Archive of Our Own

     The darkness consumes her still frame, the layers of the thin stuffed blanket covering her frozen limbs. Sori doesn’t move from her spot; the weight of her body is too heavy to do so. It’s like the Jade Spring has shrunk in size, the wooden canopy above her is now pushed against her chest, bearing down on in her in a way that makes it hard to breathe. “Unnie,” the soft voice of Sukja ghosts over her body, like a weighted blanket; comforting, and warm. It’s like when she fell ill after her twentieth birthday, her body has been ravaged by a fever, the unbearable force of existence kept her bed-ridden, her consciousness left wandering through the depths of her mind and the memories that buried themselves deep within it. The one thing that had remained through the blurry mess of that life was Sukja’s steady hand, the ones lightly placing a wet rag upon her forehead, her sweet voice whispered closely with encouragements and stories. Sukja, the sweet girl that always kept her company when she thought she would die again, that the person she used to be was just an omen to what would happen to her coming forward.

     It’s the same as now, she drowns in the gentle voice surrounding her, her little sister’s hand in her own, but it’s not the same. Everything is cold, her fingers and the soft candlelight from the farthest corner from them. The room feels like the winters in the mountains, where the only thing to keep warm was an open fire. She remembers the nights that Yong traveled long distances with nothing but a tiny sack on his back and a cobbled together fire.

     Sori had spent so much time thinking upon what she should make of her life, with the experiences present, the ones that she kept to herself. The man she was, someone she knows was lost to history like she will be after she passes. It’s so cold, shivering through her silken garments, wishing that her sister would climb into the bed with her to keep away the cold.

     The temperature was the first thing she had realized was wrong through the fog of consciousness; the next being the memory that pushed through the haze. “Unnie, why did you let me die?” How could she have forgotten, Sukja passed so long ago, but that begs the question; how is she hearing her voice now, the thing she once referred to as sweetest titter she had ever heard. It had been her one true bird song in that life.

     Why now? How does she even remember what it sounded like; it’s been hundreds of years since they last saw each other. Since Sori wished her good luck, kissing her forehead before allowing her sunshine to step off the porch of the palace and into the grand unknown.

     She goes to sit up, flailing around trying to escape the unbearable hold on her limbs, to find out what all of this is, why is she back so many centuries ago? The life she had long since tried to forget desperately. Her fight is short lived, when his eyes open to the shadowed ceiling of their dorm. The small snores and uneven chorus of breathing meet his senses, a cacophony of noises that keeps most of Yong’s nightmares and repressed memories at bay. They were the reminder of the way they all found their way back to him, and that he was going to make sure they stayed.

     Minho rubs the sleep from his eyes, sliding his hands down his arms afterward, trying to re-familiarize himself with the present. He takes in the sensation as his mind tries to drag itself from the aches of the past to the comforting warmth of the present, finally taking in the bareness of his arms because of the T-shirt he put on when he went to sleep. The reminder of modern-day Korea instead of the long sleeves of Mok Sori’s slippery green and purple embroidered hanbok and the loneliness of Joseon. Minho shuffles around in his tangled sheets, attempting to escape their bind on his legs. He sits up, hazy eyes hurriedly scrutinizing the surrounding room, taking in as everything tied to the present as he could while being bathed in the cold light of the moon. The rest of the dorm is quiet, their minds lost in sleep and whatever beautiful things that he knows that they can come up with.

     His eyes land on the figure across the room from him, the one who had been in his dream, but not in a way he can ever explain. So many things about him are pieces beyond explanation, that he’s sort of given up on making every aspect of himself make sense.

     Yong has tried to make himself a rational person, keeping his decisions based on logic or reason, to not let the lives before this one sway how he interacts with people. Maybe that’s why strangers think he is cold, because if he hadn’t done so he would’ve already killed someone for hurting his members. He can’t protect them if he’s rotting away this life in a jail cell.

     All that is to say that he never lets himself drown in his emotions, to let his seven other lives color who he is right now, because trying to keep all of those memories and feelings into one body is just asking for trouble. Yong keeps pushing all of it down, so it’s why he allows this one time, when incoherent and anxious from hearing Sukja’s voice after so long, to crawl off of his bed and pad softly across the room. To seek out comfort from one of the only people he can actually take it from.

     When they had shifted into this dorm, he and Jeongin had decided to share a room. The ultimate decision ended up keeping the beds as bunks for when the others wanted to sleep with them, which had been the type of night Minho had fallen asleep to. All four members of the apartment huddled together in this one tiny room, trying to keep each other company. It had been like this after the car accident, keeping close together, some of it to smother with care and love, and the other to appease the anxiety of the whole entire event and sending their emotional stability to America, alone.

     Sometimes the slumber party was just because it was a bad day, or they were feeling lonely, and they never turned them down, and never will. Both Jeongin and himself are not openly affectionate people, well not as much as their fellow dorm-mates, but they never deny them their needs and wants. (Jeongin is also very touch-starved, a fact he really tries to hide from Yongbok and Seungmin, but Minho knows deeply how much he wants to hug their friends, to hold them close and kiss them, and to tell them they mean everything to him. Maybe, it’s why Jeongin puts all of it into bothering them or curling into Minho’s side in the dead of night; he doesn’t tell anyone because it inexplicably softens the stone-cold heart in his chest.)

