Archive of Our Own

Seonghwa wakes up reaching for something.

His fingers are stretched out across the bed, trying to grasp, trying to hold—

It slips through his fingers. Everything does. Whatever he'd been dreaming of slips entirely from his memories, and he's unable to hold onto anything left of it. He pulls his hand back and presses it against his chest, trying to calm down his heart thudding against his ribcage.

He doesn't remember anything about the dream, but he never does when it's like this — when he wakes with his heart pounding, his emotions caught in a storm that leaves him aching, missing something, missing someone, and he's never able to remember why or who.

Taking in deep breaths to try and calm himself down, he carefully moves up the bed so that he's sitting up. He's usually not able to sleep after these kinds of dreams, something in his mind too restless, his body too unsettled. It's still dark in the room, which means he's likely woken too early, but it means that no one else should be awake at least. He reaches for his phone, squinting against the screen and then sighing at the hour it reveals back to him.

Slowly, he swings his legs around onto the other side of the bed and gets up. They have separate rooms now, but the walls between them are thin, and if he's not careful with his steps there's a chance that he might accidentally wake someone.

He finds that it's better to get out of his room after the dreams that leave him feeling like this. It feels a little easier to get his feet under him, to remind himself of reality and not get caught up in the dredges of a dream he doesn't even remember. But for one reason or another, even with nothing left to remember them by, they seem to linger, his emotions not quite settling right inside of him.

It always feels like he's missing something.

Slowly, carefully, he opens up his bedroom door. Right now, it's dark inside of the dorm, and he's pretty certain he's the only one awake. It's too early to be hungry, and he doesn't want to risk waking anyone up by rifling through the cupboards and fridge, so he settles down on the couch.

It's frustrating, being awake like this, especially when he always tries to rest as much as he can when the time allows for it. But now, Seonghwa's mind and body are in some kind of rebellion, and he isn't able to sleep during the hours that they're given to do so.

He sits out on the couch for a while, scrolling through his phone, when there's movement in the corner of his eye. He looks up, not quite sure if he's surprised to see San's door opening. San walks out ruffling his hair, and Seonghwa can't quite tell if he'd actually been sleeping or not prior to opening the door. San shuffles along into the kitchen blearily, only to stop short when he realises there's a figure on the couch.

"Seonghwa-hyung?" He asks quietly, hand dropping from his hand as he regards him.

"Hey," Seonghwa replies, voice just as quiet. "You're up late."

Even in the darkened room, Seonghwa can tell San is raising his eyebrows. Pot, kettle. Seonghwa gives him a lazy shrug, a signal that he's not going to answer San's question in turn if he asks, so San just shrugs and heads to the kitchen. He flicks the kettle on, and the sound of the water boiling slowly begins to fill the space of silence. Mingi's a deep sleeper, so they’re not worried about accidentally rousing him out here.

Seonghwa looks back at him, but San is also engaged with his phone, so Seonghwa looks back to his own and continues to scroll. He feels a little more settled now, though he usually does once he starts to see his members. He listens to the sounds of San pouring out the water, and he recognises the way that he pours two different times. He's not surprised when there's a mug passed into his hands, the scent of some kind of floral tea wafting gently with it, but he's grateful.

"Thank you," he says, fingers curling around the warmth.

"Not caffeinated, but won't put you to sleep either," San explains softly, settling down on the other end of the couch and placing his own mug on the table.

Seonghwa hums, taking another sniff to try and discern the flavour, as it's still a little too hot to sip from. Almost too warm to hold, so he leans forward and places it down while he waits for it to cool next to San's.

"They weren't this bad before, right?" San quietly asks, once their teas are cool enough to tentatively sip from.

Seonghwa looks over his mug, brows furrowing in confusion. "Hm?"

"The dreams. Nightmares. They weren't this bad before," San repeats, though this time it is a statement and not a question.

Seonghwa presses his lips together. He has a feeling that San had talked to Hongjoong about something to do with him, but he thought he'd been hiding how badly these dreams are getting lately. He must have slipped up more than he thought, and San must be paying him a lot more attention than he thinks.

"They're not nightmares," Seonghwa settles on saying. "I don't even remember them."

"But you're losing sleep," San says. "You're waking up after them, and now you're not sleeping enough. They're not just dreams, hyung."

"I don't know what they are," Seonghwa sighs.

"They're getting worse," San mutters.

Seonghwa takes a slow sip of his tea once he’s certain it won’t burn, letting the taste flood over his tongue and wash down some of the strange thickness building in his throat. "I'm doing okay."

"For how long?" San whispers, head rolling over the couch to stare at Seonghwa. "Hyung. You're losing too much sleep."

"It's not so bad," Seonghwa denies, shaking his head slightly. "Really, Sannie. I promise. They'll go away."

"What if they don't?" San presses, leaning over on the couch slightly to get closer to Seonghwa.

"Then I'll speak to a manager," Seonghwa replies — because, really, he's hitting the point of needing to do that anyway. He knows there'd been a time that Mingi had been taking some sleeping tablets, helping him get past an insomniac period, though the drowsiness was less than ideal. Still, Seonghwa supposes it'll be better to be rested and drowsy rather than exhausted and depleted entirely.

"How long until that point, hyung?" San asks, still pressing. They all know each other too well nowadays. "How long until you decide that it's bad enough?"

"It's not bad enough right now," Seonghwa replies, fingers tightening slightly on the warm mug in his grasp. "Really. I'm sure they'll go away soon."

"Hyung," San drags out, almost turning it into a whine.

Seonghwa leans over and knocks his shoulder against San's as carefully as he can, making sure neither of their drinks spills.

"Don't worry about me," Seonghwa tells him. "I'll be just fine, okay? And what are you doing up anyway?"

San takes a sip from his tea, but Seonghwa recognises that it's more out of strategy than out of a desire to drink.

"I don't know either," San sighs eventually.

"Maybe something woke up both of us," Seonghwa offers.

"Maybe I just have Seonghwa-senses," San replies. “Maybe I just knew you were out here.”

Seonghwa laughs, making sure it's quiet for the late hour. "Were you bitten by a radioactive spider?"

"Mhm, no," San replies. "But I was bitten by Hongjoong, so that's kind of the same thing."

This time, it's a little harder to try and smother down his snicker of laughter. "I don't think it is."

"It definitely is," San argues. “Hongjoong bites like a… like a mean little insect.”

"Okay, Sannie, okay," Seonghwa concedes, not wanting to press the topic in case he can't quite smother down any further laughter.

They fall into comfortable ease, both of them sipping from their tea, neither of them needing to fill up the sense of peace that they've created between each other in this moment. When they finish, they sit for a little while longer, until eventually, San takes the mug from Seonghwa's hands.

"Will you try and sleep again, hyung?" San asks, full of hope.

Seonghwa presses his lips together, not quite willing to crush that optimism even though he knows the truth. San can tell, as his lips pull down into a worried frown.

"I can try," Seonghwa tries to reassure, but San's lips don't rise.

"Will it help if someone is with you, maybe?" San suggests hesitantly.

"With me?"

"Yeah," San replies. "Maybe it's because of the new dorms? Maybe your body hasn't adjusted to being alone..."

"It's never been a problem before," Seonghwa points out — and something inside of him tells him that his dreams are not caused by the lacking presence of people around him.

"It wouldn't hurt to try, right?" San presses, lips pressing together now in something close to a pout. Seonghwa knows it's a losing battle if he tries to continue fighting.

"That’ll disturb you" Seonghwa still tries.

"It won't," San promises, sounding entirely certain of himself. "Hyung, really."

Seonghwa isn't given much of a choice — even with the two mugs, San somehow manages to take hold of his arm and tug him up from the couch. He puts the mugs in the sink, and when Seonghwa frowns at that, San reassures him that they'll do the dishes in the morning. Worried about San's own sleeping schedule, as he's only up because Seonghwa is right now, he decides to follow along.

"Would you rather my bed or yours?" San asks, standing in the hallway.

"Whatever one you're more comfortable in," Seonghwa replies, because his priority here is all about San being able to get some sleep even if Seonghwa can't himself.

San frowns like he knows this, and studies Seonghwa for a moment. "I like your bed more," San admits, "but I think that's just because you're in it. But maybe you'll sleep better in another bed?"

San decides to pull him towards his room, and something in Seonghwa's chest loosens a little as he's pulled into San's bed. San reaches around to shuffle around some of the pillows for him, making room for him to lie down properly.

"Thanks, Sannie," Seonghwa says, letting his body melt down into the mattress beneath him. He still doesn't think he'll be able to sleep, as there's something just too restless and uneasy inside of him, but he's a lot more comfortable in San's bed. They both shuffle around a little on the bed, and they end up close, but not quite close enough to touch. Seonghwa's fingers twitch subconsciously like he's trying to reach for him, but he mindfully stops his fingers from moving, not wanting to overstep in San's own bed.

It's quiet for a while, and Seonghwa almost thinks San has fallen asleep before he suddenly speaks.

"I hope the dreams stop," San sighs into the pillow beneath him. Seonghwa rolls his head slightly to look at San, only to find him looking right back, blinking slowly at Seonghwa in the darkness. He looks moments away from falling asleep, but he's still giving Seonghwa as much focus as his tired body will currently let him.

"Yeah," Seonghwa breathes out. "Yeah, me too."

San's smile is small and soft, and Seonghwa finds himself smiling back. For the first time tonight, he feels settled.

He doesn't quite fall asleep, but he's at ease, and that's better than most nights he's been getting lately.

"Hyung, your turn!"

Seonghwa looks up from his phone, knowing that he's being addressed. San is heading towards him, carefully-placed sparkles under his eyes catching in the light as he smiles at Seonghwa. Seonghwa goes to stand up, but then something else catches his attention.

Down San's cheekbone, close to his eye, the stylists have made up the appearance of a faded scar. A couple of them who've had their makeup done so far have these kinds of markings — Yeosang, Mingi, and now San. Seonghwa probably will have one too, so the appearance of the scar isn't anything he should be surprised by when his makeup is finished.

Still, something inside of him turns to ice as he looks at the makeup on San’s face. His breath catches, and he feels any warmth leave his face as he stares at the scar.

Something about it is wrong, he thinks. He knows.

It's not right. It's not— it's not on the right side. It's not quite high enough, not quite jagged enough.

Something is wrong with it, and Seonghwa doesn't know why or how he knows this, but he does.

San's smile fades, the scar lengthening back out as his cheeks drop, and Seonghwa blinks. The sudden feeling that had washed over him starts to fade away, and it feels like he starts to come back to the present, properly back into his usual self.

His thoughts don't make any sense. The scar has been created by their stylists, and the placement is ideal — strategically placed to make San look like he's been through a fight to fit this concept, but it's not jagged enough to take away from his charms and appearance meant for the camera. The scar can't be in the wrong place, so the feeling that it is can't be true.

"Hyung?" San tentatively asks. It gets the attention of a couple more in the room, and they turn to look at Seonghwa with curious glances.

Seonghwa taps his phone against his thigh, trying to jostle himself properly into the moment. He has to glance away from San because even though it doesn't make any sense, he still can't get rid of the feeling that the scar is still wrong. He looks over at the chair he’ll soon be sitting in for his own makeup, and he hums.

"Yeah, sorry," Seonghwa says, as sheepishly as he's able to, rubbing the back of his neck. He stands up, still avoiding looking at San's face. San's fingers reach out for him, and Seonghwa turns his head so that San can see the smile he's trying to reassure him with, but he's sure that San picks up on the fact that Seonghwa can't quite bring himself to look at his face right now.

He sits in the chair and finds that he's reluctant to close his eyes. Right now, he can distract himself with the products in front of him, but when the makeup artist encourages him to close his eyes, he can only think of San's face, the way that his smile slowly dropped and the scar stretched.

The scar isn't right. Seonghwa tries to imagine it the way that something in the back of his mind encourages him to, but the imagine of it isn't quite clear. He tries to envision it, and he sees a glimpse of it, the way that he feels like it should be.

The vision that comes to mind, the way that the scar looks like someone has gouged at San's face with a blade in an attempt to take out his eyes or split his face open, makes Seonghwa's stomach roll with nausea. The back of his head spikes with pain, and everything seems to go white for a moment. He grimaces, eyes scrunching as the pain blocks out everything for a couple of seconds.

When he comes back to it, the makeup artist is tutting at him. He blinks his eyes open, wincing as the light hits his eyes. He sees the artist reaching for a wipe, having to clean up something that Seonghwa's scrunch has likely messed up.

"Sorry," he rasps out, throat surprisingly dry. He clears it and tries again. The artist gives him a tired but thankful smile for the apology, and Seonghwa closes his eyes and tries to focus on making sure his face remains as still as possible.

Tentatively, when he feels the artist take a second to look over the products, he tries to bring forth the image of San again. But it's like the white-out of pain from earlier has also swept away the image, and he can't quite bring it forth in the same clarity. It's unnerving, because it feels like his own mind is hiding something from him, and he has no idea what that might be.

Must just be tired, he tries to reason with himself. The dreams have likely shaken him, and he has no idea what he dreams, but he tries to logically reason with himself. Perhaps the dreams are of things like this, making up scars on his members' faces, making him forget what's actually reality. It's disconcerting, but it's the only conclusion he can draw right now, and he tells himself to put it aside.

When the stylist is done, Seonghwa looks in the mirror to find that he doesn't have a scar. He's been feeling strange ever since seeing San's own, and he thinks he's relieved this time to find that he hasn't been chosen to have one as well.

He thanks the stylist for their work and then gets up from the chair. He's one of the last ones, Hongjoong looking like he's close to finishing as well, and he heads over to the rest of the members. San, appearing suddenly by his side, drapes his arm over Seonghwa's shoulder. He looks at Seonghwa closely for a moment, and Seonghwa suspects his wince of pain hadn't gone unnoticed earlier, but San seems satisfied with his current health as he gives a nod.

"You look good," San compliments, giving Seonghwa a thumbs-up.

"You too," Seonghwa replies, because San always just does, but there's something that almost feels like a lie on his tongue — not because of San himself, but just because of the scar currently on his face.

Hongjoong finishes up soon after, and then they're being organised into their positions and their filming for the day, and Seonghwa has to tell himself too many times to focus. It's hard to pull himself into character, and then even harder after the filming to pull himself out of it.

He finds that he keeps glancing over at San, but every time he thinks a little too much about the scar, a pain spikes in the back of his head and discourages him from doing so. Like little warning bells, warning him not to go any further.

The filming goes okay otherwise, and it's thankfully over quickly enough. They all head off the set and get ready to head home, though Seonghwa's head is still somewhere else.

He's currently walking along the length of the change room, tilting his head side to side to try and stretch out his neck, and also trying to get himself to shake off the lingering feeling of the performance. He startles when Yunho slides up next to him and nudges his shoulder.

"Hey hyung," he says quietly, not gaining the attention of anyone else in the room. They're getting ready to head out, and Seonghwa doesn't really remember changing, but he must have as he's now in his usual clothes. Yunho's changed as well, and his face is bright and a little bit red from the way he likely rubbed off his makeup with a wipe. They're encouraged to use other cleansers, but sometimes there are just days when the makeup just needs to come off. "Are you taking off your makeup?"

Seonghwa recognises that it's a gentle prompt to try and pull Seonghwa from his mindset. Sometimes it's easier to let characters fall away when there is truly nothing left of them, easier to come back to themselves when they're dressed in their usual clothes with their faces bare.

"Ah," Seonghwa says, slowly coming to a stop. He looks over at a mirror on the other side of the room and catches sight of his own appearance. His eye makeup is dark, and he thinks it might be a little smudged at the corner of his eyes. He brings his fingers up to wipe at it, but Yunho is there, grabbing his hand kindly.

"Come here," Yunho says, guiding him over to one of the makeup artist tables and pulling out a makeup wipe. Usually, Seonghwa is the most resistant to using these kinds of wipes, but he doesn't argue otherwise as Yunho tugs one out of the packet and hands it over.

Seonghwa wipes at his eyes first, making sure all the remnants of the darker colour eye makeup are gone from his face. Yunho stays by his side, taking the wipe from him to get some of the foundation off of his jawline that he misses.

Even though Yunho had been careful not to draw any attention, Seonghwa can still feel eyes on his back. When he looks over, he sees Wooyoung and San looking over at him. Seonghwa expects them to look away once they're caught, but they surprise him by holding his gaze. Seonghwa blinks at them and then gives them a little wave.

They both light up with matching grins and wave back, even though Wooyoung tells him to hurry up so that they can get out of here and get home.

San's makeup has been removed as well, and Seonghwa is glad to see his bare face. The thought of the scar still sits in the back of his mind, but it's easier to push aside now that it's not actually on San's face anymore with something in the back of Seonghwa's mind insisting that it's wrong.

He's feeling back to his usual self at least, and he disposes of the makeup wipe, feeling refreshed and calmer once he straightens back up. He finds that Jongho has gathered up most of his things for him, and he sends him a grateful smile as he slings his back over his shoulder. Jongho just looks away, refusing to acknowledge his own act of helping, but Seonghwa catches the small pleased lift at the corner of his lips.

When they head to their cars, Wooyoung and San sandwich him between themselves and usher him into one of the cars. Seonghwa follows, mildly confused but somewhat used to their antics. Wooyoung urges him into one of the seats against the window, and San sits in the one next to him. Jongho joins them silently, settling down into the front seat and putting in his earphones, clearly intent on going to sleep.

Seonghwa thinks that this is probably not the car to pick for a more peaceful time, not with Wooyoung and San together at least, but Jongho undoubtedly knows that already, and for some reason still picked this car to go into.

"It's a long drive back," Wooyoung says.

"Mhm," Seonghwa agrees, half-distracted by putting on his seatbelt.

"We should rest," Wooyoung declares, surprising Seonghwa.

He turns to look at Wooyoung, trying to see if there's any hint of mischief on his features, but Wooyoung seems earnest. His eyes are wide, perhaps a little too innocently.

"What are you planning?" Seonghwa asks.

Wooyoung laughs, throwing up his hands. "Nothing! I'm tired, really. Today was long, right? So I'm saying we should sleep."

"This is not something you usually say," Seonghwa argues, even more suspicious now. San distracts him by wrapping his fingers around Seonghwa's arm.

"Hyung," he says, "let's sleep."

Seonghwa figures it out at that moment. San has enlisted Wooyoung's help — or Wooyoung has noticed on his own — that Seonghwa is not sleeping well.

"You've gone about this in the most suspicious way possible," Seonghwa tells Wooyoung, who just gives him a grin as he shrugs.

But Wooyoung is right — the day has been long, and now that they're finished, Seonghwa does feel tired. He settles against the car window, resting his head against it and closing his eyes, but the car ride is not a smooth one in this area. He's pulled out from his light doze quickly, but then there are fingers lightly pressing into his jaw, encouraging his head to tilt to the other side. Seonghwa, feeling boneless and too tired to resist, goes willingly.

His head is brought down a little further, but he realises quickly enough that San has just moved his head so that he's now resting on San's shoulder. San's fingers disappear from his jaw, but they smooth back some of his hair and then fall away.

Seonghwa takes in a deep breath, and he feels San do the same.

He thinks about that scar again, about everything that happened once he saw it, how his mind had been just so convinced that it hadn't been right.

San's shoulders rise again with another slow, deep breath, and Seonghwa finds himself copying it.

Just like in the night, it's easier. It's easy to relax with San, and soon enough, Seonghwa actually manages to drift off into sleep.

The car ride is a bit longer than some of their usual ones, but it's short in terms of getting some actual sleep. Despite the fact he's sitting upright, and the position makes his neck hurt a little, it's still some of the best sleep he's had recently. San's reluctance to wake him is clear, but by the time he does, the car's engine has already stopped, and the rest of the members have climbed out of the cars.

"Seonghwa hyung," San says quietly, like he's trying to rouse him but also trying not to wake him too much. "Come on. Let's go sleep inside."

Seonghwa grumbles at him, pressing his face further into San's shoulder. He feels San shake with a small breath of laughter.

"Hyung," San says the word with a soft laugh. "Come on."

It's only when San starts to move that Seonghwa does too, even though it's reluctant and San is mostly kind of just dragging him out. When they manage to get out of the car, Seonghwa remains leaning against San, blinking slowly at the ground.

Hongjoong comes into his vision, tilting his head down to get into Seonghwa's line of sight. Even in his tired state, he can recognise the worried tension that sits on Hongjoong's frame, the way it usually shows up when one of them is feeling unwell. He does his best to give Hongjoong a smile, because he's not sick — he's just tired, and for the first time in a while, it feels like he'll actually be able to sleep.

He just wants to do that. To remain in this half-dozing state, not afraid that falling asleep will mean dreams that he doesn’t remember.

Seeming to recognise that he’s physically okay, some of the tension bleeds out from Hongjoong as he straightens back up and doesn't press any further. Seonghwa catches San and Hongjoong sharing a look, but he doesn't quite catch the expression on either of their faces.

Hongjoong leads them all back into their dorms. San nudges Seonghwa to get his attention.

"Hyung, do you want to wash up?" San asks.

While Seonghwa would usually opt to take a shower and wash everything away from the set and filming and dancing, he finds that he's just too tired to think about doing that right now. If he does, he might just fall asleep where he stands — or, it might just wake him up, and that's not something he wants to happen right now.

"No," Seonghwa breathes out. "No, I just want to sleep."

"Okay," San replies. "Okay, then let's do that."

He's malleable and pliant with his tiredness, and San leads him easily back into his bedroom. San throws him a shirt and some pants, which Seonghwa pulls on with slow movements, but thankfully he's quick to be able to settle amongst San's pillows, glad to let the exhaustion climb in and take hold of his body and pull it down into the mattress. San rifles around the room, and while he usually also washes up, he just gets changed as well and climbs into the other side of the bed.

San seems like he has something he wants to say, as he's looking at Seonghwa with a very particular look. Seonghwa braces himself for any questions, but instead, San just leans over and brushes Seonghwa's hair away from his eyes once again. This time, it feels a little more intimate, a whole lot more personal now that they're facing each other.

Seonghwa's breath seems to catch in his throat. His heart is pounding against his chest.

"Sleep, hyung," San whispers.

Seonghwa blinks. And then again, his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier. He falls asleep.

And he dreams.

There is a kingdom around him.

There are mountains spread out around them, protecting their borders, capped with snowy peaks and icy ridges. Inside these borders, there are small towns and communities of people, all living amongst the cold in this isolated part of the world. At the heart of it all, there is a castle, heavily fortified and protected.

Just a little further than that, visible just beyond the line of trees on the ground and easily seen to those any higher, there is a lake — one which, with the weather in these months, has frozen over.

He can see it now, his head turned in the snow with hands around his neck.

Is this where I die? He wonders as his hands claw and scratch at his attacker. His gloves are too thick, and he's basically just pawing at the larger man, fingers trying to curl into his eyes but unable to do so.

His body can't be thrown into the lake, but he can be easily buried under all the snow. His parents might not find him until it's all melted down. They won't mourn for the lost life of a young prince until the sun has come back to grace their part of the kingdom, and by then, there is every chance that his attacker will be able to escape without being caught.

And all the guards that abandoned him, that enabled this, clearly in collusion with each other. They will all likely head back to the kingdom and stand by his parents' side, making up some kind of story about Seonghwa running away, all the while hiding his body while planning to bury theirs.

He tries to bite, but he can't get the leverage to do so. His head is pushed further down into the snow, and it's so cold, it's so cold, he doesn't want to die here. He kicks and bucks and tries to scream, but he's losing air quickly, and there is no one around to hear him. He has come out privately, meant to only be with his personal guards, but now he's lying in the snow with hands around his neck that are going to kill him.

"Go quietly, little prince," the man above him sneers, pushing more of his weight down into his hands. He's bleeding too, his nose dripping with it right onto Seonghwa's own face after he managed one decent swing during their initial fight.

But Seonghwa is only fifteen, and he slips most of his portions of food back to the staff, and he is lanky and unprepared for a fight organised by the very guards that he's trusted for years now. Betrayal burns, hot enough to almost negate all the feelings of the cold, but fear is quickly taking hold as the much bigger man above him continues to show no sign of buckling.

This is where I die, he realises. This is it.

Just as his vision starts to go dark, as he feels everything starting to go numb, the hands are suddenly off his throat. He sucks in a breath and almost chokes on it, surging upright with a hand coming up to his throat like it'll be able to ease some of the pain. Everything comes back to him in a rush, and his heart is basically thundering in his ears as he tries to orientate himself.

He has to blink to try and get rid of the dark spots in his vision, desperately clinging to consciousness with the fact that he's alive, he's alive, he can breathe—

There's a dark figure moving amongst the snow, striking at Seonghwa's attacker. They are not wearing the royalty colours, or the colours of a soldier or guard, but they are moving like they are trained how to fight.

