Work Text:
Ga-on tries not to let the idle ringing of facetime get his hopes up. He fights the urge to run for his phone, drying off his hands on his kitchen towel quicker than he might typically. He's glad he'd kept the device close while working on cleaning up his dishes, only cursing lightly under his breath as damp fingers make it harder to unlock his screen and accept the call.
He'd been anticipating the call from the unknown number for weeks, but he should have known not to have greater expectations. He should be happy enough that Kang Elijah is smiling at him, welcoming, her expression already telling Ga-on how much he's been missed. With tremendous skill, Ga-on keeps his initial smile from falling. It takes the edge of disappointment away, reminding him that he must be realistic. The fact that Elijah is willing to speak to him and is happy to see him should be enough, even if it's not what they both know he wants most.
"Elijah," he sighs because he is glad to see her and relaxes back against his counter. "Is it too late over there for you to call? Or too early?" Ga-on knows precisely what time it is, but he likes to start the conversation with an easy opening for her to tease him about being dumb, forgetful, or just too lazy to look at a clock. She lets more truth slip if he doesn't start by asking her how her physical therapy is doing, school, or… in his weaker moments, how Yo-han is.
Elijah indulges him with small talk for the first ten minutes, but she's quick to steer him towards talking about himself, trying to gauge how he's feeling, what work is like, and if he's taking care of himself. It makes Ga-on fight to stop his eyes from rolling, but it's all fond exasperation rather than annoyance.
"Work is…" Ga-on pauses to think of the right words. Lately, he's gotten bad at lying convincingly to Elijah, and he's not sure if it's because she's getting better at reading him or if there's a part of him, much closer to the surface than he'd like to admit, that doesn't want to. If Ga-on were a betting man, he'd choose the latter. "Work is hard." It's an understatement, but he thinks the young girl will understand. She's her uncle's niece, after all.
It's clear that Ga-on's answer displeases Elijah because he can hear her mutter, "I don't understand why you don't just come here ." It twists up his insides and almost makes his knees buckle with the effort it takes not to let his entire being crumple. Ga-on would like nothing more than to board a plane in the next hour and never set foot in Korea again if it meant getting to be with her and Yo-han again. He has no one left in Seoul, either buried or betrayed, and most of his long-standing social bridges have burned. He's staggeringly alone outside these calls he gets every third week or so.
Kang Yo-han and his plan to topple the entire judicial circus was the glue connecting most of them, and without another large-scale attack to work on, they'd all drifted into their respective slots. The well-oiled cogs that the Chief Justice had left behind to get the right wheels turning for once. Except for Ga-on, not even a year later, it already feels like he's rusting over.
It would be incorrect to say Ga-on doesn't have people he could see if he wanted to, but the truth is that he doesn't have the desire.
He knows that Elijah can see it. She's commented on the ever-growing dark circles under his eyes each time they get to talk like this.
"I'm doing what I can, Elijah, and I'm okay." He is, at least for the most part.
More than anything, Ga-on is numb to it. He lets himself walk into the office on a cloud of apathy because if he doesn't, he's pretty sure he's going to snap at the next judge in his sixties, questioning his ability to adjudicate cases because of his age and perceived lack of experience. Instead of smiling politely, Ga-on wishes he could crowd into their faces and explain just how much "experience" he has, how he'd strapped himself into a live bomb to make sure the world left behind in the wake of his self-destruction might seem like it means anything.
Elijah's cough brings him back, and he shakes away the simmer of rage in his chest, apologizing lightly to the girl. They continue their conversation for another thirty minutes until there's a sound of a door opening somewhere on Elijah's end. Ga-on knows immediately that it's Yo-han coming home because of the way the girl tenses and quickly tells him a future date for the next time she'll call before hanging up.
When Ga-on's face reflects at him from a blank screen, he lets his demeanor drop. Having to wait for Elijah to call him back because Yo-han doesn't know they're speaking is always the worst part of the calls. It's a punch to the gut every time he's reminded. Ga-on knows, realistically, that they don't have to speak, that he doesn't need to lay awake at night wondering if Kang Yo-han is happy in Switzerland with Elijah, enjoying the fruits that years of blood and sacrifice earned him. But he does. Because even though Ga-on is in Korean, he's not. His heart isn't. It's with the family he'd accidentally made for himself in the two Kangs, and he's been left behind without that, without anything, and it's not okay.
He has to go on pretending it is.
With a sigh, Ga-on jots down the day Elijah gave him and returns to his chores. He still goes through the motions of existing, even though after these calls are the times he wants nothing more than to not.
