Archive of Our Own ^beta

Seungwoo dreams in black and white.

The landscape is usually made of a variety of shadows, familiar places and feelings, rolled into worlds and details scarcely remembered when he woke. 

His encounters with Wooseok, however, he never did. 

Cold and distant at first, Wooseok would do very little past seemingly watch Seungwoo go about the events of the dream, whilst the other’s senses told him this is an intruder, beware, as if it wasn’t just Wooseok, a man too acquainted with his subconscious from the beginning of time. Never a stranger, Wooseok was instead inevitable.

Besides, dreams are all he has left of him. 

Yet, despite the affirmation Wooseok only existed in these dreams never entirely forgotten when he woke, the feeling of tangibility lingered, more so once the other finally crossed from the perspective of a watcher into an active member of the subconscious. Seungwoo only held him as close as he was allowed and closed his eyes to the implications.

Just a dream, hyung. Wooseok whispered every night, behind various backdrops consisting of his mood that night -- the sun setting on the horizon, the sand between their toes, the night sky twinkling its greeting, gloom and clouds threatening rain, and then sometimes there was nothing. Just Wooseok, him, and the darkness.   

That’s okay. Seungwoo’s throat would clench as he spoke, eyes trying to memorize every inch of the other’s face in fear of forgetting it all, as if beliefs weren’t concreted in the idea this was all his mind’s creations anyways. As long as I can see you.

And he recognizes the signs -- crazy, as some might describe it if he ever spoke of it in person; help, he’d be recommended to seek out, tones gentle but embedded with steel; grief, others would explain, the ghost of loss lingering in all the spaces in between. 

As long as he still has Wooseok, everything will be fine.

The dreams started a couple months back, when his mind had already resolved to find ways of moving on from a loss deeply etched into the soul, and he doesn’t know what they mean yet. 

Alternatively, he has an idea on what it all means, but hope is a vicious tool, and the idea of sudden prophetic visions feels like a stretch. Yet --

Anyways.

Seungwoo can’t remember the last time he let himself feel something more than the ache of regret that sits festering in his lungs — not since his self-imposed exile upon Toronto, Canada, settling into his new position in a new start-up law firm without fail.

Then again, not much has been the same since that day. 

“Where’s Dongpyo?” Byungchan slides into the seat in front of him, sipping on a venti iced coffee he’d probably procured from one of the many Starbucks scattered at every corner with an air of nonchalance. Seungwoo gives him that, pausing mid-sip of his Tim Hortons beverage to greet his best friend with a crafted look. 

“Noon on a Monday during the school season? Gee, what a mystery.”

Byungchan rolls his eyes at the wry tone, leaning back into his seat and giving his friend a look-over. “Said as if forgoing responsibilities doesn’t run in the family -- labelling you all as a bunch of delinquents is a safer bet.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his french vanilla, and allowing the murmur of the customers around him to embrace his experience. Nevermind the fact he hasn’t seen Byungchan in what felt to be an eternity, but formalities were never really their thing. 

“How’s the vacation?” Byungchan starts off, jumping straight into it.

Sue him, he’s a little paranoid. Or a lot paranoid; either way, he pauses to let his eyes drift over the Tim Hortons, until he’s sure there’s nothing overly suspicious in their midst, even among all the Canadians -- appearances could be deceiving. Byungchan even looks a tad bit amused.

“Nothing too concrete yet. The company’s still too fresh, not enough communication with their main headquarters. Or maybe it’s a lack of trust, but either way, it’s been slow.”

“But?”

A sigh. “But demons run Kim & Son, Attorneys at Law. ” He quips the last part to sound like the signature jingle that played over the course of the day on the radio during advertisements, the sound entirely grating, and somehow stuck in his mind on repeat. The jingle did its job.

Byungchan crosses his legs under the table, kicking Seungwoo’s kneecap in the process and ignoring as he does so, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“Hey,” He replies, tone offended, “I know we had our suspicions, but we’re on the brink of something here, Byungchan. Proof the senior partners of the one largest law firms in the world are actually the cabal of demons we’ve been looking for; proof the firm is a front of their evil doings; this is huge.”

He speaks in a hushed tone by the end, leaning in towards the other, but Byungchan gives very little away, only making a sound in acknowledgement at first, before speaking. 

“I don’t disagree, hyung. It’s just -- you’ve been gone a year. I get it, reconnaissance takes time and patience, something I’ll never have, hardy har har, but we’ve barely moved an inch in the grand scheme of things. Maybe --”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe it’s time to throw in the towel.”

Despite the flare of disagreement within him, he’d be the first to concede all listed were true points, sure. However --

“It’s not like you to be so -- discouraged,” He notes, eyes narrowing. His suspicions are seemingly confirmed as the other immediately looks away, as if feigning ignorance. 

“Byungchan.”

Nothing.

“I’ll find out eventually.”

A wavering lull in the stone cold front, evident as a group of gossiping students trail past, before he finally speaks.

“Wooseok’s back.”

Byungchan went for something resembling nonchalance, despite the knowledge his words carried a heavy weight. Perhaps his friend had expected a degree of surprise, and maybe Seungwoo provides it with the way he flinches at the words, but Byungchan seems almost disappointed in the way he eyes him down. 

“Ah.”

“You’re not going to ask what I mean?”

“No. I mean, yes, I want to know. But you’re going to tell me anyways, aren’t you?”

“I guess I am.” Byungchan’s expression is unfathomable, quickly covered with a shrug. “We don’t know much, only that someone with his face has been spotted all over the country over the last few weeks. I wanted you to know, from me, just in case.”

See, the reasonable thing here might be to freak out at the knowledge the love of your life is back on the living plane by some sort of miracle, yet Seungwoo prides himself in being unconventional.

“And you’re sure it’s him?”

Or, alternatively, hard to be surprised at something you feel you’ve held the knowledge of for some time now. Not that he can exactly tell Byungchan that detail, even though his lack of a proper reaction may have conveyed exactly that -- he’s always been told lying isn’t one of his strong suits. 

To that, he respectfully disagrees.

“Feels like a prank,” Byungchan replies, after a moment of contemplation, eyes directed out the windows next to their booth. “We buried him, hyung. The dead don’t tend to come back. I don’t know what to think.”

Yet, Byungchan is a good friend, a great friend, who doesn’t push after Seungwoo zips his mouth shut and shifts his attention to enjoying his drink. He moves on quickly to prattle on about Subin going on his first date with a girl he’d met in line for the new Star Wars movie, Seungwoo ignoring the urge to clutch at his chest at the reminder of the adolescent boy he’d seen as a younger brother. 

Before “oh my god, you don’t know --” Moving onto the light yet scandalous news of Sejun finally settling down with someone.

He raises a brow. “Not that I’m not surprised, because I am, but what’s so scandalous about this?”

“Wait till you hear with whom.” Byungchan purses his lips, as if to encourage anticipation, and Seungwoo is ashamed to say he leans in a little closer, still sipping on his drink. “Chan hyung.”

He’s ashamed to say he proceeds to then choke. Byungchan just watches him with a wild expression etched into gentle features, relaxing in his seat as Seungwoo is quick to wave off the concern from those around their table, gifting his supposed friend with the flash of a glare.

He splutters for a second before settling on -- “What? How? When?!”

“Ah,” He’s suddenly greeted with a conflicted expression, a 180 from just seconds earlier, “I just realized, we never told you about that time Chan hyung…” 

He raises a brow in question. 

“We didn’t want to worry you, especially since he pulled through in the end, but there was an incident with a demon. He’s fine now! But it was looking kinda bad at the moment.”

“How bad?” His mouth feels dry. Byungchan looks uncomfortable, not meeting his eyes.

“We didn’t know if he would make it through the night.”

Seungwoo leans back in his seat, a little winded at the words. “Jesus Christ.”

“It turned out fine! We just -- well, you left, Hyung. Yeah, technically you’re still active and on a mission, but we all know this is you trying to detach yourself from everything, no matter what you say. Didn’t want to drag you back in.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know about my friends possibly dying, goddamn Byungchan, leaving doesn’t mean I’m out for good.” I don’t have that luxury, he voices to himself, entirely bitter.

“Anyways,” The younger deflects, ignoring the conversation altogether, “It was a wake-up call for Sejun hyung, so to speak. I guess your best friend almost dying is as good a time as any to finally realize you’re like, in love or something, huh.”

He doesn’t respond to that, staring at his fingers that stayed wrapped around the cup, thinking of Wooseok once more.

There’s a thud, followed by a hiss, “My arm, jesus,” before Byungchan puts his hand on top of his, offering a look of guilt.

Instead, he smiles in return. “I’m fine.” 

The way Byungchan hesitates tells him he wasn’t so reassuring. 

“I’m happy for them, though,” And that is entirely genuine, resting his elbow on the table, chin in hand, “They deserve each other, don’t they?”

Byungchan chortles at that, before proceeding to open his phone to show pictures of a life he was missing out on.

He doesn’t have time to ponder the visit until he’s finished submitting the papers he’d been putting off, stretching freely in the chair, before packing his bag to head home. It’s hard not to reflect on the day he’d had. 

Come home. We need you.

Byungchan knew the way to make a delivery straight to the heart, akin to a cut that was slow to heal. He’d turned away at that, pulling his coat tighter as a burst of wind travels through the air, suddenly regretting the decision to see Byungchan to the train station. 

“But you don’t. You guys are doing fine without me.”

A laugh. “You sure are blind when you want to be.” He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m leaving in three days, and Jinhyuk already set me up with Dongpyo’s ticket. The kid’s agreed to come back, excited even, but he won’t leave if you’re not coming with.”

He had no idea Dongpyo had even spoken to the others lately, much less considered the move back; Jinhyuk’s clearly as sneaky as ever.

The struggle is evident, and he checks his watch instead of providing a direct answer, then realizing he’s already late coming back from his lunch break. Byungchan rolls his eyes, sensing his sudden distress and moves onto slapping his arm gently. “Finish up here, tie up loose ends and come home. Believe it or not, we do miss you, hyung.”

And then he’d rushed off, citing he’d miss his train with a offhand remark over the shoulder, but Seungwoo knows he just wanted the last word. Yet, lips turned ever-so-much at the corners, he only shakes his head before making his way down the street in the direction of work. 

Are you real? 

He’s bolder the next time he sees him, the words verbal before he can think it through. Wooseok blinked, staring down at him as Seungwoo’s head lays in his lap, as he runs his fingers through his hair, before smiling ardently. The waves of Jeju dance in the distance, and Seungwoo wants to imprint the image before his eyes.

Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers for.  

He focuses on the way Wooseok’s hands are always bruised, slowly healing but the nails brittle and short, as if they bled for sometime before finally treated.

Ah, how the dots begin to connect.

Seungwoo can pretend he’s retired from a life of cutting away at the dark matter that seeps into mundane existence, at the demons that fester on human souls and gain more traction and power daily. The blessings of the Chosen One are rather limited in the grand scheme of things -- or rather, he’s come to terms with the knowledge he’ll probably die before life grants him refuge from fighting evil in the moonlight.

Instead, he had once taken the cause and made it own, wore it like a weight ever sewed into the arches of his back, his to hold and his to absolve. Shaken by the pieces of a puzzle making themselves apparent, it seems obvious; no matter if he runs, how he’s already ran, the implications of his prophecy stick to him like a shadow. That is his purpose; he is reminded of it every time he wakes.

