Chapter Text
Khun unsuccessfully tries to suppress the itch on his nose. The mask is not perfectly molded to his face, and it jabs his nose at the most uncomfortable angle. It’s hot and heavy and sticks to his skin.
Since he can only see out of one eye, it throws his depth perception and hand-eye coordination way off. He also has zero peripheral view. It’s a stupid disguise and not one he’d thought of.
He surveys the regulars on the stage. They’re mediocre. The real battles come later, when the hard-hitters come out to play. The final test, the tournament, will be the one to watch. This Plug Test is a farce, but one he is forced to observe anyway.
"Fifty thousand marks," he says. He taps the side of his pen against the tablet in front of him.
Leesoo glances at him. "I can hear you, Mr Mask."
"I know. It's a bluff," Khun says, smirking at the confusion that this wrings out of Leesoo's expression. It's really not a bluff, and he doesn't care either way what Leesoo bets.
Leesoo doesn’t look much different than he did seven years ago. Perhaps a bit leaner, perhaps a bit more hardness in his features, but otherwise he’s the same man. It’s a face of familiarity among the sea of strangers, but Khun doesn’t take any comfort in it.
Neither, perhaps, does Leesoo.
“Why are you doing here?” had been the first thing out of his mouth when he first walked in and saw Khun in that stupid mask sitting at the table with the other gamblers.
To be honest, Khun doesn’t really know either.
Most male children in the Khun family have a single goal in life, and that is to accumulate as much power as possible. The path is clear: become the head of a branch, marry the right wife, and produce heirs that will catapult their branch to the forefront of Father's attention. It is ingrained and implied in everything they do, from the training to the lessons to the annual fight for ten-year-olds.
A line of marionettes, all dancing to Father’s tune.
It hadn't been Khun's goal. He didn't really have one at all.
Years ago, he thought he'd found something interesting, something to define his life and give him direction. Something that made him want to get out of bed and give a shit about politics and plotting and death. Someone that made life worth living.
Yet the Tower did not work like that, so here he was, gambling at the Workshop Battle in order to snoop on the slayer candidate.
Mother had been incandescent with worry and rage.
"Why now ?" She'd shouted in the grand hall of their palace. "Why does a slayer candidate have to come out and bring all the attention back to FUG when it should be" - she stamped her foot - “ here !"
The high ceilings had yielded no reply to her shrill voice and neither did Khun, kneeling at the base of the raised dais. A piece of expensive shoe cracked. So did the marble below.
"We can't do anything about it, Mother," he said. "Kiseia’s already proven herself. It’s not like people won’t hear the news."
She scowled. "They will. They’d better. But it still doesn't change the fact that she should've been the spotlight, not some nasty, dirty - cheating little - regular !" she spat.
Khun bowed his head to hide a smile.
"Aguero, look at me," she said immediately. Khun lifted his head.
Mother looked regal as always. And beautiful, but that was a given for a wife of Khun Eduan. Her long pale neck gleamed with sapphires. Sometimes he suspected that she had jewels directly embedded into her skin to save the trouble of putting on necklaces.
"I know what you're thinking."
Khun hoped not.
All of a sudden her eyes welled with tears, the atmosphere shifted from day to night. The grand hall wept with her.
"Your mother. So hardworking. So helpless,” Khun Agnis said. “Everything that I do in life, I do for my children. And I get no thanks for it. But you, my son, you will help me, won't you?"
Khun was breathless. Even after years, her transformation from madness to self-pity always amazed him. Or maybe it was all madness, the same side of the same coin. His mother was a virtuoso, playing the full range of emotions with a deft hand and seemingly no score to guide her.
"Of course, Mother."
"Good," she breathed. "Good, Aguero. You are my pride and joy. Did you know that? Not your stupid sister or cousin. They're worthless.”
Khun bowed again. There was nothing else to do. Love was conditional, after all.
“You, my son, will be the head of a branch one day, and bring your Father to visit. I know he will."
Khun stayed silent.
She glanced at him sharply. "He will ."
"Yes, Mother." His mouth moved against his will.
Then she'd raised a finger and pointed down at him, once more playing the queen issuing a royal decree, and bade him find the new slayer candidate and eliminate him if possible.
"With him gone, the Tower will go back to normal. As it should be. The Tower is not kind to those who threaten the status quo."
"I know, Mother,” he’d said. “I will go."
Of course, he wasn't going to wade into politics at the mere whim of his mother. He can't help but admit it - he's interested in Jyu Viole Grace. So here he was now in a stiff suit and slicked-back hair, suffering the company of those who never imagined that a High Ranker was sitting amidst them.
