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It ends like this: Wonwoo, on the brink of death, feeling nothing but white hot pain across his chest and the warmth of his own blood pooling around him. Someone screams, and Wonwoo isn’t too sure if it’s him or Jisoo or someone else. There’s the frantic sound of fighting, of blades crashing against tree trunks and bodies landing heavily on the ground.
And then, there was nothing at all.
Wonwoo could feel the footfalls of someone running on the ground beneath him, and then suddenly there’s a palm on his cheek. His eyelids are getting heavier by the second, but he forces them open; he looks up to see Jisoo, his face streaked with dirt and his haori a shredded mess. There’s something wet streaming down his cheeks, and Wonwoo belatedly realizes that Jisoo is crying.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jisoo cry before.
Jisoo opens his mouth to say something. Wonwoo can’t really hear him, but from the way his lips move it looks a lot like, You’ll be okay, don’t close your eyes, we’ll get you out of here.
Wonwoo opens his mouth to reply. He can’t really hear himself, but it feels a lot like, Thank you for everything, you shouldn’t watch me die, I love you.
////
Before his brother died (killed, murdered, slayed), Wonwoo had been a different person.
Of course, no one but him really knows this. He doesn’t have any remaining family left to tell stories of how he used to run around the rice fields shirtless with his brother, of how he loved to tag along with his father to sell crops, of how he befriended the elders in the village and they would lend him books to read.
He isn’t sure if that Wonwoo existed inside of him anymore. He thinks it’s better this way, too. The old Wonwoo didn’t have it in him to kill anyone, even if they were a Demon. The old Wonwoo would run, not fight (he was scared, weak, a coward). He would never have become a Pillar if he stayed the same. As a Pillar, you have to be everyone’s shield; protect the powerless and innocent, be the bravest you can be. No room for error, no room for impractical emotions, which is why when he first met Jisoo he absolutely hated him.
Wonwoo couldn’t place exactly why he despised Jisoo so much. He first chalked it up to rivalry and jealousy––a child prodigy, they called Jisoo; someone who had climbed up the ranks and earned the Pillar title when he was only seventeen. There’s a lot to envy about him, from the way he could effortlessly take down four Demons with a hand tied behind his back to the way he’s able to make everyone around him laugh with some stupid joke he came up with. He’s frighteningly strong, intimidating but not in a way that would push people away, tough as nails when it calls for it and soft when he needs to be. It’s the only reasonable to dislike him because he’s everything Wonwoo had wanted and failed to be.
It’s only after spending years fighting side by side with Jisoo, after singing old songs with him in the middle of the night when they couldn’t sleep, after having Jisoo mercilessly tear down all the defenses that Wonwoo had spent so long building that he finally realizes why he had hated him so much: Jisoo made him feel like the old Wonwoo again (happy, content, loved).
////
“Again.”
Seokmin lets out a tired groan. “Again? But I’ve been doing this for the past––”
Wonwoo smacks him in the back of the head. It was a light smack, but Seokmin stumbles forward as if Wonwoo had hit him with enough power to split a brick in half. Seokmin and his dramatics.
Behind them, Wonwoo hears Jisoo laugh. “Don’t be so hard on the kid.”
Wonwoo could feel his expression soften. Jisoo has that effect on people. “Your form is still slightly too stiff,” he explains to Seokmin. “Don’t put so much thought into it or else you’ll strain yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” Seokmin sighs, but nevertheless he gets back into position. Seokmin, despite his habit of giving up a bit too easily when it comes to Total Concentration Breathing, is a great student. He listens well, works hard, and is always so cheerful. But he didn’t come without tragedy––every Demon Slayer Wonwoo’s ever known has a sad story packed in their luggage. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the top and visible or if it’s hidden deep down. It’s still there.
Seokmin’s is this: he had gone off to the river to fish for dinner and came back to find his family massacred by a Demon.
A lot of their stories are similar; more often than not there’s death and destruction at the root, a terrible thing that connects them all together.
Jisoo approaches them with two oranges in his hands. One he throws to Seokmin who didn’t see it coming––it hits him on the side of his head and causes him to stumble. The other he peels open with his hand, juice dripping down his fingers. Wonwoo watches quietly as he brings the fruit up to his lips and takes a bite.