For now, he takes Wooseok’s hands and kisses them, one for each finger, one for each assumption he fears. For now, he forgoes reality and pleads for forgiveness in the way they kiss, concentrating on gifting his life force through the touch. For now, Wooseok pulls away with heavy sadness in the lines around his smile, and Seungwoo rues the day he let him go.

It starts like this.

There’s a demon lurking behind him on his walk home, the smell of blood transparent in the air. It makes sense -- where happiness ends, the smell of blood begins. 

A cycle he can’t seem to break free of. 

So, getting caught up in slaying duties might’ve not been part of his plans for the night, but in hindsight, nor was getting stuck with the title of the intended saviour of the world all because of some forecast from some renowned sorcerer. Yet, with Dongpyo already on the flight home, he tells himself he can afford the detour. 

Not that he has a choice. 

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” He calls out, amusement crafted carefully once he’s sure no civilians are in sight. There’s silence in the shadows for a moment, before a figure makes itself known. 

“Well, well, well,” Mina is quick to smile, the usual innocence he’s come to associate with her image long gone. The implications of his co-workers following closely behind aren’t lost on him, and he allows himself a second to wonder where he’d slipped up.

“What a surprise, Mina. Resorting to stalking? Why, I always knew you had a crush on me.”

Her eyes flash red, lips pulling into a wider grin. “What can I say, the blood of the Chosen One? Sounds like a treat.”

Demons, got to hate them. 

He pulls his necklace off his neck with a dry laugh, holds it between his hands, and makes a wish. “Release.”

He knows the drill, eyes consumed by a flash blue as he spreads his hands further out, the pendant growing into its life-sized incarnation right before him, as if there’s magic in his palms. In a matter of seconds, the scabbard floats before him in a trance, until he reaches out to take it by the hilt. He points it at the demon, eyes returning to their normal shade of brown, clear as night. 

Mina practically cackles. “I knew it!”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “And what gave it away?”

She whips her long golden hair over her shoulder, the moonlight peering out from a cloud, before she disappears. Before he can react, a breath plays out over his neck and he jolts, unsheathing his sword with a speed he’d forgotten he had. She leaps back before he can swing, eyes twinkling. “Calm down, hero boy, you can’t blame yourself, really. Suspicion, it’s a fault I just can’t seem to shake. And you reeked of it yourself.” 

He strikes once she’s in range, though she’s quick to dodge, that and the consecutive array of attacks that follow. Seungwoo knows he’s out of practice, and his heart isn’t in it, something the demon can clearly pick up on too, expression practically gleaming with joy. 

“What are you going to do now, kill me?” He asks as they circle one another, eyeing each other down with practiced ease through Seungwoo feels himself begin to sweat.

All he needs is a single cut -- “Enticing,” She taunts, “but no. You see, there’s a bounty on your head -- big one, enough to set me for an eternity.”

He’s heard of it in the passing, but to be confronted by the knowledge he’s actually worth something? 

Mina purrs, closer than she’s been in a while. “We’ll have some fun first, but I’ll let the King take care of you, sweet thing.” 

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to be alive to turn me in,” He replies, cheekily, before aiming the sword into his co-worker’s side, distracted by greed. 

The demon barely flinches, wincing at the contact as she turns to look down at his new wound. “You’ll have to do better than that, hero.”

Seungwoo runs his hand down the blade to clean the blood, before putting his sword back into its scabbard. “Good battle.”

“Are you teasing me?” She growls, eyes narrowing. Seungwoo simply tilts his head, and the demon gets ready to jump him. At least until she seemingly chokes on nothing at all, tipping over where she stands.

Seungwoo walks closer before getting into a crouch, as if to survey the scene, the demon gasping for breath. “What the fuck?”

“Blessed blade,” He replies with a breezy tone, “Slow death.”   

She spits in his face, or at least tries to. “Fuck you.”

“I can help you. Just tell me what I need to know. Who knows?” A lie, there’s no real way to reverse the damage of his blade, but she doesn’t need to know that. Yet, Mina scoffs in between efforts of coughing up blood, and he’s sure she’s called his bluff.

“A pity, I always liked you.”

She bares her teeth one last time. “They’ll be more, Han. We won’t stop till you rue the day you were ever born.”

And maybe Seungwoo’s got a death wish, as he only smiles at her words, head tilting in question. “Promise?”

How anti-climatic, he thinks to himself, watching the demon laugh before festering away into nothing. 

“Well, that was embarrassing.” A voice calls out behind him, “For her, I mean. Not you, you were great.”

He spins on his heel, weapon pointed towards the newcomer -- newcomers -- with narrowed eyes. Clearly, it was a day for many visitors.

“Hey man, we come in good faith,” The same voice says, a younger boy with bright eyes and a hint of alarm at the extended weapon. “I’m Mark, and this is Johnny.”

“The Council sent us,” The one named Johnny says, easy grin spread across lax lips as if to beckon him in, asking him to trust them. Seungwoo has survived on being wary, on trusting his instincts -- which is exactly why he relaxes out of the defensive pose and holds out his sword to his side.

“Scatter.” Akin to cherry blossoms, the blade seems to disintegrate, until he’s left holding absolutely nothing. A weight grows apparent on his neck, with the pendant version of the sword dangling at the end, the very same he’d worn earlier appearing as if it’d never been ripped off. 

“Whoa,” Mark says, obviously impressed at the show.

The Watchers Council is a governing body that presided over different districts, providing advice and support to budding heroes in the war against the growing number of demons. Seoul is still home to one of the largest Hellmouths in East Asia, with its own Council to match. Toronto on the other hand --

“Didn’t know there was a hub set up in Canada.”

Mark unravels and pops a lollipop into his mouth, the sound audible even from a few feet away. “Still on the new side, but this place’s got history. An active Hellmouth, even.”

Ah. Unexpected, but that explained the influx of demons. 

A sigh of frustration, paired with running a hand through his tousled hair. “And here I thought this trip would be a breeze.”

Mark laughs at that, the sound echoing through the rather empty alleyway, cutting through the embedded silence that would break periodically as the nightlife strived to reach new highs, “Oh man. Canadian demons probably smelt you the second you landed. The pendant’s a good touch, charmed to throw them off your scent if they get too close, I’m guessing? Otherwise you never would’ve made it as far as you did. Not that it matters, you’re compromised now.”

Damn.

“Then again, you don’t expect the Chosen One to be settling roots and running missions up North.”

Seungwoo stares. Johnny stops texting at that, yet continues to chew his gum. The sound ticks at Seungwoo in an unsettling fashion, strange in theory since he prides himself in being a patient person, though the rational part of him knows he’s reminded too vividly of Seungyoun and his own annoying habits, an ache in his chest awakening at that. “Which brings us to the question -- what are you doing here? Toronto’s a far way from home, dude.”

He’s not sure he can conjure up something nonchalant then, instead choosing to busy himself with the act of ensuring his chain was latched on properly, despite the fact he knew it was, it always returned. Avoiding eye contact, he realizes it was dumb to assume he’d get away without people here knowing who he’s supposed to be, some false icon of hope for the masses. Luckily, the duo don’t seem to be in the mood to push further, instead nodding towards the entrance of a nearby bar. 

“Let’s get a drink. On me.” The warm smile returns to Johnny’s face, and Seungwoo can’t help contrasting it with the cold that seemed to linger at the corners of the same man’s aura. Mark must sense his hesitation, as he switches into a slightly accented Korean, with the remnants of Seoul in his words. 

“C’mon hyung, we’re all on the same side here.”

If only he could believe that.

Jay, or otherwise known as Jaehyun, whistles, low, but there’s a degree of surprise there. “We’ve all heard bits of pieces, but it was a real apocalypse?”

Seungwoo takes a shot, welcoming the burn as it travels his system. He didn’t drink much anymore, not with Dongpyo as a responsibility he took seriously, not with the work he busied himself with. Drinking leads to uncertainties, something you can’t bank on. Clearly, he’s breaking a lot of promises he’d made to himself before leaving Seoul, unwinding in front of three strangers in a bar in Downtown Toronto. In response, he can only shrug. “We’ve all been there.”  

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Not us, man. You don’t get much action here. The States, yeah, definitely, but Canada? Nah.”

Jaehyun had joined them as soon as they’d settled into a booth, sliding up beside Johnny with a nod and brief introduction. A watcher already at his age, an opportunity often only handled by those that had more experience in the field, a certain prestige held with the title. Yet, Jaehyun could be labeled a special case -- the way he held himself, there was a story there. Seungwoo doesn’t ask. 

Johnny settles his glass onto the table, having been nursing his beer for a while now, probably lukewarm to taste. “Everything’s still too new here. We’re trying to get a hold of it all, get ourselves established, but the demons have been around longer. They have a strong hold on humans, use them as shields if we get too close.” He leans back in his seat, eyes slightly droopy but Seungwoo can tell he’s still on alert regardless. 

One had to be. 

“What’s the plan now? If the council sent you, I suppose they’re pulling me out.” Wry smiles all around confirm the fact. “Dammit.” 

“Hey, you did good work, seriously. We’ll take it from here though. It’s just -- safer.”

“Safer? And here I thought this was my life’s aspiration,” He says, tone dry. He doesn’t get an outright reply to that, and he figures there isn’t one, really. He knows his responsibilities, and something tells him so do the lot of them.

“Anyways,” He coughs, “How’d you guys find yourselves here?” 

Mark’s quick to speak up, clearly glad for the change in topic. “Me? Born here, but my family moved to Seoul when I was kid. That’s where I was stationed after initiation and where I met Jay, before they transferred us here for the opening of the hub. Johnny used to work for the Chicago establishment and got sent here to oversee it all.” 

Mark’s remarks are said whilst devouring the bowl of pub fries, tone easy as he provides a vague glimpse into what brought them together. Seungwoo suddenly misses his own friends more than ever.

“Seoul?”

“Home,” Mark says then, taking a sip of his coke, “Wasn’t there long, don’t think I ever got the chance to see you then, Captain.”

The name is one used time and time again by his fellow slayers, started by Seungyoun in a dumb attempt to mirror Seungwoo’s existence to Steve Rogers and spread through the ranks, a thought that makes him grimace still.

“I met you once,” Jaehyun adds in then, chin in hand as he talks offhandedly as if the topic was the weather, “After the Battle of Seoul. Not directly, I guess, just kinda saw you. I was just helping out with the injured, surveying the damage, but I got there early enough that the remnants of the final brigade were still filing out. And there you were.”

Seungwoo doesn’t know what to say, but it seems he’s not the only one, with Mark having paused mid-bite to actively listen to the story. Johnny, however, doesn’t seem to be phased at all. Jaehyun has a wry half smile on his features, eyes cast towards the other end of the bar where a party grows rowdier by the minute. 

“Didn’t understand the fuss about the so-called Chosen One then. Still don’t entirely if we’re being honest, but I think I might get it, a little. There’s this energy about you, makes you wanna gravitate towards it, and I hate it. But I get it.”

Seungwoo sips his beer and shrugs. “I don’t get it myself. I’m nothing special, my friends.”

Johnny cocks his head. “Maybe so, but hope is a powerful thing.”

There’s that word again -- hope. Seungwoo thinks he despises it. 

“You were so banged up, but you stayed,” Jaehyun inputs suddenly, eyes burning bright, “Helped the response teams tend to the wounded, stayed behind to make sure as many as possible got out.”

