Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

+𓆱

On one side of Jooyeon, is Jiseok, adopting a proper gait and posture, an outfit he’s used to wearing, but is a little out of touch with. It’s been quite a bit, since he’s had to do it. It’s like he’s grown a little bit out of it, and it pinches him where it’s too small for him, between cinched fabric and frayed seams. It shows in the purse of his lips, the crinkles around his nose. 

On the other side, vastly different in every conceivable way, is Hyeongjun. Taller than either of them, he’s awkward and clunky trying to keep in pace. He moves too jerkily, too stiffly, too improperly. He doesn’t have an outfit like Jiseok, much less a closet where one might rest. However, now, it doesn’t sway him. 

They have several things in common, beneath the surface, Jiseok and he, and it sparks between them when they meet each other’s eyes. It inlays strength in their spines they didn’t know they could have or could want. It’s a bittersweet connection, when it requires this to be maintained. 

Jooyeon has already requested his father’s presence; he alerted a nearby staff who’d dropped all that they were doing to rush to complete the task at hand. So when they enter one of the lounges, he’s already sitting there, waiting, idly handling a figurine ship model. 

He barely acknowledges them, entranced by the small thing, made to look smaller in his wide palms. “I was almost excited to be requested, Jooyeon. I thought you’d finally want to spend time with your father, even on a trip.” With a sigh, and a smile, he sets down the model, every bit not as hostile as Hyeongjun for some reason had expected. “Clearly, you mean business.”

In Hyeongjun’s mind Jooyeon and business don’t mix. Then again, neither does Gunil and business, yet they were both bred for it, if he thinks about it. Realizing he’s witnessing a new side of Jooyeon right now, his attention reshapes, cutting in on Jooyeon curiously. How is he going to go about this? Hyeongjun didn’t know. He didn’t even know why he was here at all. He’d followed, on a whim. Emotional support, perhaps?

However, much like he is outside of a monitored and serious situation, Jooyeon here is blunt, straightforward. He barely replies to his father, greeting him with, “I need you to break off your deal with Sir Cliffs.” No buildup, no bearing around the bush. Directly to the point. Hyeongjun could never. 

Nonplussed, Lord Bane raises a brow, leaning back in his grand, big armed chair. “So he told you all the details I suppose? You can imagine how surprised I was when he marched in here with that up his sleeve. You’ve made a good friend, Jooyeon.” He makes a noise of approval, smiling pleasantly to himself, not even for the rest of them. 

Something about the progressing exchange befuddles Hyeongjun. He looks to Jiseok, chewing on his cheek, trying to seek his answer. Jiseok is too concentrated on it himself though, burrowed into his head as his gaze flickers between the father and son, catching and storing every word carefully. 

So he looks to Jooyeon instead. Jooyeon who’s…pouting? And–oh, this is a conversation between a father and a son. Truly. A former child and the adult who had raised him. It’s nothing like what Hyeongjun had ever predicted from a lord. He’d have thought it was strict and harsh, emotionless and unbiased. Gunil’s story has stuck with him, even more so than he’d originally believed. 

Now he sees why Jooyeon had decided so suddenly to come here first. With his father, they actually stand a chance. In great bounds and increments, Hyeongjun relaxes, expelling a silent stream of air. They stand a chance. 

“I’m not going to stand for it,” Jooyeon says, “I won't have it. Gunil will not marry into our family and we will not hold him hostage for our benefit.”

“I didn’t make the deal,” comments Lord Bane absently, but Jooyeon treks on as if he’s said nothing. 

And Jooyeon falters, the son in him cracking him open, revealing a specific brand of vulnerability. It reminds Hyeongjun of Seungmin, in a way. “But.” Lord Bane’s eyes snap to him, intrigued.

In a lower tone, serious through and through, showing all that Jooyeon has picked up on and understood from them in his life changing time here. Jooyeon continues. “But we cannot leave him behind. His father wants him gone and if we aren’t the ones to do it, someone else will be.”

The fact cuts through Hyeongjun simple and true. It pierced his heart and he can’t bear looking anywhere else but at the tufted carpet beneath his boots. 

“ I am not going to leave him behind. Like you said, I’ve made a good friend. I want to give him as much as he’s tried to give me. Take him with us, all of him and his family. Whoever is willing to come. We convince his father we’ve satisfied him. And then Gunil gets his rightful heritage when he's dead and buried, not me.”

Hyeongjun dares observe Lord Bane then, peering at him through a slanted angle, his head still lowered. Nothing can prepare him for Lord Bane’s response. 

