Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Everything felt light, almost buoyant, as Baekjin's smaller hand found Baku's beneath the blanket. He peered up through his lashes, heart hammering a frantic rhythm. Faster than when he sprinted laps around the training ground. Baku's gaze softened, warm, pulling him in like gravity. They inched closer, breath mingling in the small space between them.

"What are you thinking, Baekjin?"

Baku's whisper tasted of honey. Baekjin ducked his chin, trying to hide the heat flooding his cheeks, and shook his head mutely. Baku only smiled, that gentle curve of his lips. Then the hand beneath his slipped away. The loss registered instantly, but before he could mourn it, Baku's fingers were cradling his face instead, thumb brushing the crest of his cheekbone. The world seemed to hold its breath. Baku leaned in, and Baekjin waited for the connection. 

Instead, lightning cracked against his skull. His hand flew to his head, but the sensation was wrong, distant, muffled, as if he'd been submerged in deep water and only now broke the surface. Sound rushed in—yelling, raw and furious, slicing through the dream's fragile threads. Baekjin's eyes snapped open.

Park Jincheol loomed above him, neck corded, face the color of a red flag. He looked like a bull ready to charge. The man raised a shoe and Baekjin flinched before his mind could catch up, the motion drilled into muscle memory from years ago. Fear for the man, long buried and forgotten, surged up like a reflex.

The old man was shouting something, but the words swam together, meaningless noise against the ringing in Baekjin's ears. He stared up, wide-eyed and disoriented, the room tilting. It was the same room from the dream but the warmth had curdled into something rotten.

"What are you staring at me like that for?"

Baekjin blinked, stupid and slow. His gaze skittered around the space, searching for some sign this was still the dream, some seam in reality he could tear open to escape back to Baku's arms. But the rough blanket beneath his fingers was too real, the smell of stale alcohol and sweat too sharp. Jincheol's hand swung down again. The impact cracked against the back of Baekjin's skull with the weight of decades of hard labor calcified into bone and cartilage. 

"Tell me where my bottles are, you little bastard."

Baekjin's head snapped up, rage flooding his veins like acid, hot and corrosive. The defiance only seemed to enrage the old man further. His hand rose again, and Baekjin flinched helplessly, the word tumbling out before he could stop it:

"I don't know."

The silence that followed was deafening. Baekjin froze, the reality of what he'd done crystallizing like ice in his chest. He stared at the floorboards, hollowed out, as if his soul had decided this was the moment to flee his body and leave the husk behind.

"If you ever try to hide my bottles again," Jincheol spat, leaning close enough that Baekjin could smell the soju on his breath, "it won't end well for you. Don't try to be my father. Focus on your shitty grades and try to salvage your academics while you still have time."

Baekjin remained seated there like a statue, witnessing his surroundings without participating in them.

"And if you can't study," Jincheol continued, stepping back with a sneer, "just quit school and start coming to the shop. I don't have much hope for you anyway."

The door slammed. The bang echoed in Baekjin's ears, jolting him out of his trance.

Long after the elder's footsteps faded down the hall, Baekjin remained frozen, staring at the empty space where the man had stood. Years of carefully constructed armor—of pretending he'd outgrown this fear, this smallness—lay shattered at his feet like dropped porcelain.

The old man wasn't even his father. But sitting there, flinching from a raised hand like a beaten dog, Baekjin remembered with perfect, humiliating clarity exactly how he'd always been. How he feared the man just as much as he feared his bullies. Maybe it was inevitable, he thought, this regression. You could run from your past, build new walls, craft tender dreams of hands that cradled instead of struck but eventually, the things you desperately wanted to forget always came home to collect their due.

His fists curled, knuckles white with rage. They trembled with restraint. His mouth twisted into a snarl, fury cresting like a wave, and he wanted to scream until his throat went hoarse. His breath came in jagged heaves, the violence in him searching for an outlet. He looked around, frantic, desperate for something to destroy. Then he froze, the rage condensing into something colder. The room crystallized around him, details snapping into focus. This wasn't his bedroom. 

Baekjin scrambled out of bed, sheets tangling around his legs. After everything—the shoe, the shouting, the humiliation—this couldn't be a dream. Dreams shattered when pain bloomed, didn't they? When Jincheol's shoe cracked against his skull, when the hand descended a second time, when he flinched again and again like a scared dog—any of those moments should have shattered the dream. But the ache in his head anchored him to this reality.

So what the fuck was he doing in Baku's room? Where was Baku? And why was his father...

Baekjin went very still.

Why hadn't Jincheol reacted to finding him in Baku's bed? Why had he spoken to him like he was speaking to his own son….

The vertigo hit suddenly, he felt simultaneously too heavy and weightless, as if his consciousness had been poured into a vessel that didn't fit. An out-of-body experience, like he was trapped inside a body that wasn't his. Instinctively, he looked down. The hands he raised were not his. Familiar but not on his body. They usually existed on Baku so why were they attached to him now?  

Baekjin bolted for the bathroom, every nook and corner already familiar to him, and stood before the mirror and the reflection struck him like a physical blow, knees buckling.

