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Yoon stared down at the almost empty bottle of soju, trying to get his eyes to focus. He’d learned to hold his alcohol well over the past months but he knew he’d overdone it this time. The room around him seemed to spin every time he shifted even slightly and he couldn’t quite seem to fully focus on anything. He wasn’t sure he’d ever gotten this drunk before, not even as a shot of soju- and then two, then three- had become a part of his nightly routine. Usually all he needed was a little to calm his nerves and silence his mind enough to fall asleep. It wasn’t a good habit to develop, he knew that, but it worked. Usually. Tonight, though, not even two bottles seemed to be enough.
He sighed, resting his head in his hands. He remembered the first time he’d watched Father Yang pour whiskey into his tea. Yoon had been shocked. He knew exorcists carried their vices to cope, but Father Yang had always seemed so steady, the same steadfast pillar Yoon had moored himself to as a teenager and later young adult. It had been unsettling to see that Father Yang had needed his vices just like everyone else. Like watching an immovable object shift under pressure. Yoon laughed bitterly into his hands. If only he’d known.
He groaned as the noise in his head grew louder. He could still hear them, the damned, screaming and cursing and taunting him, the blur of alcohol managing to dampen it somewhat but not nearly enough. He honestly didn’t know if they were actually there or if it was all in his head; Park Il-do had been banished but his minions remained in the world. Maybe they were punishing him for his role in banishing their master. Or maybe it was just his own mind, cracked and damaged after everything he’d seen. He wasn’t sure how to tell the difference anymore, and he wasn’t sure he particularly cared to.
He grabbed the bottle, downing the remaining dregs in a desperate attempt to drown out the screaming and laughing and knowing full well it wouldn’t help any more than the rest of the bottle had. This was a dangerous road. If he kept going down it he knew it would be difficult for him to make his way back. No one talked about it openly but there had always been whispers about the priests who hadn’t been able to shoulder the burden of facing evil. The ones who grew to rely on their vices too much until they lost themselves in them. Yoon had always promised himself that he wouldn’t be one of them. That he would shoulder whatever he had to and keep moving. But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe he was weaker than he’d thought.
His gaze drifted to the knife on the table that he’d spent the past hour trying to ignore. After all, he’d always leaned a bit too heavily on his vices.
Yoon could feel the itch in his skin grow. He’d grabbed the knife from the kitchen drawer when he’d gotten most of the way through the first bottle, already stumbling but voices barely dimmed. He’d hated himself for it even as he’d stumbled back to the table and had kept drinking with the desperate hope that maybe it would work, but he’d known it wasn’t likely. That was when the itch had started. It had been subtle at first, barely noticeable. But it had grown stronger as he’d continued to drink, the amount of soju in the bottle dwindling with little effect. It stopped being easy enough to ignore, burrowing into his skin with insistence and a deceptively simple request. Just let it out. Release it. He knew how. He knew what would work. A brief flash of pain, a gasp and a little blood, that was it. The itch would be gone. And if the pain was enough to banish the itch, maybe it would silence the voices too.
He stared at the knife, unable to look away now that his gaze had found it. Was it really that bad? Just once, that was all. Just tonight, to quiet the voices enough that he could sleep. Was it really that terrible of an idea?
Except it wouldn’t just be once, it wouldn’t just be tonight. Because eventually alcohol would stop working and he’d need something else. He’d need something that worked, and pain worked. It worked so terribly well, and Yoon knew he would just be trading one vice for another even more insidious one. He’d already been down that road and had barely made it back- he knew he didn’t have the strength to go down it again.
But still.
It was tempting.
It was tempting to scratch the itch that had never really gone away, not even over the past three years. Let himself finally give in because he was tired and all he wanted was to rest, really rest, even if it cost him. And it would. It would cost him something he wasn’t sure he could afford to pay but, as the itch continued to grow and the voices continued to scream, maybe he was willing to pay it anyways.
