly fund the oppression of the people of Spartha, but it’s also carved with a name that’s not San’s but a mere cover.

“The ID’s really mine,” he justifies helplessly, pleading eyes trying to convince his lover to accept it. San really has nothing else to give him.

“You’re not a number,” Wooyoung mutters, and San fears he’ll really reject the offering, but he doesn’t.

Wooyoung takes it from San’s hand and lightly thumbs the engraved plates.

They’ve talked about it. San confided everything about his past, how he joined the FDA and rose to the special status he had assumed before he deserted. Wooyoung knows that those numbers have been San’s sole identity and purpose for more than a decade. They represent who he was in that life, before Wooyoung crashed into it and turned his world upside down.

They’re meaningful in some dark, twisted way.

“Thank you,” Wooyoung ends up whispering when he seems to come to that same conclusion.

His gaze catches San’s and he smiles softly, squeezing his thigh in gratitude. San smiles back, exhaling in relief. He never wanted to disappoint Wooyoung. He didn’t want to see him refuse the only meaningful thing he was able to give.

Wooyoung hands him the dog plate and turns his back to him so San can fasten the chain around his neck. The skin’s still reddish from the pressure it received earlier. San leans in to press an apologetic kiss against it, circling Wooyoung’s waist from behind when his lover reaches back to caress his head.

But before San can relax into the hug, Wooyoung twists in his arms to face him again, half sitting in his lap now, and his eyes shine with the promise of a newfound resolution of his. San doesn’t hold his gaze long though, his own pupils being attracted by the sight of his plates standing out on amber skin.

Silver’s always been Wooyoung’s color more than his anyway.

“For you,” Wooyoung tells him, and San looks into his eyes, then at the beaded bracelet he’s taking off his wrist.

It’s the one he was wearing the first night, red, purple, and green round beads on an elastic thread. A gift from Wooyoung’s nephew.

“You sure?” San asks.

Wooyoung hums, taking San’s hand to slip the bracelet around his wrist. “I have another one,” he says, and he shows the other bracelet, similar to the first in colors, that Meerkat gave him before they made him cross the border to Knossos.

There are a billion things San wants to say, especially since he knows this is the most proper goodbye they will have, the only one that won’t be tainted by blood and agony. But his throat’s closed off and not a single word comes out of his mouth.

Quietly, he lifts a hand to cup Wooyoung’s cheek. It allows him not to drown in the maelstrom of confused emotions that swirl in Wooyoung’s irises, because San finds a sudden interest in the contemplation of his palm that frames his lover’s face.

His jaw fits perfectly in his palm. Meant to be.

San caresses his lover’s lip with a slow graze of his thumb. The pad of his finger lightly presses on the beauty spot adorning it as if to memorize the shape of it.

If only he could carve Wooyoung’s image behind his lids, this way he’d be able to keep seeing him even in death. That’s all San would ask for. His soul would find peace, but for that to happen, destiny would have to be merciful. It never is.

Wooyoung’s still holding his hand in his warm palm, short puffs of air coming out of his parted lips.

San wants him to never let go of him. He also wants to cry, and he knows for a fact that the second he tries to talk, the damn dam will break and he won’t be able to stop.

Wooyoung takes a deep breath, catching San’s attention though he quickly lowers his eyes back to their linked hand, refusing to watch any longer the pain and sorrow colliding on his lover’s face. There’s also his own eyes where tears have welled up despite his endeavors to keep himself in check, for Wooyoung’s sake. San doesn’t want him to see him break down, not now.

But Wooyoung has gathered his courage and he’s never been one not to say what he needs to say.

“You know I love you, so so much” he begins. His voice is strained. San nods. “And every moment with you was the happiest I’ve ever been — San, look at me.”

San doesn’t want to, yet he does because Wooyoung is his favorite sight in any possible timeline. He lifts his eyes, catching his lover’s teary yet fierce gaze. As if in encouragement, Wooyoung squeezes his fingers.

“You’re the light in all of my lives, and I’m beyond grateful that you found me,” he continues, and his voice breaks. Tears stream down his cheeks like raindrops, and it takes all of San’s willpower not to start weeping too when Wooyoung cradles his face and presses their foreheads together.

He must stay strong for Wooyoung like Wooyoung has been for him the past weeks.

Since he Awakened, he’s known that he would die but no one has been able to tell. He’s remained himself, strong and opinionated even when distraught, and it has all been for the sake of the people he loves.

San grips his lover’s neck to pull him into his embrace. Wooyoung immediately nuzzles in the crook of his shoulder where he muffles uncontrollable sobs in his shirt. San gently rubs his back, burying his own nose in his lover’s hair to breathe in his persevering scent of incense.

