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Saeran is waiting in the swivel chair by the computer when he hears the door unlock. The screen is dark; he's just been on his phone, hiding behind the array of monitors. Maybe hiding is the wrong word. He just wanted to be alone when he sees Saeyoung again, even though MC offered to be there.
Now he hears the door open and the sounds of people shuffling into the room. He kicks a foot back hard enough for his heel to bang against the chair leg. MC's voice murmurs something inaudible, and then there's an indignant squawk that he guesses is Saeyoung seeing what he did to the apartment.
Saeran's heart squeezes tight. Immediately after he's overwhelmed by dizziness, like the blood isn't reaching all the way to his head. He closes his eyes. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe there was a better way to see Saeyoung again. He should have gone with Jumin and the team he put together to extract Saeyoung from the warehouse Saeran had tracked him to. Or he should have fled the country last night so he wouldn't have to do this at all.
"—leave you to get reacquainted," he hears MC say. Saeran strains to hear the comforting timbre of their voice. His body is about to crumble. He listens, frozen, as the door shuts again. Then locks.
He has done scarier things than getting up and walking into the main area where Saeyoung is. He's done things that he knew at the time would hurt him more than this will. There is nothing painful or dangerous about doing this. He forces himself to stand. His knees are trembling.
Saeran walks out into the main room.
"Hi," he says. His voice is soft, and he fights off a surge of self-loathing that threatens to strangle him. Don't be weak in front of him, you'll make him hate you. No. Saeyoung has seen him at his weakest. Saeyoung loves him. This last part does not sound real, but MC has said it to him enough times that it comes into his head anyway: It'll be fine. Seven loves you.
"Saeran!" Saeyoung rushes forward, and before he can stop himself, Saeran recoils.
"Don't—don't touch me," he stammers. Saeyoung stops dead, his arms still awkwardly half-raised. Saeran swallows hard.
"I don't, ah," he says. "It's just—I don't like to be startled."
"Oh! Of course!" Saeyoung says in a rush. His features smooth over into a smile, but Saeran feels a dark gulf open up inside him. The last time Saeyoung saw him, he was super physically affectionate, at least with Saeyoung. More often than not, if they were allowed to be in the same room, they were pressed together. Saeyoung with his arm slung around Saeran, breathing loudly and annoyingly into his hair. Saeran reaching out in the night and feeling Saeyoung reassuringly squeeze his hand. Saeran never had problems with touch then, because there were only two people who regularly touched him: one he liked and one he did not. When he left and started attending church with V and Rika, he learned immediately how much he hated unexpected contact.
Already, he's letting Saeyoung down by not being the brother Saeyoung expected to find here. There's a massive gulf between who he is and the person Saeyoung knows. Saeran is trying—hard—to shake off the person he was in Mint Eye, and reuniting with Saeyoung is part of that. But at some point Saeyoung is going to find out who his brother is now. Saeran doesn't trust him to stay.
The person standing in front of him looks like Saeyoung. The same red hair and gold eyes, just with new glasses and older features. Saeran can't help but fight back a little shudder of revulsion. Saeyoung didn't do anything to him. Rika told him that because he would be easier to control if he thought he was abandoned. He knows this, but some of her lies are easier to forget than others.
"I heard that you helped save me!" Saeyoung says now. His voice holds a desperate edge, like if he can't throw his arms around Saeran he needs to reach out to him in some way. "You're incredible, you know—I just, I admired the hacker I was fighting so much and to find out that it was you—"
"What else did you hear about me?" Saeran says.
He can see now that Saeyoung doesn't look exactly like the photos he's seen of Luciel Choi, agent 707. He's thinner, for one, his shirt hanging off shoulders that are unexpectedly sharp. His face is drawn, and his eyes are underscored with dark circles. Six months of captivity has made them look more like twins than ever.
"Just that you were safe and living here," Saeyoung says. "When I—when they got me out of there, Jumin was waiting in the helicopter, and he told me it was thanks to you that they knew where I was. That you spent months breaking into and scouring the prime minister's files for hints."
Saeran chews on the inside of his cheek. It's true that he did all that to find Saeyoung. But even working hours into the night searching for his brother, he didn't know what he would do if they found him. Like a child who asks for a toy without knowing how to play with it. "They didn't tell you where I was before?" he says. Please don't let him have to be the one to explain it.
