Chapter Text
“No, no stop.” Yeosang struggled in their hold, his eyes never leaving the sight in front of him, “Please, please let me go. Stop! Stop!” He screamed, to whom he couldn’t tell you. It could have been to the ones holding him back, stopping him from rushing forward into the danger, or to the people in front of him, holding back the person he was so desperate to get to. Or perhaps he was shouting to the gods above, watching but never interfering, not even as their child was about to be slain in their honor. What honor?
“Yeosang,” Seonghwa called softly, “Yeosang, baby, you’ve got to stop.” He grunted the more Yeosang thrashed in his hold. The boy kicked and hit the air as he tried to break free. “Yeosang please.”
“They’re going to kill him!” Yeosang responded. “They’re killing him and you’re watching it happen. All of you. We have to stop them.” His eyes shined with a bright silver glow, his tears glistening like crystals in the moonlight. “He needs us, he needs me.” The area grew colder the more Yeosang begged, the temperature dropping as darkness began to roll in. “Please let me go.” Something he meant to shout only came out as a whisper, his voice hoarse from all the shouting he’d forced himself to do. Seonghwa could do nothing but hold his head up, forcing any tears that may have fallen to stay in his eyes. Gods, how could he do this to them? How could he stand back and watch this happen? How could he just let his world fall apart like this?
The darkness that rolled in slowly receded, and Yeosang felt as a warmth overtook him, almost embracing him. Cradling him softly in its arms, and all fight left his body as he locked eyes with the boy he fought so hard to reach.
Wooyoung.
His Wooyoung just laid there, strapped to that table. He’d turned his head to look at Yeosang, to send as much comfort as he could to him. His eyes shining a soft gold as he looked at Yeosang with so much love, so much joy and happiness, that it physically hurt him. Because how? How could he still look at him like that when the bad guys were winning? When the people he’d tried so hard to protect him from had strapped Wooyoung down to that table, had slit his wrists and cut his legs, were sacrificing him in the name of their “God”. His blood, a glittering gold, flowed out of his body like water flowed in a river. The current pulls it down into a pool on the floor. Wooyoung, he looked like an angel, the flower crown he’d add earlier that day askew on his head, his skin still glowing and glistening with sweat, but he was dying. He was dying and Yeosang couldn’t save him.
Wooyoung, ever the charmer, merely smiled at the crying boy before mouthing his final words: Thank you. And then? Then the woman in the shadows stepped into the light, she lifted her hands, her hold strong on the knife, and thrust it down in one fell swoop, straight down into Woyoung’s heart, his eyes slowly becoming dimmer and dimmer.
It took Yeosang a second to react.
His body became foreign to him. The warmth Wooyoung once provided, always a constant, left him suddenly, all at once. It was like having someone rip his heart out of his chest. He lost all feeling, sinking down to his knees once Seonghwa’s grip became lax. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. His hands shook as he curled them into fists on the gravel below him, his tears finally streaming down his face like rain from a stormcloud. Yeosang would like to say that was the brunt of it. That he’d convinced himself he was in a dream he’d wake from soon, that this was all some simulation in a game. That he’d blink and Wooyoung would be right next to him, just as he always was. That he’d kiss his cheek, just like he always does. That he’d hug him and run his fingers through his hair, and laugh so loud and freely that even the birds would be jealous, because their song could never compare.
But no, that didn’t happen. It wasn’t ever going to happen. Not now, not ever again. So Yeosang did what he’d been doing all night. He took a deep breath in. He held it.
And then he screamed.
He screamed and screamed until his voice ran raw, then he screamed until he tasted blood in his mouth. He screamed until he had no voice left to hear. He hit his chest, scratched at his throat, and cried. He cried and cried and cried, all while the others watched. Because what could they do?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
A hole had been placed in Yeosang’s heart. And no one would ever be able to fill it again. Because not only had Wooyoung died, he died and took Yeosang’s heart with him.
“Yeosang, Yeosang we have to go.” San chided gently. He moved to grab at the devastated boy, but Yeosang shrugged him off. His movements were robotic, like his mind wasn’t all there.