“Alright.”

He straightens, wildly, his neck cracking at the swift force. Jooyeon grins, pleased, and Jiseok hardly reacts, unsurprised to an extent. Lord Bane stands, rounding the table, and places both his hands on Jooyeon’s shoulders, clasping his son firmly. 

He smiles. “You’ve grown so much in such a short time, my boy. I’m proud of you frankly. I didn’t really expect it, I’m sorry to admit. Perhaps, I’ll be a bit more lenient, in letting you stray from the nest.”

Jooyeon positively beams, and Hyeongjun feels he has to look away lest he be blinded. “Really?…So you’ll do it, so you’ll take Gunil with us and then take him back when it’s time?”

Wheezing in a very paternal manner, Lord Bane pats his son solidly on the back before pacing back to his seat, amused. “I’m not cruel. Maybe overbearing,” he sighs, “Which I apologize for, son. Truly…I didn’t realize how bad I was until now. Until you became so desperate to be free from me. I’ll try to be better.”

Hyeongjun distinctly begins to feel like he’s intruding. No one pays him mind. He’s also downright bewildered. His late father was barely this forthcoming, and Gunil’s father was no good example to ever summon. 

“I’ll take that poor boy from the clutches of this manor if that’s what either of you please. I’ll take him anywhere he wants to go. This experience enough has solidified our ties with him. I doubt we’ll have to worry about that anymore. So…whatever you think best, Jooyeon. I trust you.” 

Contradicting his next statement, he ruffles Jooyeon’s hair fondly. “You’re no longer a kid.”

Hyeongjun has never seen Jooyeon so prideful. He notes it, the way praise lifts the corners of Jooyeon’s mouth just so. Though he freezes, when pinned beneath it, the intent in Jooyeon’s eyes making him indiscernibly nervous. 

He’s about to be crass again. 

Out of the blue, Jooyeon reaches for him, links their arms and pulls Hyeongjun close, too close to be proper. He blushes, doe-eyed and made prey under Lord Bane’s interest. 

“Hopefully he’ll be coming with us too, father,” he announces, blithe, “For this man, Han Hyeongjun, is my beau.” 

Never before has five words so utterly nerve wracking, filled Hyeongjun with such joy. 

FUN FACT: 

MALE SPARROWS ARE INCREDIBLY PROTECTIVE OF THEIR NESTING SITES. 

+⚘

The chefs decide to just hand him a vat of soup. Atop the container are bowls and ladles for it. Holding that all in his arms, Seungmin bumbles through the door, heaving it onto the table. He rubs his hands where the handles had bit into his palms, leaving behind minuscule red marks and white lines. 

Huffing out a breath of air, Seungmin quickly checks the fire before turning around. Wearily, Jungsu stares back at him. Coddled in his arms, Gunil is once again asleep. He smiles at Seungmin in lieu of a greeting, looking a bit tired himself. 

Shoulders slumping, Seungmin sighs. “I didn’t do all that for nothing, did I?” Not only was Gunil asleep, but Jungsu looked close to it, bundled up in the loveseat, radiating a content Seungmin is honestly envious of right now. Having yet to speak with Gunil or Jiseok, disrest still plagues the chatter of his mind, tireless. 

Stifling a yawn, Jungsu shakes his head placatingly. “He’ll be awake before we know it. Without warning too.” Like the times before, unexpected and near alarming. 

Humming in acknowledgment, Seungmin brings the chair he’d been sitting in earlier closer to them, settling in it with his legs to his chest and leaning to one arm. “Is he doing alright? The fever going down?” Because Jungsu would know the answer to those questions intimately, based on their closeness, the mess of their crossed legs and unkempt hairs. Seungmin can only hope he and Jiseok possess more decorum than that. Everyone has caught on but they haven’t caught . 

Carefully, Jungsu sits up, adjusting Gunil to lay over his lap. Despite all the movement, Gunil doesn’t stir. Near death is doing wonders for his ability to rest. “No longer delirious,” offers Jungsu, “A little warm. Still shivering and a bit slurred, but mostly, he’s okay.” The way his mouth curls at that, involuntary and quietly exuberant, assures Seungmin more than anything else. 

Subtle, Seungmin expresses his own relief, deflating against the chair, most of all the stress and worry that had been eating away at him fleeing his body. Jungsu eyes him, thoughtful, before slowly lifting Gunil’s head and standing, tenderly laying him back into the loveseat, and placing the blanket back over him. He does it with so much fondness, it’s almost invasive to watch. “When he wakes I’ll leave and maybe change. I think I’ve been hogging him.” He smiles apologetically and Seungmin snorts. 