     So, it explains why instead of bothering the rest of the sleeping members in the room, he creeps over to the opposing bunk. Yong climbing up the ladder with ease before wiggling under Jeongin’s blankets and ending up face to face with his baby.

     Jeongin stirs, making a noise that resembles a half-baked grumble, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and looking up at Minho’s face shrouded behind his mid-length hair. “Hyung?” He whispers, still squinting at his older brother as Minho shuffles closer, “You okay?” He smiles and simpers at the concern in his baby’s voice, reaching his hand out to ruffle his hair and leaving his hand to rest on Jeongin’s cheek, the younger’s brown eyes fluttering closed as he nuzzles against Minho’s palm.

     “I’m alright, Innie, just had a nightmare,” he soothes, pressing a kiss against the hair fussed against his forehead.

     Jeongin breaks the contact with his hand, shuffling up, slightly more awake than before. His lips start the eventual downturn into a pout, the one he does when he feels guilty for things he doesn’t have to apologize for. It always breaks his heart, even when he knows that sometimes Jeongin’s doing it to get what he wants.

     Minho has always found how much of an open book Jeongin is to be very cute, because once you know the words written on those pages, they invite you right on in. Maybe it’s one of the things that Yong really loves about Jeongin, his quiet openness; it’s steady and kind, and was definitely something he has inherited from the people he used to be. Yong knows that’s how he knew which people were him immediately. Yong was always the closest to them, always felt drawn to them in a way that went beyond words. He never fell in love with them, but he always loved them with everything in his ever-changing vessels.

     Yong liked to think that’s why the first day he saw Jeongin, quickly introduced to him by Chan and Han on a random afternoon before their debut, that his immediate adoption would be inevitable, as it was written in the history of their souls. Though, he is and always has been quite reluctant to admit that to himself, not wanting to be biased upon meeting who they all became.

     (He knew deep down he would love them just a tiny bit more, whoever they were, because that’s just how they were made when the star exploded into the pieces of dust making up all of them.)

     The day had been a whirlwind; the duo taken him to the studio with everyone else, Chan hyping it all up and talking about everything they planned to do going forward: the songs they were working on, what kind of choreography they were attempting. Minho was excited, the memories thrumming through his veins, telling him that he can trust them. The feeling whispered to him that they were his old friends; even though they did not know it. It all felt like some sort of reunion that had been long awaited following how long ago the last time all of them were in a room together was.

     He had been anxiously expectant to see who all of them turned out to be, when he would meet them, which people they were, what they were like. Yong tried to hide his excitement at the deep ache, the pull within in his chest that kept growing the closer they had gotten to the room.

     It outweighs the anxiety that he gets every new life, when his memories arise and turn everything upside down; because he never knows if in one life; he will never see them again, that he will be abandoned until the end of time, and Yong knows he won’t be able to survive. He’s spent so much time with them, every time they overlap, that he feels all of them are tightly wound around each other that he can’t deal with a life that’s includes being without them. He was a wandering revenant when they left him before, every piece of life became dull and monotonous when he was without his intertwined souls. All of them kept him grounded, feeling like the age of the new body he lives in; they made him feel young again.

     A tight rein had to be kept on his anticipation, pushing down the smile that is bubbling to the surface, because the person that Lee Minho is not the amalgamation of his past lives, but something else. He had been taken out of all of his silent speculation when Chan opened the door to the gray rubber-floored studio and revealed all the chosen ones.

     It had been going around the company, about the special ones that the current longest-standing trainee was compiling together to perform, even if it was just for a showcase. He finally gets to see them, the ones he knows are drawn to each other; to him.

     Some of them were ones he spotted in the hallways, others were in his lessons or in his first monthly evaluation. They hadn’t crossed paths for long enough to have him realize that they were the ones he was looking for. He gets to work with them once again, he gets to love them without it being too much; he gets to do it without restraint. His eyes passed over every one of them, connecting the dots on who was who, from the way they held themselves; their eyes, their laughs, their smiles. It was like the feeling of home was wrapping itself around him, telling him his weary soul can calm down for a moment, but that had been seconds before he had seen Jeongin.

     The boy had been the last to turn to them as the door swung in, and Yong was forced to catch his breath, because it was like every one of those who he had loved had been fused into one person. The round and high cheekbones of Sukja, the clipped floppy hair of Bineul, the dimpled grin of Meekyong, and the striking and kind eyes of Rung; all of it was painted on the canvas that was Jeongin. It felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, finding its way into his throat, because he knew that he would protect this child with his life. He knew that nothing would be able to draw them apart, nothing would stop him from giving him everything, even his own soul would be forfeited for this person before him.

     He supposes it’s why he is where he is right now, cuddled into Jeongin’s bed, looking at him like he is worth every single thing in this measly world; ready to destroy everything if that’s what he wants. Jeongin doesn’t know it yet, but one day he will realize that a star dies in Minho’s chest every time he sees him.

     “Come here,” he whispers, opening his arms for Minho to curl against him, and the elder obliges, “I’ll chase your nightmares away.”  A hushed declaration, not the first that Yong ever had gotten from this soul, but the first one that he feels he can actually believe.

     He giggles in response, nuzzling his head against Jeongin’s chest, “You’re so strong, Jeongin-ah.” Yong tried to push down the warmth in his chest, to keep it under the wraps of the inner depths of his heart, because this soul, who followed him so earnestly, and loved him so wholeheartedly, has become everything to him.