Baku stared back at him. Baku's dark eyes wide with Baekjin's panic. Baku's mouth slightly open in Baekjin's shock.

He wasn't going to pretend he didn't understand the concept of body swaps but those were usually seen in fiction. The only realities Baekjin had ever believed in were death and body possession. 

Was he finally dead? Did his soul decide to latch onto Baku and torment him like he had planned to? How much would Baekjin be allowed to control the other's mind? Because right now Baku’s body felt devoid of the other's presence. 

"Baku?" He dumbly called for the other to the mirror and no voice answered from the depths. And Baekjin was convinced either he had lost his mind, or he was still dreaming. 

Fine. If this was a dream, he would navigate it until it broke. And if it wasn't...He needed answers.

Baekjin ran, bursting from the apartment and sprinted toward his own home in search of his body. Maybe he would find his body rotting there because no one had cared to check. Or maybe he would find Baku. Either would answer at least something. He ran until his lungs burnt, legs screaming, the physical pain somehow reassuring that he was neither ghost nor dreamer. His mind teetered on the edge of hysteria by the time he reached his street, gasping, vision spotted with black. And then he finally saw his own body, his familiar set of shoulders and a tall frame, running toward him with equal desperation.

The possibility of death died in that moment, replaced by the possibility of it all being some crazily vivid nightmare.

They come to a stop in front of each other, both bent over and breathing hard. For a few long seconds, neither of them speaks. They simply stand there, gasping for air until their breathing gradually evens out.

The moment he can breathe again, Baku grabs Baekjin by the shoulders. His hands roam over Baekjin's chest, arms, ribs—frantic, almost searching—as if he needs to make sure the body in front of him is whole. Alive. Only when he's convinced nothing is missing does he pull back, his face twisting into utter disbelief.

"What the fuck is this?"

Baekjin opens his mouth to answer, but then presses it into a thin line. "I actually crossed your name off for a ritual," Baekjin says flatly.

Baku blinks. "What?" His voice jumps an octave. "You can't be serious."

"Then why the fuck are you asking me?" Baekjin shoots back. "I'm just as confused."

"I can't believe something like this is even possible." Baku stares down at his hands.

No. His hands. He flexes the unfamiliar fingers, turning them over as though expecting them to suddenly make sense. Just moments ago, Baekjin had been staring at Baku's hands with the same haunted expression.

"...How?" he whispers.

Baekjin instinctively checks out his own body with eyes alone. His gaze catches on something.

"Why is your cheek so red?" Baekjin asks, narrowing his eyes at the stark red painted across his cheeks. 

Baku opens his mouth, then looks away, blinking a little too fast.

"...I slapped myself a few times. Trying to wake myself up," Baku mutters. "Thought maybe I was dreaming."

Baekjin raises an eyebrow."You mean you slapped me until your handprint showed up on my face." Baekjin corrects. 

"Hey, that's not the same." Baku jumps to defend. 

"It is exactly the same."

"No, it isn't." Baku folds his arms stubbornly. "As long as I'm in this body, doesn't it count as mine?" He gestures between them as though the logic is flawless. "You're occupying mine too. It's not like I possessed you just so I could skin you."

Baekjin exhales through his nose. "So…” He trails off. “It really is a body swap."

The words sound absurd even as he says them. He folds his arms over his chest. A muscular cushion lays beneath his hand and the awareness of it being Baku’s chest comes faster than he can stop. He unclenches his fist and presses the flat of his palm over the muscular flesh underneath. His hands twitch as an electric wave runs down his spine. Heat crawls up his neck. He quickly uncrosses his arms before Baku notices, though thankfully Baku is far too occupied spiraling to pay him any attention.

"What do we do?" Baku murmurs with a pout, suddenly looking like a lost child. 

Baekjin clears his throat. "We need to figure out how this happened."

"How the fuck are we supposed to do that?" Baku shouts, exasperated. 

Baekjin can't help it. The corner of his mouth curls into a scowl. He is every bit equally panicked as Baku but nothing would come out by losing their mind. 

"Could you stop yelling for five seconds?" 

Baku stares at him in disbelief before scoffing. "How are you so calm?" He throws both hands into the air. "What if we're stuck like this forever? Then what? What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Would it really be that bad?" Baekjin says it only to watch Baku combust. It works instantly.

"Are you insane? Yes, it'd be that bad." He said hysterically. "And who the hell wants to lead your shitty union?" He makes a scowling face at the mention of union but instantly his expression shifts. "And your school..." His eyes widen. "Oh, hell no." He looks genuinely horrified now. "You'll lose your scholarship in a day."

Baekjin lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. Despite everything, there was something strangely endearing about Baku's priorities.

"And what about my friends?" he asks. "My family? Are you going to deal with my old man?"

The amusement disappears from Baekjin's face almost instantly.

"...Now you're talking sense." He straightens, shaking his head with startling conviction. "No. Not him. Not even for a day." He mutters the last part under his breath, like even imagining it is enough to make his stomach turn.

Baku studies him for a moment before sighing. "Then think of something."

"What exactly am I supposed to think?"