////
“I’m leaving once the sun rises,” Jisoo says that night. They’re in Wonwoo’s room––Jisoo’s standing in front of the door like he doesn’t know where to exactly place himself, as if he hadn’t been sharing a bed with Wonwoo for the past three days. “Are you certain you’ll be okay?”
Wonwoo knows what he actually meant: Say the word; tell me to not leave and I won’t.
Wonwoo knows what he wanted to say: Stay; but what comes out of his mouth is, “I’ll be fine.”
Jisoo regards him with an expression that isn’t entirely unreadable but isn’t exactly easy to decipher either. His eyebrows were furrowed, the space between them creased, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. He looks conflicted, almost. Wonwoo averts his eyes and takes off his haori, then the black top of his uniform.
Jisoo moves soundlessly across the room. One second he’s by the door and the next he’s standing in front of Wonwoo, proximities dangerously close. He carefully traces the huge scar on Wonwoo’s chest––raised skin just a few inches to the right of where his heart is. There had been a hole there once, months ago. Wonwoo doesn’t like to look at it. Sometimes he forgets the scar is even there, but he’s reminded of it when he gets out of breath a little faster while training, when the dull pain comes blooming back like an ugly flower in his chest whenever he moves a little too much.
There’s sadness in Jisoo’s eyes that Wonwoo recognizes all too well. He sees it every time Jisoo comes to visit him––lately he’s gotten very well at hiding it, but Wonwoo had also gotten good at spotting it. It’s a watered down version of the grief that Wonwoo had seen in Jisoo’s face on that day months back. Aftershocks. Trickling leftovers.
Wonwoo sighs softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Don’t say that,” Jisoo whispers. He splays his hand out so that it rests flat on Wonwoo’s chest, skin against skin. Wonwoo’s heart thuds under his palm. “Don’t lie so I’ll feel better.”
“It really wasn’t.” Wonwoo takes ahold of Jisoo’s wrist, lowers his hand away from his chest. “You would have done the same for me.”
Jisoo does not speak for a while, but his eyes do. They are filled with apologies never said out loud.
Wonwoo turns away, unable to look at them—doesn’t want to look at them. “You should get some rest. You have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.”
They lie in Wonwoo’s bed that night, back to back, apologies to someone who won’t take them, guilt to someone who has none. The small space between their bodies says everything is different, but nothing has changed. Sewn into the fabric of the shared blanket over them is this one truth: Wonwoo would die for Jisoo over and over again.
////
The first time Wonwoo fought alongside Jisoo was a day after he was promoted to Pillar status. Their foe was a strong one––a Spider Demon, with four pairs of eyes and four pairs of legs. She was a tough one; her peripheral vision was wider and thus it made it harder to attack since she could see where they would strike, and her multiple limbs made defense much harder. She was as fearsome as she was powerful.
But she was not as powerful as Jisoo.
Wonwoo had watched as Jisoo’s green blade sliced through the Demon’s neck cleanly, effortlessly, as if her flesh was butter. She had put up a good fight but ultimately Jisoo had won. Wonwoo had bitterly thought that Jisoo never really needed him then, he just wanted to show off to Wonwoo. He was older, after all, and was more powerful; he had more experience and more talent and Wonwoo had thought that it was his way of implicitly saying ‘No matter what you do you will never be as good as me.’
It’s only weeks later that Wonwoo found out Jisoo was deathly afraid of spiders.
Wonwoo thinks that’s when his bitterness and jealousy started growing into respect and admiration, although Wonwoo hadn’t realised it then. Wonwoo knows better now; Jisoo tends to fight better under extreme pressure, or in the Spider Demon’s case, fear. It’s like his fight or flight response is automatically stuck on fight whenever he’s scared, but of course Jisoo doesn’t show it––at least not explicitly. Pure adrenaline fuels him in these situations. Only the people closest to him could tell when he’s afraid. The telltale signs are miniscule: his fingers will tremble, he will breathe in through his mouth and out of his nose, he will worry his bottom lip between his teeth.
No emotions––he’s good at masking it. Wonwoo thinks the only time he’s ever seen Jisoo truly, unequivocally, indisputably afraid was the day Wonwoo almost died.
