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Alcohol tastes like vinegar.
Cheong Myeong winces.
Memories rise painfully from the depths where he tried to keep them hidden. There's no company to drown them out, no events requiring immediate action, and instead of the desired oblivion, wine makes him remember things he'd rather not think about.
Neither of them planned to start a family. Cheong Myeong - because he saw no point in it, Tang Bo - out of spite. Both wanted to dedicate themselves to martial arts. A purpose in life, a calling, a passion.
If they're not martial artists, then who are they?
Cheong Myeong keeps wincing as he raises the bottle of wine to his lips, but he sips despite the taste.
Tang Bo is unbearable. That's probably why they clicked. Insufferable, loud, with his perpetual smile, his attentive gaze, his tendency to boast, his carelessly styled hair, which he would rearrange mid-conversation, holding a pink hairpin between his teeth.
Cheong Myeong enjoyed these moments more than he should have.
The touches, the conversations, the fights. Finding a kindred soul was rare in the kanghu, so who could blame him for becoming more attached than he should have?
He himself.
Cheong Moon could hardly advise him on what to do, given his lack of experience. Cheong Jin explained the traditions accepted in the mundane world, doing his best. Gifts imbued with meaning, words like spells, actions that turned out to have a second meaning. He tried them all.
"I need time."
Tang Bo doesn't reject. At least, he doesn't reject outright. Cheong Myeong truly thinks he's thinking about the answer, but with each passing month, his hopes are dwindling.
Perhaps it was a rejection after all, he just didn't understand it.
Cheong Myeong sighs in frustration, putting down the empty bottle and taking another one from his stash under the tree. Perhaps it will taste better. Not so sour. Not so miserable.
But instead of the desired oblivion, he receives a memory that makes it hard to breathe. A memory after which Cheong Myeong pretended none of it had happened. Not his confession, vague and incomplete, not the awkward and hopeless courtship, not...
Not the kiss that never happened.
He remembers it as if it were yesterday. Tang Bo's face, that shows the understanding of what he will try. He reads his actions as well as Cheong Myeong reads his own.
He remembers how he rose, how he loomed over the laying Tang Bo during their usual drunken gatherings, when they enjoyed wine under the stars. He remembers the hesitation, both within himself and the opposite.
He remembers the feeling of a cheek under his lips.
"Sorry, hyung."
Perhaps it's even better this way.
They both hadn't planned on starting a family. Nothing had changed. Everything remained as it should be.
The taste of vinegar on his tongue only grew stronger.
Tang Bo sometimes looked at him strangely, for a long time, opening his mouth and trying to say something, but shutting himself up before he could utter a word. It's easy to understand what topic Tang Bo, usually eloquent and shameless, might be afraid to broach. Cheong Myeong is grateful for this silence. Everything would have been too... awkward if they hadn't pretended it hadn't happened.
They were still lying on top of each other, having drunk too much alcohol, still holding hands, helping each other up, still taunting, provoking, fighting... They were good friends.
Cheong Myeong couldn't have found a better friend.
That's probably why his death was such a blow. Precisely because they were friends.
Cheong Myeong looks up at the sky, but doesn't see his sahyung. Or maybe the night is too dark to see him, despite the stars. Too bad. Some good advice would be useful right now.
In his final seconds, Tang Bo wanted to say something else, even reaching out to Cheong Myeong's face. Whether by accident or design, his fingers left a bloody mark on Cheong Myeong's lips. The poison-tainted blood stung his lips, bitten raw.
But Tang Bo still didn't say anything.
He didn't have time.
Cheong Myeong feels weak.
Sometimes Tang Bo acted strangely, holding his touch, saying incomprehensible things, waiting for some kind of reaction. Sometimes Cheong Myeong thought he had a chance. That it was worth trying again.
Like now.
What did that last touch mean? What did those poems Tang Bo sometimes read mean? The glances, the touches, the tone of voice—were his guesses correct, or was it just wishful thinking?
He can't ask anymore.
Not about this, not about anything else.
He can't look at those sharp, enchanting features, nor hear that velvety voice, nor touch him, removing the hairpin and forcing him to tie his hair back, nor fight, feeling the progress he makes with each passing day.
"Hyung?"
Cheong Myeong closes his eyes, unable to speak to the ghosts of his mind.
"I missed you," the familiar voice continues.
The night drags on, like tar. Alcohol slows it down even more, making every second feel like an eternity. Tang Bo hasn't appeared before him in a long time. Probably since his last visit to the Tang estate. Several months.
