The boy blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Eventually, he becomes unsure if he has his eyes open or shut, because the darkness seems undivided inside and out. Just a moment ago, he was giddy in excitement he hasn’t felt in a few months, but now the chill he feels on his spine is a clear sign of fear. He immediately reaches out for a hand beside him. His mother is there. It’s the only consciousness that makes him feel grounded. Swallowing his breath, pooled saliva and sob altogether, he decides it’s enough. He is about to tell his mother he needs to leave, when a soft trinkle sound emerges from the dark. It’s gentle and delicate, resembling shells brushing each other, ebbing and flowing in the waves. 

The circular glow in the middle tells the boy he, indeed, has his eyes open. The boy is a breath late in the crowd letting out a sound of amazement as the glowing sphere shoots up high, reaching out to a swing hung from the ceiling, barely visible only with one source of lighting, along with the delicate clinking sound. The glow draws an arc, smoothly and swiftly around the dark space in front, from one swing to another, to a pole and a bar. It moves as if there is no gravity holding it down.

Struck with wonder, the boy forgets the initial fear he was feeling. He stands up, leaving his mother's safe hand, leaning forward to where the fence forbids him further, mouth wide open, loosening sounds of admiration unconsciously. He watches the soft glow traversing through the dark universe. He has never seen anything more breathtaking and otherworldly than this.

It’s one of those moments he’d never forget for a lifetime. 

𓄋

A loud banging on a wooden door wakes San from sleep. He groans, his head ringing heavily either from the unpleasant wake-up call or from the drinking competition he had last night.

"Wake up Aries boy! It's time to do some washing. You lost the bet, remember?" The voice outside yells amusedly and leaves. 

San doesn't have in him to yell back, curling on his bed, head buried in the pillow. Headache comes in a package with a hangover but it shouldn't be this bad. Mingi must have bought some cheap wine even when everyone repeatedly told him not to buy from shady shops. He never learns. Yeosang must be cursing Mingi for gifting them with this massive pain from early in the morning, which Mingi himself seems to be immune to.

San takes another several minutes to recollect himself before he stands up and picks up a linen top from the floor, where he left it last night, and wears it. He roughly hand brushes his messy hair, groaning when he bumps into his own horns still with a sleepy brain. 

The contrasting bright sunlight blinds him the moment he steps out of his small room, wondering how natural lights can be so drastically different. One stingingly bright, another faintly glowing.

He walks through the camping site, seeing a few other colleagues awake, who are biting on supplied dry sourdoughs for breakfast, washing themselves, just simply sun bathing or whatever else that suits their routine. San turns a corner and approaches a brown mountain like object in the middle of a tub. Moving closer, one would notice that it’s not a mountain but a creature, one-armed Cyclops, curling himself smaller as though hiding his huge frame, timidly resting in the middle of a water-filled tub.

"Hey, Big Buddy." He taps the Cyclops on its back.

"I'm s-sorry San," he says in a weak voice when he catches San in sight. "Y-you don't like mornings. I'm making you do this. A-and you look p-pale.”

San chuckles, picking up a broom deposited on the side of the tub. “You can tell? With my skin colour?”

The Cyclops hunches and nods once, tentatively, as if saying ‘yes’ would offend San. San smiles as a response. “Thanks, but I’m just annoyed with Mingi, that's all.”

San decides it is a good opportunity to roast Mingi and his wrongdoings as well as warn Big Buddy to never grab a drink from him, while scrubbing his huge back with a long broom. It was one of those nights drinking with Mingi and Yeosang after a show. They were drinking normally, chattering over small nothings, but somehow turning into a competition in the middle. Whoever loses shall be the washer of Big Buddy for this week, driven less from the hating of the task but more from most creatures' nature of hating to wake up in early mornings. San’s alcohol tolerance is great, but yesterday—he blamed it on the cheap, disgusting wine Mingi bought—he lost against Yeosang, regrettably. One thing for sure, is that Yeosang must be suffering from this horrible headache as much as him, if not worse, and he can only hope he isn’t turning random poor creatures into stone.

“I d-don’t like wine,” Big Buddy comments.

“Good! Grape juice suits you better,” San replies, genuine. Meanwhile the water in the tub is turning into a pumpkin soup with a week of dirt coming off. San is succeeding in his job.

“San! You still taking your time? The ringmaster is waiting for you!” A goblin, probably running errands for Hongjoong, yells at him from afar.

“Tell him he can wait!” San yells back.

“S-San, you can g-go,” Big Buddy mumbles worriedly.

“No, it’s one at a time.” San dunks the mop in a bucket at the side, washing off excess dirt before he moves on to the frontside of the Cyclops.

"I'm sorry, if I had another a-arm-”

“You lost your arm to protect your sister, right? Don’t apologise for that,” San scolds him.

But a faint-hearted Cyclops continues, “If I w-wasn't this big-"

"It's not that you are big," San says, now brushing his bulging stomach. "It's just that the world is too small for you, for us." 

The Cyclops blinks his one eye, curves his plump lips slightly before he asks, "Yeah?"

San has always loved how the giant smiles, ever so shyly, ever so faintly like his smile might offend someone. He smiles back reassuringly and replies, "Yeah."

𓆗

If there is one thing Wooyoung has learnt from leaving his home that he was stuck too long for, is to not trust what the elders say, especially his parents and his sisters. He should have pursued his brother sooner.

He left the place carrying a lump of fear fed by malicious rumours about humans, that once he’s seen, they’d catch him, attack him or worse, kill him, but he is still very much alive after walking through several towns. A long robe with a hood on has helped him blend in, hiding his scaly skin and long tails, but his slit pupils are still visible to anyone who walks past him, and he has gotten weird looks from a few, but that was all. Instead, he couldn’t help but throw his eyes everywhere, wondering how humans lived with such smooth fragile looking skin, with no scales to protect them, small eyes that only let them access a limited area to view, not having a tail that can help them as though they had a fifth limb.  

So what happened to humans roasting him alive?

What took over him is excitement to indulge the new environment more than the fear of the unknown. It spiked him more when he reached his destination. He has rarely come across different creatures prisoned in his own hometown, but this place offers variety. There’s a goblin busily dashing through the field, in between tents with his short legs, a human-like figure with numerous eyes on their arms, pupils seeming to have a will of their own looking out to random directions, a chimera taking a nap under a shaded tree. All the creatures he has never seen and maybe haven’t even heard of, roaming around is a completely foreign ground for him, and yet he feels so fitting. He unconsciously pulls down the hood and exposes his head for the first time after he’s left his home.

He must be here. The hope arises.

“You’re a new face,” a high-pitched voice talks to him, and he flips his head to the side.

It’s a woman—or women, the two looking identical, what with their hairstyles, long black hair tied up into loose buns and their makeup with heavily encircled black eyeliners and strikingly red lipstick, not to mention their perfectly identical red spaghetti tops and a silver spancole tight skirt on their single body. A creature (or creatures?) with two upper bodies connected to one lower body.

Wooyoung probably took a little too long to reply, staring at them, because they started chuckling. 

“What, mesmerised by my beauty?” The one on the left says, resting her one arm below another arm’s elbow, breathing out a cigarette she has been smoking. 

“Please, Jackie,”  the one on the right grumbles. “He was looking at me, not you.”

They start bickering right in front of him, as if he doesn’t even exist. If they did ask for Wooyoung’s honest opinion, he wasn’t staring at their beauty but their existence, and there was no such thing as who looked better because they looked exactly the same.

“Uh, ladies,” Wooyoung intervenes. Maybe he could go talk to someone else instead of two fighting siblings (he’s guessing), but they were kind enough to initiate the conversation, so he might as well. “I’m looking for someone.”

The two turn their heads at the same time. “Who?” They ask, echoing each other.

“Yejun. He’s my brother and he must have joined the circus.”

The two look at each other and shrug. The one on the left, Jackie says, “We don’t know any other snake guys here.”

Wooyoung slumps his shoulders. Of course, it has been six years since then. But it took him the same six years to collect his courage to leave the town, all in hopes of finding him. And to have travelled all the way to have that hope taken away just like that? Disappointment daunts him.

They both give a pitiful look at Wooyoung and one says, “Maybe Hongjoong can help you.” 

“We saw him in that tent with San like thirty minutes ago,” adds the other.

“Don’t know if he’ll still be there but you could try.”

“Hongjoong?” Wooyoung asks.

“He started the circus. If anyone knows about the creatures coming by, then it’s him.”

“He’s like the one putting leashes on all of us.”

“I find that kinda sexy.” 

Another point in common the two had, besides their identical looks, is that they talk a lot. And it's as if there's a rule that says they have to talk one after the other.

“Oh goodness, we don’t want to know your sexual preference, Chan,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

Maybe they don’t have that in common. But Wooyoung doesn’t need to know.

“Thanks, ladies,” he says and tries to walk away as swiftly as he can, but he’s caught by their words.

“You’re the second new face we’ve seen today.”

“Another guy came looking to join, just a while ago.”

“Ah, so who do you find more cute, Chan?”

And that, is his cue to leave.

The tent Jackie and Chan pointed is huge, apparent that it’s the actual tent they do a show in at night. It’s the exact same tent he saw on the flyers advertising it’s arrival to the town, curtains striped with rainbow colours and a black skull flag dancing in the wind at the top. He approaches and realises the lights are entirely off, making the inside hard to see from the sun lit outside. A step closer and he notices another figure standing, someone a size larger than him with four muscular arms protruding from his burly back. He walks up closer, steps inside the tent to see what is making him stand blankly right at the entrance, inside the dark tent.

It’s a glow.

There’s a faint pink glow floating amidst the complete darkness. Wooyoung gapes as the glowing sphere moves freely, drawing undefined curves and lines as though an iridescent brush is being stroked on black canvas. He's left in awe at the sight, until the glow lands on the ground and approaches them, Wooyoung gulping as it grows larger and closer. Vaguely and gradually, the sphere morphs into a shape of a man, as it approaches towards the light, and Wooyoung sees a creature with a pastel pink skin, big curved horns growing from his wavy platinum blonde hair, his sharp, not slit, golden eyes entrancing him. Wooyoung has never seen any existence as beautiful as him. 

He feels his heart start thumping louder, quicker when he realises the creature has a bare minimum of cloth wrapping around his hip like a skirt, exposing his smooth chest and long bare legs. He feels his cheeks heat up—a rare thing for his kind of species—and turns his head, wondering why he feels embarrassed at someone half naked. He’s seen many of his kind shamelessly walking around half naked back in his town, and although they aren’t the same species, they share similar physique as a male. And yet it feels wrong to stare at this Aries man. Turning his head, he sees the side profile of the four-armed man who is standing next to him that he just remembered. He still has his eyes stuck on the Aries man, and oh, his eyes—Wooyoung can swear he was looking at the man with the same intensity he holds. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” The man’s voice rings, and it sounds as delicate as he looks, like a tinkling of a bell.

“Hi, I’m Wooyoung,” he introduces, releasing a shaky breath that he’s been holding in. He pauses there, not sure if he is trying to be nice by giving the four-arm a chance to say something or waiting for the Aries to announce his name that Wooyoung can call. 

“...I’m Jongho,” the four-arm says.

Aries smiles at both of them. “I’m San.”

“I came here to look for Hongjoong, to join the circus,” Jongho says simply, and while Wooyoung didn’t come here to join, he is indeed looking for Hongjoong too so he just nods.

San claps his hands cheerfully. “Great! But it’s too bad he left here a little while ago.” He walks towards the bench in the corner of the tent and picks up a linen top and trousers. Wooyoung definitely isn’t disappointed when he wears it, covering his beautiful skin.

“You’re free to wait here, or I could give you a tour around the camp to kill time.”

Wooyoung knows the answer already.

Walking around the camp, Wooyoung gets to know that San is popular. Maybe it is how it works in the camp, saying a word or two, bantering when a member walks past, but more often than not, San gets invited to whatever fun the creatures are up to. 

It's when San is pulled away by a one legged, one eyed umbrella, that a wide eyed girl in a black and white hoodie and bat wings walks up to him.

"Hi?" Wooyoung tries, giving an unsure glance at Jongho, asking for help. 

She watches Wooyoung specifically, with the intensity enough to bore a hole in him. When he starts feeling uncomfortable, she suddenly spits, "Ugly!" Then runs off.

Wooyoung feels twisted in his gut.  

Of course, I know.

He clenches on his robe tightly, as if that will stop the acidity churning in his stomach.

"Wooyo-" Jongho tries to say, but that's when San comes back.

“Sorry guys, I get easily caught up. I’m not exactly a good guide, am I?” San is wearing a sorry face to Jongho, who has only spoken a word or two since then and to Wooyoung, who shakes his head. He tries to shake away what the random kid had just told him. He shouldn’t be affected by such a small thing.

Just then a figure with long black hair bumps into San. He’s a human-like figure with numerous eyes on his arms that he’s seen earlier.

“Oh dear Scope, watch out where you’re going. I told you, use your hands.” San turns him forty-five degrees and pushes him ahead. The creature seems to wobble his way towards—Wooyoung wouldn’t know where. He has his eye-decorated arms stretched out, as though he’s careful not to bump into anything, as though he can’t see.

San notices the puzzled look both Wooyoung and Jongho are wearing. “Oh, he can’t see well.”

Wooyoung frowns further and wordlessly points out his arms. San shrugs. “He’s old.”

“You seem to know everyone here,” Wooyoung comments. “Have you been around for long?”

San nods. “Yeah, for about ten years. I’m one of the starting members, together with Hongjoong and Seonghwa.”

Wooyoung leans forward. “Do you know Yejun?” San blinks his pretty eyes and tilts his small head. “He must have joined here six years ago. He's my brother.”