"Ah," Saeyoung founders. "MC said that you—that it was hard for you. I'm—I'm so sorry, Saeran, I missed you so much, you have no idea—"
Saeran is ice cold all the way down to his fingertips. Saeyoung missed him. Saeyoung is sorry. Isn't this what he wanted to hear? The words settle in his stomach like rocks. Saeyoung missed him.
When he speaks, his voice is too harsh, too much like the person he's trying not to be. It grates in his ears. "Then why did you leave?"
Saeyoung is taken aback. Saeran notes how his shoulders inch upward defensively, how his brows draw down over his childish glasses. "I had to," he says. "I was—I didn't want to." With the cheeriness stripped from his voice, he sounds more like the old Saeyoung. Saeran's stomach crunches up.
"...Yeah," Saeran says. He looks at Saeyoung, then looks up at the ceiling. Rika's voice screams in his ears: Luciel betrayed you. Luciel left you for dead. The things she said worked because he already believed them. Just like he already believed in his worthlessness, his unsuitability for life outside Mint Eye. Those things turned out to be false. He knows that he has value to MC and to the RFA, value besides what he can do for them as a hacker. He's played games with Yoosung, run lines with Zen, delivered coffee to Jaehee at the office. If Saeran isn't a monster, Saeyoung probably isn't either. He forces himself to think it. Saeyoung did not abandon me.
But he did. He did. The cold panic of those days is here now, a fingernail's scratch away from the surface at all times. Their mother's voice—he can't remember anymore how it's different from Rika's. I guess Saeyoung doesn't care if you die here.
There's darkness closing over him, things inside him that want to get out. He's not the pathetic kid Saeyoung left behind. He wants to hurt Saeyoung so he'll understand. He wants to see the shock on Saeyoung's face as he watches his own blood spill, as he realizes what Saeran became when he left. What he turned Saeran into.
Saeran's breath shakes on the inhale. He doesn't have to do this. He can just—
"I'm going to step outside for a minute," he says, and pushes past Saeyoung before he can respond.
The air outside is cool on his cheeks. The sky is the clearest blue, even better than in his childhood memories. He sits down in the grass next to Saeyoung's absurd secret bunker, resting his arms on his knees and burying his face in the crook of his elbow. It is still the greatest luxury to be able to leave. To be in a situation that feels bad, and walk out. It helps instantly, his heartbeat returning to normal just knowing that he doesn't have to be anywhere he doesn't want to be. Still, his fingers are shaking as he pulls out his phone.
Saeran: I don't think I can do this.
He closes his eyes to wait for a response. The sunlight is red behind his eyelids, even this a tiny reminder that he is no longer a child trapped in a room with curtains over all the windows.
The phone buzzes.
MC: What's wrong?
The vise grip on his insides relaxes by an inch. He hunches over the phone, fingers moving rapidly.
Saeran: Saeyoung doesn't know who I am now.
Saeran: I was such a weak kid. That's who he wants to see.
Saeran: Not this me.
Saeran: I should have left before he came back. He's only going to be disappointed.
He's been out of Mint Eye long enough that he can anticipate some of what MC will say: We want you here, we all love you. Sometimes he can tell himself these things, but sometimes the other thoughts are louder. Sometimes he thinks he made MC up and they've never said any of these things to him at all.
MC: Seven doesn't care if you're weak or strong.
MC: Only Rika cared. Only about her definition of strength.
MC: He loves you, like I love you, no matter what you're like or what you do. I know it.
MC: You don't have to talk to him right now. You can try again another day if you want.
A minute ago, it was all he wanted, but faced with the ability to choose, Saeran balks. If he doesn't do this now, it'll just be waiting for him in the future.
There's one more thing he wants to ask. He hovers his fingers over the phone screen without touching. If it feels awful to think, it'll feel worse to say. But he can say it to MC more easily than he can say it to Saeyoung.
Saeran: What if I can't forgive him?
Pain floods his chest. He moves his arms down to hug them around his ribcage, closing his eyes. His phone buzzes again, but he doesn't look at it. It doesn't even matter what MC says. They'll probably say it's okay, that Saeran can feel however he wants, but Saeran didn't ask because he wanted permission. He asked because the possibility—the idea of never being able to leave this anger behind—terrifies him more than anything else.