While they wait, Jungsu naturally lays out the bowls over the low raised table, opening the pot Seungmin had been given, and distributing the soup among all six of them. 

“I wanna say thank you,” Seungmin blurts, not even expecting it himself. Jungsu pauses, looking at him puzzled. “I just…I was upset with him for it but, I think if you hadn't showed up to the ball that night, and convinced him to do something stupid, we wouldn’t be here.” He looks at Gunil, the bruises littering his limbs and face. 

He grimaces. “Not that this is the best outcome. This could’ve been prevented–What I’m saying is if you hadn’t intervened, they’d already be gone. Jooyeon, Jiseok. Him. And we’d have never had this. You know? Us.” The great thing they’ve created. Families wrought beyond blood merging and forming into something larger than itself, larger than life. It’s something that can’t just happen . It was forged. 

FUN FACT: 

GUNIL AND HYEONGJUN COULD EXTEND THE SAME THANKS TO JISEOK AS WELL. NO ONE DOUBTS THE ROLE HE PLAYED AND TURNING OH SEUNGMIN’S LIFE ON ITS HEAD.

Fazed, Jungsu places the ladle into the pot, placing the lid back on to preserve as much warmth and freshness as possible. “Yeah. I guess I was onto something there,” he jokes weakly, “Thank you too, for not scaring me off. I know you were capable of it, and had every reason to do so. But you’re a really good person, Seungmin, and I’m very glad to know you.” 

And Seungmin hadn’t expected that last part, ducking his head, pleased. Their moment is interrupted by the rustling of blankets and cushioning. “Is that soup?” 

Taking a bowl, Jungsu bends down to Gunil’s level, handing it to him. “And that’s my cue.” He bumps his head against Gunil’s affectionately, placing a kiss there before righting himself and making his way to the door. 

“Where are you going?” mumbles Gunil, stirring the spoon around the bowl, staring at his reflection in the broth strangely, a bit distractedly. There’s an oddity to the way he handles the dish, cautious and tentative. 

“You two need to talk.” 

+εϊз

It’s been a lot longer than is usual in any universe, since Gunil has been left alone with Seungmin. Typically, every waking day and hour, he would’ve been with Seungmin. It’s weird, being glad that that has changed. There’s nothing of that nostalgia here though, just a lurking tension that leers at them from afar, threatening. You can hear the wind, howling with a fury outside and overhead, beating at the walls and windows. 

Trying to distract himself from it, Gunil takes a sip of the soup, pulling a face at the feeling of it, wet and warm sliding down his throat. His stomach is empty, but it lurches anyways at the slightest taste of sodium. Forcing past it, he takes another. He’ll continue to do it until it feels better. Until it feels normal.

“Usually we don’t keep secrets from each other,” Seungmin remarks, faking casualty. But Gunil hears in him the little kid he’d grown up with. Spiteful and wounded, carrying all that hurt within, lashing out in the barest fractions, leaving paper cuts in the place of gashes. 

Gunil forgets the soup, balancing it between his crossed legs, letting the warmth seep through the ceramic and into his bones, soothing the long suffering aching and stinging. “I don’t think we’ve ever had the chance to.” There had never been any reason to, never any space to. 

They never had to say anything, they just knew. No one had to talk about the things they didn’t like, because they knew what those were. They shared them. Their thorned truths passed between three pairs of scabbed hands like hot potato. 

He smiles wryly. “You could call it a milestone.” 

Unimpressed, Seungmin glares at him. He pushes himself up from his seat, plopping down beside Gunil. “Why aren’t you eating?” Which would seem to delve from the original topic, but it doesn’t. Not for them. It branches out from it. Daring Gunil to lie now, to give Seungmin some farcity to appease his obvious concern. 

This is a test Gunil can’t fail. He stares down into the bowl, jaw twinging. “My throat hurts,” he supplies, “But still…it’s hard drinking something. Like…water, or something.” He can only hope it doesn’t sound as stupid as it feels. He sighs. “I certainly can’t attempt to eat any of the solid things.” 

The frown becomes a stain on Seungmin’s face, and there’s nothing around here to wash it out. There’s nothing he can do about what’s been done, what it’s doing , to Gunil. However, Gunil can. The handle of the spoon hits the brim of the bowl with a loud clink. “It was killing me the whole time, keeping it from you.” 