But Baku is already pacing in restless circles, dragging a hand through unfamiliar hair. Baekjin watches him in silence. For the first time in a long while he has absolutely no idea where to begin.

Baekjin tried to figure out what could have gone wrong the previous day. He was certain he'd fallen asleep in his own bed. That meant whatever had happened must have occurred while he was asleep. But what could have triggered it? He replayed the entire day in his mind. He'd woken up, gone to school, headed straight to the office afterward, done exactly what he always did, then returned home. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place. He couldn't find a single point where things had gone wrong.

He couldn't form any point in his head so he approached it from the perspective of fiction. Curses. Wishes. Deals with devils. Potions, those were some of the famous ways authors liked to go about bodyswaps. 

He hadn't made any deal with a devil or whatever, nor had he wished to have Baku's body—certainly not like this. A curse, however... that wasn't impossible. He had more than enough people who hated him. Or perhaps someone had slipped something into his food. That, too, wasn't beyond the realm of possibility.

"Let's think about what we did yesterday," he said, turning to Baku.

"Yes." Baku's face brightened immediately.

Baekjin frowned. "What were you thinking about for so long, then?"

Baku's smile wilted. "I don't know. I was trying to think really hard..." he admitted sheepishly. "But my mind was empty."

Baekjin opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. Instead, he let out a quiet huff and looked away. Baku is so fucking cute. The thought surfaced before he could stop it.

His expression hardened almost instantly, wiping every trace of the endearment from his face. His voice dropped into a more serious tone. "Tell me."

"You tell me first."

"I didn't do anything out of the ordinary."

"Then why do you assume it's my fault?" Baku asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Because you need constant supervision," Baekjin muttered under his breath before sighing. "Baku. Just think."

Baku puffed out his cheeks in a pout, but obediently closed his eyes in concentration. "I went trekking early in the morning," he began slowly. His brows furrowed as he searched his memory. "I came back really late. Had dinner outside. Went home and slept." He looked back at Baekjin. "That's all."

"Baku,” Baekjin said, sighing slowly. “Elaborate. Did anything unusual happen?"

"No." He said without missing a beat. 

"Think carefully." Baekjin spoke with deliberate patience. "Did you make some strange wish? A deal with someone? Do you think someone cursed you..."

Baku had already opened his mouth to deny it or to say how rediculous the ideas were.

"...or gave you a potion or something?"

Baku froze, his eyes suddenly widened. "Potion." He looked at Baekjin with dawning realization. "Not a potion..." he corrected himself. "...Wine. Traditional wine."

Baekjin stared at him. Baku stared back, blinking adorably like that could absolve his stupidity somehow. 

They sat down, and Baku recounted every detail. During the trek, he'd lost contact with Hyuntak and wandered off searching for him. While looking around, he'd stumbled upon a hidden path that led to a cave tucked away behind thick vegetation. Out of curiosity, to see if Hyuntak was there, he entered the cave.

Baekjin wanted to interrupt right there and tell him that no sane person wandered into mysterious caves because they were curious, but he bit his tongue. Stopping Baku now would only derail the story.

Inside the cave had been a stone podium. Resting atop it was a single teacup filled with clear liquid. Beside it sat a small placard that instructed the intruder to drink the wine. And, because he was Baku, he had.

"...Baku," Baekjin said after the explanation finally ended, rubbing a hand over his face. "How old are you?"

Baku huffed sulkily and looked away.

"Even a child would know better than to drink mysterious liquids they find in abandoned caves."

Baku’s pout only deepened. 

"But even if you drank it," Baekjin continued, trying to piece together the logic, "why was I dragged into this?"

He looked at Baku expectantly and the other avoided his eyes.

"...Baku."

Still no answer.

"Baku."

The boy visibly shrank under his stare. Finally, in a voice barely above a mumble, he confessed, "...I said your name while I was drinking it." He blurted the sentence so quickly Baekjin almost missed it.

"...What?"

"I took your name while drinking it," Baku repeated, even quieter this time.

Baekjin stared at him in utter disbelief. He blinked several times, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard, before letting out a hollow scoff. His gaze drifted aimlessly around the road as though the asphalt trails might explain the absurdity of the situation.

This was ridiculous.

Sitting around, accomplishing nothing, wasn't going to solve it.

"We're going back to that cave. If we can't find a way to undo this, maybe we'll at least find some answers." He'd said to Baku and dragged him along for the mystery unraveling adventure. 

Thankfully, the cave wasn't near the mountain's peak. It was only about a kilometer from the trailhead, and they covered the distance quickly.

Even so, every step felt unreal. Baekjin still found himself hoping this would all turn out to be some elaborate dream. His mind simply refused to accept it. Again and again, his eyes drifted toward Baku. Each time, some irrational part of him expected to see Baku in his own body. Instead, all he saw was his own face walking ahead of him, animated by Baku's soul. The sight made something twist inside his chest. All of this was strangely intimate. They walked mostly in silence but his thoughts wandered.

Body swap. The phrase suddenly felt too shallow. It wasn't merely a swap of bodies for him. Baekjin would rather call it the exchange of souls.

