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“...who cast in bronze a servant girl?
No one keeps records
Of soldiers and slaves.”
—Agha Shahid Ali, At The Museum
“He’s not here, hyung.”
Jeno feels like he’s been hit by a racecar going at two hundred kilometres per hour. He sucks in a small breath. Jisung glances down at his mouth, attuned to his every moment, then back up to his eyes. He can feel his heart rate spiking; in his chest, in his temples, in his hands around Jisung’s collar.
“What do you mean,” Jeno grits his teeth, his hold on Jisung’s shirt tightening. “What do you mean he’s not here.”
Jisung’s eyes are clear, carrying a steely sort of determination, when he speaks. Jeno does not want to know what sort of emotions are reflected in his own. “He’s been taken off duty. Permanently.”
Jeno blinks. He feels something wet leak out of the corners of his eyes. He blinks again. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t swallow no matter how hard he tries, and it’s making it difficult for him to breathe. His grip falters, and in that split second, Jisung breaks out of his hold, grabs his arms, and slams him into the opposite wall. Jeno’s head hits the surface with a loud thud, and his head remains pounding for what seems like an eternity after.
Jisung’s eyes are so, so clear, his irises glittering with danger. It almost reminds him of—
“I guess when you spend enough time with someone you really do start to look like them,” Jeno mutters with a dark laugh, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall. His vision blurs again, eyes hot with tears, and he feels Jisung’s hands travelling up his arm, the left one coming to rest against his clavicles, the right one lightly wiping his cheek. He doesn’t manage to get it all, and the tear stains remain on Jeno’s face like smudges of paint on a canvas.
Jisung isn’t putting any pressure on him, but Jeno barely even dares to take a breath.
“Just so you know,” Jisung whispers, as if it was a secret, as if Jeno hadn’t already known the moment they’d locked gazes and Jisung’s eyes were glittering with fire, as if he hadn’t already made his point perfectly clear by slamming Jeno into a wall. “I hate you for this.”
Then Jisung steps back, and vanishes, and it isn’t until Jaemin arrives, tired and angry and frustrated at Jeno, that Jeno allows himself to breath.
Jeno takes one glance into the room and walks right back out onto the porch.
Through the door, he can hear Jaemin’s excited greeting of “Injun-ah, it’s been such a long while!” and Renjun’s disgruntled yelps, presumably trying to avoid the flurry of kisses Jaemin is predictably raining on him.
Donghyuck is curled up on a sunbed by the kiddy pool on the front lawn. Contrary to his reaction upon seeing Renjun, the moment Jaemin saw Donghyuck he’d snarled, then climbed atop his lap, grabbed the back of his head, and gave him a long, heated kiss. Jeno had groaned loudly and marched back into the car, locking himself inside with all his clothes and belongings.
From where Donghyuck’s seated, he gives Jeno a knowing smirk. Jeno scowls back at him, and tries to remember how to expand and contract his lungs in a regular fashion.
“Did you all know?” Jeno asks, his tone accusatory. Everyone but me?
“Hey,” Donghyuck shoots back defensively. “We didn’t know until we got dumped here either. You boujee duo would’ve found out the same time as the rest of us if you weren’t overexerting yourself to the brink of death trying to needlessly prolong the lifespan of your career.”
“Well, I’m sorry that being stuck in an old folks’ home for superpowered ex-criminals doesn’t sound particularly appealing,” Jeno says. He tries not to let feelings of softness well up in his ribcage, but he can’t deny that he’s missed talking to Donghyuck so, so much.
Donghyuck smiles wryly, amused.
“I guess that’s what we all were, huh,” Donghyuck says. “Criminals above the law.”
Jeno lets out a breath, like whoosh , and he feels his body deflating paper-thin. He would never dare admit it, but he’d wanted an end just like Mark’s. An extravagant one, full of sacrifice and heroism and bluster to atone for all his life’s sins. In the line of duty, an easy means to an end, more than any other. But he’s always been a little different from Mark. His heart has never been as full. And he knows none of them would have the heart to kill him, so he fled.
He supposes Renjun would have made it, if he hadn’t survived.
Just then, Jeno hears Jisung’s voice asking “Where’s Jeno-hyung?” and grimaces. It’s still soft, but deeper than before, and rough around the edges. Everything’s changed. Jeno squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath. He can’t avoid this any longer.
“Good luck, Jeno, darling,” Donghyuck chirps from his sunbed, statement perpetuated by a lazy catlike stretch and a razor-sharp grin. “Our Injunnie’s still as beautiful as ever.”
This was how Jeno knew.
It was a long time ago, back when they were more boys than they were men, before the grim reality of their fate had settled over them like a dark cloud, when their hearts were set aflutter by the mere thought of powers and youth and love and dreams.
They’d gone out for a picnic on a Saturday afternoon, the seven of them. They’d settled under a tree by a waterhole a stone’s throw away from Donghyuck’s grandma’s little holiday cabin.