San places a finger on his chin and starts thinking. The somehow dazed face makes him look like an innocent child, and Wooyoung wonders how a simple gesture like ‘thinking’ can make someone look so adorable.

“Ah,” San says, snapping a finger. “I know him, yes. He was a great performer.”

“Was?”

“He left after a year or so, saying he found someone at the town we were camping at at that time.”

Wooyoung gasps. “And the name of the town is?”

San shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. We move around a lot, many come and go, and it’s been a while.”

Wooyoung sighs in disappointment. 

San wears an apologetic face, when he isn’t the one at fault. “I’m sorry,” he says as he places his hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. He then notices something past Wooyoung.

“Hongjoong! Seonghwa!” He waves his arm and tells Wooyoung and Jongho with a smile, “great, he’s back.”

The ringmaster’s tent is round like any other tent, but is split into two with a curtain in between. Wooyoung guesses the other side is his bedroom, while this side, where they all are, is a temporary office with a desk and chairs, books and papers. 

Hongjoong is not what Wooyoung had imagined him to be. Hearing the ‘ringmaster’ title and a rumour saying ‘he puts leashes on the crew’, he pictured him to be someone intimidating, bulky and imposing. Intimidating he is, with his sharp eyes scanning Wooyoung and Jongho standing at the entrance of the tent as he sits on his desk with elbows on the surface, his chin on the clasped hands, but he is the opposite of bulky and imposing. He is a gnome, his height barely reaching Wooyoung’s hip. 

What’s more surprising than a gnome being a head of the circus, is a man standing beside Hongjoong like his knight. He's wearing a charcoal stand-up collar jacket and a white sachet with a complex design worn around his neck, hanging down to his chest. He must be Seonghwa, one of the founders of the Illusion Circus, but he looks human. Only his right eye is visible since his left eye is covered with his long black bangs, which adds to the obscure atmosphere around him, but Wooyoung’s instinct says he’s a human. A human who is the founder of a freak show? How strange.

“San told me you came looking for your brother,” Hongjoong says, glancing at Wooyoung. San, standing at the side of the tent, in between Hongjoong and Wooyoung as a middleman, smiles at him relaxingly. “Just like he said, we can’t keep track of who comes and goes in here. Bad luck, snake.”

Wooyoung probably got too used to San being kind to him, that the bluntness Hongjoong speaks has him startled.

“And you, four-arm?” Hongjoong turns his attention to Jongho, as if he’s done dealing with Wooyoung’s business. “What do you want?”

“To work here,” Jongho says.

Hongjoong leans back on his seat and crosses his arms, his thinned eyes judging Jongho.

“What can you do?” He asks.

“I’m strong. Very strong. I can carry the carrier when you move, work as a guard, set up a tent. I am capable of any physical labour.”

Hongjoong hums, and turns his head slightly, asking Seonghwa, “We did need more hands in physical labour, didn’t we?”

Seeing Seonghwa nod, Hongjoong says, “Alright, four-arm. You are hired.” He slaps a paper on his desk and continues, “Read this carefully and sign down here if you agree with the terms.”

Jongho nods and steps forward, to get a hand on his contract. 

“Are we done here?” Hongjoong glances around, asking to no one in particular, but Wooyoung knows it is directed to him.

Wooyoung feels lost. He’s left his home for good, in an attempt to find his brother who believed that the world outside is more free and less toxic, going against what his parents had taught them. He was a rebel of the town, and the only one who was on Wooyoung’s side. It is now that he realises that the only goal was to find his brother, and has thought about nothing further. He thought that if he did see his brother again, he’d show him a way to live. 

Oh, how ignorant and dependent he is.

Now, what?

Going back to his home isn’t an option. Does he go look for his brother in every town, and ask him how he should live? Is that how he is going to live his life? Depending on someone to make his life choices? Can’t he make his own?

Something warm and soft holds his hands. “Wooyoung…” It’s San, looking worriedly at him. Wooyoung looks back at him, and gets lost in those beautiful amber eyes. San blinks and tilts his head again, confused at how Wooyoung is just staring at him silently. This is his choice.

“Let me work here, too,” he tells Hongjoong.

Hongjoong is still sitting at his desk, but with his elbow on it, his chin resting on its palm, observing Wooyoung judgmentally. His eyes shift to San for a brief moment and then back to Wooyoung.

“What do you want to be? A performer?”

The question shudders him. “No,” is his immediate response. “Any chores would do.”

“Strange,” Hongjoong hums. “You Serpantus like showing off. That’s your trait, and your brother demanded to perform. You don’t want to?”

Wooyoung shakes his head, clenching on his robe tightly, making sure it’s still covering his body. “You can’t put all of us together.”

Hongjoong shrugs and doesn’t prod further. “Fine, you are hired too but just so you know, no one gets paid until proven useful.”

San takes another paper of contact Hongjoong has drawn, and brings it to Wooyoung. He smiles brightly and tells him, “Welcome to Illusion.”

And maybe that is enough to make him feel safe and hopeful.

𓂬

The earth is trembling.

The air is roaring.

"Advance!"

"Die, now!"

"Don't kill me!"

“Kill me already.”

"I don't want to die…."

"Mother…."

"March on!"

"Kill, kill, kill, kill…."

The yelling of orders, the clashing of swords, the bullets resonating, prayer in their mouths, scream of pain, cry of fear, names of their loved ones in their last drawing breaths.

Dusty smell of sand covering the sky, rusty smell of armour and weapons, nasty smell of mixed fluids, tears, sweat, piss and blood—overwhelming stench of the dead. 

Jongho heaves, and every drawing breath accelerates his beating heart. It's loud and it almost makes him numb. Amidst the chaos, someone places a hand on his shoulder and whispers in his ears.

"Come on, Roach, isn't this the only thing you can do?"

Jongho gasps. He grabs the wrist and rips the hand on his shoulder.

"Jongho?"

Golden eyes look into him worriedly. He's not wearing armour, he's not covered in blood or sand, his eyes are not dipped in death or misery, and—he's not human.

"San…."

He smiles a little. "Are you okay? You seemed to be having a bad dream."

He glances past San, and notices there's a drum parade practice going on in the tent. It's the drums he was ordered to carry in from the storage for the exact purpose, earlier in noon. Resting his back on the tree after that, he decided to take a nap. By the looks of the sky painted orange, he must have slept until late afternoon. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, ignoring the disgusting sweat that covers his back. 

"Great," San smiles in relief. "Now if you can let go of my arm because it kind of hurts."

Only then does he realise he still has San's wrist in his grip, and releases it immediately. It's turned red, and it looks painful.

"I'm sorry," he says anxiously. "Did I break your bone?"

"What? No!" San laughs as if Jongho had just said something ridiculous. But Jongho is aware that his strength is capable of that, easily. San flips his hand to reassure Jongho, and only then does he release a sigh. 

"If you're still sleepy, you should go back to your tent. It's not exactly comfortable here," San suggests, then leaves saying he'll be back for practice. His footsteps are light, like he weighs nothing, just like the other day when Jongho was mesmerised by his beauty.

Waking up slowly, he decides he's had enough sleep and walks towards the tent. Tonight's the first show he'll be attending. 

Illusion Circus has been a highly acclaimed entertainment, famously known as the only freak show. In a world where creatures and humans coexist but do not merge, Illusion Circus was unheard of. The first time Jongho had heard of a freak show open exclusively to humans, he couldn't believe the absurdity. Most humans and creatures must have thought it would end in a disaster, and no one had guessed it would be running for ten years, tickets selling out immediately everywhere they go, highly on demand that scalper business arises for people would even fight over tickets twice as priced. Unseen but predictable, the Circus has been a dream job for the creatures. Not for Jongho, though. He's never thought of working in a show, and yet he's here, and he'd be seeing how the magic unfolds tonight.

Approaching, he notices a suspicious figure sneaking around the tent, peeking in every chance he gets. In his hands are a pocketbook and a pen, seemingly noting something occasionally.

"The show is in two hours, human," he warns and pulls the human up by his collar. Unexpected human lets out a squeaky sound. He is taller than an average human, but that means nothing to Jongho, who is a size larger than an average human.

The human flips his head quickly and when he fixes his eyes on Jongho, his eyes start to gleam in delight instead of fear.

"I've never seen you! You're new, what's your name?" Human beams as though he isn't caught by a creature's hand, who has an ability to crush his head. This isn't the reaction he's used to. Humans either look at him in disdain or fear. Not excitement.

Confused, Jongho continues. "Unauthorised people need to leave."

But the human doesn't budge. "Four arms? I can only imagine how efficient that is. And damn these bulging muscles!" He bodaciously goes ahead and touches Jongho’s arms, tapping, impressed at how sturdy they are. 

He’s something Jongho has never come across and his brain freezes for a while, until someone walks up next to him.

“Ignore him, Jongho. He’s the kind you can’t get rid off, no matter how hard you try.”

“Hi, Yeosang!” The human in his hand chirps. Then a second later, he catches his name and writes it down in his pocket book, murmuring, “ah, so you’re Jongho.”

Yeosang groans. 

“You know him?” Jongho asks.

“He’s a freelance journalist who is stalking us wherever we go.”

“You should call me an avid patron. I pay for my seat,” the human protests. “I’m Yunho, by the way.”

“You come here for every show?” Jongho asks in surprise, finally leaving his collar and putting him down.

“As long as I get the ticket,” he says, straightening his collar. “Do you know how high the stakes are with Illusion? Even I fail to get it at times.”

Jongho doesn't know what “even I” entails, but the human seems to be very passionate.

“And no matter how hard we try to shut him out of our camp during rehearsals, he finds a way in,” Yeosang scoffs.

“What’s a journalist without knowing a way to get scoops?” Yunho says proudly. “Back to where I was. Isn’t it about time you guys get me a reserved seat? I don’t mind paying.”

“Maybe when you stop writing weird scoops.”

“Weird?”

“Like a Gorgon scared of snakes? It's great information to break the stereotypical barriers!” Yunho says.

Yeosang growls, and his hair—or his snakes start making hissing noises.

“But you literally have snakes on your head?” Jongho can’t help but question.

“These are my little ones. It’s different,” Yeosang hisses.

“...Is that why you dislike Wooyoung?”

Jongho remembers when San introduced him and Wooyoung to his friends, on the second day of their arrival. One being Mingi, an overly friendly Centaurus, who, in San’s words, is not supposed to be trusted with money or alcohol. Mingi protested with pouty lips, but San ignored. The other one being Yeosang, a beautiful Gorgon, with restless platinum snakes on his head. He was quiet, sure, but he was about to greet Jongho, until he noticed Wooyoung behind him. He scowled and left without saying a word. San tried to dismiss the negativity saying, “Don’t take it to heart. He’s like that. Yeosang is just...Yeosang.” But it was obvious he wasn’t happy with Wooyoung.

Yeosang doesn’t answer, but turns his head away, which practically answers the question.

“Who’s Wooyoung?” Yunho budges in instead.

“He’s a newbie too. He must be in a backyard cleaning props. Go interview him.” Yeosang  waves the back of his hand and chases the human away. 

“He’s unlike any other human, right?” Yeosang asks him, after Yunho has left, to fetch a new victim.

“...Yeah.”

“He’s not bad, though,” Yeosang says, petting his snakes. “I guess humans have anomalies too.”

Evening arrives, and the camp gets busier. Swarm of humans arrive, excitedly handing their tickets to a creature with tentacles, handling numbers of them at one go. Everyone seems to have an efficient spot for their features, and Jongho thinks he fits best at being a guard standing next to the show tent. Humans can’t seem to hide their excitement for tonight, yapping about how things are ‘different’ from the reception. 

Gradually, the benches in the tent get filled up, and when the clock strikes eleven, the curtain of the entrance comes down. The light drops, and the beams from four sides light up the middle of the stage. The chattering room falls silent, watching the small figure in a tailcoat walk in. He clears his throat loudly and bows deeply, one arm tucked under his abdomen, another raised high in the air, legs crossed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls and the miscellaneous, welcome to the illusory night that will haunt you for a lifetime!"

Hongjoong snapping his head up and raising his hands high in the air is a cue to the rumbling drum beats. The band emerges from the back, one by one, drums, trumpets, tambourines and all sorts of musical instruments blending together, played by dressed up creatures. The beats are heavy and the tune arouses something creepy yet exciting altogether. Jongho imagines a box a child is told not to open by their parents, but ends up opening out of itching curiosity. Things they know they shouldn’t be doing, but can’t help. Humans cheer and clap feverishly, some standing up, filling the room with heated exhilaration. The night has begun.

Illusion Circus is a freak show, where humans come to indulge in the world they’ve never seen. But even for someone who is part of the freak like Jongho, he has never seen a place that offers a variety of them. It’s quite a sight to see when some creatures are only known to be found in deep forests, almost considered as mythical creatures, while some, Jongho has never even heard of. 

What’s going on in front of him is like a condensation of everything magical. There’s a Sandy Man who gets his head chopped off by a praying mantis hybrid’s foreleg, resting on a plate at the back of the stage, cheering and jeering as the show goes on. Gory, perhaps, but there's sand instead of blood and he seems very much alive. There's a Freezer who freezes a huge treasure box brought to the center, then a falcon breathing out fire to melt the box, unleashing Jackie and Chan who were resting inside, who then starts to sing in perfect harmony, while Ninja appears out of nowhere, duplicates himself, performing contemporary dance in complete unison, an elephant-octopus hybrid, Merry , performing a juggling with her nose tentacles, a one handed Cyclops, Big Buddy carrying the hybrid high in the air, roaring. 

When Yeosang's turn comes, he connects the Sandy Man's head to his body, and the man chirps "Finally!" before hopping back lively to the backyard, like his body wasn't decapitated. Yeosang, in his pristine white gown with golden embroidery, looking more like a divine being than a monster, turns to the crowd and asks for volunteers to be stoned. Among all the new things happening before Jongho's eyes, this is the most strange. Why would anyone want to be turned into stone?

