Archive of Our Own

After another frustrated sigh, Minhyuk takes the time to wrap his arms around Hyungwon’s midsection, pulling him away from the edge of the room. They abandon the bouquet of empty green stalks forcing their way through the busted tiles. We can bring them back, he whispers into his friend’s neck.

I guess, Hyungwon murmurs and moves back to perch on Minhyuk’s knee. He’s so light Minhyuk feels as though he might crush his ribcage. I wish I knew why they were dying, though.

They stay that way, on the edge of the old claw-foot tub in the centre of the room, until the sun lowers and the shafts of light illuminating them start to fade. Minhyuk watches their joined shadow grow longer, spreading across the makeshift garden like a tossed garment. There aren’t even any buds but the hazy scent the blooms let off seems to pour out of Hyungwon instead, so Minhyuk keeps his face pressed into the back of his shirt and breathes him in.

-

Have you always looked like this? Minhyuk is asking while he drags a red stripe along Hyungwon's cheek. It’s like I'm looking at the sunset.

Hyungwon covers his mouth with both hands and laughs. His voice is a smooth mix of gentle and rough, the distinguishing sound of someone who’s too excited to realise how tired they are, too lost in their own drowsy euphoria to ever be found. From all around him, the sounds of hazy, hallucinogenic ecstasy and laughter echo around the centre flame. He ducks out of the way of Changkyun’s grasp, watching him clumsily grab at a silver tin from the hearth, unsure if the outstretched hand was even meant for him in the first place. It’s hard to find his bearings when he rights back up but he spots a familiar head of ivory hair, so cast in the fire’s glow it burns Hyungwon’s eyes the way the purple mixture in his veins burns his skin.

He thinks Minhyuk might look better if he was just a little bluer, so he wraps stained hands around his exposed neck, painting it like a vase, like a cylindrical canvas. There’s sudden laughter and it sounds so familiar and so loud he guesses it might as well be his own. He leans forward to kiss the nape of Minhyuk’s neck but there’s a mouth there instead. He looks up with a start to see an entire face - Minhyuk, facing him. He laughs, that same familiar noise coming out to meet Hyungwon’s surprised expression. Something clicks.

Were you talking to me?

Who else makes me feel this way? Minhyuk asks in a tone that requests no answer. He lifts a hand to his mouth, pressing a silky blue petal to his lower lip. It’s tantalising, and Hyungwon dips his head forward to snag it for himself. He thinks he might have nipped something else too, but his tongue burns too much to feel anything on the outside.

-

Jooheon is spinning around a clothesline pole, his left hand gripping the faded iron loosely while his outstretched right arm trails an outer orbit. What mischief are we up to today, he wonders aloud. Who’s trouble are we going to be this time?

We don’t want to be anyone’s trouble, Hyunwoo responds. He shakes out one of their grandfather’s sheet before he pins it to the line, stretching the white fabric out until the sunlight pokes through the seams.

You’re so responsible, hyung.

Hyunwoo looks up. Jooheon’s tone is bitter but his face is turned up to the sky while he twirls, shoes scuffing the earth around the base of the pole. I have to be, he answers slowly.

We wouldn’t have to worry all the time if we just helped him out, Jooheon grumbles, still orbiting the pole. You’re being selfish.

I’m not, Hyunwoo snaps, and then snaps a shirt out straight while he’s at it. I just..

You just?

You saw what happened with Kihyun.

Jooheon shuts his eyes.

I don’t know what’ll happen if we do something while he’s in this condition. He absently hangs the shirt from the line, forgetting to properly stretch it. He’s in such bad shape these days. What if it makes the pain worse?

Does it make your pain worse, hyung?

Hyunwoo dodges the question. I wish we found them sooner, the flowers. We could have helped him so long ago. But now, he begins, then stares at the pair of pants he’s turned inside out. He’s frozen, his veins iced over after almost a full day without even a whiff of infernal pollen to set the spark. He stares at the inseam and the futility of the situation sets in, hard.

He wants, more than anything, to ease their grandfather’s pain. He’s long since given up the hope that he’ll be the same man he was in Hyunwoo’s youth, but to at least see him rise out of bed without waves of pain crawling across him; to be able to speak to him without wondering if he can hear; to feed the three of them without stressing over what they’ll have to do for the next night.. Hyunwoo stares, waiting for an answer to materialise in the air in front of him.

Jooheon preoccupies himself with the way the clouds spiral around the head of the pole. If he turns quick enough, the pair of lines look like they’re the ones spinning. If he shuts his eyes, it’s as if the whole planet is spinning beneath him while he stays perfectly still, relishing in the breeze blowing through him. But he gets dizzy like this, so he stops. He always has to stop.

