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The afternoon air is sweltering in his skin. Damp, collecting moisture underneath the thin tunic that loosely hangs on his frame. The glorious gift of Hera, they call the man on top of the stallion as stern and strong as he is. The crowd circles the open yard, right in front of Zeus’s altar.
Nemea, with its infamous cool summers and harsh winters, has been left barren and scorching. Taehyung doesn’t mind the warmth, especially since the sun is often shy, peeking around the silver linings of the thick clouds on some days where fortune is a blessing given by lady luck. But the heat has been a permanent, lingering warning to the Nemeans that it shall never know peace so long as the lion taunts the place of worship.
He holds the quill in his steady left hand, the wind picking up velocity as the beast is slain on the long steps. This would’ve been easy, would’ve been a natural thing to do as easy as breathing, if it wasn’t for the constant push and pull of the people surrounding him. The scroll is wrinkled and torn, unfit for the ink he fought hard to secure each day to permeate. He grits his teeth, attempting to push and shove the person next to him for a space that allows movement, but the mass is a pulsing organ that sways and moves in unity. A tide he can’t fight against, lest he wants to be swept under.
Being a record keeper is not an ideal calling, they say. Taehyung has heard the whispers and the blatant criticism in his face. Of disappointments and calls of disdains as he continues his duties to the Archive. He thinks it’s a dice thrown unfairly, for the world to look down on people like him yet they fight tooth and nail for the Oracle to grace them with premonitions from a crystal ball. The past and future are two sides of the same coin, so what makes him all that different from the priestess? Apollo has favorites among the people he blesses too, it seems.
The record keeper sticks close to the Oracle of each city, citing down the nonsense and mystical prophecies they have to say in hopes that a hero would fulfill them in this lifetime. Taehyung is lucky—beyond lucky—to witness a feat and completion of one in his, right before his eyes.
Hoseok said there would be a hero born from grace and grime that would have a quest of his own, away from mortal affairs, as the twelve labors are personally tasked by the god that gifted him in the first place.
“Don’t look at him. Don’t try to talk to him. Don’t even concern yourself with him. No one knows what goes on with the immortals and their offspring. We’re just here to record history.”
His palms are damp with sweat. The scroll and quill are forgotten and lost in the sea of people as he makes his way to the front line. Away from the barely contained curiosity and skeptical judgments, the murmurs Taehyung would rather not hear with his own ears. Not when the hero is in front of him looking as pale as snow, and white robe stained with blood. He doesn’t want to know whose it is from, but his arms are automatically outstretched to balance the hero after he sways too dangerously to the left. Never in his entire life has he ever carried a weight heavier than himself. And it is with great embarrassment that Taehyung’s foot slips from the ground in his attempt to save the hero.
The force of the fall never came, though. He braced himself for the impact it’ll have on his already fragile body (and pride), yet instead of solid ground, he feels strong arms (much stronger than his) steadying him.
“Easy there.”
The voice is surprisingly light, smooth and sweet as honey. Warm to his ears like the first signs of a good day when the sun is kind and gentle to the people. It has a certain kind of air in it, different from the nobles he has spoken to in the past and the ones that sit high above the ground. A sound he wouldn’t mind lending an ear to for the days to come.
He has heard stories passed from ear to ear, words traveling across cities and seas of the great Hercules. Of his strength and charm that could melt the hearts of men and women. They say that his ego is as strong as his hands and rivals that of his father, the great ruler of the skies. Solid hands that know where to strike and the deadliest spot to aim. The one that bows and arrows bow down to. He knows of the great deeds he has done, has seen it in the records and yet the hero looks almost… gentle.
Taehyung shakes himself from the thoughts running around in his head. A small smile settles on his face and strings of gratitude on his lips. “Thank you.” He tilts his head down out of respect. The people are inching closer and closer, craving to touch someone untouchable. He notices that the hero’s feet are injured, a nasty gash from his toe to his ankles. “You’re hurt.”