“It’s not the end, my beloved, just another chapter,” San whispers. “I’ll find you again. Or you’ll find me. I know you’ll make me remember us.”

If things go in order, Wooyoung should Awaken first in their next life. Who knows how the world will be then? Things change so much in between each metempsychosis — the universe could collapse before they get to meet again in another timeline. But San doesn’t voice his angst because Wooyoung’s already weeping in his arms. Instead, he keeps whispering soft words in his lover’s ear until the tears subside and Wooyoung rests boneless against him.

San gently shifts them so he can lay Wooyoung on his back. Wooyoung lets him, his eyes red and hazy as San pulls the blanket over them and huddles against his lover’s side, his ear over his beating heart.

“I’m sorry I’ve been difficult with you,” Wooyoung says quietly, his voice rough from the crying.

San’s drawing arabesques on his bare stomach, and his fingers almost freeze at the unnecessary apology. “You’re not difficult,” he objects. “You’re headstrong, passionate, and a little annoying sometimes, but that’s how I love you.”

Wooyoung rakes his fingers in San’s hair, huffing what looks like a laugh. “Even when I force-feed you?”

“Mm, even then,” San grins, twisting his head to press a kiss on Wooyoung’s chest.

There is a short moment of silence during which all San can hear is the thrumming of his lover’s heart against his ribs and his regular breathing mingling with his. Then Wooyoung speaks again: “I’m in love with you,” he says like a confidence.

San shouldn’t laugh, it’s not supposed to be funny, but he laughs all the same, propping himself on his forearm to gaze at Wooyoung with a glint of amusement behind his irises.

“No way?” he teases, and his grin triggers a smile that spreads on Wooyoung’s lips though he shyly turns his gaze away.

“Don’t mock me,” he protests weakly.

“I’m not,” San chuckles. “I’m in love with you too.” Wooyoung’s pupils flick back to meet his. To San’s despair, they’re welling up with tears again.

“Can you sing?”

San nods, changing his position so he’s plastered against Wooyoung’s side, a leg hooked over his as Wooyoung firms up his hold over his shoulders.

San lowly sings a lullaby, and another, and another, until Wooyoung’s fingers stop moving in his hair and the excursion of his breathing betrays that he’s fallen asleep.

It’s probably so early that they won’t be able to get much sleep, and San’s already cursing himself for that the weariest he is, the least able to anticipate the danger and fight he will be. It’s not like he could prevent something to happen to Wooyoung, History has repeatedly proven that he only wears himself out in vain, but he still needs to try.

San closes his eyes and finds out he can’t shut off his train of distraught thoughts, which only makes him grow antsier. He feels like he can’t breathe anymore, his throat constricted and raw from the tears he’s trying so badly to hold back. But he can’t do it anymore; his heart’s too heavy to keep it in, and so San starts weeping against his very much alive, warm, and breathing lover. It feels so wrong, to start mourning someone who hasn’t died, but San can’t help it. The idea of Wooyoung’s upcoming death feels like agony, and no amount of reasoning could assuage it.

San doesn’t fall asleep. He passes out from exertion as the sun has already begun to rise, its pale rays enshrouding the tent with pastel light that dances on Wooyoung’s peaceful features like a halo.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

San trails a few steps behind Wooyoung.

He’s never been so scared in his life, not even before the trickiest of his missions; but fear is too strong of an emotion for him to let it close its clutches around his heart, so San shuts down everything that comes from the inside to focus on the outside.

That’s the only way he can deal with the knowledge that Wooyoung is living his last moments, but that’s also what’s alienating San from his lover. They’ve barely talked since they left the camp and said their goodbyes to the rebels, and Wooyoung tried sneaking a few words but San only answered tersely.

He’s feeling terrible for making his last time with Wooyoung that tense and stressful, but he really can’t find it in himself to make conversation when a threat could appear anytime to slaughter his lover.

It takes hours. Hours of agonizing waiting during which San keeps his eyes wide open and his attention on their vicinity. He expects to hear footsteps or rotor noise. Maybe a dog will jump them and rip them apart. But the frontier gets closer and closer and nothing happens. Not a noise, nothing between the trees or in the sky.

Wooyoung is walking fast and San follows closely, quenching the glimmer of hope that struggles to light up in his chest.

“I need a pause,” Wooyoung ends up saying after four hours of unrelenting trek in the mountains.

“No,” San cuts him off, overtaking him when his lover slows down his pace.

“Sanah.”

San looks behind his shoulder to see that Wooyoung has stopped. So he stops as well with furrowed eyebrows. “Come on, we’ll stop when we’re there,” he grits out. San turns around to join him, and he takes Wooyoung’s hand to pull him forward. But Wooyoung resists and doesn’t budge.

“We can’t stop now!”