Yoon staggered to his feet, shoving the table aside as he did so. The empty bottle clattered on the ground as it fell but he didn’t care. He just needed to get out, get away, get somewhere anywhere that wasn’t here. He didn’t even bother grabbing a coat as he stumbled out the door- the cold would help. It was a good distraction, a numbing burn on his skin that could maybe drown out the incessant itching. It didn’t matter where he went. He didn’t even know where he could go in his current state; he was far too drunk to be let into a restaurant or cafe, if there were still even any open at this hour. It didn’t matter though. He managed to make it down the stairs without falling and set off down an alley with no destination in mind- he didn’t need to go somewhere, he just needed to go .
He wandered through alleys and side streets without much thought, trying to focus instead on the numbing cold that seeped into his limbs. Focus on that, not the itching, not the noise in his head. Everything around him was blurry anyways, shifting and spinning with each step. No point in trying to pay attention to it when doing so just made him feel nauseous and disoriented. Just keep walking. Keep moving.
It wasn't until he found himself staring at a familiar door that he realized where he was. Had he walked all the way to Hwa-pyung's apartment? It wasn't exactly a short distance- just how long had he been walking for? He groaned and leaned his head door with a quiet thump. It didn't matter. It was the middle of the night- on his doorstep or no, he couldn't justify knocking on the door. Part of him wanted to anyway. His hands were numb with cold but he could still feel itch burrowing in his skin, could still feel the temptation to scratch it in the only way he knew how. His fingers would be uncoordinated but he could still grip a knife easily enough. Everything felt so loose and adrift around him and he needed something to moor himself to that wasn't pain or another bottle of soju. Maybe Hwa-pyung could be that, just for long enough for morning to come and the itch and screaming in his head to subside to something more manageable. Yoon couldn't ask that of him though. And he definitely couldn't ask that of him in the middle of the night while wasted.
He nearly toppled over as the door opened, barely grabbing onto the doorframe in time. Even still, he pitched dangerously far forward. Hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him and helping him straighten up slowly. "Yoon? It's the middle of the night, what's going on? Are you okay?"
Yoon frowned and tried to focus on Hwa-pyung's face with varying success. He could vaguely make out an expression somewhere between surprise, confusion, and concern. "S'rry, didn't mean t' wake you."
His voice was slurred and Hwa-pyung stared at him. "Wait, are you…are you drunk?"
Yoon looked away. Even through the drunken haze he could feel his embarrassment rising. "'m fine, I just…I was just leaving. 'm fine."
He started to turn away- why had he even come here in the first place, this was stupid- but Hwa-pyung's grip on his shoulders tightened, holding him in place. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"
"Home." Yoon tried to pull away again without success. "I sh'dn't've come, sorry."
"Yoon." Hwa-pyung's voice was quiet but firm. "Come on. It's two in the morning, you're obviously wasted, and, from the looks of it, you walked here. Without a coat, I might add." He sighed. "There's no way I'm letting you walk all the way back to your apartment like this. Come inside and have some water. I can call you a cab once I'm convinced you haven't given yourself hypothermia."
Yoon wanted to say no, pull away and insist he was fine, but Hwa-pyung was already guiding him inside. The world spun as Hwa-pyung sat him down on the couch and Yoon leaned forward with a muffled groan, the disorientation coming with a wave of nausea. He heard glass clinking and the sound of a sink running, and a moment later the couch dipped down behind him and a glass was placed carefully in his hands. "Let me know if you think you're going to throw up. In the meantime, try and have a little water." Hwa-pyung shifted beside him and Yoon felt the weight of a blanket being wrapped around his shoulders. "I knew you drank sometimes, but I didn't think I'd ever see you in this state."
"Sorry." That seemed to be the only word Yoon could come up with right now and he frowned down at the water. "I'm fine."
Hwa-pyung sighed again and Yoon could almost picture his unimpressed expression without even looking. "Yeah you keep saying that, but somehow I don't quite believe you."