He swings to a halt beneath a hanging pair of shorts to stare at Hyunwoo while he works. But he isn’t working. He’s stopped all the same. An object at rest, Jooheon thinks.

Hey, the older asks, running the button of the jeans between his first two fingers. Would you wanna help me with something?

Jooheon doesn't hesitate to answer. Anything.

-

Hoseok is laughing the loudest tonight and it does nothing but spur everyone on. He pulls the edge of his blazer away from his torso as if to show off the X branded across his skin. There’s a breeze that should chill him, but his blood is on fire and his skin is practically steaming from the heat. Changkyun leans over, a bit too close to the flames, to try and see the beads of condensation forming on his chest over the stripes of paint, but Kihyun pulls him back into his seat to trace the shell of his ear in black.

They’ve stopped brewing, far too gone to do anything proper anymore, and the burning leaves left behind leave the inside of the tent in a thick haze. Jooheon waves his hands over the smoke’s column to dissipate it, casting swirls and spirals across the circle of delusional boys. He inhales and shuts his eyes. Like this, he can spin the earth beneath him.

Let’s all pray, he announces over the various sounds of his brothers’ voices, that God doesn’t find out about us.

Hoseok’s laugh, constant and thick, sounds out again after his words. What’s God gonna do? He leans into Hyunwoo, resting against his torso, golden glow of his hair catching some of the colour smeared across Hyunwoo’s neck as he sinks. What’s anyone gonna do?

What would you do, Hyunwoo asks the mound of yellow hair just beneath his chin. If you were a god.

Everything, Hyungwon answers in his stead. He stares into the flames, clutching a cluster of uncrushed flowers beneath him. Even with the thick smoke masking the senses, their aroma is hellish, making his eyes water and the dancing flames blur. He thinks his fingers might be tingling as well, but all he can really feel is his own heartbeat and a subtle warmth.

Who says we’re not? Kihyun’s voice calls out.

Suddenly, in uncharacteristic focus, five pairs of eyes are on him, while Changkyun’s stay shut, forehead against his hyung’s cheek. Kihyun repeats. Who says we’re not gods already?

Instead of silence and a moment to let the words sink in, Minhyuk bursts out laughing, fluffy mess of iced hair bouncing around, illuminated by the flames and tossed by the ongoing breeze so that it glows like a halo around his head. Does this mean I’m only praying to us from now on?

-

It’s on a day when the seven of them are patrolling the town; being whimsical and acting younger than they are; throwing stones into passing streams and into people’s storm drains; spitting out hushed words about revolutions and revolts and resistance; passing a gently-wilting stem of potent purple petals between themselves to keep their heads going; ducking under the windows of those who might be looking for them; kicking up dust and spinning in circles and lying on the ground; pulling each other close enough to breathe breaths and whisper secrets; talking open shit about one another, right to each other’s faces; feigning ignorance while they distract soldiers from harassing the vendors; playing hand games and racing up the street’s stone steps to the house with the brightly painted green and yellow door frame; playing hand games and racing down the street’s stone steps to the underside of the bridge where they met Changkyun for the first time a few years ago and, subsequently, skinned his knees after a little too much rough housing; sneaking cautious hands along each other and spreading subtle intimacies; it’s on a day like this where nothing is out of place and the flow of their early spring days fits this exact pace that Hyungwon’s friends watch him take a slap across the face for the first time since they skinned Changkyun’s knees.

No one says anything as he’s ordered to be home before dark, questions buzzing in everyone’s minds. Hyungwon feels the weight of years of carefully concealed conflicts slip off his shoulders and shatter.

The silence is broken when a stray plastic bag actually hits Hoseok in the side of the face. The laughter is louder than it has to be, and very obviously strained, but Hyungwon appreciates the effort.

-

Why are you so scared?

Minhyuk’s hands are gripping him tight, too tight. But his lips are so soft. They’re so cool. There’s no burn anymore, and Hyungwon can feel something on his skin that doesn’t hurt. It’s so foreign by this point, an unfamiliar brush against his cheek; a caress upon battered flesh.

What are you so afraid of?

He holds his breath and drops his head. He’s not one to cry - hasn’t been in a long time - so all he can do is stay still and try not to agitate. He knows Minhyuk would never hurt him, but the stiff grip on his forearms and the stern voice and the bubbling sense of fear in his gut that threatens to overflow and spill out of his mouth like tar - that’s all too familiar. By this point the fear is an overwhelming emotional response.