No, Seonghwa realises, watching the figure strike. Not the way the soldiers here are taught, at least. Seonghwa tries to get to his feet, but they slip out from under him and he goes sprawling, hitting the ground winded. He tries to gasp in air as he scrambles to get back up, watching the fight happening before him.

Just as he finally gets his feet under him, the dark figure strikes, and Seonghwa's attacker falls. He does not get up.

The snow around him is turning red. Seonghwa watches, almost uncomprehending the sight before him, but then he snaps to attention as he realises that he's now left with the person that took down his attacker, but it does not mean this person is here to protect Seonghwa.

He takes a step back, getting ready to run, but the figure quickly raises his hands.

"It's okay," he says. His voice is young, maybe around his own age, even though he moved with the kind of grace Seonghwa has only seen in the older guards. He drops something in the snow, and it glistens in the light. On closer look, Seonghwa realises it's a small dagger, now also covered in blood. "Are you alright?"

Seonghwa's hands come up to his throat without thought, but he quickly smooths his hands back down to his side and clears his throat. Even though the boy is young, Seonghwa is all too aware of the danger he might just be in, and he does not want to show any further weakness. If this is where he dies, even now, then he does not want to disgrace his family with an agonised death. "Yes. Thank you."

"That's good," the boy breathes out in relief, and it seems like he means it.

"Are you?" Seonghwa asks in turn, pushing through the raspiness in his voice. When he receives an inquisitive head tilt as an answer, he elaborates. "Are you alright as well?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, I'm okay," the boy replies. Despite the fight he'd just been in, he doesn't sound out of breath, and so Seonghwa believes that he is true to his word.

"I'm glad," Seonghwa says, and his shoulders are starting to lose some of their tension now.

The boy slowly lowers his hands, and then gives the body in the snow a quick glance. Seonghwa watches as his features, still covered by the thick cloak he wears over his head, still seem to radiate a kind of sheepishness. "Is there, um, any chance you can not tell anyone about what I just did?"

"Why not?" Seonghwa asks, genuinely confused. There are a thousand possibilities racing through his mind, that the boy was also meant to be part of the attack, or that he’s running away from something worse — but somehow, none of this seems right.

Seonghwa’s intuition is usually good. It’s shaken after the attack, after basically being raised by the guards that turned on him today, but he likes to think he’s good with people.

"I'm kind of just passing through," the boy replies. "I'm just trying to get through this kingdom, and I would rather, uh, not end up on trial for murder."

"But you saved me," Seonghwa says, brows furrowing.

The boy glances between the body and Seonghwa. "Look, I saw this guy talking to royal guards. I'm not sure if you're like, on a wanted list, but I would rather not get entangled with saving a criminal or anything. I just— look, I just moved before I could think, and, uh, I really hope you're not a criminal, but..."

Seonghwa blinks at him, in confusion and surprise. He does not say anything.

The boy shifts on his feet. "Are you?"

"What?" Seonghwa asks.

"A criminal?"

"No," Seonghwa coughs. "No. I'm, uh... the prince."

The boy stops moving.

"You're the prince?" He whispers, though it is still loud in the silence between them.

"Of this land, yes," Seonghwa replies, feeling a little off-kilter by everything happening. He has to focus on the fact that it's strange that someone does not know him, or else he's going to think about the body lying in the snow, and the fact that he had been mere seconds from death. He'd rather not think about that at all, so he turns his attention entirely to the stranger in front of him. "May I know your name?"

The boy dramatically sways on his feet and then sinks down to his ankles, holding his head in his hands for a moment before he gasps in realisation and goes to bow. Seonghwa, who'd been rooted on the spot merely moments ago, immediately rushes through the snow and tugs the boy up by his shoulders.

"No, no, please don't bow to me," Seonghwa pleads, pulling the boy up.

The boy seems to follow if only out of mere confusion. "But you're—"

"You saved my life," Seonghwa tells him earnestly, and then when it seems like the boy is about to tug out of his grip and try and bow again, Seonghwa drops to his knees and bends down at the waist. This, at least, makes the boy stop his own bow, as he frantically tries to pull Seonghwa up.

"No, oh my gods, this is ridiculous," the boy says, mostly to himself. "Oh gods, please stand up."

"You saved me," Seonghwa insists, still keeping his head bowed down even as he's pulled up forcefully. "Please, this is the least I should be doing—"

"Please do anything but that," the boy begs.

Seonghwa looks up at him through his lashes. "I will," he says, "if you tell me your name."

"San," the boy says immediately, too fast to be a lie, and he tugs back the hood of his cloak like he's trying to convince Seonghwa he's being truthful. "I'm San. Now will you please stand?"

Seonghwa straightens up, and he catches the small hitch of San's breath as he does so. He also takes a moment to regard San now that he's closer too. Young, like he thought. Likely the same age as he suspected.

"Where are you headed, San?" Seonghwa asks, glancing around them. There is not much further beyond these borders, not for days, and San does not look like he has enough with him for such a journey.

San's hands wring around each other. "I, uh... I'm just travelling, I guess."

It's a strange answer, carefully made to look sheepish, but Seonghwa isn't going to push for an answer if he does not want to give it.

Seonghwa looks behind him, like he can imagine the path laid out before San.

"Would you stay?" Seonghwa asks, turning back to San.

San blinks at him in surprise, eyes wide. "Stay?"

"You just saved the prince's life," Seonghwa reminds him, lips tilting up slightly as he sees the way the shock starts to sink into San's features now, and it's a sight so endearing that he forgets all about the pain in his throat. "You fight well, and — ah. I suppose you've seen what my own guards have done. If— only if you're interested, of course. But if you're only searching for a place to stay, however long it is, if even to be warm for a single night, this kingdom can offer you that. I can promise you it."

"A place to stay," San repeats quietly, not quite intending for Seonghwa to hear.

"Please," Seonghwa says. "It is the least I can offer you. At least one night?"

San swallows thickly, and then he ducks his head for a moment, whispering a silent prayer. And then his shoulders straighten, and his eyes gleam, and he looks like that same fighter that had saved Seonghwa not so long ago.

"I would like that," San replies.

Seonghwa walks over to the snow, picks up the dagger that San dropped and passes it back over to him, and leads the way back to the castle with a smile on his face.

He wakes up with his own fingers already pressing against his throat.

He's breathing short and shallow, like he can still feel the fingers digging into his skin, the palm that pressed into his throat and cut off his air. He sucks in a ragged deep breath, fingers tenderly touching the skin that feels like it's still bruised.

His breaths are now more like heaves, and it takes him a while to actually feel like he's getting a decent amount of air back into his lungs.

Properly starting to wake, he realises he's leaning halfway over the bed like he'd been trying to climb out of it during the night, and he's close to falling straight out of it. He doesn't have the energy to pull himself back up right now.

For the first time in a long time, Seonghwa remembers his dream. He almost itches to write it out, to make sure this isn't something else that slips through his fingers, but he doesn't have the energy to reach for his phone or to think about actually writing it down with a pen right now. He sets up small mental markers, telling himself to remember just snow, a cloak, and a dagger.

But he's not forgetting the feeling of being choked, of dying. And he's not forgetting the feeling that had settled inside of his chest as he first looked at San.

In his dream, Seonghwa hadn't recognised him. He hadn't known his name.

And that— that doesn't make sense, because Seonghwa— Seonghwa knows San. Like a part of his own body, he knows him.

But in that dream, he hadn't. In the dream, he had never met San before. Did not know his name or his face — not until San had given these answers willingly.

And then, like he's being pulled out from coursing rapids and submerging from the depths, he realises that he's suddenly not alone anymore. There's a hand on his back, rubbing circles into it soothingly, and a voice is softly talking to him.

San.

Seonghwa manages to get enough energy to haul himself up from the edge of the bed, though his elbow crumbles down when he tries to prop himself up on it. San lets out a surprised noise, but his hand quickly readjusts so that he's now got his hand resting on the back of Seonghwa's nape.

Despite the dream, despite the fingers that had been around his throat and the feeling of thinking his neck should be bruised, he finds that he does not move away from San's careful touch. It feels like a comfort, not a constriction, and he knows he's safe with San. He lets his head roll back into the touch, and he goes weightless. His heart is still pounding, still trying to come down from the panic and the adrenaline he felt in his dream, and his mind is racing with the scenes of the dream.

He's never had a dream so visceral, so clear before. Like it's a well-loved memory, cradled closely and carefully, rather than something jumbled together with a blur of familiar faces. He supposes that's what's shaken him about this — after weeks of not remembering any at all, it's startling to have one in such detail like this.

Taking in a few more deep breaths, he eventually manages to calm down enough to start thinking of things outside of the dream. Like the fact that San is in the bed beside him, and Seonghwa has likely just woken him up.

He groans, running a hand down his face. "San-ah. Sorry."

San's attempt at a reply is more like a grunt even if he doesn’t mean for it to be, demonstrating just how disgruntled he is at being woken up mid-sleep, and Seonghwa feels guilt bite swift and sharp inside of his chest. San clears his throat, hands still massaging into Seonghwa's skin.

"'t's okay," San says, marginally clearer this time. "Are you?"

"I'm okay," Seonghwa whispers. The dream is starting to recede now, no longer taking up all of his mind, but it's still lurking at the back. Still, he can push it aside and acknowledge that he's in his own bed, safe, with San right beside him.

San moves, and Seonghwa turns to watch as San gets his feet under him.

"I'll be back in a sec," San tells him, and Seonghwa thinks he can see the faint traces of a reassuring smile in the darkness, and then San slips from the room before Seonghwa can protest. Left alone, Seonghwa feels uneasy, so he reaches for his phone and groans as he sees the hour. It's a couple of hours before his alarm, and not long enough to properly calm down and get some more decent sleep in that time. Scrubbing a hand down his face again, he slowly lies back down on the bed.

The dream has undoubtedly shaken him, and he attempts to distract himself by scrolling through his phone and listening out to San quietly moving through the dorm. San heads to the kitchen, taking something out from the fridge and pouring it into a glass, and then he's walking back down the hallway. He pushes open the slightly-ajar door carefully, peering his head in. Seonghwa blinks at him, lowering his phone screen down so that it's not casting such an unfortunate angle on his face, even though San has seen him at his worst many, many times.

San gently shoulders the door open, two glasses of water in his hands. He puts one down on Seonghwa's bedside table, and then holds the other one out expectantly, so Seonghwa pulls himself up to sit properly and takes the glass from him.

He doesn't ask how San knew he needed the water — he's trying to just tamper down on the guilt that he feels about the fact that his dream had woken up San.

Seonghwa shuffles aside on the bed, and San takes the invitation willingly, sliding into the bed and pressing against Seonghwa. Seonghwa sips slowly at the water and it feels like an instant soothing balm for his throat, and he finishes half the glass before he can even think about it. San's watching him with a pinched, worried expression, and he takes the glass from Seonghwa and puts it aside again once Seonghwa is done with it for now.

"Thanks," Seonghwa says quietly, glad that his voice isn't as raspy anymore. "And sorry."

San shakes his head. "Don't be."

"Did I— make a noise?" Seonghwa asks, even though he knows that San will likely lie to him if it had been anything like the scream he'd wanted to let out of his throat when he felt the fingers tighten around his neck.

"Not a loud one," San replies.

"Enough to wake you," Seonghwa points out with a frown.

San holds up his fingers, wriggling them around. "Seonghwa-senses."

Seonghwa holds back a snort, and he buries his face into his hands. "Sorry. Really."

San sighs. "Stop apologising. There's nothing you need to be sorry for."

Seonghwa presses his lips together because he's trying to suppress the urge to apologise again, and he knows San will just tell him to stop once again. He puts out a hand, and San gets the glass of water and passes it back over to him. It gives him something to do, something to focus on, and so he slowly sips at the water until it's all gone. San takes it, about to head out of the room to refill it, but Seonghwa loosely grabs his wrist before he can leave the bed.

"I'm not thirsty," Seonghwa says quietly. "Leave it."

San looks back at the door like he's still thinking about moving.

"Stay. Please," Seonghwa whispers in a plea, too tired and— and too exhausted, from everything, to try and hide just how much he needs San to stay.

"Okay, hyung, okay," San whispers back, immediately coming closer and wrapping his arm gently around Seonghwa's shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of his hair so easily. "Okay. I'm right here."

They stay like that for a few breaths, until Seonghwa's heart starts to calm down once again, and then San gently lowers him back down on the bed until they're lying together. San still presses close, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa and breathing deeply, like he's trying to encourage Seonghwa to relax and fall into something close to sleep.

After a while, when it becomes clear that Seongwha isn't going to sleep, and San isn't going to sleep because he isn't, San speaks.

"Is there anything I can do?" San asks.

Seonghwa's fingers hold onto San a little tighter.

He thinks of a boy in a cloak, saving him in the snow. He thinks of the warmth beside him now, crowding against him, trying to protect him, trying to hold him together.

"Just stay," Seonghwa says.

San holds him closer, and they stay like that until their alarms go off.

The next night, San walks into his bedroom before Seonghwa can go to sleep, already putting down two glasses of water on the bedside table. Without a word, he lies down in Seonghwa's bed — even though he'd been wakened the night before, and even though Seonghwa's guilt and regret tries to chase him out, he is not one to be swayed.

Seonghwa falls asleep after exhaustion pulls him under. And this time, he does not awaken even when his alarms are going off — it's only San, gently rousing him with the alarm still going in the background, that makes Seonghwa actually wake.

He's slept through the night. Without waking, without trembling, without any nightmares he does or doesn't remember in his mind. When he blinks in surprise, realising this, San gives him a privately pleased smile, and they get up for the day with a lighter, easier feeling on their shoulders.

After that, he does not dream for a while.

It's a change noticed.

"You're feeling better?" Hongjoong asks him, about a week into not waking through the night.

Seonghwa, half-distracted with his phone, looks up. "Hm?" He takes a moment to figure out that Hongjoong is referring to the fact that it had, obviously, been noticed that he'd been lacking in sleep and energy and ease. "Ah. Yes. Sorry for worrying you."

Hongjoong reaches over and pokes his forehead. "What's with that attitude?"

Seonghwa bats his hand away. "What? I mean it."

Hongjoong has enough to worry about. Seonghwa has never wanted to add to that — he only ever wants to help with Hongjoong's concerns.

Folding his arms, Hongjoong just sighs with exasperation as he leans back in his chair. "Well, I'm glad you're doing better."

"Yeah," Seonghwa shakes out his hair, trying to hide his expression as he feels his cheeks warm. "I am too."

It seems like everyone is. Seonghwa hadn't quite noticed in his exhausted state, but everyone had been watching him closely with concern, all of them hovering a little bit closer, looking out for him more. Now that the circles under his eyes have lightened, now that exhaustion isn't trying to pull him down to the ground with every step, the rest of them step back.

All of them except San, at least. And Wooyoung, mostly by proximity to San.

He remains close. Seonghwa's gotten used to having San draped across him, a hand on the back of his neck, an arm around his shoulders, fingers pressing into his thighs as they sit next to each other, or an entire chest pressed against his back as San leans all of his weight forward into him. Wooyoung is the same, usually staying close, but San is easily the one that is pressing close to Seonghwa, like he's worried that if he doesn't, it'll go back to those sleepless nights.

Those sleepless nights don't come. The dreams don't come — not for a long time. Not for weeks, months, when Seonghwa has put that dream in the snow to the very back of his mind, only remembered when something makes him think of it. San hasn't slep consistently in his bed for weeks now, though he still makes an occasional appearance. For a long time, it's better.

And then —

Seonghwa isn’t there for San's filming, getting some sleep before his own filming late at night, and their locations are just a little further apart than Seonghwa can go before he started his own scenes.

But he sees it later, their manager showing them some of the clips from filming, some behind-the-scenes footage to satisfy their curiosities about the entire video while waiting for the finished result. He sees San in the water, grinning at the manager's camera, before settling into his position.

He's almost knee-deep in water, and there is a chain dangling from the sky, and San has it gripped between his hands. He shifts his weight forward, and then grabs at the chain and hauls it like there is a giant resistance on the other side that he's struggling against.

Seonghwa knows this feeling. It's been a while, now, but— but he knows this feeling. The understanding that this is a scene he knows, that he's seen before, even though this is his first glimpse at it. He knows that there is something just ever so slightly wrong with this — that the chains aren't wound around San like they should be, that his clothes are different, that his expression looks perfect for the camera, convincing of the performance, but it is still not what it should be.

"Hyung?" Jongho prompts beside him, leaning forward to catch Seonghwa's eye.

Seonghwa hides his instinctive flinch as he startles, remembering that he's in the car with Jongho and his manager, waiting for two more members to finish up and join them.

Seonghwa looks down at the clip that's replaying, over and over, and he plasters on a big grin as he hands the phone back to his manager. "I was in shock," he laughs. "It looks amazing."

Their manager hums in agreement, stowing his phone away.

He can tell Jongho is still watching him, so Seonghwa turns to look at him. Jongho is perceptive, and he's undoubtedly trying to figure out if this is something he needs to worry about, so Seonghwa keeps up his eager smile and tries not to think about the way his heart is pounding. "What did you think of it, Jongho-yah?"

Jongho doesn't reply for a heart-stopping second, but then he nods in approval. "I like it. I think it'll turn out well."

"I think so too," Seonghwa agrees, trying to think about any other scene other than the one of San in that pool of water, tugging at a chain that leads into the sky.

Jongho settles into his chair, head resting against the window as he tries to get some rest before the rest of the members come undoubtedly bounding up to them in excitement. Relieved that it seems like Jongho is deciding not to worry about his initial reaction, Seonghwa settles as well, but he holds off on sleeping until he's back in bed.

There, alone, exhaustion pulls him under.

He dreams.

"They say there's a boy," Hongjoong tells him.

Seonghwa looks over the railing of the rooftop of the building, watching the grey and dull city continue on lifelessly through each passing second. It's nice, at least, to get the fresh air — until Hongjoong had been able to configure a cover over the rooftop to hide them from surveillance drones, they hadn't been able to step outside for a long time. It's not like there are many drones around any more, as they believe the resistance movement is destroyed now, and it's not like there's much left on this planet to save.

Still, Seonghwa stands next to Hongjoong, both of them dressed in white to blend in with their surroundings, and plans to fight. Between Hongjoong's fingers, there is a bright red banner, the only sign of colour in this world that Seonghwa has seen outside in a long, long time. Even though the drones cannot see it, and no one but Seonghwa is here on this rooftop, Hongjoong is still rebelling.

"A boy?" Seonghwa prompts, when Hongjoong goes quiet with the rest of his sentence as he thinks.

"They're trying to find him," Hongjoong says, gaze sweeping out across the city, but Seonghwa knows that he's looking out for any guards, any drones, any signs of the control that dominates their world here.

Seonghwa, still, looks at Hongjoong. "What can he do for them?"

At this, Hongjoong's lips curve up, though his eyebrows crease with tension. It's an interesting mix, a type of complexity about the situation that Seonghwa hasn't seen pulled from Hongjoong in a while. Hongjoong lets out a deep breath and turns around, his back to the city as he leans back on the railing and looks back at Seonghwa.

"More like what can he do to them," Hongjoong replies. "They say he can destroy it."

Hongjoong turns back, and gestures to the metallic sphere that currently floats above their city, slightly higher than the rooftop of the building they're on. The centre of everything, the heart of the control that runs this world. A sphere that, by all means, is too small for the way it has changed everything — for the way it can control everything. There are not many people left outside of its influence.

They've learned that if they bring that down, if they destroy it, that they'll be able to take it all back. That all the drones, all the control over this city, over this world, will go down with it. But it's unreachable to them, something that can't be broken.

"Destroy it?" Seonghwa repeats, almost in disbelief. The way that Hongjoong says it, it can only mean that it can be done in one fell swoop.

Hongjoong is the closest thing they have to someone opposing the control, but they're only able to chip away at it slowly, as it's all they can do. They can only hope to keep making these smaller moves, taking down more and more of the control until hopefully there's nothing left for the sphere to help. Even an all-or-nothing kind of mission would not be able to bring down the control entirely. Not even if they placed everything on the line that they have, it would not be enough to destroy them.

They can only destroy the sphere for that kind of result, and it's something they cannot touch.

"They say he can bring it down," Hongjoong says.

"No," Seonghwa replies, shaking his head. "Hongjoong. You know how impossible that is."

Seonghwa trusts Hongjoong completely, entirely, but unless Hongjoong has seen it himself, then Seonghwa is not going to place his hopes in something so unbelievable. Fantasy hasn't gotten them anywhere — only gritting through reality with enough hope to try and change it. Nothing more.

Hongjoong laughs. "I do."

"They would have found him by now," Seonghwa says, looking out at the buildings around them. "There aren't many places left to hide."

It's been getting harder — this base here, now, is the most secure thing they've had in a while, but their other safe locations are being raided constantly, and Seonghwa knows they're running short on time until this one is found too.

"There's enough," Hongjoong replies, gaze locked on the sphere. "There's just enough."

Seonghwa concedes — there must be, as Hongjoong gets his information from somewhere.

But, still. "They would burn the city if someone like that existed."

Not like they haven't before. Some buildings are currently smoking now, but they never let the flames go for too long, like the colour of fire is something that welcomes hope rather than fear. Instead, they keep it all clouded in black and grey and white smoke, remnants left of buildings that are burning, have burnt, and will burn again.

"He's getting ready to come out of hiding," Hongjoong replies. "He's been hiding all this time, someone like that isn't going to get caught now in a fire."

"Hongjoong," Seonghwa sighs. "This is..."

"Impossible," Hongjoong finishes for him. "Believe me, I know. But... that chain, right at the bottom? The one connected to the core of the earth?"

It's the one thing that tethers this sphere to the world, a straight long chain that goes straight to the ground. But all it leads into is a crater, one too large to climb, and one that goes so far down they can only assume it goes to the very centre of the world.

"I know it," Seonghwa says blankly, because it seems like Hongjoong is waiting for a dramatic opportunity.

Hongjoong's lips tilt up, but he still sounds serious. "It's not attached to the earth. It's attached to the boy."

Seonghwa freezes, stunned. His eyes lock on the chain, and he traces it down, trying to imagine a boy at the end of it.

"That's..." He trails off, not even sure what word is able to encapsulate exactly what it is.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" Hongjoong says. "I thought so, but..."

"You believe it," Seonghwa realises.

"I've been hearing things for a long time," Hongjoong says. "More, recently. The activity by the drones has been weird. I think... I think it's right."

"But if the sphere is controlled by them, wouldn't the boy at the end of the chain be on their side?" Seonghwa asks.

"Did you ever hear the story of the sacrificed children?" Hongjoong questions.

Seonghwa's lips purse. He's grown up in this world, with the sphere in the air already, with control taken from most of the people around him. He only has faint memories of the time before he'd lost everything, before he'd found Hongjoong — a time before his parents disappeared, when they would whisper stories to him at night. They'd twist stories about the time before — before the sphere, before everything became like this — with fables, and Seonghwa has never quite been able to discern which ones are real.

But this one, he knows.

The story of the children that had been walked by their own parents to the centre of the earth, given as a sacrifice to the skies for a more prosperous, secure community. Over the years, Seonghwa has been able to pick out some truths from it — that children had been given to the government at the time, meant to help with the creation of the sphere, never to be heard or seen from again.

"I do," Seonghwa replies.

"Which version?" Hongjoong asks, tilting his head.

When Seonghwa is silent for a moment, not quite sure how to explain it, Hongjoong gestures his head to the chain again.

"There are two versions of the story," Hongjoong says. "One of them, you suspect that the children were given to the government, right?"

"Right," Seonghwa replies, because it seems like Hongjoong already knows that this is the version Seonghwa is aware of.

"In the one I have always known, it's that they were hidden from the government," Hongjoong says.

Seonghwa imagines a boy at the end of the chain, and is not sure which version of the story makes it any easier to accept. Eventually, he swallows.

Just like Hongjoong knows him, he knows Hongjoong.

"Well," he says, "I guess we're going to find out, aren't we?"

Hongjoong grins at him, and reveals the plan that he has already been putting into motion.

The world blurs. Seonghwa knows that days pass, more plans are made, and cheers and good-lucks are passed between the small group of people around him. There are hushed whispers, darkness, and then —

A cavern. A hole in the centre of the earth. The sky above them. A chain that leads up into the sky, up to the sphere that reflects the world back to them on its surface. And that chain leads down, through the earth, and at the other end—

There is, indeed, a boy.

He's wrapped in those chains like they're part of him. He's glowing, like something under his skin is made of the same material as that chromatic sphere, even in this darkness. He's wearing tattered white clothing, but his hair is dark, and his eyes are alight.

