Work Text:
✘
San lost track of how long he'd been running, but his limbs ached and his lungs felt heavy, as if slowly filling his chest with lead, sloshing like cement beneath his ribcage and rising through his throat.
The night hummed gently, wolves howling threatening calls and owls trilling from the trees as his feet slammed against the forest floor. His ankles twisted against the uneven soil, snapping twigs beneath his feet as the forest brush slowed his pace. Stray branches kissed his cheeks, leaving behind bloodied scrapes against his skin as he ran blindly, his vision clouded by both darkness and desperation. His own breaths came out hot and heavy and swirled in the balmy summer air around him. Sweat and dirt marred his tattered clothing, a painful reminder of his life's servitude.
And still he ran.
He couldn't stop running.
He'd probably lost them a long time ago. His captors were heavy, unshapely, and burdened by age. Despite San's poor conditions, he was still young, lean, and he had a surprising amount of stamina—or perhaps it was adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Fields. It was all fields now.
At first, it had been forest—a long expanse of woods that seemed to stretch into eternity, a dark and foreboding path into nothing. And then, it really was nothing—nothing for as far as the eye could see, which, admittedly, wasn’t far. Moonlight did little to illuminate the path, even as the trees cleared and opened into clear fields, with the soil beneath his feet the only reminder he was still on Earth.
They'd told him what would happen if he ran. They told him the world was a cold and unforgiving place, that he was safer there than he would ever be. They told him, as an Aurum, he had no life for him out in the world. There were people far crueler, who sought to hurt him far worse than he could imagine.
They told him he was safe.
The air around him choked at his throat, both humid and arid, thin and thick, burning at his lungs and weighing his body down. When was the last time he ran? Could he even remember running before? His body moved on instinct, pressing him forward through the field as his steps faltered, his legs buckling beneath him as if his bones were turning to straw.
And then, ground.
Cold grass against his skin, fingers digging into soil, fresh dew soaking through his tattered clothes.
Had he tripped? His head spun and his muscles ached. Voices echoed from the distance, ringing into the endless night. His captors? No, he’d surely outrun them. He was imagining it, he was—
San hoisted himself to his feet. He couldn’t take the risk. The field would have to end, it would have to open into a town, a road, a village…
Wouldn’t it?
He trudged through the grass, breath heaving clouds into the cool midnight air, which nipped at his skin through his sweat. He trudged until the field parted, trudged until—
A cart.
San erupted into laughter, uproaring and incredulous.
A cart. A fucking cart. Shelter.
It was small, hardly big enough for one man to sleep in, but it had a roof, and god if that wasn’t more than he had hoped for. It was more of a small caravan, one that a traveler might use, crafted from canvas and rickety wooden wheels. He couldn’t make out many of its details from the thin veil of moonlight washing over the road, but although San’s experience with the outside world was minimal, he at least knew what a traveler’s cart looked like, and this was one.
This wasn’t just a cart. This was Valhalla.
San’s hysteric smile faded as a realization dawned over him, only slightly eclipsed by his relief—a traveler’s cart didn’t just mean shelter. It meant a traveler. It meant a person. A person who could sell him off and exploit him, just like his captors had. Just like his parents had. Just like everyone he’d ever met had.
He would have to risk it. His legs felt like they were close to falling off as he stumbled towards the cart’s entry. He gripped the cloth between his fingers before giving the canvas an apprehensive tug.
A smile twitched up on his lips, relief washing like waves over his body.
It was empty.
Well, empty save for the junk piled floor to ceiling, leaving only a small pathway to the end—he could barely make it out in the darkness, but the path seemed to lead to a small wooden table with an unlit oil lamp teetering on the edge. A workstation? If someone worked here, then…
Where was that someone?
His body refused to let him dwell on it. His legs gave way, collapsing into a heap against the splintered floorboards. It was no bed, but he was too exhausted to notice how cold and unsatisfying his sleep felt, alone in a place like this. He was too tired to think about what he might wake up to in the morning.
He was too tired to even remember his vision giving way to darkness at all.
✘
The first thing San saw when he woke up was light. It was harsh, nearly blinding as he squinted towards it, and then a shadowy figure silhouetted in the doorway, as if someone had opened the—
Fuck.