"Yeosang's is one of the most popular performances."

Jongho doesn't realise Yunho has come to stand next to him until he speaks. Jongho looks at him like he can't believe it. With a pen and a notebook in hand, he continues. "There aren't occasions where you can safely get stoned by a Gorgon. Yes, you'll miss seeing a few performances and won't exactly feel the experience, but it works as a status of some sort."

They both watch as three volunteers come forward and turn into a crisp stone figure. Yeosang decides he's done with the job and leaves the stage hastily. 

"He'll come back to unstone them later."

"Have you been frozen before?"

"Of course! As a journalist, I must experience everything a normal person can," Yunho says. "Not in the legitimate way though. I kind of annoyed him in earlier days, and he left me like that, until San told him to forgive me." Yunho shudders. "He wouldn't mind leaving me as a stone sculpture, I swear, if not for San."

Jongho hums as he watches the ongoing show in front of him. A liquified creature transforming into whatever object brought before it, gaining gasps and claps from the audience.

"What's impressive about Illusion is that they don't make it a routine," Yunho says. "They don't have a fixed set of performances. They always shuffle things, put in different acts and even twist the already existing ones. So whatever people are seeing right now is exclusive for tonight."

The performance is over, and Yeosang comes out boredly to unfreeze the humans. The said humans start chirping ecstatically once they are free to move, and Jongho once again feels he will never understand how humans' brains work.

"But they never changed the last act since they began," Yunho continues, as if he's used to the sight before him. The beaming lights turn off, enveloping the tent in complete darkness. The audience murmurs confusedly, some excitedly, but it gradually dies out, as if talking in darkness can pull them into the other side.

Within the silence, a delicate tinkling sound is heard, along with the emerging glow from above. He can hear the crowd swallow in anticipation, excitement and awe. The pink glow starts dancing, painting its own brush strokes in the dark canvas. The clamour of earlier has died down and the only sound in existence is the soft wind-chime.

Jongho has seen him practice before, but he feels breathless just the same. And he thinks he will be, even after very many times. 

Yunho sighs. "What better way to finish the show than San?"

Jongho doesn't know about the show he just joined. And yet, he doesn't have to think twice to know Yunho is right.

𓄋

When San invited Wooyoung to go to the river with his friends, he looked hesitant. He joked Yeosang wouldn’t freeze him into stone, but Wooyoung scoffed that he was no threat to him. He then asked if Wooyoung was afraid of water, which hardly is the case with Serpantus, and he shook his head. He soon agreed with a smile that he’d come along. There was an unanswered question lingering in San’s chest, but he smiled back.

Walking over twenty minutes from their camp, through thick woods, he starts hearing the sound of water running. Soon they come to a space that allows more sunlight to fall on, and arrive at the river as wide as San’s height. The water flow is just enough for them to have fun and to not be carried away, and above all, the water is crystal clear that San feels like he can drink it. 

“How did you get to know this place?” Mingi asks excitedly, taking a glance at the river surface shimmering with sunlight.

“Yunho told me.”

“Ugh, that freaky human,” Yeosang groans, but the snakes on his head can’t seem to hide their restlessness.

“You might want to engage in talking to him. It's fun and he tells us valuable stuff like this."

When Yeosang refers to Yunho as a 'freak', San doesn't think he's entirely mistaken. He doesn't have snakes attached to his head or horse attached to his lower half of the body, so there isn't a physical feature to label him a freak like San and all, but he's personality is quite out of the scale. At least, he's unlike humans San is used to. Some humans he sees in town look at them with disgust that they fail to mask, or are shocked at their abnormalities . Humans who come to the show look at them with interest, of how peculiar they are, of how they are on 'the other side'. They come to peep on the other side, satisfied and amused with the difference, then go back to their side of lives. But Yunho seems fearless stepping into the invisible border. He does look at them with interest and amusement, but it's more of curiosity to learn and not to judge, like a child who's not infested with social norms is discovering new things and adapting. 

Yunho not only learns from them but teaches them too, like good taverns in towns, refreshing rivers to visit and he's almost never wrong. San enjoys listening to Yunho's stories, since that is nearly the only window he has an access to, towards humans. But he is a rare case, including Mingi, because others seem to be hesitant talking to a human.

“I’ll think about it,” Yeosang says, which is synonymous to “Whatever."

Mingi gallops in the water violently, splashing water reaching everyone around. 

"Goodness, Mingi, learn how to be patient," Yeosang scolds, but he follows him right after, getting rid of his top. Yeosang is no better, San thinks, but doesn’t say. Chuckling, he decides to get rid of his own, and follows the rest.

The water is refreshingly cool, and the feeling of water rippling around him is soothing. San doesn't have to be too conscious of where he places his feet, for the water is clear enough to see what lies in the bottom. Small fishes swim by, curious of this pink intruder and nips at him, only to be scared away when San moves forward. When he turns back to check on the others, he sees Jongho removing his tanktop, revealing his impressive body. San swears he has never seen anyone as toned and muscular as him, not in an intimidating way but almost sculptic. But more than his defined muscles, San's attention is drawn to the numerous scars on his body. Big and small, long and short, some sinking, some bulging. They look old enough to not evoke pain, but young enough to be prominent. 

Their eyes meet. And San knows better than to prod, so he smiles. It’s not rare that the creatures come to the Circus with a story buried inside them. He isn't an exception, either.

Glancing over Jongho’s shoulder, he notices Wooyoung still hugged by his robe. He walks back to the river bank, past Jongho. 

“Aren’t you going to join us?” San asks.

Wooyoung shakes his head. “I’ll just watch.”

“....Are you sure you’re not afraid of water?”

“No...I just-” He clenches the robe tightly, and probably involuntarily, but wraps himself protectively. “You guys have fun, yeah?”

One of the many stories they wouldn’t tell, San understands. 

“Okay,” he smiles softly, turning back to the bunch throwing water at each other and screeching like a kid.

𓆗

Wooyoung loves feeling the water against his skin, just like any Serpantus does. He remembers a lake back in his hometown, where kids would go and swim in the warm afternoon. He wonders the last time he did. His family forbade him from swimming, or even to go to the lake, but that one time when he was assigned to run an errand, he couldn’t help his curiosity. How could he, when his classmates excitedly talked about the place? There he saw, few kids from his school, swimming and giggling, making a splash with their entire body, to their hearts' content. Not being able to stop his heart swell in excitement, he decided to join them, getting rid of his clothes on the grass. 

He still remembers those eyes, as he swam up to them. Shock, fear, disgust and utter rejection. They called him names. They avoided him like a germ. They scurried away and threw him rocks before leaving him behind. He went back home sobbing and choking, barely collecting his belongings. When he told his parents what had happened, instead of comforting him with kind words and venting upon the kids who had hurt their son physically and mentally, all they said was, “See, that’s what happens when you don’t listen to us.”

Now he’s seeing assorts of grownup creatures splashing and relaxing in cold river water, on a warm afternoon. It feels good watching them from the side, and he doesn’t feel the need to join them. 

His eyes are fixed on San, who is taking a dangerous step on a slippery rock. Expectedly, he slips and falls, making water splash against Jongho’s thighs, who happened to stand close by. Wooyoung jerks a little, wanting to help him up, but he’s too far and he isn’t willing to step in water. What bothers him more is how Jongho has his hands stretched out slightly, almost reaching out to San before he pulls it back. He doesn’t help San stand up. If San notices, he doesn’t show, and he instead smiles sheepishly at his failure, probably mumbling some apology to Jongho.

“You have a crush on San, don’t you?” 

Wooyoung is startled by the sudden voice.

It’s Mingi, who managed to escape from Yeosang’s freezing, pissing him off somehow, and now standing next to Wooyoung drenched in water.

Wooyoung looks at him with a frown.

“Oh, you don’t have to hide.” He chuckles. “Almost everyone goes through that phase.”

“What do you mean?”

“See, he’s nice to everyone. Whatever creature you are, whatever gender you are, he’s just too nice. And who doesn’t like a nice guy?” Mingi shakes his head and body to dry himself, which doesn’t help much, sparing a towel no one brought as no one was smart enough to think beforehand, or cared. He eyes at Wooyoung’s robe, made of fabric with high absorbency, but Wooyoung glares at him, collecting his robe closer to his body.

“He’s got too much love to share. But don’t worry, you’ll get over it soon,” he says.

“Am I supposed to?”

“You’d want to,” Mingi says. “I told you, he’s got too much love to share. If you want to go on a date with him, he will. A kiss? He will. Sleep with him? He will. But he would do the same to anyone, because he’s that selfless when showing love. And maybe, you’d be happy he shares his love with you, but eventually, the fact that you can’t monopolise him will grow on you, and it gets tough from there.”

“...You talk like you’ve been there before." Wooyoung attempts to bite back, trying to hide the restlessness inside him.

Mingi shrugs. “I’ve just seen a lot.”

Wooyoung stares at Mingi a while longer, then turns his head to San, who is now strangling Yeosang while the snakes on his head swarm wildly. “I don’t like him like that,” he manages to say.

“Good for you, then,” Mingi replies.

San waves at them, smiling brightly than the afternoon sun.

𓆗

Wooyoung feels a little sticky coming back from the river, it shouldn’t be a sweat, but it’s probably something to do with moistened forest air. It’s gross and he feels a need to wash, but he normally only goes to the shared shower space set in the open air with a few simple partitioning screens at dawn before the sun breaks, where no eyes reach him. But it’s afternoon, closing to evening now, and he doesn’t think he wants to go there. He remembers there’s a single shower box behind Hongjoong’s tent, that looks like no one uses. 

Glad that he doesn’t have to stay sticky for the next ten hours, he heads to the headquarters. He meets someone in front of Hongjoong’s tent, a short figure with a black and white hoodie, big green eyes that look like glass balls, long nose and thin lips tightly sealed, forming a single horizontal line and two bat wings protruding from her back. Wooyoung thinks he's seen her somewhere before, but ignores it because he has seen so many creatures around, that he has yet to remember their names.

“...Hi?”

“Bye.”

Wooyoung is a little taken aback by the obvious rude response. She’s still staring at him with an unreadable expression. It’s probably not the greeting she was asking for.

“I’m thinking of using the shower room behind...is someone using?”

“No.”

“....Am I allowed to use it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, thanks," he says and walks off, considering the conversation is over. He still feels her stare on his back, and maybe it's her hobby to watch and have short replies, but it's not Wooyoung's hobby to entertain that. 

The shower behind Hongjoong's tent is made of a wooden box. It's not just a simple set up like the shower (more like a space) members use (which, he understands because they are a moving caravan and having a concrete shower room sounds like an extra weight they don’t necessarily need). 

Wooyoung knows it’s a shower because he's seen Hongjoong coming out of the box with a towel on his shoulder, hair matted with water. Everyone else seems to use the shared shower probably for convenience.

Wooyoung reaches out, but the door opens before he lays a finger on the handle. Seonghwa comes out, looking as surprised as Wooyoung is. He’s wearing simple clothes compared to the usual detailed embroidery he is dressed in, a towel hanging on his neck suggesting the place, indeed, is a shower. His charcoal black hair dripping with water, and his usually heavy bangs covering his left eye raised.

And Wooyoung sees.

A huge scar running down Seonghwa's closed left eye, robbing his view completely.

"I'm...sorry," Wooyoung murmurs, looking away. He gasps, feeling the need to clear the intention of his apology, cause it sounded wrong. "I didn't know someone was in...a girl told me I could use the shower."

Seonghwa doesn't rush to comb his hair with his fingers, putting it back down to hide his scar. He hums. "Was she wearing a black and white hoodie?"

Wooyoung nods.

"Twisty."

"That's her name?"

Seonghwa nods this time. "She did not lie to you. She only says the opposite."

Wooyoung frowns, finally looking back at Seonghwa. His painful scar is now gone.

“Isn’t that lying?”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “In fact, their species can never lie. They always tell the truth, just the opposite.”

Recalling the conversation they just had, Wooyoung understands that the shower isn’t free of use. “Oh,” he murmurs.

Seonghwa glances at him from head to toe. His eyes are as though scanning, seeing through everything Wooyoung wants to hide, and he winces, collecting the fabric close to his body.

“You may use the shower,” Seonghwa says. “I will let Hongjoong know that you are an exception for today.”

Wooyoung sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

Seonghwa smiles briefly before he leaves, and Wooyoung doesn’t really know where to place him yet. But this time, he is thankful.

Securing his spot in a closed shower, he takes a quiet bath, trying to remember when he's seen Twisty before. It was the first day of arriving at the camp, when San was showing him around. He still remembers what she'd told him. Now, on the contrary, he's feeling a little caress on his heart.

𓂬

Jongho thinks he has been through a lot, not to brag, but he doesn't think he's ever been this helpless. He finds someone he was looking for in a swarm of people, waving at the leaving figures, and Jongho sighs in relief.

"San."

Aries turns, and smiles, and maybe it's concerning how his anxiety washes away with just that. He then enlarges his glittering eyes, finding an unfamiliar small figure next to Jongho—a small kid clenching on the hem of his trousers, wailing—and smiles again in what Jongho considers a fondness.

"He's lost," Jongho informs the obvious. "He came to tonight's show with his parents but he, or they, lost them."

"And you found him?" 

"He came to me, insisting I pick him up and put him on my shoulders...and started crying when he realised his parents didn't follow him."

Maybe, the boy did start tearing up in frustration for Jongho denying his request, but he doesn't tell.

"That's actually convenient." San clicks his fingers. "You're tall, it's easier for his parents to find him, if you can hold him?"