“I’m tired! You’re tired too, we need a break,” Wooyoung argues, freeing his hand from San’s grip.

“I’m not tired,” San lies. “You can continue for another hour.”

He doesn’t understand and it’s frustrating him. Wooyoung has to know that the longer they stay in the mountain on this side of the border, the higher the risk of him getting killed. There must only be four kilometers separating them from Knossos. They’ll rest once they’re on the safe side, where the paramilitary doesn’t have the power to shoot them.

“It’s not because you tire me out that it’s gonna change anything,” Wooyoung snaps back through gritted teeth.

San knows he’s pissing him off, and he also knows that they’re both on edge and that Wooyoung is right.

“You can keep walking if you like, I’ll catch up with you,” he continues, sitting under a tree with a hint of defiance mixing with the annoyance in his irises.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” San sighs.

Wooyoung looks up at him, presumably unsure of what San’s next move will be, but San comes to sit next to him in silence.

Wooyoung watches him for a few seconds before he looks away and rummages through his bag to find his water bottle. He silently hands it to San who gulps a few times, his eyes riveted to the fragrant humus under him.

“It’s behind the valley,” Wooyoung observes. “We’ve never been this close.”

San’s eyes flick to meet his gaze.

He realizes that Wooyoung is hopeful, but hope is a dangerous thing to feel when your life is bound to end in the next hours.

Never in any life have they been so close to getting to safety, but they would be fools to believe they’re out of danger already.

San won’t slacken before they’ve found Wooyoung’s family and have put as much distance between them and Spartha as possible.

“Yes,” he says. “But we’re not there yet.”

Wooyoung grunts, taking another sip of water before he puts the bottle back in his bag. “Let’s go,” he declares, much to San’s joy, as he offers his hand to help him get up.

A peat bog extends in the valley between two uplands. It’s mostly shallow water that smells like mud. Thin, tall trees that lack leaves and conifers sprinkle the bare land, and the earth is covered with moss and rushes. The landscape is breathtaking, but they’re also completely exposed. Nothing covers them, there’s nothing to hide under, and a sniper lying in an ambush higher in the mountain could easily gun them down without them ever knowing where the bullet came from.

San’s firmly holding his rifle, ready to retaliate when it happens, and so he stumbles a few times in mud puddles to the point Wooyoung ends up laughing at him. San doesn’t want to ease off but he smiles too, mostly because hearing Wooyoung’s cackle is what works best to lighten his mood, even when they’re getting closer and closer to their death.

But they reach the end of the peat unharmed, and they find the cover of sparse woods.

Wooyoung is still walking ahead with a stick he found somewhere along the way. Alive.

“Wooyoungah,” San calls, making his lover slow down until they’re side by side. “It’s strange.”

“Just admit you wanna get rid of me,” Wooyoung mutters, the joke coming off a little bit too biting for it not to betray Wooyoung’s nervousness.

“That’s right,” San huffs in the same tone. “Only reason I haven’t shot you myself is because I don’t want to waste a bullet.”

The corner of Wooyoung’s lips twitches with a grin. “Sure,” he says, briefly grazing San’s cheek.

They walk in silence for a moment longer, and San is starting to tire out as well though he keeps a steady pace and stubbornly refuses to let his state of alert slacken in the slightest. That’s why he jumps and almost shoots a rabbit when it skedaddles hurriedly as they approach.

It’s the only living creature they encounter.

“San,” Wooyoung whispers, blindly reaching for San’s arm.

San looks at him with a frown, then at the stone he’s poking with his stick.

It’s a white stela that’s almost invisible under a bramble, but Wooyoung was looking for it. There are letters engraved on one side, ST. When they look at the other side, they can read the initials KS.

San catches Wooyoung’s eyes, equally as speechless as he is, and no one dares to say anything as they keep walking past the trees whose trunks are marked with red crosses.

They reach the edge of the woods. Wooyoung strides forward with renewed determination, and San’s too stunned and confused to do anything but quicken his pace to catch up with him.

Out of paranoia, San turns around to sweep the purlieu of the woods through the scope of his rifle. But it’s completely still, no sign of danger or life. There’s no one to stop their progression.

The plain that greets them is vast and green, delimited in square plots by dense hedges, and sprinkled with spots of bright colors where wildflowers bloom.

As Wooyoung walks among them, a myriad of dandelion seeds flies away, and San watches the scene with a striking feeling of deja vu. Oh, he loved Dandelions, that’s why he named his dove after them. They remind him of moments of carefree joy and utter serenity, of Wooyoung’s incense scent, and cool nights under the willow tree, snuggled against the man he loves.

They’ve always been a good omen to him, and he prays for it to remain that way.

San smiles to himself and catches up with Wooyoung who glances at him.

“What?” he asks, repressing a grin of his own.