////
A day after Jisoo had left, Soonyoung arrives.
Soonyoung brings with him sunlight and mirth, fills up Wonwoo’s house with laughter. He is something of a glowing ember, of stray sparks from a forest fire. Mingyu had come along too, which made Seokmin visibly happier. They are the best of friends and it had been weeks since they last saw each other––Mingyu, since he was under Soonyoung’s teaching, lived with him far out North where the sun shines harsher and the grass grows greener. Sometimes Wonwoo feels sorry for keeping Seokmin, for holding him in a place surrounded by dusk when he is so obviously a child of the light.
After dinner, Seokmin and Mingyu left together––to wander the nearby forest or to spar or to do something else Wonwoo doesn’t know and didn’t bother to ask. This leaves Soonyoung and him alone, which means Soonyoung will ask the question he always asks whenever he comes by: “How are you holding up?”
It’s not like he couldn’t ask this when there’s Seokmin and Mingyu, but Wonwoo knows he would rather bring up the topic when those two aren’t around. And it’s not like Wonwoo’s injury is a secret either, but maybe Soonyoung was trying to help Wonwoo save face in front of their students.
Wonwoo collects the empty dishes from the table to go and wash them. He gives the same answer to everyone who asks this question, “I’m fine.”
“Good. That’s good,” Soonyoung says. Silence falls between them as Wonwoo does the dishes and Soonyoung does whatever he’s doing by the dining table.
Wonwoo speaks up only after the plates are all clean. “You know, you all don’t have to come so often anymore. I can hold up on my own.” Ever since Wonwoo had gotten injured, the Pillars had set up routine visits to his place, as if they were worried the hole in his chest would reopen and he would bleed to death in the middle of the night. Even Jeonghan, who lives the furthest away and would rather not travel if he could, was willing to make the week long journey from his village to Wonwoo’s place to keep him company. He doesn’t like people worrying over him. Wonwoo had told them before that he would be fine, that he had Seokmin around, but they wouldn’t have it. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you all have more important things to do than to watch over me like I’m a baby.”
“You’re important too, you know,” Soonyoung replies, his voice the softest Wonwoo’s ever heard. “I don’t think you’re aware how many of us almost shat ourselves when we heard the news from Jisoo. If we had lost you, that day, I don’t think we could have forgiven ourselves.”
“I don’t need your pity or your regrets.”
“This is not pity,” Soonyoung sighs, frustration creeping into his voice. “We care about you. We all do, especially Jisoo.”
Wonwoo doesn’t want to think of the implications behind that last part of Soonyoung’s sentence. “I’m replaceable. We all are. Isn’t this why we have our Successors? Isn’t this why we’re training Seokmin and Mingyu and Seungkwan and Chan?” Wonwoo finally turns to look at Soonyoung. The shadows are harsh against his face. “We shouldn’t feel sorry for ourselves or for each other. We can’t afford that.”
“You’re… We’re family,” Soonyoung says, absolute. “You may not view it as such, but we are, and I hope one day you’ll look at us the same way we look at you.”
Soonyoung pushes his chair out, its legs scraping against the wooden floors, and leaves.
Family.
Wonwoo hasn’t heard someone refer to him as that in a long, long time.
////
Wonwoo finds a crow sitting on his windowsill after he rises out of bed. She watches Wonwoo as he pushes the window open; she flies in his room in a flurry of black feathers and ringing caws. She lands on his shoulder and waits obediently as Wonwoo unties the piece of parchment around her leg before she flies off again.
Wonwoo unfolds the parchment. On it, scrawled in black ink and an all too familiar handwriting, reads:
I’ll be back soon, wait for me.
////
That night, Wonwoo dreams of a forest bathed in warm orange light. First there was only him, and then suddenly when he turns to his left, there’s Jisoo. They do not speak––they sit on the grass, Jisoo peeling oranges before feeding the pieces to Wonwoo. Wonwoo’s lips curl around the tips of his fingers, the fruit bursting sweet and sour on the surface of his tongue.
