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The first time Bum discovers he’s immortal is in 1724 when he’s only a mere twenty-five.
A coarse rope is burrowed deep into his wrists and his knees buckle when he feels the bridge beneath his feet rock to and fro. It takes a rough shove against his shoulder to get him moving again and he finds himself wishing that they would just get it over with already; that they would just toss him into the raging river below and rid him of this horrible anticipation.
He kissed the wrong man and now he was going to die for it.
Bum hadn’t even gotten his name. All he knew was that the man was from a wealthy family and that instead of him standing here at the brink of his death, it was Bum. There was no way they could bring themselves to punish a young lord, but luckily they had the poor peasant boy around to shed their rage onto.
He can hear his mother’s helpless cries behind him even above the loud waves crashing against the mountain side. Her pleads for his life fall on deaf ears and he wishes that he could see her, if even for the last time, but his eyes have been covered with a strip of cloth. Bum wants to cry back out to her, tell her that everything was going to be okay, but his words are swallowed up by the wad of cloth stuffed in his mouth.
Bum wonders if the young lord is among those in the audience, shame and regret burning low in his core as he watches the man he kissed get punished for an act he was just as guilty of. Bum vehemently hopes that the man lives with this shame for the rest of his days, until death arrived and ushered him away into the next life.
Bum is meeting his death far too early for his taste and the dread of the unknown that awaits him is overwhelming. The river is rushing rapidly below, and after giving the ropes an experimental tug, he finds that they hold fast as expected. His mother’s wails pitch even higher and he longs to give her an embrace and bid her a final farewell. But these rich folk would never grant a peasant the luxury of the free word, especially after committing such a travesty.
Bum doesn’t get any warning before a pair of hands shove against his back and he’s soaring off the side of the bridge.
There’s an agonized scream, and a heart stopping second of weightlessness.
Bum’s body crashes into the river with a sickening ‘SLAP’. There’s a whir of water around him and it overwhelms all of his senses. He has no sense of direction, no idea which way is up or down. He feels himself scrape against the bottom and an attempt to kick upwards only causes him to flip in the current and slam against the bottom once more. His lungs are searing painfully in his chest and the urge to breathe is proving too strong to fight and he foolishly opens his mouth in search of air. Water invades his throat and he begins to choke, lungs being flooded and there’s nothing but pain and—
Bum wakes up.
No… That’s not right…
But Bum is awake, lying motionless on the river bank, the cloth around his eyes long gone. He blinks droplets of water out of his eyes and recognizes the darkness of the night sky above, a sight he thought he would never see again. Bum sits up and finds that the ropes have loosened. The rope falls into a heap on the grass as he pulls his wrists free. He shudders harshly, the frigid night air intensified by his damp clothes and god, he’s so confused.
He should be dead.
He should be drowned at the bottom of the river, yet somehow here he was breathing perfectly as if his lungs hadn’t been burst from all the water he just swallowed.
Maybe death wasn't showing because it wasn’t Bum's time to die…
Whatever the reason may be, Bum is more than grateful to be alive. He stands, limbs trembling. Still in disbelief at his seemingly impeccable health, he holds his shaky arms out before him searching for any proof of what had just happened. All he finds though are a few scrapes and rope burn along his pale wrists.
It doesn't make sense; he felt his body graze the bottom of the river, he should be more hurt than this. Maybe he was just giving this whole thing more merit than it deserved.
Bum takes in his surroundings and notices clouds of smoke billowing out in the distance over the treetops.
A village? Or maybe a lone house? What it is matters very little to him so long as he finds people quickly. After all, he doesn't know how long death would be taking it’s time.
He finds that it's a small village with surprisingly friendly people who coo and gasp when he lies and says he fell into the river and got washed away from home. The grandmothers press dry clothes into his hands and send him off to change and the young women giggle at his exposed backside. He fights back a smile as he pulls on the dry, warm clothes, tying his sash at his waist. Bum thinks this as a good place to start anew and the villagers are more than pleased to have a strong, young man helping around in the fields.
It's in the fields where Bum really finds out he's immortal when a horse pulling a heavy cart full of jars plows him right over. He hears a scream of warning, feels himself get slammed into the soil, and he hears a loud, jolting 'CRACK' as his spine snaps at the base of his neck when a stone hoof crashes against the fragile bone and—
Bum wakes up.