Leesoo, of course, knew as soon as he’d walked in. That man had a good memory and was unusually perceptive. He hadn’t revealed Khun's identity, because he was smart, but now he’s asking too many questions, because he is nosy.
"Are you monitoring Baylord Yama's Mad Dog, perhaps?" Leesoo hazards.
"No." Khun rolls his eyes. "Stop asking."
"I’m curious!"
Khun breathes in through his nose. “I don’t care.”
Leesoo laughs. “Oh, well, even if you don’t tell me, there are really only two people here you’d be interested in, I think.”
Khun doesn’t say anything, but he stiffens.
“It’s either Mad Dog,” Leesoo says softly, watching his face, “or Jyu Viole Grace.”
Jyu Viole Grace ― the mysterious slayer candidate with no past, the current favorite within FUG, and the monster moving up the Tower.
The man had only been active in the past two years, but his reputation preceded him by many floors, to the extent that Khun Agnis had been sorely stung by her niece's lackluster debut.
The loudspeaker announces the results of the battle. Armed with fifty thousand marks more, Khun places his bet for the next round, which is again filled with people he doesn’t know and doesn’t care about. It starts in ten minutes, which is more than enough time to get a drink.
Khun stretches in his chair, then gets up. The plug test arena and the gambler’s station are both not too far from the main building. The other competitors and their sponsors should be somewhere there. Who knows, he might be able to cut through all this bullshit and just run into Viole himself.
Leesoo watches him go with a frown on his face.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Leesoo calls after him.
A boy running around the corner barrels straight into him, knocking over his cup of tea and sending them flying to the floor.
Khun grunts as he hits the ground, but after a couple of seconds of stunned silence, hands are pulling at him, and a storm of gibbered words repeat words like "sorry" and "oh my god" and "are you okay?" over and over.
He swats away the insistent hands, getting to his feet by himself and dusting off his suit. His tailbone stings slightly, but he’s more annoyed that his mask has been knocked loose and now lies in a puddle of the aforementioned tea.
"I'm so sorry," says the voice one last time, and Khun finally gets a good view of its owner.
He's young, or maybe his demeanor just suggests it, and his bright blonde hair curls wildly over his face. His round eyes and pink cheeks make him ridiculously out of place at the Workshop Battle. Khun immediately labels him Threat Level 1 and decides to be gracious.
"It's alright," he says. He turns around to leave. That's the extent of his graciousness.
"Please let me buy you another cup of coffee, sir," the boy says. "And - and your mask, I hope it's not broken - "
"It's tea," Khun cuts in. "And no thank you. Really, it's no trouble." He smooths back his hair, grimacing at the rough feel of blond dye.
"I insist. What kind of tea?" The boy is so persistent, he’s practically standing in Khun’s space.
Khun resists the urge to sigh as he bends down to pick up the mask. "I told you it's okay. You seem like you were in a hurry." Thankfully, it's not broken, but covered in liquid as it is, he's not putting it back on just yet.
"Yeah, sorry. I was actually ― "
"Wangnan."
Khun turns around. A man with a long ponytail stands behind them. He's facing the kid, and dark bangs obscure his face from the side. He’s about as tall as Khun is, and isn’t overly muscular, but Khun recognizes the natural stance of a fighter ― light on his feet, arms loose but ready at his side, quiet like a predator. The only thing that sticks out is how terribly inconvenient that ponytail must be in combat ― unless, perhaps, this man was a wave-controller.
Khun stands back as Wangnan runs over to his friend’s side.
"We need to go," says the friend. His voice is low.
"I - sure," Wangnan says, resigned. He turns back to Khun and makes a deep bow.
"I'm sorry about that again,” he says. “I was searching for this guy, actually."
Khun nods, and he gives the other man a courtesy nod as well. At least now he can leave in peace without having a replacement drink forced on him.
The man with a ponytail inclines his head in return, and in doing so, looks at Khun properly for the first time.
He can see the other’s eyes ― golden eyes.
The reaction is instantaneous.
"Bam!"
"Khun?"
The world tilts on its axis.
All the breath in his lungs has been pulled out of him, and his chest hurts, but Khun can only look at Bam, his Bam, dead Bam, unmistakably alive and standing right in front of him. Almost unwillingly, he strides forward and grabs Bam by the arm, faintly registering the hard muscle beneath.
Bam stares back at him, his pupils are blown wide and Khun can see himself reflected there. He almost loses himself right then and there, but his brain catches up with his body and pulls him back to reality.
Bam is opening his mouth to say more.
"Not here," Khun whispers. "Too many people here. Come with me."
He grabs Bam’s hand and pulls him along a hallway, weaving past throngs of people, some of whom throw curious glances his way. Wangnan yells something and sets chase after them.