Back there—in Mint Eye—when he was at his lowest, he went to MC's room and stood in the dark and said everything. He told MC why he'd treated them so poorly and what he was feeling. He left everything in the open. And MC heard him, and helped him. It wasn't a decision then, just an act of desperation, but it can be a decision now.
He takes a long time getting to his feet.
When he re-enters the bunker, Saeyoung is sitting on the couch, one knee curled up to his chest. He doesn't seem to hear Saeran come in. Saeran slips his shoes off and pads over to him, clearing his throat to announce his presence before perching on the other side of the couch. Saeyoung's eyes snap to him, wide and scared.
"I've spent six months looking for you," Saeran says. "So I've spent six months trying to forgive you. And I'm not there yet. But I'm trying."
A breath passes. "Saeran." His brother sounds miserable. Saeran doesn't look at him yet, studying the pattern of the couch instead. He has more to say.
"When you left," he says, "I thought you were dead." His voice comes out dull, devoid of color. He digs his nails into the meat of his palm hard enough to hurt. "I thought that was the only way you would ever leave me alone. And I thought I'd be dead soon too, without you to help me. I didn't care if I was. I didn't have a life or a future without you."
He waits, hoping Saeyoung will be quiet until he can gather the next words. There's no noise from the other side of the couch except low, difficult breathing.
"It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me," he says. "That I could ever imagine happening. Until the day I found out you were alive. That was worse."
He didn't believe Rika at first, even though she told him over and over. He didn't believe it until she showed him a video she shot on her phone. Look, there's Luciel. His brother looked happy without him.
"I don't know why you left, because I was told a lot of lies," he says. "I thought V deserted me, but he didn't—I remember that. I remember that I was the one who left him, but for a long time I thought he left me, because I was—confused. So I don't know what happened, but I know you left me alone with her, and it hurt so much I thought the pain alone would kill me. I wanted it to. So please don't tell me that you missed me, Saeyoung."
A choked noise makes him look up. Saeyoung's face is awash with tears. He squeezes his eyes shut, another noise escaping him as he struggles for breath. His chest heaves.
"Sorry," he gasps. He takes off his glasses and shoves them in his pocket, then swipes uselessly at his waterlogged lashes. "Sorry for—for crying, I'm not trying to—I want to hear what you have to say, please don't stop because of my stupid tears."
"That's all I wanted to say," Saeran whispers. He feels queasy.
He always thought he would see Saeyoung again. He expected—wanted—the dramatic reveal, the dawning realization on Saeyoung's face that his useless little brother was the one who had infiltrated his group and stripped away his friends. He wanted to make Saeyoung hurt. These were things Rika whispered to him, when he was floating in the depths of the elixir sickness, untethered. Imagine his face. Imagine how he'll look when he sees how strong you are now.
But seeing Saeyoung cry now makes Saeran want to retreat into his own skin. He feels sick, like he did when the elixir stopped working on him. No. When he realized what it was doing to him.
Saeyoung never cried when that woman, their mother, hurt him (or threatened him, or starved him). He was silent and sullen, waiting for her to stop. It was one of the things that made him seem like a superhero. But he cried when she hurt Saeran. He would come after, his fingers feather-light where Saeran was bandaged, and let his tears soak through Saeran's shirt.
Was that love? Does that mean Saeyoung loves him? Saeran doesn't know how to measure. Saeyoung and V gave him kind words and soft touches when he was scared, but they left. Rika hurt him, but stayed. That woman stayed.
"I'm so sorry," Saeyoung says, the words strained through his sobs. "I'm so sorry, Saeran. I didn't want—I didn't mean to leave you, I thought I didn't have a choice. I—I meant everything I said back then, about getting a place for us, getting you out. I thought the job I took was a way to do that, so I—they didn't let me—I asked V so many times to let me see you, to let me bring you to live here, and he kept telling me it wasn't time. Aaahh, I don't know why I listened to him, I'm such a coward! I was scared that if I looked for you I would compromise your safety. Shit." He presses his palms against his eyes, his shoulders shaking violently. Saeran's heart is pounding too loud in his ears. Too fast.