With no hesitation. “Then why?” Blunt and unforgiving. Pleading . 

No longer busying himself with the spoon, the play pretend of eating, Gunil thumbs the knob of his knee. His back had broken the fall, so he was less bruised there. “You’re my only family, you know that right? My father—he’s not. He’s not my father. Since I can remember, all I’ve had is you and Hyeongjun. You guys were—are my everything.” Even that, was a gross understatement. 

He looks up at Seungmin, taking in his expression, not bothering to hide from it. There’s a blatant heartbreak there, one he has to reconcile with putting there himself. With hurt, but also an openness. He’s listening to Gunil. Hearing him out. “I couldn’t really bear with the thought of leaving you,” he rasps, voice straying from him, a kite in the breeze, drifting further and further. 

Getting choked up was not helping him now. “So I didn’t. Not really. Telling you would…It would make it more real. And it would hurt .” He swallows, and it grates the insides of his mouth. He might as well be inhaling rusty nails and sharpened razor blades. It makes the tears welling at the corners of his eyes, fall, dropping in rivulets down his cheeks. He wipes at them but it’s fruitless, and he can’t even speak. 

Seungmin reaches down, pulling up Jooyeon’s flask, shoving it into Gunil’s hand. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tips it into his mouth, trying not to gag as the water goes down. Mixed with his tears, gathering and beading at the edges of his mouth, it’s an almost unbearable sensation. But it was better than the last time. 

He’s getting better already. He’ll tell himself that. 

“Don’t cry,” Seungmin tells him, pulling his sleeve over his knuckles to try and fail drying off his face. “You’ll make me feel bad for you.” But his tone is congested already and they both know it won’t be long until he’s joining Gunil. He can fight all he wants, but it’s only a matter of time. 

Before it falls, Gunil sets his soup aside on the floor, a hazard, but less so than when it was in his lap. As soon as he does, Seungmin sidles up to him, latching onto him by the arm, where they both tremble and try to maintain any level of composure. 

His hand rests at the nape of Gunil’s neck, and with his thumb, he massages the skin there. Like it will help ease the pain through there. Almost, in a way, it does. “You could have just told us,” he scolds, sniffling, “We would have figured it out. Going overseas isn’t the end, you know? Not if you tell us, and we leave, and we get familiar with the postman in town. So we could exchange letters, and get them every month. And then when we could afford to, we’d follow you. Isn’t…isn’t it that simple?” 

It wasn’t. He knew that. There were many flaws in that plan. If Gunil could ever send a letter, if travel back and forth with the rough seas was so infrequent losing touch was inevitable, if Seungmin and Hyeongjun could survive throwing themselves into town, when the land they’ve lived off of was here, the bare coin they ever earned hardly sustenance. 

Still, Gunil knows what he’s saying. They could’ve dealt with it together . He wouldn’t have beared the burden alone, like he did. He wouldn’t have been crushed under the weight of it, and they wouldn’t have been blindsided by it. “I could have,” he agrees, barely above a whisper, “I should have. But…” 

It was a wish. But Gunil supposes it was one that had already come true, and if anything, nothing would ruin it but his own antics at this point. “You were so happy…” He has to pause, has to recollect himself, in order to continue at all. “You were so happy,” he repeats, “You were leaving the house. You were being free . I didn’t dare think of ruining that. Not that it helped.” He exhales, despondent. 

“I could never be happy, if I didn’t know you were too.” 

Just as thunder booms, as the fire stamers, the door bursts open. Jooyeon comes running in, more excitable than Gunil has ever seen him, and Jiseok seems to be bursting with the same energy. “You’re coming with us!” he shouts, “We’re all going north!” Upon seeing them, he waver, grin stilling. “Why are you crying?” 

“Do you mean it?” Gunil asks instead of answering, only audible if you strain your ears for the sound of his voice. “Do you really mean it? We’re all getting out of here?” It sounds far too good to be true. 

It’s Hyeongjun who comes forward, resting on his knees before them, grabbing both their hands, bringing them to his chest. His eyes shine with elation, pure and utter joy condensed into the sun of his smile, peeking through clouds on an overcast day. “We’re getting out of here,” he utters, breathless, “We’re flying free.” 

Overwhelmed, overjoyed, Gunil pulls Hyeongjun up, into his arms, and with his face in Hyeongjun’s shoulder, and Seungmin wrapped around the both of them, all he can do is sob. His whole body is wracked with the force of his relief, of his disbelief. 