Seungwoo looks down at his hands, and remembers that night a little too vividly. The burning buildings, the bodies of the many slayers dispatched to kill the demon army, the witches that were taken at their prime. He remembers moving on auto-pilot that day, Wooseok gone and seeing his face in all those he came across in the aftermath. 

“You stayed,” Jaehyun repeats, tone vindictive as if trying to prove something, “That’s what makes the difference for us.”   

It’s not that long after that they settle the tab, stumbling out of the bar and bidding the bartender and staff a heartfelt goodnight for their services.  

“Nice to meet you, Seungwoo,” Johnny slaps his back in farewell, and Seungwoo is reminded of how much he hates goodbyes.

“Let’s meet again soon, hyung,” Mark switches into Korean at the end, a little drunk with the shots he took near the end, and entirely sleepy. He reminds him of Eunsang in a strange way, offering a half hug in return and realizes he’s never missed home more.   

Jaehyun doesn’t move, however, as his friends give them some space, and Seungwoo waits for the other to speak up.

“You saved my boyfriend that day.” He casts his eyes towards him, a sincerity in his gaze. Seungwoo doesn’t need to ask which day, they all know it, like a memory burnt evermore into their minds. “I don’t know what I would’ve done -- If…”

He looks away then. “Thank you.”

Seungwoo’s throat decides it’s ample time to close up, and he swallows back on the lump. “I’m glad,” He offers, albeit a little awkwardly, heart shaking in his chest at the emergence of repressed memories. “I hope you’re both happy.”

Jaehyun lips stretch up at the comment, but he decidingly doesn’t reply. Instead, he simply offers a nod goodbye and heads towards his friends. 

“Stay safe!” Johnny bellows at him, hands cupped around his mouth, grin transparent even with the distance between them. Seungwoo raises a hand, offering a farewell of his own, and watches them go.

(“How do we close it?” There’s a hint of panic in Yohan’s voice, eyes fixated on the demons flooding out from the portal in all directions, sky tainted with the bodies of hell. There’s a blanket of hopelessness that settles over the small group, eyes planted on the eyesore the sky.

“Damn him,” Seungyoun mutters, and Seungwoo is quick to share the sentiment, fist clenched at his sides at the scene of the Demon King’s wrath.

“His blood opened it,” Wooseok says, suddenly.

Everyone turns to stare.

“His blood has to close it.” 

“Okay,” Seungyoun starts slowly, tucking his knives back into their sheaths, “But how are we supposed to get the blood of the fucking Demon King? Easier said than done.”

Yohan shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I agree, it’s too risky. Even if there’s a chance it would work, not that we have any way of knowing for sure, we gotta find another way.”

Seungwoo casts his eyes towards the fighting upheld, the body of a dragon taking up the sidewalk. “I agree with Yohan, but we need to think fast. Maybe we don’t have a choice.”

“Leave it to me,” Wooseok urges, eyes as clear as crystals as if to reflect his intent, “I’ll take care of that.”

Hangyul raises a brow. 

“I know you’re supposed to be the almighty sorcerer or whatever, but you’re talking about an impossible mission here. Demon King’s long gone into that --” He points at the opening in the sky, “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not jumping in there.”

“In there?!” Yohan reaches out to clutch Hangyul’s sleeve, Seungyoun rolling his eyes at the scene. 

“Wooseok?” Seungwoo asks, ignoring the essence of dread in his gut, unsure of the cause just yet.

Said man only continues to stare at the sky. “I can do this.” His voice is a little faint, as if he were reaffirming the fact to himself. He turns to them once more.

“I have a plan. You guys just make sure no more lives are lost, I’m headed up there.”

All of them share a look, but Seungwoo can only think to nod, before reaching out to take Wooseok’s hand as said man begins to turn away. “I’m coming with you.”

Wooseok hesitates. “Hyung --”

“And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but Seungwoo reacts quicker, tugging him towards the scene of the crime, “No time to argue!”) 

He tries to sleep, scout’s honor, but unable to keep his eyes closed for long, his mind wanders in a state of over-thinking.

Safe to say failure feels akin to second nature now, a feeling he’s become accustomed to, like a second home sans salvation. It feels like his peak has been long since achieved, stuck in a free fall since that day Wooseok jumped into the portal, and maybe more so since he had come back all wrong.

He gets out of bed around five in the morning, rubbing at his face in hopes of erasing the exhaustion that clings to his very being; just another thing to add to the list of things he can’t seem to satisfy. He gets lost staring at his reflection for a while, focused on imperfections obtained over the years, wondering what Wooseok would think, what he might see in him, laying eyes on this shell of a man a year later. 

He backtracks -- it’s not to say Wooseok is all wrong now, not in the way he seemingly phrased it, as the problem posed is inherently more complex than that. Wooseok, a man composed of sacrifice and loss since before Seungwoo had reached in and taken the essence of the cause from his glory-torn hands. It should’ve been him -- should’ve been Wooseok deemed as the bridge between the light and dark, the bringer of balance to all things.

It’s time to come home. Jinhyuk texts him a little after five thirty, as if he somehow just knows he hasn’t slept through the night.

It feels akin to a final push -- it’s time to go home.

Bold of him to assume, anyways, that Wooseok would think anything of him anymore, of him to assume that he’s wrong when he himself had yet to lay eyes on the real life persona of the revived man, assumptions made entirely on dreams he wasn’t entirely sure were just that.

It should’ve been him -- should’ve been Seungwoo that day on the bridge. 

Brushing his teeth and a quick shower to freshen up is usually done all too mindlessly, in and out before he can dwell on self pity any longer, pulling on the suit for work without another thought to the ache in his chest that refuses to fade, even now. 

His head begins to throb as he locks up, the lack of sleep finally catching up to him in the form of physical pain. Seungwoo makes his way to work silently, struggles to think of a way to word his letter of resignation, and lets the sense of failure fester like an open wound.

He takes the subway and falls in and out of a gentle sleep.

It’s okay to move on, a voice whispers to his conscious. There’s a wistfulness attached to the sentiment, something he chooses to ignore to instead welcome the darkness.

By 3pm, he replies to Jinhyuk in the affirmative, and mentally notes he’ll need to buy new socks before he goes. 

Jinhyuk responds with a smile.

“Welcome home,” Jinhyuk greets him, an easy grin on his face. He doesn’t remove the sunglasses perched on his nose, only pulls him into a tight hug once he’s within reach, Seungwoo dropping his bags to return the embrace. 

“How was the flight?”

There’s no denying how tired the other looks though, frown lines settled around his mouth, and Seungwoo can imagine the eye bags weighing him down. Jinhyuk seems to sense this, having pulled away to grab at his luggage, sighing before removing his glasses.

“Slept through the whole thing, honestly. Clearly more than you’ve been getting.” He raises a brow.

Safe to say, his assumption seemed correct. 

“I know,” Jinhyuk stresses, running a hand through his hair after the luggage is secured in the trunk -- there’s not much there, a backpack with essentials and another carry-on with gifts for the boys, he travels light -- as they both get into the car. A citrusy smell welcomes Seungwoo in, along with a picture of Byungchan on the other’s dash -- how inherently Jinhyuk it all was.

The said man catches him looking, smiling growing. “He meant to be here, tried his best but his boss has been on his ass since he took that impromptu trip out to see you.”

“Ah, yeah,” He returns, looking out the window to watch the airport fall out of view as they drove further out, “Sent a long message before I got on the plane. Enough emojis for a lifetime.”

A laugh plays out amongst them then, the thought of Byungchan never failing to do just that. Silence follows closely, however, a topic brooding in the atmosphere, though Seungwoo knows Jinhyuk would never push. 

He sighs. “Spit it out.”

“What? I never said anything.”

Insert a pointed look here. “And innocence’s never been your strong suit, so go on, ask away, spill your most burning questions.”

He opens his mouth before shutting it again. “Jinhyuk, I’m practically begging you now.”

Said man doesn’t speak for a few moments, continuing to stare dead ahead at the traffic, though Seungwoo is quick to notice the way his knuckles whiten with how tightly he grips the steering wheel. After an onslaught of urging looks, Seungwoo settles back into his seat and waits, patience a new-found virtue, instead familizaring himself with the view out the window. 

Eventually, Jinhyuk cracks -- “How did you know?”

Though he expects it, no answer is given immediately, lips pursed and eyes planted on the scenery outside.

“Byungchan said you didn’t seem that surprised. Did you see him? It makes sense, you’d be the first he’d seek out, if it’s all… true,” Followed closely by a desperate pause, “Please.”

He closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

“I didn’t. See him, not in person at least.” He offers, words tumbling past melted iron-clad lips, as if freeing himself of a weight from his chest, and Jinhyuk’s confusion makes the air turn cold, “Been dreaming a lot.”

He bites his lip, pausing. “I know it sounds crazy, I thought so too, but it felt so… real. And then when Byungchan came? It was like a sign.”

“Dream manipulation; he’d been working on mastering the art with the help of an old master, but that was before… well, everything.”

Seungwoo stares at Jinhyuk for a moment, and instead of focusing on the validity behind palpable touches, he wonders how much there is that he doesn’t know about Wooseok yet.

“But then it’s true. You think he’s really--” Hope floods his tone, and Seungwoo doesn’t know how to break it to the other, that maybe his best friend had somehow come back to living, sure, but decidingly turned his back on the life he once had.

Or perhaps it’s more about how to approach the topic of Wooseok having to crawl out of his own grave, and he suspects the perpetrators still have no clue what came from their actions, no matter how desperate the intentions.

“He’s not the boy you grew up with, Jinhyuk. He came back different, too changed, and I’m not sure if for the better,” Jinhyuk has adorned a neutral expression now, shoulders slightly slouched which first spoke of relief and had now transitioned into growing dread, “I need you to understand that.”

“I do, hyung,” before catching the hesitant look that swallows Seungwoo’s expression whole, “I promise.”

Somehow, he doubts it wholeheartedly, but Seungwoo only offers a nod and an attempt at a smile, though something tells him he failed at the approach.

Silence settles between them once more as their attention falls back on the road and the familiar path home. Seungwoo stares at a tall building in the distance that served as a headquarters for a popular cosmetics company, remembers all too vividly the opening of a portal that haunts the memory of all those that remember that night too well, feels loss tighten its hold on his insides, akin to a gaping hole where his heart is supposed to be. 

“I know he’s not the same,” His companion says then, a little sudden, “I know everything’s changed him. I know all that, but I can’t help it -- the idea of him being here, alive again …”  

Jinhyuk is quick to trail off, at a loss for the appropriate words, but it’s enough to convey the sentiment he’s attempted to deliver, and Seungwoo squeezes his eyes shut then, remembering the peaceful look on Wooseok’s face before he jumped for the sake of humanity. 

“I know,” He says, finally, tone raw and he knows Jinhyuk has said all there’s left to say, “Me too.”

(“What’s the plan?” Seungwoo asks, eyes moving in a frenzy over the rooftop, though surprisingly, there’s no one in sight. 

Wooseok doesn’t seem phased, only moves closer to the scene of the crime. 

“Whoa,” Seungwoo reaches out to pull the other back, confusion transparent on his face, “Shouldn’t we think of a game plan before charging in?”

“I have one.”

Seungwoo raises a brow. Wooseok doesn’t budge, but nor does he, crossing his arms against his chest in wait. It only takes a minute before the other cracks, eyes shifting to the side. He mutters something incoherent. 

