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He's there again, that night.
Jisoo doesn't know why, but he wants to. Jisoo wants a multitude of things, truly.
The boy sits, pretty, on the rocky shore. Not lost, nor found.
His shoes lie forgotten on the dark sand behind him, and ah, it can't be comfortable, to sit on such pointy stones.
Yet he's there again, that night. Surely, that makes it a row of five? At least.
He comes, does nothing more than sit, and breathe.
The moon shines, shyer at his every visit.
The boy, he has long, ebony hair. It gets ruffled by the salty breeze, but he pays it little mind.
His shirt is made of nice cotton, light and immaculate in color. He's wearing tightly pressed dress pants, undeniably not made for the beach.
Jisoo can't see his eyes, from where he stands, but he finds that he wants to.
Jisoo always wants things. It's a terrible vice.
He knows, he knows, truly, and yet he steps forward.
It's been a while since he was able to converse with anyone, he tells himself. That's his excuse.
He takes another step, then one more for good measure. The sand is warm under his bare feet.
Jisoo abruptly wishes for his long lost pocket mirror. Does he look presentable?
The mere possibility of any lingering flaw is terribly embarrassing.
He adjusts his glasses, straightens the cuffs of his old shirt. Once white, now faded, much like Jisoo himself.
He's so old.
The boy turns sharply. His irises are pitch black, glossy under the moonlight. Jisoo feels like he's drowning, just for a moment.
The boy jumps down from the rocks, lands near his polished shoes. Panic tints his gaze, but in a blink it's gone.
Jisoo dismisses it. Pure imagination, very tricky.
"I didn't mean to startle you." he says, gently. It's polite, after all, and at least half-true.
Jisoo is too elegant to be simply bored, but he is, horribly so.
Minutes have turned into dusty millennia in his chest. Time crawls, when it once flew, now dying.
(Humankind has now ditched love confessions, impetuously handwritten with gold-rimmed fountain pens! Truly a foul era.)
So, bitterly, Jisoo thinks almost any reaction is welcome, as long as the boy doesn't run.
The smile he gets is pleasant, but cold.
"Did my mother send you?"
Jisoo...wasn't expecting that. Confusion tilts his head, as gravity moves his hair. A fair lock touches the tip of his nose. He fixes it behind his ear, well aware it won't stay in place.
It's tragic, no part of Jisoo likes to stay put.
"Your mother? I'm afraid I don't follow."
The boy stares at him.
Obsidian stones, his eyes. They're beautiful. He's beautiful. Looking like the world could never win him over, only crumble at his feet, begging for mercy.
Jisoo stares back, unashamed, mesmerized. How easy it is to get lost in the dark.
"Who are you, then, if not one of my mother's lackeys?" the boy demands to know, unnerving, unmoving.
His tone is made of steel, yet his timbre is still melodic. Jisoo likes it. Likes him.
And so he smiles, soft, gallant. "Hong Jisoo, or Hong Joshua. Depending on from which side of the ocean the calling comes."
The boy blinks, the waves roar. A flicker of interest ignites, then, and Jisoo catches it with both hands, a firefly in his palms.
He thinks, his heart is made of sand. Flames, they could turn it into fragile glass at any moment.
"Can I ask for your name in return, mister?" he asks, folding his hands behind his back. "I'd promise not to tell your mother, but I'm afraid she knows what they call you well enough."
The boy makes an inelegant sound, and his shoulders relax. Jisoo feels his lips curl pleasantly.
"Yoon Jeonghan." the boy says, voice steady, confident, almost arrogant. There is fire everywhere.
He runs a hand through his hair, and it's an eye-catching habit. From the top to the tips, pale fingers disappear in between pure silk. "Not even the ocean can change that."
Ah, Jisoo is already charmed.
Jeonghan, pure burning youth, turns out to be a very pleasant conversation partner.
His humor is the perfect mirror of Jisoo's own, and that itself hides them in a world on their own. Secluded, untouchable, impossibly suspended in time.
Jeongan knows a lot, grand and timid things both. He knows things Jisoo has not read about, not even in all of his books.
And while it's true, impetus sure has sharpened his wit, Jisoo never falls on the wrong side of the blade.
He's captivating to listen to, thoughts and theories and hypotheses. Jeonghan has opinions, is filled with vorace hunger for all Jisoo can offer him back.
Yet Jeonghan is also warm, and tentative. A black sun, then. It shines brightly only for Jisoo to see.
There is a softness there, as well, all cotton flowers and delicate herbal tea.
Nothing is quite like it. Nothing is quite like him.
They stargaze, that night.
And the night after, and the one after that too. Jisoo loses count, of the hours, of the stars, of Jeonghan's long lashes. It's so easy to.
Everything that once was dark, now grows beauty like flowers.
Jisoo never feels the summer heat.
Jisoo wishes his pocket watch still worked. Time telling would be much easier for him, like so.
It's unfortunate, how salt water has turned the gears into mere rust.