     More important than anyone he has ever met, than whoever he used to be, and he will always protect them. He’s watched them and everyone else die too many times to not risk his life for theirs, for just their assured existence even just for a little bit longer. They’re connected to him and always will be, and Yong has spent so long trying to hide that fact from outsiders. Shielding his love from other people is hard when it overflows out of him, it bleeds from his heart in an endless stream. His body is a volcanic tower, ready to detonate whenever it is needed, whenever the tectonic plates crash against each other in cries to end someone’s suffering.

     The Jeongin he saw when they first met, the tiny and anxious little kit that he was, has grown so much in the half a decade that they’ve known each other in this life. Minho doesn’t know when he became the man that lays next to him, smiling at him so devastatingly, but the passage of that time is sitting on him so heavily. Yong realized he may finally get to see him grow old, he may finally get to say goodbye with a smile on his face, because the life he led was actually worth the wait. He wants so desperately to see all of them grow until they can’t anymore; Yong wants one life of happiness to take to his next one.

     He wants to see all of them smile on their wedding days, he wants to watch over them as they build families of their own. Yong wants this one thing, this one life, he’s begged during so many late nights to whatever deity destroyed his lives to spare theirs. Just this once, he’ll die thousands of times more if it means they get this one lifetime of peace. Please, spare them this pain, just this once. Minho is sure his prayers go ignored because no self-serving god would torment a soul like this as thoroughly as he has been decimated. He’s learnt his lessons well; he doesn’t need to be disciplined like this anymore.

     Maybe that’s why he’s so scared, deep down hidden in the scraps of his chest, because he knows there isn’t a god. Nobody is home to decide that his suffering is over; the universe is never that kind.

     The younger hums and closes his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around Minho, “Thank you, Agi,” he whispers softly into the fabric of his shirt before joining Jeongin in sleep.

     His eyes are closed while he takes in the sound of the wind as it whistles against the wooden structure of the barren old shed. He’s spent so much time here, hiding from Whenyoung’s mother during the summers before, and it’s why he brought her here with him. Taeyang tried desperately to give her a way to escape. She never takes them, when offered, and he can’t blame her. She is too scared to be brave.

     “Oppa,” Bineul whispers in his ear, “I have to go home.” His eyes stutter open, taking in Bineul as she stands over him, her raggedy clothes are covered in the hay that they were using to rest upon. Taeyang knows what will come of her when she finally goes to that house; he is hesitant to let her leave, to have more light leave her eyes.

     She is an angel sent down from the heavens to grace this earth with spring, and he can’t bring it in himself to send her to the devil. “Stay,” he states, not asking, because he’s telling her to be with him in this tiny old barn, to get at least another full night of rest before going back to the wolves that created her.

     Taeyang out-stretches his hand, “Stay,” he repeats, knowing the way to break past her weak walls, because it’s what she wants to hear. Bineul has always wanted to feel loved, wanted, and Taeyang’s family tries desperately to make up for what her parents lack. Hyosonn always trying to teach her new skills, Eun always getting her new snacks and trinkets from outside of Pyongyang, and Whenyoung teaching her how to read and write. They’ve tried so hard to give her a better life, but she never gets to stay for too long. It makes the pit of anxiety in his stomach always drop lower and lower, because he never knows if one day she will disappear. Life without her would be so bleak and lifeless.

     “Kurae,” she agrees, settling down next to him, shuffling only close enough to touch his shoulder, scared of what people would say if she was spotted any closer. She’s always like this, never getting nearer than necessary, weary eyes looking in every direction. The people of this town would say there is something more between them, that they would be married upon the new year, but that’s not what they are to each other. She is the other piece of his soul; interconnected, but they’re not meant to own each other, they’re not meant to love each other in that way.

     He pulls her closer despite her fear, tucking her wiry hair underneath his chin, keeping her almost skeletal frame shielded in his arms, “Sleep, I’ve got you.” They drift off together, leaving the sordid world beyond them, for only a short while, but Yong knows what comes next. He knows what he will see when he wakes, he knows that they won’t get to see the next sunrise. Life has never been too kind to people like them. It’s as if-

     Alarms are the next thing to take him out of his consciousness, slamming him back into reality. Jeongin makes a tiny whine, curling closer to Minho and attempting to escape from the assault on their ears. It takes the other members of the dorm a few minutes to fully turn all of them off, a sigh of relief being puffed against his hair.

     “Innie,” he sing-songs into the younger’s ear, extracting himself from Jeongin’s hold, and smiling in amusement as his baby just whines at him, pulling his torso into a tighter hug, “Innie,” Minho drawls out the length of the nickname to try and express the bubbling feelings in his chest.

     “You gotta wake up, Innie,” he pokes at his ear, delighting in the befuddled groan coming from the taller of the two. Jeongin’s response is to tighten his grip around Minho, trying to burrow himself into the elder’s hair. “Oy!” Minho shifts around the best he can until their faces are centimeters apart, watching as Jeongin squeezes his eyes shut in futile attempts to get more sleep. “Ayeni,” he coos, pressing their foreheads together, “Wake up, Yeni.”

     “Aniii,” the maknae whines, and Minho chuckles as they separate from each other. He sits up using his elbow as a crutch, looking down at Jeongin, who clings to the warmth of the bed even as the morning light shines in through the window.