“What?”

“His blood opened it,” Wooseok repeats himself, eyes burning bright, “His blood has to close it.” 

“Yes,” Seungwoo begins slowly, brows furrowing, “Like you mentioned earlier, although I don’t see how that helps considering --”

He freezes in his tracks. “No.”

He’s joking, his mind supplies in a panic, and he shakes his head feverently, as Wooseok adheres to patience. “No. I won’t let you.”

“Perks of being the son of the King of Demons; reckless decisions that could change the fate of the world as we know it,” He stares down at his hand, “It’s in my blood.”

“You can’t do this.”

Wooseok’s smile is entirely unbelievable. “Blood for blood. I’m the key.”)

Dongpyo’s waiting outside Jinhyuk’s family home when they roll in, eyes brightening as he spots the car. Seungwoo waves once he’s out and about, grabbing his backpack, as Jinhyuk gets the other piece of luggage. 

“Took you long enough, old man.” 

“And here I thought you missed me,” He pouts, while pulling the smaller boy into a side hug as they walked inside, knowing in his bones Dongpyo rolled his eyes as he spoke. 

“We’ve been apart for like, three days, hyung,” He grumbles softly, and Seungwoo hears voices talking in the other room. 

“Yeah, but that’s three days too many in my books.” He ruffles the little one’s hair, joined by Jinhyuk laughing softly as he shuts the door behind them. Yohan doesn’t say a word once he rounds the corner from the kitchen, only strides up to the older man and pulls him into a tight hug. Resting his head in the crook of his neck, Dongpyo and Jinhyuk give them some room, heading towards the kitchen themselves. Seungwoo exhales a breath of grief, and allows himself to remember how much he’s been missing since he moved away, leaving his best friends behind in a place that was once deemed his only home. 

Pulling away, Yohan’s eyes are shining, though the sentimental moment shatters as a hand slaps Seungwoo’s back with a welcoming laugh -- “Hyung!”

Hangyul pushes Yohan away, pulling the eldest into a bone-crushing embrace for half a moment, quicker to let go and generous with the toothy grins. 

“Asshole,” Yohan mutters, rubbing the arm Hangyul had attacked with a petulant pout, said man completely ignoring him as an arm wraps around Seungwoo’s shoulders, Seungyoun joining the fray. 

“A reunion just ain’t complete without me, lads.”

“Seungyoun,” Seungwoo breathes out, having not seen his once-closest friend since the day he left Seoul and never looked back. Warmth reflects back at him through the other’s gaze, and he takes it to mean there were no hard feelings -- whether it really meant that or not. 

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like I just got sidelined,” Hangyul directs towards Yohan, crossing his arms to rest against his chest. 

“Against Seungyoun hyung? No competition, bro --”

“Ha ha.” Seungwoo rolls his eyes, walking past the duo with Seungyoun in tow. Eunsang and Minhee are already there, shouting out their own sentiments as he passes the threshold of the kitchen. However, so is Jinhyuk’s mom, greeting him with a kiss and tight hug that reminds him too much of his own mom. Instead of mourning yet another loss, he instead shuts his eyes to will back the inevitable tears and appreciates the moment. 

“Welcome home,” She says, entirely reminiscent of Jinhyuk’s own greeting, before filing out to run errands, leaving behind an array of food that closest resembles a feast. 

Hangyul and Yohan argue over the first to grab a plate, Seungyoun laughing at the scene, and Seungwoo can hear Dongpyo greeting Junho and Hyeongjun at the door, Dohyon likely following closely behind. 

Surrounded by family, he thinks of Wooseok, and allows the contentment in his heart to spread. 

“Glad to be back,” He replies to no one in particular, sentimentality perhaps a vice. And when Jinhyuk turns to him, gaze curious, he only shakes his head and digs right in along with the rest.

Seoul has always been a mega hub for demonic activity, increasing exponentially since the Hellmouth was opened last year, still recovering from the portal that wrecked the city for months to come. Though the great sacrifice had closed the portal to the Hell dimension the Demon King originally opened for the world to marvel at, the damage was irreversible, the Hellmouth officially declared active only hours after taking care of the impending apocalypse. 

Clearly, it remains just as active today. 

He gets into the habit of making patrols rather quickly, the process to being reinstated as a licensed slayer too easy, though he supposes he should’ve expected as much. It required a trip to Council Headquarters, easy thanks to portals set up all over various cities for quick travels, where the officials look one look at his credentials before stamping his papers, and he was right back to where he’d been before the unofficial relocation (read: retirement to a degree).

“Good to see you again, Captain,” A passing Watcher conveyed, Seungsik having been on missions with him countless times in the past, probably the closest he’d come to a right hand man. He opted in for the typical bro greeting, the strange handshake that all bros across the world tried to exemplify as a sign of macho energy. 

Seungsik looks amused at the action. 

“Good to be back, though it looks like the place hasn’t changed much.”

The other shakes his head. “Maybe not at first, but keep an eye out. The Battle of Seoul changed things.”

“For the better, I hope.”

Seungsik’s smile is almost mysterious, as he begins to turn away. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

“Spooky. But hey, let Hanse know I’m back.”

Seungsik was already half way down the hall, before looking back, amusement seemingly second nature when it came to Seungwoo. “Bold of you to assume he doesn’t already know.”

He laughs at that. Hanse was one of the best analysts they got, and the man knew it. No news got past him if he could help it, the first to decipher the Demon King’s plans initially. “Right.”

And then, as he turns to leave himself, he walks straight into Dongwook.

The quiet oof is followed closely by sharp inhale, as the managing partner of the Seoul branch raises a crafted brow. Anyone else would probably shrink under the boss man’s gaze, yet --

“Hyung,” Seungwoo greets, rubbing at his forehead. 

“I see you’re still as clumsy as always.”

“Cut me some slack,” The pout resurfaces, affronted at the words, “I’m still re-adjusting.”

Dongwook rolls his eyes, but reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, and he knows it’s meant to be a comforting gesture. “If I had it my way, you shouldn’t have left at all.”

He knows he means well, and so he only offers a shrug. “I’m here now.”

Dongwook might have a commanding aura, it came with the job after all, but Seungwoo’s known him the better part of his life, more like a big brother than his boss. If anyone could begin to understand the load on his shoulders, the pressure he put on himself, it’d be Dongwook.

“Yeah, suppose you are.” With the way he looks at him for a moment, silent and a little calculating, it seems he still does. His hand is still on his shoulder, moving up to mess up his hair as he moves on and passes by. “Stop by soon, kid. My door’s always open.”

Dongwook’s bodyguards are quick to follow, and Seungwoo promptly decides it’s time to go home, before he’s forced to catch up with another person he’d abandoned along the way. 

Anyways, patrol.

“This one’s uglier than usual,” He shouts over at Seungyoun, who cackles as a hand tries to slap Seungwoo away from the scene and almost succeeds. He still stumbles in his attempt to get away, though luckily his sword helps him catch himself before he plants on his face. The demon’s a chimera version of the species, each body part different from the other, as if sewn together to create a new beast. 

Safe to say, it did more damage.

“A little help!” As a fist breaks through the concrete of the place he was just a hair away from, Seungyoun gets into position behind him, bow and arrow in place. 

“Hey ugly,” He calls out, eyes flashing golden, as the demon turns at the sound. Thunder crackles in the distance, before a bolt of lightning strikes Seungyoun’s being, “Feast on this.” 

He fires the arrow, striking the demon in the eye before it can even flinch, carried with gold sparks that electrocute it where it stands. Seungwoo takes the distraction to lunge his sword into the demon’s back, quick to pull out and leap back. A howl rips out through the air, and Seungwoo can only watch now as the demon flails around for support before falling on its back. 

“Tragic,” Seungyoun mutters, landing beside him as they watch the creature disintegrate before their eyes. Seungwoo is inclined to agree. They head towards its ashes, the wind already carrying the scene away, while Seungyoun reaches in to take the unscathed arrow, returning it to his supply on his back.

It’s clear his hatred for the demon race was of a complicated breed, as his mind cheers at the thought of one less evil in the world, yet heart clenching at the sight of death. Hatred is a complex grey area in its entirety, he’d argue to those that asked. 

“I’m guessing this is why everyone’s on edge?” Seungwoo asks, ensuring the rest of the playground hadn’t been harmed in the relatively short battle.

“If by this you mean the mutated demons, then yeah, guess you can say that.” 

He whistles, low, before a moment’s pause. “What else has everyone on edge? You clearly have something else on your mind.”

Seungyoun surveys his weapons, making a point not to look in his direction. “How about the way you left as soon as it became convenient?” 

Seungwoo blinks, taken aback. So, he is holding it against him. 

“Seungyoun --”

“I know you were struggling, but we were all mourning, hyung. We needed you too -- I needed you.” 

But as quick as he’d started the topic, he drops it, as the other holds up his hands, weapons already having melted into their ring form and on his finger, as if to concede defeat. “Okay, okay, low blow, I know.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” 

A strange look passes over Seungyoun’s face though he looks away before Seungwoo can attempt to analyze it. “What? What do you want me to say, hyung, you were supposed to be my best friend.”

“I am.”  

“Best friends don’t leave without saying goodbye.” 

He should give in to that, he knows, but there’s an irrational part of him that wants to push it. “How do you say goodbye without it sounding like you’re running away?”

Seungyoun raises a brow. “Maybe you should think about that.”

Seungwoo turns away at that, releasing his weapon instead of dignifying the remark with a response.

His sword feels its weight at times, like a force that sought to crush his back just to establish how much it had to offer to whomever was deemed worthy enough to wield it.

Seungwoo didn’t feel all that dignitary lately.

It sits around his neck while not in use, however, a miniature version of its true self contained by sorcery when normalcy deigned the erasure of a world of fables and magic if one looked too closely. Wooseok had blessed his weapon into a transportable mode, kissed the sapphire gem at the helm with his eyes upon Seungwoo’s the entire time in lieu of a verbal curse, the latter almost missing the way the great burden shrunk down into a pendant. 

Think of something that drives you to keep fighting, hold it in your hands, and it’ll grow back to normal size in a matter of seconds. 

Okay, he’d replied in the moment, tone light, I’ll think of you.

Seungyoun places a hand on his shoulder, and Seungwoo knows it’s a small apology. “But to answer your real question, yeah -- chimera demons have been popping out at various rates since the Battle of Seoul. It’s only a working theory, but sounds like the Council’s pointing fingers at the cabal you were investigating.” 

There’s something to his tone that stands out, Seungwoo narrowing his eyes at the discovery. “You don’t agree.”

The smile he’s given is enough of an answer, but Seungyoun follows with a curt nod. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“Then?”

“Think about it. The portal’s opened, and a few months later, there’s mutated demons -- mutated, of all things -- roaming around. There’s a connection there.”

One he doesn’t want to entertain, startling at the obvious thought the other had put into it all. There’s a voice in his head that reminds him he’s not the only one grieving, eyeing the way Seungyoun clenches his hands at his sides at the venture into this theory he’d clearly been developing for a while now. 

“The Demon King.”

“Took the words right outta my mouth.” 

“What’s wrong?” Seungyoun is faster to ask when they return another night from patrols, another day of trying to validate Seungyoun’s theory of the Demon King’s interference, seeing the look of alarm on Hangyul’s face as he stands in the centre of the room between both Dongpyo and Jinhyuk. 