He leads them towards one of the numerous rooms down the hallway. Most of them are recovery rooms for competitors who have been hurt, and as soon as Khun finds an empty one, he pulls them in. Wangnan trails behind like a lost puppy, clearly unsure whether or not to be alarmed.
As soon as they're both inside, Khun slams the door in Wangnan's face and locks it. It's harsh but he doesn't care, he can’t care, not when Bam is in front of him and alive and solid and close enough to touch.
And his eyes are as bewitching as ever.
Bam doesn't say anything, but he mouths Khun's name in disbelief. They’re both frozen in shock, standing close enough that Khun can see each individual eyelash. Close enough that he can feel the body heat radiating off Bam, or maybe he’s the one who’s warm, he doesn’t know anymore.
His eyes roam Bam's face, noting tiny new scars, remembering old features, searching for any hints of change yet hoping desperately to find the boy he'd once thought dead on the second floor.
Khun suddenly comes to, snatching his hand back. His fingers are numb from gripping too hard.
"How?" Is all he says.
"FUG," Bam replies.
A horrible realization dawns, a yawning pit in his stomach. It swallows the heat from his chest. "Then you're . . . ?"
Bam lowers his gaze. He cradles the hand that Khun had been holding with his other hand.
"I'm Jyu Viole Grace."
The whispered confirmation hangs heavy in the air between them.
He takes a step back, and Bam - fucking Jyu Viole Grace - reaches out a hand as if to stop him. Then he snatches it back and keeps it at his side. As if a curtain had been drawn, all that intensity from earlier has disappeared from Bam’s face. Khun is too shocked to think further into it.
A loudspeaker from outside squeals with feedback, making them both jump.
"Next battle shall commence in one minute," it drawls, and Khun has never hated that metallic blare more. "Gamblers, please return to your seats. Contestants, please wait at your starting positions."
There is a timid knock on the door. "Erm, excuse me? Uh, Viole? We have to go." Wangnan shuffles outside. “Are you still alive?”
They look at each other helplessly, still statues standing close enough to touch, even now, but that possibility is so far away that Khun wonders how he had ever been brave enough to hold his hand.
In his mind, gears are whirring and cogs are turning as he processes, analyzes, evaluates, theorizes - all the plans and probabilities and precautions tumbling over themselves as he flips through them ― and finally everything clicks into place.
They’re not going to solve anything by standing here in silence. He makes the decision for them. Khun Aguero Agnis did not survive the Tower and become a ranker by being stupid.
"Let's talk later. Come find me after this battle," he says, walking away and crossing over to the door.
Khun throws it open and Wangnan almost tumbles over the threshold.
"All right," Bam says. He motions to Wangnan to head out.
"This should go without saying, but don't tell anyone," Khun says.
"I know." Bam’s voice is equally guarded. That’s new. Khun has never heard that reservation in his tone before and he doesn’t want to again. What had happened to him?
Later. Later. Right now, there are bigger things to worry about.
"You too, Wangnan," Khun says, looking down at the kid, who blinks at him innocently.
Bam walks through the door that Khun is holding open, and as he passes, he turns his face towards him again. Khun stares into liquid gold and almost loses himself again. With an effort, he shuts the door quickly, almost pushing the two out into the hallway.
It's only after they’re out and he hears the footsteps leaving that he sinks to the floor, back against the door. He breathes out slowly with his eyes closed.
Khun allows himself ten seconds.
Not feeling, not fearing. Just sitting and breathing. The thundering of his heart gradually falls into a steady beat.
After ten seconds, he makes himself get up. Khun walks out of the room and heads back to the gambler’s station.
He had registered as a gambler for a reason. He had obtained the knowledge that there were three FUG members on the panel. Originally, he had planned to interrogate those members to track down and corner the slayer candidate, but now that he knew the slayer candidate’s identity, the whole game had changed.
Leesoo inspects his face as he sits back down in his chair.
"Gone a long time."
"Yes."
"Why's your mask wet?"
"I spilled tea on it. Stop asking questions, Leesoo. It'll get you killed one day."
Mercifully he shuts up after that, and Khun leans his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers as he contemplates the situation. The loudspeaker announces the start of the next round to the roar of the crown.
The battle in front of him doesn't matter - they're all some random regulars whose names he won't remember in an hour. The question is what to do about Viole. About Bam.
Logically, the answer is obvious. Slayer candidate or not, Bam is a regular, thus still a novice. Khun could take him down easy as anything, and although he'd have to deal with the wrath of some FUG members, he'd receive a warm welcome home from his mother. Perhaps even some recognition from Father. If he failed, it would mean their eternal scorn.