San’s heart jolted in his chest, and his body moved on instinct before his mind was even able to register any details of the man standing in front of him. He scrambled backwards with messy limbs. He had just enough awareness to realize how he must have looked—like some sort of feral animal rather than a human, like he’d been raised by wolves.
He felt like one too, hunched and shaking under the small workstation, a rats nest of sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, skin sliced and clothes tattered from running through the forest for hours.
“Whoa, whoa, hey,” the man’s voice called from the caravan’s canvas doorway.
San’s eyes had adjusted slightly by the time the man peered further into his cart—or, what San could only assume was his. The light behind him, which had kept the man silhouetted against the backdrop, eased as he leaned in, exposing his features for the first time.
The first thing San noticed through the blurry edges of his vision was the piercing. Silver chains adorned his neck and dangled from piercings dotting his ear, the other end tying up his long ponytail, which was secured up to reveal shaved sides. Smoky black smudged around his eyes, giving them a dangerous glint. His thick, knee-length leather jacket nearly swallowed his frame, and though it was difficult to make out his stature fully from the way he was standing, he looked as though he stood much shorter than San. Though his expression was warm and his stature unassuming, his appearance was intimidating. He was the kind of man San assumed was dangerous.
His spine ached against the stiff wooden wall as he pushed back further against it, as if that would somehow get him out of this situation.
The one thing he knew for certain: no matter what, he couldn’t cry. No matter what this man did to him, no matter how he was punished for sneaking into his cart, he couldn’t cry.
The second he cried, it was over for him.
The second he cried, this man would know he was an Aurum.
The man spoke again. His voice was calm, but San knew enough not to fall for honeyed words. People lied. They couldn’t be trusted.
“How’d you find my cart? Who are you?”
San only stared forward, lips pressed tightly together, body trembling. Cold streaks of sweat tickled at his skin beneath his ragged clothing.
The man exhaled a heavy sigh, rubbing at his temple. His eyebrows threaded together as his eyes traveled up and down San’s quivering frame. “What about a name? You have a name, right?” A long pause, then another sigh. “Alright, well, it looks like we’re not going to get anywhere with questions. I really need to get going. I’m already late getting to my next forge.”
Silence.
“How about this? I need to get moving. If you don’t want to accompany me and my cart to Bromwich, I suggest you head out now. Otherwise, you’re welcome to come with me to the forge. But I’m not a taxi service. If you’d like to hitch a ride, I’m putting you to work with me.”
The forge?
San glanced around, finally registering the materials piling up around him. The pieces clicked into place—baskets full of tools and precious metals, ore and anvils, cloaks made of hide and leather aprons stacked in piles.
This man was a blacksmith?
“Hongjoong, by the way.”
Hongjoong.
San mustered a nod, one that didn’t mean much. After a brief moment of silence, Hongjoong disappeared from the entrance, letting the cart’s canvas doorway fall back into place.
San weighed his options for a minute. On one hand, he didn’t entirely trust Hongjoong—well, more accurately, he didn’t trust anyone, and the man he’d just met was no exception. On the other, he couldn’t be sure his captors weren’t still out looking for him, and he had no idea where he would go if he left. He supposed a blacksmith wasn’t the worst person to run into on the side of the road, all things considered.
The cart lurched forward underneath him, setting off at a slow pace against the rough gravel path. He hadn’t seen or heard any horses, so how was he moving it? Enchantment, maybe. Though paying for a mage to enchant such a large, heavy cart seemed expensive, and San couldn’t imagine a travelling blacksmith living out of a rickety caravan made enough for that.
San let his eyes drift closed, feeling every sway and bump of the cart’s wooden wheels as they scraped against the dirt, keeping the cart chugging along. It was far from soothing, but the exhaustion did not cease attacking his limbs, keeping him chained down in an unsatisfying half-sleep.
Hongjoong sat up front, probably keeping the cart on its trajectory. San didn’t see Hongjoong for what must have been a full day and night.
✘
“Ah, you’re still here. Decided to tag along, I see.”
San blinked, cocking his head slightly. His body no longer shook in fear, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak.