Saeyoung is visibly trying to manage the tears. Saeran watches him breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth, stumbling over tiny hiccups. After a few moments, the trembling in his shoulders lessens slightly. Saeyoung lifts his face, wiping the back of his hands across his eyes. It doesn't make him look any less pathetic.
Saeran's mind splits—not like Ray and Saeran, but something similar. There is six-months-ago Saeran, Mint Eye Saeran, who wants to push Saeyoung further. Watch him break down. The memory of the tears he cried over his brother eight years ago strangles his heart. Saeyoung deserves this pain and more. He deserves a minute of suffering for every second Saeran endured without him. There's power in knowing he can make this worse, a sensation of triumph that builds in Saeran's throat. With a few words he can make Saeyoung's face crumple again. He can watch Saeyoung choke on his own remorse.
But there's also a Saeran from further back, a younger Saeran who would do anything for his brother. Saeyoung got so angry and upset when their mother targeted Saeran, but secretly sometimes Saeran was glad. If she tied him up, she let Saeyoung leave the house. If she hurt him, she only made Saeyoung watch. And Saeyoung was so much better than him, so much more important not to hurt. He used to lie awake at night, thinking: if one of us is killed, please let it be me. Whether it was by their mother or their father. Saeyoung was the one with plans, who was working toward a future. Saeran couldn't exist outside that room.
Saeran shakes his head. None of this is right. He curls his hands into fists, focusing on a spot on the wall to try and ground himself.
Back in Mint Eye. What was the moment of clarity he had? When Rika poured more elixir into him, and it didn't work anymore. When she whispered to him, See, Saeran, you're strong now, even while he felt his body tremble and his mind crack. When she told him MC was pathetic, worthless to keep alive, but he knew they were the only thing worth saving. That dissonance, that wrong chord between what he was being told and what he felt to be true. That's the thing that tells him the difference between real-Saeran and Rika-Saeran. What does he really want, when he digs past what he's been told to want? Not to hurt Saeyoung, and not to destroy himself either.
Saeran moves a little closer to Saeyoung on the couch. He wants Saeyoung to get the hint without further prompting, but Saeyoung is steadying himself, his eyes closed. Saeran reaches out a hand and taps his shoulder. Saeyoung's eyes flutter open, and his breath stumbles again at the sight of his brother's face. Saeran pulls on his arm and tilts toward him just a fraction, and this time Saeyoung, tuned into Saeran's cues from years of being silent together in a dark room, gets it. He curls forward, letting his head fall against Saeran's shirt just under his collarbone. He's not audibly crying anymore, but Saeran feels wetness against his chest.
He's not ready to embrace his brother yet, but he can sit here. Saeyoung's hair brushes the underside of his chin.
Something stirs in Saeran's chest that he hasn't felt for eight years. It's an odd thing to feel something new yet familiar, like smelling a flower he hasn't seen for so long he's forgotten the scent. As a child, watching Saeyoung get upset was one of the hardest things in the world. The distress always twisted into self-loathing: Saeran was never strong enough to help. It was never even a question. Saeyoung was always trying to save Saeran, but never imagined Saeran could be good enough to protect him in return.
"Saeran," Saeyoung says now, his voice hoarse and urgent. "Listen. I—I know I don't have the right to say that it was hard for me. But—I was in that warehouse for six months, and I thought of you every day. I was trapped inside for six months, alone, and I could hardly stand it, and you—you were trapped for so long, and here you are, you're alive. You don't need me. You survived what happened to us as kids, and then you ended up somewhere else horrible, and you made it out of there too. You're so strong. But I'm weak, and—I need you." His voice wavers. "I'm so much weaker than you are. I need you so much. So—don't forgive me, please don't forgive me, I don't deserve it, but—I can try to make it up to you. I want to try. From now on."
Saeran doesn't respond. He picks up a hand and ghosts it, barely touching, over Saeyoung's hair. Saeyoung shivers. Why did Saeran ever bleach his hair? It feels so long ago that he made the decision, motivated by a burning anger that his frail body is too weary to feel anymore.
How do you forgive someone for doing something unforgiveable? Saeran wants to do it just to stop hurting over it. He wants Saeyoung to never have done something that hurt him this much at all.