“Dongpyo?” Seungwoo raises a brow, the question directed at the stone cold expression on his face. “What happened?”

There’s silence, the younger refusing to speak up. Hangyul, on the other hand --

“It’s Wooseok.” 

He ignores the way everyone in the room seems to glance in his direction, instead quick to cover the distance of Jinhyuk’s living room till he’s beside his pseudo little brother. 

“What about him?” He asks, trying to instill a degree of calm in his tone, and he thinks he manages to succeed.

“I saw him.” Dongpyo’s body language is void of the inherent emotion that he’s become accustomed to seeing, recognizing.

The first of the group to lay eyes on the missing piece of their group, and it was said man’s little brother, of course it was. 

“Where?” 

Minhee speaks up instead, and Seungwoo realizes he hadn’t seen him there till then. “We were getting food and Dongpyo sensed something, so we checked it out. It was a demon, and someone was fighting it. Thought maybe it was one of you guys, but… it wasn’t.”

Seungwoo despises how vividly his imagination strives to paint the scene, of Wooseok still fulfilling slayer duties after the initial death, even after the struggle to reaffirm to everyday life, instead choosing to alienate those he knew better than he knew himself. Then enter the younger brother he’d been thinking of before said sacrifice, innocent intentions and desperation for this walking dead man seen through frantic eyes to in fact be alive and true. Dongpyo smiles, void of any sentiment.

“And I called out after he slayed it, but he looked straight at me and turned away. He just left, hyung, it was Wooseok hyung and he didn’t care that I was there.” A cruel laugh unhinges itself from Dongpyo, and Seungwoo’s heart twists in his chest. He finds no words to unearth the ordeal the two brothers were going through, but he’s not sure they’re ready to find out either -- instead he offers an one-armed hug and hopes it conveys the thoughts he can’t verbally disclose.

“So, it’s official,” Hangyul voices, saying what remains unvoiced between them all, “Wooseok hyung is alive.”

“The question now is how.” Jinhyuk’s tone is hard, but he gives away very little through the exchange, keeping his emotions bottled up as he stands a little displaced from the group as if in silent mourning.  Byungchan joins his side and offers the touch of warmth Seungwoo can’t seem to summon then, and he offers a nod to him in turn, with a degree of promise.

“It has to be him,” Seungyoun speaks up, a spark of fury clear in his expression, as he crosses his arms against his chest and leans back against the wall he’d been adorning. “The Demon King saw the chance and took it.” 

If any of them are surprised at the accusation, they don’t show it. Instead, they embrace silence for a moment to allow the thought to settle, confusion too apparent, before Byungchan gets pulled into the debacle by speaking up. 

“Not to sound like a skeptic, but I don’t get it -- what does the Demon King have to gain by bringing him back? He didn’t have to grant him life, not when he could keep his soul imprisoned down there forever.” 

“It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? Wooseok is the key to a new sustainable vessel, not like the mortals he’s been using when he gets off his high horse long enough to leave the Hell dimension. Their bodies deteriorate too quickly, and can’t handle the weight of his power, but Wooseok? His own flesh and blood?” Hangyul’s theory clings to the air, ringing as close to a truth as they can manage. Seungwoo stands then, needing to pace the room to encourage thought, something on the horizon almost tauntingly.

That something nags at him, a thought that sits below the surface as if mocking him for not yet uncovering the truth of the matter. It takes him a while, pacing and keeping Dongpyo in his sight before the need to establish comfort feels like a blow to the face as the pieces begin to fit together, akin to pieces of the monster puzzle he’d bought Wooseok once before everything went down.

“It wasn’t his father,” Seungwoo suddenly realizes, halting where he stands in the middle of the room, dread settling in his gut. He accidentally makes eye contact with Minhee then, who makes the mistake of immediately looking away with guilt tangled in the lingering gaze. The expression is enough to lay conjecture for immediately seeking out Dongpyo, who stares back in defiance. 

“What?” Hangyul speaks up, brow raised as the chatter in the group dispenses in wait and confusion.

The overwhelming sense of ferociousness in the other’s eyes is enough to convince him, and Seungwoo lets his shoulders sag in defeat. “It wasn’t him, was it, Dongpyo?”

The statement catches the attention of all in the room, the few bodies turning to face the young warlock with curiosity laced in the actions of the unknowing. 

Dongpyo is curt. “No.”

A contemplative silence follows immediately, where all bodies seemingly stare at each other while mulling the confession. Seungwoo avoids looking at the others, stubborn in continuing this staring match he has going on with the younger.

“Dongpyo--” A hint of betrayal sits in Jinhyuk’s voice, who closes the space between him and his pseudo-brother all too quickly, and this time, a degree of shame crosses the shadows of the younger boy’s features. Dongpyo looks away, but allows Jinhyuk to plant his hands on his shoulders, lets him shake his body like a man on the brink of madness. 

“Tell me you didn’t. Please, holy shit, tell me he’s not implying what I think he’s--”

The desperation seeps from Jinhyuk’s very actions, and Hangyul takes a step forward as if to interrupt, though Seungyoun is quick to pull him back, shaking his head. 

And Seungwoo gets it, he does -- losing Wooseok was like losing the ground on which he stood, once a sense of stability and warmth that always promised to remain, through the thick and thin. Dongpyo could relate the hardest, perhaps more than all of them combined, for the loss of a brother seared the heart forevermore, like a burn that promised to remain a symbol of regret. 

Yet, the image of Wooseok with bloody hands and the crazed look in his eyes to match that plagued his first dreams -- it does little to fade, even in that moment of understanding and remorse for the young warlock who sought to bring back the brother that left too early, too soon.

Dongpyo doesn’t meet Jinhyuk’s eyes for a long time, and the elder seemingly begins to shut down right in front of them all, pulling himself back and away from the scene. He wraps his arms around his middle and shivers as if at home with the frost, and Byungchan is quick to move in then, the kiss of summer on his fingertips.  

Seungwoo signals towards the door then, and Seungyoun catches the look and nodding, quick to pull Hangyul away with him, as the other pair are already out the door. The others would know by nightfall, if they didn’t already, that Seungwoo is sure of. Minhee stays back, hesitance and guilt still overpowering his aura, but seemingly set on staying with his best friend, whose head has turned to face the ground, shoulders shaking.

Seungwoo sighs, until he’s close enough to kneel before the one he cared for like his own flesh and blood, reaching out to grab the boy’s hand, who flinches away.

“Dongpyo--”

“Don’t,” He replies, expressing anger and shame. Jinhyuk’s disappointment flooded the room even then, clinging to the atmosphere like a petulant child.

“He was just doing what he thought he had to -- we all were,” Minhee interrupts then, gaze as intense as he usually kept it, and offhandedly, he notices the hand placed on Dongpyo’s lower back, as if to provide any degree of comfort. 

He takes a moment to mull the comment, the ‘we’ clearly signifying there were others involved in the ritual, probably the other boys. He hadn’t even considered Eunsang especially to have joined the fray in search of salvation for Wooseok’s soul, but a scorned Dongpyo was one that would never give up until he got what he demanded, especially with the power he held at his fingertips alone. It’s an idea that weighs heavier on his own consciousness, how this only sought to prove they all hadn’t been there enough for each other, especially the younger boys. 

A pseudo-apocalypse weighs heavy on the mind; Seungwoo understands this best.

“I understand your intentions, what you thought you were doing, but--”

“Clearly, you don’t,” Minhee interferes again, steel in his tone this time at the word choice Seungwoo had gone for, “Or you wouldn’t be cornering us like this, hyung.” 

He clenches his jaw for half a second. “Look, guys, we’ve talked about this -- with great power comes great responsibility, or better yet, insert the entire uncle Ben spiel here for the hundredth time, because it’s relevant, the message matters, something I thought you all understood by now. Especially you, Dongpyo. We can’t afford to do acts of God, not when there’s so much at stake here.”

“He’s my brother! I had to do something, hyung, I couldn’t just leave him there!”

He doesn’t know how to get into conveying the consequences of the other’s actions, what he had inflicted on his brother due to the inability to let bygones remain where they were buried. 

Instead, his eyes burn at the sentiment, and he closes them for a moment. “That’s not -- that’s not the point.” 

Yet, when he reopens them to anguish having engulfed Dongpyo’s expression, something wet pooling in the corners of his eyes, Seungwoo mourns the idea that he doesn’t have to, that guilt has already found a permanent home in the curves of the youngest’s shoulders. 

“I just,” Dongpyo’s voice cracks then, eyes squeezed shut, “I thought I would get him back.”

His figure shakes, fists clenched at his sides. Seungwoo pinches the bridge of his nose, before a long exhale. 

“I know, kid,” He gathers Dongpyo into his embrace, who takes a moment before wrapping his arms around Seungwoo’s middle. Minhee looks away then, expression solidifying behind a cracked mask in lieu of the emotion his better half had finally let through, who kept his face hidden in Seungwoo’s shirt as he let out a shaky sob, “I know.” 

It takes some time before Dongpyo gives him the details, Minhee sent home moments earlier with a nod from the said boy, who watches him go from the doorway of their apartment with a forlorn expression entangled with something Seungwoo didn’t want to decipher.   

Wooseok had died twelve months ago to date, with Dongpyo and friends following through with the ritual during the former’s visit to Jinhyuk. It all took place here in Seoul, an entire three months ago, planning and research having taken place over a period of months prior. They believed nothing had come of it when days passed with no sign of life, originally believing Wooseok would be summoned to life in the transmutation circle Dongpyo had carved out with chalk into the wooden floors of Eunsang’s attic, the alchemist providing usage of his home when his parents left for a party that night, a joint effort into the act of resurrection. That means Wooseok had dug himself out three whole months ago, had wandered alone for three whole months, has been alive ever since with not one of them knowing for a fact for three whole months. 

He doesn’t know how to explain how he knows the details of Wooseok’s revival as intimately as he does, only that his mind arrived to the conclusion not long after seeing the state of the other’s fingers over the multitude of dreams. Bloody knuckles, shaking body -- the first time Wooseok joins his dreams, he’s still wearing the clothes they’d buried him in, the suit covered with dirt marks and blood as a result of the scene. Something inside Seungwoo had died at the sight and it took a while before he allowed himself to consider what had happened to him, the trauma lingering to Wooseok’s entire being when Seungwoo is finally allowed to get close enough to touch him.

So, yes, he doesn’t know how to explain how he knows the details of Wooseok’s revival so intimately, but he’s not sure he wants to.

With the access to pure power that laid dormant inside both Kim brothers since birth, with their mutual mother coming from a coven that prided itself on its strength, he could see how it wasn’t hard for Dongpyo to find and modify the spell on his own, an ability exponentially more versatile with Minhee at his side. Minhee, a ghoul who had been turned too young, had always been a reliable source of knowledge when it came to death and practices, especially with the male’s focus (or obsession) on the manipulation of the dark arts.

Instead, he doesn’t tell Dongpyo about the conditions of the revival he hadn’t been privy to yet, decides it’s best not to burden the younger’s conscious of a guilt that he may never feel resolved of. 

Instead, he wonders if Wooseok will ever visit him outside of dreams.

Life continues somehow without Wooseok making another appearance. The days pass by in an almost mundane cycle of a desk job for the council and patrol, finding with a grimace his whole life seemed to now center around the very supernatural aspect he’d tried to run from along. 