“Give him back.” Yeosang whispered, his hands clutching at the place where his heart used to be. “Give him back to me.” Jerkily, he began to scratch at his chest. His nails caught on the fabric, ripping it under the pressure, until soon he was scratching at his skin. He didn’t feel it though, didn’t feel as his nails broke his skin and he began to bleed the silver flowing in his veins. He didn’t think he could feel much of anything now. What is pain, if not watching your forever end right before your very eyes? What is grief, if not mourning the very person who breathed life into your soul who’s gone, gone, gone? Gone so far to a place you can not wander. They were supposed to see the world together. They were supposed to get married. They were supposed to have forever . “Give him…give him back to me.” He whimpered, his eyes filling with more tears as it all sunk in. He’s gone, and he left Yeosang behind.
He should hate him.
Despise him for the pain he was putting him through. ‘ You promised you’d never hurt me’ so where are you now? He wants to hate him, if only to lessen this pain. Come back, come back, come back. ‘ I need you’ but no reply. Yeosang had lost him, and he’d lost himself. “Bring him back, bring him back, bring him back.” He repeated endlessly. San could only watch as Yeosang tore himself apart in front of him. Yeosang, who seemed so indestructible, who’d never so much as flinched in front of him before, was left a shell of the man he used to be. A lump began to form in San’s throat. Wooyoung was dead. How could they let this happen? Who could they blame, if not themselves?
‘He’s gone’ the thought wrapped around in Yeosang ’s head. Tearing through his kind like a tornado, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. ‘ He’s gone’ it hurts. Knowing the person who saw the good in you, who saw all your bad and downright nasty pieces and still chose him, chose to love him, has died, been murdered right before his very eyes. He was close, so close to saving him, but all his efforts were in vain. How dare they do this? How dare these humans take away someone so precious to him? How dare they think they have the right to decide who lives and who dies?
Yeosang hated them. He hates them. He wants to shout it out for the entire world to hear, to force them to know just what they have done. These humans, with their fickle ideas and their fragile hearts. He would burn their world to the ground. How would they feel, he wonders, if they watched him murder their loved ones in cold blood? They never deserved your warmth. Slowly, he rises from the ground and walks over to Wooyoung ’s body. He slides his hand down Wooyoung ’s face, closing his eyes. Briefly, he smiled. If he only looked at his face then Yeosang could pretend he was sleeping.
The blood easily shattered that illusion.
Gently, Yeosang cradled Wooyoung ’s head in his hands, kissing his lips one last time and touching their foreheads together. “You’re so cold,” he whispered. “You aren’t supposed to be cold, that’s my thing,” a broken chuckle left his lips. A failed attempt to make himself feel better, somehow. He didn’t think he’d ever find a way to feel happy again. He didn’t think he deserved it. “What am I supposed to do without you?” He was lost, so lost.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way.
His hands fell from Wooyoung ’s face back to his sides and clenched into fists. “I’ll…I’ll make them pay. I promise I’ll make them pay. They won’t get away with this.”
“Yeosang , no.” San placed a hand on Yeosang ’s shoulder. “This isn’t the way. Wooyoung wouldn’t want that.”
“How would you know? He’s dead.” Once again the shadows began to react to his emotions. The difference? Wooyoung wasn't there to stop him.
“And you knew he would die,” San hadn’t meant to sound cruel. Hadn’t meant to sound so cold. He too had cared for Wooyoung , but they had to face the truth. “He was human. It wouldn’t have worked out anyway. If they hadn’t killed him, then he would have died from old age. Even if he had powers, he wasn’t immortal like us. He isn’t Divine like us. They aren’t worth it.” San tried to reason. Yeosang was way past the caring stage.
“It’s not about what they’re worth,” he sneered, “it’s about what they deserve. And they have earned every bit of my rage.” Yeosang wasn’t like Wooyoung . Yeosang held no love for humans like Wooyoung does, sorry, did. Yeosang does not look at these fragile beings and wonder. He does not care for their creations nor their desperation. He does not care for their feelings nor their thoughts. He does not care for their wars nor their reconciliation. He does not care for their complexities. No, Yeosang held no love for humans like Wooyoung had.
That’s what made it hurt so much worse. Because if he went out there and killed those humans who Wooyoung loved so much. If he raised his hands and burned their cities to the ground and destroyed their livelihoods like they’d done to him. Then he’d be killing the little bit of Wooyoung he had left. Because like him, those humans had been touched by Wooyoung ’s warmth. They too knew the light that Wooyoung brought to the world. They had felt his warm embrace and knew his love. Because they, like Yeosang , reflected Wooyoung’s light and love.