They sit in silence for some time. Saeyoung stops crying but doesn't move, breathing softly into Saeran's chest. His body is warm and heavy, heavier than the last time Saeran felt this. The sunlight outside goes from bright to golden, preparing to turn orange for sunset.
Finally Saeyoung sits up, his face still a little discolored and swollen. He grabs his glasses out of his pocket and puts them back on, smudging one lens with his thumb in the process.
"Sorry," he says, sheepish. "Or I mean, thanks. I just..." But there's no end to the sentence. Saeyoung casts around, then suddenly frowns.
"Hey, by the way," he says. "What did you do to my apartment?"
Oh. Saeran looks up.
"You weren't here," he says. "Security concerns aren't relevant now that our father is in police custody. And also your apartment was a sad cave."
"It was not," Saeyoung says, affecting indignation. Saeran almost smiles. He can tell Saeyoung is about to be annoying, which means he's feeling better. "It was a noble fortress, the site of the great hacker 707's most sensitive work!"
"Jumin owed me a favor," Saeran continues, ignoring him. "From helping with the intelligence unit and continuing helping to find you. So I asked him to pay for it." Now he does smile, looking at it. The skylight nearly spans the width of the room, perfectly placed for Saeran to lie on the couch and watch the clouds for hours. The light streaming from it now outlines the tufts of Saeyoung's hair in gold.
"Also," Saeran says, looking back at his brother, "it was a sad cave. I had to do so much cleaning. I had to pick up your underwear. It was disgusting."
"Only because I was so tirelessly committed to justice," Saeyoung insists. "So committed I did not have time for these petty everyday concerns. Like underwear placement."
"And your fridge only had soda and ice," Saeran continues, narrowing his eyes. "And a few tomatoes covered in mold. What were you even eating?"
"Ms. Vanderwood handled those things," Saeyoung said, waving a hand dismissively.
"I'm sure she loved that."
"She did! I'm very charming and interacting with me is a joy!" Saeyoung sits up, struck by a thought. "Hey, Saeran. Which bedroom have you been staying in?"
Saeran snorts. "The guest one. I wasn't going to even try to tackle cleaning your bedroom, if that's what you were hoping for."
"No, no," Saeyoung says. He learns forward a little, his eyes wide and earnest behind his glasses. "It's not a guest room. It's your room."
Saeran frowns. "Of course, I'm going to continue staying there. I don't have anywhere else to live."
"No." Saeyoung jiggles his leg, clearly frustrated. "Did you look in the drawers at all? In the closet?"
Saeran hesitates. He did look in the drawers, but only enough to see that they were full of Saeyoung's stuff. He doesn't need them, anyway. He doesn't have very much—what little clothing he has is borrowed off Zen and Yoosung, since he left his meager wardrobe back at Mint Eye. He'd been wearing that one white shirt for a week straight, washing it every day, before MC noticed and convinced the RFA members to help.
"Come on," Saeyoung says. "Let me show you." He stands, starts to put a hand out to help Saeran up, and thinks better of it. His hand hovers awkwardly at his side. Saeran ignores it and stands.
He follows Saeyoung to the bedroom where he's been staying. It's nicer than Saeyoung's bedroom, with an emerald rug and lemon-yellow walls, although the improvement might be because Saeyoung's room is covered in dirty clothes and empty chip packets. Saeran always thought of Saeyoung as responsible, but maybe he only made the effort because Saeran depended on him.
Saeyoung adjusts his glasses, then rests his hand on the back of his neck. Saeran can see a touch of nerves in the way he hunches his shoulders, defensive. "This room is for you," he says. "I made it for you to come live here. Look." He steps to the bookcase on the wall, pulls out a couple thick volumes and tosses them on the bed so Saeran can see. They're the kind of books people keep on tables by the sofa: expensive hardcovers filled with glossy full-color photos. One is titled Travels in India; the other, Sailboats. "You always liked it when I could get books with pictures," he says. "Things you didn't get to see in our house. I didn't know what you'd want to look at so I just got everything."
There must be dozens of books on the shelf. Saeran feels a little lightheaded.
