Chapter Text
The landscape outside the car has been unremarkable for some time now, but after being in the car for this long, Yeosang finds he doesn’t mind.
There’s a pattern to it, he’s noticed. Once they’d pulled away from the city’s tall buildings and busy streets, the world outside had flattened quickly; long stretches of road and the fields beside them occasionally broken up by a cluster of trees, maybe a farmhouse now and then. And then, after enough of the rolling nothingness, a cluster of buildings will eventually spring up, signs of life announcing they’re nearing another town, another crush of buildings to weave through, then eventually leave behind.
They’ve been driving for a little over an hour now, and Yeosang’s watched this pattern play out several times. And as it is, considering the way small businesses have begun dotting their surroundings, it won’t be long until he and the man he's just met will be passing through another town.
The man, Kim Hongjoong, has been quiet, affable for the duration of the ride.
He’s been nothing but polite since they’d met up in the waiting room of the hybrid wellness facility; offering a firm handshake, a warm smile, plenty of kind words about how excited he was that Yeosang had taken him up on this offer, that he’d really been hoping this would all work out.
Yeosang, for his part, had done his best to play along. He’s sure Hongjoong has noticed the stiffness in his posture, the way his eyes flit around the room– everywhere but Hongjoong’s own gaze. Everything about him announced that he was so terribly uncomfortable, unprepared, and yet Hongjoong pretended not to notice any of it.
Instead, he’d only offered to help Yeosang carry his bags as they’d made their way out to the parking lot.
“This is an incredible opportunity, Yeosang.”
The voice of his case worker bounces around in Yeosang’s head, as it has been incessantly since she’d first called him down to her office four days prior.
“This is the kind of thing I daydream about happening to one of my clients.” She’d said that day, opening a folder full of paperwork, her computer screen swiveled to show him the email she’d received.
He’d skimmed over the words in front of him, mostly catching the intent behind them, but it was hard to focus when there was another person in the room practically vibrating while he'd read.
He'd met Ms Yoon on the first day he'd been taken in, and her cheerful smile and can-do attitude hadn't faltered since. Yeosang tried to appreciate it.
“Full housing, amenities included, at no cost of your own,” She’d held out her hand, extending a finger for each benefit. “A private room, and your share of a monthly stipend for food and toiletries. The property is huge, backed up against miles of woods and trails and– Yeosang,”
She’d looked at him then, chased down his nervous gaze and stared with the kind of intensity that demanded he pay attention. She must have seen how his mind had a tendency to wander, that the distraction never quite left him. But in this moment, her eyes pleaded with him to focus, to listen.
“All of this in a hybrid autonomous zone with no collar mandate.”
That was supposed to rock his world, he could tell. There had been no reaction he could have given her short of gasping his lungs to fullness that would have been appropriate, and he’d almost felt bad at the slight twitch of interest his ears had given instead.
“Oh wow, that’s–” Yeosang had paused for a moment, studying his hands folded gently in front of him. “I didn’t know that was a real thing.”
“It barely is,” Ms Yoon had affirmed, voice softening. “This place– this whole outfit– is the result of so much aggressive campaigning and hard work, I can’t even imagine. There aren’t a lot of programs like this and they’re very small… Chances like this don’t come around for everyone, Yeosang.”
“Have you ever been to Soheul?”
Hongjoong’s voice pulls Yeosang from his thoughts, the hypnotism of the road severed. Yeosang starts, feeling his ears perk to attention before the question registers.
“Mm, no.” He answers after a pause. “Never anything more than passing through, I think.”
“Alright.” Hongjoong says, nodding. Most of the talk between them so far has been like this, fleeting, surface-level, little more than polite sounds to fill the lull between songs on the radio. “It’s a little small, but it’s a nice enough place. We’re coming up on it actually, pretty soon.”
Yeosang nods, having nothing to add. He’s hardly a sparkling conversationalist around those he considers friends, let alone a stranger. But Hongjoong takes no offense to the quiet, or at least doesn’t show it.
None of this, from the pickup at the facility to the long awkward drive and the sparse conversation in between, has seemed to throw him. It all feels practiced, feels routine, and for that Yeosang is grateful.
“Why me?” He’d asked back then, when the offer was first laid out for him. “What are– how did they know I was here? What are they– I’m sorry, this isn’t really making sense to me.”