Bitterness rolls on his tongue. He doesn't know the kind of expression he's wearing when he shakes his head as he says, "I can't."

San just stares at him for a while, then nods. He kneels down to the boy's height, and talks to him cheerfully. "Hey buddy, I might not be as tall as Jongho right here, but how does getting on my shoulder sound?"

The boy's wailing diminishes into a sob, judging whether the offer is eligible.

"My horns will be all yours to hold." 

San's push is all the boy needs to nod, to be giggling back again with wet cheeks, as he climbs on his shoulders. He grips the horns in fascination, bouncing on San's shoulders, making Jongho worry if he's too much to handle, but San doesn't seem to care.

"How's the air up there?" San asks, holding his bouncing legs for safety.

"Good!" The boy replies in glee.

He stays satisfied throughout their search among the crowd, until his parents find them. Jongho doesn't miss a colour of fear flashing in their faces before they morph them into relief of finding their boy. They don't even try to hide it, when they don't say as much as thank you when the father comes up to them and basically rips the boy off San. They scurry away pulling the boy's hand, while he looks back and waves at them with the other.

"I like tiny little humans," San says, watching the small back of the boy disappear in the crowd. "They are pure, inquisitive and brutally honest."

What about not so tiny little humans? Jongho doesn't ask. He doesn't even think he has a right to, when he's never had a great experience with them, hopeless when in the presence of tiny ones.

“You know you looked adorable with a small kid next to you,” San tells him, smiling at him playfully.

And Jongho would have retorted immediately at how ridiculous his judgement is, if he isn't lost in San’s smile. He considers, under the circus orange lamp lights hanging on thin rope and swaying in the wind, that maybe, nothing goes beyond the fondness he’s feeling, watching the glowing smile in front of him.

𓆗

“Wooyoung-ah, do not let Mingi go buy drinks alone. Otherwise you’ll get a very cheap, disgusting drink,” San says, slurring on his words with his drunken tongue, clinging on the back of Mingi. Mingi protests by shaking his body a little, threatening San that he can drop him off his horse back any time soon. 

“This rum is good though,” Wooyoung says, shaking a bottle of rum, half empty in his hand.

“Only because I went with him,” Yeosang snarls. “By the way, we haven’t asked about the whereabouts of our money for the last time. You must have spent less with those shitty bottles you got us?” A sharp glare, or maybe dozens of snake glares fly to the Centaurus.

“Good rum for a good performance! You both did great today, San-ah, Yeosang-ah.” Mingi raises his voice and his bottle, trying to dodge the accusation. 

“Speaking of.” San hops off the back, and lands on the ground with slightly wobbly feet. “We need to go collect Jongho.”

San had asked Wooyoung and Jongho if they’d wanted to join the drinking after the show. Wooyoung replied in a beat, hence why he is gathered with Yeosang and Mingi in a desolated corner of the camp, using tree trunks as a chair (except for San finding home on Mingi’s back and Mingi, who literally doesn’t need a chair), chugging down fine rum. Jongho decided to join later, after fixing the broken benches in the tent, a result of a creature going wild in the show tonight. 

“I’ll come with you,” Wooyoung offers, not entertained by the idea of sitting in between Yeosang glaring at Mingi, the intensity explosive. He isn’t willing to be a meditator.

Wooyoung follows San who is a few steps ahead. His walk isn’t as fragile as what Wooyoung thought it would be. His fine horns are prominent, and his skin that peeks from the collar and the hem of the shirt is smooth and pink. Wooyoung has heard of Aries before, that they are one of the endangered species. For one, because humans used to hunt them down for their beautiful looks and horns, and two because they have a lower reproduction rate. By no means, he wants to own San. To think, humans would want to possess another thoughtful creature is absurd, but he does understand why they would want to. He’s beautiful. Even among the darkness, he glows.

They hear two howling horn sounds coming from the centre of the camp. Something is happening at the main quarter. Wooyoung realises with the unusual noise, screaming, roaring and rattling. San turns his head and they look at each other for a second, before they hurry to the tent. Someone bumps into Wooyoung. 

“Hey-”

"It's safe here!" It’s Twisty, and she yells, her eyes open wide, her pupils dilated. "We need to stay."

It is loud and clear. In her voice, in her eyes, in her words, how terrified she is.

" Monsters- "

“Then find the pink!”

They hear someone yelling from afar. A voice so domineering, a voice so hungry. Wooyoung doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows they are looking for San and that his scales are spiking up in alert. 

"Twisty, fly!" Twisty immediately responds to San’s order, flapping her bat wings and fleeing. 

"We need to go," San then turns to Wooyoung and pulls his hand, his hold strong. Wooyoung isn't aware of the situation, but he knows San is right.

They run back to their original spot, and San sighs in relief when Yeosang and Mingi are gone with only open bottles lying on the grass.

"What's going on?" Wooyoung asks finally.

"Hunters," San answers, his tone dire. "They're here to hunt us. We need to-"

"It's there!"

Someone roars from afar, and when Wooyoung turns his head, he sees a man pointing at them, a knife and rope in his hands. Even from a distance, Wooyoung can see the crooked, dark gleam in the man's eyes. 

Humans, Twisty meant to say. But who are the true monsters here?

San grabs his wrist and runs towards the forest just beside them. Wooyoung follows, his breath shallow. From surprise, from anxiety, from fear, from anger—he doesn't know. What he does know is that the humans are following them in the forest where with all the obstacles and darkness, they should struggle to find them, but not when San glows in the dark.

"San, we need to hide!"

"I know, I can get to the river, under moonlight and that will help my glow fade-"

Get under a moonlight in an open space? Maybe the glow will fade, but exposing himself out there? Isn't that as risky, if not more?

"There's pink there!"

Somewhere not so far, they hear the hunters yell. Wooyoung doesn't have much time to think, before he pulls San down, removes his robe and covers him with it. 

"Wooyo-"

He hushes San as he crouches down and wraps him in the robe, hiding his glowing skin underneath his arms. Closely, gently, protectively.

He isn't sure how long they stayed like that. He waited for the voices and footsteps to walk past them, waited for their breaths to calm down and waited more while the silence settled on them completely.

San slowly raises his head outside and glances around before he rests his eyes on Wooyoung, topless under a robe with only his trousers. Wooyoung doesn't miss the colour of surprise that flashes in his eyes. Granted, he must have seen his brother. He must know what Serpantus looks like. He must know how they hold pride over their glittering green scales, Hongjoong saying showing off is their trait isn't an exaggeration. 

San must have never seen a Serpantus with white scales.

"Yeah, this is why I was hiding my body," Wooyoung admits dryly.

"...Because you're different?"

‘Different’ is too kind of a word. 

Wooyoung grew up in a household with his grandparents and parents, a brother, three sisters and him as the last born, a big family like any other Serpantus. Everyone in his family, just like any other Serpantus, would show off their body, wearing as little cloth as they can to cover. Wooyoung wondered why his parents always dressed him in a robe, drowning him in fabric. 

He thought his scales would gain colour as he grew up, as beautifully as the rest of his family. That he'd be able to swim in a lake, his body adorned with emerald green scales, glistening under the sun's grace. He knew better when he entered a school. His classmates wrapped very little fabrics around them, flaunting their fresh green scales. He still remembers the look they wore when he entered the class with a robe on. Wooyoung was left out in the cold before revealing his skin in the lake, and was bullied after. 

His family treated him no better. He has learnt from the disappointed and disgusted looks they gave, the piercing and poisonous words they gave.

His scale never turned green.

They called him—

"Because I'm abnormal, San." Wooyoung admits. He accepted it a long time ago, yet saying it with his own words feels far more painful. "Because I'm ugly."

San frowns. "You're not."

"I'm a fucking albino, San. Of course I'm ugly."

"Is that what they told you?"

Wooyoung huffs mockingly. "You wouldn't understand. For someone as pretty as you, who's praised by everyone around you."

San blinks and smiles softly. "Thank you. But I think the moon likes you better." 

Wooyoung doesn't understand. San takes his hand without a warning and stands up. Wooyoung instantaneously tries to tug him down, but San reassures, "They're gone. Come with me."

Still anxious, Wooyoung stands up slowly and follows San through the dark forest. They reach a familiar river in less than ten minutes, but this time the river surface reflects moonlight. 

San slides the robe down on the grass and exposes his smooth naked skin, and Wooyoung knows he'll need more time for his heart to get used to the sight. His skin glows in golden pink in the dark, as beautifully as his existence. 

He steps out slowly, dipping his feet in the gentle flow of the river, a little deeper as he steps further. Gradually exposed to the moonlight, San's glow dies down, as if the moon is jealous of his own radiance and sucks it away.

"San-"

He answers Wooyoung's call by turning around, smiling and Wooyoung sucks in his breath at the sight of the Aries under moonlight, standing in the clear river—of how divine he looks. With or without the glow, he is alluring.

San steps forward, chuckling. "I told you, the moon doesn't like me." He takes Wooyoung's hands in his, and tugs him forward as he steps backward. The force is gentle, and Wooyoung could resist if he wanted to. "But I think she'll love you." But he doesn't, and feels his feet dip in the cold, soaking the hem of his trousers. He watches San escort him to the light, careful not to slip, careful not to scare Wooyoung away. And he follows, as if enchanted.

The moonlight reaches his forearms first. There's a responsive flinch, repelled with the idea of exposure of his long hidden body. He doesn't even remember the last time he ever saw himself under light. He shuts his eyes in reflex, still trusting San guiding him forward. He can feel he is fully exposed under a watch of the moon and there's a churn in his stomach.

"Wooyoung, open your eyes,” San says softly. It’s a gentle offer, far from forceful.

Wooyoung breathes in shakily and peels his eyes open. 

A shimmer.

First thing that jumps into his eyes are the arms held by San’s hands, his scaled forearms kissed by the moonlight, shimmering, as though a newborn pearl bathing in the first light it’s blessed with. The light reflects in different colours when he twists his arms, scales expressing in all their glory. He traces his eyes down to his bare chest, where there’s no scale but still white like his entire being is. He doesn’t see the sickly boy that used to be there. He sees sparkles adorning his chest, his abdomen, lustrous and strong.

“See?” San smiles ever so gently. “I told you she’d love you.”

Wooyoung opens his mouth, in an attempt to say something, but nothing comes out.

“You’re beautiful, Wooyoung.”

The reaction is instantaneous. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

That word has only belonged to the rest of his family, all in the glory of their emerald scales. Or the blue sky, with not a single cloud to bother. Or the starry sky so close they looked like they were showering. Or to San, who glows in pink, perfectly curved horns on his head, an everlasting smile on his face. Never to Wooyoung.

“I’m not.”

San sighs, and questions instead, “Do you think I’m beautiful?”

Wooyoung has never been asked a question so easy to answer. “Yeah.”

 “What if I said I disagree?”

“Ridiculous.” Wooyoung snorts.

“Exactly,” San says, holding Wooyoung’s hands tighter. “Just like you think I’m beautiful, I think you are. And no one has a right to change my opinion.”

Wooyoung staggers, quickly glancing at his moonlit body then back at San. He’s smiling.

“You are beautiful to my eyes, whether you like it or not.”

He stares into San's eyes.

He has too many knots in his chest, accumulated throughout his life, to be able to accept those words wholeheartedly. But he can feel the first one being undone when he sees how clear those eyes are.

𓆗

Wooyoung has heard of humans who hunt creatures for money making. Capture them in the North and sell them with large sums to the South, where they are still enslaved. But he realises his knowledge based upon living in that enclosed hometown is truly limited, once he left. There are many things the people of town don't know or don't tell, and even if they do, Wooyoung doubts they know the gravity of the matter.

San told him that they have these unwelcoming guests once every two or so years. He can’t imagine the feeling of being hunted down for that many times. Almost every time they do, they lose a member or two, and they never come back. San says that sometimes, they flee on occasion due to fear or some other inconveniences, but he doesn’t know what percentage is sold to the South.

Walking through a demolished camp and wandering survivors, Wooyoung and San come across a huge figure.

“Big Buddy,” San calls.

The Cyclops turns around and squints his one eye, blowing a wind of relief.

“You’re safe, San.” He kneels down, not to match San’s eye level because that’s impossible, but to get closer. “I h-heard they were after you.”

San waves his hand and dismisses his worry. “Did you hide in a haystack like I told you?”

He nods his head. “I got so s-scared and hid immediately. They didn’t find me,” Big Buddy says. “But if I knew they were c-coming for you, I would’ve fought-” His voice is timid and small, unlike the huge body he owns, but Wooyoung doesn’t doubt the sincerity of those words.

San shakes his head and lays a hand on Cyclops’ folded knee. “No, I want you to be protecting yourself. I’ll manage.”

San grins and pats his knee a couple of times before they head to Hongjoong’s tent. They see one—or two ladies walking out of the said tent with a frown.

"Jackie and Chan," San stops the ladies. "Glad to see you safe."

Wooyoung guesses they just reported Hongjoong about their safety receiving another morning, just like San and Wooyoung are about to, but they don’t look happy in the least that they are safe.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung asks.

“I can’t believe it!” Jackie screeches. “They found us curled up at the back of the main tent, and we thought it was over,” Chan adds with the same amount of rage in her voice.

“Did they hurt you?” San asks worriedly.

“They didn’t even lay a finger on us.” Jackie snorts violently. “They just turned away, as if nothing was entertaining.”

“I’m not following-”

They snap at Wooyoung. “How dare they,” the two sisters harmonise, “not be mesmerised by our beauty? Aren’t we the most expensive existence here?”

Wooyoung holds back his snort. He doesn’t need an hour long lecture from the ladies. San gives them a smile.

“I’m glad you’re both safe, regardless.”