How inopportune.
If it were any other night, he would be able to gather his strength and smile, setting out a glass for his friend, the only one that would remain untouched in the morning.
Cheong Myeong wakes up a sichen later, feeling warmer than when he fell asleep. It's time for him to train.
As he sits up, the green cloak falls off.
He manages to pick up his sword and feel the remnants of alcohol before he realizes.
A green cloak.
"You talk in your sleep," comes a voice from the other side of the tree he's leaning against. "And you talk even more when you're drunk. That's unusual for you, hyung. But if you'd kept quiet like usual, I wouldn't have recognized you."
"Tang Bo."
Perhaps he'll still be able to ask.
His heart beats fast and bitterly, memories of shared happiness and the pain of not being able to express his emotions squeeze his throat like steel chains.
Cheong Myeong stares at the grass, unsure how to start a conversation, and Tang Bo, as usual, takes over, talking until he's hoarse.
"Ah, apparently this body isn't used to talking much. Well, before I met you in my past life, I wasn't exactly a master of eloquence. I'll have to develop my voice all over again."
"Tang Bo," Cheong Myeong forces out, feeling the pus that's accumulated under the closed wound over all these years, threatening to spill out with every word.
"I'm here, hyung. Everything will be fine. I heard about what happened."
"Tang Bo... I missed you too," he says too quietly, his brows knitting together.
His friend remains silent, rustling his clothes as he moves closer.
"I won't make the same mistake this time. I promise." Cheong Myeong doesn't understand what he's talking about and can't even bring himself to look at the other's face. Not after all this time. Not when he's still recovering from his bout of weakness.
A hand, thinner and younger than he remembers, caresses his cheek, forcing him to turn toward the voice.
As if in a dream, a thumb touches his lips, an attentive gaze that seems to penetrate the depths of his soul.
The ringing in his ears makes it difficult to understand what Tang Bo is saying. He barely notices what's happening around him.
A kiss.
Cheong Myeong purses his lips.
Tang Bo licks him, as tenderly as unfathomable.
Whether it was pity, a strange attempt at consolation, or something else, Cheong Myeong would prefer to return to what they had. To the friendship he could trust.
It's better if Tang Bo continues to think his feelings are already gone.
Cheong Myeong turns out not ready.
To the flowers on his bedside table. To the trinkets Tang Bo spontaneously buys him at the market. To the words he himself said when he was still courting Tang Bo.
It feels like a cruel joke.
Tang Bo becomes part of his daily life, justifying himself by saying that since Cheong Myeong took care of the Tang family, Tang Bo should help maintain order at Huashan. He hugs him from behind, covering his neck with kisses, his breath tickling his skin.
As if Cheong Myeong could refuse this.
In response to his threatening gaze, Tang Bo only laughs.
"Got it, got it. I need to try harder to impress you!"
Even when Cheong Myeong finds the strength to look at Tang Bo, he tries to avoid his eyes, or better yet, his entire face. At least in those moments when he has to pretend he doesn't care about his words or actions.
And such moments become more and more frequent.
Tang Bo finds him even when he tries to hide, to ponder what's missing in his martial arts or to consider Ilso's actions. Even when Cheong Myeong gives up, wanting to talk to a hallucination of Cheong Jin, leaning back carefree in the grass.
A leech is a leech, no matter what life he's in.
"I know I'm late," Tang Bo says one day, lying on Cheong Myeong's shoulder, "So give me a chance to make amends."
Cheong Myeong only sighs, patting him on the shoulder, not understanding what he's saying, but happy to hear a familiar voice.
The little things are enough for him.
There's no point in pushing, trying to force something so insignificant. He would gladly absorb every bit of attention, every word, every caress, if Tang Bo truly meant it, but on that memorable night, he already received an answer.
Even when Tang Bo whispers sweet nothings. Even when Tang Bo intertwines his fingers and kisses the back of his hand.
He can't forget that answer.
Perhaps Tang Bo does this only because he's certain that for Cheong Myeong, this will be as much of a game as it is for him. Curiosity. An inappropriate expression of friendly emotion.
A thousand excuses, a thousand reasons, all to avoid admitting the simple truth: whatever Tang Bo wants from him, he will give it. With a disgruntled face, pretending it wasn't so, trying to get something in return, but he will give it. He will allow it.
He already lost Tang Bo once.
"Hyung, I don't think your students like me."