He’d made it home, for good and forever. 

+εϊз

It’s slightly drizzling, outside of the safety of the gazebo’s shelter. No one was out in town for fun. The cafe staff had been absolutely shocked to see them, and even more so when they requested the gazebo, despite the grey weather. It only felt right though, to come back here one last time. It felt like closure. 

This time Gunil doesn’t get something entirely bitter, or hot. He gets something similar to what Jooyeon usually gets, sweet and thin. Something he can keep down. Something that doesn’t taste in any way like seawater. Jungsu had recommended it before they left, with a kiss and a fleeting goodbye. 

Rose tea. 

Gunil might build a reliance on it, at this point. It’s the only thing he’s been able to drink so consistently in a while, and Jooyeon is watching, no doubt ready to report it to the others when they return. 

Meanwhile, the younger gets the same order that he’s gotten every time since Gunil first knew him. Extra sugar and all. It comforts Gunil, as worthless a fact as it was. He may prefer sweetness now, but it just wouldn’t be universally right, if Jooyeon favored bitterness. 

Looking out into the rumbling storm, yet to reach its peak, but nearing it, Jooyeon sighs wistfully. “I think I’ll miss this place. Won’t you? It’s so nice and pretty, and I can be here without risking frostbite. You’re going to have to be ready for that, you know.” If there’s one downside to this all, it’s losing rain. 

“I get what you mean. This might be the nicest place here too. In my opinion at least. I kind of hated it when I was younger, because I couldn’t be dirty or loud or talkative. I was expected to be peaceful , and I couldn’t do that.” 

Smiling, biting into the little nugget of information like a treat, Jooyeon balks. “You? A rowdy kid?” He pauses, thinks about it, leaning back in his seat. “I see it. If you can talk my ear off for hours now, I can only imagine you without the grey in your hair.” 

Blinking aghast, Gunil’s hand shoots to his head. “Skies, do I actually have grey hairs?” He tries to see it himself but his hair isn’t anywhere near as long as Jooyeon’s. “If I do, I’d bet I look very regal and elegant with them.” Mama had many grey hairs. Like silver threaded into the night sky. Gunil had loved seeing them when she wore pleats. 

It’s much nicer remembering her now, without the film of guilt obscuring his vision, his memories and his feelings. It’s still there, it’ll never leave, but he can see past it now. He can see into it. He can see the point from where she fell, and the reason she landed. 

She’d be happy he’s gotten this far. More than happy. Gunil is sad he ever thought otherwise. He’d made her sacrifice in vain for far too long. Not for another second. 

“Yeah, right,” Jooyeon teases, “You’d just look ancient.” 

Gunil can only smile at his laughter. Any fear of Gunil ever disliking him is gone now and it’s completely refreshing. Gunil is so glad that out of everyone, it was Lee Jooyeon who stepped into that ball that fateful night. He’ll say it over and over again, and it’ll never lose its meaning. 

Sipping his drink, rubbing his throat, more out of habit now than anything, Gunil hums, “We’ll visit when we come back. Whenever you want to. We’ll bring everyone here, though I’m not sure we’ll all fit under the gazebo.” 

Jooyeon shakes his head. “We’d make it work.” He mouths the words, when we come back . Gunil isn’t quite ready for that day yet, and he hasn’t even left, but he can’t wait for when he is. When he can come here and it’s been all washed away of their bad memories. 

They talk a bit more, idly and pleasantly about anything and everything and nothing at all. There’s no rush, no urgency. They’re going to know each other forever now. They have time. No longer any rushed courting rituals incorrectly and untruly practiced. 

Now feels like the perfect time though. For Gunil to thank Jooyeon. “You changed my life, you know?” he says out of the blue, silencing Jooyeon who stares on at him in awed curiosity. “And now you’re going to take me out of here, me and my family. You’re kind of incredible for an idiot.” 

Brows furrowed, Jooyeon laughs. “Me? I’m not an idiot. You’re the incredible idiot. Giving up everything just so I could stay here with Hyeongjun. Now, you’re never gonna live that down.” 

“I wasn’t making this into a competition,” Gunil grumbles, “I just wanted to say I’m glad we met you. Maybe not as glad as Hyeongjun—” Jooyeon smiles at that, infinitely pleased and triumphant, like Hyeongjun’s affection was gold he’d fought valiantly for. “—but. Glad. And to think I dreaded the thought of meeting you.”