Morally, too, the answer is obvious. It's Bam. The naive boy with the sun in his eyes who'd stolen something from Khun that time on the second floor, and was yet to give it back. He’s a slayer candidate now, but surely Bam was still there. He can't just kill him.
Of course you can, whispers a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like his sister’s, fresh like spring and just as cool. What are friends against family? Blood runs thicker than water.
Khun leans forward and rests his face on his steepled hands, the tips of his fingers digging into the curves where his nose and brows meet. He ignores Leesoo’s scrutiny. There are cheers from the stadium. He hears the ding! as more money is deposited into his account.
Family versus friend. Blood versus water.
Family. Friend. Blood. Water.
Blood.
Red down the side of her face, droplets absorbing into the sand.
More recently, the flash of blood at Bam's temple. Back in the darkness of the maze room.
It had done something, hadn't it?
His heart had raced and some emotion had settled in his chest.
Something monstrous. Something wonderful and exciting.
For that fury woke him up. It woke him up from the drugged apathy that Maria's death had brought. It shook him from the invisible puppet strings attached to his every move. It tore apart the endless winding path laid out for him. He danced to a different tune, one sweeter and lighter than anything he’d ever heard.
It made him feel. It made him want to fight so bad. It made him want to live so that he could - he could -
Khun doesn’t know what, yet. But he’ll be damned if he lets Bam die or disappear again.
The loudspeaker blares as the announcers call an end to the round.
Khun lets out a sigh, raising himself up in his seat and leaning back. He blinks slowly, letting the world come back into focus.
Leesoo glances at him worriedly. "Did you work it out?"
"Hmm?"
"Whatever it was you were planning."
Khun levels his gaze at Leesoo.
“Yes,” he says. “I know what to do now.”
He smiles at the other man. He enjoys making Leesoo squirm.
In the end he doesn't get a chance to see Bam before Jyu Viole Grace enters the Plug Test. Khun doesn't even hesitate. He bets all his money on him, then gets up to leave.
Time to put things into motion.
When he finishes what he set out to accomplish, he goes to find Leesoo. The final test, the tournament between Jyu Viole Grace’s team and the Mad Dog’s team, is coming up, and he needs to get started on his plan.
He finds Wangnan loitering outside in the huge lobby. The Archimedes is the height of practicality, sacrificing aesthetic for metallic safety and convenience. It's the ugliest ship he's ever been on, but it does make it easier to find people. He spots the messy head of blonde hair at the same time that Wangnan sees him and waves.
"Hello again," Khun says.
Wangnan runs over from where he had been leaning against the wall.
"Hey," he says. "Viole wants to see you. He's waiting in his room with the rest of our team." His tone is hesitant but his expression is frank. He sounds almost protective of Bam, which is as misguided as it’s going to get. But the thought is reassuring.
"Alright. Let's go."
As they walk, Wangnan leading the way and glancing back over his shoulder every few steps, Khun realizes that the younger boy is bursting to talk.
His eyes probe Khun's face, or what he can see from the mask, and a question is plainly on the tip of his tongue. Khun hazards a guess at what it might be.
"We knew each other from back on Evankhell's floor," he explains.
Wangnan slumps in relief. "Oh, good. You're his friend then."
A lump sticks in his throat. "I guess you could say that."
"Then - " Wangnan hesitates. He turns to face him, eyes wide. Khun thinks he can see a resemblance between this kid and Bam seven years ago. The openness of expression. The determined set to his jaw.
Khun thinks of the shadows under Jyu Viole Grace's eyes.
"Please help him," Wangnan says. "He's - Viole's - been through a lot."
Khun keeps quiet, because he senses that there is more to say.
"I thought he was evil, at first," he continues, "but he's not part of FUG by his own choice. They keep him under their control by threatening the lives of his friends."
"He hates it,” Wangnan adds quietly. “Please help him escape."
They reach the residential areas of the Archimedes, and after a few minutes, they arrive at a nondescript room at the end of the hallway. Wangnan knocks, and they enter.
Bam and his team are sitting or standing around the room. Khun's eyes predictably go straight to Bam, who stands up when they enter. Bam sees him, and the smallest, most hesitant smile appears on his face. He takes a few steps towards Khun.
This is it, Khun thinks dizzily. This was what he'd been chasing all his life.
Wangnan peels off from his side and goes to stand next to one of his teammates. Each and every one of them stare at him like he’s a mannequin in a store window, except Bam, who stands next to him and looks back at his team.
Bam clears his throat. "Shall I ask them to go?"
"Who is this?" A short boy with close-cropped black hair asks. Khun thinks he might have seen this weakling in the Plug Test. What's he doing on a team with Jyu Viole Grace?