He can't lose him again. Not for such a stupid reason.
"What did you do to make them like you? You didn't even train them!"
Even if his head is about to explode from the constant news, and his muscles are about to tear from the relentless training, he's still happy to spend time with Tang Bo.
"They're crazy about you, and I'm, in a sense, an extension of you," a whisper tickles his ear, which is then covered with light kisses.
Even if he can barely muster the strength to act like he usually does.
"In what place? If you look at it that way, then even the mosquito I killed yesterday was also a part of me and deserved the same honor."
Tang Bo laughs lightly and squirms in his arms, moving closer and landing his lips on his cheek, dangerously close.
"Hyung, didn't you say we were kindred souls?"
Indeed. Once upon a time, in a past life, he had actually said that out loud. He hadn't considered the possibility that Tang Bo might remember it—he had simply mentioned it as a matter of course. Even before he realized that his emotions could no longer be described as "friendship."
Long fingers play with a strand of black hair as Tang Bo presses his lips to his cheek again.
He's losing his strength.
Cheong Myeong turns away, squeezing the shoulder beneath his palm tighter. He's tired. From the war, from the pretense, from being teased as unattainable. He's only human.
"Hyung?"
Tang Bo tries to turn him toward himself, but Cheong Myeong won't let it happen. He won't be able to act like he usually does.
"Is everything okay? Is your neck stiff?"
He wants to cover Tang Bo's cheek with his hand, wants to kiss it. He wants to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. He wants to hug him like a willful cat and fall asleep.
"You isn't asleep, judging by your pulse, and it can't be fainting... that means you're conscious."
But all of this is a lame, drawn-out joke, one he can't refuse. Because he enjoys every second, even if he knows he shouldn't. Because he's longed to be touched the way Tang Bo touches him.
"Hyung."
He closes his eyes and purses his lips, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Hyung, look at me," Tang Bo says, alarmed.
His eyes burn, as if someone has poured sand into them.
In the prolonged silence, Cheong Myeong feels lips on his temple and takes a sharp breath, causing them to instantly pull away.
"...If you dislike my touch, you could have told me sooner," Tang Bo mutters, confused, removing his hand from Cheong Myeong's cheek.
"That's not true," Cheong Myeong protests hoarsely, but can't find right words to explain.
Tang Bo rustles, rising, and sighs, lost.
"I don't want to hurt you, hyung."
Cheong Myeong's throat tightens. Of course he doesn't. Who would want their friend to feel bad?
"I'm okay," Cheong Myeong croaks stubbornly.
A long, cool finger wipes a tear from his cheek. "You're not okay."
"Just tired."
"Then open your eyes."
Tang Bo speaks to him as if he were a patient. Measured, sterilely calm. It would be better if he behaved as usual. It would be better if he simply ignored this weakness, like the children ignored him, seeing him out of his mind. Like Cheong Myeong himself ignores this request.
"You leave me no choice, hyung." Emotion returns to the other's voice, seeing his stubbornness.
The touch is soft, warm, wet. The kiss, the second in this lifetime, tastes of salt and bitterness, and Cheong Myeong can't even turn away from it—he can't find the strength to do so.
"I love you," Tang Bo whispers tremblingly.
Cheong Myeong's eyes widen in shock, hearing the confession he once couldn't articulate himself. His friend says it so easily, as if the words carry no weight. But he looks at him so tenderly that the already taut string within his chest threatens to snap. Especially when Tang Bo intertwines their fingers and leans in, kissing him again before his eyes close.
Fate isn't so kind to him that he'll get what he wants. That it'll be true.
But he's only human. And if there's an illusion that can consume him, then Tang Bo is its embodiment. A ghost turned human. A hallucination made real. Regret given way to hope.
Cheong Myeong gives in.
Whatever Tang Bo wants from him, he'll give it. Right now, he doesn't even have the strength to bargain.
Just one evening. Can't he be happy for just one evening?
Hugging Tang Bo's neck, Cheong Myeong exhales slowly, calming down.
He doesn't want to think about whether the other's words are true, whether he understood them correctly, what Tang Bo meant by them. Fatigue rings through his body, clouding his thoughts. Damn, in this new life, he thinks more in a month than he thought in his entire past live.
Tang Bo strokes his head, kissing him constantly.
When Cheong Myeong wakes up, it's still dark outside, as it should be. Tang Bo hugs him from behind, skin to skin. His bare legs stick out from under the blanket Cheong Myeong had pulled over himself in his sleep.
