Chapter Text
"What took you so long? I've been waiting here for at least a good hour."
Despite Seoho's complaint, he doesn't actually look the least bit annoyed because Geonhak can easily see the way Seoho is trying so hard not to smile at the sight of him.
The man is seated at the edge of the bridge that Geonhak has only halfway crossed, and due to old habits that Geonhak allows himself to dabble in, the idea to push Seoho over the edge and into the water forms easily in his head.
Unfortunately, he has to rely on Seoho every time it comes to moments like these, and he can't risk losing what benefits him. So he holds back on doing any sort of informality, and even bites his tongue back to prevent himself from spitting out anything he shouldn't say.
"Come here," Seoho says, waving him over quite daintily with his free hand as he hops off of the bridge railing. "I didn't have time to buy new clothes, so I just retrieved some of my old clothes for you."
Geonhak scrunches up his nose.
"And who said I wanted to wear any of your clothes?"
Truth be told, he doesn't have much of a choice in what he gets to wear. Times have changed, after all. While Seoho's wearing high-waisted pants, the color of roasted chestnuts though faded a bit at the knees from being well-worn, Geonhak is still clad in an old-fashioned, navy blue hanbok that he knows would most definitely make him stick out like a sore thumb.
But Geonhak is stubborn, and Seoho isn't exactly a friend of his even despite - or rather, most especially because of - their history together. He has to be some sort of nuisance to Seoho - it's what he does best, and it's what he's always done. And so he sticks his nose away and puffs his chest out in a way knows aggravates Seoho.
Easily, Seoho's expressions falls into that of annoyance, and he groans, dropping his arms by his side.
"Really, Geonhak?" Seoho sighs, rolling his eyes. "Seriously? Do you want people to stare at you?"
"I doubt they would spare me any sort of glance, much less a foul one, when you're the one who looks like that," Geonhak retorts, finally incapable of holding back any verbal bite in him. "You're - as you put it that one time - a fashion disaster."
Seoho gasps dramatically, a hand flying to his chest. He even turns his chest away as if the outfit itself would get offended too, and all Geonhak can do is snort.
"A fashion disaster? Excuse you! I've been keeping up with the latest fashion trends! Everybody dresses like this!"
"Unfortunate," Geonhak whistles, flashing Seoho an unbothered grin. "I would hate to dress like you, much less look like you."
"Really? Going for my looks now? What, are you a child?" Seoho scoffs. "Wait, I forgot that you are a child."
"It's not my fault you look the way you do. Too bad it's not something you can fix," Geonhak bites back, and maybe he's gone too far but it's already too late for him to take any of it back.
Seoho's eyebrows knit together, and he looks like he has something to say. His lips are pursed and his expression has darkened significantly, but in the end he just exhales long and hard and closes his eyes. Though Geonhak can't help but feel like he's won, now he feels this onset of dread settling in.
An angry Seoho is a scary Seoho and despite their semi-hostile relationship, Geonhak knows he shouldn't push on Seoho's nerves too much.
He doesn't want to have any repeats of their past tussles to happen again.
"You're ridiculous," Seoho mutters after a moment, quietly in a way that it seems like he's talking more to himself. "Just get changed. I'll be at the top of the hill."
He shoves a worn down leather satchel into Geonhak's arms, and the force of it all makes Geonhak grunt at the impact. And he's sure that was no accident. But he can't complain, because not only does he want to test Seoho's patience any further, Seoho is already generous enough to be bringing him a fitting change of clothes.
So he just watches quietly, teeth clenched, as Seoho trudges down the bridge and onto a cream-colored pathway leading up a hill decorated in healthy green grass and dandelions.
—
At first, Seoho doesn't even so much as spare him a glance when Geonhak meets him at the top of the hill. Geonhak doesn't really mind, since he's never really cared much about what Seoho thinks of him, but then Seoho does a double take.
He takes the satchel bag back from underneath Geonhak's arm, where the navy blue hanbok has been tucked away into.
"There," he hears Seoho say, eyes briefly scanning Geonhak from top to bottom. "You look much better. Now you won't stand out as much."
'Much better' is not a statement Geonhak can really agree with, on the other hand. After wearing hanbok after hanbok, time after time, Geonhak thinks the clothes Seoho has given him are much too fitting for his liking.
The button down shirt is a bit too tight, and maybe it's just because Geonhak's shoulders are just a little wider than Seoho's, but the collar had felt a little tight around his neck as well, leaving him to undo a few of the buttons at the top.
At least the black trousers are acceptable, far less dynamic than Seoho's.
"I always look good," Geonhak says despite his dissatisfaction.
He smiles roguishly when he meets Seoho's eyes, who barks out a laugh in response.
"Sure, sure, Geonhakkie," Seoho teases, jabbing his finger into Geonhak's chest mischievously. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"I told you not to call me that," Geonhak says, crinkling his nose. But then he smirks, and adds, "Gunmin."
Seoho's mouth pulls itself into a scowl.
"It's Seoho. Seoho! And where are your honorifics, you brat?"