Jisoo tries to adapt, looks out for when the waves swallow the sun whole. It shouldn't be too long, after that.
Jeonghan comes to him every night, by then, and it's a wonderful feeling. Almost warm, almost tangible.
How Jisoo has missed it.
Usually, the flesh and bones don't notice him. Their glances avoid him, and it feels personal. It's hard to forge connections, that way.
Jisoo is able to walk around, yes, to read his books in the library, also, but he can only come back to the shore afterwards. Each time, every time.
It's like a calling, like a pull. Like a chain.
Jisoo is chained to the sea, and to the Gods that inhabit it.
The moon paints over him, old silver light, as he stares down at his fingers. He's not sure what to do.
"There you are."
Jeonghan's voice is as angelic as ever, and Jisoo longs for him to speak more. Louder, or in softer tones, to sing, to cry. To call Jisoo's name, most of all.
"As always." Jisoo greets.
Jeonghan smiles, then, comes to sit down very close.
His hair is tied into a low ponytail, that night, and it's discreet, the way he still manages to look like a warrior.
"Read anything interesting, while I was gone?"
Jisoo smiles gently, shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."
He isn't sure how his day was spent at all, unfortunately. More often than Jisoo would like, times seem to forget him.
Jeonghan hums, fixes an unruly lock of fair hair behind Jisoo's ear. The touch is there, just very subtle.
Jisoo wants more, leans into it before it leaves him.
Jeonghan breathes a soft sound, a nice blend of a sigh and a giggle. "Did you miss me?"
Jisoo did, of course he did. His own existence is of perpetual summer nights spent alone. Of course he has missed him.
"Aren't you the one that comes to me running?" is what he says, instead.
Jeonghan huffs, "I don't run."
Jisoo hides a smile behind a polite hand. "Of course, my bad."
There is a moment, then, of quiet pause.
"I'm sure it'd be tremendous to, with those shoes you have."
Jeonghan almost groans. The frustration shatters the calm of his sculptured face, washes away all the mirth. He makes a grand gesture. "Not like I chose these, yes?"
Jisoo hums, drags his eyes away from the fire, back to the dark waves.
The Yoon family appears to dictate over shoewear as well, that's not good.
Jeonghan tugs at the ribbon tying his hair until the strands engulf him. He breathes through his nose, but it does nothing to calm him down.
Guilty from stepping on a landmine, Jisoo folds his legs, rests his heavy head on his bony knees.
He stares ahead, and talks. "I was a ship doctor, once. Well, a doctor in training. Regardless, I traveled by ship, back and forth and all over. It was grand, until it wasn't."
He sighs, shifts to adjust his glasses. "On my last voyage, the crew caught something. To this day, I still have no idea of what that was. I just know they went all mad. So furiously, furiously mad. By night, they couldn't tell friend from foe."
Jisoo isn't sure why he's telling Jeonghan this. A bomb for a bomb, really.
He is certain he hasn't spoken of it ever since. Surely, there is no need.
Yet, he hopes it serves, as a night tale if nothing else. A macabre story, more like.
The words overflow regardless.
"Bizarre as fate is, I was just fine. I hid well, shivering as they slaughtered each other. I heard, and saw , but I thought I'd be fine just hiding. I did for a long time, I think."
Jisoo knows Jeonghan is watching him, drinking up every word, every flich. He doesn't know what Jeonghan thinks of it, of him, but finds that he wants to.
He sighs, long and low.
"That is, until some of them- some of the last survivors, I think, found me. They had blood all over, their clothes, their faces. Still dripping. They had enough grey matter left to join forces, it seemed. I was the next one to go, it was very clear. So I-"
Jisoo blinks, stops. Only then realizes telling the truth is not an option. Jeonghan would run, far, far away, if he knew.
Suddenly, a solid palm is holding Jisoo's shoulder. It's gentle, corporeal enough for Jisoo to feel it, as it slides down his bicep, his elbow, his forearm.
It reaches his wrist, and Jisoo inhales loudly. "The sea has scared me since."
Jeonghan tugs until Jisoo falls.
He hugs him, then, fully, with purpose. Holds him as close as possible, two grown men sitting on the damp sand. He hides in Jisoo's neck, too, breathes out of rhythm with the waves.
Jisoo can't feel the humid air, nor the lashes grazing his skin. Yet the weight of Jeonghan is there, so very there.
It's grounding, enough for Jisoo to shed a few tears.
Oh, how he has missed this.
Jeonghan makes comforting noises, to gently placate him. Whispers empty words of reassurance, sounds Jisoo now holds very dear.
He unfolds, then, rises his dark, dark eyes. They're luminous. Holding Jisoo's face, he rubs at the tear tracks with his thumbs.
The smile he offers is warm, and lovely. Another tear blooms just for it.
And he kisses him, then, trapping old memories between them.
As Jisoo wishes he could feel it properly, it's still beautiful.
Jeonghan sighs into it, lips pillowy soft. His grip shifts, until his fingers tangle with Jisoo's hair, never to come out.