Seonghwa reaches him first. The others are behind him, making sure they aren't being followed, and Seonghwa is the one trusted to front this mission.

The boy blinks at him. Seonghwa stops in his tracks. He's been preparing for this, knows he's believed in the impossible ever since Hongjoong said he did too, but he thinks that no amount of preparation would have been enough for this sight.

"I can destroy it," the boy says first, like that's the most important thing he has ever said before, like everything in this moment has been waiting, building, for his existence to say it. His voice is gravelly but soft, like he's never used it before, but like he doesn't want to come across harshly.

"How?" Seonghwa asks.

The boy looks up at the sky, and it is like he is a star that has fallen from it. Seonghwa can't quite tear his gaze away.

"It is part of me," the boy replies. "I am part of it."

The boy looks down again, back at Seonghwa, and he understands.

If the boy is destroyed, the sphere will become of the same fate.

The others have not caught up to them yet. Seonghwa looks over the boy, dressed in tattered white clothing, chains wrapped around his skin. A boy that has lived here for — his whole life, potentially. Trapped, part of something with no escape.

Perhaps this is futile. Perhaps Seonghwa is delaying the inevitable.

But Hongjoong's voice rings in his ears, and his own promise sits heavy on his heart. That no more life is to be lost to this cause.

"What is your name?" Seonghwa asks him, instead of any more questions about how the boy plans to destroy himself — or, like he feels the boy is expecting him to ask, how Seonghwa is able to do so for him.

The boy jolts, unsuspecting of the question. It looks like he has never been asked, and looks like he does not have an answer.

Perhaps this is a life they can't save. Perhaps this isn't one they're meant to. Seonghwa has a feeling that in the end, there will be no other option but this.

Still, Seonghwa reaches out his hand.

The boy takes it.

He wakes, feeling like he's plummeting through that crater, back through the centre of the earth.

He's heaving again, his breaths already coming short and sharp and he's not getting enough air into his lungs. It's disorientating, waking up like this again after so long of escaping it, and it takes him a while to calm down again.

He remembers the dream. He remembers the boy reaching out to him, and though he had no name, and though Seonghwa did not know him, he sees San's small flicker of hope cross his expression as he reaches out his hand and takes Seonghwa's own.

His heart hammers again, and he almost spirals again with his breathing, but he forcefully tries to pull himself out of it by reaching over and turning on his light, trying to push back some of the darkness and some of the dreams with a forceful wash of light.

It does not feel as raw now, not as intense, but Seonghwa can still feel San's hand in his own, the sound of the metal against the ground as chains scraped against it with San's every movement.

"No," he grunts out to himself, frustrated he's caught up again in the memory of the dream, slamming his head down onto his pillows once he has the energy. "Stop it."

The light, at least, offers some reprieve. It's easy to orientate himself again, to remind himself that he's in his room, that they've just finished with work and he'd crashed out pretty much as soon as they'd gotten back to the dorms.

In the light, it's easier to remind himself that it had only been a dream. Strange, again, to not know San. Strange that the sight of San in those chains had been familiar, but ever-so-slightly different, but had felt right. Still, he knows that his feelings don't make sense, that his mind is messing with him.

More than acknowledging that feeling, it's more frustrating to realise that the dreams have begun again. That it's once again too early, too late, and Seonghwa is not going to be able to sleep due to the disruptive feeling inside of him.

He lies awake, staying on the bed until his alarm goes off, and he drags himself out of his room and into the kitchen. His stomach started grumbling a while ago, but he'd been too worried that he'd wake someone — that San would come out and find him, like he always seems to — and there'd be more than just Seonghwa losing some sleep.

San wanders out, rubbing his fingers over his eyes as he shuffles in. San mumbles a 'good morning' in his vague direction, heading straight for the coffee, but then he stops and does a double-take to regard Seonghwa again.

Seonghwa, with his fingers around his own mug of espresso, hopes that he's projecting that he slept, that there's nothing to worry about, hoping to escape the concern like he managed to with Jongho.

But San's mouth tugs down into a frown, and he looks a lot more awake suddenly.

"The dreams returned?" San asks.

Seonghwa winces. He didn't think he'd be so easy to read.

"Oh, hyung," San's voice is full of sympathy, and he reaches out his hand and intertwines his fingers easily in Seonghwa's own. Neither of them can fix it right now, and Seonghwa knows that try as he might, there's going to be no convincing to get San out of his bed later tonight.

And he's right — San climbs in, many hours later, throwing his arm over Seonghwa's waist and pressing his face close to his skin. Seonghwa's almost nervous to sleep, worried that the dreams will come back, that he's going to lose all of his nights of sleep once again.

"It's okay, hyung," San tells him, full of reassurance and promise. "You're okay."

Seonghwa takes in a deep breath, counting the seconds in and out, in and out, until eventually his mind slows, and his breathing evens out, and his heart calms. Until he falls asleep.

And, thankfully, he does not dream.

San stays with him for the next couple of nights, but the dreams do not return. It's a relief for both of them, and eventually, San makes his way back to his own bed again.

Seonghwa misses him, he realises, the first night without him. His bed is hardly big enough for two fully grown men unless they're pressed up almost right against each other, which they usually are, but Seonghwa knows he can't ask San to compromise on his comfort just for Seonghwa's own. He finds that it's a little harder to sleep — not because he's worried about the dreams, but because it was just easier with San beside him.

He's able to sleep through the nights, but he finds himself leaning against San more, usually using his shoulder as some kind of pillow between schedules. San worries at first, but Seonghwa is sleeping fine. It's just that it's easier to get some more rest when he's pressed against San like this, listening to his steady heartbeat.

Seonghwa's pretty sure the members have been taking photos of him doing so, because he can hear their low coos, and the way Wooyoung's fingers will tap down on the screen once between a few moments of pause, and then he'll start resuming in his typing again. This starts to happen frequently over the days and weeks, and though Seonghwa has never quite been awake enough to catch them, he knows it's happening.

And there's also the fact that Mingi, one time, leaves his flash on, blinding Seonghwa behind his eyelids for a split-second. San grumbles at him, trying to reach out to snatch the phone without jostling Seonghwa too badly, and when he blearily opens his eyes, he sees Mingi fighting for his life, keeping the phone out of reach with panicked squawks but a wide grin.

He doesn't see any of these photos for a while, not until they're all sent in one big collage from the members. It's extensive — impressive, except for the fact that Seonghwa is kind of mortified to realise just how often he's been resting on San's shoulders and dozing.

Concerned with his own expressions in the photos, aware that there is so much ammunition here for his members to use on birthday posts or anything of the like if the KQ team approves them to be posted, he worries for his image. Most of the photos are hardly charming, his eyes half-lidded, or his nose turned up, or his cheek squashed up near his eye.

Some of them aren't so bad, at least, and he hopes that if any are posted, it's those ones. Regarding his own expressions, it takes him a moment to properly discern San's own over the huge collection. In half of them, San's leaning over, his cheek resting on the top of Seonghwa's own head. In some, he's awake, smiling at the camera, or glaring at it like he's threatening them not to disturb the peace. In some, he's got his eyes closed.

And in some, he's looking at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa's breath catches as he sees those ones.

He's too embarrassed to ask the group chat for the individual photos, so he resolves to zooming in and screenshotting the particular ones that he likes.

Another photo comes through, then. Photos of the moment Seonghwa opened up the collage of sleeping pictures, his reaction caught by the cameras around him. He looks up and sticks out his tongue at Yeosang, who's currently grinning at him. Most of them are laughing good-naturedly, happy with Seonghwa's surprised reaction. Seonghwa looks over at San, and he sees the small, private smile — one that Seonghwa shares with him, and then San exasperatedly rolls his eyes like he's saying "can you believe them?"

Like San hadn't been aware of the photos, smiling directly at the camera in some of them, but Seonghwa decides to take his allies where he can get them, so he just puffs out his cheeks and nods in agreement.

He returns to looking back at his new collection of photos, and he's not quite sure what to make of the way his heart is fluttering. It all fades into the back of his mind, anyway, when San smiles at him again, and sits down next to Seonghwa, and pats his shoulder in invitation.

Despite the evidence that this is a witnessed kind of event, Seonghwa still rests his head on San's shoulder, and it feels quiet and private. Like it is only the two of them in the entire world.

Tours are relentless, at times.

With major highs and adrenaline and energy, there are the crashes, the injuries, the exhaustion.

Most of them fell asleep in the van on the way back to their hotel after one show. Seonghwa's back is throbbing, his neck aching, and he knows he needs to stretch them out before he sleeps — but he genuinely is not sure if he has the energy.

He's not the only one who's feeling like this. Most of them are, this far into the tour, and they're starting to reach points that are not so easy to claw their way back from for the next stop. Their managers usher them back to the hotel, and those that have the energy to stay awake and eat gather together in one room; Wooyoung, Yunho, and Yeosang. The rest of them retire to their rooms.

He's rooming with San, and both of them basically collapse in their entryway once they're past the doorway. Seonghwa knows he should encourage San to wash up, to roll out the muscles he knows are hurting and aching with exertion, but Seonghwa knows it'll just be hypocritical. Seonghwa tugs off his shirt, the best he can do, before he flops down on his hotel bed.

San doesn't even make it that far. He groans as he sinks to the floor, and he rests his weight against Seonghwa's bed. He's made it just far enough to get his head under Seonghwa's hand that's draped over the side, and he insistently presses into Seonghwa's palm before he gets the hint to massage at San's scalp. Something stirs, low in the pit of Seonghwa's stomach.

There’s that feeling again. It’s not — it’s not wrong, this time. But he knows that there is something about this moment that feels like a sense of deja vu.

San groans in relief, basically going boneless as he sags entirely against the side of the bed, letting it keep him upright.

"You should get up," Seonghwa mutters, watching the way San's head falls back and his neck stretches.

"Mhm," is all San replies with, and he closes his eyes. Seonghwa keeps pressing circles into his scalp, occasionally running his fingers through San's hair and pulling it back to make sure it's not getting in his face too much.

Eventually, when Seonghwa blinks and knows he's about to fall asleep, he forces himself to stir.

"Sannie," Seonghwa says. "Come on. Come up here."

It takes San a couple of minutes to rouse, but Seonghwa would rather that he actually falls asleep on a mattress rather than upright against a bed, and he's insistently grumbling at San until he eventually pulls himself up onto Seonghwa's bed.

There's not enough space on the bed for both of them, but neither of them has the energy to protest or move. Seonghwa doesn't bother reaching for his phone to set his alarm — their manager will come knocking on the door, knowing that some of them have the tendency to start sleeping through their alarms when it gets to these kinds of points on tour.

With nothing left to do except sleep, with no energy to do anything but that, they stay pressed together, San basically draped over Seonghwa, and they fall asleep.

There is someone in Seonghwa's temple.

He's reaching for a piece of fruit hanging in a tree, the pink skin of it bright and enticing amongst the green leaves it has grown amongst. His fingers freeze, half-stretched out, as he tilts his head. The person at his temple, he can sense, is not a regular worshipper. They do not even feel like a traveller, who has wandered upon his temple or sought it out to. They do not feel entirely human.

Seonghwa knows that whoever is at the front of his temple is on their knees. They are praying, their head bowed, desperation dripping with every word.

He looks at the fruit from the tree for a single more second as he deliberates, and then he turns around and walks to the front of his temple. The grass at his feet sways in his direction, the flowers leaning towards him like they're reaching for sunlight.

He can see them now, their robes spilled out across the steps. They have travelled for a while, dirt and grass staining the ends, and the material looks thin and worn. Regal, perhaps, once upon a time, but has now been worn down into much less than that.

Like the person — not human, perhaps, but someone masking as a man — seems to sense his presence. His head bows down further, though his whispers prayers cease as Seonghwa steps closer.

Here, close enough to see the details on his robes, close enough to see the scratches and the blood also staining the man's skin, Seonghwa can sense it.

He is not the only god, now, in this temple. But the one before him is weakened, barely anything left, barely hanging onto anything celestial. Barely hanging onto life.

Seonghwa steps closer, making sure his sleeves do not get in the way as he flicks them back when he crouches, reaching a hand out to touch the head of the fallen god at the front of his temple. The other worshippers, or those seeking solidarity in Seonghwa's temple, do not sense either of them amongst them. They walk and kneel and pray, keeping a distance like they can feel something there, but none of them are able to see.

Seonghwa's is by his own decree right now, as he can change it — but he can tell, right now, that the god before him has no choice. That the humans around them do not believe in San, and by the state of his thin thread hanging onto life, it seems like perhaps none of them does anymore.

Once upon a time, they did. Seonghwa knows that the god kneeling at his steps, praying for help, had perhaps, once upon a time, been one of the most powerful gods.

Like he knows that Seonghwa wants him to, the god looks up.

Seonghwa has a feeling that he should know this face, know this energy and presence before him, but his mind draws forth no recognition. But he knows there's a hole in his mind, that there is something greater than the ability of gods in place.

"Stand," Seonghwa says, helping the god to his feet. "Who are you?"

The god shakes his head. "I do not know," he whispers.

For the first time in his long, long life, Seonghwa feels a trace of fear crawl into his stomach.

"Why are you here?" Seonghwa asks.

"I felt... I felt it," the god replies, looking down at his hands like he can see something intertwined in his fingers. "I felt a need to come here."

He looks up at Seonghwa then, his eyes wide. He looks overwhelmed and scared — and right now, too, he looks human. He looks like a worshipper, who is seeking out Seonghwa for solace.

Seonghwa looks up at the sky, at the mountains surrounding them — the ones that have been disappearing, slowly, lowering back down to the earth like they don't have the strength to hold themselves up anymore. And he looks beyond that, beyond this world, and wonders what the fates have in store for the god on his steps, begging for help. What they have in store, now, for him, intertwining their lives together like this.

"Will you help?" The god asks.

Seonghwa reaches out, cupping his hand over the god's cheek, fingers smoothing over the cuts on his face until they blur into his skin and disappear.

"Of course," Seonghwa replies.

The trees around them begin to sway, moving like they're reacting to the end of a play. Seonghwa can't quite tell if they're laughing, cheering, or crying.

He brings the god on his steps inside.

Seonghwa jolts awake.

He's got a weight on top of him that prevents him from moving, but he's familiar with the feeling of a member draping themselves across him like this. And he's familiar with San more than any other.

San stirs, having been moved as well by Seonghwa's wake-up. Seonghwa tries to coax him back to sleep, running his fingers through San's hair.

He thinks about San kneeling by his bedside, pushing his head into Seonghwa's palm and asking for a reprieve. He thinks of a god kneeling on the steps of his temple, asking for solace. The images are not so different.

"Hyung?" San's raspy voice lowly asks.

"Go back to sleep," Seonghwa hushes, still smoothing through his hair. "It's alright."

Seonghwa hasn't woken up so violently this time, and his heart is not pounding so heavily, and it is not so hard to draw breath into his lungs.

Still, San begins to move, taking some more of his own weight as he sits up. Seonghwa frowns at him, displeased by San's insistence, because they're all exhausted and need as much rest as they can get.

"If you don't go back to sleep, I'm changing roommates," Seonghwa threatens, just to try and stop San from waking himself up any further.

San huffs at him and flops back down, his weight suddenly landing back on Seonghwa who lets out a gust of air. Still, Seonghwa knows that San isn't going to be able to fall back asleep right now.

"I'm alright," Seonghwa whispers, finding that his hands are naturally patting San's skin, trying to lull him back into a sense of peace. "Really."

The dream hadn't been so bad. Confusing and disorientating, like the past two have been, but this one is not bringing that same sense of panic. Maybe Seonghwa's getting used to it now.

San has just enough energy to trace patterns and swirls into Seonghwa's own skin in turn, and both of them just breathe together, holding on to one another. For the first time since waking up from a dream like this, Seonghwa almost drifts right back to sleep.

He almost does, but then there's a knock at the door.

San groans immediately. They don't bother moving, as their manager has a spare keycard for all their rooms, and he enters after a few seconds. Seonghwa can't quite see him from his angle, as San's body is taking up most of his vision, but he hears their manager's amused and breathy laughter.

"Should've just paid for a single bed, huh?" Their manager teases. "Come on, up you two."

It takes a while for both of them to untangle and actually get up. But Seonghwa's not nearly as exhausted as he had been, or as he usually is when he wakes up from such a dream. They get changed for the airport, make sure everything is packed up, and head down to the lobby. They'd been the last two to be awake, and everyone else meets them down there.

Mingi passes them both a warm pastry, looking a little more alive than everyone else here.

"Thank you," Seonghwa says gratefully, curling his fingers around the warmth of it against the chill in the lobby. San mutters something that sounds like the same, and Mingi gives them a warm smile before he bounds back over to Hongjoong to talk to him about something.

"You're really okay?" San asks as they climb into their vans, ready for the airport.

Seonghwa, warm from the kindness around him, finds that he's genuine in his reply when he says "I am."

San smiles, pleased, and Seonghwa's heart thuds loudly in his chest.

The next dream comes a couple of weeks later, when Seonghwa becomes enticed by the way that San is flipping a pen between his fingers. It's a mundane action, something he normally does when he's distracted or bored and wants something to fiddle with, but this time it stays in Seonghwa's mind — and he knows, just like the scar, just like the chains, there is something else to it.

He feels like he knows it's coming. He's starting to recognise the pattern, starting to understand that when he gets this feeling, a dream usually follows. At night, before heading to his room, he hesitates in the doorway.

He glances back at San's room, and he considers, for a moment, climbing into San's bed.

But it's been a few nights now that they haven't slept together, a while since Seonghwa has had a dream, and he has a feeling that San will start to realise that Seonghwa is now able to figure out when he’s going to have a dream. And that would come with questions, and Seonghwa does not have the answers to these things.

Not yet, at least.

He climbs into his own bed, and even though he finds himself trying to starve off sleep, nervous now about the dream he might have — eventually, he blinks at his phone screen, and his phone slips from his fingers as he falls asleep.

Seonghwa finds him sitting on a sofa, one stretched out before one of the many windows of the ship.

The stars shine from the outside, an endless view that they're used to. There won't be another planet in their orbit for at least another three days.

"Hey," Seonghwa says in the doorway, keeping his voice down. They're in the private section of the ship, a restricted library only meant for the higher officials and clearance. Despite his position, he's stretched out on the sofa like he's just any other ordinary crew member or passenger, making time for leisure in what should be a studious area.

"Hey," San replies with a soft smile.

They haven't really used it as a place to study the texts of the past and present and future for a long time now. Seonghwa looks around, making sure the area is empty of all except for themselves before he comes over and squishes up on the sofa. San continues to read the book on his lap, his other hand twirling a pen that he'd been using to take notes down on his pad before, it seems, giving up on that idea and just indulging in some other texts.

Seonghwa is comfortable here, watching the stars pass them, feeling the rumble of the ship beneath them. He breathes in the slightly over-sharp taste of recycled air that's pumped through the systems, lets it sit on his tongue and then down into his lungs. He looks up after a while, watching the way San's fingers are still flipping the pen between them, becoming entranced with the sight rather than the one outside their window of the galaxy.

San, eventually sensing his gaze, looks down and meets his eyes. He stops flipping the pen.

Seonghwa takes the book from him, though there isn't any more room on the couch, so he carefully places it on the floor beneath them. San's mouth twists, like he's about to argue that books shouldn't be placed there — and usually, Seonghwa would agree.

But they are three days away from the next planet, three days away from their next mission, and Seonghwa finds that he does not care right now for such things as making sure books are placed in appropriately safe places. Right now, all he wants to care about is San.

Seonghwa's gaze flickers to San's lips, a type of desire that's simmering low in his stomach, one that's familiar to him in this world. One he's enacted on before — he knows this is not the first time he has felt this way, and he knows it is not the first time they have looked at each other like this, glancing down at their lips.

Seonghwa stretches forward the moment San leans over, and they kiss like it is a movement so familiar, so easy. San's dropped the pen in favour of placing his hand on the back of Seonghwa's neck, pulling him closer. This is not their first kiss, but still, Seonghwa feels his heart pounding, that feeling in his stomach only growing.

In three days, they won't have this. In three days, there will be a new mission they will need to focus on. In three days, everything might change.

So Seonghwa holds San tighter, kisses him harder, and lets the ship fall away from their senses.

Seonghwa's lips are tingling.

His heart is pounding — leftover adrenaline, perhaps, thoughts about the mission in three days that does not exist in reality. Pounding because he's out in deep space, tumbling through the stars in a ship that's near the end of its voyage. But if he's honest, he knows exactly why his heart is pounding so hard in his chest.

He'd kissed San. He dreamed of kissing San — dreamed of them in some kind of relationship, because he knows that was not their first time.

Not, perhaps, the first time Seonghwa has imagined it. But it's certainly the first ever time he's had a dream so visceral, so intense, that he feels like he can still taste the recycled air and the taste of San's lips on his own.

There is still that feeling inside of his stomach, twisting and turning, that type of desire that still hasn't faded even though he's woken. And he knows why — knows that this is a feeling he's been trying to bury low, out of sight, trying to ignore it even as his heart thuds, as his stomach flips, whenever he thinks about San.

He loves his members. There is a type of burning fondness and love for them that one day, he fears might just set him alight.

But this is different. Not new, perhaps. A slow-building kind of fire that refuses to be doused. His dream, however, is the most his mind has ever taken his feelings and run with them.

It's cruel, almost. Being able to imagine them together, in that kind of established relationship, where kisses were common and not some kind of fantasy that Seonghwa does not believe he'll ever have.

It was just a dream, he tells himself, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He'd usually try and stay in his room nowadays, but the walls feel like they're pressing in, and Seonghwa is so desperate for a drink to try and smooth some of the burnings of his lips and throat. At this rate, with the thought of the way San arched, of the way he moved beneath Seonghwa, he almost considers it'll be worth getting the bottle of whiskey they keep in their lower cabinets.

It's a little too close to his alarm time to really consider that idea, but he almost takes it back when the taste of water isn't enough to soothe the burn. His eyes linger on the cabinets, considering it, before he hears his own alarm go off. By the time he's rushed back into his room, and then come back out, San has made his way into the kitchen.

"You were up before your alarm," San says in greeting. Seonghwa feels his cheeks warm, and he has to pretend like he's interested in refilling his glass of water to try and hide his expression from San's gaze.

"Good morning," Seonghwa pointedly says.

San snorts. "Good morning. You were up before your alarm."

"Not by a lot," Seonghwa replies, taking a slow sip of the water. His heart has resumed pounding upon the sight of San, who's currently splayed across one of the chairs. There is a pen lying on the table close to him, on top of some paper where someone has been filling out forms, and Seonghwa decidedly steps closer if only to take the pen for himself.

He does not need the image of San twirling another pen through his fingers right now, not when his brain is just infuriatingly locked onto the feeling of what it was like to kiss San.

"Hyung?" San prompts.

"Huh?" Seonghwa asks, realising he's missed whatever San has been trying to ask him. "Sorry, still half-asleep. What's up?"

"The dreams. Have you remembered any?" San asks.

Seonghwa's heart basically stops in his chest.

"No," Seonghwa says, hoping his voice doesn't sound half as panicked as he currently feels. "No, I don't remember them."

Maybe he could have explained some of them. Maybe it would have been safe to talk about the way he remembered a boy in a cloak, a boy in chains. Maybe those would have been safe to talk about, maybe it would have been nice to hear an opinion on the fact that it's strange he never remembered knowing San in those dreams.

Last night's dream, however — he knew San, but not because he knows him now. He knew San in that dream from their history in that life, on that ship, and Seonghwa knows that. Maybe he could have explained that, too.

But he worries that if he lets anything slip now, he won't be able to stop. That San will be able to piece together what happened in the dream last night, what Seonghwa is now trying to keep private. He can dream of San, but he can't have him, and he knows it. It's not worth bringing pain to San by telling him about these kinds of dreams.

"I wonder what they are," San muses, though he sounds more concerned than he does curious.

"Me too," Seonghwa basically chokes out, and hides the way his voice is so unsteady with another sip of water.

Mingi comes out of his room then, rubbing at his eyes. Their manager will be around soon to get them moving, but right now, they have a couple of moments to themselves.

Seonghwa looks over at their kitchen, and he figures it's as good of a distraction as he's going to be able to get with San this close to him, with the memory of San lying near a window of stars.

"I'll make breakfast," he offers, waving off any attempts at help, and lets his senses focus on making a meal.

Still, even with eggs and rice, the taste of San never quite leaves his tongue.

The problem is, now that Seonghwa has dreamed of, has imagined it in such detail, he can't stop thinking about it.

He can admit that he's liked San for a while now, if he's being truly honest with himself, which he figures he now has to be with everything starting to unravel. He's tried to pretend he's not, and he's been in denial for so long that it's strange to finally admit it privately to only his own soul, but it brings a sense of relief to finally be able to acknowledge it.