And so, every morning, he wakes up and brews himself a cup of coffee, akin to his routine in Canada, except now he was prone to the random drop in from his friends, and still overwhelmed with a loneliness he can’t seem to shake.

His apartment was a little big for him to be in alone, the same one he’d shared with Wooseok before the apocalypse became a reality. Dongpyo had chosen to live with Jinhyuk for the next couple months to be closer to his friends, though Seungwoo wouldn’t rule out the possibility of the younger trying to establish the former bond the two had before the Big Deed had been exposed. Jinhyuk promised he was long since over it, yet there’s a frostiness beneath that surface that’s yet to melt, and Dongpyo clearly knows it. 

But there’s also the fact the guest bedroom the younger would have to use until they fixed up his own room was once Wooseok’s room, virtually left untouched and filtered with memories unspoken of. Seungwoo is sure of many things, and Dongpyo’s active attempts at detaching with Wooseok’s death and any reminders of it seems to remain.

And in it, a puzzle of a medieval-style landscape sits to this day.

The puzzle was advertised as one for kings, thousands of pieces and a challenge for those that dared. Seungwoo had picked it up immediately, tucking it beneath his arm and headed towards the cashier to check out. Wooseok stared at him when he got home, a brow lifted in curiosity, but Seungwoo only shrugged.

Felt like it could be fun.

Yet, when he looks back on the moment, stares at the giant half-finished masterpiece that hasn’t been touched from its place in his apartment since D-day came and went, does the idea of commitment blossom into a state of consciousness.

A puzzle that was bound to take them weeks, if not months, to complete as a sign of his intent to stay, if Wooseok would keep him. Happier days, when the rusting of blood wasn’t the driving force in their lives, and a memory he craves to relive.

Instead, Seungwoo dreams in bursts, something closer resembling nightmares than sweet bliss as Wooseok’s smiling face morphs into something red and angry, a man that turns on him and is cruel with his intent.

I died for you.

In these dreams, Seungwoo doesn’t reply, only watches Wooseok ascend towards him with fury in his steps, an invisible wind tossling through his hair as if his mind was trying to add a slightly more majestic vibe to the entire scene. 

I mourned you, Seungwoo replies sometimes, sorrow clutching to his bones as if seeking refuge. 

He wonders when love began to hurt so much, and Wooseok’s face always crumbles, before he turns and leaves him to rot.

In this dream, however, Wooseok holds his face in his hands and tells him to wake up.

A figure stands by the window when he wakes, slightly ajared to let in some fresh air and the moonlight peers into the room. His throat is parched and his head still hurts, but the side profile is one that haunts his dreams indefinitely, and he can’t breathe --

“Wooseok,” He croaks out, trying to sit up but struggling against all the bandages, hissing in pain at the reminder of where the demon had punched his fist dead through his middle. 

He should be dead.

Wooseok is at his side in an instant, pushing him back and offering a glass of water. He presses the straw to his lips, perched in wait. He sips at it quietly, despite how the words burn to be said, questions desperate to be asked, but Wooseok’s gaze is vindictive and holds him in place.

“If you bleed out, I’m not healing you again.” 

A cold washes over him, relief like a quivering wave at the sound of his voice. If it hadn’t felt clear till then, it did now, reality settling in that Wooseok was really there.

And he’d healed him.

Wooseok puts down the cup back on the side table, and Seungwoo is quick to clasp his wrist, desperate not to lose the opportunity. “Wooseok, please --”

“You need to rest.”

“But --”

“Shh.” Slowly, he finds himself getting drowsier. He picks up on the other muttering something, and tries to focus on it through the daze. It takes a minute before he registers the words as an incantation; if he’d been able to open his eyes, he’d probably see a card burning into dust as the spell took effect.

“Hey -- don’t --” A hand pets his head, the touch too familiar and reaffirming, and with a stubborn huff, he concedes the fight to sleep.

Apparently, according to prophecy, the Chosen One will bring balance in the fight against good and evil, the key between ending this bloodthirsty feud between slayers and demons. They would be the one to lead an army and restore justice to a world so lacking, it was said to be destiny.

Or at least, so Seungwoo’s been told his whole life -- sorta.

Seungwoo had a normal life once, grew up with mundane circumstances he had deemed his own, parents and siblings watching over him as the youngest of the bunch. And then he came home to find blood seeped into the carpets and splattered across the walls and he realized life wasn’t as normal as it feigned to be.

His oldest sister had been a watcher, something he learns from an uncle after he’s been collected and shipped off from Busan to Seoul to live with this family member he’s known virtually nothing about. Then he’d met Dongwook for the third time in his life, then a rather fresh addition to the Seoul council, but someone linked to him through the same sister, who’d bought the man over for a couple holidays, citing the man’s lack of anyone to celebrate with. Back then, Dongwook had been a stranger -- now he was one of the only two left of his past, sharing palpable grief amongst each other. 

Seungwoo was young then, still a pre-teen that didn’t understand the depth of emotions entirely yet, didn’t ask the other why he mourned quietly yet undeniably for his sister. Instead, kinship festered into mentorship, and soon, like all others involved in the community who grew up with whispers and legends, Seungwoo learned of the prophecy too. 

It’s not until his nineteenth birthday, however, Wooseok and friends already a constant in his new life, does another near death experience unleash the truth of his mission -- he wasn’t simply looking for the chosen one anymore, a myth unseen before, no no. When a demon attacks headquarters with the aim of his capture, does he realize the secret the elders in his life have been keeping from him, that he’s been the very key they’ve been searching for.

He’d entertained the idea of it being Wooseok, one who held his shoulders up and firmly, who had his own vengeance planned for the other side -- a suitable leader, if he could stop it from consuming himself. 

But for it to be him, who had yet to venture an understanding of the decades long wars fought on mortal ground, the rise of evil against good since the Battle of Tokyo, and the loss of so much innocence there --

No pressure, he tells himself for a while, forgetting to breathe as the same people he sees on the daily look at him warily, no pressure at all.

(“I have to do this, hyung.” 

“Wooseok, please,” His words are raw, as panic sears the voice, “There has to be another way, we’ll figure something out!”

Wooseok only smiles then, his hair whooshing in the wind that only grows in strength as the portal opens wider, the pungent dark energy oozing into this dimension. “Tell Dongpyo I love him, tell him I’ll always be proud of him.”

“Wooseok--”

“Tell Jinhyuk I’m counting on him. Everything I own is game, but Dongpyo is his responsibility now. And yours, of course, you’re the only one he bothers listening to,” He finishes with a laugh.

He chokes on a sob, tears burning hot, but Wooseok laughs at the sight, reaching up to wipe his eyes gently, letting his touch linger. “Silly hyung.”

“I love you,” Seungwoo manages to say, and Wooseok seems to waver at that, no more pretenses upheld with that smile. He kisses him, soft at first, but quickly pressing their bodies closely, Seungwoo’s hands pulling Wooseok as close as he can. It’s too desperate, feels too much like a last kiss.

And that’s the truth, isn’t it, the last kiss. Seungwoo has to pull away first, knocking their foreheads together as he attempts to catch a breath, and Wooseok’s attention deviates behind them, as the roar of a demon rings true into the air, one of many, but bigger than the others that had made it through. 

“Sorry for being selfish,” Wooseok says, then, kissing him quickly once more. Then he’s off, running towards the end of the building, where the portal burns bright in the Seoul air. 

“Promise me,” He shouts, getting closer to it all, “Promise me you’ll look after my brother!”

“I promise,” Seungwoo replies, voice swallowed by the raging wind, before he repeats himself, raising his voice. 

And then Seungwoo does something the worst of it all --

He lets him go.)  

Seungwoo remembers when Wooseok’s mother died, of something so inherently human, it felt like a lie. Seungwoo’s own had died years prior, but to supernatural causes that led him on the path he was still following, told it was a loss he’d have to burden as the Chosen One. Wooseok, however, had obsessed over it for months after, concluding it had to have been his birth father, the prime antagonist when it came to his life, bent on sending him to the dark side of it all. 

Yet, when asked, after eons of searching for a summoning spell, the Demon King only laughed. 

If only I could take the credit. It’s rather pathetic, really, she’s been dying since the day she had you, son. Humans are fragile like that.

He’ll never forget the devastation and anger that’d seem to shaken Wooseok to his core, and Seungwoo never mentioned the look on the King’s face as the flames he’d been called in were tamed, spell ending.

It looked a little like grief. 

When he wakes up again, Byungchan and Jinhyuk are the only ones in the room and they’re busy murmuring at the foot of his bed. 

“Keeping secrets?” Voice rough with misuse, the two’s heads snapped up at the sound. 

“You bastard,” Byungchan spit over, before falling onto him into a tight hug. It burned at his wounds, and held back the urge to gasp for breath, but he allowed the other the right, chuckling when he finally pulled away.

“Speaking to your hyung that way? How rude.” 

“He’s valid,” Jinhyuk followed up, eyes narrowed in silent fury that Seungwoo refuses to acknowledge. The other sighed before taking the hand closest to him, stroking his palm as if to both offer comfort and ground himself. 

“How are the others? Seungyoun?” 

How stupid of him to forget, the latter having been in that battle with him, still fighting when he’d succumbed to the darkness. How long has he been out?

Jinhyuk nodded. “He’s fine, got discharged almost immediately. You took the brunt of the attack.”

“Like a fool,” Byungchan mutters, holding up his hands when Jinhyuk shot him a look, “I’m just saying!”

“Do you remember what happened?” 

Seungwoo swallows, registering Jinhyuk’s question, and slowly nodding. “I think so. Big demon, we were winning, but then he used some sort of magic -- was gonna attack Youn, but --” He halts there.

“But you jumped in the way?” He didn’t need to reply to that, his condition was clearly evident of his actions. 

“As self-sacrificial as always,” A new voice notes from the doorway, arms crossed against his chest, and Seungwoo is certain his heart stops beating.

Or rather, starts beating faster, as the machines he was hooked up to sought to prove, beeping at an all time fast. Byungchan makes an offhand comment, at which Jinhyuk chuckles, but Seungwoo --

Seungwoo’s too busy staring at Wooseok. 

“You’re really here,” He finally says, words strangled. Wooseok joins Jinhyuk’s side, wrapping an arm around the said man’s shoulders, who looks like he’s practically beaming with happiness. 

“Yeah, hyung. I’m really here.” 

The day he found out Woosoek is the son of the Demon King’s son, said man disappeared for a week. 

More of a mistake than not, having come across said father during a particularly difficult patrol.

What are you doing here? Wooseok had hissed at the demon whose adorned suit was topped off with a hat, the former’s pose defensive. Seungwoo knew the whispers, but he didn't piece it together until the demon’s eyes flashed red midst laughter.

You’re avoiding me, son. His expression failed to look apologetic in the least, arms crossed against his chest. I had to take measures, even if it means letting your… friends know about your little secret.

He eyed Seungwoo critically, and the so-called Chosen One couldn’t move. Whether it was fear or magic holding him there, it released him the moment the two were done whispering amongst each other, Wooseok’s worrying glances growing with each passing second. 

I’m sorry, He’d said at the end, once the coast was clear and no more demons laid in sight, I didn’t mean… You weren’t supposed to...

He never finished his sentence, instead choosing to turn away entirely and use his renowned vanishing routine, where his body scattered into ashes and traveled through the wind. Seungwoo hadn’t said a word.