Jisoo's hands move, too, they grip the breezy cotton of Jeonghan's shirt; immaculate in color, like all the others his family has chosen for him. His knuckles whiten with the strength of it.
The kiss grows deep, slowly but surely, like a storm building and building. Their lips are too close, too hungry, for it not to happen again and again.
Jisoo nips at the bottom lip caged between his teeth.
It makes Jeonghan set a sound free, from the very back of his throat. Low and possessive, like Jisoo knows he is. Like he himself is.
And Jisoo only wants more.
He always does, it's a curse. The clear certainty that it won't ever be enough. So he kisses back with all he has. Even if all he owns is a body that is half-real, and a rusty pocket watch.
The night grows darker, before it fades away.
That morning, Jeonghan wakes up in his bed.
The thing is too firm, unnecessarily big. It has always been. With the room half empty, it's an eyesore.
'Everything for our saviour', they kept telling him.
Like he has any say in it.
He gets up, sighs; goes through his morning routine numbly.
The maids always grow irritated when he brushes his hair on the bed. He sits back on the hideous thing to do just that, out of spite.
The Yoon Manor is silent at dawn.
Jeonghan is the only one of the family that lives in the South Wing, that is probably why. Surrounding him, servants and guards, used to tend to their tasks very quietly. Most importantly, ready for emergencies.
Jeonghan feels nothing.
There is a sour taste, though, rising like bile from the depth of his stomach.
The moon gets fuller every night, and it won't be long.
Sacrifice.
The ritual. It will all come to an end soon.
Jeonghan was sure he felt nothing about it, before.
Necromancers, they had traditions. Old families tend to, really.
He knows this, as he has grown like a branch of a strong-blooded tree. The strongest of his generation, they had whispered.
He's not too fond of the title, hasn't found a purpose for it, plainly. Some forgotten houseplants would disagree, but that's about it.
And sacrifice.
He was raised for this, breeded for this.
And so they would gather candles, frivolous tableware, long lost cousins. And feast.
Jeonghan will fill each goblet with his own blood.
Quite literally, truly. They will kill him and skin him and drain him, not necessarily in that order.
Serve him for dinner, how grand.
'Dying for love', is what his mother calls it. Her face is long, and her eyes maroon. But it's her voice, that hurts his ears every time. Listening translates to gargling glass rather ambitiously.
Jeonghan thinks no one should die for love. Love shouldn't ask that of you.
But what does he know of it, afterall?
He has lived all his life under an upside-down glass. Year after year, they kept him in, kept him silent, and he hasn't escaped once.
Yet now, as he blinks, the picture of a boy shines behind his eyelids. Silver light, the whitest moon.
His hair curls with no regards for gravity, and he wears glasses that make him look older, wiser, refined in a way Jeonghan will never be.
His shirts all look the same, cream colored and well-loved. The fabric is thin, and soft.
He is thin, and soft.
Jisoo is-
The grip on the silver hairbrush hurts his hand, fingers clenching and twitching.
No. Jisoo is waiting for him at the beach, and so he will climb his window and follow the sea breeze. He will kiss him and hold him and won't think anymore.
There will only be relief, dripping color on his last summer nights.
He's almost out of time, he knows.
Yet Jeonghan takes a moment to pause, to watch.
He does that often enough. It comes with the endless curiosity.
It's quiet, and subtle enough, for a habit. He absorbs knowledge through air, light, lashes. Fills up empty spaces.
The clouds are hiding the stars, and blanketing the moon. The night is but a flebile, milky glow.
Jisoo looks ethereal.
Fair skinned, fair headed; the softest piano key, yarn tangled around his soul. No wind seems to move him, yet he's a tree with no roots.
He's the most gorgeous mystery Jeonghan has ever come across.
And he stands, eyes lost at sea.
Jeonghan feels it stinging, the jealousy, irrational and useless, directed at everything and nothing. How dares a mere body of water enchant someone like Jisoo?
He looks so helplessly enraptured. Jeonghan can't stand it.
As he blinks at the waves, all he sees is bottomless, pitch black hunger.
The oceans calls, and calls, swallows bodies with no grace, no thanks. No matter how many it eats, it stays the biggest siren of them all.
He hears Jisoo gasp clearly, then, sees a tremor shake is lithe frame. The glasses on his nose seem to wobble, as his hands dart towards the air.
Jeonghan is by his side in an instant.
"Jisoo, angel, what's wrong?"
Jisoo turns to him, frowning something confused and scared. His mouth opens around a voiceless sound. He looks so small.
He spasms, grasps at Jeonghan's forearms frantically, trying to anchor himself, save himself. Jeonghan holds him in his arms, whispers an infinite string of it's okay, I'm here, you're alright, it's alright. He squeezes his eyes closed.
And he waits, as Jisoo blinks and gulps gallons of air. Soothes a choked sob with the brush of his lips. He tries , so hard, yet he's not sure what he's fighting against, even.