While it's nice to have that sense of relief, it's also become incredibly hard to not be around San and simply think of it. He's basically consumed by it now, whenever he's close enough to San, whenever San drapes himself across Seonghwa and holds him. Anytime he looks up at the sky and sees stars, he thinks of it.

It's kind of exhausting, suddenly having all these feelings rise to the surface like this. Suppression doesn't work half as well as he wants it to, and his heart and mind both feel like jumbled messes, trying to separate his dreams from reality.

Hongjoong pulls him aside one day, requesting that he stay back after dance practice. Everyone gives Seonghwa raised eyebrows and sympathetic glances, somewhat surprised by the fact that Hongjoong has called him out, but also feeling sorry for him. Usually, someone being asked to stay back means that there's something that needs to be worked on and improved to meet the standards that Hongjoong has set.

Worry curls viciously in Seonghwa's stomach, but Hongjoong doesn't ease it until everyone has moved out of the practice room.

"Sorry," Hongjoong says immediately, waving a lazy hand, dismissing any kind of concern about Seonghwa's performance. "You're doing well. No complaints about your performance."

Immediately, Seonghwa groans and collapses dramatically onto the floor. "Did you have to do that then?"

Hongjoong grins at him, sitting down beside him. "Gotta remind the kids to be scared of me sometimes. If even you're not safe, it'll remind them that they're not either."

Seonghwa holds a hand against his chest. "My heart, Hongjoong-ah. You could have scared them without sacrificing my own sanity."

Hongjoong bumps his shoulder against him. "But that's more fun."

"Only for you," Seonghwa sighs, deciding to lie down on the floor to stare up at the ceiling. Hongjoong looks over to grin at him, though it softens into something more kind after a moment.

"I did want to talk, though," Hongjoong says. He sounds a little more serious now, but it's not so bad that Seonghwa is immediately sent spiralling back into panic.

"What about?" Seonghwa asks.

"You're sleeping well, right? Things have been okay lately?" Hongjoong asks.

Seonghwa braces himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, definitely. Why?"

"Just..." Hongjoong trails off, looking a little more nervous now. "When it was happening, San would sleep with you, right?"

Seonghwa swallows thickly. "Right."

"And it helped?" Hongjoong asks.

Seonghwa isn't exactly sure how to explain the fact that the dreams are, technically, triggered by San. He's figured that much — that the common denominator in everything about these strange dreams is that it's always, always San.

But waking is certainly easier with San's warmth beside him. Or, at least, it had been. Before Seonghwa went and dreamed about kissing him.

"Did..." Hongjoong says, but he trails off again, biting down on his lip. Seonghwa's never quite seen him like this, like he's back in their debut year, admitting to Seonghwa that he was still not quite confident in leading all of them.

"What?" Seonghwa prompts, letting him know he's open to the discussion.

"Did anything happen between you two?" Hongjoong asks.

Seonghwa frowns immediately. He doesn't think there's been any strange tension between them — only one-sided, on Seonghwa's own, that he's pretty sure he's been able to hide quite well. He hasn't noticed anything strange from San's side of things.

"Happen? Like..."

Hongjoong coughs. "Like— was it, you know, only sleeping?"

Seonghwa basically chokes on his sharp inhale of breath. He has to sit up properly, dragging in ragged breaths as he tries to recover.

"Are you asking if we-" Seonghwa basically chokes on the question before he can even finish it. His eyes are starting to water from the way that his throat is clogged.

Is it obvious? He wants to know, desperately. Is it obvious that I want to?

"I am," Hongjoong admits, though he's patting Seonghwa's back sympathetically.

"We— no. No. Never," Seonghwa swears, even though it almost tastes like a lie as he thinks of how real his dream had felt.

"Okay," Hongjoong breathes out, and waits for Seonghwa to recover his breath before he speaks again. "I have to watch you guys, you know? And it's just... the way you've been lately, around him... I don't want to assume, of course, but... I know you. And I know it's awkward coming to me with these kinds of things, and it's not something you have to tell me of course, but... as the leader of this team, I have to be careful too."

Seonghwa panics, blindly grabbing onto Hongjoong. "Hongjoong-ah. No. No. It's not— I'm not—"

He sounds so desperate, so panicked, and he knows he's giving it all away.

Hongjoong grabs onto his hands, thumbs rubbing over the back of Seonghwa's hands. "Hey. It's alright. It's not something you have to worry about with me, you know that, right? It's just that if it is something, I don't want to be blindsided by it. I want to know what's happening between you guys. All of you. For the sake of the team as a whole, but also because you're my friends, and I... want to help, if there's something I can do."

Seonghwa drops his head down, not letting Hongjoong see the wild expressions he knows are crossing his face. He feels guilt, shame, embarrassment, and concern all tumble inside of him, spinning roughly in his stomach, threatening to choke him again.

Hongjoong holds him through all of it, still stroking his thumb back and forth over Seonghwa's skin to try and calm him. Despite the fact that it seems like Hongjoong has figured out that there's something, that Seonghwa feels a particular way, despite the fact he has every right to get angry and be upset, still, he is here trying to calm Seonghwa down, trying to tell him it's alright.

"There's nothing between us," Seonghwa manages to say, because he needs Hongjoong to know this. That they haven't done anything, that they haven't just tumbled into anything blindly without considering the repercussions this will have.

"Okay," Hongjoong breathes out, and it thankfully sounds like he believes Seonghwa.

Seonghwa still can't look up, still can't face him, but Hongjoong lets him be as he continues to just hold onto him. Finally, though, Hongjoong speaks again.

"But there's... there's something, right? Even just on your side?" Hongjoong asks delicately like he's worried the question will be too sharp, like it'll cut straight through Seonghwa.

"Hongjoong-ah," Seonghwa rasps out, because it's too painful to admit. "Please..."

Hongjoong shuffles a little closer, and he lets go of Seonghwa's hands just to pull him in closer, letting Seonghwa rest his head on his chest. "It's alright, Seonghwa-yah. It's alright. I'm sorry."

Seonghwa almost laughs. "You're sorry?"

Hongjoong hums. "I am. This seems like a lot to carry on your own, Seonghwa-yah. I'm sorry that you're feeling like this."

Seonghwa huffs, but he accepts it, because this, like admitting it to himself, brings a sense of relief. He's still panicked, still worried, but having someone know and acknowledge his feelings brings that sense of relief that lifts his shoulders ever so slightly.

"When could you tell?" Seonghwa asks quietly, starting to feel a little more human again now.

"Only recently," Hongjoong replies. "When did you start feeling like this?"

"A long time ago," Seonghwa admits, like it's a sacred prayer. "But only recently did I... let myself think about it, I guess."

"I see," Hongjoong says, and it seems like there isn't much more to say between them. They're both sorry, both apologetic, if for different reasons. But they're still tucked closed together, Hongjoong is still by his side, and Seonghwa supposes that there are worse things that can happen.

It's not so bad, really, having someone understand his feelings.

"Come on," Hongjoong says eventually, once Seonghwa's legs have gone numb from sitting on the floor for so long. "They'll be starting to get worried about how much I'm lecturing you, right?"

Seonghwa stifles a laugh, pressing it into Hongjoong's shirt. "Yeah. Hey. Can you, um, act like it was actually because of something? And not because of this."

This, being the fact that Seonghwa's just had his heart laid bare, his feelings for San admitted.

"Of course," Hongjoong replies, like he'd already been planning on doing so. He probably had — it's likely why he set this all up as he has.

"Thank you," Seonghwa whispers.

Hongjoong rests his head on Seonghwa's own for a second, giving them a moment to just experience their emotions together, and then helps pull him to his feet.

"Come on," Hongjoong says. "I'll buy you ice cream. That way they'll think that even I feel bad for the level of the lecture."

Seonghwa laughs, and though everything feels overwhelming right now, it's certainly easier with Hongjoong by his side.

"Do you remember the day we met?" Seonghwa asks, currently standing out on his balcony, pulling his cloak in tighter to himself as the snow falls.

San steps up behind him, his armour somehow quiet with his movements. He looks out at the snowing field below, looking into the distance, likely where Seonghwa is seeing that field, where the frozen lake can be seen.

"Of course," San says.

Seonghwa turns and smiles at him.

San's gotten older. He grew out of that dark cloak he had worn a few years ago now, but he still carries the same dagger that had saved Seonghwa's life.

Seonghwa brings up a hand, cupping San's cheek. His fingers brush against the raised skin there, his thumb swiping tenderly over the scar that sits over his eye. It's a miracle that San can still see out of it after the injury he sustained.

San's eyes flutter shut, and he leans into the touch.

"My love," Seonghwa hums, trying to rouse him when San seems to get a little too comfortable, like he can spend the entire day here, just in Seonghwa's hands.

Seonghwa could do so too, but they have duties to attend to.

San's eyes open. "My king."

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. It's a recent title, one that Seonghwa is still getting used to. Still, San says it like he is teasing, but also like it is the most reverent words that have ever crossed his lips.

"Help me with my jewellery," Seonghwa says, and San smiles gleefully. It's usually another staff member's job in this castle to dress Seonghwa, but San usually likes to take their role despite his own personal guard status.

"Of course," San replies, and kisses his cheek and pulls him inside, where the light of the fire in the room begins to warm them up.

Seonghwa remains still, only moving when he needs to, as San picks out pieces of jewellery to lay them over Seonghwa's elegant clothing. He's gone for silver, as Seonghwa suspected he would.

"My star," San proudly says, kissing Seonghwa's cheek as he clasps on a dangling earring. Seonghwa resists the urge to shiver.

When San is done, Seonghwa stands before the mirror, admiring the choices that San has chosen. San has picked all of them for a reason — because against the dark colour of his robes, chosen to represent the saviour in his young life, the silver shines and twinkles.

"Close your eyes," San whispers, and Seonghwa does so. He's not surprised when he feels San's fingers gently swipe across his eyelids, likely dusting a light brush of silver sparkles across them. San kisses his cheeks, then his nose, and then his jaw. When Seonghwa pouts, realising San's avoiding his lips, San laughs. "Open your eyes, my star."

Seonghwa does so, slightly confused, only for everything to stop as he starts to take in the sight before him.

San is holding out a ring.

Not just any ring. The very ring that his mother had worn, gifted to her by his father. A promise, made long ago. One of eternal love.

"Oh," Seonghwa sucks in a sharp breath. "Oh."

"Your mother gave it to me," San says softly. "It is yours to have, of course, without the meaning. But..."

"She wanted you to propose," Seonghwa whispers in realisation.

They'd never gotten to speak about it. Not properly. His parents had passed two years ago, and Seonghwa has only just started to get used to the weight of the crown on his head now.

The reassurance that they were given permission means more than what Seonghwa can ever say.

"She did," San's voice is low, just as quiet.

Seonghwa holds out his hand. San blinks at it for a moment before his head whips up.

"I'm saying yes," Seonghwa promises.

San's face lights up with joy, and Seonghwa barely registers the fact that San has slipped on the ring before he's being spun around, and they're both laughing in delight and laughter and love.

"I'll get you one today," Seonghwa says, admiring the ring on his finger. "I didn't think you would ask... Not today, at least."

"I told myself when the first snow arrived this season," San admits. "A little earlier than we all thought, though."

"Yes," Seonghwa laughs, purely in delight. "Come on, come on, let's go."

They'd been planning to go into the town today anyway, but now Seonghwa has all the more reason to go through the markets and pick out or commission a perfect ring. He's been thinking about it for a while, of course, has been thinking about proposing himself — but he's been a little caught up in his royalty duties, and it's been something he hasn't been able to get around to.

Until now, of course.

Seonghwa slips his gloved hand into San's own as they enter the carriage, the distance just a little too far to walk in this weather. As they get to the town, San's hand slips out of his own, focused now entirely on his duties as the head of the royal guards and as Seonghwa's own personal one.

It's a title that will have to change, now that they're betrothed, but everything feels like it's been caught in a storm of snow, and Seonghwa hasn't really had the time to slow it all down. He's too caught up in his love and happiness, and he figures it will just be something they'll have to sort out together in the coming time.

Seonghwa walks through the town and the bustling markets. Despite the colder weather, the people are excited, and happiness is palpable in the air. Children run around squealing, and Seonghwa gets caught up with a couple of them as they weave through his legs, trying to fight each other while getting as many other people caught up in their game as possible.

Seonghwa laughs and crouches down, about to try and join in properly with them, when it's like everything suddenly goes silent.

Everything, but the sound of San moving through the snow.

He usually never makes a sound, but Seonghwa is attuned to him, and he knows that it's San hurrying. That it's San releasing an arrow, that it's San still hurrying across the ground, that it's San crashing into him, that—

That it's San, next to him, when an arrow sails through the air.

He watches it come towards him, almost in slow-motion. The world feels like it pauses, if just for this moment, if just for Seonghwa to realise the shot was meant for him.

If just for Seonghwa to realise that San has pushed him out of the way, and—

The arrow lands.

Above San's armour, above all the spots he keeps protected.

It pierces through his neck.

He does not fall back. He jolts, a hand coming up to his neck as he lets out an awful, choked sound.

There are people screaming. The children are starting to cry.

There is blood in the snow, and San—

San is gone before he even falls forward.

Seonghwa cries out, trying to stop him from falling, but San's weight is heavy and Seonghwa is in shock and unprepared. San lands in the snow, taking Seonghwa with him, and Seonghwa sobs, raw and desperate, hands coming up to press where San's bleeding, where the arrow has pierced.

He pulls off his gloves — he's not sure why, but perhaps it's to try and feel San's heartbeat, to try and feel something alive. The blood underneath his fingers is warm and bubbling, but it quickly slows.

San's throat is not moving. His chest is not rising. His eyes are open, and they do not blink. Seonghwa bundles him into his arms, pleading and begging, asking him to come back, to stay with him, please, please—

San dies there, with the snow around them stained red, and Seonghwa is left as one half of a whole.

This time, when Seonghwa wakes, he is crying.

Sobbing, really. Every ragged breath feels like it's being choked in his nausea, and he's not sure if he wants to curl into a ball and continue to cry or throw up. He sits up, his back against his bedframe, but it's as far as he gets. He puts his head between his knees, wraps his arms around his stomach, and just tries to breathe somewhere between his sobs.

He remembers wondering distantly, before he slept tonight, if he'd get any dreams. San had been given a scar again by their makeup artists, and Seonghwa had felt that same feeling, but it had been the exact same as the first time.

The only time, out of the four, that he could not connect the dream to reality. The chains had been easy to connect, San kneeling under his touch, the pen flipping, but the scar had been the odd one out, not connecting to anything in the dream.

Now, he supposes, he has his answer, and he wishes he never did.

His fingers feel wet, and he panics for a second, thinking of San's blood pulsing under his fingertips. He loosens the grip around his stomach, but then the light switches on above him.

Seonghwa blinks, and the fingers he's currently clawing into his stomach are not red. They are not bloody. They're wet, likely from the tears that fall from his face.

He curls further into himself, because no matter how many times he blinks, no matter how much he breathes, it does not get any easier to try and push down the pain of San dying right in front of him.

He knows that there's someone in the doorway. He knows, instinctively, like the way he knew how he moved across the snow, like the way he's always known him, he just knows that it's San. But when San reaches for him, Seonghwa flinches, unable to forget the way San had fallen forward, gone before either of them could say anything.

"Hey," San says quietly, voice delicate. "Hey, hyung. Hey. Are you okay? Hyung?"

He can hear the way San is starting to panic, the way he's starting to wonder if something is really, truly wrong. He's hesitant to touch Seonghwa again after his initial reaction, but Seonghwa can see his fingers hovering near Seonghwa's own, likely wanting to tug his fingers away so that he can see if there's anything physically wrong with him.

Seonghwa can't say that he is okay, and doesn't think he'd be able to speak even if he tried, so he just reaches out his hand for San. San threads his fingers through Seonghwa's own easily, though he's taking the chance to glance at Seonghwa's stomach just to double check there are no visible injuries.

San kneels down on the edge of the bed, his other hand rubbing down Seonghwa's back.

"It's okay hyung," he's saying, over and over, "just breathe. It's okay. You're okay. Breathe."

Eventually, Seonghwa's sobs come under control. His breathing sounds less like ragged sobs and more just exhausted, short bursts of air that he's managing to pull in. San is still worriedly rubbing at his back, but he doesn't push Seonghwa to speak. He just reminds Seonghwa to breathe every time something gets caught in his throat, every time he thinks of the snow and the red spilling out beneath it, of the ring on his finger that is no longer there.

San gets him to stretch out his legs and straighten out his back so that he's no longer hunched over. It's easier to breathe like that, and San holds him upright, taking his weight when it feels like it's too much to hold up.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?" San asks again.

Seonghwa shakes his head. No, he's not okay, but also no, nothing hurts that can be fixed with medicines.

San continues to rub his back, calming now that Seonghwa is starting to as well. He's still worried, tense like he's ready to spring up and go get anything he thinks that Seonghwa might need, but Seonghwa eventually just grabs at San's wrists and pulls him close.

After the dream, he just needs San alive, to feel his pulse underneath his fingertips, to remember that he is here, in bed with San next to him, and not lying in the snow. San, understanding Seonghwa needs this more than anything despite knowing nothing, lets Seonghwa pull him into the bed, lets Seonghwa press his fingers to his pulse and breathe to the rhythm of San's own heart.

Feeling calmer, reassured in the fact that San is alive, he starts to come back to himself a little more. He doesn't even quite have the energy to apologise to San for waking him once more, but he does his best to pull San down into the bed properly now, to try and get them both comfortable.

Seonghwa knows he will not be sleeping again — not with that dream right at the forefront of his mind, not with the chance he might experience it again. It's better, here, even in the aftermath of it — at least here, there is San right here in his arms.

They lie together, and he thinks San is able to drift off into a light doze once everything is calmer, once Seonghwa's own heart is back to normal. He's still distressed by his dream, but lying with San helps, and he's almost calm again by the time his alarm goes off in the morning.

San stirs in his arms, and Seonghwa lets go to give him some room. San takes a couple of moments to properly rouse himself, and when he does, his head is immediately snapping towards Seonghwa with concern.

Seonghwa gives him a half-hearted smile, which he does his best to try and be reassuring with. San doesn't quite buy it, judging from the calculated gaze he's given, where it feels like San is trying to pull him apart just so that he can put him all back together.

"I'm okay," Seonghwa whispers, voice hoarse. "Sorry about all that."

San just lowers himself back down and head-butts himself straight into Seonghwa's chest, a clear enough argument that he isn't happy that Seonghwa is apologising. Seonghwa smiles at the action, stroking his fingers down the back of San's head.

"I know you don't want to hear the apology," Seonghwa replies, "but I'm sorry for worrying you."

San looks up at that. "It was... hyung, to wake up from a dream like that..."

Seonghwa tries, desperately, to make sure that the amount of devastation he feels by remembering the dream does not appear on his face again. He wishes that this was all like the start of it — the confusion over his dreams is better than the knowledge of what they are now. He'd take forgetting them now and being confused rather than feeling this.

"I know," Seonghwa replies, wanting to try and soothe some of San's concern. "I know. It was just an intense nightmare. I'm okay now."

San frowns, like he's going to try and argue that, but they're interrupted.

"Hey, is San— oh," Mingi stops in the doorway, hand frozen on the back of his neck where he'd been rubbing it. "Um. Oops."

Mingi goes to turn on his heels, clearly flustered, and Seonghwa wonders if Hongjoong is truly the only one that has caught onto Seonghwa's feelings. He sure hopes so, but his stomach sinks as he has a feeling otherwise.

"Mingi-yah," Seonghwa rasps out, trying to project his voice a little louder. Thankfully, it's enough to get Mingi to stop. He wants to explain himself, wants to tell Mingi that this isn't what he thinks, judging by the way his face had gone so red. It's not like that.

Mingi stops, but Seonghwa loses his words before he can even speak.

San speaks up. "Cuddle," he demands.

Mingi does turn at that, furrowing his brows at them.

"Is that what you two get up to? Cuddling?" He asks dubiously.

San must pull a face at him that Seonghwa can't see, as Mingi's confusion seems to alleviate, and he goes through a few different expressions before he settles on a dramatic kind of acceptance. "Ah! Okay! Cuddle it is!"

Mingi looks like he's about to throw himself on the bed, but he stops himself just before he can and instead climbs delicately amongst them, curling himself around them. They need to get up and get ready for their schedules, but San is on his phone typing something Seonghwa can't see, and when Seonghwa goes to mention the fact that they need to get up, San just shakes his head.

"We can stay for a little longer," he reassures — not testing the limits of what they can do, but promising that they have the time for it.

Seonghwa decides to trust that, as he nods, and lets himself curl up with both of them. The bed is definitely too small with three of them, especially when Mingi is so tall on his own, but they manage to make it work until it feels like they're breathing as one giant, lumped-together being rather than three separate people.

Eventually, Mingi rolls off, and San does too. They both pull Seonghwa to his feet, and they shuffle together into the bathroom to get ready — definitely too small again, but they aren't letting go of each other.

Seonghwa figures that San must have slipped something, that Mingi is going along with this because he has some sense of understanding just how bad it had been last night, but he does not push for answers. He trusts that San wouldn't reveal anything he doesn't want him to, and it's rather that they just know each other so well that it's easy, sometimes, to tell when one of them needs help and won't ask for it.

They make it to their schedules later than originally planned, but it seems like it's the correct time, as all of them rock up at that time as well. San and Mingi stay by Seonghwa's side for as long as they can, and when they can't, the other members press up against Seonghwa. None of them asks anything, but they talk to him, and they remind him with unspoken words that they're all here for him, that they're all here to listen and help.

With their help and support, the dream is easier to bury in the back of his mind, easier to tell himself it's just a dream, and that's all it will ever be.

San is alive, breathing, whole.

That's all he has to remember.

For the next few nights, Seonghwa struggles to sleep.

San joins him in the bed without asking and without a request. They both just know it will happen, and Seonghwa can hardly pretend like he doesn't need it after the state he'd been in. Even if his heart aches, it's better to know that San is alive, and that reassurance — the way he'd been able to feel San's breaths and heartbeat — had been the only reason he'd been able to drift into sleep.

He doesn’t dream, but every time he wakes, he still remembers that one dream. He's so scared he'll slip into it again that it takes a while for him to actually fall asleep at night.

Every night, San bites down on the inside of his cheek, like he's considering asking something. But every night, he lets out a breath, and he just wraps his arms around Seonghwa, and he does not ask any questions. Seonghwa is thankful for that — because he does not know how he'd ever be able to answer San when it comes to the dreams.

That dream does not appear again, at least. But Seonghwa is constantly on edge, waiting for the feeling when he sees something, when San does something, that will bring back that familiar feeling of knowing that something is wrong, and knowing that it will bring a dream that makes the scene seem right.

It doesn't make any sense no matter how much Seonghwa thinks about it, so he just — he tries not to, really. If he does, he fears it might consume him. It already feels like it does.

Seonghwa is waiting, and waiting, and it happens weeks later. He's almost let his guard down about it, even.

They are all walking up a spiral of stairs, and San and Wooyoung have raced ahead. Seonghwa is taking his time, Yunho and Jongho keeping pace with him.

"Slow-pokes!" Wooyoung calls out from above. Seonghwa looks up, and he sees Wooyoung leaning against the railing, sticking out his tongue.

Beside him, San is leaning over it as well, and he waves.

The feeling starts. Seonghwa feels like the stairs have slipped out from underneath him, and he's suddenly unsure of his footing. He's glad he stopped walking, and he's able to cover up the way he sways with disorientation by leaning against the railing. He looks down, but it doesn't abate the feeling inside of him.

The sight of San leaning against that railing has just triggered something, a new dream, and he does not know what to expect. He closes his eyes, trying to count his breaths, making sure he does not spiral into the panic he suddenly feels.

If it's— if it's another dream, like the last one, he isn't sure he'll be able to handle it. He's been doing better, getting more sleep again, and he worries he's about to lose all of his progress once more.

Yunho's hand comes down on his back. "Hyung."

Seonghwa snaps back to awareness, remembering that he's not the only one around right now. He takes in a deep breath and pushes off the railing, trying to make himself steadier than he actually feels.

"You alright?" Jongho asks.

Seonghwa stretches his arms up, and he's careful not to look up any higher. "I'm okay. Just feeling my age."

Yunho laughs, shaking his head. "Sure, sure."

"Just wait until you're my age," Seonghwa warns with a smile, and he forces himself to climb up the stairs. He does take things slower, still not feeling quite steady on his feet, but Yunho and Jongho stay right by his side. Wooyoung and San wait until they catch up to them despite their earlier taunts.