His soul existed inside Baku's body, while Baku's lived within his own. It sounded like the premise of some fantastical novel, something so impossible that even fiction struggled to make it believable. Yet here they were. It was bizarre, terrifying. And somehow...Sacred.

As they reached the cave entrance, a weathered warning board came into view. 

DO NOT ENTER. Written in bold red paint. 

Baekjin glanced sideways at Baku and the other immediately found the surrounding scenery fascinating.  Baekjin only shook his head. Of course.

They stepped inside. The stone podium Baku had described still stood in the center of the cave but the teacup was gone. Only a single placard remained. Baekjin stepped closer and read the inscription aloud.

"If you wish to make that person yours, drink this potion while speaking their name."

A puzzled sound escaped the back of his throat. The line was so cliche that it gave Baekjin goosebumps. Whoever wrote it clearly thought outdated phrasing was still in style.  

"Hey..." Baku frowned. "That's different from yesterday."

Baekjin looked over. "What was written yesterday?"

Baku answered without thinking. "If you wish to know someone, drink this potion while speaking their name." 

Then he stilled in realisation. The silence that followed was deafening. 

Baekjin slowly turned toward him. "...You never mentioned that."

Baku blinked. Then, with the guilty instinct of someone caught red-handed, he quietly looked away as though avoiding eye contact might somehow spare him. Baekjin pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'd rather drink poison than talk to me directly." he muttered under his breath. 

"Hey!" Baku frowned immediately. "Don't put it like that."

Baekjin didn't answer. Instead, he deliberately changed the subject. 

"The cup's gone."

"Right." Baku nodded and began looking around the cave, peering into every corner as though the teacup might simply be hiding behind a rock. Baekjin sighed and joined the search. It wasn't as though they had anything better to do.

After several quiet minutes, a rhythmic clack... clack... clack... echoed through the cave. Both of them stopped. The sound grew louder with each passing second. Instinctively, they drifted closer together, their attention fixed on the entrance.

A figure slowly emerged from the daylight. An old man—well into his eighties by the look of him—made his way inside with measured steps. His hunched frame leaned heavily on a worn wooden cane that struck the stone floor with every step. He wore a faded, threadbare hanbok, and in his free hand hung a small iron kettle. He paused only long enough to glance at the two of them. Then, as though they were of no particular importance, he continued toward the stone podium.

"It's too early," the old man muttered in a wavering voice as he shuffled toward the stone podium. "I've only just changed the label."

Baekjin and Baku exchanged a glance before turning back to him. The old man bent down and pulled a small teacup from a hidden cabinet tucked beneath the stone pedestal—one neither of them had noticed before. With practiced hands, he uncorked the kettle he carried and slowly poured a clear liquid into the cup.

Baku's eyes lit up. Hope flashed across his face. He hurried over to the old man, watching him with open curiosity.

"Harabeoji," he asked, pointing at the cup, "did you make this?"

The old man gave a slow nod.

"What other kinds of potions do you make?" He asked, inquisitive and bright like a child. 

"Baku..." Baekjin drawled in warning before walking over himself. He stopped beside the old man.

"Do the authorities know what you're doing here?" he asked evenly, though the sharp edge beneath his tone was unmistakable. "Do you have a permit to run this black magic laboratory you've apparently opened?"

The hypocrisy was laughable and rude. Baku shot him a look. Baekjin ignored it.

The old man slowly lifted his head. He squinted at Baekjin for a long moment, as if trying to see him clearly or perhaps sizing him up. Finally, he sucked in a breath. 

"Shut up, kid." His voice was rough with age. "Your lover walked in here of his own free will."

"I'm not his lover," Baku immediately chimed in. 

"Hm." The old man's grunt carried not the slightest hint of belief. Baku opened his mouth to argue further, but Baekjin cut in before he could. 

"Fine. Just tell us when the effects wear off." His voice was clipped. His patience was wearing thin.

The old man remained silent for several long seconds before turning to Baku. "How much did you drink?"

"Just one sip."

The old man waited.

"...I'm sorry," Baku added sheepishly. "It tasted really bad." He tilted his head. "Was that because it's aged? Or because it's new?"

The old man blinked.

"I don't really drink soju," Baku continued earnestly, "so I don't know much about traditional alcohol."

Then another thought occurred to him. "Do you make beer too? I think more people would be interested if you did."

Baekjin closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Baku was impossible.

The old man merely hummed. "Hmm..." He nodded thoughtfully. "One day."

Baku's face brightened. "Oh! You've already been thinking about making beer?"

The old man looked at him for a long moment before shifting his gaze to Baekjin.

"One day," he repeated, this time with unmistakable emphasis. Then, without another word, he turned and slowly shuffled deeper into the cave, his cane striking the stone floor with rhythmic clacks.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

The two of them stood in silence, watching his retreating figure disappear into the darkness.

"...What did he—"Baku had barely begun speaking before Baekjin grabbed his wrist.

"We're leaving."

Without waiting for a response, he dragged Baku out of the cave.

On the way back down the mountain, they argued the entire time over what the old man had meant by one day.

"It has to mean today," Baku insisted. "Or twenty-four hours from when I drank it," 

"And if it doesn't?" Baekjin countered. 