"No, it's fine. I might as well meet your team." Khun takes off his mask. "My name is Khun Aguero Agnis."
A collective gasp goes through the room. It's been a while since this sort of unrestrained acknowledgment of his status. Khun tries not to feel proud of it.
“What?” Wangnan yelps.
"A High Ranker?"
"What's he doing here?"
This last question is from a girl with long black hair. She subtly shifts into a defensive stance, palms up and out, the only one to do so. Khun notes the Yeon family emblem in her hair with interest.
"Guys, it's okay. He's not an enemy." Bam waves his team down.
"Yes, but why? What's he to you?" The Yeon girl says.
Bam hesitates. "We met on Evankhell's floor."
Khun nods in agreement. On one hand, he's relieved that Bam defined their acquaintanceship first so that Khun could just repeat it afterward without embarrassing himself. At the same time, he's aware of a twinge of disappointment, which he crushes mercilessly.
He clears his throat. "I'm going to help you guys win the tournament, and also help Bam escape FUG."
Bam starts and opens his mouth, but Khun bulldozes on.
"We've got to be prepared for Mad Dog's team. We’re going to win the Workshop Battle, because, if you didn’t already know, the prize is Jyu Viole Grace."
Judging by the loud gasp around the room, they didn’t. Good god, these people were young.
"What?" The short boy jumps to his feet and waves his hands like Khun is the one who had decided on this. "Why?"
"Did you know from the start?" The Yeon girl asks.
Khun shakes his head. "I got the information out of an undercover FUG gambler. She also told me some information about a thorn" - his eyes flick over to Bam - "that we can discuss in more detail later."
"And they just told you this information?"
Khun studies the girl who’d spoken. He thinks he likes what he sees. Her eyes are still narrow with suspicion, but the warmth of her tone clearly tells him - she is a loyal friend to Bam. She's not scared of a High Ranker. He wonders about the tremor in her hands, though.
"I didn't ask them nicely," Khun says. He suppresses a smile at the expression on their faces.
"Wait, everyone." Bam suddenly breaks in. "Could you - could we reconvene later? We can go through the tournament strategy over dinner.” Khun glances at him in surprise.
“I need to talk with Khun first." His gaze is troubled. "Alone."
With some grumbling and side-eyes, the members file out of the room. The Yeon girl gives Khun a final once-over as she leaves. Wangnan lags behind, but when Khun gives him a nod, he nods back and closes the door behind him.
Now they are alone.
Perhaps it is because there had been so many people crammed into a small room, but Khun feels warm. The air conditioner is broken, he decides.
Bam studies him carefully. "I can't believe you're actually here."
"I can't believe it either. I thought you were dead."
Bam's heavy bangs sweep over his forehead, and Khun resists the urge to brush them out of his face so that he can see his face better.
"Yes, well. FUG does what it likes."
Khun laughs sharply and takes a few steps closer.
"Not under my watch, they don't."
Bam watches him come closer with his brows furrowed and mouth down-turned. His fists are clenched. He starts to raise his hands, then lets them fall.
"What are you doing here?" Bam's voice is almost inaudible.
Khun says nothing. He doesn’t know how to answer that.
As if roused by the lack of response, Bam bursts into speech. He reminds Khun of a wild animal, backed into a corner, hackles up."FUG is your enemy. You shouldn't be helping me.”
"You're trying to escape FUG, aren't you?" Khun says. His voice is soft. "I don’t see a problem with helping a friend.”
Khun blushes unwittingly as he says the last word. What idiocy. It's presumptuous of him to assume -
"Is that why you're helping me? Because we're friends?"
Bam looks at him with those clear clear eyes and Khun feels like he’s burning up. The room is warm and stifling. He turns his face away to save himself.
"I don't know. I'll tell you once I find a reason myself."
Bam's hands start to rise from his side. They hover in front of him for a second, then he makes them into fists and lowers them back down to his sides. Khun frowns.
"Don't sweat it," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, like he helps fugitive rebel traitors on the regular. "It's not just me. Leesoo and his team are here as well. They'll help."
Bam snaps to attention. "You told them?"
“Yes,” Khun says. Then, catching his expression, he adds, “They want to help you, Bam. Don't worry about FUG's threats. Accept our help."
"But," Khun says, and he can't help it, he leans forward and brushes Bam's hair out of his eyes, tucks the strands behind his ears. The feel of his fingers accidentally grazing the side of Bam’s ear sends electricity down his spine.
"You've got to pull your weight too, Mr. Slayer Candidate."
Bam blinks heavily at him.
"All right," he says hoarsely. "Thank you."
"No problem." Khun smiles gently at him, or as gently as he can.