Seonghwa knows there will be another dream when he goes to sleep tonight. But once again, it's been too many weeks since the last, since San has truly worried, and they're sleeping in separate beds again. He can't ask San to come to his bed without giving away the fact he knows, now, when these dreams are going to happen.

And once again, at night, he goes to bed alone, knowing what's to come. Again, he tries to delay it — and he does by a few hours, but eventually, he falls asleep.

"Seonghwa!" San's voice calls from above him.

Seonghwa looks up, and San is leaning over the railing, giving Seonghwa a bright, beaming smile.

"Your hair is glowing," Seonghwa states, surprised.

San's grin manages to grow, though it turns a little more sheepish as he runs his fingers through it. "Yeah. A potion went a little wrong."

Seonghwa sighs and shakes his head. "How long?"

"Only a couple hours!" San reassures, and instead of climbing down the stairs like most people would and should, San just puts his hands on the railing and throws his legs over. Seonghwa just groans, but obediently throws up his hand and manipulates the air, catching San mid-air and slowing his descent until he's hovering a couple of centimetres off the ground.

Seonghwa keeps him there.

Realising this, his toes barely scraping against the carpet when he stretches, San looks up with a pout. "Hyung, come on! Let me down."

Seonghwa waves a finger at him. "Can you please stop expecting me to catch you? One day you're going to jump from something and forget that I'm not always underneath you."

"But you have been every time so far," San argues, pout shifting into that cheeky grin again. "Hyung, you always catch me."

"I won't," Seonghwa threatens, but he knows the corners of his lips are rising and he's hardly as threatening as he truly wants to be. He sighs as he steps forward, and reaches a hand out to ruffle San's hair. It means San won't be able to go out of the house for the time it takes the spell to calm down. "You're too flippant about magic. You're going to get caught one of these days, San."

San blinks innocently at him, wide-eyed and eager. "I'm careful! This was an accident. Really."

Seonghwa ruffles his hair again, amused at the way it lights up the room so brightly, and then lets San drop the remaining couple of centimetres to the ground. San immediately falls forward, and Seonghwa stumbles back with an 'oof', but he manages to keep both of them upright. San's laughter lights up the room, almost brighter than his hair, and Seonghwa finds himself laughing along too.

He leans in to kiss him, a motion familiar, and they're both laughing and smiling, and it's such a wonderful moment.

The sound of a window shattering immediately breaks them apart. There's a heavy thud, and they both look down to the end of the hallway to see a large rock, pieces of glass having rained around it.

It's spray painted in red markings, and Seonghwa's stomach drops as he recognises the meaning behind it.

"Shit," he says, grabbing onto San's arm and backing them up a couple of steps.

They've been found out. Despite San's current predicament with his hair, he knows that San is so incredibly careful — that they wouldn't have been found because of him.

It could be Seonghwa's own fault. It could be one of the people that knocked on their door for help seeing something that they shouldn't have. It could have been anything.

But the result, regardless of how it happened, is that they've been found out.

"We need to run," Seonghwa breathes out, almost disbelieving of the words himself, in shock about the entire situation.

San nods, but it still takes an insistent tug to actually get him moving. And then he's practically flying as he pulls Seonghwa along, getting them out the back of the house. When they fling the door open, there is already a crowd of people marching, sneers visible on their faces from all the fire that they are carrying with them. They go to throw some of the long sticks of fire at them, but San flicks a hand and most of them are extinguished before they even leave their hands.

It only makes the crowd angrier, more fearful, and they rush forward. Still holding onto each other, knowing there is no way back, Seonghwa and San push forward. Some of the crowd back away in fear with this, but most of them rise forward, jeering and snarling and threatening to kill them.

It breaks Seonghwa's heart, knowing that he's failed to change their opinions on magic, knowing that they're about to have to start again once more because of fear chasing them out. He doesn't have time to mourn it any further though, as his attention is focused on making sure no one gets hurt as they try and get through the crowd of people.

It'll be hard to start again, but they can do it. They've done it before. They just need to get out from this mob that is intent on lynching them.

He regretfully has to use magic to force a couple of them back, a type of use of his magic he promised himself never to use against ordinary people, but any apologies for it die in his throat as the mob try and claw at San. He's barely able to deflect something that sparks and lights up the area around them, and it explodes mid-air, too close for comfort.

So you'll use magic to hunt us? Seonghwa asks mentally, wanting to shout it aloud at all of them, but he knows it'll be nothing but a waste of breath.

The crowd are in a frenzy, looking for blood, and no words are going to stop them now. Calling out their hypocritical actions will only lead to more anger.

Just as they find a break in the crowd, able to see the trees in the distance that they can use to gain coverage and get away from the mob, away from this entire town, pain laces up Seonghwa's leg in such a sudden explosion it makes him stumble. On instinct, he goes to put his weight down on it, but it crumbles beneath him. He'd fall if it isn't for San grabbing onto his arm and waist, keeping him upright with a pained grunt.

When he looks down, he sees the way his leg is twisted, the curse that's been hauled at them making a mess of his leg. He grits his teeth and whispers a spell, stopping the curse from climbing any higher, but he doesn't have the time to heal his leg. San's keeping his weight up as his leg basically drags behind them, slowing them down.

San has to raise his hand multiple times, using offensive spells to get some distance when some weapons or people get too close, and he's basically trembling with anger and terror as they fight to get through the mob.

They reach the trees, but the mob follows. Seonghwa and San are both desperately whispering spells and prayers under their breath, getting the trees to twist and bend and block their path, but the mob are simply setting the path before them alight, intent on destroying everything just to try and kill them. Seonghwa's spells are weaker, tinged with too much pain wracking through his body, and San's strengths are not in the natural elements, and he's got his focus on trying to keep Seonghwa upright.

Seonghwa grits his teeth and bears with the pain for as long as he can, silent tears streaming down his face as the curse throbs with a terrible, sharp pain with every breath or slight jolt. He bears with it until he's nauseous, until the adrenaline fades, until he's trembling from something akin to shock. Still, he grits his teeth and moves as much as he can, because they just need to get away—

Seonghwa's leg catches something on the ground beneath them.

He goes down, and San can't keep him upright this time. They go tumbling over each other, San trying to make sure he takes most of their weight. When they eventually stop, down on the ground, San is quick to get to his feet and is trying to get Seonghwa's underneath him as well.

"Come on, come on," San says.

But Seonghwa can see the fires coming closer, and he knows he doesn't have the time. He needs too much of it to heal his leg, and he's slowing both of them down too much. They're going to get caught at this rate and they know it.

"Just go," Seonghwa whispers. "I can hold them off."

San looks down at Seonghwa's leg, silently pointing out the very evidence they know is damning Seonghwa's argument — with a curse twisting his leg up like this, he's not going to be able to do much. But he knows that he can do just enough to make sure that San can get away.

"Sannie," Seonghwa pleads, "we don't have time. Please."

San crouches down, his hand hovering over Seonghwa's leg. For a split second, the pain disappears, but then it rushes in again in an even bigger wave of pain. He's left clutching the ground beneath him, gasping for air through the white-out of pain, and San whispering desperate apologies.

"We don't have time," Seonghwa reiterates, gritting it through his teeth. "You have to go."

San looks behind him, back towards the fires.

"Ah," San says, and Seonghwa can see the way he's blinking, trying to stop tears from falling. "They'll find me anyway. Look at my hair."

He's trying to laugh, but the sound is clogged in his throat.

Seonghwa feels like he's stopped breathing.

"San, no. No, no." Seonghwa reaches out for him, and while San reaches back and holds his hand, Seonghwa knows what's about to happen. He tries to struggle to his feet, but his leg truly won't take any weight, and he can't get himself up off the ground.

"Stop, stop, Seonghwa," San whispers frantically. "I can give you enough time. I'll come back, okay? I'll distract them so you can heal your leg."

Seonghwa, almost blacking out from the pain again when he tries to get his leg underneath him, has to sit back on the ground. He knows he'll be able to get up if he can just crawl over to the tree that's close by, knows he'll be able to get up if San helps him. But when he goes to reach out his hand, San looks away, back towards the fires that are coming closer.

"I'll meet you at the next town," San reassures. "I'll see you there, okay? Wait for me."

"San-" Seonghwa tries, though loses his breath as another wave of pain runs through him when he tries to move. San hushes him, presses a kiss to his hair, and smiles.

"I'll see you there," San says again, though Seonghwa knows when he's lying.

He's able to do nothing but watch San walk away, his glowing hair becoming fainter the further he goes. He tries to crawl, but he tumbles over himself, and he lies in the dirt with a broken heart and tears pouring down his face and a stupid, stupid, mangled leg. He tries again, and again, until he has to accept that healing it is going to be the only option to get back up.

It takes too much time. His leg takes too long to heal. It's made worse by the way he'd tried to walk on it, and now he's paying for that, his leg taking too long to get back to a bearable level of pain before he can stand on it.

And when he limps over, finally, heading straight back to where the fires had been—

There is no one waiting for him, and there is no one left to save.

A glowing strand of hair brushes past his cheek, a final goodbye as it twirls past him and into the night sky filled with smoke and sorrow.

Seonghwa wakes with his cheeks wet again.

San, he thinks, over and over, aching for someone out of his reach. He can hardly breathe, and he's only startled out of his state by the fact his legs are tangled in his blanket, pinning him down.

When he realises where he is, that he was dreaming again, he kicks out of the blanket, rolls over and screams straight into his pillow before he starts to sob.

Again. San died again. Saving Seonghwa while he could do nothing but lie on the ground helplessly.

He clutches at the pillow, legs kicking down into the mattress, and he feels so small, so useless.

As he starts to separate his dream and reality, slowly coming back to his senses by grounding himself with the fact that he's in his bed in the dorm, that someone has left the light in the hallway on and it's slipping under the crack of his door, the uselessness starts to change.

On the ground, in those dreams, he was full of despair and terror of what San was doing. But here, in his bed, Seonghwa can recognise that it's not San he feels helpless towards — it's his own brain, subjecting him to these visceral dreams that feel so real, so tangible, like they're memories and not just something his brain conjures up as he sleeps.

He has to stop smothering his face in his pillow as it's starting to get uncomfortably damp and hard to breathe, but the fresh air is something that helps him snap back to his senses a little more.

He's left a bottle of water by his bed, and he picks it up and slowly sips from it, trying to get another one of his senses to sharpen faster. He's worried that the longer he spends in upset like this, the more of a chance San's incredibly acute senses will bring him to Seonghwa's door. Their schedules are heavy at the moment, and Seonghwa tries to calm down if only to make sure San doesn't wake and worry.

It takes a while for his heart to calm down, and for his hands to stop shaking, but eventually he manages to do so. Eager to distract himself so that he doesn't live his dreams over and over again, he reaches for his phone and scrolls through social media for a while. Once he's tired of that, he picks up his Switch.

As he intends for it to, it burns through the hours. His alarm is a surprise, and he blinks himself back to awareness, realising the sun has risen. He gets out of bed and pulls back his curtains, squinting against the light.

San and Mingi's alarms go off not long after, and Seonghwa can hear them moving around. Seonghwa takes a while to actually head out of his room despite the fact he's been awake in it for hours now. Something like a big sense of relief washes over him when he hears San's low voice, as he's been telling himself this entire time that San is fine, San is sleeping, he is fine—

But still, he delays. And he thinks he had been right to when he heads out, and San shuffles over with the intention to drop his head down on his shoulder, only to stop and narrow his eyes at Seonghwa's face.

"You had a dream," San realises immediately, proving Seonghwa's worries correct. He'd hoped being awake for so long wouldn't look so bad, and he tried to put on some skincare that would brighten his skin to delay San seeing his appearance, but San sees right through him.

"I would like it to be known I am pretty scared of your Seonghwa-senses," he declares, making sure to keep his voice amused so that the conversation doesn't invite anything more serious. San's expression twists, and he's clearly about to push at this, but Seonghwa speaks again to stop him. "I'm hungry. Have you eaten?"

San presses his lips together, considering trying again, but eventually he shakes his head. "No, not yet, hyung."

"Oh! I'm hungry," Mingi pipes in, patting his stomach with pleading eyes.

Seonghwa laughs. They have a bit more time today to get ready, at least. "I'll make us something."

San and Mingi cheer. They try to get into the kitchen to help, but Seonghwa keeps them out — it's easier for him to have San sitting at the kitchen counter where he can see him. It's easier to turn around and hide the way he puffs out his cheeks and tells himself to calm down, to remember that San is fine, that he's sitting right here, and he's not bleeding or dying or—

Seonghwa flips the omelette quite forcefully. It lands successfully. Mingi politely claps.

He can feel San practically staring him down with worried eyes, but Seonghwa's doing okay despite his lack of sleep — his social media and gaming time have given him enough time away from his dream, at least. that he can put some distance away from it and not feel it so intensely.

When he finishes up the small meal, he gets a choir of two giving him thanks and praise, and he feels a whole lot lighter and better. He only thinks about the dream when he sees San running his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands to assess how it's going without the bleach, and Seonghwa thinks of it glowing, brightly lighting up the area, San's promising grin that it would all be okay in his dream.

It feels too real, too close, and he swallows down a thick lump in his throat and tries not to choke on how dry his food suddenly feels in his mouth.

Suddenly, San presses a kiss to his cheek, and Seonghwa jolts in surprise.

San smiles at him, currently cleaning up the dishes left.

"Thanks for the meal, hyung," he says warmly.

It's a little easier, at least, to forget about the ashy taste in his mouth when his cheeks feel like they're on fire.

It's not so easy to ignore the sinking feeling of dread in his stomach, however, as he thinks of how San kisses him in his dreams. And it sinks down and down with the feeling of desire, tangling until they're a single knot of dread-desire-dread, and Seonghwa can't pull either of them apart from each other.

At least, he thinks, he'll get a few weeks of reprieve. A month or more between his dreams has been the pattern, giving him just enough time to lull into a sense of security before throwing him into the depths of another dream.

At this rate, despite the mess it makes of his heart, he would easily prefer the dream of kissing San again. Anything is better than the feeling of knowing that San is going to die.

So he tries to push it to the back of his mind and focus on his work, on his friends, on anything else other than the dreams while he has a safe period.

It catches him by surprise when it happens only a mere couple of weeks later. They're all playing around while they wait on stand-by, and Wooyoung and San have teamed up to try and catch Seonghwa. He's pretty sure they're only going to tickle him, but he runs like his life depends on it, trying to escape their outstretched hands and cheeky grins.

They manage to get him into a corner, and Seonghwa's back hits a railing. And then the feeling happens, a tidal wave over him that drowns out all his other senses as he thinks no, no, please no—

He's lucky that Wooyoung and San are already descending upon him, as any reaction that might have crossed his face is covered up by the way that he gasps when their fingers make contact with his skin. He squirms away from them as their fingers run over his skin, attempting to get under his shirt and get to the sides of his stomach

"You two—ah—are— the worst," Seonghwa breathes out, attempting to kick them away. Wooyoung laughs, dancing out of his reach, which means that San is the only one left in his range. So he switches his attention entirely to San, and manages to get his arms around San's own, pinning them to his sides. San's laughing, shaking with it in his hold, weakening his efforts to try and escape.

"I yield, I yield," San laughs, even though he's still squirming, surely one loosened-hold from trying to tickle Seonghwa again.

"Weak!" Wooyoung yells, lazily kicking the back of San's legs. It just makes San laugh more, and the sound of it is one that Seonghwa wants to bottle up and keep forever.

Wooyoung jumps back into the fray, and he's just able to pull San free from Seonghwa's hold — even though, interestingly, San had gone slack the moment he began — when they're called back to the group.

The stylists tut at the state of their hair. They haven't styled it yet, but it's a lot more wind-swept and wild than it had been a few minutes again. They all sheepishly apologise, and they're lucky that the stylists are fond of them, as they just get them into their seats with bemused smiles.

Seonghwa closes his eyes, letting the stylist work without worrying about anything getting in his eyes, and he wonders what the dream will be tonight.

San's laughter has stopped for now, but he's talking in low tones to the stylist, warm cadences that wash over Seonghwa and remind him that San is right here, and he's not going anywhere. Seonghwa won't let him. Not again.

That night, in his dream, San kisses him, his arms thrown around Seonghwa's shoulders.

Seonghwa's too caught up in the feeling. He barely takes any notice of the way that San brings his hands in, the way he properly grasps Seonghwa's shoulders for a moment before he slides his fingers down, tracing from Seonghwa's shoulder blades to his elbows, right down to his wrists.

With a burst of sudden movement, San surges against him, and Seonghwa stumbles back, right into the railing behind him. He catches himself on it, San's fingers still wrapped around his wrist, and he opens his eyes with surprise. San's eyes are partially open, staring back at him through his lashes, and then he closes his eyes and leans in again. Seonghwa willingly follows where San prods, his back hitting the railing.

The sound of it rings out around them.

It's not the only sound. There is a sharp and sudden whir, the sound of magnetised cuffs that snap onto the railing behind him, and there is the feeling of cold and harsh metal suddenly winding around his wrist. Seonghwa jerks, opening his eyes in shock, tugging at his hands.

But they've been locked onto the railing behind him. The chain is glowing a soft blue, high-grade quality cuffs that Seonghwa's not going to be able to break out with strength, and he's not going to be able to disengage without his own pad — the very one that San is currently taking from his pocket.

"San-ah?" Seonghwa asks, dread settling down into his stomach.

San regards the pad for a moment, and then takes a couple of steps back to delicately place it down on one of the crates near them. Seonghwa won't be able to reach it even if he kicks out his legs.

"San-ah," Seonghwa tries again. "What are you doing?"

He has a feeling that he already knows.

San reaches out a hand, and Seonghwa's head tilts into it, welcoming it even as he can feel panic and fear overwhelming him.

"I'm going to go on the mission," San whispers.

Seonghwa shakes his head, and his arms jerk sharply as he tries to reach out and hold San, to try and stop him. San's expression morphs into worry, and he tries to stop Seonghwa from tugging at the cuffs, but it only makes him try more.

"San-ah, please," Seonghwa begs. "It's— you can't. San-ah. You can't. We all agreed."

It's a suicide mission. Perhaps their only hope, but none of them are willing to risk each other, and they all came to the unanimous decision — they'd rather die all together than send one off to their deaths. They all agreed to spend these last few days together.

"I know," San's voice breaks. "I know. I'm sorry. But I can't let all of you die."

"I can't let you die," Seonghwa pleads. "Please, San-ah. San-ah. I can't— I'm not— you can't. Please. Don't do this."

He tugs again at the cuffs as he can, but all it does is make pain lace up his arms. He doesn't care, trying again and again, even as San lets out wounded whimpers, trying to stop Seonghwa from hurting himself.

"Hyung, please," San is crying now, tears falling down his face, even as he's pressing his lips together like he's trying to stop them from quivering. Seonghwa might be crying too, but he can't feel much beyond the heartbreak and panic and terror.

"San-ah. Please," Seonghwa begs. "Please. Let me— I'll do it. I'll— please. Please. Not you. Don't leave me. Please. Not you."

San's shoulders hitch with the force of his crying, and he's still trying to grasp Seonghwa's arms to stop him from tugging at the cuffs, but still, he does not release Seonghwa.

"I'll— I'll go with you, please," Seonghwa tries to bargain. "Let me come with you. Please. Please. I can't do this."

"You can," San whispers, leaning close, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa's cheek. "You can. I know you can."

"Not without you," Seonghwa sobs.

"You can do this," San reassures him, even though Seonghwa is shaking his head so violently in denial that he almost ends up hitting San in turn. And then, somewhere in his panicked delirium, he thinks it's worth trying — so he shakes his head harder, now trying to hit San, trying to do anything from making sure that San doesn't leave.

San steps back. Seonghwa can't follow.

"Please, please San, please," Seonghwa's words are barely legible now through all his cries. "Take me with you. Please."

"Someone will be down soon," San reassures.

Seonghwa shakes his head. Not soon enough — they won't be here by the time San leaves, and he knows this. This is San's last goodbye.

"Please," he tries, choking it out. "Don't do this."

"I love you," San says, and Seonghwa reads it on his lips more than he hears it, because it's so quiet over the sound of everything — over the sound of Seonghwa's heart breaking, his sobs, the way the cuffs are rattling with every last bit of energy he's using to try and break free of them.

Seonghwa can't even say it back, his throat too clogged, his lips trembling, and he can't bring himself to say it when he knows that it will be a final goodbye. San looks up at the ceiling, blinking away his tears, and then, when he's no longer trembling with the force of their goodbyes, he gives Seonghwa a smile.

And then he leaves, and Seonghwa knows it will be the last he ever sees of him.

San, of course, knows when he dreams.

Maybe Seonghwa gives it away when he drinks in the sight of San standing before him sleep-ruffled and breathing. Maybe it's clear that he is a grieving man being haunted by someone alive. Maybe it's clear by his fingers that he keeps curled or pressed against his thighs, out of sight so that he doesn't look down and see blood like has before in his dreams, or so that he doesn't reach out and press his hands over San's chest and just count each and every single time his heart beats.

Maybe it's just everything. Everything weighing down on him so heavily.

He has his back against the mirrors in the practice room, and he watches San practice in front of him. They're having a small break, as Hongjoong's been called out for a short meeting about something minor, so the rest of them are taking the time to rest or go through the movements in their own ways. Seonghwa's tired, the lack of sleep and the nightmare affecting him more than he'd like. He knows it's getting to that point where he's going to have to address this, where he's going to have to get help, but he's scared to.

If he takes sleeping tablets, will he be unable to wake? Usually, after San dies, he does not linger in the dream very long before he's woken up by his absolute devastation. If he takes sleeping tablets, will he just be stuck in those dreams, left alone in a world without San? Left behind?

He shudders at the thought and presses himself harder against the mirrors behind him. San's eyes move over him for a moment, but he's focused on dancing, some movement he's not quite satisfied yet with making him drill it until he's happy.

Seonghwa watches as San's skin glows, the shine of his sweat reflecting off the lights above. His shirt is slowly untucking from his pants, rising up a little further as he repeats his movements, and Seonghwa's eyes are drawn to each flash of skin like a dying man in the desert seeing water.

He's seen San plenty of times. He has a tendency to walk around the dorms without a shirt on, and usually just walks around in his towel when he's feeling particularly lethargic after a shower. It's nothing Seonghwa hasn't seen before, but, well. It's kind of always like this. Nothing will ever quite be enough when it comes to how much he just wants.

Guilt is something that chases his thoughts, burning the back of his eyelids whenever his eyes gaze down, but he can't make himself stop. He never seems to have self-control when it comes to San — it's like everything inside of him reaches out towards him, wanting to drink in as much as he possibly can and more.

When Hongjoong walks back in, he looks over the room, checking in on all of them. His eyes linger on Seonghwa, and the corners of his lips turn down.

Ah. Maybe his expressions really are becoming so unguarded.

He makes himself get up, and it draws San's attention as well, as his next movement falters.

"Hyung?" San asks, but he realises why Seonghwa has stood up when he catches the sight of Hongjoong in the mirror. He whirls around with a grin, which means he's likely satisfied with the progress he's made just now.

Seonghwa is, perhaps, a little biased. Loses sight of objectivity and thoughts about skills and improvements whenever it comes to San. Whatever San does, really, looks perfect to him. He winces at the thought. Definitely biased.

They return to practice. It's been a week, now, since the last dream. He's starting to become a little paranoid, worried about the timeframe that seems to be shortening between dreams. And then he worries about being paranoid, because maybe the expectation of dreaming is what's triggering their frequency, and he ends up working himself up in the midst of practice.

Thankfully, he has enough focus to make it through the practice, but he's basically just holding it all together with a fraying string. Wooyoung has gotten all of them excited to get a meal afterwards, but Seonghwa's stomach is turning, and he knows he just needs a little bit of time away from San right now to pull himself together.

He's able to play it off well enough, and maybe Hongjoong's been waiting for this, as he backs up Seonghwa's excuse to go back to the dorm alone. Everyone looks a little disappointed and slightly worried, but he hasn't cited anything too drastic — just a headache that a bit of sleep will fix. So they send him off with well-wishes and say they'll bring back a plate of leftovers if there is anything left.

There won't be, he knows this, but he also knows they'll order an extra dish just to bring home to him anyway.

Seonghwa heads back to the dorm on his own, and though loneliness treads on his heels, it's a self-given kind of isolation that he tells himself he can't feel guilty about now.

And he did, truly, need an hour or so with his own thoughts — and, most importantly, with a bit of space from San. Not because he wants it, but because he needs it. He just needs some time and space to settle with his feelings for San, ones that have always been there, ones that have grown into him, and ones that he knows well now. But sometimes they rise up like this, in an all-encompassing tidal wave of feelings, and it overwhelms and drowns him so quickly.