Yoon drank the water slowly. He was almost unbearably thirsty now that it had been brought to his attention but he was still with it enough to know that he shouldn't drink too quickly. Small sips, be careful not to spill it. He'd already made a mess of things by showing up here like this, he didn't need to make it any worse. It gave him something new to focus on too, which was nice. Warmth was creeping back into his limbs and the newly intense itch along with it. It almost felt like it was mocking him- he could walk and freeze himself and try to ignore it all he wanted, but it wouldn't do anything. It wouldn't make it go away.
"Are you starting to warm up a little?" Yoon nodded and felt Hwa-pyung's hand rest on his back. "What on earth happened? I know I joke about you needing to loosen up, but this isn't quite what I meant."
"I just…I just wanted to sleep."
"So you took a mid-winter walk in the middle of the night, without your coat? That doesn't exactly seem like an intuitive way to get some sleep."
"No, I…" Yoon set the glass on the table in front of the couch, Hwa-pyung's hands coming up to steady him as he swayed. "I drank. It works, usually. Makes things quieter. But it wouldn't…it didn't work tonight and I just- I want it to stop." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head. "I want it to stop."
“Want what to stop? What’s wrong?” Yoon shook his head and Hwa-pyung sighed. “I want to help, but I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”
There was so much concern in Hwa-pyung’s voice, such clear worry, and Yoon hated it. The voices became more mocking, taunting him and blaming him for seeking undeserved sympathy. Because he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to make Hwa-pyung worried over his own weakness and failings. The itching grew, surging into a burning feeling, and Yoon wanted to tear at his skin, let himself bleed and let the pain overtake everything else. Because it would work. Because he did deserve that.
Yoon curled inwards and tried to cover his ears as the laughter in his head seemed to echo around him. Hwa-pyung's hands came back up to rest on his arm and back. "Talk to me, please. Tell me what's wrong."
"I can still hear them." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. They pushed their way out and there didn't seem to be a thing Yoon could do to stop it even as he tried. "I…the spirits Park Il-do commanded, I-I can still hear them at night. I don't…alcohol helps but it didn't…I can still hear them, I can't make them go away tonight."
Hwa-pyung was quiet for a moment. “Has…has this been happening ever since we banished Park Il-do?” Yoon nodded. "Why didn't you say something earlier? I could have tried to help."
"I-I know how I can make them stop, but I don't…" Yoon shut his eyes, taking a shaky breath. The laughter grew even more taunting as he gripped at the sleeves of his sweater tightly. "I don't want to do that. I promised myself I would never do that again."
"Yoon? Yoon, look at me." Hwa-pyung tilted Yoon's face gently until they were looking at each other, and Yoon could see the open concern in his expression. "What are you talking about? What are you worried you're going to do?"
Yoon looked back down, anything to avoid meeting Hwa-pyung's eyes. The burning itch- the desire to tear himself open, to do something anything to make it go away, make it stop- was worse than it had been in years, invisible taunts and too much alcohol building it up until it was almost unbearable. "I…" He won't help. He'll look at you with disappointment and disgust just like everyone else. He'll see how weak you are, how broken. He couldn't tell how much of it was the voices mocking him and how much was just his own thoughts, or if there really was any difference. He knew he couldn't do this though. He couldn't make it stop without breaking the promise he'd made to himself three years ago. He looked down at his arms and pushed his sleeves back slowly, vision blurry from both alcohol and the tears he could feel welling up. That made it easier, really- it was easier to look at his arms if he couldn't see the scars quite so clearly. "I-it helped. Made things easier and numb. But I don't…I don't want to again. I promised myself I wouldn't. But I don't know how else to make it stop."
He took a shuddering breath, a few of the tears spilling over as he stared down. He remembered the look on Father Yang's face the time Yoon had rolled his sleeves up without thinking. The way Father Yang had stared at his arms, at the fresh cuts littered among older scars, with such obvious disappointment. They were all scars now but he still felt the same shame as when he'd hurriedly pulled his sleeves back down then, barely able to meet Father Yang’s eyes for a week. How long would it take him to meet Hwa-pyung's? Would he stare at Yoon with the same disappointment? “I-I didn’t want you to judge me.” The words were barely above a whisper and Yoon could feel his shoulders starting to shake. “Please don’t judge me.”