The hand on his elbow squeezes him once, twice, as if confirming his suspicions that he’s weak from the wound. The heat isn’t as suffocating now that the curse is lifted. And soon, the hero would have to withstand the pain and the cold. If it were anybody else, Taehyung would’ve slipped back to the crowd with the scene fresh in his memory for him to write down back home.
But this one is strong and brave and vulnerable. He doesn’t utter another word, jaw clenching and unclenching, sweat rolls from his hairline down to his neck. His bow is nestled under his other arm. A careless slip would make a pointy death. Everyone’s itching for a touch and Taehyung has his fingers firmly circled around his own elbow like an anchor.
Taehyung searches for his eyes until his gaze is returned. He speaks all the languages in his tongue and yet the one in the man’s—half-god more specifically—eyes intrigues him the most. Fascinating. His eyes are clear and dark brown, a gateway to his soul that Taehyung can see with clarity. He must be in so much pain right now.
His other hand still holds on to his horse. He takes one step forward and his horse follows suit. Taehyung pries his fingers off of him and holds them carefully. “I can help you,” he offers. All the time spent avoiding swords and arrows has finally paid off, it seems. Hercules fakes a smile in front of the audience, bowing down to accept the praises that shower him. A squeeze. Taehyung’s eyebrows scrunches in concern, the words already spilling out of him before he has any chance to stop. “You can take your big horse along,” he mutters quietly enough so people wouldn’t hear. “I’ll clean him too.”
-
If standing next to him evoked a sense of awe, then helping to clean him is an experience Taehyung would treasure for the rest of his life.
Contrary to popular belief, the hero is quiet. Different from the rumors that Taehyung guiltily indulges himself when days are long and the nights are quiet. It’s strange to see the air of confidence dissipate into thin air the moment they escape the crowd. Like all the glory has left and all’s left is gore and a young man with a burden too heavy to carry. The thought makes Taehyung’s heart hurt.
The water is tainted with red, and upon closer inspection, Taehyung finds that it’s a poisoned wound nasty enough to kill a mere mortal like him. Thankfully, Hoseok’s stash of herbs and concoctions is more than enough to handle this. His friend is nowhere to be found, most probably parading around town to look for information to trade. Which leaves him alone in his humble home away from the main city with only his hands moving to treat the wound as the bridge between him and the quiet, tired hero.
The clean-up process doesn’t take too long. In fact, Taehyung gasps when he sees the gash sealing itself after the poison has been extracted.
“What in Zeus name—”
“Oh, please don’t say his name.” The hero’s eyes are wide and frantic. He cups a hand on Taehyung’s mouth to stop him from talking. “Or my name. I’m going to die if they don’t give me a break.”
Taehyung nods slowly, very aware of how warm his hand feels against his skin. A pleasant difference from the cool air in the mountain. He tries to convey that he will absolutely, no questions asked, keep his mouth shut at all times through his eyes. But he never did learn to communicate without his words so he must’ve looked pathetic.
The wet cloth he’s holding drips down to the floor. He pulls his head away to escape the hero’s hand and hurries to clean the small puddle of water with his tunic. After he’s done, he sits on the bed as Hercules stands in front of him. Taehyung’s fingers itch to pick up a scroll and quill, not to note down what has happened, but to write something else entirely. A version of this encounter that he’ll keep to himself.
"You can sit if you want.” Taehyung gestures to the empty space beside him. He makes a mental note to look for chairs when he goes to the public market. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t think I even have the strength to push you if we’re being honest here.”
The hero laughs. “No, but you have other rather unconventional methods to take me down, I bet.” He points at Hoseok’s workstation with the bottles and vials of concoctions lined neatly. Taehyung smiles, thankful that they have similar humor.
He wants to talk some more. There are so many things he’s almost desperate to know and too scared to ask anyone else. He knows it’s tricky business to deal with the gods, but he wants to know what divinity feels like, even when he has no interest in it for himself. But first, he has to ask—
“If I can’t say your name, or your father’s name, or anyone else’s that lives above, then what do I call you?”