Baku was quiet for a moment, suddenly looking troubled. 

"...Then it could literally mean one day." Baekjin filled in for him. 

Baku frowned. "...That's literally the same thing I said."

"No." Baekjin sighed. "I mean some day."

Baku frowned briefly before he understood the meaning. The implication settled between them heavily. 

Some day could be any day. A random Tuesday decades from now. Their thirties, their fifties. Their eighties. Or even a day before one of them dies. Neither of them liked that possibility. 

If the old man had truly meant one day in the indefinite sense, then this wasn't an inconvenience. It was a life sentence.

After a long silence, Baekjin exhaled. "There isn't any point thinking about every possibility."

Baku nodded.

They decided they would get through today. If they woke up tomorrow in their own bodies, then the old man's words had simply referred to the next day. If they didn't...Baekjin cast one last glance toward the mountain behind them. "Then we're dragging that old man back here until he tells us exactly which day he meant." 

They reached the intersection where the road split in two. One path led toward Baku's neighborhood. The other led to Eunjang High.

Before they parted, Baku spoke. "Go to school today."

"Do I really have to?" Baekjin asked, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. "It's not like it'll make much of a difference."

Baku looked at him in disbelief. "Do you think you're the only student here?"

Baekjin said nothing.

"I have a mock exam today," Baku continued. "If I'm absent, they'll call my old man." He shuddered dramatically. "And then he'll curse me out." Baku leaned closer, smiling with exaggerated sweetness. "You wouldn't want that, would you?"

The corner of Baekjin's mouth twitched. "Have you seen yourself? The moment I walk in, everyone will know something's wrong."

"So?"

"And this mock exam..." Baekjin tilted his head. "Have you ever ranked first in your class?"

"No."

"Then wouldn't it be suspicious if you suddenly did today?"

Baku rolled his eyes. "Who told you to answer everything, smart pants? Just score enough to pass."

Baekjin folded his arms. Baku sighed dramatically. "Baekjin-ah, I thought you were smarter than this."

Baekjin ignored the jab. "What about my school?"

Baku's expression changed instantly. "You have an exam too?" He asked, horrified. 

"No."

The panic drained from Baku's face. "Oh." He smiled in relief. "Then you'll be fine."

Baekjin didn't answer immediately. He lingered for a second, looking as though he wanted to say something but decided against it. Then, almost reluctantly, he spoke anyway.

"Don't go anywhere after school." Baku blinked. "Go straight home. I'll come there after school." He hesitated just long enough for the pause to become noticeable. "The door code is zero-four-two-eight."

Baku simply stared at him. Baekjin never met his eyes. As though he'd said something embarrassing, he turned on his heel and walked away without waiting for a reply.

Baku watched him disappear down the road. A small smile tugged at his lips almost automatically. He was mostly going to fine at Yeo-il but Eunjang would be an interesting trip for the other. Then his thoughts drifted to his father and his smile faltered.  Silently, he prayed the man wouldn't come across Baekjin today. Baekjin would not tolerate being spoken to the way Baku usually was. Not anymore. And his father...His father wasn't the sort of man who held back. And Baekjin wouldn't either. If the two of them met, neither would back down.

That thought alone was enough to make Baku shudder at the possible disaster that could happen. 

Eunjang High was every bit as chaotic as Baekjin had heard. If anything, the stories had undersold it. The boys tore across the courtyard like wild animals released after years in captivity. Shouts echoed from every direction like dogs howling. Some crowding a timid guy in a corner of the staircase, Some chasing after a boy running like his life depended on it.  A group nearby burst into deafening laughter, sounding like jackals, over what had to be the least amusing joke ever conceived. Baekjin had no idea what they found so funny.

This place was a zoo.

The moment he stepped through the school gates, he decided he would simply pretend to be Baku. How difficult could it possibly be?

As it turned out, very.

"Baku!"

As Baekjin walked through the premises of Eunjang, he was greeted by at least a hundred of them. He forced a bright smile that showed far more teeth than felt natural and raised a stiff hand in greeting. Every time someone called Baku’s name, he cleared his throat and tried to impersonate Baku but when his voice would come out weird he’d be hit with the realisation that he doesn’t need to lower his voice and sound like a groaning dog. He was Baku. He already sounds like him, all he needed to do was act like him. 

Simple, right? 

Except, no matter how hard he tried, the words refused to come naturally. Whenever he spoke, his replies came out clipped, stiff, and strangely formal. Every sentence sounded as though it had been rehearsed in front of a mirror. Some accepted the awkward greetings without thinking twice and continued on their way. Others slowed. A few frowned, exchanging puzzled glances with each other. Some ended up asking if he was okay. And that was Baekjin's last straw. He gave up on pretending and the fake smile disappeared. He lowered his head, shoved both hands into his pockets, and walked the rest of the way to his classroom in complete silence, ignoring every greeting that came his way. If they thought Baku was acting strange today...There was nothing he could do about it.

There was simply no way Baekjin could pretend to be someone as effortlessly warm as Baku. He was wired differently. His personality refused to bend that far. 