Hongjoong hoisted himself into the cart’s interior, and the floor wobbled slightly with the weight of his body. His eyes flickered up and down San’s frame again. From outside, San could hear the bustling of a town full of people. People were bad news. And yet, his heart couldn’t help but flutter when he thought about the idea of walking freely through a town, not shackled by the invisible chains of his captors. He had been allowed into towns to barter at the markets and run petty errands, and it wasn’t as though he was handcuffed or held at knifepoint—he was free, sure, in a physical sense.
Hongjoong’s voice snapped him back to attention. “Still not speaking, huh? Well, I expected as much.”
San wanted to speak, he did. He wanted to say thank you to Hongjoong for letting him stay in his caravan, for not punishing or hurting him. He wanted to say something, but even when his lips parted, he couldn’t make a sound.
Hongjoong hopped out of the cart, and just as his figure no longer obscured the path to the outside world, San was hit like a punch to the gut—the smell of freshly grilled meat, wafting in warm waves and mingling around him in the thick air, reminding him of just how famished he was. It must have been two days since he’d last eaten, or had any water for that matter.
“Well, you heard me back there. If you’re gonna tag along, you’re gonna help me out at the forge. Safe to assume that deal is still on?”
San nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. Meat. Food. God, his stomach hurt.
Hongjoong’s eyebrows threaded together. “What’s wrong?”
San couldn’t help but let his eyes flicker towards his stomach, gripping the tattered cloth around it helplessly as it let out an angry trill of protest.
Hongjoong sighed, shooting a glance toward his own stomach. “Hungry, huh? Me too. How about this, we get my workstation set up, and then I’ll give you a few coins to fetch some grilled meat for us?”
✘
San was good at following orders. In fact, it was all he was good at. His captivity as an Aurum meant his primary job in life was following orders.
Well, that may have been an overstatement. His primary job was to cry, so they could capture his tears, harvest the gold, and run him dry and sell him off to the next highest bidder. He was a commodity, even to his own parents.
And if he wasn’t careful now, that would be his life forever. Hongjoong seemed nice, but no one was nice enough to resist the tens of millions of Mora he went for on the market. Hongjoong could stop working for life with that kind of money, just as his parents had chosen to do when they sold him off as a child.
San couldn’t stay for long. One slip-up, and it was over.
Hongjoong directed him as they hauled his tools out of his cart and into the blacksmith’s shop. Hongjoong occupied the extra forge, explaining that he would do his work out of here for the next few days before packing up, heading to the next town, and doing it all over again. Frankly, it seemed exhausting. San snuck glances of Hongjoong’s hands as they passed tools back and forth, which were rough and calloused, marked with scars and bruises.
And still, Hongjoong beamed as he admired his workstation, as though he had just arrived home. The intimidating aura melted from his face as his lips pulled up into a warm smile.
San opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, Hongjoong turned to him, a small pile of gold coins stacked in his palm. “Why don’t you get us some food?”
✘
San didn’t know the first thing about blacksmithing, besides the fact that it was an ancient craft, requiring metals and ores and a sturdy hand, and years upon years of apprenticeship. Hongjoong must have started young.
San was tasked with stoking the flames, but his day was mostly spent watching in awe as Hongjoong worked. He would occasionally explain to San what he was doing—but it was more of a mumble to himself than anything—and, frankly, to San, it all went in one ear and out the other. He still enjoyed listening to Hongjoong’s voice, which was surprisingly smooth and calming despite his rough exterior, filling the empty space quite nicely.
He wondered why Hongjoong was being so nice to him in the first place. It wasn’t as though San offered anything but a steady hand to stoke the forge’s flames—he wouldn’t even speak. And yet, Hongjoong treated him as warmly as a friend he’d had for years.
San had never had a friend before.
“Ah, I see we have customers,” Hongjoong chimed at his side, his whole body straightening up as he turned his attention towards the door. “Why don’t you keep stoking the flames, and I’ll be right back?”
“Hongjoong!” a voice called from the doorway. “When I heard you were back in Bromwich, I thought I’d swing by and—”
That voice.
San’s heart lurched in his chest. San knew that voice, he—
San whipped his head over his shoulder, but he already knew what he was going to see.
His old captors.