The two of them are silent for a while. Bam clearly wants to say more, maybe to protest, maybe to explain, but the emotions are swimming in his eyes, although they don't show in the rest of his face.
"Your hair is blonde," he finally says, then closes his eyes immediately afterward as if he regrets it.
"Yeah, it's a temporary disguise."
"Good." Bam nods. "I like you as you are."
Khun suddenly feels that same heat from earlier in his core, and the electricity is back a hundredfold. He's not ready. He's never ready. Best keep this cool. Best say as little as possible, for he doesn’t know what stupid malformed absurdities are going to be dredged up from the depths of his mind if he talks to Bam for too long.
"We should go find your team," he says, putting on his business-transaction voice, the one he reserves for Mother. "There's a lot of planning to do, and I don't know their abilities yet."
Bam blinks, confused. He looks momentarily confused.
"Okay. Let's go."
Khun follows him out of the room, feeling the tug of red string leading to the one person in front of him. He can’t help but to follow Bam. Strangely, he doesn’t mind.
When the whole thing is over and they've escaped on another ship and Bam has his thorn and everyone is reunited and happy and safe, Hwaryun comes to find him.
He doesn't remember her much from Evankhell's floor. But he swears he'll remember her face forever once she tells him that she is from FUG, and that she was the one who faked Bam's death.
They are in a room on the lower deck, far away from everyone else. Shards of ice are impaled in the walls at dangerous angles.
"He needs me," Hwaryun says. She isn’t even fazed. "Keep your emotions in check, Khun Aguero Agnis."
Khun releases the tension from his jaw, letting the ice-smoke from his breath drift into the air. He stopped feeling the cold many years ago, but the ice shrouding his hands makes his whole body numb.
Hwaryun regards him, a beautiful red devil with a treacherous mind, and Khun can't believe that Bam is going to keep someone like her around. She smiles as if she knows what he's thinking.
"Don't worry," she says. "He's my chosen champion. I won't betray him."
"Until you find another stronger, you mean."
"No." Hwaryun shakes her head slowly. "No, he's the last. The only one."
Khun glares at her. She meets his eyes, then looks away.
“I won’t apologize for what I’ve done. It’s for the greatest good.”
“Fuck you,” he says coldly.
There are sounds of footsteps outside the door, and Khun inwardly curses the interruption. "He's here," she says. "I'll leave you."
There is a knock at the door, and Bam pokes his head in.
"Oh, hey guys ― whoa. What happened here?"
"None of your business," Hwaryun says, walking past Khun. She stops at the door and smiles at Bam. Then she leaves.
Khun tries to shake the lingering tension from his shoulders as Bam steps in carefully. His eyes roam around the room, taking in the broken furniture, the crystallized windows, and the ice sticking out of the floor.
"Are you okay?" He asks. His voice is gentle.
Khun huffs out a laugh. "I'm fine. How are you?"
Belatedly he realizes that the long oppressive ponytail is gone. Bam with his natural curly mop of hair stands before him, looking, to all intents and purposes, exactly like the boy from seven years ago.
"I'm okay," the ghost says. He sits gingerly on the edge of a bed, and motions for Khun to sit as well. He does, making sure to keep a respectful distance between them.
"Nice haircut."
"My head feels lighter."
“What did you do with the hair, burn it?”
Bam chuckles and leans back on his hands. “Nah. Sounds tempting, but I think I’ll donate it instead.”
Khun snorts at the idea of someone receiving the slayer candidate’s hair. He wants to make another rejoinder, but Bam clearly wants to say something, so he waits instead.
"Thanks for fighting off that FUG ranker," Bam says.
"Oh, it was no trouble," Khun says.
In truth, he had been bitter about his lack of involvement. As a ranker he couldn't fight in regular battles, and besides, he needed to keep a low profile about helping Bam, no matter what he'd said earlier. But once another ranker had tried to prevent Bam and his team from boarding the ship, it was fair game. It had been a while since Khun had gone all out against another person.
"You're a spear-bearer now?" Bam questions.
"Yes. I switched a couple of years ago. Our family is predisposed to spear-bearing, you know, because of my father."
"Why'd you start with light-bearing then?" Bam asks.
He shrugs. Most Khun children were expected to be spear-bearers, and he'd known this and made his decision accordingly. Even little marionettes could spite their owner with small defiances. It was after he became a High Ranker that his mother had directly ordered him to abandon light-bearing. It's not befitting for the head of a branch, she'd said. The fallout from disobeying this order was not worth it. So he had abandoned light-bearing, even though he’d enjoyed it.
"I guess I liked giving orders," he says, and Bam, for some reason, looks away quickly.
