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It's Choi-yoon's mistake. He realizes that the moment the words are out of his mouth. He wishes he'd had the foresight to hold his tongue or, God willing, lie. But he hadn't, and now the truth is out there, and Hwa-pyung is looking at him, one good eye staring a dagger straight into his chest, and Choi-yoon knows what the other man is going to say even before he does.
"I'm coming with you."
The words are expected, at least a variation of them, and still, they steal the breath from Choi-yoon's lungs, filling him with a kind of dread he's seldom felt, even with their shared history of horrors. And maybe that's why it feels so sharp and choking, the fear clawing up his spine and nestling just behind his ribs. They've been here before, in reverse, at least in a facsimile of this situation, and he knows how that ended the last time.
A death that wasn't a death. A rebirth and new identity carved from paranoia and protection.
Logically, Choi-yoon knows that it won't happen to him, won't happen to Hwa-pyung either, because this is a simple check, an examination, nothing more, but still, his response is swift and exacting, trying to leave no room for the argument he can already feel brewing.
"No."
Hwa-pyung is not impressed if the severe slant of his mouth and the way he crosses his arms are any indications. Choi-yoon wants to reach forward and press a thumb to the furrow between his scrunched-up brow; he wants to brush the hair getting far too long now out of the other man's face. Mostly, Choi-yoon wants to soothe the fear he catches in the dips of Hwa-pyung's expression.
"Yes," Hwa-pyung argues, and Choi-yoon can almost see it in his mind's eye, the other stomping his foot like a child. If the situation were less weighty, if it didn't poke at all the bare, aching places, dragging nails over long healed phantom slashes he sometimes catches out of the corner of his eye while changing in the morning, Choi-yoon might have laughed. It would be choked, perhaps hysterical, but it would be a laugh.
He doesn't. He can't.
Instead, Choi-yoon swallows and clenches his fists at his side.
"This has been sanctioned by the church. I won't be alone, and to explain your presence would be impossible. You'll stay here, Hwa-pyung."
'Where you can't get hurt,' Choi-yoon doesn't add.
It's not satisfactory; that's clear enough. Choi-yoon can already see the other man gearing up for a prolonged fight, and he understands- he does . If Hwa-pyung had given him a chance all those months ago and told him and Gil-young what he would do before doing it, Choi-yoon knows he would be the same. He would have clawed and shouted and threatened all manner of things unseemly for a man of the cloth. But this is different. There's no Park Il-Do this time, at least not that Choi-yoon knows. He won't be taking a knife to his own skin, sacrificing himself for the sake of others; at least… he's not planning to.
Still, he understands.
"Choi-"
"Hwa-pyung." Choi-yoon knows that his tone is stern, almost enough to crack at the edges of the name, but the time for softness has always been never when it comes to them, and they're both far too stubborn for pleasant talk and gentle assurances. "I will do the evaluation, and then I will come back."
Like you did.
If possible, Hwa-pyung's expression sours further, his jaw working like he's grinding the nasty words he wants to say at the back of his teeth. Choi-yoon assumes that's it, not that he's won or anything trivial (and impossible when faced with Hwa-pyung's tenacity), so he moves to step around the other man toward his vehicle so he can begin the long drive to the family's home where his and the acting exorcist's services have been requested.
He'd only meant to drop off a book Hwa-pyung had requested, something that he couldn't find to be delivered, and then Choi-yoon had been sidetracked by his accidental admission on his way out when Hwa-pyung had asked if he could stay for dinner.
He couldn't. He had work to do.
Choi-yoon makes it a singular step past Hwa-pyung's shoulder, brushing against him when he feels the other man turn. His wrist is snatched up, and he's stopped.
On instinct, Choi-yoon wants to rip his hand away from the unfamiliar touch because all touch, regardless of who it comes from, feels foreign to him, but the knowledge that it's Hwa-pyung prevents him. Still, his breath comes out harsh to his own ears, and he's slow to shift and meet Hwa-pyung's eyes.
Even when he manages to straighten up his back, feeling small beneath the other man's mix-colored stare, Choi-yoon doesn't shake him off.
They're less than two steps from one another, but somehow, a chasm has stretched out between their feet. An ocean. Endless dark water pulling them in opposite directions.
Choi-yoon doesn't realize he's holding his breath against the pressure of past-experienced waves until Hwa-pyung squeezes his wrist, and his eyes soften at the corners.
"No deaths in the family?"
Choi-yoon shakes his head.
"No deaths at all." Not even animals.
"Violent outbursts?"
"More than a typical teenager should be exhibiting, but only just enough to request an examination."
Choi-yoon sees Hwa-pyung's shoulders relax, his mouth curving into the slightest smile. He doesn't offer his own, but he still doesn't step away, doesn't make Hwa-pyung drop his hand.
"I could probably just wait in the car…."
It is a struggle for Choi-yoon to not roll his eyes.
"Hwa-pyung." There should be more to say, more to admonish, but once Choi-yoon says Hwa-pyung's name, he knows there's nothing else to add, the unhidden fondness in his tone enough of an explanation, a response that would have other words ring false and forced.
When they lapse into another moment of quiet, the sound of the sea and the rustling of tall grass sweeping away any lingering tension, Choi-yoon finds himself not wanting to leave. Fear and trepidation, the memory of festering, open wounds on his torso fade along with the breeze and the startling even thump thump thump of Hwa-pyung's pulse beneath his fingers where Choi-yoon has unconsciously turned his hand to cradle Hwa-pyung's wrist in turn.
He's going to back away, break the lingering moment where their eyes are locked, but there's nothing uncomfortable pushing at their raw edges. He can't keep them frozen, though.
When he goes to, Choi-yoon finds himself being tugged forward instead.
Two steps away from Hwa-pyung become less than one, the toes of their shoes (Hwa-pyung's sandals and his worn, black loafers) almost knocking as Choi-yoon lets out a startled breath and keeps himself upright. Where they're joined, hand to wrist in equal turn, is the only thing keeping them from ending up chest against chest.
Choi-yoon's pulse is racing, body unsure if it should tense or relax, shaken but generally comfortable in Hwa-pyung's space.
The look in Hwa-pyung's eyes is indiscernible. He's serious again but not angry, just resolute, and Choi-yoon would like to say he doesn't know why, but as much as he's lied in the face of his friends and in the face of God, he finds he can't to himself, not about Hwa-pyung.
He wonders, silently, a chill running up his spine that might be a thrill instead of something creeping and unwanted, if this will be their tipping point. It would be so innocuous, so… simple, almost easy, and Choi-yoon swallows hard from the knowledge, wishing silently to himself that it won't be.
If it's because he's scared or worried he might be disappointed with the mundanity of it, he doesn't know.
Hwa-pyung, perhaps feeling the same or simply reading it with his good eye, tightens his grip once more before releasing Choi-yoon with a slow exhale.
"You'll come back?"
Choi-yoon, still unmoored but easing himself back from the ledge that holds the possibility of either peace or damnation, lets go of Hwa-pyung and nods.
"I'll come back."
Any other option would be unacceptable.