And as quickly as it came, all anger left Yeosang ’s bones. Leaving him just as empty as before. Because if he couldn’t hate Wooyoung and he couldn’t hate these humans, what could he do but sink to his knees and cry at how unfair it all was? Because it was, it is. It is so unfair.
Unfair, unfair, unfair. Why? Why him, why now? Why, when they were finally happy, did it all have to be ripped from them? Unfair, it was so unfair. Couldn’t they have had one more day? Just one? Hidden away in their apartment, the world nonexistent, becoming a place for just the two of them. Unfair, it was all so unfair. What had they done to deserve a fate like this? They had never hurt anybody. They never bothered anybody. It was just them, just them and their friends. No one else. What did they do? Unfair, everything is so unfair. Can’t they give him back? If not for a day then for an hour, a minute? He just wanted more time. Can’t they have more time? If not forever then just temporarily? God damn it he hadn’t even lived yet. Unfair, unfair, unfair.
It was as if Yeosang had fallen into a haze. He doesn’t remember when he stood from the ground. He doesn’t remember when he picked up Wooyoung ’s body, cold, so cold, nor does he remember burying it. He does remember putting the flowers around his grave. Vaguely he recalls the types, the flowers they had picked out for their wedding bouquets had become the flowers he used to line Wooyoung’s grave. Yeosang remembers choking back a sob as he placed them down.
He barely remembers getting home. Could he even call it that? It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Wooyoung wasn’t there to make it warm anymore.
Yeosang doesn’t remember when he found the letter.
He remembers sitting on the bed with it in his hands. He remembers not wanting to look at it. Putting it back in the drawer it came from and trying to forget its existence. If he read it, then it would all become too real. Too much. If he read it then he would break.
Yeosang didn’t open the letter until ten years later.
He remembers his hands shaking as he carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. He remembers reading it over so many times he committed every line to memory.
To my dearest Yeosang ,
A lump formed in his throat. It had been so long since he’d seen his handwriting.
If I’m honest then I really hoped you would never see this letter. Because, well if you are reading it then it only means one thing. Unless I just really suck at hiding things and you found it when you weren’t supposed to, which is also highly likely. In that case, put it back and pretend you never found it. That way we don’t have to confront this.
A wet laugh escaped Yeosang’s lips at that. He wanted for that to be the case, he wished for it so bad. But even he could face the truth now.
But, if you are reading this, then it really does mean I’m dead. If so, then I’m really, really sorry. You must be hurting so bad, I must have hurt you so bad, and for that I can never apologize enough. You truly don’t deserve the pain I have put you through. You also deserve an explanation. I wish I could’ve told you in person, but this will have to do.
I never was brave.
Growing up, I’ve always been told that I was destined for greatness. My parents always looked at me like I was their savior, like I was the person who would make everything right once again. I never really understood why until my sixteenth birthday. It was on that day that my parents sat me down at the table and told me their plans. They told me that I was special. That our kingdom’s priest had visited them and foretold the prophecy. That one day a child would be born on the hottest of days, with eyes the color of gold. That the child's touch would warm the hearts of many. That one day that child would grow into a man. And that day, the day he turned twenty-five, would be the day that he would be ready. Ready to be a vessel for the Divine Sun. It wasn’t hard to understand what they were telling me.
I was born to be their sacrifice.
Suddenly, it all made sense. The reason why I couldn’t play with the other kids my age. The reason I had to stay inside with private tutors while my siblings were allowed to go to real school and make friends. The reason why I always had to distance myself from my family, why I’d always felt a divide with them and me. If I died there and then, they wouldn’t have felt a thing. I don’t think my family realized the weight of what they told me. They said it as if it were some grand thing that I should be proud of. As if it were some accomplishment that I should be happy to have the opportunity to fulfill. It made them so happy, talking about how I was their lamb for slaughter.
I was so lonely.
Never had I felt so alone than at that moment. So…so angry and hurt. They talked about killing me like it was something noble. It was my life, mine, and they had just told me that I was never going to be allowed to live it. Then I was scared. These were my parents talking about my death as if it were just another day. What would they do if I wasn’t the child of prophecy? Surely I wasn’t the only child who’d been born with gold eyes. What did they do to them? How could they be so sure the child they were looking for was me? Deep down I’d already known the answer.