You can make things happen, now.

Hyungwon is thinking back to this morning, and about the tingling on his cheek, the subtle burning underneath the blossoming bruise. He remembers running his hands along the weak stems of the plants sprouting out of the bathroom tile, roots pushed through the grime and velvety leaves turned towards the window. He remembers bowing his back as he leaned closer to the sprouting weeds, leaves caressing him with impossibly unfamiliar gentleness as they both sought comfort from each other. They were desperate for something that they couldn't fathom, couldn't find, and were wilting together.

You can do anything you want, so why aren’t you taking action?

He wishes he could put into words how horrifying it is, how draining the feeling of constant disorientation and confusion and uncertainty is. What it’s like to burn at all hours of the day. What it is to feel like you’re dying even when you’ve never been more alive. He doesn't know how to explain that he's scared all the time, that even in the midst of his friends he's trapped in a spiraling sensation of dread.

Please. Why do you keep doing this? Why are you letting him do this to you?

Hyungwon doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t have anything. He realises a little too late that he’s run out of things to feed the fire in his stomach and it’s eating him instead. He might be out of his mind but the sound of crackling flames is suddenly very, very audible in his ears.

You’re invincible . Nothing is allowed to hurt you like this, Minhyuk lies through his teeth. Not anymore.

We’re not invincible, Hyungwon whispers. His voice is hollow, his insides all burnt away.

Minhyuk looks like he wasn’t expecting a single word. In fact, he looks more hurt than shocked, and leans in ever so slowly to kiss Hyungwon’s cheeks again, ghosting little brushes along the bruises like a healing salve. He hates what his friend has turned into, he hates walking on eggshells around him. He misses the way things used to be, the seven of them a bonfire, an inferno, a raging forest fire untouchable to anyone but each other. He thought they’d burn forever but it’s beginning to feel more like they’re burning out.

I’m dying, Hyungwon admits, staying blank and unmoving at each brush of Minhyuk’s lips. I can't do this anymore.

You’re not dying, Minhyuk whines into the corner of his mouth. I won't let you.

Hyungwon thinks it sounds a bit like a threat.

-

Hyunwoo, seeking solace in familiarity, burns it all. He burns every shred of cash on the empty cot, and through his blurry gaze he delivers to the back of his throat something that he hopes will burn him, too. He swears to God it sends him to hell. (Or he would, had they not renounced their religious ties a few nights prior.)

It takes a full hit across the side of his face for him to register words and actually look at Jooheon. The room he’s knelt in is filled with smoke. His eyes burn, but it’s more from the noxious fluid he poured into his throat.

He’s being shaken, throttled hard, but the sensation of his heart pounding against his ribcage is so overpowering that everything else feels like the ghost of a breeze by comparison.

What happened? Jooheon is asking, or maybe he’s the one being asked. Hyunwoo’s tongue is so heavy in his mouth, there’s no way he should be able to talk, and this is confirmed when Jooheon rattles him by the upper arms again. Hyung, what happened? What did you do ?

The foggy memory of his grandfather’s empty cot forces its way into the front of his brain and Hyunwoo feels like he’s about to scream, but all those emotions are burned away by something much, much hotter.

He thinks, maybe, he can talk. He thinks, definitely, that he shouldn’t have knocked back an entire vial of murky fluid on top of his adrenaline high, but more importantly, he thinks he can talk. I couldn’t, he starts, and then everything hits him at once and he doubles over. He’s crying, but everything is so hot he can’t believe there’s any water left to drip out of his eyes. I couldn’t take care of him, Hyunwoo chokes out, his body heavy with the words.

Jooheon doesn’t know what to do, so he pulls Hyunwoo’s face into both hands and points it towards the sky, letting tears falls down the sides of his face and over Jooheon’s fingers. Stop it, he pleads over his hyung’s quiet sobs. Stop this, we can bring him back. We’re gonna bring him back. He’s on the verge of tears himself, unprepared to handle this situation, when Hyunwoo shakes his head.

We can’t, he’s crying. He repeats it as well as he can through his laboured breathing, wishing he had some semblance of control.

Why not? Jooheon demands.

Hyunwoo, burning from the inside out, slaps a hand over his shoulder, over the permanent reminder of the oath he took alongside his friends marked into his skin, startling Jooheon into releasing his grip. I can’t bring him into this , he practically sobs. Hyunwoo’s tongue suddenly finds itself light. His head snaps down to look Jooheon in the eye, and his glare is so intense it startles the younger boy, sends him scrambling away. Jooheon stares with wide, terrified eyes, but as long as he searches, Hyunwoo can’t find a glimmer of remorse. It’s only fear, and Hyunwoo finds himself asking, Do you even miss him?