His friends believed they were fighting about something miniscule in nature, but grew worried when the eldest refused to talk about what happened, and Wooseok failed to show face after day three. 

“Did you kill him?” Seungyoun had joked, over one night for drinks, filling an apartment that’s become accustomed to a party of two. Seungwoo swallowed his beer and looked at nothing in particular in the distance. “Hyung?”

“I can’t talk about it.” There must be something in his voice, because Seungyoun didn’t bring it up again for a while, let the night continue with a breeze. It’s only when he’s leaving, having sobered up enough to stress he needs to get home instead of simply sleeping over, does the topic return, a flicker of conflict in the younger’s actions as he turned back at the last moment. 

“Don’t let him go. You’ll regret it.”

And the Seungwoo back then only swallowed before replying with a “I won’t.”

The part that hurt most, as he laid in bed and stared at nothing in particular on his ceiling, was the idea that Wooseok seemed to believe Seungwoo would change the way he looked at him, after years of being glued to each other’s sides. Maybe it hurt a little at first, the realization he hadn’t been trusted with a truth that’s clearly plagued the other for too long, but nothing hurt as much as the weight of Wooseok’s absence when Seungwoo’s become accustomed with their mundane level of domesticity. 

Then Wooseok returned, with an apology on his lips, the taste of fear in their kisses, and Seungwoo vowed to love him for as long as the stars would allow him. 

Wooseok only held him in return, grip tightening.

He gets discharged fairly quickly after the close encounter with death, the others coming to visit, and later, Dongpyo scootering up beside him silently for some time. He lets it happen, holding him back and promising he was okay. Seungyoun held guilt in his eyes, and Seungwoo did his best to ensure he was fine and it was his fault, really, though the sentiment only goes so far. 

Wooseok comes back once through it all, having offered no answers the first visit, only that he was the one that saved him after that battle, both him and Seungyoun, having healed him as best as he could before bringing him to the hospital. (Much later, he’ll learn Wooseok had tried to overwhelm him with so much of his own life force, he’d almost fainted himself).

He’d tried getting some answers the second visit, but the only thing Wooseok really said was, “Not now. I’m not going anywhere, so we’ll talk later. Just not now.” And who was he to say otherwise, as Wooseok squeezed his hand and held firm in his request? 

He always thought he would die first, a fact written among the stars for the fate of the chosen. Heroes don’t live forever, dying for causes deemed larger than life, and Seungwoo had learned to accept the idea. If dying meant the survival of his loved ones, he’d take death a hundred times over. He long since sugar coated it and called it destiny. 

And then Wooseok died and Seungwoo comes to the realization that maybe he wants to live.

Seungwoo finds him later after a battle’s already been won, bodies of those that dared laying waste on the park grounds.

“Dongpyo thought he was doing the right thing, I get that.” He hadn’t realized Wooseok put it together, but it seems foolish when he looks back on it, because of course he knew his brother. “So, I can’t blame him. And I don’t.”

“But?” He asks, after a moment of hesitation. Wooseok doesn’t answer immediately, taking the time to instead pull out a parchment paper that served as a clean-up spell. As the paper disintegrates, so do the demons’ bodies, turning into ash. The remains join the wind, as if stuck in a waltz of a sort with no way out until there’s nothing left. Only the moonlight remains, illuminating the park, just him and Wooseok on a pathway they’d travelled many times in the past, happier times, in what felt to be another life altogether.

“Wooseok -- please,” Seungwoo reaches out, quick to place his hand on the other’s shoulder, though sure his attempts would be brushed off. 

Despite his assumption, Wooseok doesn’t shake him off, and instead allows his shoulders to slump with a quiet sigh. It takes a moment, of him opening and closing his mouth in search of the words, the struggle evident even from the side view Seungwoo had. 

“No pain,” He concedes, eventually. The words are hollow. 

“I think I was -- warm?” He’s only begun speaking, but there’s a seed of dread that begins to grow all too quickly. He doesn’t think he understands it, but he drops his hand as Wooseok turns to finally face him, the smile having turned wry. “I knew everyone I cared about was safe. Time didn’t mean anything, but I was… finished.”

He tilts his head. “Wouldn’t you call that heaven?”

A suckerpunch to the gut type of feeling. “At least, I think it was heaven. Think I finally understood peace, that maybe the ends did justify the means. Fighting, all the loss we dealt with trying to do good -- maybe it was all worth it. Losing my mom --”

“Wooseok--” The said man’s smile is long gone. His features are frozen with a touch of agony ever present in the lines around his mouth, contrasting the emptiness in those eyes Seungwoo used to seek out, ones that used to promise the return of love.

“Ironic, isn’t it? They thought they were saving me from a Hell unforeseeable, from horrors unimaginable.” A chuckle, harsh and sharp. “And I get it, I do.”

“But I was in heaven, and now I’m not.”

He fails to find the correct reply to that, searching for the words that won’t come, and Wooseok seems to know it. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t know what to say to that either.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still searching. 

“Were you happy?” He finally asks, foolish. Wooseok tilts his head to the side at that, in thought.

“I don't know. I like to think I was.”

And because Seungwoo is inherently selfish, especially when it comes to the other, he hears his communicator go off, sees the beginnings of a commotion up ahead, and replies. “I know nothing I say can make up for -- well, everything, but I -- I missed you.”

Wooseok summons his own staff once more, Seungwoo’s heart warming at the thought of them fighting side by side once more, offering a mysterious smile, despite the circumstances. “I know.” 

Wooseok’s magic flows through his lifestream, like it should for every sorcerer. The difference, however, was how it thrived in him, embracing the essence of his being when he breathed magic into the world. His preferred method of use was channeling this magic through ancient cards passed through time, their powers awakened when an incantation is spoken and the card is given up to the ashes that consume its being once in use, eventually appearing back in his deck when completed. They’d been passed to him from his master sorcerer, who died in the Battle of Tokyo long before their own Battle of Seoul happened years later, whilst facing Wooseok’s own father.

His mother was a witch with limitations on her soul after she fell in love with a demon that spelled the worst for humanity, and her coven took the betrayal to heart. No matter how she rued the day she fell for seductions warm yet entirely deceitful, the evidence of their affair had birthed Wooseok, and for that, she would pay with her powers.

Dongpyo’s tale is sweeter, if not kinder, for the first act -- a mortal man who fell in love with the fire in Wooseok’s mother’s eyes. No matter how his own existence oriented around firefighting and saving lives from the heat of the hungry inferno, he wanted to see her flame come alive.

And alive it did, for Dongpyo’s cries marked a miracle the entire family rejoiced over, with Wooseok’s doe eyes making a solemn promise to take care of the only family he’s got. 

The second act opens the curtains to a death too early. His step-father succumbing to the wounds obtained in a fire too fierce, Wooseok shifted his eyes to a Dongpyo who built himself a metaphorical iron suit to step into. Still too young, it seemed he understood loss far too well, and Seungwoo remembers the funeral still, the cloud of grief besting a family of now three.

And then the beyond took their mother, and there they became two.

Wooseok learned about his magic young, warned of the troubles that would come if his father learned of his existence. The plan had been to seal them until he was twenty one, but when his mother left this world eighteen years in, the seal died with her -- with that, effectively bought cognization.

I am your father, Wooseok. It would be better to accept this truth quicker than to avoid it.

I’ll never accept you, I’ve had a father and you’ll never be him.

A laugh, embedded with sarcasm. How tragic. You’ll join me, maybe not today, but someday soon. Until then, I’ll be here waiting. 

Then Wooseok died, and they were left with just one.

The Kim family was shrouded in the essence of what made a tragedy, and Seungwoo often wondered if all heroes destined to save the world were meant for this life, plagued with death and loss. He thinks of his own family, and closes his eyes.

He finds him sitting on that park bench they used to consider their own, staring at nothing in particular, and Seungwoo notes it’s a little creepy, seeing a mother up ahead redirect her child in the opposite direction at the sight.

“There’s this dream I keep having,” He starts slowly, as if hesitant to go into detail, once he’s closer and seated beside him, as if he knew he’d come. (He doesn’t brush off the idea entirely). Seungwoo waits quietly, hoping his occasional nods offer a degree of encouragement. 

“In this dream, Father’s become more vicious -- seems unlikely, I know -- and his legion of demons are more than ready to take the human world.”

“And that’s nothing new, nothing we’re not prepared for,” Seungwoo interjects, a hint of worry festering at the direction this was taking, but still overtly confused. Wooseok shakes his head, and there’s something exasperated in his expression.

“Yeah, except he’s not alone. When the dream sequence moves into the siege of the mortal realm, there’s someone else at the reigns of it all, and I can feel it, hyung, the darkness he’d shrouded himself with. I can almost feel it right now.”

“Who was it?” The question is unnecessarily and they both know it, Wooseok’s smile growing ingenuine.  

“Who else would it be? It’s me, of course.”

Despite himself, Seungwoo sucks in a breath, regardless of if he saw it coming or not. He’s quick to shake his head. “No. You wouldn’t do that.”

Wooseok raises a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

“Wooseok --”

“You don’t understand, hyung, you can’t understand it. I came back different, and apparently evil’s come knocking. If I was more human than demon in my last life, then maybe my demon heritage woke up hungrier after resurrection.”

“The good and bad isn’t dictated by what’s in your blood, it’s about what you do with the time you have and the choices you make. You’re not going to take your ‘rightful throne’  as the ‘Demon Prince’ or whatever title you’d prefer just because you’ve fallen into some sort of disarray since coming back to life, because anyone would if they went through what you did.” He tilts his head in wait till the other looks at him. “You’re not your father, Wooseok.”

“Aren’t I?” 

A pause. “How can I convince you when you’ve already made up your mind?” 

Wooseok’s vision seems cloudy, as if he were lost in thought towards things that would never be. “If it happens -- if I turn, you have to promise me.”

“Haven’t I made enough promises?” His selfish side asks, already knowing the words on the other’s mind. Wooseok ignores him, pressing on. 

“If I fall, kill me.” Correction, a voice whispers in his mind, Wooseok is the selfish one.

“Do you think it’s that easy for me to kill you?” He asks, pain a little raw and visible. Wooseok doesn’t stir at the remark, as if expecting it, and the corners of his mouth grow. 

“The fate of the world is more important than a little crush, hyung.” 

“A crush? Is that what you think this is now?” Wooseok doesn’t reply.

“I know you feel the same, we’ve established this before anything ever went down. For god’s sake, Wooseok, I know you’ve been visiting my dreams this whole time, I remember everything.” The other stares at him after the last sentence, swallowing as if verbally discussing their dream dates was supposed to be taboo.   

“I’ve been weak,” He replies, instead, building up the front brick by brick, as if to guard himself from Seungwoo and his advances entirely.  

“I love you,” Seungwoo pleads, desperation transparent as he makes a move towards him, “I always have.”

Yet, Wooseok is quicker, standing and taking a step back out of reach with a shake of his head, something cold settling in Seungwoo’s gut. The apology unearths itself within the other’s expression, but a scorned heart is fast to lock itself up, the furrow of his brows resolving into apathy. 

Hope will forever be his downfall, rejection a bitter second.

Instead, Seungwoo closes his eyes and counts to ten.

“I’m not the same guy, hyung. I’ll never be him again.”

“Just tell me -- do you still love me?”