     Minho pokes his cheek, “Yeni~” Jeongin just mewls in reply, writhing for a second, and pulling Minho back towards him. “You have to get up, agibbang,” he jokes, pressing his cold hands against Jeongin’s cheek, eliciting a tiny, surprised squeak.

     “Stop it!” He yelps, wriggling away from Minho, but unable to escape his palms pushed against his face, “Hyung, aniii!” Jeongin tries to whip his hands off of his face, whining at him to stop playing around, but Minho just keeps giggling at him. It’s all playful, from the way Jeongin was chuckling along with him; his eyes folded into crescents and his favorite dimpled smile looking up at him.

     “What are you doing to the baby?” Seungmin interrupts, sticking his face to the bars on the edge of the bed, like the ever-so-nosy puppy that he is. Minho stops for a moment, releasing Jeongin’s face and instinctually petting his hair as he turns to the figure staring at them with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

     “Waking him up?” He phrases it like a question, absent-mindedly reaching for Jeongin’s hand and fiddling around with his fingers, smiling to himself as the younger lets him do so without a fight. Minho had forgotten that someone was watching them. Seungmin doesn’t seem too phased by the interaction, only slightly narrowing his eyes to a squint before grinning wildly. There is definitely a misunderstanding brewing under the surface, one that will a mess to deal with later, but that’s for Future Minho to deal with. Present Minho is going to sit with his Jeongin for just a little while more before starting the day.

     “Carry on,” Seungmin jokes before hopping back down to the floor and leaving the room. The two of them sit in silence for a moment, just relishing in each other’s breath. It’s always like this, in the most perfect way possible, because they don’t need words to communicate the unanimity of the moment. It’s like the concept of a hearth to a home; a place where one can rest their weary head after a long time of the harshness of the world. Minho doesn’t need to thank Jeongin for being somewhere he can feel loved, and Jeongin doesn’t need to thank Minho for being someone who protects him from everything wishing to harm them.

     Like a battery recharging, or a sprout germinating in the soil after a long and cold winter. That’s what Jeongin is to him, and that’s what all of them are to him, but Jeongin is just a tiny bit more so.

     “I’ll go make coffee,” he ruffles Jeongin’s hair as he breaks the silence, “Come out when you’re awake.” Yong presses a small kiss to the younger’s forehead before creeping from the bed and stepping into his slippers.

     Minho pads through the short hallway between their bedroom and the kitchen, her socked foot hitting the cold tile floor as she opens the door. She can already hear the sound of drip pot in the corner of the kitchen, but she is more interested in her youngest who is currently standing in front of the brazier on the patio, fiddling about with the lid of their cauldron which is sitting up-side down. He is barely able to stir whatever he is cooking, and she is stuck between fondness and worry. “Paenji?” She simpers, shuffling forward and past the screen door, and peaking above his shoulder to see what he was making. He looks up at her guiltily, like he got caught stealing from the honey jar again, he is pouting up at her.

     “It’s not-” he stops himself, trying to fold all of it over once again, and the sizzle releasing a sour smell that reminded her of burning.

     His attempt wasn’t as much of a failure as he thought it was, considering charred rice is a popular snack, but she knows he just needed time and practice, maybe some confidence too. “Why don’t we try it?” She suggests, keeping her voice light, and reaching for the spatula in his hand. His creation has slightly stuck to the cast iron of the lid, which rice is known to do especially when not as much sesame oil was added. She is able to scrape free a tiny piece to try, blowing on it lightly before sticking it into her mouth.

     Kyunghu has definitely tasted worse, and there isn’t so much of a discernible flavor, but it’s edible and if she can bring up his self-esteem even just a tiny bit, it’s worth eating something that barely resembles food.

     “What’s going on?” The tired voice of Meekyong makes its way from the doorway splitting the outside from the inside of the house. She is slightly wobbling, and mildly shocked when Paenji rushes past her in the small space to grab hot pads from a drawer somewhere behind her.

     Kyunghu’s daughter sways her way over to her, yawning as she lays against her shoulder, curling into her neck. “Your brother made breakfast,” she laughs, wrapping her arm around Meekyong’s upper back, pecking a kiss against her unruly hair. Her daughter just hums as she presses closer, chasing the warmth in the bitter cold of the morning. Kyunghu smiles, pressing her face against her daughter’s hair, pressing a short kiss into the inky strands.

     “It’ll be good luck for your exam,” she jokes, squeezing her for a moment, simpering at the groan coming from Meekyong at the mention of her schooling.

     Her daughter had been trying so hard recently, studying deep into the night even after the lanterns go out. “Eumma, don’t remind me!” She whines, nuzzling into Kyunghu’s side under the light of early morning. Kyunghu thinks about her ever-changing relationship with her daughter, and the way they been out of sorts with each other at the beginning of her adolescence, being the only women of the house doesn’t make such a distance any easier. As she started to settle into her body, they came back to an understanding. Their relationship finally healed after being torn for so long.

     “You’ve studied hard Kyongie,” she praises, pecking a kiss against her forehead, trying to sooth her second born’s anxiety. She’s tried to be cognizant of the way she talks, knowing now that her words cause so much internal confusion for her beloved daughter.

     “Hyung?”