Somehow the universe has heard his remark on work being "hard" and decides he no longer understood what that word means and would need a stark reminder. He spends the next two weeks up to his elbows in case files for an utterly befuddling work strike issue. There's testimony from over a dozen witnesses attesting to worker abuse, on top of evidence and suppression requests he has to prepare to rebuttal. It's a lot, and by the end of it, organizing all the information, triple-checking witness statements, and cross-referencing law code, he's not even the one who gets it presides over the case. Endless nights, living off caffeine pills and rice balls, and he's told: "good work" with a pat on the back and a handwaving dismissal.
If Ga-on's vision hadn't been blurring at the edge from exhaustion, he thinks the anger and resentment welling inside would have killed him and everyone else in the room. Instead, he gets a cab home, seething but too tired to do anything else that isn't dropping, still fully clothed, into his bed to finally get some sleep.
When he wakes up, he's feverish, disorientated, and his throat feels like he's swallowed a cactus. With an email sent to work from his phone advising he'll be taking sick leave, a cold shower, and a can of soup, Ga-on settles back into bed for what he assumes will be a few days to sleep off whatever bug he has to deal with.
His assumption turns out not to be the case, and by the time Ga-on, four days later, has sweated through two sets of bed sheets. He doesn't have the physical strength to drag himself into a taxi to the hospital.
The universe grants Ga-on instances of lucidity between hours of restless sleeping and feverish consciousness. He thinks he might have missed something important in one of those moments.
The next time he wakes up, however many hours later, on whatever day of this hellish sickness it is, it's nighttime. A hand runs through his damp fringe, and there's a cool towel across his forehead. Ga-on is reasonably sure that dehydration and a high temperature have combined to grant him delightful visual and auditory hallucinations.
Ga-on's first delirious thought is that it's Soo-hyun, but even his overheated brain knows it's impossible. Whether a figment of his imagination or not, he knows that she isn't the first person who would show up.
Those carefully fingers stroke through his hair again, and through the blur of sleep and exhaustion, Ga-on forces his vision to focus. Dark eyes, almost hidden by a curtain of soft-looking brown locks, crow's feet subtly at their corners. He would know them anywhere, an arm's length away or across a bustling lobby, crinkled in a slight smile…
Kang Yo-han is peering at him, mouth turned down at the corner but not exactly frowning.
"Back with us, Kim Ga-on?" His voice is a familiar rumble, and Ga-on feels his heart constrict at hearing it… it's been so long, and he thinks the memory of its timbre had started to fade away. When he tries to speak, there's suddenly the lip of a glass against his mouth and a large palm pushing his shoulders forward so he's off the bed and can swallow without choking.
Once he's managed his drink, only a little spilling at the corner of his lips, quickly wiped away by patient fingers, Ga-on sits himself up, regretting only momentarily the loss of Yo-han's warm palm on his back.
"How…" he stops himself. That's not important. Ga-on forces his brain to pivot. A million and one questions are swimming between his ears, and none matter that much at the moment. "You're here," is what he decides on. It's not a question but a statement rife with uncertainty. Ga-on is not past the idea that this could all be in his head.
The words appear to amuse Yo-han, but even in his debilitated state, Ga-on can read the way his expression pinches. Is it concern? Annoyance? Too many options and he doesn't have the brain power to decide which one.
"You missed check-in." Ga-on doesn't understand what that means, and it's probably clear from whatever his face is doing because even though he hasn't responded with words, Yo-han is rolling his eyes. "Elijah called, and you didn't answer," he clarifies.
Oh.
"You don't know Elijah, and I talk, though." Ga-on is confused, and the fever isn't helping. His weak constitution only allows for that confusion to double over how childish it makes him sound. Regardless he'd been sure all these months, by how secretive Elijah was with the whole thing, that Yo-han was unaware of their communication.
The older man scoffs under his breath and replaces the cloth on Ga-on's head with a fresh one, the chill making him shiver.
"Who do you think pays Elijah's phone bill?" Ga-on thinks that makes sense, plus he should have figured Yo-han would know. He's too intelligent, too well-versed in subterfuge not to recognize it from his kin. "She was worried," Yo-han starts up again, bringing the glass back to Ga-on's mouth so that he'll drink again. "When you didn't pick up the second time, she came to me convinced I'd done something or somehow made you upset enough not to want to talk to her. Of course, when I assured her that wasn't the case, she refused to let it drop until I did something."
