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A lot of him burns when he moves. Fire licking and lapping at his joints, down his throat. He’s exhausted, and it’s starting to show; he’s starting to slow. Needless to say. That’s bad. It’s really bad. But he’s got no other choice. He keeps fighting, he keeps going.
Clutching his neck, he lands on the emptied, potholed street. On all fours, always landing on his feet. His palms slide over the blacktop, skin intact, no scratch or scrape. He rises to his feet, knees not wobbly, but he still stumbles a step back, his bones begging to breathe. He’s weak in the head, even if nowhere else. He can’t tell how long he’s been fighting, but like he’s said, there’s no stopping.
On cue, the Hound rounds the intersection, cars screeching to veer out of its way, cut off screams and shouts from civilians fading into the air as they scramble to redirect from its path. Honestly, even to them, this is just any other day. Hounds have only increased in number, in size. Their metallic screech and winding metal arms breaching normality. With it, a surplus of fear.
Its red eye snaps to Jungsu; there wouldn’t have been any use in hiding. At least, Jungsu has managed to wear it down as much as it’s managed to wear him down. It shows much more on it, wires sticking out from cracks, sparking and buzzing. Its head twitching on its neck. It’s down six of eight arms, oil and grease spilling from the sockets, rainbow when it coats the floor.
Unlike Jungsu, the Hound can keep going until it’s dead, and it won’t matter.
Squeezing his eyes shut for a single moment, bracing himself, Jungsu paces forward. Dodging the Hound’s arms as they thrust at him, sharp silver blades each aimed for any part of him. He’d snag along it like a fish on hook. He gets caught, and he’s done for. So it’s good that he’s never caught, that he’s fast.
He zips between the arms, their spiraling metal joints catching along each other. He squats at its feet, its red eye gliding down to him, angry and unforgiving. He coughs, just slight, eyes widening in panic, but still opens his mouth, presses his hands to the ground, and screams.
His voice pierces the air, a physical blade and spear that pushes up against ears and glass. It’s dangerous, vorpal. It was never meant to be used like this, otherwise brittle, in some sense weak. Still, it decalibrates the Hound, a frantic high pitched hum leaking from its ortifices, its arms twitching and flailing about.
Shit, and Jungsu’s right there between it all. He tries to get away from the Hound before it resets, angrier than ever, erratic and unpredictable. But he stands, and his head spins more than it should, and he should’ve prepared better for using his voice more like a bird and less like a cat. He trips, falls on his back, staring up at the blurring blue sky. At the Hound stilling and seeing him, moving slowly, ready to take the fatal bite of its prey finally .
He tries getting back up, slips and falls on his own legs. The most he can do right now is run. Get away and recover just slightly, maybe pray for any sort of backup. He’s not dying here, he knows that. He’s still got Jiseok to go home to. Still has to wake up tomorrow morning, and make Jiseok breakfast, and then go out, and fight some more, for Jiseok’s sake. For his own.
Honestly, he’s got a lot to fight for. What else would place him here?
He pushes himself to his feet, holding his head between his hands like it’ll fall off his shoulders. He looks up at the Hound, grimacing. Inhaling, he takes a deep breath, parts his lips. Maybe he’ll bleed, maybe his vocal chords will rip. Its arm shoots up into the air, aiming to fall down on him. He’s not sure how much a scream will stop that, but he’s gotta try.
He should’ve noticed it sooner, a bird flying overhead, not wary of the ruckus. He notices it now, as it plummets towards the center of the arm ready to impale him. As it folds in on itself and grows, warping the air around it. Until it's no longer a bird, but a person, a man. Wrapping his arms around the arm, taking it with him to the ground.
Jungsu swears, clarity and adrenaline washing over him at once, sharp and dizzying. The man rolls out from beneath the Hound’s arm, dual staffs spinning between his hands. Successfully and swiftly splicing the arm into two, now useless.
The Hound shrieks, its final remaining arm spinning wildly, catching the man along the side, just a bit more than a superficial nick, the man buckling and gasping for air. Jungsu doesn’t even have it in him to shout, only able to watch, gaping, reaching for the man. For what, he doesn’t even know.