There's a horrified scream when he struggles to sit up and turns his neck to look at one of the mother's in the village cowering in the corner, hiding her face in her hands.
"You-you should be dead!" She screeches and it feels like the entire the village is at the door of the house, gaping at Bum sitting up in his bed unscathed.
"What-what are you?!"
"I'm Bum," He answers in confusion. "I'm human!"
"No human should be able to survive a hoof to the neck like that!" Shouts another woman from the door.
"Demon!" Someone calls from the back of the crowd and the once friendly faces are now shadowed with fear and clouded with distrust.
"Kill him!" Someone suggests and Bum scrambles off the mat in a panic as the crowd closes in on him.
It's just like before.
It's exactly like before; his village turning on him because he kissed the little lord. Bum won’t let them capture him again though.
No, Bum rises and shoulders his way through the crowd, who battle their fear of him with hesitant grabs at his clothes, and he manages to break through.
He runs, runs past the outskirts of the village, back into the woods, and never dares to stop despite the searing pain in his legs.
Little did Bum know that he would always be running.
He discovers that he doesn't age a short while after this. Bum surrenders the idea of settling down in a village, afraid of another freak accident, and decides it best to roam around the country. He works odd jobs in the villages he passes through. It's during his fifth year of travel that he really takes in his reflection in a nearby mirror and realizes he hasn't aged a day since he was thrown into the rapids to die.
Bum almost breaks the dish he’s washing.
"Something wrong?" The innkeeper asks as she passes Bum, dropping a few more cups into the bucket for him to clean.
"N-no," He says with a small laugh. "Everything's fine."
But everything isn't fine.
Nothing would ever be fine again.
Twenty more years pass and Bum is in another town with a name he doesn't bother remembering when he overhears a grandfather telling a story to a small group of kids.
"Are there really people who live forever?" Asks one bright-eyed little girl and Bum halts on his way to the field to listen in. "Are you one?"
The grandfather laughs, missing teeth out for display and the kids laugh along with him.
"Oh no," he says with an amused shake of his head. "The live-forevers are said to be young, usually somewhere in their twenties. They never age and never die. You can't tell them apart from another person, unless perhaps you happen to kill them and they survive."
"That sounds so cool, never dying!" One of the boys decides excitedly and Bum can’t help but think of the countless times he’s wished he was dead over the years.
"But everyone dies," Another girl, older than the rest, pipes up and Bum can't help but let out a soft laugh at her bleak words. "No one can live forever, can they?"
"It's just a story," The grandfather assures her, patting her arm lightly. "Just an old folk tale. A person that lives forever would certainly lead a lonely life, don’t you think?"
The kids bicker for another story and Bum walks away, but not before the grandfather gives him a curious look. He trudges out to the fields to begin his shift, but he can't escape those final words:
‘A person that lives forever would certainly lead a lonely life, don’t you think?’
Bum figures that he's well on his way to living alone for the rest of eternity. He closes his fingers around the rice plants, feeling them jab against the skin of his fingers. The sun is scorching against the back of his exposed neck and he can feel the world around him dragging him into the present that he wishes he wasn't in. And Bum yearns, not for the first and certainly not for the last time, that he was dead.
...
Bum journeys from the countryside to the city, the shift in population and technology drastic. There are much more people bustling around the streets, selling foreign fruits and strange gadgets he's never seen before. He likes the hustle and bustle of the city, the way he can lose himself in the crowd and act like he's just another twenty-five year old looking for someone pretty to sleep with. He falls into different beds with different people, lips around nipples, hands around cocks, and Bum feels like he’s just some wayward young man.
Except that he always wakes up and it’s always someone else lying next to him, in different clothes from a different year, and Bum is cruelly reminded that he's forever twenty-five while the world continues to tick on around him.
The mid 1800s roll around and Bum watches with interest as a century approaches him. There are some interesting things in being immortal, having the opportunity to see how the world evolves before his very eyes for instance. Bum can never shake the feeling that he shouldn't be seeing these things though. He comes across gadgets and tools that would have helped his mother immensely back... How long has it been? Bum's lost track at this point. He sets down the beautiful porcelain kettle, thinking how it wouldn't have rusted like the one his mother once had. There's a newspaper sitting by the doorway and as Bum leaves the shop, he gives a courteous glance to the date.