"You're a good spear-bearer," he offers.
"Thank you." He can't help a small smile from escaping.
He stays quiet as Bam shifts in his seat to face Khun properly. The bed below them dips as he moves. Khun swallows and ignores the skip of his heart.
"So . . . ” Bam says quietly. “I still want to know why you're helping us. I know you said you didn't know. But I don't want you to get hurt going against your family."
Khun bites his lip. He glances at Bam, and this is a mistake, because his face is tense with concern and he has the faintest blush of pink on his cheeks and he looks so adorably worried for Khun that it brings back the heart palpitations full-force.
He scrambles for words.
Bam takes his hesitation for reservation. He leans forward. Khun freezes in place.
"Tell me why you're helping me," Bam says, "why you helped me all those years back on the second floor even when I was weak and useless. You told me not to care for others but you cared, didn't you?"
This is veering into dangerous territory. Khun feels as though he is on the edge of a precipice, one more push and he could fall and keep falling. He could take a risk and take the plunge, but he's not like that. He's his mother's son, as much as he hates it, and his mother's son does not take risks when it comes to other people.
Not without effort, he leans away and focuses on keeping his voice level.
"You were interesting, that's all," he says. "I like interesting things. They're fun to watch. And you can't be interesting if you're dead."
With more space between them, Khun can breathe easier, and it cools his head.
Bam’s face is downcast.
"But your sister's a Princess," he says.
"What of it? I’m not a prince," he says.
"FUG should be your enemy."
"FUG is my enemy." he reminds him. "But you’re not.”
Bam starts, his hands move forward and he catches himself in time, clasping his knees instead. Guilt and misery are written all over his face.
Khun laughs. "Bam, Bam, don't think about it too deeply. Take my word for it that I want to do this, okay? It's my choice."
"It's dangerous," he repeats.
"Bam, I'm a High Ranker," he counters. He can't help a giggle from escaping. If Mother could see this she would've toppled right off her throne. "Worry more about yourself." He's not the one that all the tabloids are prophesying about, after all.
Bam peeks up at him through his bangs. Then his mouth sets in a determined line, and he abruptly scoots over.
Khun chokes off his laugh as Bam's arms wrap around him in a tight hug.
"Thank you," Bam says, his face pressed against Khun's shoulder. He can hear Bam's voice vibrating through his skin. "Thank you."
Khun makes a strangled noise that could be interpreted, generously, as "No problem." His arms are frozen at his sides, and he tries to hold his breath.
His mind, that infamous Khun family brain, can only sputter out words like Bam and hug and warm without stringing any of them into coherent thoughts. His body is a traitor, too, because red floods his cheeks, and Khun is panicking at how utterly ridiculous he must seem. He summons all his willpower and does not hug back.
After a few seconds Bam pulls back. His face is glowing as he says, "See you at dinner."
Then he leaves the room like he hadn’t just rearranged the entirety of Khun’s neural pathways. Once the door is closed, Khun promptly flops onto the bed and presses a pillow over his face.
What?
What is this? Why is he reacting like this?
Is it the close contact? It’s true that he hasn’t been hugged in a long time. But Bam seems to exacerbate this problem a hundredfold.
Why?
Perhaps it’s because ― yes, it’s because Bam is dangerous now. It’s adrenaline at having a slayer candidate so close to him. The fight or flight instinct, that’s what it is.
That’s why his eyes instinctively go to Bam, why his heart beats so fast. It’s natural to be wary of one’s enemy, and close proximity only heightens the symptoms.
It must be. It must be.
Because the alternative is ―
"I don't trust him," Endrossi says.
"I don't trust you, Princess," Khun says sweetly.
Bam shoots him an exasperated glance. "Stop it, you two."
"I say he’s all right," Rak announces, twirling his spear with boredom. "Are we done here yet?"
"No," Endrossi says. She points at Khun, who is sitting perched on the edge of his seat, chin propped up on his hands, the picture of nonchalance and sophisticated grace.
They’re seated in one of the ship’s numerous meeting rooms. It hadn’t been a formal gathering, just a check-up on everyone and plans for the future. Most everyone had wandered off in search of food except the ones currently sitting there.
"He could be double-crossing us. I wouldn't put it past a ranker from the Khun family to play a long game."
Bam wonders why she spits her words at Khun. He wonders why she won't tell him her real name. He wonders if there's a connection there. Right now, there’s no time to hypothesize. He hurries to pour oil over troubled waters.
"Look," he says, gesturing placatingly. "He could’ve killed any one of us at any time, and he hasn’t. So let's give him the benefit of the doubt."
"I'd like to see him try," Rak growls. Bam groans and rubs his eyes.