He looks pleasantly surprised at the question. Briefly, Taehyung sees a myriad of emotions flash across his eyes before it settles back to the gentle, almost soft, and weary state. He wonders if other heroes, other demigods are as vulnerable as this.
“You can call me… Jeongguk,” he says, the syllables rolling off his tongue carefully, just like how Hoseok used to teach him how to pronounce certain herbs and how careful repetition is the easiest way to remember things. People throw his other name without care, with no second thoughts because his identity is something to be admired from afar and not known from close.
“Jeongguk,” Taehyung repeats. The word tastes like autumn. Like the falling leaves that twist and glimmer in the air before it touches the ground.
Jeongguk gives him a grin so wide that Taehyung wonders how long it’s been since someone called him by his preferred name, given by his mother and a reminder of home when things outside have gotten too out of hand.
He learns that Jeongguk is quite different from Hercules, a persona and a legacy he can’t escape for the rest of his life. Afternoon conversations turn to night confessions in which Taehyung finds out what exactly drove the goddess Hera to punish him with twelve almost impossible deeds for forgiveness.
The goddess has always been filled with rage and ego as soon as Jeongguk was conceived, bending the wills of heaven and common sense to make his head susceptible to paranoia. And it worked. For years she fed his head with voices too loud for him to shut down, driving him to madness that rivals Dionysus on bad days. In a fit of mania, Jeongguk’s hands were tainted with scarlet, dripping down from his fingertips and on the floor of his childhood home.
“I have never been afraid, Taehyung. Fear isn’t something I know, it was a horrible feeling I learned that day. Along with grief.” He swirls the warm milk in his cup, watching the liquid sway in circles, almost never-ending. “Grief is a friend of mine I wish I could let go of.”
Taehyung offers him a weak smile. He sounds awfully human like this.
“I’m sorry,” he ends up saying, paired with a gentle pat to his shoulder. It turns into a hug.
After Taehyung sees the sky, he begins to extinguish the flames outside of the cottage—an agreement between Hoseok and him when the other isn’t home yet when it’s already as dark as this. It’s dangerous to live near the mountains, but peace and quiet are a fair trade after a long day. He prepares the bed for Jeongguk while the demigod cleans himself. In his head, he thinks it’s unfair to refer to him as a hero when everything that brings him glory is an added burden. He’s too young to be the main protagonist of a tragedy.
When Jeongguk returns, Taehyung is fighting sleep with mere determination. His right palm has trails of ink down to his wrist and his handwriting looks sloppy in this state, but the words have been incessantly tugging at his brain. There is nothing else to do but to pour it out.
“Shouldn’t you sleep, Taehyung?”
His fingers reach out to tuck Taehyung’s bangs that have fallen to his eyes behind his ear. The small flame from the candle flickers at the movement. It casts a warm light across Jeongguk’s face. Jeongguk paints a pretty, almost ethereal picture.
“I will after this. I just need to collect my thoughts for a bit.”
“Is this about me?” He asks, pointing at the neat paragraphs on the paper.
Taehyung has quickly hidden his personal scroll below this one. Writing for the Archive is a quick and easy task. It was as if his hands moved in autopilot as he recalls this afternoon’s events, omitting his personal encounter and the color of Jeongguk’s eyes while he writes about Hercules and the fall of the Nemean Lion.
He nods. “Who else would I have written about?”
It seems the answer pleased Jeongguk. The air between them has melted from solid tension between strangers to malleable liquid. He retreats to his side—Taehyung’s side—of the room and closes his eyes.
Taehyung quietly switches the scrolls again and writes—
He longs to live. He told me his name in confidence, with only the sun as our witness. His name is an oath I will immortalize.
When he leaves in the morning, he will bring a piece of me with him. I long to watch him live.
-
Daylight seeps through the cracks of the window and the opened door. Taehyung rubs his eyes at the gentle awakening from the winds and sees that Jeongguk is not there anymore. His bed is made and looks untouched.
He doesn’t understand the dull ache in his chest at the thought of waking up alone. Hoseok is still nowhere in sight, so Taehyung forces himself up to fetch some water from the river. Maybe after freshening up would he be lucid enough to use his head.