Mimicking offense, Jooyeon snorts, “Wow, you couldn’t have even given your betrothed a chance? How unkind of you, Gunil.” 

Gunil rolls his eyes. “Says you. You couldn’t stand the thought of me not hating you.” He goes quiet for a few moments, the thrum of pleasantry calming. “Let me just say I appreciate you without challenging it, huh?” 

If it were any other topic, under any other circumstance, Jooyeon would not even think about stopping his pestering. And he’ll continue, no doubt. But for now he just smiles, shrugging. “Okay. I appreciate you too. Thanks for teaching me how to appreciate things again.” 

Bashful, Gunil places his face in his hands. “I didn’t ask you to say anything in return.” 

Jooyeon laughs and laughs. 

As they’re leaving, tipping the owners greatly and giving their farewells, expressing how they’ll miss the place greatly when they’re away. Gunil asks how best to make his own rose tea, and they tell him eagerly. 

There’s hardly anyone out on the streets as they make their way to their horses, carefully sheltered beneath dense trees. They’re all inside, waiting out the weather cozied up in blankets and by friendly fires. With tea or hot cocoa, with family, or with friends. Jooyeon says Gunil can have all that all the time in the north, because it’s always cold, and the need for warmth is always a desire. 

And it’ll be a lot different than the last time he had needed warmth so desperately. 

Hoods pulled over their heads, eyes teary from their laughter, expecting no one else to be in their path, it’s no surprise when Gunil bumps into someone, hard enough to send them both stumbling back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes frantically, steadying the person, gaping in surprise when she looks at him. “Suzy? What are you doing out here? I haven’t seen you around in forever.” 

For once in all the time he can remember, she doesn’t correct him, smiling dimly. “You didn’t hear?” she asks, looking more worn yet more happy than he thinks he’s ever seen her. She no longer stares at him with this veneer of envy, of misplaced judgment. 

He shakes his head, looking to Jooyeon to see if he had. Jooyeon’s expression is ambivalent, polite. It gives nothing away. She tucks her hair behind her ears, wavy and wet from the steadily decreasing rain. “I left your father,” she announces, casual, like it wasn’t something Gunil hadn’t expected to ever hear in the next hundred years. 

“You…”

She chuckles at his reaction. “Don’t be so shocked. You’ll embarrass me. I’ve had to hear enough about how terribly my decision to stay was, how truly stupid I was to allow people think I’d never leave.” The shame is clear on her face, so much more expansive than she’s letting on, than Gunil can even think to comprehend. 

It makes it hard for him to respond and they stand there, awkwardly in this sort of standstill. She sighs, smile bittersweet. “It’s much overdue. I should have done it years ago. I should have never stayed. It was…it was cruel of me.” She peers up at him, rueful, particularly regretful. “You didn’t deserve that. Of anyone, I think I’ve hurt you most. And I deeply apologize for that, as much as it can’t change how much I’ve spited you.” 

It was funny. People always compared Suzanne to his mother. The curve of her smile, the glint of her eyes that was just a tad impish, the tilt of her brows. And Gunil had never seen it. Had never been unable to. It had confused him more than anything, how his father did. 

But he thinks now, he never did. He was just a desperate, shameless man. Searching for anything that could even possibly suffice. 

What he can understand, is how people may have mistaken likeness and identity, standing before Suzanne now. She wasn’t Mama, wasn’t even close. But she was someone driven by love, and Gunil guesses in a way, love had damned them both. 

Slowly, dumbly, he nods, not really sure how to feel about any of it. But…”I hope you find yourself, Suzy.” It’s a bit petty, he’ll admit. It was genuine though. He doesn’t wish ill upon her. He doesn’t hold a grudge against her. He doesn’t really like her. She hasn’t given him any reason to. 

Yet he’s never found it in himself to hate her. 

He thinks she understands, resignation in her responding smile, in her farewell. He watches her pass, watches her fade into the dreary fog, and knows they’ll never meet again. He mourns her, but only briefly. He barely even thinks of her as they sit in the carriage. 

Not until Jooyeon says, “You know she pulled you out of the water? Not Jungsu? He carried you all the way up, and never let you go, but she made sure you didn’t drown.” There’s no reverence there, a mere observation, a distant appreciation. 

All Gunil does is hum, considerate as he peers out of the window, looking out onto the town as it gets smaller and smaller. A speck in the distance, Suzanne nothing but a particle among it all.

Closure. That’s what he feels. Nothing more, nothing less. Closure. 

Overhead, the storm passes. 