A shiver makes its way down the tips of Jeonghan's fingers, and he clenches them around Jisoo's waist. Kisses the soft skin of his temple, his cheekbone.
There is a pull, there, from the bottom of Jeonghan's core, tensed towards the outside. He realizes, ah, he wants to make it better, ease the pain, stop the suffering. No more, he thinks.
Painful memories, they should just disappear, stop existing. Around their ankles, a serpentine anxiety that should burn like rope.
He inhales deep, nose pressed against the crown of Jisoo's head and thinks, no more.
"Run away with me."
Jisoo's thoughts come to an abrupt halt.
Nebulous memories of red are silenced with a handful of words. The past is, for a moment, forgotten.
"Run away with me, Jisoo." Jeonghan says once more.
His eyes reflect no light. Surely, the moon must feel too bashful to enlighten them, unworthy of his gaze. Yet Jisoo can see them shine like marbles.
The world quiets.
Jisoo's body thrums with the energy, radiating out of him in bursts. He wants, wants, wants.
His face twitches, unable to portrait his storm of emotions to the fullest. His brain constricts.
Jeonghan cups his cheek with a gentle hand.
His dark eyes soften, like the sight of Jisoo alone is enough to make him melt, make him weak. He presses their foreheads together.
"Run away with me, please."
Jisoo thinks the real punishment began once he met Jeonghan.
How cruel, how impossibly cruel, to keep everything Jisoo has ever wanted barely out of his reach.
The Gods of the Sea are capable of phantomless abominations.
Jisoo thinks he feels warmth, as Jeonghan presses him more firmly against his chest. But it's gone in an exhale.
Jisoo hates it all, being dead, being a half-empty container of memories and regrets. Being a ghost, being a killer.
The tears overflow from his eyes without permission.
Surely, he must be ruining Jeonghan's immaculate shirt, but he can't seem to stop.
A series of loud sobs ring in the silence. It takes too long for Jisoo to realize they're coming from him.
Entire decades have passed, yet all it takes to shred him is a pretty boy promising what he can't keep.
No, no, that isn't true. Jeonghan is not just a pretty face, not in the slightest. The mirror cage built all around him could never hide from Jisoo what lies inside.
His never sated brain, his fire eyes, his ever gentle hands. The crinkle of his eyes as he laughs, how he plays with his hair as he reflects.
And by some miracle, someone so resplendent seems enamoured with Jisoo as well!
That is what breaks him.
Love is what kills him for good.
The Gods of the Sea have inhabited it for some time.
They sit, down at the very bottom, thousands of teeth, mouthing the most charming of songs.
They sing, and laugh, and rage into storm. They eat.
But most of all, they wait. For the next soul to abandon all hope.
As all comes back, in the end, to the sea.
Like so, in the current of the infinite time, once was a ship.
Huge, with passengers and crew, a multitude of humans. Irrelevant. The Gods waited, observed.
Something went wrong, it seemed, poison spilled from a foolish hand. It spread.
Then, the sound of droplets hitting the surface.
The Gods watched, as dark blood tinted their own domain. As a shivering boy dared fight for his life until he was the last one standing. Red, dripping down his shirt, crusted in his hair, permanent stains on his glasses.
And all was quiet.
Then the boy, frantic and crying, tried to maneuver the ship back home. That was when the Gods of the Sea surged. They know, there is always a price to pay.
They spoke, then, with their mouths of thousands teeth. Deafened the boy with their voices.
They said, "How dare you. Taint the Sea, our holy kingdom. How dare you, not die quietly. How dare you, rebel against fate."
They said, "You will now die by our hand, yet you will stay, on the closest shore, a ghost of missed chances. You won't rest, you won't move. You won't ever breathe again. A manufactured existence, a monster, like we saw you are."
And then, the Gods drowned him. No prayer could possibly save him.
"I can't."
Jisoo shivers, body half-real, mind half-there, his entire existence working against him.
He wants to hold onto Jeonghan, but his fingers are numb and his grip bears no strength.
The tears never stop, fade away before they reach the sand. Jisoo's vision is blurry, stained black. He hiccups around a million things to say.
All that comes out is, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Jeonghan, you- oh, how I'm sorry. I can't."
He wishes he could see Jeonghan's face, but his eyes won't focus. Won't help. Nothing ever helps.
Submerged by his sobs, a whisper, cold and fragile. "...Why?"
Jisoo inhales, but no oxygen rushes to his lungs, to soothe his panic. If Jeonghan leaves him, he won't-
"I'm not- I'm not alive, Jeonghan." he gasps. "I'm not alive, nor I'm dead. It was- the ship, the Gods- I shouldn't be here."
His voice breaks and breaks.
Jisoo is on the verge of tearing, his soul ripped apart, soon to be paper bits on the floor. He can feel it, as reality pierces through him like a spear. He'll tear.
What scares him the most, is the idea of being put back together by the cruel Gods. They won't let him rest.
Suddenly, pressure under his chin, Jeonghan tilts his head up. There is a surge, then, of honey-slow magic. Dense and warm. It engulfs him.