     Her sweet girl sighs, “I know, but-”

     She holds her closer, “No buts, you’re going to do amazing!” Kyunghu presses a kiss against her daughter’s forehead, before they stand together in the quiet of the countryside, holding each other as they know that the world will be out to get them once they leave this house.

     “Hyung?”

     The moment is ruined by a crash coming from the kitchen, a slightly worried, “Let’s go help your brother,” leaving her lips. Her daughter laughs before pulling away from her, moving to turn back towards the house.

     “Minho-hyung!”

     The visage of Meekyong on that old back porch are pulled from his vision like fabric being ripped away from his eyes. His vision which had glazed over, comes in to focus with Yongbok and Seungmin staring at him with furrowed brows, “Hyung?”

     “Sorry,” he puts a smile on his face, patting Yongbok’s shoulder, “I guess I wasn’t as awake as I thought.” They look at him cautiously before nodding to themselves, turning back to the food on the stove. Minho takes a shaky breath in his nose, before moving to turn on the coffee machine to start a mug for himself and for Jeongin. It takes only a few minutes before both are ready, and he just needs to wait for the maknae to come get his caffeine for the day. He half sits on the kitchen table, watching as Yongbok and Seungmin bicker about what else they need to make for breakfast.

     There is a slight creek of the floor behind him, and Jeongin runs into his arm, plopping his chin down on Minho’s shoulder. He lightly taps his head against Jeongin’s as he hands the younger his coffee mug, both sticking together in the slight chill of the kitchen’s air, “Hi, Agi.” He whispers into the air, knowing the others could hear the softness of his voice. They all know that Jeongin is his baby, his child; that he is so open with his heart about the youngest member. He loves all of the members equally, but nobody else can be his Jeongin. It’s like an invisible line that others will not cross because the rules are hidden in plain sight, two birds of the same feather.

     When one of them had first asked him, “Why’s Jeongin your favorite member?” on a night full of drinking and celebrating another award show win or record broken. He never could come up with a proper answer when he’s inebriated, high on love and pride, so he always said the truth, “He was made to be my favorite.” It was a stupid answer that none of them ever remember, too busy trying to dogpile onto the floor of the other dorm’s main room.

     He thinks about that night sometimes; they all hadn’t noticed when he slipped away, suffocating in the past as he tries to down a whole entire water-bottle in the connected kitchenette. Until the maknae had escaped their grasp, burrowing into his side in a bout of drunken confidence, a “Why’d you leave, Hyung?” slipping past his usual sober walls. Yong hadn’t answered and held him close, intoxicated mind telling him that once that boy leaves his vision, he’ll die. Minho could ignore the teasing jokes about the two of them when they were found on the loveseat, no space left between them.

     He could deal with the comments about them, about how he always treats Jeongin differently, about how softly he touches him, how gently he calls his name, how he bullies the others when they don’t treat him “nicely”. It’s not the first time the others asked him what made that soul so special, why he loved them more than anyone else, but Yong never had an answer. Sometimes we don’t know the reason we love the things we do; he was made to love Jeongin, and that’s all he understands. It doesn’t mean he loves the others any less, they still are the reason this life has felt anyway close to worth the pain he has been through. They’re also just as worth it to him.

     “Breakfast is ready!” Yongbok announces, he and Seungmin starting to portion rice into bowls and other banchans onto plates. “Let’s go help them out, Innie,” he suggests, and they make quick work of putting the tableware on the table. All of them dig in quickly, knowing that they don’t have much time to get into the van parked downstairs. While most of the time they’re ahead of time, but since their sleepover went on way too long, into the wee hours of the night; they were falling behind. The rest of their morning was controlled chaos as they all change, making sure they have everything they’ll need for the rest of the day’s schedules.

     The manager that’s usually driving their car gives a tiny, disgruntled noise when they all start to pile into the vehicle with loud giggles and the usual pandemonium that they naturally exude. The trip to the building was still the usual grind through metropolitan traffic, so he spent most of it staring out the window instead of paying attention to what the others in the car are busying themselves with. The arrival of the car is drowned out by them saying they arrived at the same time as the other dorm, and the excitement that seeing the other members causes the rest of the short time they’re parking next to the curb, to be full of jokes and grins.

     It’s one of the things he can never fully get used to, seeing the rest of them act the same way he does when he knows he will get to see the rest of their little pack. The palpable joy that always thick in the air like an ever-present fog, always warms his heart.

     They rush out of the van onto the cement of the curb, starting the small trek towards the entrance of the JYP Entertainment building, and the rush of footsteps from the other dorm’s SUV, “Jeongie!” A loud voice bellows from behind him, an arm wrapping around his shoulder. He takes his gaze off of the stone pathway and up to the smiling face next to him. Siwoo is beaming at him from under his hanbat, and his cheeks goes hot at the sight of him.

     “I missed you,” Siwoo whispers to him even though they are alone in the courtyard, but it still makes his heart beat out of his chest like he had exclaimed it for the world to hear.

     “I missed you too,” he mumbles into the breeze, knowing that only his lover can hear him. Which calling him that always broils some feelings in his stomach, always brings them to the surface and makes him giddy beyond any romantic sijo performed in front of the Empress Dowager’s court. They hadn’t started out like this, and neither of them had any idea they would’ve ended up in the spot they did, but he doesn’t regret it, even though it took them two years to finally get their relationship in order.