They were all sprawled out on the picnic mat and the grass, drowsy and dazed after lunch. Jeno had decided to take a walk along the perimeter of the waterhole with Renjun, while the rest dozed off, after Jaemin had not-so-subtly winked and jutted his head in Renjun’s direction.
After they’d walked a good thirty meters away from the group, Jeno finally plucked up the courage to grab Renjun’s equally sweaty hand and interlace their fingers. Renjun laughed, light as a feather, and gave Jeno’s hand a small squeeze. Jeno smiled shyly and averted his gaze towards the water, glistening under the scorching afternoon sun.
“So,” Jeno asked, scratching his head awkwardly. “How’s your training going?”
“It’s okay,” Renjun mused. “It comes and goes. Training with Doyoung-hyung is helpful. No one gets hurt, so I don’t have to hold back.”
“Oh, I get it,” Jeno replied, nodding. “Sometimes the energy becomes too much, and I can’t control it. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
Renjun hummed. They had walked a distance more before tugged Jeno towards the bank, teetering at the edge.
“Hey Jeno,” Renjun said, softly but firmly. Jeno couldn’t imagine saying no to that voice. “Teach me how to swim.”
Jeno had started, stunned. “But I could kill you.”
And you won’t be able to save yourself.
“I trust you,” Renjun insisted, in that quietly pushy manner he always uses. He undid his laces with one hand and started taking ginger steps into the water, never once letting go of Jeno’s hand.
Jeno thought about the stars in Renjun’s eyes, and how strikingly similar they looked to the glittering water. He could probably drown in them, and then they would both die, because Renjun couldn’t swim, had no reason as to why he should learn to swim. How romantic.
He shucked off his shoes, and dived in after Renjun.
Donghyuck is wrong, because Renjun’s way more beautiful than Jeno had remembered.
"Easy, boy," Renjun gasps for breath, his words muffled by the way Jeno is grabbing his jaw. "I haven't stepped on the field in years."
“Well you seemed perfectly fine when you were aiming a punch at my gut just a couple of minutes ago,”Jeno says, deadpan. Renjun elects not to reply, instead biting hard onto the piece of flesh between Jeno’s thumb and index finger. Jeno lets out a small yelp, but doesn’t let up, even when he feels the slightest sting of blood.
And then—Jeno feels something damp and warm on his palm, and it takes him two whole seconds to realise its Renjun’s tongue . Jeno unwittingly glances down at Renjun’s mouth, watching his tongue sooth the spots that he’d bitten, leaving trails of saliva moist and sticky on his hand. Jeno looks back up at Renjun’s eyes, watching as his pupils slowly dilate under Jeno’s gaze. Jeno’s heart stutters, and after all this time, he still wants to—
Then Renjun breaks free of Jeno’s grasp, flips them over, grabs Jeno by his nape and slams him face-first into the wall.
“I said easy, boy ,” Renjun hisses into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Jeno lets out a whimper against his conscience, and his body burns with white-hot embarrassment immediately after. Funny how Renjun can still make him feel this way even after they’d both lost everything.
“I could kill you,” Jeno says, shaking. He knows he’s grasping for straws. “I still have—”
“I know,” Renjun snaps, rolling his eyes. “If I was afraid of death, do you think I would’ve done that?”
Jeno falls silent, his body limp. Renjun retracts his hold on Jeno’s neck, and Jeno almost doesn’t notice. The bitter, musty aftertaste of guilt courses through Jeno’s veins, just like all those years ago. He knows. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault.
“It’s not my fault,” Jeno says. He’s never felt so small in his life in front of Renjun.
“I know,” Renjun says, turning away. “It was mine.”
“Jeno,” Jaemin asks, his brows furrowed. “Are you sure this is what you want? You chose this?”
Jeno looks down, fingers tracing his left wrist where the groove marks of a bracelet he’d worn night and day since forever are still etched onto his skin. It feels empty without the comforting weight on his wrist, but choosing this means he doesn’t deserve to wear it.
“Yeah,” Jeno says. “I’m sure.”
From Jeno’s peripheral vision, he catches a glimpse of Renjun glancing down at his hands. He winds them behind his back, gripping his left wrist so hard he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. Renjun turns away, looking as if he’d been burnt. The air in the room feels way too hot, and it’s suffocating.
“What happened to us? To the promise we made?” Donghyuck asks, voice deliberately even. Jeno’s never heard Donghyuck like this before, and it breaks his heart.
“I’m sorry,” Jeno says. “I can’t keep it.”
There’s silence, then the radiator in the corner of the room explodes and bursts into flames. Jeno stares mutely at the fire, flickering and dancing in a cold, cold shade of blue.
“Injun,” Jaemin berates sharply.
Renjun says nothing. Face blank, he stomps out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The flames still for a split second after his exit, then turn into a fierce orange-yellow. Jaemin grabs a blanket and throws it over the radiator in an attempt to put the fire out. Jeno sighs, and makes to leave the room, but Donghyuck grabs his arm before he can.