Jisoo stops shaking, stops breathing, stops slipping away.
The tears, those won't stop, but now his eyes can see.
Jeonghan is there, worried frown and wild fire, uncomposed like never before.
He's upset, Jisoo realises innocently.
"Is this better?" Jeonghan asks him. He runs gentle fingers through Jisoo's hair. Looks for any sign of inhuman discomfort with an obsessive eye.
Jisoo nods, rests his hands on tops of Jeonghan's. They're heavy, smooth, cold under his.
The physical sensations are uncharacteristically vivid, it's unreal.
Jeonghan breathes a sigh of relief. The tiepid air reaches Jisoo's face. "You should have said something. I could have helped. Weeks ago, even."
Jisoo is still unsure of what, or how it is happening. He rubs at his eyes, damp, puffy under his glasses. Uncaring of grace, just this once.
"Introducing myself as a ghost wouldn't have been polite, Jeonghan.", he says. "...And regardless, I was sure you would have ran away."
Jeonghan breathes out a compromise between a laugh and a groan. "Jisoo, angel, I'm a necromancer. I would have not."
Jisoo blinks a few times. A necromancer is- oh. "I didn't know that."
"Of course, I didn't tell you. If I did, I thought you would have been the one to run."
Jeonghan slides his hands up and down Jisoo's arms, neck, cheeks. He seems to barely realise his own restlessness.
"It was nice, conversing with someone who wasn't involved with the Yoon family. Someone out of their reach, their grasp. For once."
Jisoo's face softens with the blues of sympathy. From the bits Jeonghan has revealed, only the dead could escape his horrendous family.
The concoction of feelings swims in his chest, constricts his insides. Before it resurfaces, overspilling, Jisoo ties his arms around Jeonghan.
He doesn't want to cry. No more, he thinks, no more tears. No more sadness; that too, would be nice.
He tucks his head between Jeonghan's shoulder and neck, hides there, inhales quietly.
"...I wouldn't have, ran, that is. I can't leave the shore."
A pause. "At all?"
Jisoo sighs. "I can reach the library, thankfully." Waits from laughter than never comes.
Instead, there is pressure on his hips, where Jeonghan digs his fingers; it's almost bruising.
"...Jisoo, who did this to you?"
Jisoo begs, no more tears. Talks to the cold skin under his lips.
"It was punishment. For...everything. Everything that happened on that ship. I- I had to. I had to survive, you must understand. I wanted to live. I-"
A kiss is left, lost in his hair. Jeonghan's voice soothes him infinitely. "You only did what you had to. I could never blame you, Jisoo."
No more tears, Jisoo thinks. He isn't a kid. Enough with it! It's disgraceful, and quite useless. He holds onto that thought, breathes until he can stay true to it. He guesses, in the very back of his mind, he has always wanted to hear those exact words.
But Jeonghan isn't finished.
He moves until he holds Jisoo's face in his hands. His heart in his hands.
"I will fix this, angel, I promise you." he says.
His voice still carries that beautiful cadence Jisoo adores, and only indulges the absolute truth.
"I will free you." Jeonghan continues. "And then myself. I won't leave you like this. I refuse to. I won't leave you."
He kisses him, then, as soon as Jisoo blinks, powerless against fresh tears.
"I need to go back to the manor. Gather some tools." Jeonghan says.
His brain runs a short list of any ingredient he has access to. Crosses out things, substitutes them with what he deems best.
A ceremonial knife, coal, enough black candles to fill a backpack. Something to represent air.
If he wants to do this tonight, he has to work fast.
The details won't matter, in the end. His blood is strong. It will be enough.
"Do you think you'll be fine by yourself for a few hours, angel?"
Jisoo nods. He looks present enough, if a little tired.
He has yet to let go of Jeonghan's hand. Keeps caressing his palm, rubbing his thumb back and forth.
Their fingers, intertwined, seem to drag his eyes like magnets.
Jeonghan wonders if he can feel the steady pumping of energy between them, like a magical assemble of working veins.
Jeonghan smiles, catches Jisoo staring once more.
"Try not to miss me too much, yeah? I'll be right back."
Jisoo hesitates. His expression twists, and he looks torn. There is something he wants to say that won't come out.
Whatever it is, as bitter as it could possibly be, Jisoo bears it, swallows it down with a minute shake of his head.
Instead, a corner of his gentle lips tilts up, mischievous, playful. "Ah, I know. You always run to me, it's cute."
Jeonghan huffs, makes a show of stepping back, flipping his hair. "I do not run, we've talked about this."
Jisoo hides his giggles behind a hand. "Of course, of course. Well then…"
Jeonghan rolls his eyes. Yet he smiles, and the fondness surely spills right out his heart.
Jeonghan opens the window of his room, gentle. Climbs in.
His hair moves with him, soundless, graceful. He tucks it back behind an ear.
It's the middle of the night, and everyone should be fast asleep. The guards certainly aren't, but Jeonghan knows their routes from memory.