Was last night a dream? He remembers seeing Jeongguk sleeping peacefully on his bed before he blows the candle. He was there. All patched up and healed. Taehyung would have packed him some herbs and food for his journey to the last of his twelve labors. Would have hugged him and whispered, take care of yourself, even when Jeongguk is perfectly capable of doing so.
It makes him physically deflate at being left behind. He’s used to the quiet and being alone, but the space feels too big for him to occupy right now. It doesn’t escape his mind that he might be sullen and grumpy like a child, purposely making sounds to fill up the silence that feels too constricting.
If anyone were to see him with two empty buckets tucked in either side of his arms, Taehyung wouldn’t pay them any mind.
As he makes sure to close the windows and the door, the sound of a horse neighing takes him by surprise.
“Oh Zeus—”
“Taehyung, not his name!”
He drops the buckets to the ground, watching one of them roll away until it hits the barrels in front of the cottage. He averts his eyes to focus on the person before him. Jeongguk is here. With identical buckets in both of his hands filled to the brim with fresh water from the river. His hair is disoriented and wet, and frankly, resembles a seaweed.
“Jeongguk,” he breathes, blinking rapidly to rid himself of the initial shock. “You didn’t leave.”
“That would be rude. I’m not rude, just thirsty. And I brought some for you. If it’s not enough, I could go back to fill the other buckets—”
Taehyung cuts him off with an amused expression. “Jeongguk, you’re rambling.”
“Right, sorry.”
“I should be the one apologizing, I think. I said your father’s name in vain again.”
Jeongguk shrugs, “In all honesty, I don’t think he’s aware yet. If he does, he would’ve visited me in my dreams.” He walks past Taehyung to put down the buckets in front of the door. “I do have to leave soon.”
The flicker of hope that has arisen in his chest dies down, leaving a sour taste in his tongue. It was foolish of him to think that Jeongguk would have stayed for something more. He was born for greatness. You are just a record keeper, he reminds himself sternly.
Taehyung doesn’t let his disappointment show on his face. “Of course, of course.”
“Yes.” Jeongguk glanced at his horse and went back to Taehyung. “You’ve done so much for me and I can’t help but thank you.”
Taehyung laughs. It comes out strained, but hopefully, Jeongguk fails to notice. “As long as you had a good rest and a clear head, I am honored to help you, Jeongguk.”
This could’ve been a goodbye Taehyung wasn’t ready for, but Jeongguk’s eyes tell a different story. A pleading one. A question that’s there, but not quite there. So Taehyung makes it easier, a rational part of him says this is a selfish deed hidden behind a selfless act. But he doesn’t pay the voice any mind, not when the tips of Jeongguk’s ears burn red and his teeth sink in his bottom lip as if he’s trying to stop the question from coming out.
But his eyes tell. Much more than the words he says.
“I can take you to Atlas,” Taehyung finds his voice, after a moment of silence. He doesn’t like how clouds form in Jeongguk’s eyes when silence lingers for too long. “If you want to,” he adds hastily, not wanting to seem like he’s intruding. But you are and you’d do anything to have another second with him. You’re a greedy mortal. “It’s just that… It would be easier for me to write about you, yes.”
He’s lost count of the white lies he utters in the presence of the demigod, but he's thankful that his powers are brute strength and not detecting lies.
Jeongguk’s expression brightens, a barely contained joy across his face that translates into a smile. “It would be a pleasant surprise to have you as a company. Loneliness isn’t a friend I’d like to keep by my side on a road as long as this.”
I wonder how it feels to hold the sun.
The gods must envy him.
-
The journey is long and unforgiving. Taehyung left behind a long note containing his potential whereabouts when Hoseok returns from his travels, the reason behind his sudden disappearance and the appearance of Hercules—the catalyst for all his shenanigans as of late. In his note, he apologizes for breaking the fundamental rule record keepers need to adhere to: to never engage with the subject of your writing as to not cloud the words that will go down in history. He promises to be fair, confesses that this is equal parts his task and the path his heart has been looking for.