I wasn’t the first person they’d sacrificed. And if they were wrong, I wouldn’t be the last.
There’s a lot of things I should’ve done that day. I should’ve yelled at them for how stupid it all sounded. I should've tried to talk sense into them. I was their child, how could they kill me without a second thought? I should’ve hidden away, locked myself in some room for the rest of my life so they would hopefully forget about me and their stupid tradition. But I did none of that. Instead I accepted it. I told them I’d go through with the ritual, that I’d let them do what had to be done, with one condition. If they were wrong about this, if somehow I wasn’t the person they needed, then they had to stop the sacrifices with me. No one else was to lose their life.
My parents were delighted. They told me that as long as I promised to return I could go out to see the world until a month before my birthday. I jumped on the chance. Shortly after I left I met you. And with you came everyone else. I got to know all of you, to live with all of you, to make a home with all of you. Never have I felt so loved, so at peace. You all gave me something I’d never had before.
Suddenly I didn’t want to die anymore.
The more time I spent with you guys, the more memories we made together, the more I wanted to stay with you all. You were my family and there were so many things I wanted to do with you all. I wanted to take you to the beach so you could feel the sand in your toes for the first time. I wanted to take Mingi on his first roller coaster ride and San to his first boxing match. I wanted to do cooking classes with Seonghwa and do a photo shoot with Hongjoong. I wanted to take Jongho out for ice cream and take a walk with Yunho. I found myself planning out things for our future, things I wanted to do. I’d never done that before. I’d never wanted before. I couldn’t imagine leaving you all. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.
I’m sorry I couldn’t give you forever.
I wish we had more time together. I wish I could’ve told you this in person. I wish I could have married you. There are so many things I wish I could’ve done with you. Instead all I can do is tell you how sorry I am.
I would have chosen you in every lifetime. And I will wait for you no matter where we are. You are everything to me.
Being with you felt like coming home.
I love you,
Wooyoung
The moments after the letter were hazy once more. Yeosang knows he clutched the letter to his chest tightly, afraid that if he let it go then it would crumble like ash in his hands and fade away with time. He remembers hunching over, careful not to rip the letter in his hands, and letting his tears drop to the floor.
He knew.
Wooyoung knew that they were going to sacrifice him that night. He knew what would happen if he went home and yet…and yet he went back without any hesitation. All to uphold his end of a deal. A deal to ensure the lives of other golden-eyed children. To save them from the same loneliness he and so many others before him had to endure. Always the hero, Yeosang wishes for a moment that Wooyoung would have allowed himself to be selfish. That Wooyoung would have chosen to stay here with them, deals be damned, and then, once that moment has passed, he hates himself for wishing that. Because that just wasn’t who Wooyoung was, and who was he to wish for Wooyoung to change such a fundamental part of himself?
Where Wooyoung was the Sun, warmth and love and the purest embodiment of life, Yeosang was the moon; the cold and secrets, the darkness and purest embodiment of death.
Yeosang was never meant to hold warmth. He was never meant to be kind and he was never meant to care. Sure, he had friends now, but that was only with Wooyoung’s influence. Before Wooyoung, none of them had been close. They were mere acquaintances, only acknowledging each other's presence out of pure necessity. After all, who wants to befriend death? Wooyoung had been the one to bring them all together.
Yeosang doesn’t know when the others got to the apartment. He doesn’t remember when they dragged him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Or when they say him down at the island and put a full plate of food in front of him. He does remember the hopeful look on their faces when he picked up the fork, and then the disappointment that came when he dropped it back down. Being Divine, none of them needed to eat. They didn’t need to sleep either, their bodies just healed them enough to keep going. They could do those things, but they didn’t need to.
Being Divine isn’t all that different from being dead.
None of them had ever felt the need to eat. None of them had even known how to cook, not really. Not until Wooyoung. It had been him who insisted on ‘family meal time’. It was him who cooked their dinners, and took delight in their enjoyment when they told him just how good the food was. It was him who started teaching Seonghwa how to cook when he noticed how invested the older boy had become as he put the ingredients together. They bonded with that, determined to cook as many dishes as they could together. It was why they were so determined to go to cooking classes once they had the time. The date kept getting pushed back to another day, something always having come up on the date they’d set. They were so determined to go this time. So determined to see it through to the very end. They were convinced they had the time to see it through.
They had no more time.