"Yah, why are you late?"

Baekjin finally lifted his head. A tall boy stood in front of him with both hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie.

Go Hyuntak.

"I thought you weren't going to make it in time for the test." He frowned. "I called you so many times."

Baekjin simply stared at him. Expressionless. His gaze was calm, sharp enough to make Hyuntak hesitate. The boy unconsciously straightened from his relaxed slouch.

"...What's with you?" He opened his mouth to ask something else, but before he could, the classroom door slid open, the teacher walked in with a stack of test papers tucked beneath her arm.

"Everyone, back to your seats. We'll begin the mock exam shortly."

Baekjin sighed in relief. Without another word, he walked past Hyuntak and took the seat in front of him. The exam would last two periods, if he was lucky, he could spend the remaining classes pretending to be unwell and avoid interacting with Baku's friends altogether. That sounded manageable.

The papers were distributed. Baekjin glanced over the first page and his brows drew together.

That's it?

The questions were noticeably easier than anything he solved at Yeo-il. He almost laughed. Then again, if Yeo-il's exams were given here, half the students would probably still be in high school ten years later.

He lowered his head and began writing. The exam barely lasted long enough to keep him occupied. By the time the others were reaching the final page, Baekjin had already checked every answer twice.

For the rest of the periods he considered putting his head down and sleeping. Maybe that would make a more convincing Baku than him attentively taking class . But in the end he couldn't. Years of habit refused to let him waste class time. So he sat through the remaining lessons properly, listening with quiet attention.

At one point, the teacher asked him a question just because he was paying attention. The answer surfaced in his mind immediately. It sat on the tip of his tongue but Baekjin didn't even volunteer answers in his own classroom, doing so as Baku was completely out of the question.

When the lunch bell rang, Baekjin stayed in his seat out of habit. Only when Hyuntak walked over did he remember that Baku probably would have been in the cafeteria by now. 

"I'm not really hungry," Baekjin said, hoping that would end the conversation but Hyuntak laughed it off saying it might be because he hasn't heard the day's menu yet. Before Baekjin could object, Hyuntak had already dragged him out of the classroom. As they joined the lunch line, Baekjin stared at the day's special.

Soft tofu stew. He couldn't understand the excitement. It was just sundubu.

After collecting their trays, they sat together. Baekjin ate quietly but Hyuntak kept sneaking glances at him. It wasn't until Baekjin had nearly finished that Hyuntak frowned.

"You really are sick?" Baekjin looked up with a raised brow and then smoothened it out remembering Baku usually didn't wear such sharp expressions. 

"Your portion." Hyuntak pointed at his tray. "You usually eat enough for three people." he snickered. 

Baekjin looked down. The amount he'd taken had been instinctive. Normal for him. Apparently not for Baku. He didn't grace the other with an answer. 

The rest of the meal passed in silence but Hyuntak had started picking up on his strange behaviour long ago yet didn't question it. Until he eventually spoke again.

"Did something happen with your dad?"

Baekjin's first instinct was to laugh it off. He forced out a short chuckle. The moment it left his mouth, he knew it sounded wrong. Awkward. Unnatural. Nothing like Baku's easy, infectious laugh. If anything, it only confirmed that something was off.

He let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah. It's related to my father." 

It was far easier than trying to explain the truth. Hyuntak didn't ask another question. He simply nodded and returned to eating, giving him the space to speak—or not speak—on his own terms.

Baekjin found himself watching him in silence. Part of him appreciated it. The human part. 

Objectively, Hyuntak was considerate. Patient. The kind of friend most people wished they had. But another part of him—the part that was still unmistakably Na Baekjin, couldn't accept it so easily. His kindness irritated him. 

Perhaps that's why Baekjin could never consider himself a particularly good person. And maybe that was also why he hated Hyuntak. Because Hyuntak was simply...A better man than he was.

The thought soured his mood more than he expected. After that, he barely touched his food. He picked at his lunch like a bird, forcing himself to finish enough that Hyuntak wouldn't notice anything else was wrong.

Thankfully, he managed to get through it. The remaining four periods passed with him focusing on studying. Baku's notes were more accurately described as rough sketches than actual notes. Looking through his notebook after months should not have been something that made him smile like a fool. Yet somehow, it was the only thing that had managed to do so all day. His fingers traced over the messy handwriting, and the simple act felt strangely intimate.

Baekjin remembered how he used to make quick side notes for Baku. How he would draw boxes around important formulas, rewrite complicated concepts in simpler words, and organize everything neatly because he knew Baku struggled to learn from ordinary explanations. Baku used to tell him that he was a better teacher than all their actual teachers. Now, looking at those careless scribbles filling the pages, something ached faintly in his chest.

Without much thought, Baekjin spent the rest of the classes writing mathematics notes for him. He ignored every other subject. Math was enough because it had always been the subject Baku struggled with the most. 

Several teachers noticed him working in his notebook instead of following their lessons. They expected the usual sheepish smile, The embarrassed apology. The Baku they knew. Instead, they received Baekjin's cold stare. The kind that made their expressions falter before they quietly turned away and continued teaching.