Leaving behind the raging sisters, they both step into the tent. It seems like this place wasn’t as touched, probably because it is set up at the deep end of the camp. Just a few pieces of furniture and papers on the ground, but nothing beyond recovery. Hongjoong is sitting at the desk, his hands clasped in front of him like he is praying. Seonghwa, standing next to him in his usual position, notices them first. He leans down to inform Hongjoong, who jerks his head up. Wooyoung sees a clear colour of relief blooming in his face the moment his eyes reflect San.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, standing up.

“I am. Wooyoung saved me,” San says, acknowledging the man beside with a smile. 

Hongjoong’s eyes turn to Wooyoung. It’s not that Hongjoong looked at him with contempt, but he never really was a type to show affection. Wooyoung concluded that it was a part of being the master of the circus, looking after everyone and keeping them under control. So the look on him now, the softness he has in them, is something unfamiliar to him.

“Thank you,” he says and Wooyoung startles, unbelieving that Hongjoong had a sense to thank someone.

“Is everyone safe?” San asks worriedly, taking a step forward.

“Just a few more unreported. I need to wait until dusk to wrap up.” He sighs and slumps on his seat, visibly tired.

“Are humans helping you find the culprit?” Wooyoung asks.

Hongjoong raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“San told me this... thing, the hunting happens once in a while. If humans are committing crimes then they should be the ones to capture them.”

Wooyoung thinks it’s a normal question. He knows that humans have a system where they capture evil and judge them by their law. Slave trade must be illegal under the North’s law, and the culprits should be invesgiated, judged and imprisoned. But Hongjoong cackles a dry, mocking laugh. He puts an elbow on the desk, his chin on the palm, and sneers. 

“What a naive snake you are.”

“What?”

“Did you think, just because humans come here and praise our circus, that they are nice to us?”

Hongjoong's eyes are cold, contempt and rejection infused in those sharp gaze.

"Then why are we not allowed to take a seat in a pub? Why are there shops that say 'humans only'? Why can't we own a house in a city? They say we are equal and own the same rights. They never mean it."

Hongjoong steps out of his desk. San and Seonghwa are silently listening, and Wooyoung is overwhelmed by the small man's aura and his daunting presence that his tongue is stuck to the bottom even if he wanted to utter a word.

"They are freaks that kill among their own species. How do you expect them to care for others?"

And Wooyoung doesn't know the answer to that.

"He hates humans, doesn't he?" Wooyoung asks, once dismissed by Hongjoong telling them to go take a rest, now standing outside the tent with San. "Then, why the circus?"

It was clearly made to entertain humans and not their own kind. The common belief out there is that Illusion Circus is a symbol of human and creature unification, with humans being amazed by the creatures' ability and paying for their talent. Wooyoung doesn't think he can be blamed for believing it. 

San says Hongjoong made the circus to prove their worth. Not to be provided by humans, but to rip off money from them and show that they have what they don't. And that they don't need humans for them to stand on their own feet, hooves, paws or tentacles.

"Because we are done being their slaves and playthings. If they can't accept us even after the reinforcement, then we will. Hongjoong made this place a haven for us." San's soft voice is laced with pain, because reality isn't that kind. 

“But Seonghwa is a human,” Wooyoung blurts his pent-up question. How racist the words sound, irks him.

San turns to him and smiles painfully. “Maybe at one point he did believe in building a healthy relationship with humans. When Seonghwa came into his life. But—” San pauses and Wooyoung observes him. He sighs. “Have you seen what’s behind Seonghwa’s bangs?”

Wooyoung nods hesitantly. A huge scar running down robbing his eyesight. Something too vivid to forget.

“His fellow human pierced a dagger at his eye.”

Wooyoung draws in a sharp breath.

“Because random folks found a human mingling with monsters repulsive.”

Wooyoung recalls what Hongjoong had just said. “They are freaks that kill among their own species.” Not even for food. Not even for land. Not even for their lives, but just because they found something that doesn’t even concern them unpleasant.

San explains it was at the beginning, when they were trying to figure out how to run the circus. Seonghwa, who came back from running errands, had half his face covered with blood. He tried to hide and shake it off as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Hongjoong made him spill everything. So many possibilities came up, mostly sullen ones, but Seonghwa was adamant he stay with them, and that they keep on running the circus no matter what.

“He’s special,” San says. “Hongjoong once told me.”

Wooyoung watches San’s side profile. There are so many stories hidden behind those golden eyes. Even San probably doesn’t know everything between Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

San abruptly turns to Wooyoung with a smile. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go take a rest!”

𓄋

Caravan wheels rattle against dry land, leaving behind smoke of orange dust. San frowns, trying to wave it off with an arm, and recalls Seonghwa telling him they were headed to a drier part of the country. He wasn't lying.

He stops at the spot and watches the half empty caravan move forward to the next destination from behind. With no mortal damage during the hunt the other day, luckily, Hongjoong decided they'd move and fix their properties in another town before they decided to come back and strike again. "It's easier to move with lesser things to carry," he joked.

There's supposed to be another carrier behind him, but he doesn't hear a sound. He turns around and spots Jongho—responsible for the last cart all due respect to his strength—has stopped, taken by what's at the roadside. They've been walking next to a huge graveyard, and where Jongho is standing is a perfect sight for a three metre war memorial, nameless soldiers buried under thick soil under a heavy plate that has a few of the proud soldiers’ names engraved. It's another human only graveyard, with no creatures allowed. Humans probably think they contaminate the ground, but San prefers dying in the heart of a thick forest anyway, his particles decomposing back to earth, being one, back to being part of the cycle. 

Noticing he isn't going to move anytime soon, San walks up to him. "You can go pay a visit, if you want to. It's not like we have anywhere to rush to."

"No." Jongho jerks, as if he's just got out of trance. "No need."

"Okay." San shrugs. 

Jongho grabs the bar handle of the cart with his bottom arms and starts moving forward. San follows, but doesn't miss Jongho glancing at the roadside from time to time.

𓄋

A week in camping at the outskirts of a new town, they're pretty much recovered from their loss. They never really carried much to begin with, as the vagabonds should. 

Not everyone worked diligently though, since all creatures are different. Wooyoung was the one who busied himself in building things back, even now as he carries a bucket of water on his exposed arms. Since that night in the forest, San noticed Wooyoung covering himself less and less. San hopes his confidence has come back, as it should with how his pearly white scales shine under the sun even more beautifully than night time, but he doesn’t mention. All he does is smile at him warmly or wink at him, watch him get flustered in response. San finds Wooyoung cute that way.

“Washing Big Buddy?” San asks, stopping Wooyoung on his way.

“Yeah, it’s been a week and he kinda stinks,” Wooyoung laughs.

“Ugly!” San hears a sudden voice, and that’s when he notices a small figure following Wooyoung.

Twisty is pointing at Wooyoung. And…what did she just call him?

“Wooyoung, this is Twisty and she didn’t mean-”

“San, don’t worry,” Wooyoung interrupts. “I know.” He balances out the huge water bucket with one arm, and pets Twisty’s head in a warm gesture.

Feeling warm at the sight, San’s eyes trail off to the big figure walking towards the gate. San vaguely recalls Hongjoong appointing Jongho to run errands, counting on his strength and four arms.

"I'll come with you," San approaches Jongho, but he looks back at him incredulously. San isn't sure if he's worried the hunters might be out there or if he just doesn't trust him. "I'm just feeling too stuffed being stuck here for a week."

After a moment, Jongho agrees. "Fine. But you'll be by my side.” 

San finds it funny how he says it like he's looking after a small child. He smiles in response and tries to follow, but there's a tug at the hem of his shirt that pulls him back. It’s Twisty again, probably unentertained by the washing process of the Cyclops, and now looking up at him with those large eyes, appealing something.

San puts a hand on her hoodie-covered head and guesses. "Do you want to go out too, Twisty?"

"No."

San wears a sorry expression. "I don't think Hongjoong would like that."

The small girl pouts, unsatisfied with the answer. San pats her head and comes up with an alternative.

"How about...I get you something from the town?"

"Vegetables!" Twisty chirps in glee.

"I'm sorry I don't have enough money for that," San declines and Twisty slumps her shoulders again. "How about a lollipop?"

Twisty jerks her head up and shakes it sideways in frenzy. San smiles.

"Perfect! What colour do you want?"

"Green."

"I'll make sure to get a red one." San brushes her hoodie covered head one more time before he joins Jongho and starts walking.

"That was smooth," he comments, pushing the gate open for two creatures to pass.

"She's an honest kid,” San says. “You just have to learn her rules.”

“So she says the opposite, but her expressions are not?”

San shakes his head. “She smiles when she’s happy and frowns when she’s angry. It’s adorable when she says ‘I love you’ when she’s mad.” San giggles and adds. “Oh, don’t tell her I said that.”

“Maybe you’d want to experience it again?” Jongho teases.

“Only occasionally.”

They reach the heart of town as they chat mindlessly. San has felt many eyes drawn at them in interest, curiosity and fear which usually is the case when the town is small and has not adapted to creatures walking around. But everytime he does, those gazes are cut short by Jongho standing in between. He blocks humans' stares towards San wordlessly all the way to the market, and this one time brazen teenagers approached in an attempt to touch San, maybe dare of some sorts,  he growled at them to chase them away. San is used to being seen, that's what he does at the circus, but it's never a fun experience to be seen with judgemental eyes, much less being touched by a stranger. Jongho protects him through all that, perhaps super sensitive about the fact that San was targeted just the other day, and San feels so safe behind his back. It's something new, and the feeling growing in his heart is tickling.

The fat lady at the market also looks at them unreservedly while they buy whatever is on the list Seonghwa handed Jongho. San offers to share the bags, feeling bad for being empty handed while Jongho is fully loaded in his four arms, but Jongho refuses. San literally has no words to argue when Jongho says, “I’m much stronger than you.”

“That’s a candy shop.” San spots walking through a small market, a shop displaying toys and candies, a small dream table for kids. 

“What rare guests we have here,” a man in charge of the shop, around thirty, says in amusement. He looks at them from head to toe without hesitation just like the fat lady, but he seems to not mind saying what’s on his mind. And San would much rather someone reveal their interest outwardly than someone glancing at them with so many words brewing behind.

“Red lollipop, please,” San orders with a smile. 

The man picks the one stuck on his display, and charges the price. “Where did you guys come from?” He asks, handing the lollipop in exchange for the money San gives.

San tells him the name of the larger town they came from, and the man’s eyes grow wider.

“Then you must have seen the war memorial.”

The one where Jongho stood in front, the solitary place drowned by orange dusty sand. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Do you know who’s name they engrave on the stone?”

“Dead soldiers?”

“Yes,” the man says. “And my brother’s name is on it.”

The man looks proud, expecting San to say something. “I’m...sorry for your loss?”

“What? No!” The man deflates in disappointment. “Okay, sure, it would’ve been better if he came back alive but he died for greater good! I would choose to die like that, only if I weren’t lame.”

The man’s passion is what San will never understand. Hongjoong is right. Humans are the only species that would build an army and lethal weapon to kill their own. Creatures do quarrel and clash, but they don’t go as far as creating sides, with an intention to eradicate the opposing. The recurrency is as though they are never satisfied, as though fresh blood is the only way to quench their thirst.

“He died for honour. He’s our family’s pride.”

Maybe the merchant has always been gloating about his brother’s honorary death to his customers. To think he can only manage his self esteem through the dead is saddening, but San doesn't intend to entertain him nor chide him. 

“There’s nothing great about war,” Jongho who’s been quiet all this while, speaks.

“What?” The man curls his hand in a fist defensively.

“There’s nothing to be proud of. There’s never an honorary death in war. There’s nothing more miserable than dying as a sacrificial pawn in the middle of nowhere.” Jongho’s voice is laced with gravel, perhaps bubbling rage and underlying melancholy. 

“How dare you,” the man fumes. Several eyes turn to them. He looks like he’d pounce on Jongho, but he doesn’t, maybe it’s his leg or maybe he is being wise. “What do you monsters know about a human war?”

Jongho sneers. “Oh, I know.”

He then leaves the place, ignoring the merchant’s yelling, and San chases him with a candy in one hand.

“Jongho,” he calls after earning a distance between the market. Jongho stops but he doesn’t turn. San knows he’s listening. “Have you been to a human war?”

Creatures are not to be involved in human wars. It's one of the rules humans set for their own war, because creatures, in most aspects, excel humans. That’s one segregation law that San agrees with, since no one would like to risk their lives for what doesn’t concern them. But rules that suit the creatures are almost always a facade. Pretty words to mask their faces, only to hide their vile smile under those thick makeup. 

Jongho tilts his head slightly and he gives out a mocking laugh. "That place is a living hell," he murmurs, voice dry. "I've killed many, San. And hurt more."

San remembers the day at the river.

"My hands only know how to hurt someone." 

San remembers the night Jongho refused to hold a child's hand.

"That's the only way I've known to live."

The tinge of qualms in his voice upsets San's heart. Jongho starts walking ahead, and San can clearly recall all the scars he bore on his back. It's been five years since then. It probably doesn't hurt physically anymore, but mentally? He's still there.

His back starts throbbing in faux pain. If only he could share his weight, San would in a heartbeat.

𓂬

The first thing that comes to Jongho’s mind when someone mentions “a family” is his grandfather’s sorry face. He never questioned about his parents because the idea that a child must have a father and a mother didn’t hit him until he turned ten, and by that time it seemed like useless information. Now as he revisits his memory, he thinks the place had a large part to do with his disinterest, for it was the furthest place from the notion of birth. Jongho grew up in a military base.

Everyday he’d wake up to a roar in between night and dawn, forcing his grandfather to draw water from a well for the soldiers to wash their face. His grandfather was a four-armed man like him, but unusually weak, part of it coming from his age. Still, troops urged the tired horse on, and Jongho would follow a shrinking, fragile body—what must have been a large figure years ago, now bent in half. “I’m only paying labour for the food and shelter they provide,” his grandfather told him in a sheepish face, the one Jongho remembers him wearing all the time, like he was scared to upset anyone if he ever straightened his back.