Ms Yoon's eyes had softened at that, maybe recognizing how much she’d dumped into his lap at once. She’d taken a moment to construct her answer while Yeosang had sipped uncomfortably from a lukewarm bottle of water.
“It’s a lot, yeah.” She’d agreed after the pause. “But I’ve been emailing with Kim Hongjoong– he sort of heads up the program at the house– and he seems like a great guy. He’s been involved with various hybrid independence projects since he was a teenager, and this is one he’s been running for a while. It’s–” She’d shrugged, laughing, “It’s a house. A big old house full of hybrids who live on their own. They drive, they get jobs, they learn to interface with humans and other hybrids… They’re allowed to freely live their lives. They’re stress-testing freedom.”
At the time, Yeosang had struggled to swallow this, and even today, in the car, the reality of what he’s been given still feels intangible and far away. But he’d nodded then, furrowing his brow, staring at his interlaced fingers.
“Right, right. That makes sense, I think. But why me?” He’d looked up at her then, head tilting to the left.
Ms Yoon paused, her giddiness tempering out, and then nodded as though to say, fair enough.
“Well, from what he’s told me,” she started, “He has a list of websites for facilities, shelters, rehab centers– anywhere a hybrid might be looking to take their next big step. And any time there’s a vacancy in the house, he combs through them looking for someone suitable.”
She paused, making sure Yeosang was following. He was, but it wasn't really helping.
“Apparently there’s a whole thing on their end, rounds of debate and discussion on whether someone would be a good addition before the invite even goes out. But they’ve made their call. They like you. They want to know if you’re interested.”
Yeosang hesitated.
There were so many practical reasons he could turn her down. No thank you, he preferred the routine and safety of the wellness facility. Or, no, the prospect of so much change so suddenly was too overwhelming. He’s sure he could have balked at the idea of being secretly chosen by a group of strangers in the countryside, and Ms Yoon would have understood his discomfort instantly.
But beneath all the rational hesitance, phantom claws pricked at his skin. His stomach clenched. It demanded to know, in what world was it appropriate for Yeosang to go live in practical freedom while he was still out there alone?
Ms Yoon had caught the conflict as it bloomed across his face. She’d surely seen that expression many times in the three months that they’d known each other; no matter how many times a modicum of progress had been offered to Yeosang, the immediate backpedaling began.
But what choice did he have?
He’d told her, of course, about the black cat. Told anyone who might be able to help. Then he’d told anyone else that was willing to listen. At this point, Yeosang’s pretty sure there's not a worker in this facility that hasn't been asked for advice.
But after a certain point, those matters were simply out of the hands of a rehab center. Their jobs, the resources they had, were made to help Yeosang and other hybrids at their facility. After they’d passed on the information to Rescue and Rehoming, there was no other choice but to leave the case to them, and to hope.
“Yeosang,” Ms Yoon's voice had been as gentle as she could make it, but he’d still heard the hint of exasperation there. Of course she couldn't understand why he wouldn’t jump at this opportunity. He didn't blame her. “Do you really think he wants you to sit in that gray little room all day, waiting for him to come back?”
The patience inside him curdled. He’d frowned, ears folding back in distaste.
“Please don't say that.” He'd said, fighting the urge to scowl. “You’ve never even met him.”
He ignored, of course, that she was correct.
“Right,” her posture deflated, yielding at the change in his tone. “I’m sorry. I overstepped.”
She really did sound apologetic, which Yeosang appreciated.
She’d never tried to belittle the situation with the black cat. She never gave him that look of pity, the one that silently told him exactly how much hope she had for the case. Maybe it was thanks to that, that he’d been able to actually listen when she spoke next.
“But you’ve been dealt so many difficult hands, Yeosang, and not nearly enough chances to start fresh. This could be the best thing to come into your life since– well.” She’d perked an eyebrow at that, silently asking if she’d gone too far. Yeosang chose not to say.
“And, of course you don’t have to decide today. Take some time, think it over. Here.”
She’d gathered the papers in front of her into a single folder, patting them down until they were even and then handing it over.
“They sent over their own welcome packet, kind of. It’s a bunch of introductions, some information about the house and what to expect, a few testimonials. Maybe give it a read and then tell me what you think?”
Yeosang took another drink from his water bottle, not meeting her eyes as he shrugged in defeat.
Okay. He could agree to that.