He briefly turns his head, meets Jungsu’s eyes. Feathers obscure his face, and he’s a bird again, zipping inside of the Hound.
Jungsu falls to his knees, eyes fluttering shut, exhausted. He watches from the ground, as the red eye goes dark, and the Hound falls. Crumples in on itself like a house of cards. Landing pitifully sprawled over the street like a child’s doll. Ruined and discarded.
He wraps his arms around himself, a deep rumbling building in the back of his throat. He waits several beats, letting his body heal itself, his mind come back together piece by piece. Then he rushes to the Hound, muttering vile curses beneath his breath.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he hisses, climbing atop the Hound, ripping its now flimsy skeleton apart with his bare hands, slick sleek oil coating his skin. He digs into the Hound, until he reaches the pigeon, rainbow feathers melting away into iridescent sheen oil.
Limp atop the Hound’s mechanical heart, eyes shut, chest rising in shallow, pitiful huffs. Blood from the wound on his side seeping into the machine’s fluids, sparks rising up along his cheeks. Upon hearing Jungsu, he bats open his eyes, smiling wanly. “Hey, kitty.”
Jungsu presses his lips into a thin line. He reaches in, and cradles Gunil into his chest. “Stupid.”
Blood is no new thing to them. It stains Jungsu’s hands and suit and hair, but none of it matters, as long as Gunil is alive.
Jungsu doesn’t wait for the authorities. He bundles Gunil into his arms as soon as he’s got the energy, and he slips away from the Hound’s scene, applying pressure to Gunil’s wound as Gunil bites down on his lip to keep from making even a single noise.
Through alleyway and darkness, despite his fatigue and lightheadedness, Jungsu carries Gunil all the way into the lap of his home. Kicking open the door and shrugging a blanket over the couch before falling into it, curling Gunil into him.
Gunil latches onto him, buries his bruised face into Jungsu’s neck for reprieve, letting out a deep shuddering breath. Weak, and in pain, he goes pliant in Jungsu’s lap, at Jungsu’s mercy. He knows Jungsu won’t hurt him. Beginning to purr immediately, not the happy kind, the panicked frenzied kind, Jungsu frowns down at Gunil, moving a damp lock of hair from his face.
“Do you follow me around often?” he asks, raveling an arm around Gunil, trying slowly and steadily to remove Gunil’s skintight top without hurting him any more than he already had to.
Sitting up just a little, pulling a blade from his belt, Gunil smiles wearily. “‘Course I do,” he answers, handing it to Jungsu, and Jungsu marvels at that for a second. How easily Gunil hands him the tools to either save or take his life. “It’s my job after all. Monitoring heroes.”
Jungsu shakes his head, exasperated, and props Gunil against the cushions, cutting away at the fabric surrounding the gash. “Aren’t you supposed to be making sure I die, rather than making sure I don’t ?” he bites, pulling back Gunil’s shirt, shutting his eyes at the gory sight. Yeah, much more than a nick for sure.
“I’m not a fighter, kitten,” Gunil mumbles, gritting his teeth, digging his cheek into Jungsu’s shoulder. “Just an informant. You shouldn’t have let me in your house. I could tell ‘em where you live. Where your boy lives.” Perspiration beads at his temple, and Jungsu stops a little just to stare, sad.
“You’ve long known where I live,” he mutters, “And yet no supervillains have showed up on my doorstep.” It’s an accusation, and Gunil hardly backs down from it, barely even averts his eyes. There’s no use denying it. He’d run out of excuses quick. He’s a shoddy villain, that’s what he is. It’s why Jungsu knows he isn’t one at all. Jungsu may be the only one who knows.
When Gunil doesn’t reply, unable to, Jungsu clicks his tongue, kicks the coffee table nearer to them. A bottle of water sits atop it. “Bite my shoulder,” he orders. Gunil opens his mouth with a noise of protest, and Jungsu shushes him. “You know it won’t hurt me.”