"The clothing..." Saeyoung walks to the wardrobe and opens one of the drawers, glancing at it dismissively before closing it again. "I don't know. It was a stupid idea to buy clothing for someone you haven't seen in eight years... I don't even know your style. I just thought we would be about the same size, and I wanted to—do something for you. To feel like I was doing something, I guess. Aah." He runs his hand through his hair, then clenches it into a fist briefly at his side. "I don't know. But in the closet—"
Saeran never even looked in the closet. He's been aware while living here that Saeyoung left abruptly, and didn't mean for anyone to be here while he was gone. He hasn't wanted to do anything that could qualify as snooping. Just the amount of tidying necessary to make the place livable already felt instrusive.
"It's not a big deal," Saeyoung says. The closet door is the kind that folds up like an accordion. Saeyoung unfolds it now. There's nothing in there—all the shelves are empty—except a large white box sitting on the floor, the size of a huge chest of drawers. Now that the door is open, Saeran can hear a slight hum coming from it that he's been assuming was the heating mechanism.
"Open it," Saeyoung says. He fidgets, shoving his hands into his pockets and then taking them out again.
As he approaches, Saeran can see that it's a deep freezer. He knows what he'll find before he lifts the lid.
Every inch of the freezer is packed with little plastic packets of ice cream. The blue kind with two sticks. Ice cream stacked on top of ice cream, wedged so tightly it would be a challenge to pry one out. Saeran can't even remember what it tasted like anymore.
His heart stutters.
"It's a lame idea," Saeyoung says. "It's—ugh, I didn't think this through, why would you want to have it in your room? The whole point of us getting ice cream is to leave your room—I'm so sorry, god, I should redesign all of this. I must have painted the walls seven times already, and it's—I still wasn't ready yet, shit." He tugs on a piece of hair.
Saeran doesn't answer. There is heat building behind his eyes, and he blinks it away desperately. Saeyoung's right, this is a silly and impractical idea. He would get sick of ice cream after about five of these. But.
See, Rika. He didn't forget about me.
Saeran can't hear anything but his own breath. His hands clench. Unclench.
"Saeran?"
There's a hot, violent wind rising inside him. He struggles to keep himself from blowing apart, his shoulders trembling. The pressure behind his eyes is close to unbearable. He can't cry. Not in front of Saeyoung.
Saeran slams the lid of the freezer shut. His eyes close and leave him in blessed darkness. He inhales.
"Thank you," he says. His voice is small and sad. He presses his lips together hard, weathering a wave of self-hatred. It washes over him, leaving him shaky.
"Saeran," Saeyoung says again.
"I'm fine," he snaps. "Leave me alone."
Uncertain silence. Now he's managed to lash out at Saeyoung for doing something kind for him. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and wishes MC were here. Even just to touch his arm for a second.
He opens his eyes and sighs, the sound of his own exhalation bringing him back into the present.
"Thank you," he says again. "Thank you, Saeyoung."
"No problem," Saeyoung says. Saeran is momentarily terrified that when he looks over, Saeyoung will be in tears again. But when he glances at his brother, Saeyoung's face is calm.
Saeran's awareness of his surroundings returns as his heart rate slows. He takes his hands off the top of the freezer. He's just been standing here clutching it like a freak.
"Hey Saeran," Saeyoung says. His voice is pitched lightly, casual, but Saeran knows him too well to believe it. "You know, I don't have to stay here if it's too much. I wouldn't want to kick you out, and I can find somewhere else to live for a little while until it's more comfortable for you. I'll just go bug Yoosung or something."
Saeran considers this. His feelings about Saeyoung are still so volatile, even after so long trying to resist the Mint Eye programming. But when he imagines Saeyoung going somewhere else, dropping by every once in a while, his stomach flips. It takes him a moment to process what the feeling is. It's not something he feels now; it's something he felt eight years ago. An echo of the small, frightened Saeran that wanted more than anything else in the world for his brother to stay close.
It's a place to start.
"It's alright," he says. "I want you to stay here." If Saeyoung actually wants to.
Saeyoung is quiet, and then his face twists. Saeran can see he's trying hard to suppress some upwelling of emotion. He blinks hard and rubs his eyes with his fingers. After a moment, he is pinkened but composed.
"Okay," he says, his voice harsh.
Saeran shrugs. "Okay."