He’d taken the folder, taken her parting words to please, seriously consider this, and had left the room without much more said. And he really did think, at least in the moment, that he’d be able to make himself sit down and read over what had been presented to him. He’d sit himself down, push through the fog of his thoughts, and make himself think about those awful, dreaded, terrible next steps.
But then he’d made it back to his room. Back to gray-silver walls and gray-blue carpet, and the light of early summer filtering in through sterile, white curtains. The room, small and spartan, had immediately sapped any warmth from him, as it always seemed to do.
When they'd offered him a roommate upon intake, he’d declined. The idea of sharing the space with someone other than the black cat– the thought of replacing him– had made Yeosang’s skin crawl.
You have to keep it open for him, he’d insisted, pretending not to see the doubt writ plain on the faces of those around him. When you find him, he’s going to want to room with me. He won't want to be anywhere else.
And he still believes that, fully, down to the bone. Three months in and nothing's going to change. But believing also made every glance around the empty room a reminder, loud and glaring, that he still wasn’t back. That another day had passed without him, plain and unremarkable as the last.
And now, they were trying to get Yeosang to leave without him.
If he were to leave, they’d promise to keep him informed. The professionals in Recovery and Rehoming had told Yeosang plenty of times that his facility’s number would be the first they’d call, should anything come up. But that didn’t feel like the point.
There, in the facility, Yeosang was still in the aftermath of it all, picking up the pieces while waiting for his other half to catch up. And it was long and gray and empty and alone, but it was still only one step removed from before. The immediate past still felt tangible, perpetually just a couple weeks ago.
But if he were to entertain this idea, then that would be another step away. That would be new sights, new places, new names that he’d be surrounded by, and all without the one who was supposed to be there beside him. They’d tell him that it wasn’t that simple, but Yeosang’s gut knew the truth; they’re telling you to leave him behind.
The folder landed with a dull slap on his bedside table, where it sat, untouched, as Yeosang instead perched on the edge of his bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest and watched where the edge of the curtain fluttered softly in the breeze, and tried not to think about anything at all.
Yeosang must miss the road sign that announces they’ve made it within the city limits of Soheul, but Hongjoong doesn’t. Suddenly, wordlessly, he pulls one hand from the steering wheel and reaches for his neck, hooking a single finger beneath the smooth fabric wrapped around it and giving a decisive yank.
The collar comes free smoothly, with enough ease that Yeosang wonders if he’d even had it fully clasped in the back. Hongjoong discards it thoughtlessly, tossing it up on the dashboard and going back to driving as though nothing of note had happened. Yeosang stares at the collar, tries not to stare at Hongjoong, and feels his fingers twitch in his lap.
“You don’t have to,” Hongjoong tells him without taking his eyes off the road. Yeosang isn’t sure whether the hesitation is just that visible in his body language, or maybe this too is routine, but Hongjoong carries no expectation or judgement in his voice. “But you can.”
Still, it takes Yeosang another minute to pull the trigger. Twenty-two years of conditioning to keep his identification easily accessible to any authority who might need it doesn't just vanish because they drove over an invisible line. At least, not for him.
The black cat had hated collars, vocally so, for as long as Yeosang had known him. He'd much preferred contorting himself into his human presentation; pinning down his ears with hairclips, wrapping his tail around a leg or the waistband of his shorts, hoarding an endless collection of colored contacts, all to keep the short strap of fabric off his neck.
To Yeosang, a collar was something that simply was. Like so many things, he’d been taught not to question it, that doing so was causing an unnecessary fuss. If he wants to go somewhere, then he wears shoes, he wears pants, he wears collars.
But to the black cat, hybrid collars had always been another signal of repression, another form of othering. He complained loudly and often, challenging Yeosang’s complacency and daring him to just try a hat and jacket instead, but Yeosang had never folded. Breaking protocol just wasn't something he could do.
But now, here he is with a free chance to discard the collar, consequence-free. It’s unfair enough to make Yeosang’s stomach turn.
It takes him an extra moment to fiddle with the clasp, he usually only takes it off to sleep or shower, and his throat feels bare and almost vulnerable when it's gone.
He copies Hongjoong then, tossing the collar up on the dashboard and watching it land with a heavy clunk. Beside him, Hongjoong makes a pleased sound.
“Ha, does it feel weird?” He asks, briefly gesturing to his throat. Yeosang chews the inside of his lip.