He wasn’t expecting the feeling of arms wrapping around him but he leaned into the touch immediately without thinking. The world didn't seem to spin so much with someone holding him steady and the noise in his head and burning in his skin felt a little more distant. Hwa-pyung brought a hand up to the side of his head. "It's alright, Yoon." He pulled Yoon in close. "I'd never judge you for this, not ever. It's okay."
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was how tired he was. Or maybe it was simply how soft Hwa-pyung's voice was, filled with gentle worry rather than disdain. Yoon didn't know, but he felt the brittle crack in his chest all the same. His shoulders were shaking harder now and he knew he should be embarrassed for crying but it felt right , like letting go of a weight he'd never even realized he could drop. He’d carried it for so long- the weight grew heavier with the voices of the damned taunting him, but it had been there long before that- that he’d almost forgotten it wasn’t part of him. It was something separate. Something he didn’t have to carry forever, or at least maybe didn’t have to carry alone.
Hwa-pyung ran a hand through his hair, the feeling doing more to drown out the noise than alcohol had ever managed. "It's okay, I've got you. I'm here." He waited until Yoon's breathing had evened out somewhat before leaning back against the couch and shifting so that Yoon's head was resting on his chest. "When I was little, sometimes the spirits I saw or heard would frighten me. My mom would always do this to help me calm down." He ran his hand through Yoon's hair again, other arm still holding him close. "Just listen to my heartbeat. Focus on that and let it push out anything else."
Yoon shifted, resting his ear against the fabric of Hwa-pyung's shirt until he could hear his heart beating quietly in his chest. It was a soft sound but comforting. The slow rise and fall of Hwa-pyung's chest helped too, as did the way his quietly muttered reassurances that it was okay, it was alright, seemed to be something Yoon could feel just as much as he could hear them. He could still hear the voices around him but they felt more desperate and less mocking than before, and the burning in his skin had started to fade back to an itch. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft, steady beat of Hwa-pyung’s heart, the movement of his chest, the weight of his hand on Yoon’s ribs. Maybe the shame would come later, the embarrassment as he sat up and tried to meet Hwa-pyung’s eyes, but all he could bring himself to care about at the moment was the warm sense of comfort that slowly started to overtake everything else. It didn’t all go away, but it was a start. It was alright. He was going to be alright.
Yoon wasn’t sure how long they laid like that before Hwa-pyung spoke again. The voices were barely whispers anymore though, weak and faded into the background, and the itch was barely noticeable. It was still there- not even three years had managed to make it go away completely, he wasn’t sure he would ever fully escape it- but it was manageable. For the first time in what felt like far too long, he felt safe. Maybe not fully okay just yet, but safe. When Hwa-pyung finally broke the silence again, his voice was soft. “Stay here tonight. With me.”
Yoon considered looking up but the thought of the room tilting around him and the loss of contact made it a less than appealing prospect. He felt calmer but he knew just how tenuous of a feeling that could be, so he kept his face where it was, pressed against Hwa-pyung’s chest. “Are you alright with that?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” Hwa-pyung gently brushed Yoon’s hair from his forehead, fingers lingering against his temple. “I want to know you’re safe. And for you to know you’re not alone.” He paused. “Are you alright with that?”
There were implications in the question that Yoon knew he’d have to consider when he was more sober. Things they’d both have to consider. Right now, though, he didn’t hesitate. “Sorry about the hangover I’ll have in the morning.”
Hwa-pyung laughed quietly and Yoon felt him settle back against the cushions. He could already feel himself starting to drift off, the warmth and comfort of Hwa-pyung’s arms around him promising a better sleep than he’d had in a long time. “Don’t worry, I think I can handle that.”