+εϊз

They have a week left to leave, according to Gunil’s father, though he’s working under the assumption that this is for his benefit, and to Gunil’s detriment. The narrative has changed though, unbeknownst to him. And they’re going to all have left before he can even get the chance to figure it out. 

Unlike with Suzanne, Gunil expects no form of apology from his father, no attempt at forgiveness. He doesn’t expect even the most minute changes. Not even a haircut. 

In fact, he doesn’t want to see his father ever again. It’ll make this all the much easier. He’s already grieved the man who once loved him. This won’t be a second time. There won’t be a second time. 

Really, they’re all ecstatic about it. The biggest concern, Gunil’s biggest concern, is Jungsu. Over and over, he asks if the other is fine with leaving, that it would be perfectly alright if he wasn’t, even though it chips a piece of his heart off just to think about leaving Jungsu behind. 

Of course, Jungsu doesn’t budge. Not once, not even a little bit. 

“Are you sure?” Gunil asks, sliding out the last case of miscellaneous clothes that didn’t really belong to anyone in particular, at least not anymore. At one time they’d been divided between him, Seungmin, and Hyeongjun, but then they just ended up sharing. 

He truly wonders how they’re going to fare living apart. It’s going to be a process, that’s for sure. He knows there are going to be lots of house visits, lots of slumber parties. Poor Jungsu, Jooyeon, and Jungsu, who are going to have to deal with their grievous separation anxiety. 

“Hm?” Jungsu says absentmindedly, surveying the now empty room where Gunil and Seungmin had once slept. Gunil can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose but he repeats himself anyways. 

“Are you sure?” Rain patters lightly against the roof. The remnants of the storm emptying itself out before moving on completely, just leaving time for the next showers. “Are you really absolutely sure, Jungsu? You have a family here, and a home here. The butterflies and—” 

Turning around, Jungsu cuts him off with a kiss. Leaving the room and Gunil, glum and flustered, he replies through the door and the walls, his voice echoing from wall to empty wall, “I’ll always have family here. But you guys are also my family, and my home. I was gonna leave one day, one way or another. This is more than the perfect time.” Easily, Gunil follows him, tethered to him. When he moves, they move. 

Having heard this argument a thousand times over already, his heart swelling each time, Gunil has no argument to provide. He’s been put in his place. Multiple times at this point. He just wraps his arms around Jungsu’s neck, and nods. Jungsu stares intently at one wall. “Are you not going to bring that with us?” 

Gunil finds his point of focus. The small table propped up, stuck in time where everything has moved on. It had traveled with him, from his childhood room, to here. He thinks though, it’s time to leave it behind. He tries to find the reason, the words, for Jungsu. 

Pondering, he digs his chin into Jungsu’s shoulder, as they both stare at the relic of his childhood. “I think I’m meant to move on from it,” Gunil supplements, unsure of even himself, “...I don’t know. It just feels right, here. Plus, I don’t ruin it and…and we’ll be back.” It’s an artifact, a reminder, and a promise all in one. 

He unhooks himself, stepping forward and carefully setting it down on its legs, how it’s meant to be. It’s so small now, in comparison to him. Barely even reaching his knees while standing. “There,” he steps back, “Just like that.”

Blissfully, Jungsu doesn’t question it further, bending and curling his fingers around the handle of the bag. He lifts it up, judging its weight. “This is just clothes?” He stares back at Gunil skeptically. 

Gunil tsks, taking it from him. “It isn’t heavy at all.” He wraps a hand around the knob of the door. He looks back, one last time, at his home, at his prison, his cell and his haven. He swallows down a lump of sentiment, blinking hard. Memories flash before his eyes, all the good and all the bad. He can see the house’s scars, left behind by them, scuff marks on the floor, a dent in the molding, pencil lines over the walls. 

“Are you sure?” Jungsu questions softly, coming up behind him, looking back, but unable to see all that Gunil is. 

Shaking himself off, turning the knob and promptly exiting, Gunil clicks his tongue. “More than sure.” Drops of water hit his face immediately and he stills, spluttering and wiping at his face uselessly. He holds the bag over his head, letting it shelter him. 

Skipping out ahead of him, twirling, Jungsu looks at him, simply looks , tilting his head, poorly hiding his frown. “It’s not raining that hard,” he comments, assessing Gunil from afar, no need to do it up close when he knows all he needs to know. 

It’s almost worst like that. It feels more like seaspray than actual rain. Throat tight, Gunil looks at the ground, slightly dizzied. “Come on, let’s just get the others and tell them we’re done.” Jungsu’s outstretched arm appears in his vision, palm up, beckoning. 