He misses Hoseok terribly. There has never been an instance that forces him to part ways with the elder for an extended period of time, and now he understands why distance makes people lose their sanity. He has always thought it was Dionysus tampering with their wine, but the longer he goes with Jeongguk, fingers locked in place around the strap and Jeongguk’s assuring presence pressed behind him, the sooner he realizes that the heart isn’t meant to separate from comfort.
And the more he finds out that comfort is easy to be replaced as long as the heart yearns. He misses Hoseok terribly. He feels safer with Jeongguk more than he ever had with anyone else.
His hands are itchy again, smoothing the strap and feeling Beth’s fur underneath his palm. The urge to write makes his hands shake sometimes, but the road to walk through is still unending. The northern age of the world is far, very very far from where they started.
Taehyung knows this. Have prepared and braced himself for the stretch of endurance it will take to reach Atlas and his garden. There’s a vial in his pocket, clinking every so often when Beth walks with nothing in mind. It’s a potion to battle sleep, so Taehyung could stay awake for days without the need to rest. He is about to unwrap the strings that hold his little potions into place when Jeongguk suggests they stop.
“It’s going to come down anytime soon. We should take shelter.”
Taehyung turns his head to look at him. It’s a weird angle that makes his muscles strain, but he’s done it one too many times in the last hour that Jeongguk stops fussing about it. “I can handle a little rain, Jeongguk. It’s fine—and the sun is warm right now. What makes you think a storm is coming?”
“The clouds are restless.” Jeongguk leans close, left hand on Taehyung’s side to steady them as he points up to the moving clouds. “My father is one for theatrics and… well history has established that, right? He loves surprises, and there’s nothing more surprising than heavy rain on a sunny afternoon.”
The skies are his domain, and in extension, an open book for Jeongguk to navigate through as well. “And I could feel it in my blood when he’s angry,” he adds.
“Ze—I mean, your father is angry?” Taehyung quickly corrects himself. He doesn’t know how to feel about death by lightning.
“As I said, he’s one for theatrics.” Jeongguk takes the strap from Taehyung with one hand. The other one was firmly placed on his side like an anchor. His body heat radiates warmth around Taehyung that doesn’t feel suffocating. If anything, it makes his traitorous heart beat faster in his chest. He desperately hopes Jeongguk couldn’t listen.
“But do you know what made him angry?”
Jeongguk nods behind him. Their bodies are pressed together so that whenever Jeongguk moves, Taehyung follows suit. Like water in the river that can only go along the current. “I’ve been ignoring him in my head.”
Just then, Beth almost trips on the uneven ground. Both of Taehyung’s hands automatically grip Jeongguk—one on his waist and the other on the strap. He hears Jeongguk curse softly, the wind taking his words far away until Taehyung forgets about the way his voice sounds even when the words are foul, and he’s painfully aware of Jeongguk holding him closer.
“It’s okay. You’re okay, Taehyung. I’ll keep you safe.”
“You better. I’m only twenty-five, Jeongguk. I don’t want to meet Hades yet!”
“You won’t,” Jeongguk reassures. He tucks his chin on Taehyung’s shoulder. It makes Taehyung warm inside and pliant in his hold. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”
The pitter-patter of the rain, the beginning of a light drizzle pulls him away from the funny feeling in his chest that he’s starting to form an addiction to.
“Well then talk to your father and get us out of the rain,” Taehyung says, trying to cover their heads from the rain with his flimsy bag.
Jeongguk chuckles. It’s a pleasant sound he wants to hear again.
-
If I could write you forever, if you asked me to give you forever, I would.
They ended up taking shelter underneath a big almond tree. The rain, for some reason, never touched Taehyung. It didn’t fall through the leaves of the tree nor did the wind ever bring the droplets to him. It was as if they repelled the water. As much as he wanted to ask Jeongguk about this, he opts to stay quiet. Afraid that the tree nymph would bite off his finger if he tries to shift Jeongguk’s attention to him.