“Kind of, yeah,” he admits. Hongjoong seems pleased to hear it.
“You get used to it,” He says, and when Yeosang looks, he finds the other man's eyes crinkling above his smile.
Hongjoong is an interesting sight. Yeosang doesn't know many small prey hybrids; he'd rarely interacted with any hybrids other than dobermans during training. And in the aftermath of that, his next lifetime wasn't particularly conducive to being both tiny and fragile, at least not without the claws to back it up. Big dogs and small squirrels don't really walk the same life paths, where he's from.
But even if Hongjoong is on the small side, he hardly seems fragile. His body is lean and well-muscled, and where one might expect a squirrel hybrid to be skittish or nervous, he instead holds himself with comfortable confidence. Maybe he has to, with such bold, eye-catching traits.
Both the human hair atop his head and the fur on his ears is a bright, brandished orange that borders on amber in the sun. His secondary set of ears grew in just behind his human ones, made tall and noticeable by the tufts of fur that grow from the tips.
And while Yeosang’s eye is instinctively drawn to the movement of those ears, the soft swivels and twitches up top, his periphery is mostly filled with the long, tall, and impossibly lush tail that Hongjoong’s tucked in the back seat.
That had been impressive to see, back at the facility as they’d loaded up Yeosang’s luggage and readied themselves for the drive. Hongjoong had proudly showed off his altered driver’s seat, the C-shaped opening made specifically for his tail to fit through, and the clean, careful stitching on the material that enclosed it.
Hongjoong, chest puffed out, one hand dangling out the driver's side window, had told him how it had been specially made for him as a gift, or a thank-you, rather, after he’d helped rally support for an auto body shop when they'd gotten flack for hiring their first hybrid employee.
His grin almost seemed to glow as he talked about it, pink-tinted nose scrunching at the memory.
Over the time they spend in the car, Hongjoong shares a lot of stories like that. He's clearly very driven, and he has an endless well of stories about helping down-and-out hybrids who cross his path, and then of the kindnesses that others have done for him in return. Yeosang finds himself not surprised that this is the guy offering free room and board to random hybrids he looked up online.
And though Hongjoong is endlessly able to pick another friend, another favor out of thin air to expand on, his voice as he speaks is never proud.
Or, no, that’s not right. Yeosang can see that this man is very proud of the things he’s had a hand in building. But he’s not haughty about it, not boastful. Instead, Yeosang is almost reminded of a father who can’t stop bringing up his kids’ accomplishments.
It makes all of this, the long drive, the uncertainty ahead, feel a little less like he’s moving from one cold, gray room to the next. What it feels like he's moving towards, he isn't sure. But he thinks, considering Hongjoong's tone, he's going somewhere warm.
“I don’t think I can go,” Yeosang had told Ms Yoon two days after he’d been given the offer. He’d stood in her office, welcome packet long forgotten, eyes trained on the floor in front of him. He didn’t dare allow himself to look up, to take in whatever expression would replace the kind, hopeful one she’d been wearing when he’d arrived.
“I can’t… It doesn’t feel right, yet. I think– You can just tell them to choose somebody else.”
“Oh, Yeosang.” She’d made no attempt to hide her disappointment, that soft, sad lilt in her voice. “Yeosang, I told you. They went through several databases looking for someone the whole household agreed they wanted to meet. There is no one else.”
Yeosang didn’t necessarily think that was true. He had a feeling that, upon getting the rejection email, it likely wouldn’t be long until the house found itself another suitable warm body to take his place. But he'd known that wasn't the point Ms Yoon was trying to make. She wanted him to feel special, feel chosen.
“I just don’t…” He wished he’d prepared a better counter-argument. The one he'd had; a rock in his gut and the overwhelming desire to stay put so he could be found, wasn’t doing much for his case. Sputtering to Ms Yoon in short bursts about how he just wasn’t sure, and it didn’t feel right, and maybe he’d think it over but it was probably better just to pass– none of this was doing much to move the needle.
She’d leaned forward then, frustration clearing and a smile warming her features, as she’d let his rambling come to a close.
“Yeosang-ah,” She’d said sweetly, eyebrow curving, “Who are you trying to convince?”
He’d started at that, ears flattening, a dry little cough working its way out of his throat. The thin, broken noise served as his answer.
Fair enough.