After school, Baekjin knew he was supposed to attend basketball practice. He desperately wanted to skip it. He needed to see Baku. He wouldn't be able to go to his usual hideout in Daesung while he was stuck in Baku's body but at least staying with Baku meant he could stop the other from ending up there either.

Unfortunately, the coach stopped him before he could leave, asking him to join the practice with the boys. Baekjin scrambled for an excuse and the coach dismissed it immediately. It was new for him. He might have not lied as much in an entire year as he did in just one day. When he passed the same excuse of not being well, the coach allowed him to not play but still made him sit out and observe others which was hardly better. 

Baekjin had no interest in watching anyone play basketball. The only person he ever wanted to watch was Baku. But he had no choice so he sighed and sat on the sidelines and watched the players move across the court. Or at least, he appeared to.

His mind was somewhere else entirely. The entire match passed without him registering much. When the boys finished and several of them suggested playing another round, Baekjin felt an almost murderous irritation rise inside him.

Thankfully, Hyuntak eventually gave up but then he came to sit beside him. Baekjin immediately stiffened. He became more aware of himself.

Hyuntak wiped the sweat from his face, slowly catching his breath. He drank water and rested beside him without saying anything.

Baekjin almost hoped that consideration would last. But of course, nothing ever worked out perfectly for him.

"What are you thinking about so deeply?" Hyuntak asked casually, not even looking in his direction.

The question caught him off guard. Baekjin reminded himself that he wasn't sitting there as Na Baekjin. He was Baku. So whatever answer he gave had to belong to Baku.

"Nothing." The response came out neutral. 

Hyuntak glanced at him. "Are you thinking about him again?"

Baekjin's head immediately snapped toward him.

"Him?" His brow lifted.

Hyuntak rolled his eyes. "You already know, bastard." He looked away, hiding a grimace. "Na Baekjin."

Something about the way Hyuntak said his name caught Baekjin's attention. His lips had curled slightly, almost like the name itself carried a horrible memory. Because of course it did and Baekjin felt a sickening smile curling on his lips that he suppressed immediately. 

For a moment, he forgot to respond. He had to remind himself to think, to answer as Baku. Even if his own thoughts were bound to leak through.

"Do you think..." he started slowly. "Do you think I still think about him? Na Baekjin?” Keeping a straight face was not hard for Baekjin but he wondered if hope flashed in his eyes as he waited for the answer with held breath.  

"Don't you?" Hyuntak's lips curved into a knowing half-smile.

"How would I know?" He said without missing a beat and then bit his tongue. 

"What?" Hyuntak frowned. "Who would know if not you, idiot?"

Usually, Baekjin was quick at understanding things. But now he wondered if being in Baku's body had somehow affected his brain as well, because he was taking far too long to process simple things and still managing to say all the wrong answers.

When Hyuntak narrowed his eyes at him, studying him carefully, Baekjin looked away. Because if this was true, if Baku really had been thinking about him this much,Then what did that mean?

"What do you think about it?" Baekjin asked slowly. He hesitated. "Are you—Do you get upset?"

Truthfully, he wasn't sure why he asked. He didn't particularly care if Hyuntak was upset. A small, petty part of him would even hope Baku missed him more. Enough to prove something. Enough to rub it in Hyuntak's face.

But then again, Baku was Baku. There was a damn reason he never gave in to his demands. Even now, Baekjin knew Baku would worry about Hyuntak before himself.

Hyuntak let out a soft laugh. "At least you're finally admitting you think about him."

Baekjin pressed his lips together. His own feelings and the reaction he was supposed to give as Baku were becoming increasingly difficult to separate. Thankfully, Hyuntak wasn't watching him closely enough to notice.

He exhaled forcefully, his shoulders slumping. “Upset?” He looked toward the court. “Upset because you think about him?” he laughed humourlessly. There was a long pause before he continued.

"You can get upset over things that are within your control, Baku." His gaze returned to Baekjin. "But you missing him is like..." He shrugged. "...inevitable."

Baekjin frowned. "Why would you say that?" it came out in a whisper. Like baekjin didn't want to get his hopes up. 

Hyuntak let out a quiet breath and looked away again. He was avoiding his gaze more than before, almost like he couldn't have this difficult conversation looking him in the eye. 

"How do I even explain this, Humin?"

He turned back. "You are yourself almost all the time." His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he searched for the right words. "But sometimes..." His eyes drifted away like searching for the right words. "When you're alone, it feels like you're a completely different person."

Baekjin stayed silent.

"It's like there's a ghost sitting beside you." Hyuntak's voice softened. A bitter smirk forming on his lips. "Like it's taking up all the space, leaving no room for anyone else to sit with you."

He paused and gave him a meaningful look. "It isolates you from the rest of us. Like being on a seesaw while waiting for the other person to come back and sit down."

The words settled heavily. Baekjin stared at him for a long moment. Something tightened painfully in his chest. He looked away, forcing out a shaky breath. His gaze dropped to his hands, fingers fidgeting restlessly.

"Do you think so?" His voice came out quieter than he expected.

"Yes." The answer came immediately. No hesitation.