It's 1849 and Bum has been alive for more than a century.
It takes almost another century for Bum to finally encounter another immortal, another "live-forever" repeating the words of the long-dead grandfather.
Bum watches him die as a horse-drawn carriage loses control and tramples him. There are gasps from the people looming around, a woman wailing in terror, and Bum finds himself the only person hurrying forward towards the fallen young man. The horse's hooves delved right into his ribcage, crushing it in it’s wake and Bum winces as he pulls the man's mangled body from beneath the carriage he’s trapped under.
Then the male snuffles and Bum almost drops him.
A sense of wonder comes across Bum the realization sets in that he may be holding someone just like him. He glances around before bringing his eyes back down to the body in his lap uncertainly, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to sneak it away considering police officers were fast approaching. Bum leans down, lips by the young man's ear and he hisses, "Can you hear me?"
There's a faint gurgle and, oh right, his lungs were punctured. Bum purses his lips and whispers, "I know what you are. You're going to survive this and escape unscathed and probably leave the city but..." Bum's voice seizes in his throat, something warm and uncertain flapping in his chest, the feeling that he can finally grasp something, someone, solid for the first time in decades.
"I want to talk. Can you wait by the city limits? I'll be there by sunset."
Suddenly, the young man's eyes fly open and he focuses on Bum with surprising clarity. Bum only has a second to acknowledge how beautiful those dark eyes are before police officers are shouting at him and those pretty eyes flutter shut.
Bum clambers away, letting the officials swarm in to lift the body and haul it to the graveyard or something. In the mayhem, Bum manages to slip away before he can be taken in for questioning and he beelines back to his apartment. Luckily, he doesn't own much and he can hastily shove his meager belongings into his small trunk before hauling himself out of the building, pausing only to stuff his rent into an envelope and slip it beneath the landlord's door.
He buys a few pieces of fruit and some packaged food, tucking them away into his trunk before making his way to the city’s limits. Bum's footsteps falter as he nears the edge, wondering for a moment if the young man with the pretty eyes would even be here waiting for him.
Who would take the chance and wait at a city limit for a stranger?
Clutching the handle of his trunk tighter, Bum rounds the corner.
And there he is.
The young man is there, a rucksack of sorts sitting by his feet, and he's staring at Bum.
Bum walks closer, setting his trunk down. The young man's much taller and broader than he is, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Bum as he pushes himself off from the ledge he’s leaning against.
"So you don't die either," His voice is low, drawling with an accent Bum has never encountered before. There's a handsome rasp to his words and suddenly Bum feels a warmth radiate along his cheeks.
"No," Bum agrees, nodding slightly. "Yoon Bum."
"Oh Sangwoo."
Sangwoo.
That's a nice name.
Bum holds his hand out to shake, and he's surprised by how large Sangwoo's hand is as he lifts it to grip his. Sangwoo’s hand is slightly darker, slightly cooler, but holds firmly for a moment before letting go.
"Guess we better leave now before they find us, huh?"
"Find you," Corrects Bum, picking up his trunk again. "Though, they might take me in for questioning or something. They might think I'm your accomplice."
Sangwoo snorts as he shoulders his bag, turning towards the main road that leads out of this city and into the next.
"Where to?"
"Honestly? Anywhere as long as it’s far away from here."
Sangwoo gives Bum a puzzled look and Bum just smiles in return.
"How long have you been immortal?" Sangwoo asks as they start walking. He doesn't beat around the bush, and it feels so refreshing to finally have someone to talk to about this, no longer having to put up a fake front.
"A little over a century. I was born in 1699." Sangwoo arches his brows in interest.
"You're older than me by a decade; I was born in 1709. How’d you find out?"
Bum lets out a soft huff, thinking back to the young lord who's nothing but bones and dust buried deep into the soil of the earth.
"My village shoved me off a bridge into a river for kissing a young lord."
Sangwoo's eyes widen and he turns to look at Bum in shock.
"How cruel of them," He says with great empathy to which Bum just shrugs. "Was it power dynamics? Young lord shouldn't have been seen with a peasant?"
"Pretty much. It didn't matter that the peasant was handsome." Bum laughs at himself and catches Sangwoo turning away from him, a soft snort escaping. "And you?"