Well, one of them. They were two men, but San’s attention fell over only one. A burly man, older, graying around the hairline. An evil, evil man. San suddenly felt like he was going to throw up, dread washing over his entire body. He needed to run.
The man was still talking, his attention focused towards Hongjoong, but San couldn’t hear a sound. It all drowned out into a high-pitched ringing that assaulted his senses. Run. He had to run.
He couldn’t remember moving, but he found himself cowering behind the forge, with only the shaking of his limbs to remind him of just how helpless he was. One slip-up, one slip-up and he—
He was going to be captured again, exploited for his tears and sold to the next one, an endless cycle of—
Tears.
Fearful tears streamed down his face, crashing down on his palms as he desperately covered his cheeks. Gold droplets sparkled against his tanned skin, beautiful if not for their implication—he would be discovered, captured, sold.
The ringing in his ears refused to cease, but he could just barely make out snippets of Hongjoong’s voice from his spot behind the forge.
“I’m not taking any more customers right now, perhaps come back in a few months when I’m back… I’ll need to ask you to step out now, I have work to do… right, right. Have a nice day.”
The sound of footsteps receding only slightly alleviated the panic flooding San’s lungs, but not enough to pull him together before Hongjoong was in front of him, kneeling down.
“Hey, what happ—”
San covered his face with his palms, desperately shielding himself from Hongjoong’s concerned gaze. The damage had been done. Golden tears shimmered against his skin, smeared across the back of his hands and staining his neck. The realization of his fate only forced the tears to flow harder.
Hongjoong went silent—probably considering his options: whether to sell him on the spot, or shop around for the highest bidder.
It felt like an eternity before he spoke again. His voice was quiet and soft, almost a whisper. “An Aurum…”
San’s voice broke as it came out for the first time in days, weak and rough. “You’re going to sell me, aren’t you?”
San glanced up through his fingers, enough to see the look of horror settle over Hongjoong’s features. “ Sell you? Oh god, of course not, I would never do something like that. Who—who were those men? Did they…”
“Yes."
“God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay,” San mumbled, biting back the rest of his tears.
“Wait, so you… weren’t just sleeping in my cart, you were hiding?”
“I was running. If they found me—if they find me, I’ll never see the light of day again…”
The light drained from Hongjoong’s eyes. “Oh my god.”
“I thought you were going to sell me if you found out,” San continued, voice choked up in his throat as he swiped at his face with the back of his hands, smearing gold across his skin. “H—how do I know you won’t? I’m—you know I’m worth...”
“Millions,” Hongjoong sighed.
“More than that.”
Hongjoong shook his head. “I could never do that. Sell… a person. I couldn’t.”
“R—really?”
“Yeah. Promise,” Hongjoong reassured with a curt nod of his head and a concerned twitch of his lips. His eyebrows furrowed together as San swiped at his tears uselessly. “Stay right here, okay? I’ll go grab you a damp cloth so you can get cleaned up. And don’t worry, I won’t let that guy back in. I practically escorted him out, anyway.”
“Wait,” San called, halting Hongjoong in his tracks just as he began to stand up. “San. My name’s San.”
✘
They worked in Bromwich for three days.
San became proficient at stoking the flames, and Hongjoong even let him strike some of the ore, though San learned quickly that he preferred tending to the forge and working the bellows to anything hands-on. It was exhausting work, and it didn’t pay well for either of them—but San was compensated for his assistance with a cart to sleep in and money for food and new clothes.
But, truthfully, San didn’t stick around for the money, and the companionship was worth more to him than any amount of Mora. The work days flew by as they made conversation, and though Hongjoong was buried in his work, he always made the time to talk with San about whatever he wanted. Of course, the topic of San’s past was avoided. Hongjoong never pushed it.
When they packed up and moved to the next town, Hongjoong asked San if he’d rather stay in Bromwich, find a job and settle in. San shook his head furiously, insisting he’d rather help Hongjoong in his next town, at least until he figured out where to go from there.
That was a lie, though San didn’t fully realize it at the time.
The next town turned to two towns, three towns, six towns. Days turned to weeks, to months. Friendship turned to companionship. Companionship became… longing.
He wondered if there might be something more to Hongjoong, past his smoky eyes and silver chains.