“Make a wish,” San says as he leans to pick up a dandelion he hands to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s smile widens. He takes the flower, gives San a wistful look, and blows.

“What was it?” San questions when Wooyoung doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll tell you when we arrive,” Wooyoung says with a discreet grin.

When.

San pets the nape of Wooyoung"s neck, giving a sweeping look around in search of the threat that would jeopardize their plan. But despite a grazing flock of sheep, nothing disturbs the quiet of the plain.

“How long?” he asks.

“Before the night,” Wooyoung answers, sounding so hopeful that San’s heart clenches.

The plains are endless, only interrupted by a few hamlets surrounded by enclosed pastures. San follows Wooyoung blindly because he doesn’t know where they are going, all he knows is that anyone could be a danger, so he keeps his rifle in his hands and makes sure no one looks at them the wrong way. But the only people they encounter are civilians who don’t wish them any harm; Wooyoung even makes a stop by a pub to fill their water bottles before they resume their journey, and the villagers are so polite to them.

Wooyoung was right. As the sun begins to set, casting golden hues on the green landscape, he breaks into a smile so bright it outshines the falling sunlight.

“It’s here, that’s the village,” he enthuses, pointing at a small town tucked in the valley just between two mountains.

They skirt around a lake, and Wooyoung scurries toward the first houses that mark the beginning of the village. San follows closely, his rifle bumping against his back and reminding him that he should be ready for anything, because their arrival doesn’t mean that everything will be okay from now on. Maybe they’ll find out that Wooyoung’s family never made it. Maybe FDA agents are waiting for them with guns and a desire to make San pay.

But when Wooyoung knocks on the door of a three-story house, the middle-aged woman who opens it doesn’t seem more threatening than the rabbit they encountered in the forest.

“Hi mom,” Wooyoung says, breaking into such a beautiful smile that San feels his heart speeds up.

“Oh,” the woman goes, obviously astounded, and San realizes that she didn’t know that they were coming. “What are you doing here?” she continues with wide eyes that quickly fill with tears. The next moment, she wraps her arms around Wooyoung’s neck and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“I missed you, I’m coming with you for good,” Wooyoung says.

They pull away, the woman wiping her eyes before she seems to notice San. But before she can ask anything, a voice interrupts her.

“Nana?” a child calls, and San sees Meerkat peek from another room. His eyes go wide, and then he disappears, screaming: “Dad! Lulu’s here!”

Wooyoung grins as he glances inside the house. “Is everyone home? Gina made it safely?”

“Yes, everyone’s here,” his mother says. “Who are you bringing?”

Wooyoung turns to San and holds out his hand to prompt him to get closer. San doesn’t dare meet the woman’s eyes, too scared that she’ll see something in him that she doesn’t like, but he still steps forward and takes his lover’s hand because he trusts him to give a flattering introduction. He said his mother would love San anyway, didn’t he?

“That’s my… That’s the man I love. That’s San,” Wooyoung says, casting on San a gaze that brims over with utter affection and a soft smile that speaks of pure tenderness.

San smiles back, and then he finds in Wooyoung’s words the courage to meet the gaze of his mother-in-law.

She’s silent for a moment, her eyes scrutinizing him with the same fire San was so drawn into the first time he met Wooyoung. San holds his breath until she nods and grins, reaching for San to pull him into a hug.

“I’m happy to meet you, San,” she says, lightly patting his back before she releases him.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” San repeats, almost shyly to the point that Wooyoung chuckles, glancing at him with mirth in his eyes.

“Don’t be scared, I never bit anybody,” the woman teases as she steps back to let them in.

That’s when Meerkat comes back accompanied by his mother and someone who must be his father. There’s also Wooyoung’s other brother and his father that doesn’t question San’s presence but simply shakes his hand warmly. Wooyoung’s sister-in-law lets him know that the other woman and children with whom they crossed the border live near, and San promises to himself that he’ll visit them to see how they are doing.

That night, as he lays against Wooyoung’s chest to listen to his steady heartbeat, San realizes that they’re safe. It still feels unreal, even when Wooyoung pets his hair and tells him about childhood memories with his brothers.

They made it. Their elopement didn’t cause their demise.

What was different? Should they expect the worst to come?

San doesn’t want to.

He spent the past months living with fear in his belly, fear of witnessing the death of the love of his life, fear of losing him again, and he doesn’t want to keep living this way.

Maybe this life is different.

San wants to believe it is.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“What was it, the wish you made with the dandelion?”

Wooyoung grins impishly. “To live a long, boring life with you,” he says.

San chuckles, pulling on his lover’s hand until he’s crashing against his chest with a carefree giggle. “That’s what I thought,” San smiles. “I can’t wait to be bored senseless with you.”