Wooseok looks surprised at the question, before shifting into an expression that reflected he’d seen it coming a mile away. The struggle is evident, as he looks to and away in a search for words, and Seungwoo holds bated breaths at conflicted realization the other could neither bring himself to easily confirm or deny.

He’s not sure what it means, but hope flares in spite of it all.

“I--” Clearly, horrible timing would be their always, as Seungwoo’s communicator goes off instantly, ruining the mood. He entertains ignoring it, until Hanse clearly overrides his controls from his end, and Seungyoun’s shouting fills the void between them. 

“Hellmouth activity is crazy tonight! I need your help, we already have 2 men down. Coordinates have been transmitted already, just get here ASAP.”

“I’ll be right there,” He replies, instantly, eyeing the numbers he’d gotten, before looking up to reply to Wooseok and urge him to reconsider it all.

Or he would, if Wooseok was still around.

Clenching his fists and making a sound in frustration, he pushes the conversation from his mind and rushes for the nearby portal instead -- he has some demons to fight.

He’s long since learned Wooseok’s an ace at hide and seek. If Wooseok doesn’t want to be found, there’s a little to none success rate; which is why instead of seeking him out, he waits to be found himself. 

Returning from work one day and unlocking his usually empty apartment to lights on is something new, and despite the exhaustion, he’s instantly on alert. 

Then he hears a laugh that sounds eerily like Dongpyo’s. 

What the -- Despite the skepticism in his bones, he’s quick to change into his slippers, silently heading into the kitchen. 

There Dongpyo sits facing the entryway with a man in front of him, both of their shoulders shaking in amusement over a joke he’s hasn’t been made privy to, before the youngest catches his arrival.

“Hyung, you’re home!” A companion that looks an awful lot like Wooseok from the back -- and a 100% match when he turns.

“Dongpyo, Wooseok… what are you…” The other man is quick to offer a warm smile of his own, clearly feeling as content as the ambiance would vouch for, pairing the sentiment with a level-toned “Welcome home.” 

Seungwoo’s heart leaps into his throat, and he promptly decides he’s dreaming.   

“Not that this isn’t a nice surprise--” Read: best surprise of his life, cocking a brow in question as he dumps his briefcase to the side and plops into the free seat at the end of the tables, eyes kept suspiciously locked on the two, “But I wasn’t expecting company.”

Innocence is reflected back at him, eyes kept clean, seen especially in Dongpyo. “Ran into hyung at the market, and we knew you’d be alone as always, so we’re here to keep you company! Don’t worry, we know you appreciate it, no words needed.” He sticks out his tongue a little, and Seungwoo rolls his eyes despite growing fondness.

“Cute,” He replies, drily, “How lucky for me.”

“Exactly,” Dongpyo nods, serious, “Very lucky.”

Seungwoo just barely holds himself back from rolling his eyes once more.

Wooseok stays more or less quiet through the night, aside from occasional jabs at the right places and a show at active listening for Dongpyo’s behalf. The scene is a little domestic, parts of a family brought together for a dinner that failed to maintain the degree of awkwardness he’d feared. He keeps his eyes away from the other man, gives Dongpyo and the food his undivided attention, and definitely doesn’t catch himself staring at the way Wooseok’s eyes crinkle as he laughs, the sound loud and contagious. 

Not at all. 

Dongpyo is quick to fall asleep when they’ve retired to watch anime on the television screen, nostalgia overwhelming as scenes from Hunter x Hunter’s Yorknew City arc play almost mutedly. When Seungwoo goes to pick him up and tuck him into his room, the teen’s hand is stubbornly attached to Wooseok’s, whose face is hidden by the shadows of the darkened room, despite how the setting sun still shines especially bright this fair evening, moon ready to peak out from behind the clouds. 

“Don’t hate me,” Dongpyo whispers sleepily, when Seungwoo finally unlatches him from his brother. They both freeze for a moment, watching as Wooseok stares with an indescribable expression on his features. Wooseok reaches out, taking Dongpyo’s hand back to pat and offer a brief kiss, before quietly muttering “Never.”

When he returns, Wooseok has moved from the couch to the small balcony at the side, doors opened and curtains dancing with encouragement from the wind. Seungwoo toys with the idea of cleaning up first, giving the other space he may need, before deciding he’s been given enough space and treks it through the distance between them.

When he slides up beside him, the Seoul view before them and the sound of light traffic below, Wooseok turns, and stares for half a moment, eyes lidded with something. Desire, his mind whispers, confirmed as he leans up, and kisses him hard. He’s surprised at first, but quick to melt into the affection, wrapping his arms around Wooseok’s middle, feeling the same returned to him. A warmth stirs all over, but pools in his chest, clenching the organ until it hurts so much he forgets to breathe. Seungwoo pulls away first, as he often does, and thinks about the last time he’d let him go.

“Sometimes, I think it’d be easy to fall back into what I left behind.”

“Do you want to try?” He asks, shifting their positions so that he holds Wooseok from behind, the other kept warm in his embrace as they stare at the last remnants of the setting sun on the horizon. 

“It wouldn’t work. At some point, I’d remember it’s all fake.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

He hears the smile in the other’s voice as he speaks, “Came back to work on my digging skills, safe to say, I can’t forget.”

He frowns. “It’s not funny.” He lets him go now, moving to stand beside him as to look at him, expression hurt.

“Of course not,” Wooseok replies, breezily, as if death and resurrections were things to mock, “Digging through five to seven feet of dirt with your bare hands is no laughing matter.”

He stares at him. Wooseok doesn’t meet his eyes.

Taking a breath, he reaches out and attempts to hold his hand, but Wooseok shakes his head.

“We can’t keep going like nothing’s changed.”

“And why not?” There’s a challenge in his voice, an inkling of both exasperation and anger present as he presses on for once, at the intended argument that he was the only one invested in this thing between them. He knew it was a lie told to make him feel better, but Seungwoo’s mind fails this time to tell him otherwise. The other bristles.

“Hyung,” The exasperation is turned back on him, “We both know you’re in love with the person I was before.” 

“You keep saying that, but how do you know?”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I know.”

“Hey,” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking another much needed breath, “I can’t force you to believe me, but Wooseok, goddammit.”

“And how do you know otherwise?”

“I’m always going to love you, no matter what, even when you’re annoying and won’t let me love you, I will. Been that way since the day we met, and hey, I’ve had a year alone to think about.”

There’s conflict in the air, and it’s raw in nature, flickering over Wooseok’s stubborn expression. “I came back wrong, we both know it, and I don’t know if that’ll ever change.”

“I don’t know how you got it into your mind that you’re wrong now,” He says, adopting a softer tone, choosing to ignore how Wooseok kept repeating the same sentiments, as if he’s been trying to convince himself this whole time, “You’re just you.”

“I don’t know how to believe that.”

“Let yourself heal. Give yourself the time that you need, and stop ignoring what happened.”

“It’s more the opposite?” Wooseok hesitates, “I precisely can’t ignore what happened, and I think it’s killing me. It hurts, hyung, so much, right here, and I don’t know how to change it.”

His fist clenches at the space where his heart sits, and Seungwoo stares at the action for a moment, grief stricken and unsure of how to take the other’s pain away -- or settle with the idea that he can’t do just that.

“It’s my fault, I should’ve found another way, should’ve stopped you.” Guilt’s become accustomed to clinging to Seungwoo’s being, and yet he sought a form of redemption, of forgiveness, despite deeming himself unworthy of it all. “What good’s being this so called destined ‘chosen one’ if I can’t save the ones I love?”

Wooseok breaks a smile at that, and Seungwoo wishes he could kiss it.

“You don’t get it -- I don’t regret that, I never will. This isn’t your guilt to carry.” He’s quick to avert his gaze. 

“I love you,” The confession seems to file off Wooseok’s tongue, a sense of vulnerability laced in his features, as he were letting go of a weight he’s carried for too long, “I wasn’t going to let you die either.”

But Seungwoo is stubborn, despite the words being everything he’s longed to hear, shaking his head. “It wasn’t worth you dying in the process, it wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

He shrugs, mustering a wry smile. “But it was. No changing it now.”

“What are we going to do now?” Wooseok seems to ponder the words, though he offers nothing verbally. “I don’t know if you noticed, but your father seems bent on conquering this world for good, if the chimera demons are anything to go off.”

At that, Wooseok chuckles, soft yet tired. “Another apocalypse; we’ve all been there.”

“I can’t do this without you, Wooseok.” His voice breaks a little at the end, the desperation transparent, as he reaches out to hold the other’s hand with a burst of incandescent yearning for the touch. He anticipates rejection, expects it by now, but Wooseok proves himself as an enigma still, staying in place. Instead, he sighs, almost inaudibly, before squeezing Seungwoo’s hand in reassurance.

“But you can, hyung. You’ve made it this far, and whether we like it or not, you’re bound to your commitments towards saving humankind. You need to let me go.”

His voice takes on a sarcastic edge at the end, bitter to the taste, before closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if to compose himself.

“And let’s be honest to ourselves -- the world can go on without Kim Wooseok, but it’ll always need a Han Seungwoo.”

The following smile is both empty yet affirmative, as if trying to convince himself of his words. All Seungwoo can think to offer is a squeeze of the hand back, a force in his voice, “And I’ll always need you.”

A breathy chuckle; he hadn’t expected the formidable front. “How romantic.”

“I love you.”

A wave of conflict washes across Wooseok’s face before he contains the storm. “Get some sleep, Chosen One. The world will still need saving in the morning.”

Before he can speak, and ask what he’s planning on doing in the meantime, Wooseok is already gone, body scattering like ashes to the wind once more, and all Seungwoo can do is watch as the hand in his grasp crumbles into nothing in the end.

It takes time before he finally falls asleep, and for the first time in a long time, Seungwoo doesn’t dream that night. 

He’s almost disappointed when he wakes the next day, laying in bed for a while, unmoving, until he hears Dongpyo already in the kitchen having started preparations for breakfast. With a sigh, he pulls himself out from under his covers and throws on a discarded muscle tank from the ground, before picking up his phone. 

Skimming past the notifications from last night, one of which looks like a picture of something resembling an engagement ring from Byungchan, his fingers instead hover on a name that’s been absent from his phone for too long. A large smile grows against his lips, and Seungwoo knows now, despite the hurdles that remain, the possible impending new apocalypse on the horizon, everything will be okay.

Kim Wooseok

I need to find myself, or whatever this self-help guru on YouTube is trying to teach.

I’ll be back. 

Don’t freak out, loser. Give me time.

Sweet dreams, hyung. 

I love you too.

(“Promise me,” He shouts, getting closer to it all, “Promise me you’ll look after my brother!”

“I promise,” Seungwoo replies, voice swallowed by the raging wind, before he repeats himself, raising his voice. 

Wooseok is already at the edge now, ready to jump, and Seungwoo’s heart almost gives out at the sight. However, just as he thinks he’s lost him for good, Wooseok hesitates, looking back over his shoulder, probably greeted with the sight of a defeated Seungwoo staring back at him, eyes shining with emotions untold. 

Seungwoo takes a step forward without a second thought, entirely mindless. Wooseok only smiles in return, big and wide as if to placate the other. 

“Don’t leave me,” is all he can think to say then, too quiet for the words to travel, too far away for Wooseok to make out that his lips even moved. But Wooseok mouths something of his own, as if to reply, before turning back. 

And then he falls, and Seungwoo can’t seem to close his eyes.)