Ga-on thinks that somewhere, loosely, that all makes sense, but something digs at him. As much as he'd like to summon all his strength and indignation to argue how it took almost dying on his sickbed (dramatic, but he feels like he's been run over and put in an oven) for Yo-han to reward him with his presence once again, Ga-on doesn't. When he thinks about it, the thoughts taking longer and longer to piece together, it doesn't matter all that much. Ga-on would have taken much less and somehow be happy with it. Healthy? No, but he's not in any state to lie to himself. He's moved past so many other things in his life, with Kang Yo-han specifically. What's eight months of heartache and waiting to brush under the rug between them?
Instead of holding on to what little resentment remains, Ga-on decides to prompt Yo-han instead. However, Yo-han chooses to respond will tell Ga-on everything he needs to know right at this moment.
"You could have sent someone to check on me." It's the truth. It would have also been the easiest thing to do. Even if Elijah had thrown a fit, Yo-han would have been able to justify it to her. Coming to see him, nursing him back to coherence, is much more than he'd needed to do. They both know it.
Yo-han's lip quirks into a smirk, having been caught out, and he contemplates how he wants to answer. If he chooses to make an excuse, they'll both know he's denying the reality of this all, and Ga-on desperately wants him not to, but he'll understand either way, even if it hurts.
Again, Yo-han brushes his fingers carefully through Ga-on's hair, and the comforting gesture leaves the younger weaker than any sickness. His eyes close involuntarily, and it's a fight to open them again.
"You're right," Yo-han agrees with a hum, "I could have." But he didn't, and what isn't being said makes something dangerously hopeful swell in Ga-on's chest. Has he finally done enough? Is he finally allowed to come home?
Something flickers across Yo-han's expression, like something shattering, and Ga-on is confused by it. Still, his vision is starting to swim again, and the awareness from before, making Yo-han stand out against the darkness of his bedroom, slips. The fever is coming back to retake him.
"Sleep," Yo-han says, placing his hand against Ga-on's collar, gently guiding him back to the pillows. Ga-on can only put up the briefest of fights but somehow manages to get a loose grip around Yo-han's wrist when he moves to pull away.
There's a moment of heavy silence between them.
"Ga-on-"
"Don't…" Ga-on swallows and struggles to keep his voice from slurring. He feels like if he lets Yo-han go right now if Ga-on allows him to take his hand away and fall asleep, he'll lose him again for the third time. "Don't go." He feels like a child, but the shame can't reach him through the fuzz in his brain, and he'll use his current weakness as an excuse if he needs to. "Don't ask me to keep on living without you." Because if Yo-han were to leave now, that's precisely what he'd be doing. He'd be asking Ga-on to keep on the path, to have his calls with Elijah pretending that Yo-han isn't just a room away, ignoring his existence. He doesn't want to do that. He can't.
Before Yo-han can respond, Ga-on loses the battle of keeping his eyes open, but he refuses to let his grip break, not until Yo-han gently pries the circle of his fingers apart.
"Don't…" Ga-on breathes out, his voice sounding far away even to his own ears.
"Sleep Ga-on. It'll be alright." Ga-on wants to believe that so much, but he's not sure he does. How can anything be alright when he's back to not being convinced this isn't some torturously vivid dream.
It doesn't matter. Ga-on's brain is frying again, sleep taking him from the muted sensations of the world until it's all black again.
The final time Ga-on returns to himself, it's with a headache throbbing behind his eyes but with mercifully clear sinuses. There's slanting light, early morning sunshine, slipping through the slots in his window shade and Ga-on, taking stock of himself, notes he's in fresh clothing, hardly feeling any stale sweat against his skin.
It's the only evidence that what could have been a dream hadn't been. Kang Yo-han is not in Ga-on's empty apartment to offer any other proof.
He tries not to let that knowledge hurt so much.
When he turns to slide out of bed, the wetness of unshed tears in his eyes clouding his vision, it almost causes him to overlook the bottle of water and medication on his side table, an envelope taped to the plastic. Confusion and curiosity replace crushing disillusionment, and he reaches out, taking the paper, half expecting it only to contain simple instructions for him to take the medication and stay hydrated. It doesn't.
There's nothing written on the envelope, but Ga-on can feel the paper inside. With trembling fingers and pressure building in his throat, Ga-on flips up the unsealed opening and takes out the first sheet inside. It's a note ripped off from one of his legal pads, and it takes a force of nature for him to not crush the slip in his hand under the power in which he exhales.
'When you're feeling better. Come home.'
If there are tear stains on the one-way plane ticket, it's between him and the flight agent, he hands it to three days later.