Now, too, there are the dreams. The dreams of kissing San, knowing what it feels like with all of his senses, but knowing it's not reality even though it feels so, so real. Of course, too, there are the dreams about San dying that eclipses all these feelings.

Not for the first time, he considers bringing this up to a manager. Not everything, of course, but hinting just enough that he might need some help. But he always falls short of that, because then he starts to imagine what it will be like to talk to a professional, someone who's learned how to smile and nod and say and ask all the right things, but Seonghwa doesn't think there's any right kind of reply as to what he feels he experiences.

He doesn't think there's any one way to describe it, either. So he shakes his head, dismisses the idea from his mind, and heads into his bedroom. Only to think about sleeping and dreams and San, which isn't quite what he needs right now, so he stays out on the couch.

He has every intention to try and work through his feelings, to parse through them and pull them apart until they're manageable, but it all feels a little much right now. He turns on a drama instead, and he loses more time in it than he ever planned, because the door is suddenly opening and San and Mingi pile into the room, currently wrestling with each other to get over the threshold first. They're doing it as quietly as possible, like they're worried about disturbing someone sleeping.

Seonghwa's heart leaps in his chest, and he very quickly realises he hasn't dealt with any of his emotions at all. But being on his own and calming down has helped, and he finds that the tidal wave crashes against him, but this time, it doesn't drown him.

"Oh, hyung!" Mingi says, surprised, like he isn't in the midst of prying San's fingers away from his side. San turns, distracted enough to give Mingi the chance to finally get his fingers away. San doesn't seem to notice though, as he goes to open his mouth.

Only to be cut off by Jongho, currently squeezing past both of them, and he walks right up to Seonghwa and passes him over a takeaway container.

"Hope you feel better soon, hyung," Jongho says, and leaves as suddenly as he had come, barely giving Seonghwa a moment to reply with gratitude.

San blinks at the container, and then pouts. "He didn't trust us to carry that." Seonghwa looks between San and Mingi and raises his eyebrows pointedly. San's pout grows more. "I would've been careful, hyung!"

"I know," Seonghwa smiles. "Thank you for getting me a meal."

"Are you feeling better?" San asks, eyes wide.

"I am, thank you," Seonghwa replies, and finds that it doesn't feel like a lie.

He's had some time alone to settle with his thoughts, and though he's just been reminded of the fact there is likely no fixing them, likely no getting used to them, he knows that it can be easier to deal with. And while he dreads the thought of another dream, dreads the chance of it happening just because San makes some kind of movement that triggers it and reflects in the dream, he finds that it's something soothed by San's presence in front of him now.

"I'm glad," San says, and then points at the container. "So you're going to eat, right?"

"I am," he promises, already heading over to the microwave to reheat it. He knows he should put it on the stove and do so, but he's giving himself easier, smaller tasks to deal with right now so that nothing trips him into another spiral.

Mingi, reassured that Seonghwa feels better, goes to the bathroom to wash up. San hovers behind Seonghwa, basically pressing against his back as both of them wait for the microwave to finish.

"Was it a good night?" Seonghwa asks, wanting to fill up the quiet between them with the reassurance of San's voice.

"It was," San answers, "we missed you, though."

He's not saying it to make Seonghwa feel guilty — he's saying to reassure Seonghwa that the absence of his presence was noticed.

Seonghwa hums, and the microwave beeps. San only pulls back a little just to make sure he doesn't get in Seonghwa's way as he reaches out for the hot container, but otherwise remains pressed up against him as they head over to the couch to eat. San reaches out for the remote, and he regards Seonghwa for a moment before he picks out something to watch. Just an easy variety show, nothing too worthy of concentration, and Seonghwa is grateful for that.

They watch quietly, and San buries into Seonghwa's side, resting his head on his shoulder. Seonghwa's heart thumps in his chest, the sound of blood rushing in his ears drowning out the voices on the television, but soon enough he's setting down the now-empty container of food and resting his head on San's own.

Mingi walks back in, joining them to watch the television as he sits on the other end of the couch. He throws his legs over San's own, and gives Seonghwa a smile, but otherwise remains quiet. His presence is a comfort, a support that silently boosts them, and Seonghwa feels warm and content.

He doesn't even realise when he's fallen asleep. His dreams are kind, with that same kind of warmth he fell asleep with. He only wakes because San and Mingi gently stir him a couple of hours later, not wanting to hurt his neck by falling asleep any longer out on the couch, and they gently guide him into his bed.

Seonghwa, still half-asleep, reaches out for them. The bed is not big enough for all three of them, but San slides in beside him, and Mingi lies on top of him. San's trying to hold in his laugh and a groan of pain at the same time, and Mingi is hushing him while also trying not to laugh about how they're precariously balanced on the edge of the bed.

"Sh, sh, don't wake him!" Mingi tries to say quietly between breaths of laughter.

"You don't wake him!" San whispers back, and Seonghwa's eyes slit open so he can watch as San and Mingi try and dig their elbows into each other to try and dislodge each other.

San, looking over for a moment, widens his eyes when he sees that Seonghwa is watching them with a small smile on his face.

"Mingi-yah!" San tries to say in warning, but Mingi manages to get an elbow right into San's side that makes him practically squeak. He squirms immediately, and Mingi goes boneless with his laughter, and ends up falling from the bed.

"Oh my god," San wheezes. Seonghwa, despite the ruckus, doesn't quite have the energy to look over the bed to see how Mingi has landed, but Mingi's head appears over the side with a laugh he's desperately trying to smother as he rubs his head. Seonghwa can feel the way his cheek presses into the pillow as he smiles.

"Sorry, hyung," Mingi apologises, but slaps a hand over his mouth when he realises it's a little too loud for the level they've been speaking at.

"T's okay," Seonghwa mutters. Mingi immediately softens, hands falling away from his face and head as he gives Seonghwa a fond smile.

"I'll let you sleep," Mingi says, getting his feet underneath him as he stands. "San-ah, you coming?"

Seonghwa sees and feels the way that San shakes his head. "No, I'll stay here. Goodnight, Mingi-yah."

Mingi leans over the bed and ruffles San's hair, and then leans over to do the same to Seonghwa. San swats at him, but Seonghwa doesn't have the energy to move, so he just sighs in contentment at the affectionate touch.

San is looking at Seonghwa, blinking at him in the darkness that Seonghwa is just barely able to see in, and then he smiles.

"Goodnight, hyung," San says.

And once more, Seonghwa's dreams are warm and loving, and he is grateful, even though it feels foreboding — the calm before the storm.

Two days later, there is another dream.

The time between them is getting shorter.

This time, Seonghwa dreams of a cold, clinical research facility. Everything is white, from the building around them with the floors and walls to the very clothing that they wear. Seonghwa is wearing a white suit, and a lanyard around his neck that depicts his importance in the higher management role he is currently situated in.

In these white halls, he passes rows of people with gaunt cheeks and dull eyes. They're forced to march along in white tracksuits, white cuffs chained around their wrists to keep their hands together. Officers follow behind them carrying white weapons, their fingers on the trigger, ready to fire if there is a single misstep.

Another office bumps into Seonghwa. They pass by without a word, keeping their head up as they continue to march. Seonghwa looks down at the folder he's carrying, and there is now a new piece of paper on there.

In code, it reads 19:35.

The time of the breakout, then. Seonghwa subtly tears at the paper until there is nothing legible on it, and places it in a bin as he passes one. A mere hour away before the resistance makes their move. Seonghwa changes his direction, knowing there will be a consequence for changing his route so suddenly, but none of it matters.

With a few taps on his tablet, the monitors and audio for a particular cell begin to loop, the silence being played on repeat for those on surveillance. He walks with a fast pace to a cell, and puts the code into the keypad beside the door, and it opens up. On the bed, San is sitting, poised and calm like they're all expected to be in their cells, even though Seonghwa catches the way his fist is clenched and he's ready to fight. When he realises it's Seonghwa, he relaxes.

"It's happening," Seonghwa says.

"I know," San replies softly.

Of course he does. Of course. He's probably the one that laid out the timings for everyone.

He still looks calm. Ready. Like he is going into a war and knows that he is going to win, or that there is simply no other option.

Seonghwa, inside, is terrified. This is the biggest move being made in history at the agency, and Seonghwa is surely not the only officer who has helped them or knows about it. And there are not many corrupt officers like himself in here. He's almost certain that this entire plan has been spilled, that the agency knows, and that they are going to retaliate.

"It's too soon," Seonghwa breathes out. "We aren't prepared. We haven't checked — you haven't let me check."

San, at this, looks apologetic, but his face quickly steels. "They found out about Hongjoong."

Seonghwa freezes, his heart dropping.

"What?"

San grimaces. "They pulled him into questioning this morning. We need to make this move now."

There is no other choice. Hongjoong, the highest officer, the biggest piece of the resistance, has likely been caught by the agency. If they continue to follow along that path, they'll find everyone else that's leading the resistance. They'll find San and Seonghwa right at the heart of it.

"I... I didn't know," Seonghwa whispers in shock. It's not unusual that he doesn't run into Hongjoong — they've purposely planned it that way just in case something like this happens. But Seonghwa had never truly expected Hongjoong to ever have been caught.

"I think he was covering," San whispers. "I think he took the fall for Mingi."

Seonghwa presses his fingers into his eyes, trying to convince himself that they're dry, trying to remind himself he cannot fall apart here. If Hongjoong is out, then Seonghwa must step in. He must protect all of them, and get them out of here. It might not be safe, but it'll be better than staying.

"You shouldn't be here," San eventually says after a few moments of tense silence.

"I know," Seonghwa mutters. "I know, but..."

San reaches out his hands, and Seonghwa sees it through his fingers. He lets his hands drop, and he drinks in the sight of San sitting here in front of him, calm and poised, reaching out for Seonghwa like it is simply so easy to do so.

Seonghwa reaches out his fingers, and San envelops his own.

"We'll be okay," San promises him. "We will be."

But San's promise is not a guarantee. San's promise does not change the fact that Hongjoong has been caught, that this plan is rushed and desperate and moved too far ahead, and does not change that at the end of everything, it is not just Hongjoong who will sacrifice himself.

San's blood paints red onto the white of the building, onto the white of Seonghwa's clothes, and Seonghwa is prepared to drown in this bright, terrible colour, almost wishing for the white to return and take everything back before he's dragged away by a crying Yeosang.

They're the only two to escape.

The next dream is five nights later.

They are students this time, sharing a dorm room. It all seems normal enough, the world close enough to the current one, that Seonghwa almost thinks maybe, maybe, maybe—

San dies again.

The dream after that is two nights later. Superheroes. San goes down and does not get up.

One night later. San dies again.

And then every single night after that, San dies. Again and again and again. Sometimes the other members are there. Sometimes they aren't. Every single time, San dies to protect them. Dies to protect him.

He does his best to hide it during the day. It's not getting any easier to deal with the dreams, not something he can get used to even as they happen more frequently — the grief is still new, still so raw to him, lingering from the time of the dreams and from the wave that happens once he wakes.

But San, one morning after a particularly awful death, runs his thumbs under Seonghwa's eyes with a frown. Seonghwa, still reeling with grief, decides he is too tired to hide it. He lets his head fall forward into San's warmth, eyes closing as he lets himself breathe — in, San is alive, out, San is here. San is okay.

"You should talk about this to someone," San whispers, sounding as wrecked as Seonghwa feels.

Seonghwa brings up his hands, circling his fingers around San's wrists.

"Okay," he says.

And then, that day, something new happens.

Seonghwa is sitting beside San, both of them leaning back against the mirrors in the practice room. San throws one of his legs over Seonghwa's own, their ankles knocking together.

And there it is, that sinking feeling, knowing something is wrong, that something about their scenery isn't right. He sighs, closing his eyes, wondering with a vague kind of morbid curiosity what this scene will reflect in his dreams.

But then the darkness behind his eyelids brightens. A light begins to build, and Seonghwa tries to open his eyes, but suddenly, he can't feel them. The only thing he can feel is the weight of San's leg on his own.

The blinding light builds and builds until all Seonghwa sees is white.

And then it fades, and he sees the ocean.

The floor beneath them is rocking. San's leg is thrown over his own, just like it had been in the practice room, but they are both wearing loose articles of clothing. Seonghwa looks around, and they are on a grand wooden ship, the large black sails above them catching in the wind. There are birds cawing, the sounds of waves crashing, and San is humming under his breath at some tune that he must have picked up on the last island they visited.

The scenery is peaceful, even as Wooyoung and Mingi cheer in excitement at all the riches they managed to acquire from their last adventure. The sound of gold spilling out and clinking against each other rings out in the air as Wooyoung throws it around to celebrate all the amounts they have of it now.

"I'll buy you something," San says.

Seonghwa turns to look at him. "Oh?"

San grins. "Yeah! A fancy ring, perhaps?"

Seonghwa blinks. "Are you proposing to me right now?"

San, like he's just been shocked by his own words, lurches forward and shakes his head. "No, no! Not like this! No way! I meant like, just a nice ring!"

"So you're not going to propose to me?"

San, still panicking, hasn't picked up on Seonghwa's teasing tone of voice. He's glad for it — his heart is pounding right now, a little concerned that San is going to try and propose before Seonghwa can pull out the ring from his own coat that he's been carrying around for a few days now, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

"I— not right now! I will! Just not like... not like this! Not without a ring!" San basically shouts.

Seonghwa is so, so in love with him. He doesn't know, suddenly, what he's been waiting for.

Seonghwa's about to step in — he's about to reach into his coat, pull out the ring, and ask then will this suffice?

He's reaching for it now, his fingers brushing against the material of his coat, and San's eyes are widening like he's starting to realise what Seonghwa's sudden plan is, and —

And Yeosang rings out the alarm.

It takes ten minutes. Only ten. They have boarders, and a ship following them.

Ten minutes later, San is dying right where they'd been lying just prior, where their legs were thrown over each other, and about to propose to each other. San, having stepped in front of a blow meant for Seonghwa, having saved his life once more.

"Don't, please," Seonghwa cries, holding onto San's hands like he can bring warmth back to him. "Please, please—"

The boards beneath them fall away. The waves fade. The lingering warmth left inside San leaves, too.

Seonghwa closes his eyes against the sudden spike of pain in his head, and it's like the boat overturns, and Seonghwa is thrown into the waves that he can no longer properly feel or hear or see. He's thrown around, left to tumble in the vast expanse of nothing, his head wracking with extreme pain.

And then the world stops spinning. There is pressure against his cheeks. Thumbs, again, smoothing under his eyes.

He blinks, and the world is blurry.

He is back in the practice room. He blinks again, and the world starts to clear. Before him, there is San's worried expression starts to sharpen. He recognises that it's San's fingers currently pressing into his cheeks, smoothing the sudden wetness under his eyes. His relief at seeing San is quickly overshadowed.

Oh, no, Seonghwa thinks with complete and utter dread. No, no.

He hadn't fallen asleep. He knows this.

He'd just been pulled inside a dream alongside the feeling of something being wrong. He'd been awake.

"Hey," San says softly, pulling back Seonghwa's wavering focus. "Hey. You okay?"

Seonghwa's head spikes with pain again, and he grunts, his own hands coming up to try and press into his temples to try and press into some of the pain as he closes his eyes. It doesn't do much to alleviate it.

"What's wrong?" Hongjoong's voice asks, also keeping his volume low.

"I don't know," San whispers when it's clear that Seonghwa isn't going to reply on his own. "He started to tremble, and then— I don't know, it looked like he was in pain. He still is."

Seonghwa can hear every shuffle of movement, every sharp and worried breath being sucked in. There are lots of people crowded around him, and he winces.

"Give him some space," he hears their manager say gently, gently ushering everyone back. San stays by him, and their manager sighs but lets it slide, his concern for Seonghwa taking precedence. "Seonghwa-yah, can you hear me?"

Seonghwa nods, gritting his teeth when it feels like he can sense his brain rattling around his skull with the movement.

"Okay. What's wrong?" Their manager asks.

"My head," Seonghwa manages to get out.

San's fingers move lightly across his skin to stroke through his hair, but Seonghwa can feel every single strand of it, and each one feels like it's bruised tenderly where it's attached to his scalp. He winces, and San apologises, quickly pulling his hands away. Seonghwa, despite the pain, misses the comfort.

Slowly, his senses begin to dull once again. Everything doesn't hurt so much, and he's able to take in a few deep breaths. Everyone else in the room seems to hold their breath, waiting.

Seonghwa opens his eyes properly, and the world does not spin as he looks around. His eyes lock on San, who's sitting back on his heels, but his fingers still reaching out like he's trying to stop himself from touching Seonghwa again.

Their manager shifts, getting into Seonghwa's line of sight so he can take in the state of Seonghwa's own eyes. He's visibly concerned, frowning as he looks over Seonghwa.

"I think it's a migraine," Seonghwa rasps out, because he is not going to explain anything about his dreams and the vision he just experienced. His nerves are so wrecked right now that he can hardly think beyond his panic, the worry that this had happened while he was awake, that it's getting worse.

"You don't get them," their manager replies, frown deepening, like he can tell that Seonghwa isn't being entirely truthful.

"I know," Seonghwa says, fingers rotating slow circles into his temple. He doesn't know what else to say.

"What do you need?" San asks.

"I don't know," Seonghwa whispers. He feels so overwhelmed, and he doesn't know what he can do to stop it.

"Can you stand?"

Seonghwa isn't sure. He thinks the world might spin out from underneath him if he tries.

"That's okay," San says, even though Seonghwa isn't sure if he's replied. "You're alright."

Seonghwa hadn't even noticed that their manager had disappeared for a moment, but he comes back with a cup of water that he passes over to Seonghwa.

"Sip that slowly," he instructs, and Seonghwa nods, feeling small and weak but unable to do anything but do as he's told.

With each sip, at least, the world gets a little more bearable. It takes a while, but eventually, he feels like he's able to stand.

Everyone hovers nervously, while also trying to keep a respectable amount of distance to give him some privacy. He's embarrassed at the sudden reaction he's had, but he's too exhausted to really try and sit in that feeling either right now.

At the very least, they'd been at the end of practice, so Seonghwa isn't disrupting too much.

"Are you okay to head back to the dorms?" Their manager asks. "Do you feel nauseous? Sick? Should we go to the hospital?"

Seonghwa is about to shake his head, and decides it's probably not a good idea while he's upright, so he just says: "No, it's okay. I can go back to the dorm. I think I'll be okay if I sleep it off."

Their manager is still worried, but he listens. Seonghwa gets in the car, although their manager does pass him over a sick bag. "Just in case."

Seonghwa's fingers grip it tightly. He doesn't think he'll need it, but it's nice to dig his fingers into something and give himself something to focus on. San, Hongjoong, and Yeosang climb into the van with him. Hongjoong gets in the front, and talks in a low voice to the manager — he knows it's about him, but his ears have finally stopped picking up on every small sound, and he doesn't want to try and push it to end up with that pain again.

San slides into the seat next to him, his fingers settling on Seonghwa's thigh once he's sure that there is no pain. His hand rubs up and down soothingly, like he's a little worried Seonghwa is going to be sick even as he reassures them he won't be.

No one looks all that reassured, so Seonghwa figures he probably looks as bad as he feels. He feels terrible for making everyone worry like this.

"It's okay hyung," San whispers. "It's okay. We're here for you."

The car ride passes by in a blur. The world almost spins out from Seonghwa's feet when he goes to step out of the car, but San is by his side and keeps him steady.

"Come on," he encourages, "we're almost home."

Seonghwa swallows down the thickness in his throat, and forces himself to move. Each step is a little easier with the support carefully built around him, making sure he does not stumble.

In the elevator, Hongjoong is looking at both of them. Seonghwa blinks tiredly at him, and tries to give him an apologetic smile, but Hongjoong bites down on the inside of his cheek.

"Rest, Seonghwa-yah," Hongjoong tells him, and then looks over at San. "Keep me updated."

"I will," San promises.

Seonghwa pouts a little, affronted by the fact Hongjoong isn't asking that of him, but Hongjoong just raises his eyebrows at the petulance. "You shouldn't be looking at any phone screens right now with a migraine. And I also don't trust you to be honest about your condition. Don't worry about any schedules. Just rest."

The elevator opens, and San gently urges Seonghwa out of the elevator before he can think of a reply. He's still reeling, still trying to think of a way to be okay, to make sure Hongjoong or none of the other members worry about him, but before he can even think, San is guiding him through the doorway of their dorm.

"Manager is getting some medication," San says. "Can you stay awake until then?"

"I'm not that tired," Seonghwa replies.

San looks over to give him a dubious expression. "Say that when you don't look exhausted, hyung." It's a little harsh, San's stress and worry slipping through, and both of them recoil. San immediately hunches over, guilt crossing his face. "Sorry, hyung. Sorry."

"It's okay," Seonghwa replies, because he doesn't like the thought of San ever feeling guilty because of him.

San helps him to his bedroom, and Seonghwa is glad for the darkness around him. The headache begins to subside, and he rests his head on the pillows. He really hadn't been tired, but now that he's in bed and the pain is starting to lessen, he feels even more exhausted. Emotionally and physically, he's wrung out.

San rests a hand on Seonghwa's chest, and Seonghwa rests his own hand over San's own. When Seonghwa's breaths are shallow, San pushes the slightest amount of weight down, encouraging him to take deeper breaths. Despite the fact he'd been the one to encourage Seonghwa to stay awake, here, it seems like he's doing his best to make him relax, not stopping him from settling down into a place that's close to sleep.

Seonghwa's eyelids are heavy, and he closes his eyes. He'd thought the room had been dark, but it's even more of a relief to properly close his eyes.

"It's alright," San says, just as Seonghwa tries to get his eyelids to open because he knows he's moments away from falling asleep. "It's alright, hyung. You can rest."

Seonghwa, always trusting of him, dozes for a while. Thankfully, there are no dreams that linger at the corner of his vision. He thinks he saw enough, in that vision — that having it earlier in the day means that it hopefully will not be able to follow him at night.

He's woken up a little while later, guided by gentle and caring hands to sit up, and a tablet is placed on his tongue. It dissolves in his mouth, though there is a lingering cross of bitterness and sweetness that remains, but it's quickly washed down by a glass of water guided to his lips. He thinks he should wake, now, and stay that way before he can welcome a dream.

But he's guided back down, and there is still a reassuring hand over his heart like it's protecting it, and Seonghwa falls asleep.

The dream does not follow him.

He's okay in the morning.

Frazzled, panicking a little about the fact his dreams are now following him into reality, but his head does not feel like it's splitting apart at the seams at least. His heart, maybe, but that's a pain he's used to hiding.

"Hyung!" Mingi basically gasps, walking around the other side of the kitchen counter to greet Seonghwa as he shuffles out of his bedroom. He doesn't know what time it is, but if Mingi is still around, then it's probably not too late into the day. He hasn't missed any schedules, he thinks, as it also looks like Mingi woke up not too long ago. "How are you feeling?"

Seonghwa gives Mingi a reassuring smile. "Back to normal. Sorry if I worried you."

Mingi's expression shows that he was definitely concerned, but he smothers it down with a bright smile. "No, it's okay! I knew you'd be just fine. Nothing keeps you down, you know? Do you want something to eat? Are you hungry?"

"I can get it myself, don't worry," Seonghwa replies, close to laughing at Mingi's sudden burst of frantic and concerned energy. He heads into the kitchen, a little more awake now, his footsteps more steady. Mingi steps aside to let him.

"Okay," Mingi says, dragging out the word like he's trying to test if Seonghwa wants to change his mind at all. He doesn't, so Mingi huffs. "Remember to have lots of water! Only water, I don't think caffeine will help your headache, and-"

"I don't have a headache anymore, Mingi-yah," Seonghwa says with a smile.

"Are you sure?" San's voice suddenly cuts in, and Seonghwa looks up to see him walking down the hall, rubbing his hair with a towel. He's usually pretty good about drying it, but he's pretty sure his presence has drawn San away from the bathroom a little earlier than usual. "With all of Mingi's nagging, I have a headache."

Mingi sticks out his tongue, and San just grins at him and ruffles his hair. He goes to hug him, but Mingi just pushes him away with a roll of his eyes. "You haven't dried yourself properly."

San pouts at him, and it almost makes Mingi fold, but then San shakes out his hair and purposely gets Mingi wet with the remaining water still left clinging to the strands. Mingi shouts in surprise, but any war between them is quickly stopped by their manager walking into the dorm.

"Why are you screaming when Seonghwa-yah had a migraine?" He scolds, even though he's not much older.

Mingi points a finger at Seonghwa, making their manager take notice of his presence. "He said it was gone!"

"It's gone," Seonghwa promises. "I'm all good."