His words are heavy and shocking and Jooheon can barely find the words to respond from where he’s sat on the floor. What are you saying? he asks, voice meek, a candle in comparison to the inferno Hyunwoo is. Of course I do.

Hyunwoo stares in disbelief.

Of course I do, Jooheon repeats. But I still have you, right?

They stare at each other, the haze drifting between them from more than smoke.

Hyunwoo struggles to respond. There’s a sickening heat in his gut that’s sucking up all the oxygen, so hot and so raging he can practically feel his bones splintering. This is supposed to help, he’s thinking around the pain. He doesn’t know if it’s the prolonged use, or the combination of the flames his brain is conjuring up and the flames his body purposely set. He doesn’t know if it’s leftover excitement from the rush of the heavy bag in his grip or if he’s been shell shocked from being met with an empty room. He thinks maybe the flowers, potent and beautiful and deadly, have a half-life and his time’s just run out.

He thinks a lot, but he knows that something hurts too much to ever mend. He keeps his palm pressed to the X etched onto his shoulder, presuming it to be a mark of mortality rather than omnipotence they’d all thought it would represent.

-

Minhyuk tells Hoseok, the only other person who knows him well enough to understand why he’s going absolutely insane, about this problem directly. Ever since the introduction of floral hallucinogens it’s been getting harder to express these new emotions in words, and Minhyuk is thankful for someone who can feel how deep the pain goes simply by proxy. Changkyun, a mostly passive entity, is also kind enough to offer his time to hear out Minhyuk’s troubles with a very familiar stem tucked behind his ear.

They can’t do this, Minhyuk says, hands wringing. He explains that Hyungwon simply cannot be hurt - not in the way you can’t freeze fire or burn water, but in the way you can’t rob a bank or kill someone. There are just things people can’t do. Minhyuk grabs at handfuls of his hair. I feel like the universe is being thrown out of whack. I feel like I’m going to die. Do you know what he said to me? Minhyuk flops onto his stomach to look at Hoseok, who is staring absently into the far wall. He said he was dying. Can you imagine that? His face all banged up, not even looking at me and saying that kind of thing. Can you fucking believe it?

Hoseok remains seated on the steps to the second floor, watching Minhyuk writhe about on the linoleum at his feet. This isn’t their house per se, but most of the internal doors have been ripped off and the previous owners and nearly all of their furniture have abandoned it for the elements, so they squat here when they need to. Granted, he struggles to remember when he last spent a full night at his actual house, but this is still too much of an empty, rotting building to consider it his home.

Hyungwonnie has been dealing with this for a long time, Hoseok muses, head on his hand. He really does seem like the type to take things as they come, you know?

Minhyuk moves his hands to restlessly rub at his forehead. But he shouldn’t, he whines. You should have seen him, hyung. He was so beat up, he was so afraid. Minhyuk scrubs at his eyes, willing the images of his friend’s bruised face to vanish. Every time I think of how long he’s been putting up with this, every time I think of him just standing there and taking all those hits... Not telling us… Why wouldn’t he just tell us?

Maybe, Changkyun suggests from his spot further up on the staircase, he was trying to avoid this exact reaction?

Minhyuk yells in frustration and turns away from the staircase. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m dying.

Hoseok snorts at the metaphor. You can’t die.

But I still feel like I am, he groans, fists pushing into his eyes. Ugh, I don’t get it! Why is he letting this happen?

Maybe he’s scared.

People should be scared of us ! Minhyuk snaps, whirling around from his spot on the floor to face Hoseok. His face is a calm mask, a foil to Minhyuk’s rage. People should be afraid of hurting him! Hyungwon’s father should be worshipping the ground he walks on!

He’s not scared, Changkyun muses, scratching at his fingernails. It occurs to Minhyuk that the two of them are still deep in a foggy purple haze, calm and cool while he stresses and panics. He suddenly wants to chew on the flower tucked behind Changkyun’s ear. The youngest sighs gently and continues, He isn't scared because he know Hyungwon isn't going to do anything to stop him.

Of course he isn't, Hoseok responds, eyes looking away from the wall to look down at Minhyuk. Hyungwon’s not gonna do a damn thing.

They stare at each other for a few moments. Some subtle thread of understanding passes between them, and Hoseok quirks an eyebrow up.