Jeongguk takes his time to clean Beth’s hair, feeding him something from one of his pockets that the mane accepts with glee. Taehyung takes in the scene before him and feels lethargy seeping into his bones. He wonders if Jeongguk has ever slept longer than nine hours. Whether he has skipped breakfast before or lazed around in bed like Taehyung would when he’s feeling lazy.
But then he remembers that to people like Jeongguk, normalcy is a privilege. He dusts off the leaves on top of his bag and takes out the bread he packed for them. The rain is starting to slow down, and a glance at Jeongguk tells him that he’s talking to Zeus.
He’s beautiful. The kind of beauty Taehyung would build an altar for. Worship for days on end. The slope of his nose is soft. There are still stray droplets of water in his dark hair, cascading down like waterfalls. Taehyung thumbs at Jeongguk’s bow that he’s been tasked to keep safe.
For him, I would steal time.
Taehyung’s stomach grumbles again, signaling his lunchtime. He tries to smile at the nymph, a beautiful creature tied to the tree who is utterly fond of Hercules, but it comes out as a frightened grimace it seems. For the creature looks all too pleased at his expression and snarls at him when he attempts to walk to Jeongguk. To her, Jeongguk is Hercules, the young hero that would finish Hera’s twelve labors and receive a blessing that every hero would ever dream of: immortality.
He wonders if there’s a potion he could craft to mimic a gift such as that. Or perhaps an elixir that would lengthen his time on Earth.
In the distance, he catches Jeongguk’s eyes that have already settled on him. He smiles and offers him bread.
-
“Are you okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
They’re on the road again, the mountain where Atlas resides is right in front of their eyes. The smell of petrichor does little to calm him down, although it enhances Jeongguk’s sweet scent. Maybe it’s a demigod thing, to always smell good even when they’re covered in bruises.
Taehyung groans every time Jeongguk asks if he’s okay. And it’s been thirteen times (and counting) since the tree nymph incident. He shivers thinking about what happened, his fingers moving like muscle memory to trace the scar across Jeongguk’s knuckles.
“She almost skinned me alive and when she couldn’t do it, she tried to kill you.”
“I think killing is an overstate—”
Taehyung’s anger is slow to rise, but his annoyance is as easy as counting numbers. “Jeongguk she said, 'either you stay or your corpse stays,'” he repeats in a bad impression of the nymph. “I’ve never seen such aggression from nymphs. Or any other creatures of nature, but they’re all on edge when it comes to you. It’s like… they want to own you.”
Jeongguk turns his palm upwards, lacing their hands together. This feels much more than a simple camaraderie.
“Will it be difficult? For you to stay with someone like me until time separates us?”
No matter how strong he is, in Taehyung’s hands, he is made of glass.
Taehyung rests his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “Don’t say such foolish words.”
You should understand by now how much you mean to me.
They ride in silence the rest of the way, with Jeongguk navigating Beth and keeping him safe in his arms.
Taehyung doesn’t fall asleep. He just shifts closer to Jeongguk to feel him. To convince himself that this is real and Jeongguk is here. A few times Taehyung tries to offer him water, but Jeongguk refuses, claiming that he’s quenched enough until the journey ends. (Taehyung has a feeling he’ll just feel sick if he has to drink, but he keeps quiet.)
When they reach the foot of the mountain, the air shifts into a cold atmosphere that has Taehyung wrapping his arms around himself. He’s no longer leaning on Jeongguk, afraid that he would make them fall or add unnecessary stress to Jeongguk’s body.
“We’re almost here, my sweet.” Jeongguk repositions himself to hold Taehyung close. He sighs in response, moving his hand up and down Jeongguk’s arm to try to transfer heat as well, but the man chuckles and tells him to keep still.
His cheeks are warm from the affection. Jeongguk has shown him a glimpse of his life and in turn, Taehyung lets him into his. In ways that others would never think about. Because Hercules is just a young man who craves for normal life and Taehyung makes him feel normal. Treats him just like his mother did and calls him by the name his mother gave him. Taehyung asks Jeongguk to stop thanking him because this isn’t a favor. Loving Jeongguk isn’t a favor.