"Throat was cut because I stole from the wrong guys." Sangwoo drags his finger across his throat, making a 'kchhh' sound. "Looking back, it wasn't really worth it. They had some meat roasting over a fire and I was hungry. So as soon as they all left, I tried to sneak in and steal a piece, but one of them came back before I had the chance."
"Looks like we both died before we should have." Bum acknowledges with a frown.
Sangwoo turns back towards Bum.
"Have you been alone as long as I have?"
Bum pauses, thinks about the nameless, faceless bodies he’s found himself waking up next to in the past few centuries. He thinks about his dead mother, his small village that has all but fallen apart within the last couple decades, leaving almost nothing to return to. He thinks about the endless nights, where he’s found himself standing at cliff edges, standing with a knife in hand, standing in a dark bedroom with a rope clutched in his fingers, and he exhales, lips curling.
"So alone."
Sangwoo is quiet for a moment before giving Bum a shy smile.
"Not anymore, right?" There's uncertainty behind his words, perhaps worry that Bum might reject him. But Bum returns his smile.
"Not anymore."
...
Bum thinks it's inevitable that he would fall in love with Sangwoo.
He wakes up, fingers curled around Sangwoo's arm, their bodies tangled from where they had fallen asleep. He grimaces at the stale taste in his mouth and the dried mess on his stomach, but one look over at Sangwoo has him forgetting it all. He's finally with someone who knows who he is, someone who will be with him forever. No longer would Bum have to be alone, slipping from city to city like nothing more than a lost soul.
Bum takes in Sangwoo's sleep-soft features, the unconscious pout of his lips, the way his dark lashes fan across his cheeks, the way his blond bangs are swept in disarray across his forehead, the marks trailing along his neck from Bum's busy lips. He smiles and lifts his hand to gently stroke Sangwoo's cheek causing the younger male to shift at the disturbance.
"You're awake," Sangwoo rasps, eyes still closed, pout deepening. He shifts closer to Bum, leaning his head into Bum's touch. "What time is it?"
"Eight AM."
Sangwoo laughs softly.
"Go back to sleep, Bum," He says tiredly.
As Bum takes one last lingering look at Sangwoo, he thinks about the implications of sleep. He thinks back to those nights where he would hear his company whisper to him that they didn't like sleeping because it felt like their lives were slipping away from them. He never understood it. Bum could sleep for a week and not lose a second on the clock.
Tucking his face against Sangwoo's warm neck, he closes his eyes.
...
One day, Sangwoo dies.
Bum laughs from a distance, watching Sangwoo get shot in the chest as he's being robbed. He knows the thugs aren't getting away with more than a few bills. Sangwoo slumps against the alleyway wall and Bum waits until the gang disappears before approaching his partner.
"Hey." He nudges Sangwoo's leg with the tip of his shoe. "Let's go before someone comes."
Sangwoo's eyes pop open, and he’s scowling.
"It's a bad neighborhood, no one’s gonna call the cops," He grimaces, standing up. The bleeding’s stopped, but Sangwoo's shirt is ruined.
"This was a good shirt," He sighs, plucking morosely at the soaked fabric. Bum kisses his cheek, still grinning at how they can evade death so easily. For the first time, he relishes in the fact that they can't die, that they can look death in the eye and keep walking, blood staining their clothes and bones shifting beneath their skin.
"I'll buy you a new one," Bum promises and Sangwoo chuckles. He laces his bloody fingers with Bum’s and they hurry back to their apartment before anyone can question the blood staining Sangwoo's shirt.
It's the fifties, and Bum is alive.
The world whirs on with sparking technology arising. Bum marvels at the new creations people have engineered over the last few years to improve their little lives. There's a pang in his heart as he thinks of all the medicines that could have helped so many people in the past, but he shakes the thoughts away. The past is the past, and he's someone who can never live in the past. He's stuck traversing the future, and he doesn't mind it one bit, not with Sangwoo's long fingers between his own, his kisses stealing Bum's breath away.
"Do you think there are more like us?" Bum asks one night, several nights later, fingers fiddling with the radio dials. There’s a bandage on his arm where he accidentally tipped the boiling kettle onto himself, still a little clumsy with all the new technology puffing around him. It’s been almost another century since Sangwoo was shot, and they’ve been getting much better at concealing their immortality.