"Okay," their manager says. "I guess I'll start carrying that medication in case it happens again. Did you have any symptoms? Warning signs before it?"

"No," Seonghwa replies, shaking his head, glad his brain no longer feels like it's rattling inside of his skull with any movement. "It was really sudden. Sorry."

At best, he has maybe a few seconds. That sinking feeling in his stomach. The knowledge that something is wrong.

But it won't be enough — he's never been able to guess when these feelings will happen. The only factor is that San is usually touching him — but he's definitely not going to admit as much out loud.

"That's alright," their manager says. "Hopefully it doesn't happen again."

Inwardly, Seonghwa grimaces, and sends an apology to their manager. He has a feeling it will.

Four days later, the feeling happens again.

He wonders when there will be a point when there is simply nothing new for San to do, no new way to touch him, no new scenarios that can possibly send him spiralling. This time, he's just glad they're already sitting down.

The problem is, they're in the middle of a schedule. A radio broadcast — thankfully nothing with video, but he knows that there will be a short, sharp gasp into his microphone if anyone is listening too closely. His heart sinks, his head spins, and the world falls away for a new one to rise.

A hot desert. Black outfits, masks lifted to cover their faces, guns to their hips and posters with their faces.

This time, all of them but San live.

When he comes back, his head is once again splitting apart, and every sense is on overload. But he knows he's at a schedule, and he forces himself to take in some deep breaths — hopefully away from the microphone — and pull it back together. It feels like he's trying to wind flimsy tape around broken glass, trying to keep it all together without shattering, but he manages to connect just enough pieces that he doesn't keen over in pain like he wants to.

Everyone's voices send spikes of pain through his head. A hand on his thigh makes him suck in his breath to stop from crying out in pain at the sensation, everything feeling like it's too much, but it also works to ground him, to remind him that there are other people around him — that people are listening, right now.

Their voices are loud to cover up the sudden lack of Seonghwa's own. Maybe he gave something away in his breaths, but they're making sure nothing else slips.

Focus, focus, he tells himself, over and over, trying not to think about the sickening sight of San's limp body, crumpled in a heap amongst the yellow sand with the sun beginning to rise over the mountains. His throat closes, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through it.

Focus, don't let them down, don't let them worry.

It takes a while, but Seonghwa manages to start focusing on the voices, making sense of the words instead of just hearing different cadences. He starts to understand the conversation, starts to listen to the topic, and is able to insert appropriately-timed laughs. But they make sure the conversation doesn't circle back to him, and they prompt him with only simple things — just enough to make sure he talks, that he won't be so heavily noticed for being silent. On top of everything, he does not want the fans to worry, and he does not want to cause more stress to his members.

He knows that it likely isn't enough, that the spike of pain and the dream — the dream, he knows, that can no longer be considered as such if he's awake — will mean there is likely a significant amount of silence on his end of things, but he hopes that it just isn't too long, that people won't think beyond the fact he's just having a quieter day.

They finish up the broadcast, and by the time they walk out, Seonghwa's head is almost back to a more bearable level. Still, Hongjoong basically wrestles him over to the manager.

"Where are the tablets?" Hongjoong asks.

Their manager frowns, immediately rifling through his bag to find them. "It happened again?"

Perhaps it's a good sign if their manager didn't notice. Maybe Seonghwa isn't in as much trouble as he is stressing about — but the members still noticed, and that's enough to be concerned about.

"It's getting better already," Seonghwa replies, but takes the tablets without an argument. Anything that will take the edge off the sharp pain inside his mind he will gladly accept right now.

Their manager looks Seonghwa over, rubbing his chin in intense thought. "You should discuss this with a doctor, I think."

Seonghwa nods, even as he feels conflicted. He knows this is something he needs to monitor, make sure it doesn't get worse, but he doesn't think explaining the cause of these pains — the things in his dreams — will be able to help anyone. But maybe he can get something that will help with the pain, or maybe he can stop dreaming, and things will get better.

"I will," Seonghwa says.

"Alright, I'll organise it," their manager says. "Are you alright to go to the next schedule?"

"Yes," Seonghwa says in a rush, making sure no one else can cut in and say otherwise. "Yes, I'm fine."

Their manager is not the only one staring at him doubtfully, and Hongjoong is pressing his lips together unhappily, but no one argues against him. He's sure that someone will step in if he gets any worse, but his head is getting better, and he's placing a heavy wager on the fact another vision will not appear again today.

They're all considerate of him. During their next schedule, they play around with each other, but they make sure their volume does not rise too loudly. They don't focus on Seonghwa, and place no expectations for him to lead any conversations, but they make sure that he isn't left alone and has the opportunity to speak if he wants to. Their considerate care is warming, and it helps the pain in his head fade away until he barely remembers it's there.

When their schedules finish up for the day and they've all eaten, Seonghwa basically collapses into bed, entirely exhausted.

He's had it happen again, meaning that it will likely continue. They are no longer dreams, and they're creeping into his life while he's awake.

Whatever they are, just like San had noticed long ago, they are getting worse. They're getting more intense.

And they are no longer dreams.

Seonghwa is so overwhelmed with what that could mean that he isn't even sure where to begin. Maybe there is something medically wrong with him — maybe his mind has reached a breaking point, and now he's imagining all these fantasy worlds, all these different lives, forever tormenting himself with the sight of San dying in front of him.

He doesn't know what's happening to him, and that's terrifying.

But if he admits that, if he tells someone about this, then what will he lose? What if he's told to take a step away from his activities? What if they can't figure it out, and he's just— told he's crazy, that these things can't be real? What happens then?

He bites at the corner of the nail on his thumb, heart starting to pick up in pace. He doesn't need to explain the dreams, he tells himself. He just needs to mention that they're nightmares, and that he's having migraines. The poor quality of sleep might be the cause of it, after all, so maybe if he can just get something done about the dreams, the rest will fix itself.

"Stop that," he mentally hears Wooyoung scold in his head once he realises he's biting his nail down, and pulls his fingers away from his face. He can't see the damage of his nail in the darkness, but he's sure Wooyoung will actually properly scold him for it if there is any.

He rolls over on the bed, fingers curling into his pillows as he tries not to think about all the things that could go wrong. If he continues to hide this, will the visions get worse? If he has them in the middle of a performance, there are so many cameras to capture him faltering if even for a moment. And while they have run through their choreography plenty, and San has not set off anything during this, it's not to say that will always be the case. Even the slightest change could mean things are different as a result.

But — if he tells someone, what happens then? What will he be told? Will they allow him on the stages anymore? And what if nothing changes when he tells someone, when he tries medications, when he's at his wit's end and everyone else is too?

What happens then? What happens to him?

There aren't any answers. None that give him any peace of mind.

The only relief he has is knowing that, at least, he will not dream when he falls asleep tonight.

Seonghwa is lying on the ground in the practice room.

He's exhausted. In a good way, this time, the kind of satisfying way where they've run through choreography and performances until they're synchronised, until they're all happy that this is something they can present to the world together.

Wooyoung lies on top of him. An undignified kind of sound wheezes out from Seonghwa, and he attempts to roll over to get Wooyoung off him. Naturally, this is when San piles himself on top of them, keeping both of them pinned down.

Eventually giving up, Seonghwa just lets himself flop down. Wooyoung and San roll off of him, only to scuffle on the side.

"Ah, ah, Seonghwa-hyung, help," San rasps out with a laugh.

Seonghwa-hyung, help, he remembers, San's bloody arm stretched out towards him as the building on top of him crushed him.

Seonghwa swallows down the thickness in his throat, and he just shakes his head. San and Wooyoung are playing, and San isn't in any trouble.

"You gave me no mercy," Seonghwa replies.

San gasps, scandalised, and Wooyoung laughs in delight until San manages to flip them over and get on top of him. Seonghwa watches them until they get bored of it, and Wooyoung goes over to Yeosang and drapes himself over him. San remains on the ground, and they stare at each other, blinking slowly, both of them too tired to bother getting up from the ground right now.

"Hyung," San says softly, reaching out his arm. Seonghwa watches carefully, not quite convinced San isn't done being playful, but he doesn't fight or move away as San's hand cups his cheek.

"Hi, San-ah," Seonghwa whispers, a smile creeping up on his lips. San just tends to have that effect on him.

San grins. "Hyung. I love your smile the most, you know?"

Immediately, Seonghwa splutters. He hadn't been expecting that kind of statement at all. It just seems to amuse San, but he doesn't let Seonghwa squirm out from his touch, even as he gets a little embarrassed about the fact San can very likely feel the heat that's suddenly risen into his cheeks.

San smiles at him, and it shifts into something softer, more private.

Seonghwa's heart feels like it stops in his chest.

He's seen the sight of that smile before. A few times, now.

Always right before San goes to kiss him.

Seonghwa inhales, and he coughs a little at the air that suddenly feels so dry and the way his throat feels tighter. Immediately, the expression on San's way shifts into concern, and his hands fret around, patting Seonghwa's back as the small coughing fit passes.

"Old man," he hears Wooyoung tease from across the room, but only once Seonghwa is able to take in a proper breath without coughing.

San's a little more visibly concerned, as he keeps his hand on Seonghwa's back. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Seonghwa says, clearing his throat. His heart currently feels like it's somewhere up in there. "Yeah, I'm okay."

San remains there with him until they're both called to get up as the food has arrived. They'll eat something light before getting back into practice, and while Seonghwa feels a little like he's being swept away with the mess of all of his emotions and realisations, he thinks it might be easier right now to have something else to focus on.

During their meal, San sits beside him. Whenever Seonghwa gets caught up in his thoughts, staring at his food rather than eating it, San gives him a gentle nudge that snaps him back into the present. He also attempts to scrape some of his own food into Seonghwa's own container, though he's only successful at doing it once, and he won't take it back no matter how much Seonghwa tries to insist that he should.

When they start practising again, the choreography is hard, and he pushes past his limits to perform it. But the more his body tires, the more his mind does, and it becomes easier to bear the weight of everything if he doesn't think about the fact he's carrying it.

And it means he can definitely try not to think about the way San had smiled, the way his hand was cupping Seonghwa's cheek, the way that Seonghwa knows what it's like when they kiss.

But he doesn't, does he? They're just— they're all just dreams, that's all they ever should be, and he does not want them to be anything more.

Because if they are, if they're more than just conjurings of his imagination, then the kisses are not the only things that are real.

He can't have that. He doesn't want that — even if he aches for San, he does not want to have him.

San does not kiss him in every life, but in every life that he does, he dies.

The dreams stop for a couple of days.

This might be because Seonghwa is trying to create a subtle amount of distance between himself and San, if only for his very own sake. Because all he can do is think about the way that San smiled, and then he thinks about all the way he's watched San die, and his heart and his mind are torn into war with each other and he does not know who he wants to win.

He doesn't think, at the end of this, there will be any winner. There will be nothing left standing.

After a performance on stage, Seonghwa heads into the bathroom to splash himself down with some colder water. It will be the only time he has alone for the next couple of hours, as they're going out for a dinner, and Hongjoong will likely want to discuss the performance afterwards as well. So he takes some deep breaths, lets the cold water splash against his face, and pats at his cheeks to try and soak it in so that his cheeks don't quite feel like they're burning anymore.

He'd looked a little too closely. He'd caught the way San had been staring at him on the stage, his gaze intensified by the character he'd sunken into. It felt like Seonghwa had been stripped bare on that very stage, his heart laid out for everyone to see, and he hasn't quite managed to calm down from it yet.

The bathroom door opens, and Seonghwa tears his gaze away from the mirror.

San blinks, and then straightens up when he realises it's Seonghwa staring back at him. "Oh, hey."

Here, San does not carry the same edges and sharpness that he brings up on the stage. Here, San is leaning against the door, curved and soft and gentle, and Seonghwa aches.

"Hey," Seonghwa replies, clearing his throat. San is out of his outfit, back into his usual clothes with his hoodie pulled up above his head. Some of the makeup around his eye has smudged like he'd rubbed at it, forgetting it was there. "Sorry, am I late?"

"No, you're fine. Hongjoong lost his airpods, so they're searching for them," San says, waving a dismissive hand.

"I think they're in the front of that jacket he was wearing," Seonghwa says, remembering the moment he'd watched Hongjoong slide them in there. He'd only taken notice of it because it had been a strange move, Hongjoong usually opting to put them elsewhere, but he'd been half-distracted as he sorted out something with Mingi's microphone.

San clicks his fingers. "Well, that gives you some time to change if you wait to tell them."

"San-ah," Seonghwa laughs. "So I am running late then."

"Maybe," San grins. "But it's fine, really. Hey, you did really well up there today."

There is something strange about the tone of San's voice, something that makes Seonghwa's head tilt as he tries to discern what's setting off a distant alarm in the back of his mind, but San's expression is open and eager and genuine.

"Thanks," Seonghwa draws out the word slightly, not sure if it seems like the right answer, but San doesn't give away anything. "You too."

San rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. But you were really good."

"O-kay," Seonghwa splits the word up, making his doubt apparent now. "What's going on?"

San sags, shoulders dropping. "I don't know. I just... I want to talk to you, I guess, but I'm not sure if you want to talk to me, so..."

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?" Seonghwa asks, eyebrows furrowing.

San gives a small shrug. "I just feel like you've been avoiding me. Not... not a lot, or anything. I don't think you're angry at me. But... something's wrong, right?"

Something has been wrong for a long time, now, Seonghwa thinks. Many things have been wrong many times now.

"It's not, San-ah. There is nothing wrong, especially not with you," Seonghwa replies, because he feels like San is starting to step onto the thin, iced-over lake that Seonghwa has been standing on for a while now, simply hoping it does not shatter beneath him.

San frowns at him. He reaches out his hands, and on instinct, Seonghwa lifts his own, their fingers intertwining. San steps closer, and though it feels like the air is suddenly sucked from Seonghwa's lungs, he forces himself to remain standing right where he is.

San takes in a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words, and Seonghwa holds his own.

"First it was the dreams," San says lowly, the words shattering the air around them, cracking the ice under Seonghwa's feet with a deafening sound of finality. "First the dreams, and then the migraines. And they're... they're both because of me, right?"

All of the air inside Seonghwa escapes at once. He feels like he plunges right into the ice below, with nothing around him except darkness and cold, frigid water that he cannot breathe in.

"San-ah," Seonghwa says, and finds that he cannot bring himself to say anything else. He doesn't know what he can say to fix any of this. He can try — he should open his mouth, reassure San that's not the case at all, that these dreams, these migraines, that whatever these are aren't because sometimes, San just brushes up against him or says the wrong thing and it all, suddenly, goes to hell.

"And I... I think you remember these dreams now, don't you?" San whispers.

Seonghwa freezes. This, more than anything, is what makes him finally able to speak. "No," he says, only able to hear the panicked thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "No, San-ah. Not really."

San takes in a deep breath, and guides Seonghwa's hands up to his mouth, where he presses a feather-light kiss to the side of his hand and closes his eyes, whispering something that Seonghwa cannot hear.

"I'm sorry," he sees mouthed on San's lips more than he hears, watching as San lowers their hands down from his face. "You seem... sorry."

Seonghwa wants to know. "I seem..."

"Scared," San answers, closing his eyes again. "You seem scared, hyung. I don't want you to feel that."

Seonghwa is scared. Terrified, in fact. Unable to do anything as these dreams continue to haunt the back of his eyelids and the front of his mind. He's scared because of San — he's scared of what San will do, what he'll sacrifice, he's scared of watching him die over and over and over.

He's scared of being without him. That, more than anything, is what truly scares him.

"You— you're not scaring me," Seonghwa whispers, changing the grips of their hands so that he's able to squeeze San's own. Warm, alive. This is not so scary to him in the end. "It's not you."

San looks down at their hands, and then up at Seonghwa's face, studying him like he's trying to find a lie. His eyes narrow, and like he's still searching for any cracks in his expression, he steps closer.

"It's not," San finally says quietly in realisation. "But it's something to do with me."

This, Seonghwa cannot argue. San is too convinced of it, and Seonghwa can't try and persuade him otherwise. Not when San is this close to him.

"Your heart is beating really fast," San mutters, and Seonghwa looks down to see that San's fingers are subtly pressing down on his wrist.

"Is it?" Seonghwa says, feeling a little distant from himself right now as he tries to think. What will ease San's concerns? What is the best action to take? The best words to say? What will be best for San?

"Yeah," San whispers, "it is."

San steps closer. Seonghwa remains frozen, unable to do anything but look at their intertwined hands.

"Hyung," San says, a gentle encouragement.

Seonghwa looks up, and he sees San's expression — open, genuine, honest. Letting everything he's feeling display right there on his face.

That smile is gently tugging the corners of his lips.

Seonghwa turns their hands over again.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He's scared. He doesn't want to let go of this boy in front of him. Never again.

"Your heart is also beating really fast," Seonghwa says after a moment.

San lets out a sound of breathy laughter. "It is. Do you know why?"

Seonghwa's mouth goes dry.

He knows this, just as he knows San, as he's always known San.

Still, he blinks, and he isn't sure if it's hope or despair that lits it from within. A mixture of the two — the mixture of dread and desire that has been burning inside of him for a while now whenever he thinks of San.

"I think so," Seonghwa admits quietly.

San swallows heavily, and the smile on his face grows. "I thought you might, hyung."

There is a question there. Hope, too, for San. Asking if Seonghwa's heart, perhaps, is beating for similar reasons. They're both scared of this, both unsure, neither quite knowing what to do.

Seonghwa knows he shouldn't do this. Shouldn’t want this. But San is before him now, here within his reach, and Seonghwa cannot pretend he does not want him with everything he has ever been and ever will be again.

San steps closer. There is nothing left between them now.

His gaze flickers down to Seonghwa's lips, and that's all it takes.

No matter how hard Seonghwa has tried to ignore it, has tried to pretend it doesn't exist, he can't pretend like he doesn't want this.

He kisses San.

He's done this before. In the dreams, in the visions. But it feels new, exciting, right.

His thumbs brush against San's cheeks as he pulls him in, and San's hands fall to the side, stunned for a moment. And then he's quickly wrapping his arms around Seonghwa's waist, pressing as close as they can to each other as they lose time — as they lose everything around them, and all that matters is that they are kissing.

Seonghwa pulls back, but not before pressing a kiss to the corner of San's lips, and then his cheek, and then his nose, and his heart is thumping so loudly, but — but he feels calm.

In his dreams, he realises, he has a sense of the dread incoming. Perhaps it's foresight, perhaps it's knowing how his dreams go, but that feeling does not shroud him now. Now, he's able to fully appreciate the sight of San in his arms, biting down on his lower lip like he's trying to come to terms with the fact that they just did that.

Seonghwa's trying to come to terms with it too.

He comes back to himself, and then he groans.

"Our first kiss is in a bathroom," he mutters, shaking his head.

San laughs and stands a little higher so he can kiss Seonghwa's forehead. "It was perfect. I wouldn't change it."

"I would," Seonghwa mutters. San laughs again.

"Okay, but that means we can kiss in better places next time," San says.

The words next time tumble over in his mind, and Seonghwa smiles. And then he blows out his cheeks as he realises something.

"Oh god," he says, letting his head bow down for a moment. San makes a worried noise, cupping Seonghwa's cheeks.

"What is it?" San asks.

"We're going to have to tell Hongjoong," Seonghwa realises.

San blanches. "Um..."

"He's fine," Seonghwa says, looking up through his lashes to make sure San can see he's being honest. "He, um, approached me about my feelings a while ago. He knew that I had them, and... and he said he wanted to help, if we'd let him know. And that it'll be better for the team overall and all that."

"The team had betting pools on us," San grumbles.

Seonghwa raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

San grimaces. "Yeah. You were kind of the only one who didn't know about my feelings. So they... all kind of know, I guess."

"I see," Seonghwa sighs, and finds that he isn't so surprised. Hongjoong probably told them all not to pester Seonghwa about it after their own talk, but he probably didn't discourage any kind of cheekiness either.

"Speaking of, we should head back to them," San says, sounding regretful. His hands fall away from Seonghwa's skin, but Seonghwa almost reaches out to take his hands again.

"Yeah," Seonghwa says, though he doesn't move until San steps away and then has to look back at him.

"Come on, hyung," San holds out his hand. "Let's go home."

Seonghwa takes his hand with a smile, but worry begins to crawl back into his heart.

Even though nothing triggers it, even though Seonghwa gets no feeling of something being wrong, he has a dream.

He remembers tightening up the cloths on San's arm, painting the corners of his eyes, and handing him over his mask. He remembers Hongjoong looking away in the corner of the room — guilt still clear on his frame, as he does his best to give them a moment of privacy.

"The rebellion will gain a lot of ground with this," Hongjoong had said, circling the target on the map. "We need someone who can strike fast and quietly."

And San had been the one to raise his hand for the solo mission before any of them.

It's not Hongjoong's fault, but Seonghwa is, in a way, vindictive about the guilt that is clear in Hongjoong's expression. It's not Hongjoong's fault — he knows what San is like.

"Be careful," he whispers, pressing a kiss to San's cheek, just barely under the markings of their crew that are painted on his eye. "Please, San-ah. Come home."

San presses his lips together and nods. He does not reply, though. Not aloud, and Seonghwa knows it's because both of them will be able to hear how much it will sound like a promise that is bound to be broken.

But something has settled in Seonghwa's chest, and he knows that this is something San has to do — something he wants to do, not just for the rebellion, but for all of them — but still, something inside of Seonghwa is telling him to not let San go.

He ties San's cloths, paints his face, and gives him the mask for the mission, and knows this is what the rebellion needs, what San wants, and — and yet, and yet, Seonghwa stares at the blip of the navigation that's following San's tracker, and he turns to Hongjoong, realises that their information is wrong, that San's in more risk than they thought, and he says: "I'm going after him."

It's treason. The rebellion of the rebellion.

Hongjoong hangs his head, and he whispers to himself. It looks like he is grieving the loss of more than one.

"I thought you might," Hongjoong admits. "I— Seonghwa, you might not make it back from this."

San will succeed, they know. But there is always a risk, especially on these kinds of solo missions, and Seonghwa thinks the risk for this mission is too high even if it's one they need.

"I know," Seonghwa says, looking back at the screen displaying San's current location. He's still within reach. "But something is telling me I need to go. I'm sorry."

"Something is telling me to let you," Hongjoong quietly says. "Go. Go find him."

Seonghwa hurries out of the room, and hurries to chase after San. Seonghwa manages to catch up to him at the very last moment. They have a small window of opportunity, and Seonghwa's presence might just risk the entire mission — but he finds that right now, San is all that matters.

"What are you doing here?" San hisses, but he's panicked, thrown by Seonghwa's presence.

He can say a lot of things. The information has changed. This mission is riskier than they planned. But San knows these things.

"You're not leaving me," Seonghwa says instead. He just — he has a feeling that this is what will happen. That San will not be coming home from this.

Not again, he's thinking over and over in the back of his mind. He doesn't know where the thought has come from, doesn't know why this feeling has just taken over him, why he's abandoning the leader he's followed through everything just to chase after San. Not again. I'm not being left again. This isn't happening again.

It has never happened before. Not here, at least.

"I— Seonghwa-yah," San tries, but Seonghwa shakes his head.

"Not again," he says.

At this, San's panicked expression shifts into confusion. "Again?"

Seonghwa doesn't understand it either. He can't explain.

"We do this together," Seonghwa says, looking past San, over to the building they need to get into.

"It's a solo mission, Seonghwa-yah," San reminds him sharply. "It's too much of a risk."

"I don't care."

San looks at him, and then his shoulders sag forward as he slumps. San has known, then, too, that he likely isn't going to make it home from this now.

"Okay," San says softly. "Okay."

He reaches out a hand, and Seonghwa takes it. San pulls him in, and his eyes trail over Seonghwa's face, drinking him in.

"I love you," San tells him.

Seonghwa, despite knowing what they're about to do, feels at peace. "I love you too."

San strokes his hair back, and then kisses him. Seonghwa kisses back, knowing these will likely be their last few moments properly together.

Against his lips, San whispers: "forgive me for this."

There is a prick in Seonghwa's neck, San's apologetic eyes as he gently lowers Seonghwa's limp body to the ground, and Seonghwa understands what Seonghwa has done.

"I can’t," Seonghwa manages to gasp out, a terrible kind of betrayal washing over him before the darkness can properly creep in. "San-ah, please—"

San presses a kiss to his forehead.

"Be safe, Seonghwa-yah."

And he turns around, leaves Seonghwa on the rooftop, and heads into the mission alone. He does not come back.

It's been a while since Seonghwa has woken up like this. He's heaving with each breath, his hand coming up to his neck like he can still feel the prick of the syringe that San had plunged into his neck to make sure he couldn't follow him into the mission.