He doesn't have to do anything, Minhyuk says numbly, talking more to himself than anything. This piques Hoseok’s interest and he lifts his head off his hand, leaning forward. Minhyuk thinks about Hyungwon’s battered face, about his reluctance to go home, about the years of enforced silence. You don’t do that to a person overnight. He can, to some degree, understand why Hyungwon would be afraid. But Minhyuk isn't afraid.

Minhyuk isn't afraid of anything.

What are you thinking? Changkyun asks softly, scooting forward to get a better look at his hyungs.

Karma, Minhyuk answers softly.

-

Are they inside?

I hope so.

Haha, that's fucked up.

Both of you shut up. They’ll hear us.

I want them to hear us. I want them to know exactly what's happening.

What if someone gets hurt?

Hyungwon got hurt.

What if someone, like, dies?

Minhyuk streaks two solid black lines across the window pane. They intersect in the shape of an X, an ominous mark they've all been branded with that bodes unwell for people that have hurt them in the past. He cocks his head to the side to take a peek at Changkyun’s covered face.

Kkukkung, are you saying you wouldn't do this for me?

He doesn't answer, so Minhyuk continues.

I’m not letting him off with any warnings. I’m not going to give him an opportunity to go back and hurt Hyungwon. Or any of us.

Hoseok nods silently, an empty gasoline tank in one hand, a matchbox bound in an eager grip in the other. This isn't just us getting revenge for a friend, he inputs. This is a statement. If someone hurts one of us, they hurt all of us.

If I’m going to give everything to you guys, Minhyuk says, turning to face them. Then it’s only fair that I take everything from everyone else, isn’t it?

Hoseok holds the matchbox out to Changkyun. Are you in? he asks beneath his expressionless mask. Changkyun takes it without question.

Of course, he draws a match from the box as the three of them move away from the building. In a nearby building, someone’s baby chatters away, the entire town unaware. I’m all in, Changkyun says, striking the match.

-

Minhyuk - hands washed clean of the stench of gasoline, ashes well rubbed from his cheeks, weight on his heart completely lifted - nearly prances into the old beaten down house. He wonders if Hyungwon already knows, and takes the steps two at a time up to the room with the busted window pane where Hyungwon was wont to waxing poetic during his free time. He grips the door frame and swings into the room on one boot, but there’s nothing there but dust in the late-morning sun’s rays. Minhyuk pauses, but turns on his heel, undeterred.

He moonwalks into the room at the end of the hall, where they had all lain in a tangle on an old moth-eaten futon and listened to Hoseok explain the tattoo he got on his thigh. The futon, dusty and flattened from overuse, sits alone. Minhyuk wonders if, by some miracle, Hyungwon’s gotten up early and is wandering the town. He remembers the state of his face and decides that, no, he definitely isn’t.

He descends the steps one at a time, musing over how he’ll have to explain his actions in case Hyungwon doesn’t know. He must know, Minhyuk thinks, rounding the corner into what used to be a kitchen. There’s nothing left but an old island, the granite cracked at the edges and a mysterious dark ring permanently caked onto the surface. Minhyuk thinks back to the day they’d all gathered here and marked themselves, Hyungwon’s earlobe between his teeth and the X inked into his wrist still raw and red, staring at him in the glow of the moon while he laughed at his friend’s surprise. He shudders, very briefly, and his heart aches for just a moment. The bathroom, he thinks, and heads in that direction.

He thinks of the wilted plants growing out of the ceramic, and of Hyungwon tending to them desperately, a bit satisfied that his news of nearly burning his father alive will most definitely distract him. As he approaches the makeshift washroom, he catches something out of his peripherals and pauses. A tiny glass vial, the cork top removed, sits on the tiled floor, knocked over sideways. Minhyuk stares at it with an air of familiarity, not quite sure what he’s processing. He approaches and steps into the washroom.

When he sees them, they don’t register. A pair of working boots, scuffed and worn, the laces frayed, resting gently on the rim of the tub. They look so familiar, and Minhyuk can almost feel the relationship between those boots and the vial on the floor becoming more and more tangible. He follows the curve of the boots, down to the equally-familiar trousers leading up from the surface of the water. He supposes he would know how to respond if he hadn’t been riding on a chemical high not fifteen seconds ago, but all he can do is stare at the still surface of the water, the distant shape of wilting plants struggling to grow out of the corner, the gentle wisp of hair poking out of the water.

He blinks, eyebrows lowering in something like confusion. He approaches the tub, then stops. He takes a step back. He resolves to circle it ominously, like a buzzard eyeing a corpse, and sticks to close to the wall as he walks along one side.