"Immortals?" Sangwoo asks, writing something in his notebook. Sangwoo has a stack of notebooks of various wear and tear, collected from the moment he learned he couldn't die, holding his stories from his day to day life. Bum read a few journals from the years when Sangwoo was still traveling alone and the heartbreaking sadness and loneliness behind the smudged ink spoke to him in a way that he never thought possible.
"I'm sure there are. Unless they have a tragic public death like yours truly, I doubt we'll ever know." Bum thinks it'd be cool to find more like them, but he's happy with Sangwoo so it’s fine if they don’t come across any other immortals for a while.
After finding the right station, Bum crosses their small living room to the couch, curling up beside his lover. Sangwoo smiles down at him, eyes crinkling with fondness.
"I got you something," Sangwoo says, closing his journal and setting it aside.
"There's something you haven't gotten me?" They've been together for decades upon decades. The next millennium is nearing, and Bum can't imagine what Sangwoo has in store for him.
Digging through his pockets, Sangwoo pulls a small wrapped bundle before untying it and showing the contents to Bum. He gasps softly, sitting up and staring at the two engraved gold rings sitting on Sangwoo’s palm.
"You didn't," Bum whispers, tears welling in his eyes as his heart flips in his chest from excitement. Sangwoo grins, taking one of the bands and slipping it onto the ring finger of Bum’s right hand, leaning in to kiss Bum as the ring settles into place. Bum kisses back basking in Sangwoo's soft, familiar lips and laughs as a few of his tears drip onto Sangwoo's cheeks.
"I figured we've been together for so long that might as well make it official," Sangwoo admits with a self-conscious laugh. "Your right hand though, in case anyone tries to accuse you of anything."
Bum firmly shakes his head, pulling the ring off and slipping it on his left hand.
"What's the worst they're going to do?" Bum asks haughtily, tilting his head up. "Kill us?"
Sangwoo stares at him for a second before they both burst into laughter, drowning out the radio's chatter. Bum takes a moment to slip Sangwoo's matching ring onto his finger. They glitter in the lights and Bum presses his mouth against Sangwoo's again, licking insistently and intently. One hand holds Sangwoo's waist and he grins as Sangwoo lets out a soft sigh. Nosing along Sangwoo's sharp jawline, Bum kisses the spot under his ear and whispers, "I think it's time to celebrate our forever, don’t you think?”
...
The ring glints on Bum's finger as he packs his bags.
It's the 1960s. The apartment is buzzing with static from the television, and Bum is ready to leave. Sangwoo is sitting on the couch, idly watching the television as he listens to Bum pack.
The ring twinkles on his finger, as if asking Bum why he's leaving.
Bum places his bags by the door and hesitates for a moment. Sangwoo slowly pushes himself up from the couch and makes his way to Bum, all the familiar warmth replaced with cool acceptance.
"So, this is it," Sangwoo says, voice light.
"This was mutual," Bum huffs, fingers tightening around his jacket. He knows the light from the kitchen is catching onto his ring, catching Sangwoo's eye, but he doesn't shift his grip.
Bum thought that having someone solid, someone stable in his eternal youth would make it better, but all it did was make them slowly resent each other. There was once a time where Bum didn’t mind Sangwoo coming home late, but night after night, he returned reeking of nicotine and tasting of alcohol, pockets either empty of cash or filled with dirty bills and Bum was exhausted waiting up for dubious cash. Sangwoo got tired of Bum's constant need to move, begging him to stay in a city for longer than a couple years, but Bum refused and they never returned to that city until at least twenty years had passed. But by then, the city had changed so much from what Sangwoo remembered that he ended up hating it. Sangwoo had grown tired of Bum's messy habits, unwashed dishes piled up in the sink, laundry piled up for weeks. Bum was done with Sangwoo's endless vanity bottles, asking why an immortal would even need that many facial products and perfumes.
Bum just isn't sure if eternity was really meant for them. Sangwoo cites he felt the same way, but there is glinting accusation behind the coldness in his eyes. He wants their eternity together, but Bum doesn’t. He's not even sure if he still loves Sangwoo enough to deal with his habits, his grumbling, the way he flits into the night only to resent Bum flitting cities. They fight on too many nights, fall into bed together on too few nights. They clash more than they kiss and they can’t find compromise anymore – Bum is too stubborn and Sangwoo is immoveable once their minds are set. Everything sets them off, and when Bum starts to get antsy about being in Daegu for too long, Sangwoo snaps, telling Bum to just leave to another city on his own.