His fingers almost knock over the glass of water on his bedside when he reaches for it. He's barely able to save it, and he ends up just holding the glass between his fingers, trying to breathe through all the panic inside of him.

Are the dreams back? Are they going to stay, permanently now? Is it because Seonghwa kissed San, and—

He kissed San.

That's different. But it's the same as some of those worlds, something that had felt so distant from reality is now suddenly not, and if they kissed, if they kissed and—

He stumbles to his feet and basically throws himself forward to hurry out of his own room. He walks down the hallway, everything around him feeling like it's so distant, like the hallway is a long dark tunnel, and he can't feel the floor beneath him, can't feel anything but ice in his veins and fear in his heart, and he's so scared, he's so scared—

He opens the door to San's room, and for a heart-stopping moment, the lump underneath the blankets does not move.

And then it rises and falls, and Seonghwa almost collapses in relief. He walks into the room, a hand reaching out for the blanket, and he peels it back as lightly as he can to make sure he doesn't wake San. Even though he's sure it's not enough to wake anyone, San still stirs, and though he feels guilty for it, the relief is overwhelming.

San looks up, and then hazily takes in Seonghwa's figure.

"Hyung?" He asks blearily.

"Hey," Seonghwa whispers. "Sorry."

San sits up, pushing the blankets down. "Is everything okay?"

Seonghwa thinks about saying yes, it's all okay, sorry for disturbing you, I was just checking up on you before going back to bed. He tries to say it, but the words clog up in his throat, and he finds he can't say anything.

He just shakes his head, and the admittance feels like the heaviest thing on his shoulders, but also the lightest he has been in a long time.

"Oh, hyung, come here," San whispers, gently pulling him into bed. "Come here, you're alright."

Seonghwa lets himself lie down and go wherever San prods him to. They curl around each other, pressing close, and Seonghwa presses a hand to his chest and reminds himself to breathe. San is okay. Things have changed, but that hasn't happened, and it's not going to.

"Was it another dream?" San asks, concerned.

"It was," Seonghwa admits.

San lets out a long breath, but he doesn't say anything. He just strokes his fingers through Seonghwa's hair and soothes him.

Seonghwa looks at him, and he finds that this — this is too much for him to carry alone now. He can't keep doing this.

"You were right," Seonghwa says.

San looks at him, confused.

"About the dreams," Seonghwa clarifies. "I remember them. I didn't at first, not for a while, but— recently, I've started to."

San nods, still stroking Seonghwa's hair, being careful that his expressions don't slip right now. Seonghwa reaches out with one hand and cups his cheek, trying to encourage him to be more open.

"Please," Seonghwa whispers, and San's expression immediately softens, letting Seonghwa see all the different emotions he's feeling.

"Do you want to talk about them?" San asks quietly. It's an invitation, saying that he will stay up and listen, that he wants to do so if Seonghwa wants to speak about it.

"I think I need to," Seonghwa breathes out. "But... I'm— it's going to sound crazy."

San's fingers brush over his face, smoothing out the skin. "You can be crazy sometimes, hyung. About a lot of things. Like your lego. And on stage. But it's a good thing. I like it about you."

Seonghwa can tell San is trying to ease him, make him smile, and it works. He lets himself relax a little more into San's touch, and reassures himself that this is going to be okay. That San will help him.

"It's not like that," Seonghwa says, even though they both know that. "It's... I don't even know how to explain it myself."

"Just say what you can," San tells him. "And we'll figure it out, okay?"

"Okay," Seonghwa says.

For a moment, they lie in silence, and San gives Seonghwa all the time he needs to gather himself. Eventually, Seonghwa starts to speak.

"You were right, too, about them being tied to you. They aren't your fault, but you were— you trigger them," Seonghwa admits, and immediately makes sure to tap his fingers onto San's skin to try and relieve some of the guilt that crosses San's face. "It's not your fault, San-ah. You didn't even know about it. And it took me a while to realise, too."

"How did I do it?" San asks.

Seonghwa lets out a long breath. "The first ever dream I remembered, it was the day we were shooting for a video. You had the makeup of a scar down your cheek, do you remember?"

"Yeah," San says, and he's clearly trying to think back to that very day, trying to remember as many details as he can.

"I couldn't explain it, I still can't, but I had this feeling that it was wrong. That the scar wasn't meant to go like that," Seonghwa explains. "And the dream I had that night didn't explain it either, actually. It was the first one, and the only one that was different at the time."

Seonghwa's fingers brush under San's eye, remembering the makeup, remembering the scar of the boy in the snow.

"I dreamt that night about... ah, it sounds ridiculous," Seonghwa sighs out, shaking his head.

San hushes him. "I'm listening."

Seonghwa breathes out, steadying himself. "I dreamed I was a prince. And in my dream, there was someone strangling me. In my dream, you saved my life. But... but in my dream, I did not know you. It was our first-ever meeting."

San hums, but he doesn't look too concerned by this. Seonghwa realises he doesn't quite understand, that he hasn't pieced it together.

Seonghwa presses his lips together. "San-ah, have you ever had a dream like that? Where you don't actually remember a person you know? Not... not a stranger in your dream, or a face you've seen once in your life. But have you ever seen any of us, and not know us?"

At this, the realisation begins to sink into San's expression. He shakes his head. "I always know you."

"Exactly," Seonghwa says. "I always did too, until this dream. It felt different. It felt real to me — when I woke up, it was a memory, not so much a dream."

"Oh," San says, expression pinching in concern. But there is still confusion on his face.

"I had a few more like that," Seonghwa continues to explain, hurrying to try and justify why these dreams have gotten him so wound out. "Dreams that felt like memories. Always a different world. Most of the time, we didn't know each other. Sometimes I knew Hongjoong, but not— not because I knew him here, but we had history in our dream that I just... remembered."

"How did these trigger?" San asks.

"It... it could be something you said or something you did. Something that would reflect the scene in the dream. Later, after a few of these, I could tell the dreams were going to happen — it was always just a feeling, the knowledge that something was... wrong. Different. When I dreamed, it felt right."

San hums. "Do you have an example? Of what I said?"

"Um," Seonghwa thinks, trying to stall for time, trying to think of a dream where he does not have to explain, right now, that it was tied to San's death. "One night, in the hotel room, you kneeled by my bed. I didn't know the feeling at the time, I didn't know a dream was going to come on, but I dreamed that night of... being a God, I guess. And you were one, too, but you had come to my temple, kneeling and praying, asking for help."

His voice trails off at the end, feeling embarrassed about explaining it like this.

"A God?" San muses.

Seonghwa sighs. "It sounds ridiculous. I know. I just..."

"It sounds cool," San promises, not letting Seonghwa feel so embarrassed. "Anything else?"

"The Halazia filming. That... that video was actually really close to the world I dreamed about. You were the boy destined to bring it all down," Seonghwa says. "I... that one was so close to the video that I almost doubt it, but..."

"You can tell it's different," San says for him.

Seonghwa nods. "Yeah. I can't..."

"Explain it? It's okay, you're doing a good job so far," San promises. "Were the dreams kind of always like that? Different worlds?"

"Yeah. Different lives. Some were similar, but some were out on spaceships, some back in almost medieval times, with magic, with— anything, really. But that was never the focus of my dream," Seonghwa says. "My focus was always you."

San leans down and presses a kiss to his hair.

He supposes he can say it now. Now that it's happened in this life, in this world, no longer just something in his dream.

"We'd— we'd sometimes be together," Seonghwa says. "Months before we... months before that. Months before I even really acknowledged my feelings for you, I had these dreams where we would kiss."

San tuts. "So you're saying you got to kiss me many times before I got to kiss you?"

He's glad that San is keeping it light, like he's trying to make sure Seonghwa doesn't go too deep just yet, like he knows he doesn’t want to.

"Not in this world," Seonghwa laughs. "And I was so worried about these dreams, I felt terrible. I didn't know how to explain that I was dreaming of kissing you."

"News flash," San says, "but in this dorm, dreams happen a lot."

"Yeah," Seonghwa agrees. "But they're not quite the same."

San nods, accepting this.

"I could... I could deal with those kinds of dreams. They made me upset, in a way, but then— then that first ever dream I had returned. It's the only one where I've ever visited the same kind of world twice. You had the scar this time. It was older, so it had happened at some point in that world, but that wasn't the point of this dream. You were my personal guard, and you—"

He coughs, clearing his throat, cutting himself off before he can talk about the rings that they had talked about.

"You protected me," Seonghwa whispers, "and you died right in front of me."

"Oh," San exhales, and Seonghwa can feel and see the way he goes slack with shock. "Oh, hyung."

Seonghwa can feel his eyes beginning to water, so he closes them, telling himself to calm down. He has a lot more to explain, and he wants to get through it first.

"It felt so real," Seonghwa whispers. "I could— all my senses could remember it when I woke up. I tried so hard to tell myself it was just a nightmare, but— I always knew that there was just something wrong with it all. That it was more than that."

San's hold around him tightens, and he brings him into a hug as best as he can. Seonghwa counts each of his breaths, in and out, until his own heartbeat calms.

"They started to happen more frequently," Seonghwa admits. "And in every single one after that, you'd always die. You always— you always died protecting us, and I could never stop you. And I tried. I tried so many times, and you died in each and every one."

San makes a pained noise that comes from deep inside of him, an ache that he doesn't know how to control, one that he doesn't know how to take from Seonghwa.

San does not ask him about these lives. It would be too painful for Seonghwa to recount, and he's glad that he is not questioned about them. He's seen too many lives now, so many deaths, and he remembers them all so viscerally that he doesn't know how he could possibly explain it all in words. He doesn't want to.

"And— the migraines?" San whispers.

"The dreams started to happen when I was awake," Seonghwa quietly admits. "That same feeling happened, but then it spiralled. I was caught up in a dream of a different life, watching you die again, but this time, I wasn't asleep."

"God," San breathes out.

"It made sleeping easier, but— I was so worried it would happen during a performance, I wasn't sure if it was better," Seonghwa says. "And if I wasn't asleep anymore, then... were they dreams? If they're not dreams, what are they? I felt crazy. If there was something medically wrong with me, it could mean... it could mean losing everything here."

"Hyung..."

"But," Seonghwa cuts in, before San can continue the train of thought he knows he's thinking, "I think that... if it was medically serious, I would... I would know? Ah, that sounds even more crazy. I just mean that these dreams, these visions during the day, they were... they were more than just migraines, or something wrong with my brain. But how could I explain that? I know how it sounds."

His fingers dig a little into San's skin as he has the urge to curl his hands into fists. He knows that trying to defend himself only makes it sound like he's truly unaware of how bad this all is, how bad it all sounds. There must be something wrong if he's having these kinds of visions, right?

"What changed?" San asks, surprising Seonghwa and pulling him away from his little spiral.

"We kissed," Seonghwa replies, and then he realises that's not quite it. Not entirely. "No, not just that. Tonight's dream... it was different. In the dream, I think I remembered something. I think I knew that— that I'd lost you before. That I was going to again. I kept thinking not again, don't leave me again, even though you never had before in that life."

"The dreams— or, whatever they are, they started to connect?" San asks.

Seonghwa squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. "I don't know. I just— after that dream, I came here. I don't know what to think. Nothing triggered this one. It just happened, and I'm— I'm so scared, San-ah."

"You're okay, hyung, you're okay," San tells him, over and over, until Seonghwa starts to calm down from the panic he hadn't even realised he was falling back into. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

"You... I'm so scared that you will," Seonghwa admits, the words so quiet that he's almost hoping the universe takes them away.

"No," San says strongly. "No, hyung. Not in this life. I am not leaving you."

Seonghwa holds on and tries to convince himself that it's the truth, even though he has all these other dreams, all these other visions, all these other lives that have proved otherwise. If it comes down to it, to save their lives, San will always, always, sacrifice himself. He will leave Seonghwa if that is the option it comes down to.

They press closer to each other, their breaths matching, inhaling and exhaling as one. Existing as one, as something in this world that Seonghwa can try and tell himself that has never been split apart.

"This has been a lot to carry all on your own, huh?" San asks kindly, but his voice is shaky.

Seonghwa sucks in a breath. "If you cry, I'm going to cry."

San tries to laugh, but the sound is watery and choked, and they're both breathing through thick lumps in their throat. Both are the same as each other, both as one in this very moment.

"We can't have that," San whispers, kissing the top of Seonghwa's head, and then his lips linger there, just pressing against his hair. "I've made you upset enough, haven't I?"

"It's not your fault," Seonghwa replies.

"But these dreams are because of me," San says.

Seonghwa's hold on him turns into more of a pinch. San squirms, but he doesn't actually try to get Seonghwa off of him like he usually does instinctively when he's pinched. "Are you the one controlling my dreams at night? Picking and choosing what my brain shows me? No? Then it's not your fault. Please don't blame yourself."

"But what if..." San trails off, and Seonghwa looks up at him.

"What if...?" Seonghwa prompts.

"You say these dreams feel more like memories," San says, and Seonghwa nods. "And, so, what if they are? Have you thought about these things being a glimpse into other lives of ours?"

Seonghwa tries to sit up, but San holds him tight and refuses to let go.

"San-ah," Seonghwa tries, but San just pouts a little at him.

"Hyung, really. Haven't you thought about it?" San asks.

"That's— San-ah. That's impossible," he says, though he knows his voice sounds unconvincing in his argument.

He has thought about it.

But the idea that they could be realities, not just his worst fear conjured up in a terrible kind of way, means that San really had died all those times. Seonghwa had lived all those different lives, all those different realities, with that kind of pain that had been real.

"Hyung," San says softly. "These dreams... they don't seem normal. I believe you when you say they aren't. So they must be something, right?"

"They are the worst-case scenario, San-ah," Seonghwa replies sharply. "I would rather be going medically insane than have that be the case."

San looks shocked. His grip on Seonghwa loosens.

"What?" He asks, bewildered.

"San-ah, don't you get it? If those lives are real, if they're all us, then I lose you in every single one. There is nothing worse than that. I would rather be insane," Seonghwa says.

San looks crestfallen. He surges forward, bundling Seonghwa into his arms, pressing him tightly in a hug.

"Right," San whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Seonghwa can feel that he's shaking, small tremors that go through him making him tremble in San's hold. Because he knows that even if the idea that they are different lives is the worst one, he also —

He knows that it's something like that. He knows that these visions are too realistic, too close, something that feels tangled up in his heart and soul. He just knows, the same kind of feeling sinking inside of him that has led to the dreams, that has led to the visions.

He knows that over and over and over again, he loses San.

Maybe he's telling San because he's so terrified that even though he changed things by remembering in one of the dreams, it might not be enough. Maybe, if he tells San, it will make him hesitate.

This life is — mundane, compared to some of the others. But a few different lives had been too, settings close to the one he is currently living, and he's so scared.

"What can I do?" San asks him quietly after a few minutes of silence, where Seonghwa is just trying to remember to breathe.

"Just... stay. Please. This time, please stay," Seonghwa presses the words into San's shoulder as a prayer. More than anything, this is what he wants.

"I'll stay, of course I will," San reassures, pressing more kisses to the top of Seonghwa's head. "As long as you'll have me."

"Always," Seonghwa replies. In this life, in every other, he knows that he will want San forever.

San rocks slightly back and forth, a soothing type of repetitive motion that has Seonghwa starting to relax again, starting to remember where he is. Right now, in this very moment, San is with him. San knows, and he's accepting of everything — he's understanding, in fact. And — and he seems to know, too, about the fact these are not just dreams. Even though Seonghwa had begged San's theory not to be real, he knows San is likely aware it is the closest to reality.

Time passes — Seonghwa thinks a lot of it, but it all blurs together. He feels San start to shift.

"Try to rest, hyung," San says. "It's late. We have a while. Let's... let's talk more in the morning, okay? You're okay now. I'm okay, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Please, hyung. Let's rest."

He thinks he knows what San is doing. He's trying to convince Seonghwa that his dreams shouldn't scare him, that just because they've come back, he shouldn't lose all the progress he's managed to make with his sleep.

"If you dream again, I'll wake you up, okay?" San promises. "I'll be right here. You're not alone."

"I can't wake during them," Seonghwa whispers. “Only— only ever after.”

After you die.

San takes in a deep breath. "I've never tried to before. We can give it a try, can't we? It might not even happen. You've never had one again in the same night, right?"

"I think things are different now," Seonghwa replies. "I don't... I don't know what sets them off. I didn't feel the trigger for tonight's. I don't, I don't know—"

"Sh, sh, okay. Okay, hyung. Okay. But we should try. We can try. It's different, right? It's different because I'm not leaving you, hyung. I'm right here. You've told me about it."

Seonghwa presses his face into San's shoulder, thinking over his words.

He's been the one to come in here at this time, wake San up, and put all of this on him. It's a heavy weight, even shared, for both of them to carry, and Seonghwa does not want San to worry any further. He's right — they can talk more in the morning, when everything isn't so fresh.

"Okay," Seonghwa says, and he feels the relief in San's hold basically melt him.

"Do you need anything?" San asks as they properly lie back down. His eyes are glancing over the bedside, checking for water or other things that he thinks Seonghwa might, perhaps, need.

"Just you," Seonghwa replies.

San smiles, and he leans over and presses a kiss to Seonghwa's cheek. And then he hums, and slowly, slowly, giving time for Seonghwa to change his mind if he doesn't want it, he presses his lips to Seonghwa's own.

Of course Seonghwa wants it. He wants anything San will ever give him.

"You have me," San promises.

Seonghwa, perhaps, is starting to believe it.

They stare at each other until, as one, their eyelids become too heavy.

Despite everything, despite the terror Seonghwa has felt tonight, he falls asleep.

Everything is different.

Seonghwa dreams again.

"I failed," San chokes. It might be on his own blood, but Seonghwa's vision is hazy, and he can't quite see where all the red has started and ended. "I failed."

Seonghwa puts all of his energy into making his fingertips move. He reaches across the ground, the coldness of it seeping through his fingers, spreading up his arms, until he finds warmth. San's fingers fit neatly in his own, just as they always have.

"No," Seonghwa says, and the word feels heavy. It might be all the blood on his tongue, but he can't really feel it. He can't feel much anymore. "No, don't you understand? There is not a single world I want to be without you."

"Seonghwa—"

"Don't you feel it, San?" Seonghwa asks, staring up at the stars that shine so brightly above them. "It's different. I could... I could feel some of our lives, this time. I knew what you were going to do, and I changed it. For the first ever time, I changed it."

He laughs with delirium and delight, even though the sound rattles in his chest so painfully. It dies into more of a wheeze, but he's too happy to care.

"I want you to live," San breathes out into the sky, his hand weakly squeezing Seonghwa's own. "I want— I wanted you to go on without me."

"No," Seonghwa replies. "No, never again."

"Seonghwa," San says, and this time it is not an argument, but a prayer. Seonghwa turns his head, away from the stars for the last time in this life, and looks at San. In death, he has never looked so beautiful.

San looks haunted, but his expression is calmer, now. More understanding. At the end of this life, he is starting to understand the pain that Seonghwa has gone through — that in the end, even if San is saving him, protecting him, it is not always the right way.

Things will be different, Seonghwa thinks. They must be. He knows it.

"I'm so excited for our next life," Seonghwa tells him.

San smiles, his eyes brightening. For one moment, Seonghwa sees the stretch of a scar across his face that had not been there before. A boy in the snow. A boy in a spaceship. A boy in chains, in the rebellion, a boy at the stairs of his temple. He sees him, over and over again. This boy that he loves in every single possible universe, in every single life.

"I'll see you then," San says.

The stars shine above them, welcoming them home.

Seonghwa blinks awake.

There is hair tickling right under his chin. An arm thrown over his waist. Someone's deep breaths in his ear, the rising of their chest pressed against his arm. For the first ever time since waking up from a dream, he is calm. Content.

He can feel it inside of him. The knowledge, the feeling, that it is different now. That the life before changed everything.

There are no stars he can see — the sun is beginning to rise, lightening the room through the window — but he reaches a hand up and greets them anyway.

Hello, again. Thank you.

Next to him, San begins to stir. He stops for a moment when he realises that Seonghwa is also in his bed and trapped in his hold, and then resumes ever-so-carefully, wary of waking Seonghwa in case he's still sleeping. His head slowly moves up, taking in Seonghwa's face, and then realising he's awake.

"Hyung," San's deep, gravelly voice greets him.

Seonghwa feels uncertain, suddenly, remembering everything that happened mere hours ago. San knows about the dreams now, knows everything, and Seonghwa is nervous about it. San's words had been such a reassurance, but that had been at night, fresh from a dream that scared him, and San might have just been saying anything to get him to calm him down.

"Hey," San says, reaching a hand out to cusp Seonghwa's cheek. "I'm still here."

"Yeah," Seonghwa breathes out. "Thank you."

"Of course," San smiles, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. "No dreams?"

Seonghwa hums, closing his eyes under the feeling of San's lips so close to his skin. Finally, he admits quietly: "I had one."

San leans back, looking at Seonghwa in surprise. "You did?"

Seonghwa's dreams have always left him gasping for breath or crying or shaken. Never like this.

"It was different," Seonghwa explains. "I think... maybe the life after the one I dreamed about before. I remembered our previous lives in this one. I didn't— I wouldn't let you die for me again. I changed the ending."

San furrows his eyebrows, and then he pulls a face at Seonghwa. "You died with me, didn't you?"

"Maybe," Seonghwa admits, but it's nothing short of a relief. It had been the best ending for him — the one he's been chasing for so many lifetimes now, finally getting to go with San right up until the end.

"Hyung," San hisses, "I do not want you dying just because I do!"

"It's what I wanted," Seonghwa says calmly. "After all those lives, I needed it to change. It wasn't about— it wasn't about spiting you, or dismissing the fact you were trying to protect me. It was just that... I had lived too many lifetimes without you, and I didn't want to anymore."

San makes a wounded noise, right in the back of his throat. Seonghwa reaches up and strokes his hair back.

"Hey," he says softly, "I think... I think I knew that once I did that, things would finally change. Things would be different. I feel it now. That it won't be like that for us this time."

This doesn't help. San's next noise is even worse than the first, and he tenses in Seonghwa's grip, his jaw going tight.

"Hyung," San says carefully. "Hyung, please tell me that... that it doesn't mean you're going to die first."

Seonghwa coughs, choking on a mixture of surprise and horror. "Oh my god, San-ah, no. It's not that. I mean, it might be, but... it's more than about dying. I just... I feel like for once, we're going to be able to live our lives together."

Without something traumatising happening, he thinks in the back of his mind. Like you, dying to protect me. Like you, laying down on your sword, again and again and again, always dying to save us.

It won't be like that. Not this time.

Death will come, but Seonghwa thinks that this time, it will be a welcomed and old friend.

"I can't promise that, of course," Seonghwa says, swallowing down the thickness in his throat as he sees San's eyes water, desperately trying to convince him. He knows the pain of losing each other, and he doesn't want San to think about it right now. "Anything might happen, and I can't say we'll live until we're one hundred or so, but... but it'll be different this time. I know that."

San takes in a deep breath. "What did I say last night, hyung?" San whispers. "I believe you."

"Oh," Seonghwa says, running his thumbs under San's eyes, wiping away the tears that have pooled on his lashes.

"Oh?" San repeats with a kind laugh. "Is that all?"

"I can't think of a way to say thank you that means it the way I need it to," Seonghwa admits.

San immediately softens. "You don't have to. I know."

"Thank you, San-ah," Seonghwa says.

San kisses him, and it is wonderful. They kiss until they're breathless, until San pulls back and presses a kiss to his cheek, and then around his face. Seonghwa can tell he's trying to work himself up to say something, so he tries not to squirm under the attention.

"I don't remember all our lives together," San says softly. "But I know why I did what I did. I'd do it, over and over."

"You did," Seonghwa reminds him, and he feels the way San's lips lift in a smile.

"I did," he repeats. "And I can't imagine having to remember all of those times. I can try, and it hurts so much, but that's all I can do. I don't know these lives, I don't know our stories together. Maybe— maybe I will, one day. One life. But I know, I know in every single life, that I am so glad to have met you."

Seonghwa feels his own eyes water, and San laughs again — they both do, because they know how they both feel, and they don't want to cry, but they're just —

They're overwhelmed with love.

"I'm so happy to have met you," Seonghwa says once he's able to speak past the knot in his throat. "Again and again and again. I'm so excited for this life, San-ah. I'm so excited to spend it with you."

It's a big declaration, but Seonghwa believes in it wholeheartedly.

It's just something he knows. And he's learned to trust that feeling now.

San kisses him, and that's all they need. They understand each other. San, with only this lifetime worth of memories, still understands Seonghwa just as he always has. Just as he always will.

Seonghwa, with all the different lifetimes of memories, understands him. Loves him.

Just as he always has.