Seconds pass and Minhyuk still isn’t sure what to feel. He feels numb, a gentle buzzing replacing his general consciousness and filling his ears. He pauses when he gets to the point where Hyungwon’s boots rest on the rim, and stares blankly at his still, distorted features. Is this what you meant when you said you were dying? he asks out loud. Hyungwon doesn’t answer.

Minhyuk realises suddenly that, rather than remorseful, he feels betrayed. The stench of gasoline and burning wood lingers in the back of this throat, and his fingers clench into fists. He thinks this anger might keep the sorrow down in the hearth where it belongs, and fumbles through his pockets before he can think about the fact that one of the people he’s dedicated his life to has decided to die. He feels stupid, thinking back on how he could have prevented this, thinking back on how easy it would have been to rid him off all his woes as have enough time to share the good news. Minhyuk, beneath his confusion, his aggressed simmer, his loneliness, his sense of loss of control - beneath all of it, he feels so, so sad, and so, so guilty. And he thinks that if he didn’t cloud his senses with indigo, didn’t plant seeds all along his insides and let this dubious plant flower and grow tall and let it's tantalising leaves spread and obscure everything, he might be feeling a lot more at the surface, and he might be running fruitlessly after Hyungwon.

But, with his head hazy and too slow to process how he should be feeling, he pulls out a small, corked vial, similar to the one discarded on the bathroom floor, and yanks the top off. Because Hyungwon can’t die. But not in the way you can’t freeze fire or burn water, not even in the way you can’t rob a bank or kill someone. Minhyuk tips the bit of miraculous liquid into the bath, disturbing the water for the first time in what could be hours.

I won't let you, he whispers.

-

What happens when you die?

Kihyun stares up at the stars. He feels like he can see his own reflection. What, are you asking if I saw heaven?

Or, y’know. Somewhere else.

Wow, ok.

Changkyun laughs and squeezes Kihyun’s hand. I’m sorry, I’m curious.

Well, in my experience, you wake up really sore and drowsy and there’s some kid hovering over you blubbering like a baby.

This time it’s Changkyun’s turn to feel insulted, but Kihyun smiles and squeezes his hand right back.

Why do you wanna know? Are you scared? He asks.

I’m just wondering.

Kihyun doesn’t pry about Changkyun’s hesitance the same way he didn’t pry about the distant plume of inky, black smoke wafting away in the breeze, or about the chemical smell on Changkyun’s hands and in his hair when he’d climbed up to meet Kihyun on the roof, or the way he spent minutes lying on his side staring at Kihyun with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t pry because, at this point, he’s stopped looking for explanations for the things he doesn’t understand. They squeeze each other’s hands and watch the moon slowly track across the sky.

We really, Changkyun starts, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky, can’t live forever.

Sure we can, Kihyun assures.

But, I mean… Changkyun audibly struggles for words. We can’t live forever .

Again, they lie in silence, both waiting for the strength to speak up. As it turns out, Kihyun builds it up first. This is real, he says, lacing his fingers with Changkyun’s. I’m right here. All of this is real, okay?

I know, I know. It’s just so unbelievable, I’m starting have doubts.

Don’t doubt, Kihyun responds, as if the answer was as simple as that.

Changkyun fiddles with his hyung’s fingers, squeezing and relaxing restlessly. Does it feel different? When Kihyun hums in confusion, he clears his throat and specifies. Do you still feel the same as before?

I feel, Kihyun begins, taking some time to move the words around in his mouth. There was a lack of inquiry when he was brought back, the group of them deciding it was better to just be thankful with this power they’d received, drowning their worries and confusion in a toxic lilac heat. It’s the first time Kihyun has had to really think about what he’s gone through. I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything, he tries, then motions vaguely downward with his other hand. I mean, besides proper leg function. It feels like there are a lot of things about me that are gone but… that aching sensation of dread and loss is buried beneath the relief that I don't have to die again.

When Changkyun doesn’t respond, Kihyun goes on. When I woke up, I became so aware of my limbs and my pulse, I felt like I had been dumped into a body that didn’t belong to me. It was like the autopilot had been turned off, and if I didn’t focus explicitly on being in control I would lose everything. Suddenly it seemed like my heart was beating because I wanted it to, you know? And if I wanted to make it stop, I could just turn it off with a simple thought.

He turns his head to see Changkyun staring at him in the dim light, eyes wide in what might be horror. Kihyun chuckles a bit and melts the weight of his words. Don’t worry about it, kid, he assures, as if the answer was as simple as that.