And so he does.
Sangwoo's lips are drawn into a tight, regretful line as Bum picks up one of his bags.
"I'll... See you around," Bum says, for a lack of better words.
"Yeah," Huffs Sangwoo. His eyes flick to Bum's ring before coming back up to meet his eyes, as if daring Bum to pull it off.
But Bum doesn't.
Bum doesn't pull off the ring; instead, he leans in and asks, "Do you mind if I kiss you?"
"No," The answer falls from Sangwoo's lips like a plea to stay, and Bum kisses him soft and sweet and apologetic. They stay like that, just long enough for Bum to get dizzy off Sangwoo's sweet cologne before they pull away. Bum steps back and Sangwoo's face is ashen.
"You don't... You don't have to go."
"Maybe we're not meant for forever," Bum whispers, grabbing his bags and pulling open the door. He hurries out, but not before he feels Sangwoo's hand try to grab at his wrist. He almost stumbles, but he keeps going, feels Sangwoo's fingers slide off his wrist before they can find their purchase and he runs down the stairs, runs down and out of the building, runs out onto the street, and gets run over and—
Bum wakes up in the morgue.
He stares blankly at the ceiling before coming to his senses. He sits up and finds that there's a tag on his toe and he tears it off, eyes searching the room. He's relieved to find his bags tossed into the corner with little labels attached to them. He's still dressed in his clothes, though now they're stained in his blood, but he doesn't care. Hopping off the table, his beating heart racing in a fit to kill him, Bum grabs his stuff and sneaks out of the thankfully empty morgue and back outside.
It's nighttime and Bum makes his way to the nearest cheap motel, using his bags to hide the bloodstains as he checks in. Inside the grungy room, Bum unpacks the bag holding his clothes and frowns at something bundled in one of his shirts.
He unwraps the shirt and collapses onto the motel carpet.
In his hands, is none other than Sangwoo's bottle of cologne.
Bum lifts the bottle, stares at its contents, then presses his face into his shirt to muffle his sobs.
He wonders if Sangwoo saw him get hit, wonders that if he did, if Sangwoo would have ran out to Bum, traveling with him to the morgue and waiting for him to wake up — since Bum's refractory time to wake up is longer than Sangwoo's — before they shared a laugh and escaped together.
...
Bum misses Sangwoo, but he doesn't regret leaving. He shifts his ring onto his right hand so people don't think he's cheating on his wife or something as he falls back into the old habit of falling into bed with faceless strangers.
One night, three decades later, Bum spots Sangwoo from his seat at a dingy bar in Gwangju just as Sangwoo meets his eyes from his spot on stage.
The music kicks in and Sangwoo's gaze rips away, transforms into someone Bum has never seen before. His eyes are alight with a dangerous passion, his mouth spitting out harsh words and voice rasping on the rhythm. Bum is mesmerized, enraptured, stuck on Sangwoo, and when the music dies, Bum rises.
He's shoved against the wall of the restroom, Sangwoo's lips attached to his and Bum can only catch the faintest whiff of cologne beneath the noxious cloud of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. He runs his fingers through Sangwoo's hair, gripping the softness in wretched familiarity and he hears Sangwoo whisper, "Hyung. Bum-hyung."
It's reverent, laced with longing and Bum's heart clenches.
Bum thinks it's inevitable that he’d fall into bed with Sangwoo again, riding him slow and deep, nails clawing down Sangwoo's chest. He leaves that same night Sangwoo's fingers making another aborted grab at his wrist.
Bum thinks it's inevitable that he’d run into Sangwoo again, only a decade later, in another club.
After he fucks Sangwoo into a moaning mess into the mattress, he asks him, "Why'd you take up music?"
Sangwoo glances at him from the corner of his eye. "I suppose it's like why you keep changing cities," he says, voice barely above a hoarse whisper.
Bum doesn't, can't, look Sangwoo in the eyes as he tugs his underwear back on.
Five years later he finds Sangwoo, now on stage with a female.
"She’s like us," Sangwoo says as small talk, tossing his condom into the trash and accepting the glass of whiskey Bum passes him.
"A live-forever?" The old name falls from Bum's lips unintentionally and Sangwoo gives him a funny look. "Immortal?"