     He had heard way too many times from Byeol that he did like him back, that their relationship was almost there, they just both didn’t want to cross the line. A rule set by the overarching societal viewpoint on love and producing heirs.

     It had taken a letter that hadn’t meant to be placed on his desk, for him to truly realize they were on the same page. For him to understand he had finally found what he had been looking for when he showed up Seonwoo’s house many years ago. He found belonging, and love, one that he hopes lasts for the eternity that their souls exist, “How was your meeting?” He asks, leaning his head into his lover’s neck.

     “Good,” he feels Siwoo turn his head both ways, discreetly looking to see if anyone was watching them before planting a kiss on his cheek, “Daebon-ssaem was droning on again, I spent too much time thinking of your lips than the the actual topic of conversation.”

     Jeonghui flushes for a moment, “Shut up,” his eyes find their way to the floor again, too embarrassed to look his partner in the eyes.

     He hears their smugness in their laughter, “Are you-”

     “Ready to rock?” Hyunjin’s voice breaks through the soft melody of the scene he was immersed in. He chuckles at question, knocking their heads together as they continue towards the building together.

     “I’m ready, but are you, Hyunjin-ah?” He jokes back, smirking at the younger. The rest of them coalesce around them as they scan Chan’s card to get into the building. The rest of the day passes in a subtle blur of activities, ending with a few hours' long dance practice. Where he lays right now, on the floor of studio, his limbs like jello as he watches the other members goof off during their break time.

     It reminds him of good times, ones too far into the past, especially as there is an impromptu game of red-light green-light between most of the younger members. Seungmin is the tagger, and the one he just caught was Hyunjin, who books it as quickly as he can without tripping on his sweatpants and failing as the younger catches his pace.

     His hand is wrapped around his arm, the triumphant puppy like grin on his face, “Got you!” Hwi squeals, running from Hyunseo towards the side of the room not lit by the lantern. Hana watches them and laughs at their antics, as Hwi tries to hide behind Minjee because Hyunseo is trying to tag her back. It warms her heart to see all of her friends having fun, even if the school trip was a bust since they all got put into separate rooms. It’s why when the clock struck nine they all found ways to slip away from the group and into the depths of the surrounding forest. The desolete old school building they found far off the beaten path had only been a challenge to their naive confidence. The eight of them quickly scampered their way into the building, making it their own for the night.

     “Unnie,” Rung whispers up at her from where her head lays in Hana’s lap, “Are you okay?” She tucks a piece of Rung’s bangs behind her ear, smiling down at her. The girl has so quickly become Hana’s favorite person, with her eyes soft and endearing but sharp at the same time, the wonderment at even the smallest of things, a voice like a songbird. She had only met her a few months before the new school year, curled upon herself at the steps of the temple, and it was like she couldn’t move because there was Meekyong staring up at her with watery eyes. They had found their way back to each other, and Hana didn’t want to lose her again. So, she offered her a hand, and her home, for incredibly selfish reasons.

     All was worth it, for how close they are now, and Hana will do the best she can to protect her, “I’m okay, Rung-ie, just really happy,” and for the first time in all of her lives, she really means it. Rung hums in response, big brown eyes staring up at her like tapioca pearls in the bubble tea they share in secret. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she soothes, jokingly pinching her younger sister’s cheek. Rung giggles at her light touch, then nuzzling her head into the pleat of her skirt and sighing as she goes to nap. It warms Hana’s heart to see the amount of trust Rung has for all of them, as she drifts from the world in their presence.

     Though, her happiness is short-lived because while when she lived this life, she didn’t know what came next, but Yong does. He wishes he held Rung closer, shielding her from the atrocities that would kill them and their friends.

     He wishes that he could’ve actually been a better sister to her, maybe if they never met Rung would’ve lived a long life, she would’ve found happiness in other people. Im Hana knows only how to regret, and Mo Yong only knows how to seethe. They’re the same person but they’re too different to co-exist.

     Hana wants to cry thinking about how she felt Rung’s hands go cold in her own as she drowned in her own blood. Yong wants to tear the heaven’s asunder, he wants to rend apart the seams of the universe, he wants-

     “Hyung?” Jeongin’s voice is like a siren song, drawing him from the bow of his ship into the sea, into a false safety net. His mind may no longer be stuck in the past, but he still isn’t Lee Minho right now, he is no-one. He looks at the younger with a glazed over expression, as the present is no longer real to him. The studio that had once been a sanctuary away from the days that passed long ago, but now it was ruined. Everything he has tried to escape is now draping itself over him in a way he cannot unwrench himself from, he can still hear the screams, feel the blood running down his face, the coldness of death taking those he loved from him.

     Jeongin hovers so closely, holding a hand out to him, and whoever sits in his skin loves him so much more than he ever has, just in that moment. He takes it, letting the strength of his baby’s grip pull him from his place on the ground and onto his feet. It takes his brain too long to realize the rest of the members aren’t in the room with them anymore, their bags still crowded on the chairs. “What?” he asks, voice distant, unintentionally leaning into Jeongin’s side.

     “They went to get food, Hyung,” he dutifully answers the question, tucking Minho into his side, “Let’s go get samgyeopsal.” Yong nods, letting the younger lead him to wherever that may be.