-

He wakes up with the subtlety of a sunrise, and as he does he’s very, very slowly hit with a new realisation: it doesn’t burn here. Weeks of constant fire and suddenly it’s all gone, replaced with an emptiness that seems to swallow up any heat. In a familiar pattern, Hyungwon finds comfort in this new ache. It’s so cold, and the warmth in his ribcage is more like that of a frostbite than a forest fire. He’s so frozen it takes his thoughts a while to reach him, and he realises that the ache in his chest is coming from his heart, pounding slowly and steadily.

The effects of the flowers in his body turned his pulse into a nonstop drumming, his ears nearly ringing from the constant onslaught. But this is different. Each solid thump in his chest feels more like a sore squeeze, the uncomfortably palpable sensation of blood being sucked in and shot out more evident than ever before. The spaces between his heartbeats, as brief as they may be, feel daunting and suffocating, a surge of panic rising up with each one. On top of that, Hyungwon’s eyes are so, so heavy. He doesn’t have enough strength in his entire body to open them, so he keeps them shut. The feeling flows into his body through his skin and the cold reaches his bones. It’s unbearable but he’s trapped here, trapped underneath the weight of his own lifelessness and… something else.

His awareness creeps over him like the frost he swears is building up around his lungs. The pressure on his chest is nothing compared to the crick in his neck. His whole body is saddled with a stiffness that has nothing to do with the cold, and there’s an almost-familiar sensation around his neck, gripping his skin with tight precision and inexplicable delicacy. It’s a gentle ring that dips, ever so slightly, into the hollows beneath his Adam’s apple as he inhales. When Hyungwon realises he’s breathing, a sense of dread boils in him and he can’t put his finger on why until he realises exactly what this light necklace around his throat is: the gentle, still surface of water.

Oh.

The weight on his chest and across his stomach and even a bit against his legs registers when a soft breath slides over his neck, tickling at his reluctant pulse.

Oh, oh no.

Hyungwon wishes he could drift back off into the nothing he was previously occupying, but the little energy being absorbed into his body goes straight to his core, and the adrenaline prompts him to open his eyes. Bleary and unfocused, the scene reveals itself to him.

Tiled walls, old, chipped, grimy. Vines crawling up them, limp and discoloured, fading. The edge of the old claw-foot tub, pressing into his head, his own legs propped up against the opposite edge.

Minhyuk’s curled up body, holding him down, head tucked against Hyungwon’s collar bone and hand lightly gripping his own. The sparkling blue water.

He’s alive.

Hyungwon wishes he had the energy in him to scream, or to cry, or to physically react in some way to mimic his internal condition. But there’s only enough strength in his body to hasten his pulse, amplifying those cavernous, empty moments where his heart is still. The fear of dying hits him right in the sternum; an idea that seemed like such a good plan of action earlier on turns sour, and Hyungwon feels absolutely crushed by his inability to escape. The water is too cold, this tub is too hard and too small, he’s too constricted, he can’t breathe properly, and in those moments of cardiac silence he wonders if he might be slipping away again.

He manages to let out a whimper, and it practically strains his throat. Trapped in a state between new life and post death, not quite gone but not quite back again, Hyungwon lies in uncertainty of where he’s meant to be. All he can manage is a gentle squeeze of the hand, clutching onto the only thing rooting him to the world. He wants to climb out, to wake Minhyuk, to apologise, and also to demand an apology, but he’s just been pulled out of the tree by his own noose and his body doesn’t belong to him anymore.

-

Of course they meet up again. After everything that’s happened, they need to. This isn’t a place of discussion, but rather a place to wholly and completely forget. Any closure will rise out of the fire and seep into their skin; any regrets will burn away.

Kihyun is the one mixing tonight, forearm crutches resting on the floor behind his seat as he leans over the fire. It’s especially strong this time, the smoke inside already lowering visibility and fogging up everyone’s brains. He sprinkles in a few more petals, smiling wide at the colour that bleeds off of them and swirls into the liquid. While he busies himself with careful brewing, the others let the fumes take over and idle around. Hoseok pulls up a tall stalk, not of heinous electric indigo, but of an elegant white lily.

For your funeral, he muses.

It may be the haziness of the smoke, it may be the ever-present freezing in his bones, it may be that he’s just known Hoseok long enough to understand his intentions. Regardless of why he deems this gesture appropriate, Hyungwon accepts it and presses the bulb to his chest.