He needs to get to the pantry, and then out. Nothing more than that.
Placing his shoes under the bed, he takes a steady breath. And so, leaves his room.
With the impending ritual, all the wings have been filled. Corridors full of family members, consorts, servants, illicit lovers. And then more family members, more consorts, more servants, more illicit lovers.
The manor thrums with a subtle current of energy. It beats, like a steady heart.
Jeonghan wants nothing more than to set everything on fire.
He can't, sadly. Not yet, anyway. He needs Jisoo by his side, first.
The pantry is silent, dark.
Jeonghan doesn't need any light, follows the pull of his desire.
The knife finds his hand first. It's cold, white ceramic. Prepared for the ritual, specifically. Hasn't touched anything but the silk in which it was covered.
Until now, that is.
It was made for him, ah, just not for this purpose.
Jeonghan thinks there is a good amount of irony, in how the knife responds to his magic. Thank you for the overflowing power, mother dearest.
Jeonghan grabs the coal, and then the candles. A feather of a raven.
He exits, tracing his steps back to his room.
He's a floor away, when it hears it.
Soft noises, bare feet against carpets, from the corridor to his left.
Panic spreads through every nerve, pulls at every muscle, freezing him in place. He doesn't breathe.
Can he make it up the stairs with no energy leaking out? Can he dissimulate, disguise his magic as his mother's?
The steps, insistent, incessant, make their way towards him.
Has he been discovered? Can he kill this person with the knife before they scream, alerting the guards?
They sound closer. Closer. Closer still.
How much time does he have, before the blood stained floor gives him away? Before they find the body in the closet?
And then, nobody emerges from the dark.
The steps keep going down the corridor, fading away, painfully slow.
Jeonghan only moves when minutes have passed.
He makes his way back to his room, out of the window, eyes on the shore.
Halfway there, he realizes.
Diviners. They always know when something is wrong, but with no accuracy, no precision. Only hints.
With all the guests, there is sure to be a diviner in the manor. Someone who tried to make the best out of glimpses of the future, visions in dreams.
Too bad, Jeonghan thinks, not close enough.
He grins, as his bare feet meet the sand.
"I won't leave you! You hear me, Jisoo?! I won't let you rot, in the grasp of pathetic, immature monsters!" Jeonghan screams, and his lungs burn.
His voice holds an ugly note that wasn't there before, as something grates painfully in his throat.
His vision swims, black stains eating the world unnaturally. He can barely stand on his two feet.
Every time he pulls, urging the muscles of his arm to move, the pain is scorching hot, and fresh blood gushes out the myriad cuts that cross it.
Something went wrong. Something went very, very wrong.
And Jeonghan knows exactly what.
In front of him, in the middle of the coal circle, on the white, soft shore, is Jisoo. He lies, limbs bent at weird angles, like a doll. A puppet with torn strings.
His kind eyes are hollow, the lenses of his glasses deeply fractured. He's crying, soundlessly. Salt water runs steadily down his cheeks. It's the only thing that tells Jeonghan he's still here.
He can do this, still. He will do this. He will set this right.
"For you, my love, this ugly world shall burn."
The Gods of the Sea laugh at him.
It's difficult to look at, the amalgamate that came to existence, the form they took to emerge from the depths. Unbelievable, eye-crossing, disgusting. Ah, surely, they're not really there.
Yet they taunt him, like insignificant kids, chins held high after tripping someone to the ground.
Jeonghan loathes them, every second some more. Every moment he has to breathe through the fire, every moment Jisoo has to lie there, unable to do anything else, ruined.
The anger grows and grows, expands, until his blood runs a deep black.
Jeonghan will never forget this, it's true. It's a promise.
And so he bites his bottom lip, forces himself to stay quiet, to stay patient.
He's strong. It will work. His skull is throbbing.
They will all regret this.
The Gods laugh ravenously, a cacophony of death and boredom. All their useless lives contain.
Jeonghan pulls, adjusts the grip on the ceramic knife. The blood trickles down the moon white blade.
He fixes his eyes on Jisoo, thinks the pain he's feeling can't compare to his.
His beautiful angel, unable to breathe, carved empty from the very inside, pushed almost beyond the very boundary of reality. How could they.
No more. No more. No more.
The first person who reaches him is his mother. It's predictable, really.
She stops far enough from the circle, fancy shoes against the shore. Eyes wide, tinted a lovely shade of panic Jeonghan readily gulps down.
Behind her, slowly gathering, the complete family.
Jeonghan has to stifle a laugh. Oh, good, good.
He's relieved the message was so well received, to be frank. He wasn't looking forward having to walk all the way back to the Manor.
Not to mention, Jisoo's body cannot be moved.
So, yes, glad his spilled blood could alarm everyone enough to get them off their beds.
Now, where were we.
"Mother." he says, as warm liquid sloshes up his throat, torso ablaze.
She twitches. Keeps shifting her eyes from Jeonghan, wounded, desperate, to the Gods of the Sea, behind him, arrogant, cackling.