     The table they eventually find their way to is tucked into the corner of the restaurant, the spot they usually try to hide from the world in. The staff had gotten to know them a little bit more over the endless nights they ended up here after dance practices. Sometimes the two of them felt bad for not telling the other members about this place, but sometimes it’s nice to just have somewhere to escape to when tired beyond belief. Yong knows that the both of them are similar in this way, needing a place to land safely as everything boils over. He doesn’t know how much he wants to ruin this place in his memories by talking about all of this.

     On one end: there is the relief of talking about it to someone instead of suffering in silence like he usually does, but on the other: what if Jeongin doesn’t believe him? What if he thinks that he’s taking the piss like he does with Jisung and the boyfriend and husband bit? He shudders at the thought, because making his Jeongin think that he is any less important to him kills Yong inside.

     Jeongin can be a quite serious person sometimes but doesn’t know if he’ll believe the words that will leave his mouth. He knows he needs to just get it over with, to tell at least one of them about everything, to at least have someone on his side. A person who can tell him who he is when his memories wander so far away from him; and he knows that Jeongin is the best choice. His compassion and love are so endless, and pure, and wholesome, in ways that always heal pieces of his reconstructed heart. The maknae is so much more observant that people give him credit for, he is so emotionally intelligent and understanding of other people, even when they’ve hurt him. He’s always the first to ask him if he’s okay, the first to hand him a water when he’s pushing himself too hard during practice, the first to hold his hand under the table when his social battery dies, the first to offer help when he falls.

     They put in their food order, awkwardly sitting in silence, because they both know that something is going to change tonight. The air around them is thick with secrets, heavy with the truth of Yong’s many lives. It’s suffocating in a way that their late-night snacks usually never are.

     He tries to spit out some words, clarity returning to him as he sips on the cold water in front of him, but they barely get past his lips. “The nightmare…” he starts again, as Jeongin fills his soju glass. His dongsaeng hums in response, urging him nicely to keep going. “It’s like...” he pauses, “I’m-” The words he was looking for disappear from his tongue, because he knows how crazy he will sound.

     “Not yourself?” Jeongin supplies, taking the words out of his mouth, as if he knew them all along.

     “Yeah,” He looks at Jeongin incredulously, and watched as he clinks their glasses and drinks all of it. Staring at him for a moment, his vision slightly becoming hazy, Jeongin’s eyes becoming striking the way all of who he used to be looked like.

     “I keep getting lost in who I used to be, Rung-ie,” A slip of the tongue, that Jeongin barely reacts to, a slight tinge of his jaw and Minho realized his fuck up, “Sorry.”

     Dark eyes criticize his shaky voice, “Why are you apologizing? What did you do wrong?”

     “That-” He chokes on his words, “It’s- it’s hard to explain.”

     Jeongin doesn’t say anything but gives him a well-meaning skeptical look, “We have a lot of time, Hyung.”

     Minho’s mouth runs dry at the words, because in the first of his whole eight lives, he’s going to talk about what should be forgotten with time, the people who should’ve died without their names written in any pages. He doesn’t hate who he used to be, he never has, but he knows the lives they led, and what comes of people like them. Yong knows he will end up the same way, even if he keeps on the path that he is on right now. “I don’t know if you will believe me,” he phrases it out cautiously, knowing that there isn’t going back after this. They can’t act like it didn’t happen, can’t play it off as an inside joke.

     “Try me, Hyung,” Jeongin smirks at him, the cocky one that comes out every so often.

     “Nae,” he replies, and takes a deep breath, “What do you think you did in your past lives?” Minho has no other way to start this conversation and he can see the confusion on Jeongin’s face at the question, “I promise this is relevant, just answer the question.”

     The maknae thinks for a moment, taking a sip from his glass, “I don’t have any idea.”

     His mouth feels dry as he pushes the words out, “Would you like to know?”

     Yong beats down the anxiety thrumming in his chest at the way Jeongin’s eyes widen at the question. He pushes himself forward, “You were a beloved palace servant who died too young, a maiden in a small village before it was seized by the Han Dynasty, a loving daughter who died during the annexation, and just a young girl who died in a building collapse.” He wants to throw up at his lists them all out loud, as the words leave his mouth, and as they start to settle over Jeongin. He’s too young to have to think about these sorts of things, he’s too young to have to deal with what Yong’s been dealing with for almost a century.

     “You...” Jeongin stops himself, paused in the middle of taking another sip from his soju glass, and looking at him with glossy eyes, “You remember?” His voice cracks as he asks, and it grips Minho’s heart tightly, choking him with a new form of grief.

     He nods as tears start to stream down his face, “I-” Yong can’t finish his sentence before Jeongin engulfs him in a hug, crying into his shoulder. “Hyung,” he sobs, voice cracking and body shuddering against him.

     Minho holds him close, burying his face into the crook of Jeongin’s neck. There is a rush of emotions that swallow him whole, and he can’t make sense of any of it, "You… You believe me?”

     Jeongin pouts at him, tears falling down his neck and wetting the pieces of their skin that is meeting, “Hyung, why wouldn’t I?” He sounds devastated at the idea that Minho wouldn’t trust him, but that’s not what he meant. That’s not what he thinks of Jeongin, it’s what he thinks of himself.

     He picks up his head and looking at his baby boy, “Because it’s- it’s kind of… ridiculous,” eyes drifting towards the wall behind him because he can’t find it in himself to meet the emotional gaze of his, because he can’t handle any more of it right now.

     “Hyung,” Jeongin pouts at him, “I will always believe you.”