When the oranges are finished, Jisoo stands up, holds out his hand to Wonwoo. Wonwoo takes it and Jisoo pulls him up. They stand there for a while, in the middle of the forest, washed in golden sunlight.
Jisoo asks, What is there to be afraid of?
Wonwoo replies, Nothing.
Jisoo pulls out his sword from its sheath. Its blade glints in the light, and continues to do so as he plunges it into Wonwoo’s chest, right through his ribcage and his heart.
////
The day Wonwoo almost died started out as a simple recon mission. They were split into three groups of twos and one group of threes. There was a report of heightened Demonic activities in the area, along with more deaths and disappearances in the nearby village. Wonwoo had been paired up with Jisoo, of course, because that’s how it always goes. They weren’t expecting to find anything that day, which was a huge mistake since it meant that they had put their guard down, which in turn lead them to have been ambushed.
The Demon was an Upper Moon, one with the horrifying ability to shapeshift. Wonwoo had seen the Demon turn into his mother, then his father, and then his brother. Wonwoo knew that it was all just a facade, but it still left him feeling cold with an awful taste in his mouth.
Jisoo’s case was worse.
Jisoo’s luggage is this: he had watched his abusive father turn into a Demon before murdering his entire family. He was the one who had to slit his own father’s throat.
That day, Jisoo had watched the Demon reenact his family’s death.
The Demon had turned into a woman, limbs cut off and begging for them not to kill her, then to a pair of young twins crying and screaming and bloody, then to the lifeless body of a man whose neck had been cut so deep that his head was practically severed from his body.
It had paralyzed Jisoo, crushed his entire psyche. It had spat in his face, This is what you couldn’t save. This is what you had done.
Wonwoo had screamed, It isn’t real, close your eyes, take a deep breath.
It didn’t matter to Jisoo. How could it, when he’s reliving his family’s grisly murders right before his eyes? Again, and again, and again? To him, it was real. To him, it was a turn back in time.
Wonwoo had seen an opening, has sliced through the air with his sword in his hand, body poised in his Sixth Form, ready to kill.
But Wonwoo had miscalculated, because the Demon turns to him in the last second and stabs a hole right through his chest.
Everything else after that was a blur of fiery pain and blood, of shaky breaths and darkness around his mind that threatened to pull him in. Wonwoo doesn’t remember much after that––he knows that he woke up two weeks later in his own bed with a stinging pain across his chest and bandages all over his body.
Soonyoung and Junhui had retold the story to him once he was fully awake and aware of his surroundings. Jisoo was so cool, they said, he didn’t need us to help him. His Eighth Form was so precise that Seungcheol almost cried. He took down that Demon with one single blow. He didn’t even bat an eyelash.
Fight or flight, Wonwoo had thought. Pure adrenaline. No emotion.
Jisoo told me, they had also said, that when he killed that Demon, it had looked like you.
////
It starts out like this: Wonwoo, standing in front of his house, the grass lush and green under his feet, the sunlight strong and bright overhead in the sky. He sees Jisoo in the distance, could recognise the slope of his shoulders and the way he carries himself. His face lights up when he spots Wonwoo and his pace quickens until he’s brisk walking, then jogging.
And then, he’s running.
Wonwoo is a firefly in the palm of Jisoo’s hands. Jisoo is the marrow in his bones. In another world, they are both softer boys with kinder hearts. Their clothes are not stained with blood and they do not have scars across their chests. But this is not that world. The world they live in is harsh and unforgiving and full of destruction, but Wonwoo thinks that it’s time to stop being so afraid of it all.
The way Jisoo wraps his arms around Wonwoo’s neck feels like decades of apologies and longing. It feels as if Jisoo is saying, Do you even know what you are to me? Your voice is a compass that’s always pointing me home.
When Jisoo tries to detach himself from Wonwoo, Wonwoo doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls Jisoo in by his dark blue haori and closes the distance between them––Jisoo’s lips are soft and sweet and they break Wonwoo apart molecule by molecule, rearranges him into something he doesn’t really recognize but doesn’t mind being.
“Stay,” Wonwoo says once they break apart. He gives Jisoo a small smile; stay with me, in this house, in the space between my ribcage and the crevices in my skin.
Jisoo smiles back.
Wonwoo doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy before.