There are rumbles that shake the ground periodically. The wind is harsh, piercing through his skin and raising goosebumps in his entire body. In the span of time Taehyung has spent beside Jeongguk and Beth, he finds out that Beth is just as courageous as her friend. She braves through the rocky path even when Jeongguk tells her to take it slow.
The golden apples Hera tasked him to retrieve are on their right, guarded by Hesperides, nymphs who were the daughter of Atlas. Taehyung once again freezes in his seat, ice-cold fear washing over him and petrifying his mortal body. But Jeongguk patiently waits for Taehyung to find his voice again. To advise him on what to do and who to avoid to minimize casualty.
He has only the knowledge from the Archive and intuition by his side. The nymphs are beautiful as they are dreadful, shimmering in the distance and creating ripples in the air that lures. One step too close and their nails will tear your heart (he knows by experience).
Taehyung clears his throat. “The loud rumbles—they come from Atlas. If the Archive is right, then the wisest option would be not to engage with his daughters.”
“Vicious creatures, they are.”
Taehyung tries to laugh, but it comes out dry, and he coughs. “I have an idea, but it might be too dangerous—”
“Nothing is too dangerous for me. I was born to withstand the greatest obstacles.”
“I wish I was strong enough to help you,” Taehyung admits, not at all ashamed at his admittance. Rather, he’s ashamed at his inability to fight when it’s needed.
Jeongguk’s thumb rubs circles on his wrist. Soothing, gentle, soft; not at all the hard-headed hero that people would kill to conquer. “You’re everything I need. Having you here is enough for me. You are enough.”
-
Atlas is a living misery. The son of a great Titan forever condemned to hold the world and heaven on his shoulders. The weight, as described in the records, is a massive burden that would kill a human in an instant. He is eternally chained to his post here, at the northern edge of the world, behind Mount Caucasus where he will never see the light of day.
And if he does, then the world will crumble apart from the weight of the heavens.
Taehyung’s fingers tremble. And where he lacks courage, Jeongguk makes up for it in abundance. He waits a few steps before he follows behind Jeongguk. Unable to tear his eyes away from the golden liquid that drips down the ground he walks in from Atlas’s shoulder. Ichor, the blood of the gods, flows down like a never-ending fountain. They say one drop could heal the nastiest wounds.
Would Jeongguk’s burning red blood turn to brilliant gold after all this is over?
The thought soon overwhelms him, and he’s too stunned to stop Jeongguk from agreeing to the proposition Atlas offered. The golden apple that they seek is a gift from Zeus to Hera. It’s an irony, really, for Jeongguk to steal something that belongs to his father. Taehyung learns not to question the gods loudly, but he agrees that they are the biggest fools at times.
Now, there is no way for Jeongguk to take the apple without engaging in a fight, and Taehyung is adamant to stop him. Thinking of ways, almost impossible ones, to trick Atlas into summoning his daughters and then, Taehyung would sneak away to pluck the forbidden fruit.
But Taehyung heard Atlas loud and clear:
“What if we make a deal, Hercules son of Zeus? What if I visit my daughters and take the golden apple you seek for? I do not ask for anything else in return, except that you lend me your shoulders to carry this as I retrieve the thing you need to complete your labors?”
Jeongguk ponders for a moment, glancing back to Taehyung before making a decision. “Deal.”
If there is one thing that Taehyung hates the most, it is the sound of someone suffering in pain. As soon as the weight is lifted, Atlas eases Jeongguk into the temporary role of holding the heavens. The roar that escapes Jeongguk is maddening, almost vicious to his ears as thunder bellows and lightning strikes where Atlas left Jeongguk behind and never looked back.
The titan walks with air in his step, looking too relieved at the short moment of reprieve. But Taehyung’s heart is pounding, blood rushing to his ears as his brain racks up any other alternative in case Atlas never returns. What if he never returns? What can Taehyung do but be a witness to the unfortunate catastrophe?