     His eyes widen, a bolt of love strikes his heart, “Thank you,” pressing a kiss to Jeongin’s cheek and pressing their foreheads together. He holds them there, breathing in the same air and forgetting about everyone else in the establishment. Yong had finally told someone, had finally rid himself of the unnecessary evil that always led to breaking in the late hours of the night.

     While he took the risk, Minho hadn’t actually thought about what would happen after telling someone about the lives that came before, and he had been cautious even if he thought Jeongin would be the best to tell. He hadn’t thought about how seamless that it slips into their interactions, and how much closer they have become. Jeongin had asked him questions about who they all used to be, enjoying the stories over late-night samgyeopsal.

     Now, Jeongin now finds him after they turn to venom, keeping him up late at night because he remembers those he left behind, and the terrible things he’s done. His maknae holds him while he cries, always answering to the names of those long dead, even though they always feel so alive to him. A new understanding, of what Yong is, and acceptance of the torrent of chaos inside his brain. It all was the start of Minho’s shift in viewing the memories in a positive way, and he hadn’t thought that the memories would rear their ugly head in a different awful way.

     Still they came crashing over him as the stylists produced a purple and pink hanbok; one matching the one that Seungmin is currently getting himself situated into. Yong already knew of the wig, from the past shootings of this series, but he didn’t think they would do this. He almost pukes as he’s handed the garments, the skirts brushing against his shoes as they shift around in his arms. It’s been so long since he wore one of this length or color. He tries to give her a kind smile before turning towards the back corner of the room with a grimace encroaching on his expression.

     “Hyung?” Jeongin interrupts the miasma of ringing in her ears as her mind went back to a life long gone. Sori turns her head to follow the sound, to chase the voice keeping her from drowning.

     Her reassurance dies in her throat as she takes in Jeongin’s changed form, with the long hair and subtle eye makeup, the rest of the outfit something that thankfully wouldn’t have been placed in old memories. Just the kind look in Rung’s eyes- no- Jeongin’s eyes, it’s the one thing keeping Sori afloat as a well of memories rush around her like a tsunami. “Hyung?” The younger’s hand inches towards her- his shoulder, patting it delicately before squeezing it lightly.

     “I’m okay,” he spits out, “It just hit me all at once, I’ll be fine,” he assures him, blinking tears out of his eyes.

     Jeongin steps closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, humming at him in response, “I can stall for you, Hyung,” he jokes, doing his goofy little smile at Minho and he has never wanted more to run away with someone in his life. It’s cowardly of him, to want to escape this because of one stupid problem, but when the other part of his soul suggests the one thing, the things they always know what he wants, he can’t help but cave.

     So, he fights the feelings of wanting to take them away from the cruel world and live in their own bubble away from it all, as he always does. “No need, Yeni,” he instead returns a kiss onto Jeongin’s cheek, “I’m not that slow at getting changed, even if I’m a little rusty.”

     “Need any help, though?” Jeongin jokes, knowing it wouldn’t be the first time his soul helped Yong get into a purple hanbok.

     He playfully flicks him, “I am fine,” smiling at him as widely as he can even though he is still dying inside.

     Jeongin laughs at him, accepting that he is not needed, “Alright, alright, Hyung,” leaving to go bother Yongbok who is getting himself situated into a pale pink hanbok in front of the mirror closest to the door. He watches them squabble in the way they do, laughing to himself as he remembers the way Hanuel would always pester Rung to do her makeup, or to braid her hair.

     Eventually, he is ushered into changing quickly by one of the stylists because she needs to fix the wig into his hair, so he gives up on watching them and changing as fast as he can.

     Yong tries to not think about how familiar and strange it is to be in a long hanbok again, so he busies himself with Jisung as they discuss the plotline that they had accidentally set into motion years ago. The rest join them shortly after and chaotically gawking over each other and their new costumes, and busying themselves while the staff members scatter around to set up the shoot.

     All of it doesn’t go as bad as he thought, because he doesn’t get lost, he stays Lee Minho. As much as his members cause him to find himself in the tales of those long dead, sometimes they’re the one thing keeping him from falling off the ledge.

     “Hyung?” Jeongin asks, taking him from his contemplation and back onto the back porch of the house that they filmed in. He’s still in the hanbok, letting the others change before going inside to take off the pieces of history that still cling to him in this very moment. Minho turns his head to find that Jeongin is the same, still in the outfit handed to them a few hours ago, his long wig swaying in the light breeze. Moments like this strike him so often, when Jeongin looks like Rung, when the pieces of Hana that still exist in him want to cling to Jeongin desperately because they smile in the same way, or his eyes go wide in wonder and amazement.

     “Why’re you staring at me?” The maknae laughs, pulling lightly on his sleeve to get his attention, and Minho feels the love already in his heart boiling over.

     “You and Rung have the same eyes,” The confession takes him off-guard, from the way Yong watches him flinch and pull his hand away from the fabric like it burnt him.

     There is a cautiousness in the way that Jeongin asks the question, "Is that a good thing?”

     He takes Jeongin’s hand in his own, “It’s the best.”

     His heart triples in size when he sees Jeongin’s eyes close to crescents, dimples appearing in excitement, “I’ll take that as a compliment!”

     Yong gives his hand a squeeze, “You better,” taking in a deep breath as he smells the beginnings of spring.