“You still can’t let go?” Donghyuck asks. Jeno stills for a moment. Donghyuck had always known him wholly, inside and out.
“Yeah,” Jeno says. Guilt courses through his veins, pumping and roaring with like fresh blood. He exhales through his nose, and tries to will away the tears that are threatening to form under his eyelids. It was his choice.
And yet.
Jaemin sighs, walking back over to Jeno and gathering him in his arms. Jeno falls into Jaemin’s embrace, limp and pliant, biting on his bottom lip hard so the sobs don’t escape. He doesn’t deserve to cry, because it was his choice. He shakes, the sobs he’d swallowed back into his throat wracking his body. Jaemin’s shoulder is damp.
Jaemin says nothing, only rubs circles into Jeno’s neck.
Whenever Renjun’s around, it feels like Jeno can’t breathe.
He feels like he’s been torn into shreds, hems undone, seams ripped apart, buttons and clasps pulled out one by one until he’s nothing but scrap fabric and thread, and Renjun won’t even spare him a single glance, save for the first day where he’d tried to punch Jeno in the gut the moment he walked through the door.
On the contrary, Jeno looks.
He looks, and looks, and looks. He drinks in the image of Renjun, curled up on the sofa with his iPad in his hand, chopping up vegetables for the hotpot dinner later that night, falling asleep in front of the washing machine, scolding Jisung over the phone for leaving his earphones when he last visited. Jeno looks, and looks, and longs for Renjun, and it’s never enough.
He wants to punch Renjun in the face and yell at him and flee to the opposite end of the earth. He wants to push a blade against Renjun’s jaw, so that it draws just a little blood. He wants to press a gun against Renjun’s temple. He wants to disappear, and hear Renjun’s resulting heartbeat thrash against his ribcage like a trapped lion trying to escape.
He wants to pull Renjun close and crush him in his chest, and rake his fingers through Renjun’s hair and feel Renjun’s skin underneath his hands, warm and real and there , and he wants to kiss him like they never ever did.
But what Jeno can’t stand is this: the way Renjun cooks seaweed and beef soup for dinner on Jeno’s first day at the house, the way he chides Donghyuck for pushing past Jeno to get first dibs on the shower after a long day out, the way he starts stocking up on Haribo and gummy worms and jelly after Jeno’s arrival. The way he treats Jeno so kindly, even though his eyes are colder than the cold, cold blue.
"Why are you so," Jeno finally explodes, fists slamming against the table in frustration. It’s a Thursday night dinner, and Renjun had wordlessly guarded the last piece of chicken from both Donghyuck and Bomin’s prying chopsticks. Jeno feels tears welling up behind his eyelids, and—oh no, it wasn't supposed to come out like this. "I didn't ask for any of—this. You were the one who left."
You were the one who left me. He doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows that Renjun hears it, clear as day. He feels his resolve crumbling, like Renjun had triggered an earthquake in his body and he was caught in between two divergent tectonic plates. Donghyuck stands up and hurriedly herds Bomin and Sanha out of the room.
Renjun brings his legs up to the smooth, dark wood of the chair, pulling his knees into his chest. Jeno waits. He’s been waiting for nine fucking years.
“I hated you so much,” Renjun says quietly. “I knew you were so torn. And I hated myself. I hate you.”
“I hate you too,” Jeno says, almost out of reflex. It feels like a breath of fresh air, and he laughs as the first of his tears start rolling down his cheek. “I hate you so much I could kill you. And then I’d kiss you.”
There’s a pause, then without warning, the edge of chair Renjun is sitting on starts smoking and glowing lightly, like the ends of the joss sticks Jeno had once seen in Chenle’s parents’ house. Jeno startles, and stares at Renjun in fear and wonder and awe.
“I rue that, Jeno.” It’s the first time Renjun has uttered his name since they were boys. “I’ve always wanted to try kissing you before I die.”
Jeno wakes up with a start, the images of his dream still freshly imprinted on his mind. His pillowcase is wet, and he’s not sure if the salty aftertaste is from his tears or his sweat. It’s that one, again—something wrong with the portal. Jisung and Jaemin’s faint shouts. Renjun tackling him out of the way. Renjun disintegrating into light and nothingness.
He hears Jaemin stirring from beneath him, hears him as he crawls out of his blankets and up the ladder to Jeno’s bed, hears the rustling of sheets as he places his head on the pillow, his hands searching for Jeno’s.
Jeno finds him first, and he laces their fingers together, gripping tight.
“Same old?” Jaemin asks, voice raspy from sleep. Jeno’s heart aches from Jaemin’s love, deep and loyal and as unending as a bottomless chasm. He nods, but he knows he doesn’t have to. Jaemin gives his hand a squeeze.
“You’ll find him,” Jaemin says. “He’s powerless, not dead. We’ll find him.”
“Yeah,” Jeno breathes, and lets Jaemin’s fingers trace his eyes shut again.
“But I have raised you up for this very purpose, that I might show you my power and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.”
—Exodus 9:16