“Dance with me.”

Looking up, perplexed, Gunil tries to move past him, maneuvering around puddles that have sunken their way into the dirt and stone, seeming so small and inconsequential, but reminding Gunil just how strong water was. Jungsu catches him by the shoulders, spinning him around, holding him in place by the face. “You’re gonna get soaked,” he gripes. His hair is already dampening, turning to gentle waves that stick to the curves of Jungsu’s pleading, smiling cheeks. 

Coming closer, Jungsu pries the bag out of Gunil’s hands, joining their fingers together. “When has the rain ever got to you, Gunil?” he asks, in a low, daring voice. He pulls their hands up, level with their flush chests. Meeting Gunil’s wild eyes, his gaze softens. “I’ve got you, okay?” 

Gunil tries to pull away and he tightens his grip, stepping back, swaying just a little, a smile growing on his face, involuntary. “Come on, dance with me in the rain. For old time’s sake.” Based on the glint in his eye, he knows he’s winning. Against Gunil, he might always win. 

Glancing over his shoulder, at the house, the garden Hyeongjun had loved so deeply, the tree they had planted together, big and strong, towering over the shingled roof, sheltering the bench that creaks and groans under the wind’s whistling sing song. Gunil considers it. 

He faces Jungsu once more, defeat in his relaxing demeanor. Jungsu bumps their heads, grinning sweetly, because he always looks sweet. Always feels and tastes sweet. “Please, dewdrop,” he pleads, gentle, “For me?” He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows what he does to Gunil in general, and isn’t that a very dangerous thing. 

Pushing his fear down, shoving it all the way to the bottom of his soul where he leaves all the bad things to rot, he lets go of Jungsu’s hands. Jungsu falters, expression flashing with disappointment, before Gunil wraps his arms around Jungsu’s midriff, suddenly and effortlessly lifting him into the air, and spinning him around. 

He lets out a surprised shriek of laughter, embracing Gunil back reflexively. He glows, the clouds parting for his smile alone. It’s a sunshower, and Jungsu basks in it, gold bouncing off his skin and his blouse and the grass giving way beneath them and the walls of a house never to be forgotten. Everything is precious, and here now when the rain and sun meet, does it truly show . 

As soon as he hits the ground, Jungsu tugs Gunil’s hand up and he spins Gunil in a circle before dipping him so close to the ground his bangs nearly touch dirt. They almost lose balance, a bumbling mess of lowered inhibitions and dashed fears and miraculous reunion. Jungsu catches him, kisses him, and most importantly, smiles at him, for him, because of him. 

They dance. And some part of Gunil swears it’s just like when they were young. He can feel Mama there with them, a drop of rain echoing around them with twinkling laughter and cries of joy that refract and scatter in the mist. She grazes and caresses them before walking among the clouds, airy and light. Bright as a dream, as good as a fairytale. 

“Hey!” Holding each other, flushed and pink with thrill, they turn, seeing Seungmin at the end of the path, everyone else behind him, layered and coated up. “We’re waiting for you!” He yelps when Jiseok runs past him, throwing aside an umbrella, causing Hyeongjun temporary distress, jumping into a puddle, and shouting senselessly. 

“A ball!” he screams over the distance, “Without us?” Jooyeon joins him quickly, and they hold their hands high over their heads, twirling about the stone path, clumsy and jubilant, nearly tripping on each jutting rock. 

Hyeongjun and Seungmin share a look. Withholding a grin, Hyeongjun pulls down Seungmin’s hood, and flees. Seungmin tackles him to the dirt, to the mud, and they tussle over the grass, technicolor green, lighting them up like nothing has before. It’s a mess. 

They’re all a mess. 

But none of them mind. 

Over mud and moss they dance. Their clothes stick to their skin and weigh them  down, but still they move. Gunil still moves, in spite of the water, in spite of the way his nerves buzz, telling him to be dry, to get to safety. He’s drowning, he’s drowning, he’s drowning. 

Jungsu brings him right back up, pulling him from the crashing waves, from the wallowing tides. He brings him to life, and Gunil drinks the air from between his cupped hands, smiling against his lips. 

He twirls and spins and laughs. Someone sings along with him. One voice. Then three. Then five. 

Goo Gunil swears, that’s when he first ever felt alive. 

AND THAT WAS AN ENDING, YOU SEE. AND A BEGINNING.