The scene seems to leave her speechless, and Jeonghan is pretty sure she's misunderstanding along the lines.
As disappointing as it is, it's no matter. Let them think he's bound the Gods he's set to kill.
"See, all of you always said, 'everything for our savior', isn't that right?" he says, and his voice booms, freezes all who carry the Yoon name. Their attention washes over him, water and honey and blood.
"You said, one should die, for love, didn't you, Mother? Aren't you glad? Your dream is about to come true."
His mother looks sweaty, that's new. Fear must be getting to her.
Surely, she's worked really hard into raising Jeonghan, constricting him into the most obedient lamb. It's only logical to be scared, once dinner starts talking about eating you instead.
She opens her trembling mouth, only to choke around a broken scream.
The ceremonial knife twists deeply in her gut, and Jeonghan sighs.
He has no time to waste.
Around the handle, enough coagulated blood to form a hand-shaped vessel. It moves.
Jeonghan commands it like his own flesh, has it impaling and slashing and cutting and stabbing each and every uncle, aunt, cousin, great-great-whatever-relative. He only needs their blood.
The knife drinks it, soaks in it until it turns a very angry red.
Jeonghan calls it back, then, holds it and breathes. The beach is silent.
His wounds readily knit back together, and he stands straighter, rolls his shoulder. It pops satisfyingly.
A few dozens of dry corpses litter the sand, but the circle looks intact.
Jisoo still weeps from the very center, and the sight breaks Jeonghan's heart.
"Sorry you had to see that, angel. I promise it's almost over. Hold on for me, please?"
Jeonghan exhales, then, twists the blade around his fingers. Magic lights up his system, a lighthouse fighting the waves. His eyes sparkle in the dead of the night.
He turns, languid, to face the pitch black water. Grins. "Your turn."
The Gods of the Sea have long stopped laughing.
Jisoo was never good at telling time.
He thinks, his mother might have been the one to gift him his pocket watch, in his breathing days. She might have smiled, called him a sillyhead.
He'd like that to be real, yet has no way to find out.
Sand has been slipping into his memories, slowly, then all at once. He has no way to stop it.
And so, he hangs onto compromised truths, mostly nostalgic, tinted blue.
Jisoo isn't sure how much time passes, but he never leaves.
Not even as his body gets pulled in every direction.
Not as salt water replaces his insides. Not when his spirit spasms and hurls and screeches from the impossible pain.
He remembers Jeonghan, determined fire, his pretty eyes.
The glowing of candles, and then of magic. The softness of a hand, guiding him back towards more, more than damp sand under his feet.
He remembers falling, then, or tripping, or getting yanked back with ugly strength.
And then pure, blinding pain; cold, so cold.
Laughter. Who could ever laugh at this?
Jisoo is on the ground when they arrive. The Yoon family.
There are crinkles in their clothes, sleep under their gazes.
They stand, first, and then not. Each, falls. That's all.
Jisoo is on the ground as the power of generations, of thousands of breaths, kills the Gods of the Sea.
Then, the world tilts upside-down.
Jisoo takes a deep breath, then another. The breeze feels warms, salty. There is a hint of jasmine, pungent.
He stops at the third breath. It's...not necessary. His lungs don't really move. But the air-
Jisoo blinks, and the sunrise is all pinks and greys. The waves are gentle, polite sounds to his ears. It's beautiful.
He feels groggy, a spent firework. There is a cottony sensation, it accompanies his every move.
Jeonghan smiles down at him. His curtain of black hair cascades over, hides them protectively. Rosy cheeked, he's been biting at his lip.
"You snore."
Jisoo's head rests on Jeonghan's lap, as careful fingers run through his fair curls. Jisoo furrows his brows. He does not snore.
"I do not snore."
Jeonghan chuckles, leaves a soft kiss on each of his eyes, and then two more between them. Syrupy, mellow, affection fills Jisoo's ribcage to the brim.
"You do, a little. It's cute."
Jisoo huffs, exaggerates a pout. "I do not snore, Jeonghan."
"Of course not, angel." Jeonghan says, but the tone is easy, patronizing, as if discussing with an infant. He gently places Jisoo' glasses on his nose. "How do you feel?"
Jisoo blinks, behind the lenses. His glasses, weren't they broken? And he too was- Jisoo sits up in a hurry, the sand under his palms warmer than ever.
"Jeonghan, what happened? Are you alright? They-"
"It's been taken care of."
Jeonghan sighs, but he looks pleased, confident. There is something about his eyes, an almost liquid quality Jisoo can't place.
"I'm fine, angel, and so are you." Jeonghan assures.
He holds Jisoo's hand in his, and that too is warm. Present, solid, so very real. "See?"
Jisoo gasps, he can't help it. His lashes might tire of all his blinking. He grips Jeonghan's hand, as tight as he can manage.
"I- You- You're...You're well? You're well, unharmed."