So, pouting, Gunil opens his mouth tentatively, rests his teeth against Jungsu’s clothed skin. Jungsu glances at him, unable to help from smiling. Gunil frowns, brows knitting over hazy eyes. “Your teeth are cute,” Jungsu snickers, “Has anyone ever told you you look like a mouse or something?” To which Gunil only frowns harder, some color returning to his ashen cheeks.
Jungsu removes the last of the shirt, grabbing the water. He shifts Gunil, wraps one arm around his waist, holding him tight. Then with his other hand, he quickly pours the water over the injury. He feels Gunil’s teeth in his skin, refuses to look back and see Gunil’s pain. He takes the edge of the blanket beneath them, and wipes away at the blood and dirt surrounding the gash.
He takes a good look at it. Deeper than he’d like, shallower than he’d fearfully expected with the way the Hound had swiped at Gunil. Ruthless and swift. Had it been just even a little bit less broken down…Jungsu swallows hard, seeing in his mind’s eye Gunil immediately drop to the ground. Unable to fly, his wings more clipped than they already are.
“I can heal it,” he says, voice distant and rough. Gunil’s teeth release from his shoulder, and he can feel the other’s curious stare brand his flexing jaw. “Unless you absolutely must slip away and burrow wherever it is rats go.”
Silent a moment, his breath labored and long over Jungsu’s neck, Gunil gives in. “I can stay,” he mumbles faintly. Satisfied, Jungsu smiles down at him. In response, he merely shuts his eyes, settling into the cushions.
Jungsu leaves him there, just long enough to get bandages and a snack as well as change into unbloodied normal clothes. When he returns, Gunil has cleaned the rest of his wound, sweat damp on his brow, and folded up the soiled blanket Jungsu desperately hopes wasn’t one of Jiseok’s favorites. He plops beside him on the couch, handing him the bag of unshelled sunflower seeds.
Snorting in amusement, Gunil opens them, pushing off the couch so Jungsu can encircle his arms around his torso, wrap it in gauze. “Just because I turn into a bird doesn’t mean I am one,” Gunil huffs, despite eagerly stuffing his mouth full of the food.
Jungsu focuses on bandaging him, a smile tugging at the concentrated purse of his lips. “I think it kinda does.” He trails his fingers along Gunil’s bare skin, warm, already a bit feverish. He watches the white strips stuck to Gunil’s side tinge slightly pink.
“You could’ve died, Gunil.”
Gunil blinks, shatters a seed between his dull teeth. Not even his canines are sharp, the way Jungsu’s are. Sometimes he seems practically defenseless. It’s all deceptive. Still, Jungsu falls for it, wants to coddle him close and cherished.
Gunil looks down at the bag, fiddling with its broken plastic. “So could you…You can’t keep using your voice the way you are. You’re supposed to be singing, not…” He bites down on his lip, the skin already red and irritated. It makes him wince, a little.
“I know,” Jungsu omits, “But I don’t got much a choice, do I? The Hounds aren’t human. My singing doesn’t work on them. Unless you got any other information otherwise.” He squints his eyes at Gunil pointedly, and Gunil refuses to meet them, meek.
Jungsu sinks back into the couch, pulling Gunil back into him. Tucking Gunil’s head against his shoulder, pulling Gunil’s arm over his hip. He begins to purr, faintly, and Gunil instantly melts against him, going completely lax. Jungsu’s semblance of a voice doing its thing, stitching Gunil’s skin together bit by bit. His brows furrow, a small pinch of discomfort.
“Where are your ears?” he asks, reaching up his fingers to Jungsu’s hair, not all there anymore.
Snorting, Jungsu smiles, leads Gunil’s hand to the flat of his head. “If you think I have cat ears on command, you’re sorely mistaken, Nil. I’ve only got the voice and the reflexes. All human, unlike you.”