"My apologies, hyung," Geonhak says sarcastically, clearly not very apologetic at all, but it's good enough for Seoho who hums in satisfaction.
At the very top of the hill, there's a small cottage-like house. It sits a bit far, isolated from where Geonhak can see the bustling of a nearby city. And by the way Seoho leads the way towards it, he can assume that's where he will be staying for the while.
It looks cozy, small in size and a bit weathered down but in a way that it's still pleasant. It's also an upgrade from any of Seoho's previous homes, and it looks well-lit as Seoho pushes the door open.
"The year is 1947, by the way," Seoho says, answering one of the unspoken questions that's been sitting in Geonhak's head. "I think you're going to like this era much more than the previous ones."
Geonhak raises an eyebrow, and Seoho just smiles at him as he steps out of the way so that he can enter. Inside, it smells both of cinnamon and apples, which is pleasant if Geonhak ignored the faint smell of something old and dusty.
"After all," Seoho continues when Geonhak doesn't respond, setting aside satchel onto this elongated seat that's made out of wood and faded green fabric cushion. "People here are much more concerned about other little things in their life rather than the ridiculous notions of witchcraft and such."
In the midst of toeing his shoes off, Geonhak stiffens. To a stranger's ears, there's nothing really wrong about Seoho's words. But to Geonhak, it's a jab, and it's a jab to something that Geonhak would rather not remember.
"Hyung," he hisses through clenched teeth, daring to shoot a glare over at the older man. "Do not remind me."
For a moment, it's silent, and he feels Seoho's stare more than he sees it. Then he sees Seoho nod slowly out of the corner of his eye instead of saying anything, as if acknowledging that maybe he's overstepped his words this time.
But just like Geonhak, he does not apologize, and he turns away without even the tiniest look of remorse.
"Ah, what would you have done without me," is what Seoho mumbles instead, and then he averts his focus to the little kitchen that's packed away in the corner of Seoho's tiny house.
Geonhak swallows thickly, and determines that it's best he not try to hold any further conversations. He's irritated, but he doesn't feel like feeding the fire more than it's already been fed. But he doesn't know where to direct his feelings now - so when he plops down onto Seoho's dejected looking couch, he squeezes one of the old pillows and pretends that he's squeezing Seoho's neck instead.
What would he do without Seoho?
The question lingers in his head. Now his anger is dissolving, and instead he feels actually kind of bad - but does he feel bad because of how he had inconvenienced Seoho all those years ago, or does he feel bad because of that long-ago event that had happened in the first place?
He isn't really sure, and he's not so sure he wants to delve too into it. But he knows full well, at least, that he's lucky that Seoho's tolerated him for this long.
Geonhak knows that he would be doomed with Seoho.
It's an answer to a question long overdo.
And it's something he's willing to admit, to himself, just maybe not out loud. Not ever, nor to anyone else.
(Or at least, not yet.)
Geonhak sighs and leans back into the cushion, and his neck bumps uncomfortably against the withering wood that lays beneath the limp cushions of Seoho's couch. He hears the sound of Seoho opening and closing cupboards, digging through pots and pans, but now he just feels too tired to really be annoyed about it.
Maybe it's an aftereffect of Geonhak's travel - after all, every time Geonhak has jumped through time, he finds some sort of new symptom to deal with.
The first time around, it had been dizziness. The second time around, it had been lack of coordination and nausea. And this time, it must be exhaustion, because Geonhak is starting to think this uncomfortable couch of Seoho's is actually a little bit pleasant.
"You just got here and you're already passing out?" He hears Seoho ask.
He wonders why Seoho is bothering to hold any further conversations when every interaction between them had never ended very nicely. And actually, he wonders why Seoho even bothers to keep him around at all, when the two of them have never been on good terms.
"Nevermind, pretend I didn't ask," Seoho mumbles to himself, and he actually even sounds a bit dejected.
Geonhak thinks even more about it, and he considers that maybe the only reason Seoho keeps him around is because he's lonely.
While Seoho is witty and well-spoken when he wants to be, Geonhak figures that he actually already knows the answer to why Seoho has kept him around as long he has.
For an immortal, perhaps there really is no use in getting close to anyone when you're just going to outlive them. Maybe that's the mindset that Seoho has, as a person who's been alive for more lifetimes than Geonhak could probably count.
Though Geonhak is mortal, he's been granted by some conveniently-timed miracle the ability to jump through time. He's really the closest that Seoho can get to an immortal person like him.
It makes sense, to Geonhak, at least.
"At this point, you should go to your bedroom if you're gonna be snoring," Seoho, once again, interrupts.
Geonhak feels some sense of satisfaction in knowing he's someone special to Seoho, even when neither of them really get along. Maybe it's a cruel thought, something sort of fucked up and maybe even a little bit sadistic. But as he sits up and sees Seoho staring at him, acknowledging him when he doesn't have to, Geonhak can't help but grin cheekily - even with all the questions and emotional confusion at bay, as long as he gets to annoy Seoho just a little bit more, he supposes it doesn't really matter to him.
"Aw, hyung. Are you going to tuck me in?"