Eventually, Jongho grew up enough to join the military exercises, excelling in strength and impressing the generals. Eventually, his grandfather passed away due to old age, and he held a small funeral just by himself. Perhaps it could be categorised as “a sad childhood”, but Jongho wouldn’t know. He never knew what “a normal childhood” was. He did hear some soldiers mourning over their fun and irresponsible childhoods, but that was no comparison. Humans made it clear they were different from Jongho, that they were never the same. So, Jongho doesn’t grade his childhood as good or bad, because he only knows that way.

Jongho had always felt alone in the base. Humans never let him in their community. He would occasionally face acts and words of discrimination, but they never dared touch Jongho. Even a fool would know they were no match against him, and he was the general's favourite. That special treatment he was getting further fueled the hate towards him, but Jongho knew he was the general's favourite weapon and nothing more. One night when they won in the combat with Jongho raising the most achievement, the general summoned him to the altar and praised him. He said, “I’m delighted to see my investment flourish.”

The seed had always been at the back of his mind. Gradually, water was fed, and the small budding of doubt manifested into realisation. But that was his last call to admit that his grandfather had sold him. 

Of course, they needed food and shelter to live. With disabled old man and a small child, how much could they have earned? His grandfather probably didn’t have a choice.

He wanted to rationalise. He really tried to. But there was a low rumble in his chest that he couldn’t wipe off, that nestled deeply, “Was this truly the only way?”

But when one is too used to the box they’re living in, the lid to the other side gets too heavy. Jongho only knew how to kill people, and ironically, that’s what kept him alive. It seemed like his grandfather knew better.

He heard of Illusion Circus in the third force he drifted to. The war was all about losing and winning, and Jongho had no idea what they justified killing as, if there was any. He never cared about what he was fighting for or who he was fighting against. 

“Yo, did you know there is a freak show that’s moving around the country?” A soldier asked, gathering around a fire, slurping on a tasteless, nutritionless soup. Soldiers around him shook their heads. Jongho was sitting in a distance, but close enough to hear them.

“I saw a flyer in town when I went out with him,” another soldier confirmed. He pointed at Jongho. “It’s apparently where freaks like that gather and show how freaky they are.”

Other soldiers squealed and quipped.

"Four-arm, isn't that your dream job?" The first soldier said it louder making sure Jongho could hear with an underlying mocking tone. Jongho wasn't intending to reply but he wasn't looking for an answer anyway.

"Nah, this is your dream job," he chuckled. "How else will you show off your talent in killing people?"

Jongho had killed quite a few.

Hurt a hundred.

He'd worn bloody gloves at the front.

He doesn't remember all his victims but he remembers one of his kind among the many. A creature with two faces, front and back. They talked to themselves, the back cursing at Jongho, the front begging for Jongho to end them. The back saying they can't end their life in this pit, and the front saying he wants to end this misery. The front asked Jongho, "For who did we end up like this for?"

Jongho couldn't answer but he felt a daunting emptiness. Thick smell of death weighed heavily on his nose.

That was when his side lost. He probably was supposed to feel sad or mortified, but what he was left was the void the other creature planted in him. Standing amidst the woods alone, for he always fought alone, drenched in blood, he decided he wouldn't go back. 

It was considered a war crime to involve creatures in human battles, and humans and creatures would be judged as criminals, with creatures being executed more often than not. Jongho had too much blood on his hands to be clinging to his own, but it wasn't fear of death or greed to live that made him run. It was driven more by a repulsion towards letting humans control his life, towards his grandfather who had decided his worth.

He believed he was more. At least, he wanted to. But no matter how many times he washed, his hands were still tainted in crimson.

𓂬

Few nights later, San asks him to build a tower for him. He says he'll get rusty if he goes without practicing for weeks. They've already rebuilt the boards and ladders San would use in the show, and all Jongho needed to do was construct it, make it as tall as thrice Jongho's height. They decided they didn't need the whole tent, for the night was pretty as it is, a crescent moon hanging in the middle. 

San does his acrobatic move and Jongho watches it from below. He seems like he hasn't lost his touch at all, and Jongho wonders how at these moments, San's free from the natural force. Pink glow draws an abstract line against the night canvas, and Jongho thinks an open-air circus is actually not bad at all.

After a whole set of moves that keeps Jongho in awe no matter how many times he's seen, San perches on the highest board. 

"I want you to help with my new move," he says. From where Jongho is standing, not exactly under it but close enough, he can only see his head with horns and upper body popping out.

That's an unexpected request. "I don't know acrobatics but if I can, sure."

"I'll dive into you. Catch me."

Jongho staggers behind. “What?”

“I’ll jump from here, and you’ll catch me down there,” San makes it clearer, but he must know that’s not what he was asking for. It still sounds like an absurd request. 

"No. Anything but touching you, San." He shakes his head. "You know I can't."

"You can't, or you won't? " San challenges.

Jongho bites his lip. "I don't want to hurt you."

It's the last thing he wants.

"I will be hurt if you don't catch me when I jump from this high. I won't die, but break a limb or two."

"Then don't…you know I can't…." Jongho clenches his fists. He feels his hands sweating. His heart starts beating faster.

"You won't hurt me, Jongho," San says, and for whatever reason, he sounds so sure. "I know you won't."

“San, don’t make me do this.” Jongho sounds like he’s almost begging. He’s never felt so desperate and scared.

“Too late.”

Jongho watches San take a leap from the high diving board, and his heart pounds in him thunderously. All the bad scenarios flash in him in what felt like a second and eternity, and before he knows it, he stretches his arms instinctively, and closes his eyes. 

There's a thud and instant weight, and it takes time before Jongho finds the courage to peel his eyes open. And there San is, in Jongho’s arms, smiling brightly. Jongho breathes out heavily. He tries his best to cradle him gingerly, careful not to use an ounce of force.

“See? I told you,” he says proudly, akin to a child proving his theory. “You won’t hurt me.”

“San-”

“Your hands aren’t made to hurt someone.” San reaches out and takes his upper right hand, and laces his small fingers in between Jongho's big, but trembling ones. He looks into him straight into his eyes. “Your hands are meant to protect someone, Jongho-yah. To save someone.”

And, Jongho doesn’t know what to say. Because it’s San who smiles at him proudly. Because it’s San who rests in his arms, and doesn’t hesitate to press his forehead on his. Because it’s San, who, unlike what he had thought, is pleasantly weighing in his arms, soft and warm. Because it’s San who looks at him with those eyes—those golden eyes that have not a single cloud in them, shining brilliantly with utter resolution.

It’s San.

Jongho leans in and steals his lips.

𓂬

“Rise and shine, handsome.”

Jongho is woken up by a soft velvety voice. Peeling his eyes slowly, the sight he's greeted with is quite breathtaking. San, all in his glorious pink bare chest, lying next to him with a soft smile, graced by warm morning rays slipping through the curtains.

With his dazed mind, he recalls they had cuddled to sleep on his bed. It was mostly San squeezing him and Jongho trying to hug him back with his tensed muscles. 

“You slept like a baby,” San says, brushing off Jongho's hair gently from his forehead.

“I did?”

“Or maybe not, because babies wouldn’t crush me with their muscles.”

“I did?” Jongho gasps and checks San’s body for any bruises, dislocated limbs or broken bones, careful not to lay a finger on him.

“I forgot I’m not supposed to make such jokes with you.” San laughs and shakes his head. “I’m fine. You actually held me just perfectly in your arms, only, less spicier than I expected.”

Jongho blinks once, twice, and when he gets what San is enunciating, he feels his cheeks burn. They’re probably the same colour as San’s skin.

“It’s okay. Baby steps.” San chuckles. “I really don’t mind simply snuggling in your arms.”

San presses his lips on Jongho's also bare chest before he slips out to get prepared, and Jongho watches him from behind. He realises his body feels lighter than usual. He must indeed have slept like a baby, and wonders how long it's been since he got a proper rest. Because sleep, for him, was more like losing consciousness rather than resting for a long time. He knows it's an awful habit he kept from being at the front, where he had to be alert all the time even when in sleep.

He thinks he can probably get better with San.

𓄋

There’s something comforting about Jongho’s hands, San thinks. They are rough and dry, far from pretty with all the accumulated blisters and scabs. But it’s how big it is, how it envelops San’s hand completely that makes him feel safe. It’s not just his hands, even. It’s when he’s in his arms, when he sees his broad back, it radiates from Jongho himself. So he snuggles in his arms every chance he gets, even though Jongho tenses his muscles in reflex, needing more time to adjust.

So they leave Jongho’s room that early morning, San wrapping his arms around Jongho’s, when they meet a tired-face Yeosang holding Twisty’s hand. He smiles the moment he sees them, launching Twisty at Jongho.

“She wouldn’t leave me from early morning,” Yeosang groans, standing next to San, while watching Twisty having a new prey to play with. “She’d ask me to freeze her, then unfreeze her endlessly. I thought of leaving her frozen for a while but reconsidered cause I knew I’d get hell from her after that.”

San chuckles, because he knows how stubborn Twisty can get, and also because Yeosang can't help but be caring, unlike what he shows on the surface.

“So, are you and Jongho a thing now?” Yeosang asks.

“A thing,” San repeats.

“Like dating, like a couple? I don’t know about the romantic stuff.”

“I don’t know. Are we?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Yeosang huffs. “You used to flirt with everyone left and right but something seems different now.”

“Wow, what a nice way to put it Yeosang-ah,” San rolls his eyes. “What’s wrong with being fond of my family? Besides, you never let me kiss you.”

Yeosang scowls instantly. “Ew.”

“I’m hurt,” San gasps. “You don’t like me?”

“Don’t play that card, San-ah,” Yeosang groans. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

San pouts, and swears to his heart that one day he’ll smooch Yeosang’s cheek and even if he gets frozen for a day for that, it’s worth it.

“Why him?” Yeosang asks after a pause. 

“Do we need a reason to like someone?”

Yeosang ponders for a moment, before he answers, “Yeah, we don’t.”

They stand side by side in silence, watching Twisty sliding on Jongho’s arms as if it’s a fun ride. Jongho is rigidly standing there, letting the kid have her way, careful not to touch her. It’s a rehabilitation, San thinks, even if Twisty thinks it's play time.

“You know when I fly through the air,” San starts abruptly, his eyes still fixed on the domestic scene in front of him. “I sometimes fear I might not be able to come back.”

Yeosang turns to him silently, waiting for his next words.

“I know it sounds stupid, but there are those times I’m scared.”

A pitchy giggle reaches their ears, followed by a heightened, “This is boring!”

A smile creeps on San’s face. “He makes me feel grounded.”

San’s voice doesn’t reach Jongho, but he flashes his eyes to San then, and gives a bashful smile.

𓂬

Whoever said "peace doesn't last for long" meant it more as a curse rather than a warning. They must have been absolutely depressed, to the level that they believed every tranquil moment was a crescendo to a storm. The worst part is, they are right.

Two loud horns erupt in their midnight camp. The sound is too familiar to Jongho, even if he’s only heard it once. The reverberation runs through his spines and clenches his muscles. 

He and San had barged into Hongjoong's tent for a late night card game, betting on the bottle of rum San knew Hongjoong has been hiding deep in his closet. Even though he grumbled, he dragged Seonghwa in too, making him side with him. 

Hongjoong immediately slaps his card down, and somewhere in his lax mind, Jongho thinks they could've won. 

"How are we getting hunted twice in a year?" San cries.

As if the horns weren’t enough of proof, humans growling and creatures roaring follows. Seonghwa is the quickest to move, getting the shotgun hidden under Hongjoong’s bed.

"They weren't satisfied they failed last time," Hongjoong states. "In any case, you need to run."

He jumps off his seat and grabs Seonghwa's hand. He then gives a sharp glare to Jongho.

"I'm counting on you."

Jongho gives him back a firm nod. He grabs a blanket lying around, drapes it over San, takes his hands in his and doesn’t wait to dart outside the tent.

"Follow the pink!" 

He sees a human yelling in his peripheral view, and Jongho grumbles under his breath. Too quick. Maybe it was better to hide than escape. A thought flashes in his brain but it’s too late for that. The only choice he has is to run and get out of their reach.

The almost full-moonlight and the robe help San cover his glow, but this dry town doesn't offer forests that could hide them like before. Either he gets rid of humans or finds a place to hide, and Jongho counts for the latter. He wouldn’t want another blood in his hand. Because San said he believes in him.

Amidst the dry land, there’s a large black silhouette standing in their way. It’s hauntingly huge, and Jongho feels his spine run cold, his muscles tense, until San calls his name.

"Big Buddy!" 

One armed Cyclops is standing there with a smile on his face. Jongho relaxes his muscles and lets San approach him.

“What are you doing here? You need to hide!” San tells him, but he shakes his head.

"I'll stop them, San," he says. "You should e-escape with Jongho."

"What?" San shrieks. "Don't be stupid and hide yourself."

"Last time I regretted hiding by m-myself-"

"That's for the best," San interjects but Big Buddy shakes his head again.

"It scared me to think you could've been g-gone. I don't want to feel that again."

Big Buddy's voice is resolute and it speaks so much from his shy nature. Jongho remembers the first time they talked, the Cyclops sheepishly telling him he's happy he has a second large member in tha camp. 

"Jongho, please," Big Buddy urges Jongho when San doesn’t seem to move. 

“Take care, Big Buddy,” Jongho says and decides to carry San in his forearms and move on, soothing San who is pained. But he must also know how static it is when a humble mind makes a decision. He eventually curls in his arms and wraps his arms around Jongho’s neck, hiding his face.