"Yeah. I met her when I saw her get gutted in the alleyway behind the bar by some assholes who probably skipped town that same night. Watched one of her friends come up and laugh at her holding her intestines."
"Laugh, huh?" Bum murmurs remembering the countless laughs they shared over their deaths in the past.
"Can we try again?"
Bum nods.
They last six months before Bum and Sangwoo break up again. The first month, they fall back into old habits — Bum waking up and preparing breakfast, Sangwoo stumbling in after he smells coffee, Bum hogging the bathroom, Sangwoo whining for him to hurry up, Bum gasping as Sangwoo’s fingers press against his throat as they fuck.
By the third month, Bum scowls when Sangwoo returns home late from the club and he doesn’t miss the smell of nicotine lurking on his clothes, past memories catching up to him like a speeding train. Sangwoo also has a new habit; he sneaks out of bed to work on his music, leaving Bum floundering in the cold sheets.
One day, Sangwoo offhandedly states that Bum keeps making really weird noises when he eats and it’s incredibly off-putting. Bum frowns because it’s always a habit he’s had…
Was Sangwoo always repulsed by it? Or was it now that they were together again that he realized just how annoying it was?
By the sixth month, they’re back to biting words instead of biting lips. Bum stands on one side of the room, Sangwoo on the other, and they’re glaring at each other.
“You can’t be serious,” Sangwoo sneers.
“So what if I want to move again?”
“You can’t really expect me to leave? I stay in one city for at least fifteen years. I just changed neighborhoods and now you’re telling me we’re leaving after you’ve only been here six months?!”
“You have a forgettable face!” Bum snarls before regretting his words. He wants to reel them back, but Sangwoo’s already snapping back.
“And you’re fucking impossible! Who the hell would want to spend an eternity with someone who doesn’t even want to accept his immortality? Who keeps fucking running from people who aren’t even watching him?! Are you that selfish?”
Bum feels his lips quiver as he straightens, tilts his head back as he’s searching for something to say. Sangwoo’s expression drops and he slumps all at once.
“Back where we started, huh?”
Bum gives him a melancholy smile, fingers rubbing on his ring.
“Looks like it.”
Bum packs that afternoon and they part with another wistful kiss. He passes Jieun on his way out, lies and says he's off to visit his mother's grave, but he doesn't even know where she's buried.
He doesn't come back.
...
It's a longer gap now and it's 2017 when Bum wanders back into Daegu and finds Sangwoo again.
His hair is black, his eyes are cold, and his lips are still warm and Bum holds his hand as he turns the dangerous, fearless singer into a moaning, whining mess with slow thrusts and harsh bites.
"You're still wearing the ring," Sangwoo says, his words structured like a dismissive afterthought, but his eyes are filled with longing wonder. Bum glances at his finger, turning his hand to let it catch the weak light of the dingy apartment Sangwoo shares with Jieun.
"Yeah," Bum replies, dropping his hand next to Sangwoo’s. "So are you."
"Yeah." Sangwoo turns his head so that he's staring at Bum.
"Are we gonna keep doing this?"
Bum exhales. "Sangwoo, do you think we're forever meant to be?"
Sangwoo is silent, and Bum looks at him again. He hasn't changed much from the last time he saw him. His cheeks might be a little sharper than before, but he still has those familiar triangular eyes and dark brows and the little curl to his smile. Bum waits for his heart to clench, but there’s only a weak pang and his lips twitch up at Sangwoo’s answer.
"Frankly, Bum? No."
Bum laces their fingers together, feeling Sangwoo's ring press against his skin.
"I thought so."
Bum leaves the next morning, another bottle of cologne sitting heavy in the pocket of his coat, Sangwoo's stare burning hot against his neck.
For the first time, he turns around to meet Sangwoo's gaze.
They stare at each other for a moment, Bum taking in Sangwoo's slouching posture, the way his clothes hang a little too loosely off his frame, the soft pinkness of his lips and—
Sangwoo closes the door.
The old grandfather said Bum would lead a lonely life as an immortal.
But Bum learns that two immortals somehow make life even lonelier than one. Knowing that there is someone out there just like him in the world and that they aren't meant to be together as lovers, nothing more than friends, somehow makes him feel even more hollow inside.
And Bum is so lonely, with nothing to his name but a bottle of memories weighing him down.