Khun lets out a small laugh that is cut off almost as soon as it is born, but he can't hide the mirth in his eyes. Bam side-eyes him, annoyed, but he can't help the infectious urge to smile too.
Khun looks put together as he always does, dressed in nice slacks and a button-down. The family crest ― symbolic of this very argument ― rests neatly at the breast pocket. His hair has been washed back to its normal color, and it seems so soft and silky that Bam wants to run his fingers through it.
Better not, though, if that disastrous hug had been any indication. Bam wants to climb up the Tower if only to throw himself off the top. What had he been thinking?
It’s just that Khun had looked so beautiful. He always looked pretty and precise like a doll, but at that moment he’d looked so alive. Bam never knew blue came in so many shades when he looked into his eyes or that Khun’s laugh sounded so soft. Or that he was so warm when he hugged him.
Or that Khun, apparently, hated hugs.
"I bet he's trying to gain our trust by helping us," Endrossi says, bringing Bam back to the present. "And when we're in a tight situation, he'll sell us out. Why else would someone from the Ten Great Families help us?"
"That's rich, coming from Jahad's daughter," Khun counters, baring his teeth. He's not truly annoyed, Bam can tell, but he seems to enjoy riling Endrossi up, which is not hard to do. Endrossi does everything in life the way she fights - with complete and utter aplomb.
Bam sighs. He doesn't like it when his friends fight. He didn't understand it back then and he still hates it now.
Khun looks at him. His features twist in an expression Bam can't place before they smooth back out to his default neutral face. He sits up straight and uncrosses his legs.
"Listen, I promise you I'm not gonna rat you out," he tells Endrossi. "I'm not interested enough in politics to kill someone for a cause, even if I believed in it."
"And I trust him," Bam puts in hurriedly before Khun can provoke her again.
"Right?" he says, turning to Khun. He has no idea what question he's asking.
"Right," Khun says. His sharp blue eyes go around the table, as if daring anyone to argue further.
Rak yawns again. "Are we done?"
"Yes," Hwaryun says, making Bam flinch. She has a habit of appearing out of nowhere at the most convenient times. He wonders if she uses her guide powers to calculate the best moment to drop into a conversation.
"I don't sense that he will be a problem," she adds.
Endrossi rolls her eyes. "Great. The person I distrust second-most on this team telling me I should trust the person I distrust the most." Bam marvels at her mastery of complicated phrasing.
"And I don't want your endorsement." Khun glowers at Hwaryun with eyes that could freeze blood.
Hwaryun is unfazed. "He won't betray Bam."
Endrossi crosses her arms. She doesn't look angry anymore, just resigned.
"You sure about that?” she says. “He’s only helping us ‘cause he’s bored and he thinks Bam’s interesting. Once the novelty wears off” ― she makes a grand gesture with her hands like a bomb going off ―
"It'll be another Maria all over again."
It's like someone had dropped a black hole in the center of the room, sucking out all conversation. Bam looks between Khun and Endrossi. The latter sticks her chin out at him, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. Khun draws the tip of his finger around the rim of his teacup. He doesn't meet anyone’s eyes.
“That’s not true,” Khun says, but it’s too quiet, and against Endorssi’s certainty, it’s unconvincing.
Rak is surprisingly sensitive. He jumps to his feet and pulls Bam up too.
"Great. You heard him," he says. "Let's go eat, I'm starving."
Endrossi snorts and looks away. After a second, Hwaryun is the first to leave the room, as silently as she'd appeared. Endrossi follows her, muttering something under her breath.
Bam turns to Khun. He is still studying his teacup as if it contains the future.
Rak says, "Let's go, Bam," and his voice is not unkind.
He looks back at Khun, who waves his hand. "I'll pass. You go ahead."
Bam wavers for only a second more before he says "I'll see you later then," and leaves before he hears Khun's response.
He feels bad for abandoning Khun, especially since he'd never seen him eat meals with the others, but he’s not sure how staying in that room would help either of them.
He wonders who Maria is. Or was.
It's just a passing curiosity. He doesn't share Endrossi's misgivings. For some reason, he has never doubted Khun.
Khun is a mystery and he's calculating and he doesn't like hugs, but his blue eyes are always gentle when he looks at Bam.
It might be naive to trust so soon again after Rachel, but Bam has never doubted Khun.
Maybe it's because he looked especially soft today. His silvery blue hair had been tied up, leaving some strands framing his face and his neck exposed. He has a nice neck, smooth and pale, and Bam could see his Adam's apple when he swallowed. Once or twice during the meeting, Bam thinks Khun might’ve caught him staring.
Bam presses a cold hand to his warm face. Maybe a month without seeing each other will give him some clarity.