His eyes water, letting the sunrise wobble. His chest might explode in a million blooms, it feels like. Jeonghan smiles at him, fondness rounding every edge.
"And I'm not...trapped anymore. I'm free! Jeonghan, I'm free! We're free! Oh, how wonderful! You!"
Jisoo melts, sensitive skin and beating heart. A feeling like luminous light fills each corner, swallows each shadow. He doesn't even cry.
"You're wonderful."
Jeonghan chuckles, tilts his head, lowers his lashes. He's a vision. And he's aware of it.
"Am I now?" he asks. The murmur carries a shiver down Jisoo's spine, wires him with sudden energy. He wants this.
He cups Jeonghan's face in both hands, bold, fearless. He presses close, close, impossibly close. He wants this, and he can have it. Grab it for himself, never to let go.
He sits on Jeonghan's legs, curls his own around his waist. His hands get lost in the dark strands, as their foreheads touch. It almost feels like they're one single being.
Jisoo stays there, inhales deep. Huffs out a laugh, realizing Jeonghan smells like jasmine. Oh god, he's alive, isn't he? It's brilliant.
"I love you." he whispers.
Jeonghan kisses him first. His throat rumbles with a groan. His hands grip Jisoo's waist like they won't ever let him escape.
Jisoo kisses him back with as much fervor, drowns in the roaring feeling emerging from his chest. A beating drum, singing of desire.
He's sure the blood pumping in his veins runs hotter than any star.
Jisoo's glasses press against his nose, thin metal against the skin, so much he has to stop to discard them.
After, Jeonghan licks at his lips, smiles dangerously as Jisoo gasps, readily opens up for him. He kisses him deeper, then, unrestrained and wanting. Needy, almost. Jisoo sure is.
And so his fingers curl around Jeonghan's hair, desperately trying to get closer, no matter what. A breathy sound escapes him.
Jeonghan smiles once more, so much there's only teeth to kiss.
Jisoo mirrors him, then, can't seem to stop. It's unreal and perfect. He rests against Jeonghan's shoulder, drinking in every twitch, every sensation.
Everything is so much more than before. He feels anchored, centered.
Jeonghan caresses the sides of his neck, makes Jisoo look up.
He smiles.
"I love you, angel. You have no idea how much."
Jisoo ducks his head, grins shyly. "You could always show me."
Jeonghan laughs, grip tightening around his waist. He's about to reply, when Jisoo gently places his fingers on his lips.
"But first, let me just say...thank you. For, for everything, Jeonghan, I mean it. For saving me, and loving me, enough to defeat-"
Jisoo stops, then. Something buzzes uncomfortably in the back of his head.
"The Gods of the Sea...what exactly did you do?"
Jeonghan smiles, so wide the corners of his lips peek from under Jisoo's fingers. He moves them away himself, nonchalant as he says "I've killed them, angel."
Jisoo blinks, and the buzzing gets more incessant. It sounds like an ugly thought. "How does one kill a God?"
Jeonghan lights up, then, so much Jisoo thinks he's been waiting for this exact question. "By becoming a more powerful God yourself, of course."
Jeonghan watches, as the Gods fall.
Their temples crumbling, monster skin giving in. He stands, feet on the shore, knife in hand. Unmoving.
He watches, waits.
And after everything has quieted, the old Gods of the Sea are no more.
He smiles, as the water slowly loses every single drop of blue.
There will be time, surely, for adjustments. But first, some major changes need his complete attention.
Jeonghan doesn't move, yet reality bends at his will.
This was not what Jisoo wanted.
For everything is possible, if you're willing to pay the price.
Jisoo is one of the two Gods of the Sea that inhabit it.
He can leave, and move, and travel. He can walk every shore, every land.
Jisoo is powerful, immortal. Not dead, yet not quite alive.
He breathes, but it's unnecessary, really.
Jeonghan is the same. His lover, his half, his everything. Jisoo loves him a terrible amount, it's true.
What is left of his soul is still beautiful.
Yet a part of him has been bargained, for control, reign.
This was not what Jisoo wanted.
To cry all the salt water out of his eyes, to angrily weep at old Gods who are no more. It's all their fault! How could they, how dare they.
No one answers, as corpses don't talk.
Jeonghan drains all the blood out of his system, replaces it with sea water. One couldn't tell the difference, really. It's red regardless.
'God of the Sea' is such a redundant title, but it's no matter.
His whole family is dead, and it's no matter. Jeonghan had to, almost wanted to.
He has Jisoo now, that is all he needs.
And so, be it of War or Love, he's a God now. The half of a liquid flame, one column sustaining the weight of their universe.
Under his fingertips, everything could bend, even break.
No cage will ever contain him, no ropes will ever restrict him. He's free, above all.
He's not hurting anyone, really.
Jeonghan walks the endless shore, dances on the graves of old, pitiful Gods that are no more. Mocking, yes, but not haunting. No need.
Hand in hand, with Jisoo. And oh, he's so in love.
He's looking forward to seeing tomorrow, and after that, eternity. That is all.