Taking the chance, Gunil strokes his hair self-indulgently, petting Jungsu behind his human ears and at the nape of his neck. Jungsu tries not to enjoy it so much. “Nuh-uh. You’ve got the eyes too. When you’re singing, or shrieking. Cat eyes.” He hums into Jungsu’s collarbone, and Jungsu’s cheeks flush a little, hoping Gunil doesn’t notice the way his purring escalates.
He presses his cheek to Gunil’s head, watching closely as Gunil’s complexion goes from grey to tan, the pink flowing back into his cheeks and ears. Gunil’s wound is laid against his side, so he can’t see it, but he’s sure it’s healing gradually. He still sees it though. The blood. He thought he was fine with it. He’s not.
He thought he’d be fine keeping Gunil at a distance. This can never end well. A hero and his opponent’s informant. He can’t help it though, and he knows Gunil can’t either.
“I could protect you,” he says, almost desperate. “I could protect both of you, Nil.”
Subtly, Gunil’s hands curl into his sweater. He turns his head, hides his face in Jungsu’s chest. “No you can’t, Su. You’re already doing too much, protecting too many people. I have to protect me and Joo myself. We’ll…I’ll be fine, okay? As long as you are.” He inclines his chin to rest against Jungsu’s collarbone, peering up at Jungsu pleadingly.
Jungsu can’t help himself, his palm already flat over Gunil’s bare back, aching to caress all of Gunil’s skin, map every scar, ever scrape. He cups Gunil’s face, traces circles into Gunil’s cheek with a thumb, dry with dirt. “Stay safe, please. I can’t…” He bites his tongue. He can’t be feeling this much. It’s not all altruistic fear. Not as much as it purely should be.
Leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, Gunil murmurs, “I’m only safe if you are, Su.” He kisses the outside of Jungsu’s pinky, heartbreakingly earnest. “I’m well and truly compromised.” And it’s as close to a confession that Jungsu may ever get.
He cranes his neck, places his lips atop Gunil’s forehead. The closest to an acceptance that he may ever give. “We’ll take him down, Nil. One day, there’ll be no Hounds to chase us. We can…We’ll be safe.” Hopeful delusions, really. Ones Gunil can’t even bother to respond to, keeping a devastating grip on reality.
Maybe they are doomed, but Jungsu will never believe it. Not as long as Gunil is here in his arms, not as long as Gunil is able to keep him from dying, not as long as he can pick Gunil up and keep him living. He’s a hero after all. He saves, and he wouldn’t keep going, if he didn’t think there was a happy end, a haven in his war torn arms and voice.
He’s gonna keep everyone safe, and in return, they’ll keep him safe too.
Just like this. Just like them two.
Far from doomed.
He’s roused gently awake on the couch, blinking groggily up at Jiseok, a box carton juice straw hanging loose from his lips. “Saw the news,” Jiseok remarks, “You good?”
Jungsu nods with a yawn, sitting up slowly, whipping his head around, arms closing around nothing. Jiseok rolls his eyes, shrugs his shoulder, a pigeon nestled there, nuzzling the junction of his neck with a gentle beak. “I thought you were gonna stop dragging birds to our doorstep,” he grumbles, picking up the sleeping pigeon in his hands, resting the small thing in Jungsu’s palms.
Jungsu pouts, stroking the bird’s head. He brings him up, kisses the spot just above his shut eyes. “When’d I say that?” He smiles at the pigeon, inspecting its wings and stomach, no sign of injury. The feathers hardly fluffed. He brings the bird to his cheek, purrs contentedly.
Rolling his eyes, Jiseok huffs, turning and throwing his school bag to the ground. “Whatever, Su. Can you at least make out with him when he’s not a bird? It’s weird.” He walks into the kitchen as the Jungsu snorts and yelps an affronted laugh, startling the pigeon awake.
He pats Gunil’s head assuringly. “All good, Ji just got home.”
“Mr. Villain Guy please either turn human or leave!” Jiseok shouts through the walls, “I’m tired of him talking to street vermin!”
Gunil chirps and Jungsu just lays back down, holding Gunil to his chest. Maybe Gunil is all healed now, but that only gives Jungsu all the more reason to keep purring.