There are unshed tears in Taehyung’s eyes, his knees buckling under Jeongguk’s painful gaze, pleading for him to stay rooted. Stay in his place. But he uses all the strength he could manage along with the fear that shackles his very bones.
“Jeongguk,” he croaks out when he is close enough. “Jeongguk, what have you done?”
Jeongguk grits his teeth, his veins visible in areas where his muscles strain to hold the weight. Taehyung is nothing but human, made of flesh and bones, made to break. He may not be gifted in the art of war, but his ambitions are more than enough.
His hands find their way to cup Jeongguk’s face. It pleases him that they fit together like honey and nectar. Jeongguk’s eyes are troubled waters, torn between pushing Taehyung aside or pulling him closer. Taehyung makes the decision for him.
“I think,” Taehyung whispers, “I’ve grown quite fond of you, my hero.”
He presses his lips to Jeongguk’s forehead. Maybe when they meet again in the afterlife, he’ll tell Jeongguk that he loves him. Slowly, he squeezes his way next to Jeongguk and shares the burden.
-
Humans are not made to last. They are born to grow and leave traces of themselves in the world before disappearing completely. Taehyung learns this early in his life, back when he was still fascinated by words, and wears them like armor. He knows that he would never have the drive to fight, or guard, or prophecy. He just wants to surround himself with as much knowledge as he can because they cannot hurt him.
Taehyung finds life interesting. Maybe even more so that he has met Jeongguk. He thinks highly of his role as a recordkeeper, thinks it lacks the grandiose oracles have, but he likes thinking that a portion of history is a contribution from his own writing.
The pain in his shoulder returns at night. Sometimes, he has to stop writing just to free himself of the sharp sting in both of his shoulders. It pains him to do so, but seeing the love of his life every day is worth the misery.
“Taehyung, stop! This is not your burden to bear!”
When he came to, he was back in Jeongguk’s arms, leaning his entire body weight behind. Jeongguk clutched his frame firmly, his breaths were sharp and long but soon after, it turned even and he rubbed Taehyung’s arm to keep him warm.
“I never asked you this,” he says, knowing well that Jeongguk is awake on his bed. Hoseok knows about them, tended to Taehyung’s wounds from carrying the world, and is now traveling again. “But what happened after you gave her the apple?”
Taehyung has also learned to stop mentioning their names. It is enough for them to exist in scrolls and memories.
Jeongguk shrugs, “She said thank you.”
“That’s it?” Taehyung asks in disbelief. He stands from the chair and sits on the bed. “But I thought—I thought they would bless you with immortality. Make you one of them.”
Jeongguk wraps his arm around Taehyung’s middle, just like he did the entire journey back then. “They did,” he admits. His lips touched Taehyung’s knuckles every time he talked. “It was an easy choice for me, immortality or healing you. I chose you.”
Taehyung was looking at him. His hair is messier now that it’s longer than before. Jeongguk asked if Taehyung would like to fix it for him, but Taehyung insists that his hair doesn’t need fixing. He combs Jeongguk’s hair back, the action comforting him and Jeongguk too. He’s never good at feelings, so he resorts to actions.
He touches the spot just behind Jeongguk’s ear, rubs the soft skin in patterns that he knows would make Jeongguk melt.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. The love he has for Jeongguk has grown ten folds since then. “I would choose you too. Again and again.”
“You would?” Jeongguk’s eyes are bright, and wide, and gentle. His hands linger on Jeongguk's skin just to feel the warmth. The sun is lovely on him.
“Of course, I would. You’re my everything.”
These days your gentle caress feeds my love. My heart is greedy, forgive me.
“I’d fight a war for you too.”
There’s nothing sweeter than the taste of cherry from your lips.
Taehyung laughs. He leans down and presses a kiss on Jeongguk’s lips. He doesn’t tell Jeongguk of the things he has written about him. There’s always another time.
When my soul departs, I would plead to the gods to bring me back to you.