After this, he won't be able to pretend anymore.
The sword is by the bed.
All he needs now is training. Clear his head. Get distracted.
Tang Bo sleeps like a log, with a serenely happy expression, as if he's seeing a dream come true.
And should he even pretend? Friends don't do that kind of thing.
Pants on the floor.
Just pants would be enough – he'd sweat during training anyway, and no one would see him in the forest. Besides, who in the sect would be surprised by a half-naked man?
Tang Bo wouldn't have gone so far out of pity or a joke.
The forest greets him with a damp coolness, washing away the hot touches from his body, sobering his mind.
Rejection. Tang Bo himself drew the line.
Unsheathing his sword, Cheong Myeong takes a deep breath, clearing his mind, and immerses himself in the basics for his warm-up, attack after attack, focusing on each movement in the hopes of distracting himself.
And he crossed it himself.
The sword cuts through the air with more force than necessary.
What was he thinking?
A wet leaf shifts his foot.
What will happen now?
Cheong Myeong finishes set of movements, facing the opposite direction from the one he's supposed to.
"Hyung, you barely slept. You need sleep," a voice says from behind him.
"I don't have time to rest."
Tang Bo yawns, sitting down under the nearest tree.
"Then I'll wait for you here."
"Run for the daggers. Sparring. Now."
Cheong Myeong doesn't know why he thinks this is a good idea. Yes, it occupies his thoughts... for a while. But his mind is in disarray, his body is exhausted, and the cause of it all looks at him with a worried gaze.
He wins by a miracle. To hell with it—he's used to performing miracles; anything less would have surprised many.
"Hyung."
The moon never came out, hidden by clouds.
"Hyung, yesterday..."
"Now do you see why I can't rest? In my past life, I wouldn't have even tensed up under such a strain."
Tang Bo looks sadly at his attempt to change the subject.
"This is the first time I've seen you cry. I can't just... forget about it. What happened?"
Instead of answering, Cheong Myeong begins repeating the next technique, from start to finish, trying to get lost in the process as he always does.
"I love you, hyung."
He doesn't answer, only falters, betraying the impact these words have on him.
"I know I'm saying this way too late... If I had fallen in love earlier, I would have had time to reciprocate your feelings. I thought about confessing, but you probably wouldn't want to hear it after I rejected you. I thought you'd already moved on."
Cheong Myeong finally lowers his sword, looking at it intently.
"But after reincarnation, learning that both you and I were given another chance, I couldn't help but try. Death and regret give courage. Even if you've moved on, I still have a chance. That's why I was so happy you didn't push me away."
Cheong Myeong turns away, studying a bird sleeping in the leaves, as soon as Tang Bo tries to catch his eye.
"I love you, hyung. I'm not joking. And I want to be with you, at least in this life."
His throat tightens.
"Or am I too late?"
Cheong Myeong grips his sword tightly, his hand trembling.
"You won't get rid of me that easily. Even if you refuse, I'll pester you and won't let go. Even if you chase me away. We've been like that before, right? When we first met."
Indeed.
"Hyung, you're an incredible person. You have no idea how incredible you are. You could have managed even without me."
"That's not true," Cheong Myeong croaks hoarsely.
Tang Bo beams at finally being answered.
"I'm glad you think so!"
He comes closer, taking his trembling fist and encircling it with his palms.
"Hyung, I want to grow old with you again. And we've never traveled together. If you like, I can settle in Huashan, but I'd prefer you live in my estate. Wouldn't it be more convenient to get your favorite food if you lived in Sichuan? Of course, when your chicks grow up. I understand you can't leave them. Especially considering the war. But after... You'll have many, many years, and wouldn't it be better to spend them in good company?"
Before Tang Bo, he had no plans for his life after the victory over Cheongma. And even after, the goal came first, and if he has to give his life again to take the other's head, he wants to do it without regret.
"This time, you won't be alone. I promise."
Cheong Myeong barely breathes as he turns to Tang Bo.
His head is pounding with new information, with the shattering of the explanation he'd been confident in, with the sudden emotions he's been bombarded with.
Catching the tender gaze of green eyes, he hesitates, but after all these words, after the soothing warmth around his hand, he gathers his courage and holds his breath, bringing his face closer in a tentative attempt at a kiss.
Tang Bo moves toward him, smiling into the kiss.
Only then does Cheong Myeong exhale, relaxing.