Baekjin swallowed. "What should I do about it, then?" 

Hyuntak blinked. Then his voice lowered. "Why are you asking me that?" He laughs in a strained voice. He looked down, fingers moving absently. "Ask yourself."

Baekjin stared at Hyuntak long enough that the other gave up and looked back at him. But only briefly to give him a small smile that reflected more than Baekjin would have liked to know about. 

"Gotak."

Hyuntak hummed, fidgeting with the zipper of his bag. 

"Do you like me?"

For once, Hyuntak had no immediate response. He froze, staring at him like he had just said something completely incomprehensible. Then he let out a breathless laugh. A crooked grin slowly appeared.

"What?"

"Would you date me?" Baekjin asked with complete seriousness. His expression was calm. Almost as serious as Humin could possibly look.

Hyuntak’s face twisted. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He scowled. Each word came out loud. "Never." He said firmly. He turned away, after giving Baekjin a look of pure disbelief. But strangely Baekjin didn't think the disgust was personal.

"Why? Am I not handsome?" Baekjin tilted his head. "Do you not like me?"

Hyuntak stared at him for several seconds. Then he looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had led him to this conversation. He let his head fall back, staring up at the sky as if petitioning some higher power for a rescue from this conversation. "It's not about whether I like you, or whether you're handsome," he said, gaze fixed on the clouds. "You—you have feelings for someone else."

"Is that why we can't be together?"

"No, you idiot." Hyuntak's lips curled with mild irritation. "I... I honestly always knew. From day one. So I never let myself think like that."

"Never?" Baekjin raised a brow.

"Never." The word rang with unwavering conviction.

Baekjin let out a slow breath, turning away to hide the smile tugging at his lips, the satisfaction curling warm and treacherous around his heart.

"Why?" Hyuntak's voice came from behind, teasing "Are you disappointed?"

"Why would I be?" He frowned, looking back. "You just said I have Baekjin."

Hyuntak nodded, offering a small, half-hearted smile. The smile on Baekjin's face faltered in response. Silence stretched between them, thin and brittle. Hyuntak busied himself with his shoes, fingers working at the soles, while Baekjin's mind wandered back through the conversation, cataloguing details. Only at the end did he realize—Hyuntak had never mentioned the knee incident.

"Hyuntak," he called out, wary.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think about Baekjin?"

Hyuntak scoffed, hands stilling on his shoes. "What would I think? I hate that bastard."

"Then why are you telling me to get with him?"

Hyuntak turned suddenly, expression serious, almost severe. "Because I can't stand watching you pine for him like a pathetic loser when you obviously want him. All because of me."

"But what happened with you was also because of me," Baekjin said, the words escaping before he processed them. It would suit Baku though, he realized belatedly. The boy who carried the weight of the world's feelings on his shoulders, everyone's except his own.

"No." Hyuntak's voice hardened, firm and unyielding. "It happened because of Baekjin." His eyes sharpened at the edges, glinting with something cold. "Don't take the blame yourself. I've said it enough times, and I won't keep repeating it, Baku." He looked away, his movements turning forceful, aggressive in their precision.

"How can me being together with Baekjin and you being my friend coexist?" Baekjin asked slowly. It was a question that had haunted him, one he'd turned over until the edges wore smooth. He'd always concluded that Baku would have to choose—him or Hyuntak. And Baekjin refused to settle for anything less than full attention. "Would you actually be fine with me… dating Baekjin?"

Hyuntak clicked his tongue, then sighed, a deep, ragged sound from the chest. "Honestly? No." He looked him in the eye, unflinching. "He's not the right guy for you. You already know what he does. He won't come to your side, and he runs that system which enables thugs to bully high schoolers for money. If only he could stand beside you, it would make sense. But since he's not ready to give up fighting—" Hyuntak broke off, exhaling sharply, gaze drifting to the distance. "I don't know what to say."

Baekjin studied Hyuntak's tight jaw, the tension corded through his shoulders, and wondered why his heart burned. What grated against him, raw and unexpected. He felt the old urge bubbling beneath his skin—the urge to fight, to defend—but layered beneath it was something new, something that tasted suspiciously like guilt. 

He cleared his throat, as if that could clear his mind. "Nothing else?" he asked quietly.

"If you're trying to talk about my knee..." Hyuntak shook his head. "That's unforgivable. But it's not like you dating him would change anything. We're just going to remain friends." He shrugged, a smirk sliding across his face, erasing the hard lines of moments before. Just like that. "What do I even care if he's your boyfriend?"

Baekjin stared at him.

The silence stretched long enough to make Hyuntak shift uncomfortably under his gaze. Then Hyuntak jabbed him in the ribs, quick and sharp. "And you're talking like you're about to go propose to him tonight," he said, suddenly springing away as if expecting to be chased—like Baku would lurch after him, would wrestle him to the ground for such a comment. But Baekjin remained seated. As would Baku have done, perhaps. Just staring as Hyuntak jogged back toward the court to retrieve the ball.

Baekjin stayed by the bleachers, piecing together fragments until they formed a coherent picture. A clear perspective for himself as Baekjin, and even for Humin.