Seonghwa stopped cooking entirely two weeks after Wooyoung died. He couldn’t stand being in the kitchen, the place where most of their memories had been made with each other. Time spent trying out new recipes, and making messes neither one really wanted to clean but labor they’d endure if it meant they got to see more smiles on the others' faces. This was the first time in ten years that Seonghwa had dared to cook something. Yeosang didn’t want to waste it, but he didn’t think he had the stomach to eat it either.
“Yeosang please,” Seonghwa chided softly, “you have to eat. At least one bite.” He didn’t want to. He didn’t need to. He didn’t deserve to. But he did, because he couldn’t say no to Seonghwa when he asked like that. Soft and scared, as if everything rested on Yeosang taking that one bite. Like if he didn’t then Seonghwa’s world would crash down before his very eyes because he couldn’t take it anymore. All it took was that one bite for Seonghwa’s eyes to light up like before. All it took was that one bite for the others to get this hopeful look on their faces as if things could start to move forward.
All it took was one bite for Yeosang to break down into tears.
Because it tasted so much like Wooyoung’s cooking. It tasted so much like the love and care that Wooyoung would put into it. And all the memories flashed in his head of all of them together as one family. And then all the things they never did together flashed before his eyes like the things they’d never get to have . And it felt so close to going home but never making it through the door. And that feeling, that single bite, punched a hole straight through his gut because damn.
He misses Wooyoung.
Misses him. Misses him. Misses him . He misses him so much that it hurts. Everyday that he wasn’t here was a day he spent missing him. But he was forgetting him. How could he do that? How could he forget someone who meant so much to him? But it’s been so long. So long since he last heard his laugh or seen his smile. So long since he’d last ran his fingers through his hair or smelled the scent of his perfume. Was it strawberry or vanilla? Maybe it was floral and not fruity. He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?
“Sangie,” it’s been so long since he’d heard that nickname, “where did you go?” Hongjoong asked. It was the first time he’d heard the other speak in ten years, he’d almost forgotten the sound. “Yeosang?”
“How many times can one person die?” He finally answered back with a question of his own. “I’ve seen people die before. I’m Death, I’ve been there. But I’ve never been close to those people. I never knew those people.” He went on. “So to me, to death, you could only die once. But hyung,” he raised his head from its gaze on the table to lock eyes with Hongjoong, “how many times,” he sucked in a breath, holding back tears that so desperately wanted to fall, “can someone die?”
“Oh Yeosang,” Hongjoong reached his hand over the table to hold Yeosang’s hand in his.
“I can’t remember his laugh. I can’t remember the perfume he used or the shampoo. I don’t remember his voice.” He chokes back a sob at the confession. “The more time that passes, the more details fade away. I’m starting to forget his face. How long until I forget his favorite color or his favorite movie? How long until I forget his name? How long until every detail and memory about him just goes away? How long until I forget him?” His eyes began to blur, but he refused to let the tears fall. “What do I do?”
“When’s his birthday?” Like clockwork Yeosang replied, not letting even a second pass before speaking.
“November 26th.”
“What about his favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Mint chocolate chip.”
“Didn’t he love to put bell peppers in his food?”
“No! He hated them! And he hated cucumbers too. How could you forget that?”
“See?” Hongjoong asked.
“See what?”
“Yeosang, nobody knew Wooyoung better than you. You know everything there is to know about him, maybe even more. There’s no way you’ll ever forget him, you wouldn’t ever allow that to happen. When you love someone as much as the two of you love each other, well, you won’t just forget them. Never.”
“Thank you.” He whispered. Hongjoong simply squeezed his hand. They sat in silence for a moment. Just letting the conversation mill over in their heads, allowing it the chance to fully sink in, before the peace was once again disturbed.
“Guys,” Jongho spoke up, “the council just called for a meeting.”
“A meeting?” Yunho questioned. The council wasn’t known for calling in meetings for no reason, but no one had been made aware of any gatherings beforehand. It didn’t seem like any planning had gone into it, more impromptu than anything else. It was completely informal, especially for people who were so focused on doing things by the book and following protocol.
“They didn’t say what it was for, just that everyone had to come.” Jongho explained. Shaken, the boys gathered their things and headed out the door. They had a meeting to attend and they couldn’t afford to be late.
Perhaps if they knew what they were getting into, they would have stayed home. Maybe then, they’d have been spared the pain.