They run further until Jongho finds a dent in a hill that can help them cover the two. Jongho thinks they've run enough with how human noises have faded a while ago, and thinks if they ever catch them up, he shall fight. As much as he would wish to avoid the scene, if he’s left with no choice, he would. But he feels a force pushing him away. It's San.

"You should leave," he says weakly. "They're after me. You don't have to risk yourself too."

"No," Jongho protests immediately. San avoids looking up at him, his small hand trying to push at Jongho’s chest with a weak arm. "You don't understand, do you?"

You don't understand why Big Buddy is doing this. Why I'm doing this.

Last time, not so far ago when he heard San had been targeted, he felt like someone was clenching his heart. It felt like ages until he saw San coming back to report his safety, while it wasn't even half a day. He's thankful to Wooyoung, but also regrets he couldn't have been there to secure him himself. That time that lingers bitterly on his chest, is what he swears not to go through again.

San refuses to meet his eyes.

“San,” he asserts. “You told me, my hands are made to protect someone.”

He places his hand on San’s hand that is placed on his chest. A force that is trying to push him away, but too weak to do so. It envelops completely. 

“Prove it to me." He clutches it firmly. “Prove that I can really save someone.”

Then, San meets his eyes. Jongho doesn’t know what he sees, but he relents, curling up in Jongho’s chest, whispering a prayer for the Cyclops and everyone else.

𓆗

Big Buddy is gone.

The news Hongjoong broke has San gasping, Jongho hugging San who seems too weak to stand on his own, Seonghwa in a bitter face, and Wooyoung raging. They gathered back in Hongjoong’s tent after the hunting night, which seems eerily neater than the last time. It’s as though the humans crashed the tent last time because they were mad they failed, and the cleaner state of the room this time is as though a vindication of how proud they were for succeeding. 

“It’s my fault,” San mumbles.

“No, it’s not,” Jongho is quick to deny.

“But they were coming after me,” San protests. “If he didn’t try to prevent them-”

“If they took Big Buddy out of all the possibilities they had,” Hongjoong interjects. “Then they came prepared.”

Was San a second option? Was he a bait? Did they know Big Buddy would come out of his hideaway if they tried to chase after him? It’s all a possibility and no one knows the answer to that.

“You know what that means.” Hongjoong’s tone gives no space to argue. 

San swallows a lump in his throat and crumbles into Jongho’s arms. Hongjoong sighs.

“I’m repeating this. To be blamed, are greedy and obnoxious humans, and no one else.”

Wooyoung couldn’t resist his urge to talk anymore. “Why are we still here then?”

Hongjoong flicks his eyes to him.

“If humans can’t punish themselves, then we need to protect ourselves.” Hongjoong’s calmness and everyone else’s immobility irritates him. “Why aren’t we out there saving Big Buddy?”

“Cheers to your heroism, but that’s not how it works here,” Hongjoong mocks.

“Why is that?” Wooyoung hisses.

“Because everyone who joins knows the condition. You might not have read it through, but it’s in the contract you also signed. Everyone is aware of the risk. If you want to go out there and rescue him like a hero, you are free to. But know that you’re leaving here for good.”

There’s a rage bubbling in him. Wooyoung had thought Hongjoong was a difficult one. He can’t be pleased easily and he’d be wearing a frown more than a smile. He thought it was part of being the leader of the camp, heavy weight on his shoulders for the one that’s supposed to be in charge. The human oriented world isn’t easy to live in, after all. But he never took him for someone who’d abandon his crew without even trying.

“Wow,” he murmurs under his breath. “I’ve learnt the gnomes are logical but they never told me they were cold blooded.”

Wooyoung can feel all the eyes on him.

"Did you make this place to make it a haven for the creatures, or a department store of creatures?" He can hear the spite in his own voice, oh, how he sounds the most Serpantus-like right now. "You're selfish, Hongjoong. You dare say-"

"Enough." Seonghwa, who was quiet all this while, demands. Hongjoong looks smaller next to him, his head hanging low. Seonghwa squeezes his shoulder before he walks up to Wooyoung and orders him, "Out, now." He leads the way and turns before he slides out the curtain. "San, please stay with him."

It's quite dark outside the tent, dusk curtaining the sky. The camp is quieter than usual, with all creatures reporting their safety tucked in their own room, as though they are mourning for the loss.

“Let me tell you the story,” Seonghwa starts with the cliche story telling opening, except it didn’t come with warmth. “When we were first hunted down, we went to the police. They did not take us seriously. So we decided we would bring back our family on our own.”

Wooyoung can only imagine the fear they must have felt, disappointment and rage. 

“We may have brought him back. But we lost a few others.”

A defeat.

“It happened again. And again. Hongjoong said there would not be a fourth time.”

He tries to look into Seonghwa’s eyes. But the lack of light isn’t helping and he sees only void.

“He had to make a choice he did not want to,” Seonghwa says. “And he is the one who is hurt most by it.”

Seonghwa finally matches his eyes, and he’s seen it in his parents’ eyes, his siblings’, Twisty’s, Jackie and Chan’s, Hongjoong’s and thinks how universal the look is—anger.

“You dare not hurt him like that again.”

Soeonghwa leaves, but the stagnant weight is heavy in the air.

That night, as Wooyoung stands in front of the tent carrying an apologetic heart yet stubborn feet that won’t step forward, he hears them talk.

“Wooyoung is right,” Hongjoong says. The sudden mention of his name makes Wooyoung suck his breath. “I am selfish.”

“You are not,” Seonghwa is quick to deny.

“I made this place to prove our worth. For creatures to have a place to breathe other than their den. But it’s become a hot spot for the hunters.”

Wooyoung didn’t know Hongjoong could sound this vulnerable. 

“Were you not the one who said it is humans' fault?”

“I can’t risk others’ lives. I should probably go by myself.”

“You are the pillar of the circus,” Seonghwa reminds him. “The circus needs you.”

“Then-”

“I will go,” Seonghwa says. “I am also a human, afterall.”

“No,” Hongjoong refuses quickly, as though he is truly scared. “You aren’t like them. You are never like them.”

“But-”

“ I need you. ”

Wooyoung steps back, careful not to make a sound as he heads back to his tent.

𓄋

Yunho comes in the next day. He’s going around each creature to ask for their well-being and tell them a word of condolence. He doesn’t even have a pen and notebook like he always does. He looks and sounds genuinely worried and frustrated, yet no one seems to be welcoming a human in their territory. Even the ones who used to be entertained by the idea of being in the limelight being interviewed were hostile today. It’s expected.

San’s turn comes. 

“God, I’m so sorry for what happened, San,” Yunho says. “I can’t believe they took away-” he shakes his head. “How are you? Are you hurt anywhere?”

San has categorised Yunho as “good human”. He isn’t stereotypical like other humans, in fact, he thought he was here to break that stereotype. He seems to treat creatures as his equals. He laughs when the joke is funny, gets mad when he gets pranked, gets upset when someone regretfully makes a mistake in the show. He’s just so vocal about his thoughts and emotions, and San had thought of that as his charm.

But even with that, he feels the buzz in him. Is he genuine? Is he pretending to be, because that’s part of his job? There’s a part in his mind that whispers;

How can you trust a human?

“What are you doing here?” A stern voice comes from behind him.

“Hongjoong,” Yunho calls, sighing with deep pain. Or is it? “I’m at loss of words-”

“Are you here to entertain your fellow humans with our tragedy?” Hongjoong’s voice is spiked with sharp thorns.

“I’m here cause I’m worried.”

“Are you?”

“Of course!”

“Funny.” Hongjoong chuckles. “A human worried about creatures while the said humans are the ones of cause.”

The air runs cold suddenly. Yunho wears a look of disbelief. San has never seen him like this before.

“Are you...lumping me together with those beasts?”

“Aren’t you human?”

Yunho falls silent, his eyes losing every sort of emotion. The creatures surround the scene at a distance, their unsaid feelings unanimous.

He seems stuck on the spot for a while, until he finally decides to leave, with a drooping head and clenched fists. He walks past San, but San can’t find a word to say.

𓄋

Their next stop is a seaside town. Somewhere a little more populated than the earlier town, and Hongjoong told them they’ll start the show tomorrow. The raid hasn’t happened since then, and Hongjoong’s theory of hunters getting what they wanted was proven true. 

San has only seen the ocean thrice. He didn’t grow up near it, and in the huge land they are living in, it isn’t common to come across the sea. The first time he saw it, he was overwhelmed with how big it was. It was bigger than anything he had seen or imagined, and later when he asked, the mermaid who was in the circus at that time confirmed that the ocean was infinite. Infinite in the sense that, no one, not even the sea creatures know what the ocean is truly holding in its bosom. And the idea of immeasurable uncertainty was frightening.

He watches restless waves come and go, sitting on one of Jongho’s arms as he securely carries him. 

San wonders if the shy Cyclops is alive. He doesn’t know what humans of the South expect out of him, but a hope would be there, should he be alive. But maybe….

“Don’t show your emotion outside, Sannie,” his sister used to say.

He was three when he was taught how Aries are desirable to humans, just for their looks; pink shimmering skin, chivalrous and curved horns, and beautifully structured face. Showing emotions was a weakness, she said. Be it happy or sad, a little turbulence in the feelings is what humans are waiting for. That small breach in the wall and they are up at their collar.

Like that skinny and tall man, already married, who was insistent to court his sister. Every morning he’d come, carrying a sharp smell of cologne on his neat jacket, and ask his sister for a date with a foxy smile. San had always thought, even as a youngster, that the thin slit of his eyes hid his dark and true motives, and the guile sat on the curve of his lips. His sister did not relent. She’d wear a stern face, greet him briefly and head to her work, which was a maid at that exact man’s house. 

How sad, he thought, when his sister had the prettiest laughter. The man tried, almost desperate, what with presents of jewelries and flowers she’d come back in hand, frustrated, her face twisted with mortification. San would never ask how her day went. Instead he’d fill her with what he’s been up to all day, acting out his foolish actions exaggeratedly and blabbering nonsensical thoughts, making her laugh until she was in tears. Not to be dramatical, but that was the best moment of his day. 

That night when she came back without a single word, San should have known. He should have known when she laughed even before San got to the main point of his story, laughed and laughed way more than usual, until she was sobbing, her pink face turning red. He should have known when she told him where her little savings were hidden, and when she told him he shouldn’t forget how much she loved him. San doesn’t know what happened to her that day at work, and he doesn’t want to know.

All he knows is that her little brother wasn’t enough for her to keep going. Maybe Big Buddy would rather choose to end than live a hell, like her.

“Don’t show your emotion outside, Sannie.”  

There was no “inside” for him anymore. San had forgotten how to smile, cry or be mad, until he met Hongjoong. The first day they met, Hongjoong grumbled at him, pointing at Seonghwa, “I don’t need another masked dude beside me.”

“Didn’t you come here to swim?” Jongho asks when San doesn’t make a move to get down.

San shakes his head. He hates it when he doesn’t have the control of gravity. Not knowing when his feet can touch the ground terrifies him, much less with the element that is so foreign and infinite. He hates being in the ocean.

But he often wonders, watching the horizon, if another land exists. Another land with only creatures, away from all the torments they face. Away from all the pain, tears, rage and unforgiveness.

Over the horizon, he imagines Elysium.

𓄋

The first show after the wreck seems the usual. Humans are all smiles and cheers watching them, but without the tall man with pen and book in his hand. San wonders if they know what had happened to them, why the Cyclops on the flyer is nowhere to be seen tonight. Hongjoong would need to renew it, but he said he has a thousand in stock.

San glances at Jongho, who is standing at the entrance of the backyard, while he gets prepared for the final performance. San offers him a smile, but he only looks back at him with a concerned expression. That’s not the look San wants him to wear. But who is San to tell him when he probably wears the same.

That night, after the show, they bathe in cheap wine. They told Mingi, for tonight,  the quantity matters, not the quality. They pull out the wooden tub that had lost its purpose and fill it with red liquid, sourness stinging their noses. San and Yeosang get rid of their clothes and plunge in naked, Wooyoung soaks his trousers red, Mingi dips his hooves and legs, and Jongho hangs his legs, sitting on the rim of the tub. The increased body mass makes the excess wine overflow, splashing all around and they giggle as they drink, complain how insanitary it is and laugh again. 

Cheap wines are still effective to get drunk, or rather, they are cheap partly because they have lost count on the alcohol percentage to be called a wine. Tipsiness calls upon lame dares and dumb games, Mingi making a poem dedicated to Yeosang which ends up with Yeosang disapproving and he gets frozen for a couple of minutes, or giddy Wooyoung starting a strip show spontaneously, or Yeosang daring San to make out with Jongho.

San doesn’t hesitate to jump onto Jongho, who holds him secure by his waist, and kisses him passionately. He hears cheers going on behind him, with a mix of purposeful puking sound, which encourages him to kiss longer and make unnecessary sounds just for show. Jongho isn’t an exhibitionist, and he would usually shy away from these things, but this time, he doesn’t stop San. Whether he is too drunk or if there’s another reason, San doesn’t question further.

San secretly cries a little.

𓂬

The first day Jongho arrived at the circus, Seonghwa handed him a contract. It felt like a mockery of human affairs, in those several past occasions he signed the contract in the military base that said his life belonged to them. Only, this one said his life belonged to him, and when the attack happens, his safety is his responsibility. Jongho wonders what Hongjoong had thought when he decided to put that clause down on the paper. When he decided that he couldn’t assure the safety of the ones he calls a family, more often than not. 

“Jongho-yah?”

With San’s calling, his senses are brought back. He’s in the big tent with San in his arms, practicing his acrobatic skills. San seems insistent he be a part of his performance, or he calls it their performance, and with his undeniable charm or not, Jongho has found him getting used to the idea.