✘
“It’s nice out tonight, huh?” Hongjoong hummed as he climbed inside the caravan, puttering around inside and reorganizing anything that shifted during their travel.
They had been on the road for a full two days already, headed towards Aldenrose. As San quickly learned, Hongjoong only slept every other day when he traveled, to minimize time spent on the road—time was money in his profession, after all.
San admired Hongjoong’s determination. His work ethic was almost concerning, at times, putting his customers ahead of his own health. San didn’t know how Hongjoong had done it on his own this whole time.
“Are you heading to bed?”
“Yeah, are you sleeping in here tonight?
“I thought I could join you sleeping outside this time, actually.”
“That’s a first,” Hongjoong chuckled. San couldn’t help but crack a smile—Hongjoong’s laugh was adorable, for lack of a better word. Carefree. “I thought you were worried about ants crawling on you when you slept.”
San shrugged half-commitally. “I just thought it’d be nice. Don’t make me change my mind.”
Hongjoong always slept outside, no matter the weather—he said he enjoyed it, getting the fresh air even if it was chilly. His work kept him cooped up in the blacksmith’s shops, and though they were vented for fresh air, there was nothing like sleeping in the grass. That’s what Hongjoong said, at least. San didn’t necessarily agree, though he supposed his opinion was tainted based on how he was raised: sleeping on rickety cots, bug-infested cushions, cement cellars floors—anything but a bed. The idea of sleeping on the cold ground wasn’t as appealing to him as it was to Hongjoong. The traveling cart wasn’t much better, but at least it had a roof to shield him from the elements.
Tonight was different.
It was clear, warm, dry, with a gentle end-of-spring breeze that dusted his cheeks. Clouds dappled the sky in the distance, and twilight gave way to dusk on the horizon in gorgeous shades of amethyst.
They laid for a while on the grass, their backs sinking into the soil, watching as the dim sky transitioned to darkness, giving way to an endless sea of stars.
“It’s beautiful,” San breathed. “I’ve never… seen the stars like this.”
“Oh?” Hongjoong hummed. He’d made it clear a long time ago he wouldn’t ask anything explicitly about San’s past.
“Hey, Hongjoong, I, uh…”
“I want you to stay," Hongjoong cut in.
“What?”
“I want you to stay, San. With me.” San snuck a glance over at Hongjoong, whose eyes were fixated on the stars, unmoving. “I’ve always been so alone. And having you here, well... I haven’t felt so lonely.”
“Hongjoong…”
“So, what do you say? I know you probably—”
“I’ll stay,” San cut in.
Hongjoong tilted his head, his eyes sparkling beneath the thin veil of moonlight. “You’ll… stay?”
San nodded. “Truthfully, I never wanted to go off on my own. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had. Actually, you’re more than that… I don’t know how to explain it, but…”
San’s voice trailed out as he studied Hongjoong’s face, dark and shadowed in the night, but San knew it well. He’d watched him work for hours, studied his features, his expressions, the way he smiled and the way he laughed.
Was he getting closer? No, Hongjoong was, leaning in and…
Hongjoong’s lips pressed against his, perfectly warm and soft against him, and San felt like his heart took a nosedive through his chest, stoking the flames of his heart and sending warmth through his body. He would have been lying to himself if he’d said he hadn’t imagined this feeling a million times before.
It only lasted a moment, and it felt like both a lifetime and a blip in reality. San wanted to pull in, wanted to do it again, but Hongjoong started to speak. “I’m sorry… I—”
“Hongjoong.” Hongjoong froze, eyes still wide, as San fumbled for his hand, grasping it tightly in his. “I want to stay with you.”
The night went quiet, save for the distant chirp of crickets rustling in the fields and the leaves fluttering on the trees, but it felt comfortable.
“You do?”
“Nothing needs to be different. I want you to teach me more. I want to be your assistant. Your apprentice. And I want…” San squeezed Hongjoong’s hand tightly, swirling his thumb along the back of Hongjoong’s hand. “This. Whatever this is. I want more of it.”
“Me too.”
“So, what do you say?”
Hongjoong flashed that warm smile, which beamed brightly even in the dim night, eyes crinkling into soft crescents. “Welcome to the team, apprentice.”