Our ringleaders, Changkyun’s voice sounds, and Hyungwon turns his head to watch their youngest press a sincere kiss to the back of Jooheon’s neck. He has the two brothers’ heads cupped gratefully in each of his hands - a comforting gesture. He moves to kiss Hyunwoo as well, lips behind his jaw and below his ear, but the older man remains unresponsive, staring blankly into the fire. Changkyun pulls their heads in closer, until their temples are touching either side of him, and lets his eyes fall. He’s always been the first to go, to get lost in the euphoria and to try to spread it among the group.

Something out there, he continues, eyes staying shut. Something out there loves us, and only us. Jooheon lets his eyes close and nods his head gently, as though he were at a sermon.

When the mix is strained until it’s clear of all the grounds, Kihyun pours the first saucer. Steam rises off of the surface until he blows it cool. It’s in silent agreement that Hyunwoo gets the first taste. When he cradles the metal dish in his large hands, his head swirls. He doesn’t tell the group how certain he is that this plant is killing him - that it’s killing all of them. He doesn’t tell them about the drumming in his ears, or the way the sky sometimes seems like it’s pulsating along with him, like it’s beckoning him towards something. And he doesn't tell them that he's clinging desperately to what they have in the wake of the loss of his grandfather, praying that he can overwhelm this emptiness with something, anything that will make him want to keep living. He lets his head swim for a few moments before pressing the edge of the saucer to his lips and sipping it down.

The buzz is stale this time around. There’s a blanket of numbness that settles over the lot of them, and nothing is quite as fuzzy as it usually is. It’s in this radio silence that Kihyun is the first to speak. We’ll probably have to leave, he announces softly. After everything that’s happened.

Their malicious mischief had turned into multiple real crimes practically overnight, and they weren’t exactly inconspicuous. There’s no move to disagree, but there’s also no resounding approval. Hoseok nods his head gently, twirling a shoot of soft purple flowers beneath his nose; Changkyun finger-walks his way down his thigh absently; Hyungwon clenches and unclenches and clenches again the stalk of the lily, staring eerily at his hands, while Minhyuk, just as hollow, presses their thighs together and watches him closely; Jooheon makes a movement to speak, but stops short when he realises he doesn’t have any ties left to this town; Hyunwoo watches the fire.

We’ve done some pretty bad things, Minhyuk says. And I feel like, maybe, I should feel bad about them. But I don’t. He rests a hand on Hyungwon’s knee, eyes never looking away. I think as long as I still have all of you with me, I haven’t done anything wrong.

There’s a silent wave of understanding that passes along the circle.

As long as it’s us, Hoseok speaks up, as long as we promise to stay together, I guess I’ll do anything for you guys. He shoots Minhyuk a smile, and it’s returned.

Anything, Jooheon repeats, and then worms his hand into Hyunwoo’s. Kihyun stays silent, opting to nudge Changkyun with his elbow and relishing in the younger’s smirk.

Hyungwon feels a squeeze on his knee, and tips the blossomed head of his lily into the hearth, watching it shrivel and burn almost immediately. There’s a subtle tinge of envy that lingers on the surface of his slowly-warming high, and Hyungwon clings to the stem while the petals char, wishing that he could go far, far back. He takes a second to make a quick prayer, and drops the whole thing in. The plant is swallowed, and he rests his hand on top of Minhyuk’s, eyes falling closed.

Minhyuk nods his head slowly. Anything, he whispers.

Hyungwon squeezes back. Everything.

-

The flowers in the corner of the room had completely wilted. On the day they decide to leave, Hyungwon and Minhyuk take one last trip to the room with the old claw-foot tub. Minhyuk sits on the edge and watches Hyungwon scrape the dirt away with his boot, ruining the fresh white soles.

I guess we couldn’t bring them back, Hyungwon sighs, scrubbing the grime away and uprooting the last sign of the plants. Minhyuk finds familiarity in this scene, and reaches out to draw Hyungwon closer, but his grasp is rejected when Hyungwon faces him and presses their hands together instead.

We’ll plant more, Minhyuk assures, disregarding the fact that they have no idea where they’re even going.

Instead of responding properly, Hyungwon says, Thank you for being there when I woke up. He doesn’t say, Thank you for bringing me back, or, I’m sorry I tried to kill myself, or, I love you and I’m never going to leave you all alone ever again, or any of the things Minhyuk wants to hear. But his words hold a significance that satisfies nonetheless. Minhyuk tugs him closer, wrapping his arms around Hyungwon’s waist and burying his face in his stomach. The danger of crushing his ribcage is still present, but the smell of pungent flowers wafting off of him is stronger than ever, so Minhyuk keeps his face pressed into the front of his shirt and breathes him in.