He throws San in the air with his seventy percent strength, and San levitates high in the air, almost reaching the roof of the tent. He flips around and draws a beautiful arc, rotates five times before he safely lands back on Jongho’s arms. It’s the pleasant warmth and weight he’s gotten used to. 

San smiles proudly at the achievement, both of theirs, and it’s a reflex by now, how his heart flutters in fondness. He believes he smiles back, because San leans in and presses his smile on his. Or if he wasn’t he sure is now, because his smile is infectious. He pecks his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyebrow, his horn, his ear, and any other place that lets him. And with every single touch, his heart swells, even when he thinks there isn’t a space left.

Something has shifted in his universe. Where there was only a dark plain canvas, maybe a very faint light of his grandfather somewhere far away, he now has numerous twinkling in them. One of those is the brightest and the largest, and it glows in golden pink. It won’t be a lie if he said that’s what shone his path ahead, and he would be thrown back in the pitch black, chilly universe without it. 

Going back to that night, if he had to choose, he’d still do the same. Even with what San and others have to go through, he’d choose San over anything. Is he selfish then?

But if he had to choose—does he have to? He’s done making a choice for the arrogance humans possess. They shouldn’t be the ones to choose the better from the worst. When will this ever end?

𓄋

When San sees Yunho back in the camp, he can’t deny there is a part of him that feels glad, but for the most part, it’s the uneasiness that fills his heart, having yet to settle with the idea of humans being around him. 

Hongjoong has been summoned immediately, Seonghwa by his side and San doesn’t have to see his opinion on reuniting with Yunho. 

“I made it clear you should not step in our border again.”

"Relax, I just came to prove humans can wipe their own asses."

"I'll be delighted to listen, if that would feed my stomach," Hongjoong scoffs, his arms crossed.

Something feels different. Yunho looks less taken care of than usual, his hair messy and beards growing, his clothes crinkled and dusted. San can't point out why, but he can hear his heart beating louder and louder.

"It might not feed your stomach but it would fill your heart." Yunho smiles proudly and points at the entrance of the camp. 

It's not his heartbeat, San realises. It's the sound of huge footsteps approaching them. 

"Oh dear lord," San murmurs in disbelief.

There he is, in his worn out clothes and tired face but alive , the humble Cyclops. 

He arrives with a few other humans escorting him and encouraging him. San dashes.

"Big Buddy!"

Big Buddy notices San and kneels down, waiting for the little figure with a smile.

Some creatures who've heard the noise come outside. Hongjoong walks over to Big Buddy and San hugging, Yunho following.

"I-how-," Hongjoong tries but the words seem to fail him. After a while, looking at other humans around them, he asks, "Who are these?"

"My friends and volunteers," Yunho answers, looking around them with a smile which they reply with an equally satisfied smile. "I asked for help in rescuing Big Buddy and they flew to me in a second."

"You're telling me, you guys fought against the hunters?"

"Oh, I did get help from authoritative powers." Yunho snorts. "I'm not a journalist for nothing. I have a lot up my sleeve and you know how stubborn I can be."

Hongjoong agrees. "That, you are."

"I'm stubborn, Hongjoong," Yunho repeats. "And that's why I won't give up writing about you guys. You might think I'm writing to provide hilarity to humans. But my ultimate goal is to break the walls between the creatures and humans."

Hongjoong stares at him silently. Yunho directs his eyes to his fellow humans, who are caught by gathered creatures, probably asking about the details of the rescue. Humans look slightly nervous, not because they are afraid but more likely because they are excited to interact.

"And you see, things will change. Slowly but surely."

Hongjoong moves his head in what looks like a subtle nod. "Thank you," he says. "Really, thank you."

Yunho blinks, then he smiles, as bright as San is used to seeing him.

"What do I get in reward?" Yunho teases and Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

"Fine." He sighs. "A permanent reserved front seat in our show, free of charge," he promises.

Hearing Yunho squeaking in the background, San puts his hand on Big Buddy's knee and looks up, noticing how many scratches and bruises he got. He traces the one on his knee carefully.

"You got hurt…."

"I-I'm fine," the Cyclops reassures. "I'm fine, because I know I am fine now. These friends helped me."

The Cyclops points at the humans who escorted him.

"Friends," San repeats with a relieved huff. The word tastes foreign on his tongue. 

San falls on the ground and leans his forehead on Big Buddy's knee, and whispers under his breath, "I'm sorry."

whether he heard it or not, the Cyclops brushes his head with his fingers. "S-San?"

Oh, how he thought he'd never hear that voice call him again.

“San, you told me that m-maybe the world is too small for us.”

He slowly peels himself from the knee, and looks up at Big Buddy, looking at him with a single eye, shimmering with something new. 

“But maybe, we haven’t seen enough. Maybe, we’re too early to judge.”

San shifts his eyes to Yunho who is giggling with Hongjoong, other humans chatting with creatures, and he sees not a wall between them. 

Yeah, he thinks. Who knew?

“I want to find out with you, with Hongjoong, with Seonghwa—with everyone here.”

Soft waves ripple in the back of his head, ebbing and flowing, taking whatever they hug to the unseen part of the terrene. But, how much has he seen of where he belongs?

Maybe, he'd like to find out more.

𓄋

“San?” Hongjoong calls him, anger laced in his voice. The gnome is small, yet his aura is big. Feeling nervous in front of the power has been washed down in his history, and the current San is simply impressed by that. But Jongho shrinks his large body next to him, and he clearly needs more practice. Well, maybe him standing on the table San is sitting at, actually makes him look taller so it helps. “What are on your wrists?”

San shrugs, pushing his hands out for display. “Bruises?”

“Of fucking course, I can see that. I’m asking why you have them.”

“Because last night Jongho-”

“Never mind, I don’t want to hear it.” Hongjoong’s snapping and Jongho’s loud coughing cuts San off short. How rude. He merely tried to explain what he was asked.

“I don’t need to know your...business, but I told you, do not hurt yourself.”

“Oh, it was a good pain though," San reassures. 

“Did I ask?” Hongjoong screeches, and San frowns at his voice. It's too early in the morning for this, also because he didn't get much sleep last night. “You know your body is part of the show. You should be responsible.”

San glances down and rubs the red mark on his wrist. Jongho’s hand prints. He knows Jongho feels bad for holding him too intensely last night, as he did apologise this morning, but San feels like it’s a part of the package that comes with loving him, as well as Jongho loving him, and if he were to be honest, he feels almost proud. But he also knows where Hongjoong is coming from, he indeed promised him he’d look after his body.

“It’s okay, they won’t see,” San tries sheepishly.

“They will!” Hongjoong roars. “What are you going to-”

This time, Hongjoong is cut off with Seonghwa pressing his finger on Hongjoong’s lips. Hongjoong looks up at the human with a surprised and confused face. Seonghwa steps away briefly and goes to the back of the tent to retrieve something from his drawer, and comes back with two sashes weaved in complex design, like the usual one he hangs around his neck. They are hand weaved by Soenghwa himself, and it’s neat just like the man he is. San had asked about it once, and the only thing he knows about is that it’s his traditional wear.

Seonghwa wraps it around San’s wrists, hiding the bruises completely. Instead of a painful looking red mark, he’s wrists are now decorated with beautifully woven fabric.

Seonghwa presents San to Hongjoong. “Do not be that person who gets in the way of two souls in love,” he scolds..

Hongjoong purses his lips and crosses his arms. “There won’t be a next time,” he warns as he steps outside of the tent as if he’s done with this atmosphere.

“I promise,” Jongho assures hurriedly.

“Thank you Seonghwa,” San says, and Seonghwa replies with a soft smile. 

Jongho mumbles a sorry to San as he clings to his arm like usual. San thinks he should stop saying that, but he also finds the timid and red-faced Jongho adorable, so he doesn’t say much.

San prompts a morning walk to the beach with Jongho’s hand in his. They walk along the foam of waves caressing the shore when suddenly San feels himself pulled back. Jongho has stopped on the spot, facing downwards, his hand still locked with San. San quickly gets by his side.

“Jongho?”

“San...I-” His words trail off, and all that remains is the soft sound of waves.

This quiet big man was humble with his words too but never the one to hesitate. It was either he’d talk or shut his mouth completely and not in between.

“If you’re going to say sorry about my bruises, then I’m stuffed with that.”

“No.” Jongho huffs a laugh. “I’m kind of proud about that now.”

Oh? San smirks. He certainly wasn’t expecting this confidence out of him, and he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t.

“I, um,” Jongho tries again. “Will you mind taking a few days off for me?”

San blinks. “From the show?” Jongho nods. “Why?”

Jongho’s prominent Adam's apple bobs up and down, visibly gulping before he says the next word.

“I’m ready to pay a visit at the grave,” he says, looking straight into San’s eyes. “And I want you to come with me.”

The grave. The word recalls a memory in San; Jongho’s blank side profile staring at the graveyard for the war dead, amidst the orange dust blowing around him. When he decided he didn’t have time for that. San didn’t know the meaning back then, but now he does.

“Of course.” San places another hand on top of Jongho’s huge hand, as if to cover it, as if to protect him, as if to reassure his presence. “I’d love to.”

𓆗

Wooyoung has learnt that the sea breeze he so dreamt of, is unpleasantly sticky than he had expected. He’s also learnt that the seaside town is quite warm, adding to the fact that summer is approaching its peak and he’s sweating, wearing a top while washing the Cyclops didn’t really sound practical.

“It’s hot!” he yells and throws his sweat soaked shirt away.

“Damn right it is,” San, who wasn’t wearing a top from the start, agrees. 

San stopped making a purposeful encouraging wink whenever Wooyoung decides to expose his skin, but he still thins out his eyes and wears a soft face, probably unconsciously. It tickles Wooyoung’s heart, and it reassures him endlessly.

“My my, Big Buddy, what made you this dirty?” San shakes his head staring down at the muddy brown bathing water which was transparent just a while ago.

“I w-was exercising with Jongho,” Big Buddy answers shyly.

“Oh dear, Jongho must be as dirty as you if not more.” San rolls his eyes, his hand working a brush on the Cyclops’ body.

Wooyoung chuckles and tells San. “I’ll go get suds from Downy.”

Hearing San’s "thank you" on his back, he picks an empty bucket and heads where he’d find the detergent monster. He finds him on Mingi’s back, poor Centaurus looking exhausted running back and forth the same compound. He must have lost a bet again, whatever bet it was. 

“You guys think my body fluid is free of use don’t you?” Downy grumbles. He seems annoyed at Wooyoung pulling him out of his fun ride, Mingi thankful on the other hand.

Downy is a liquified being, the colour—looks like sewage if Wooyoung were to be entirely honest, but he is like the absolute clean freak in this camp after Seonghwa, producing detergent fluid from his mouth. The world is full of mysteries, it seems.

“San asked for it, don’t be so petty.”

Downy glares at him—at least Wooyoung thinks he does with what he considers his eyes, those pebble looking objects—but still decides to puke in the bucket. 

“So how’s it going?” Mingi, still slightly out of breath, asks him.

“The washing? It’s quite a job today but it’s a fun activity for me. I like talking to Big Buddy too.”

“No, that’s good for you...but I mean San.” Mingi wipes away the sweat trailing down his chin with the back of his hand. “Are you over the phase?”

Oh, that. He remembers that incident at the river, but the memory seems too far away. He looks ahead, away from Mingi, and sees Yeosang playing, or being played with Twisty in the distance. The small girl looks like she’s having fun, while Yeosang looks like he’s drained out of energy. Maybe he should leave before Yeosang spots him and drags him in that workout.

“You know, thinking back, I don’t think I was ever in that phase,” Wooyoung says.

“Oh?”

“I think what I had for him was strong admiration. Because he had something I desperately wanted, but didn’t have.” That day he met the ever glowing pink, he witnessed the ideal, flawless beauty. He was speechless to have met someone who had everything he craved for. There was a burning desire and maybe a little bit of woven jealousy. “But then I realised...”

Wooyoung stops there, watching Twisty throw an apple at Yeosang, which he turns into stone in the air. The stoned apple drops quicker to the ground with a thud, with an addition to the law of nature and somehow, Twisty finds it amusing, her giggle echoing through the air. 

“Hm?” Mingi hums encouragingly.

"We're all different here," Wooyoung says, observing the creatures that roam around in the camp. A hundred eyed man with bad eyesight, a one and a half pair with high beauty standards, a Cyclops with one arm, a Gorgon who's scared of snakes. There obviously is more—things he can’t see, things he doesn’t know, so many layers of stories that they all carry.

"And I realised…," He trails off, a smile creeping up to his lips unconsciously. "That's quite the beauty of all."

The boy blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

His heart starts to beat louder every second that passes, resembling the sound of a drum in the marching band he had heard a while ago. The darkness is swallowing, but it doesn’t scare him anymore. He doesn’t need his mother’s hand to feel he's fine. The sweat in his palms isn’t caused by fear but by utter anticipation. 

“You’re kind of obsessed,” his mother had laughed, when the boy asked for a collection of creature articles by one famous journalist for his birthday present. After that electric night at the circus, he wondered why he didn’t have a creature as a classmate. He wondered why his friends scowled when he mentioned them. He wanted to know. He wanted to talk. He knows he’s lucky to have parents who are willing to listen, share and encourage his interests. But those things shouldn’t be lucky. They should be normal.

It’s not his mind telling him to stand up, walk up front, lean on the bar, but it’s his body. Maybe he does hear his mother call his name, but all he could hear is the beats in his ears. With his prior memory, he reaches to the bar, the height of it a little lower than the last time. He leans forward as far as he can.

“San!” He chants, because he knows what’s coming, and he knows his name.

The pink glow alight and trinkle sound respond.