But it was Ms Yoon’s turn to avoid Yeosang’s eyes next, as she turned to study the spread of documents on her desk. Yeosang caught it in an instant, her slight wince, the way the skin of her cheek went taut as she bit down inside of it.
When Yeosang didn't provide more of an answer and the silence stretched too long, Ms Yoon let out an extended exhale. She took a moment to shuffle the papers on her desk as she collected her thoughts, and then,
“And, there’s something else.”
A bolt of dread, heavy and instant, hit him straight in the chest. If this were good news, he wouldn’t be hearing it on a random end-of-day walk-in. Yeosang swallowed heavily before he asked, “What?”
“You are welcome here as long as it takes you to find your path, that will never change,” Ms Yoon assured him, no doubt watching the panic spread across his features. “But, there is the matter of capacity.”
“Capacity.” Yeosang had parroted. It took him a second to connect the concept to his own situation, and Ms Yoon waited patiently, until the realization hit.
“They want to… a roommate? Me?”
Ms Yoon gave him a slow nod in response.
“R&R just agreed to take on twenty rescues from a hoarding situation in Uijeongbu. And while that doesn’t guarantee you’ll be rooming with one of them, it does narrow the field significantly if we get another surge. We can’t hide you away forever, Yeosang.”
…But can’t you try?
He didn’t say it, of course. He swallowed down every panicked thought, mind racing to process the information in a calm and collected way. He’d known he’d failed miserably when a high-pitched, panicked whine split the air between them.
“I’m sorry,” He said quickly, clearing his throat again, pulling in heavy breaths to calm his suddenly-racing heart. “That wasn’t– I just don’t– are you sure?”
“Afraid so.” Ms Yoon said, reaching for the box of tissues at the edge of her desk. Yeosang is no crier, he’d bite the inside of his lip raw before he let the tears so much as build up in his eyes. But in that moment, it must have looked like the dam was about to burst. And in a way, it was.
He couldn’t– they couldn’t– that space was already spoken for. Claimed.
But he couldn’t say that to her. If he did, he almost guaranteed that look. Or worse, another recommendation to talk to one of the on-site therapists about how he’d been processing things. She’d never showed him a shred of doubt or pity when it came to his hope for the black cat, and that was the last moment he wanted to see it.
So instead, he’d panicked. Mind seizing, emotion had burned away like a still morning fog. And in the clarity left behind, Yeosang’s goal crystalized; no roommate. Do not replace him. All other priorities fall secondary to this goal.
“You said,” Yeosang had told her, pulling his wandering mind back into the stiff cage of his body, schooling his expression back to neutrality and taking in a deep, deep breath, “That I get my own room at the hybrid house?”
It had taken Ms Yoon a moment to respond, as she’d stared at Yeosang for a beat longer than necessary, and then a couple more. Yeosang had sniffed; maybe she wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of his training, and how important an impassive expression could be on someone in the guarding profession.
When Ms Yoon finally managed to gather her thoughts, she’d answered, almost confusedly, “...Yes?”
She couldn’t believe it was about to be that easy, either.
“Tell him,” Yeosang had said then, voice suddenly even and calm. There was no second-guessing, no more uhms and ahs, only the path in front of him that his feet now demanded he walk. “Tell him I’ll take the room, whenever it’s ready.”
She was debating whether to push back, Yeosang could see it in her eyes. However she'd wanted this to go, jumping from one rash decision to another clearly hadn’t been part of the plan. Yeosang could say the same for himself.
“I…” She’d said, eyes suddenly fixed back on her papers and the need to organize them into neat, even stacks. Her eyebrows had raised, then evened out after a beat. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll let them know.”
It’s another ten minutes before the landscape shifts again; the buildings thin back out, trees and grassy fields taking their place. Yeosang blinks in surprise as Hongjoong takes an unexpected right, pulling off from the road and down an unpaved sidestreet. A mailbox or driveway will show up now and again, tucked between thick rows of trees and shrubbery, but it’s minutes before the car actually turns down one of them.
The gravel driveway gives way to a large yard, lawn maintained to a point on either side, the rest of the property flanked by thick woodland. As Hongjoong pulls in further, Yeosang gets the first glance of his new home– and feels his eyebrows arch in surprise. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, something he probably could have learned from the welcome packet, had he ever given it a glance, but the house they pull up to is so… nice.
Large, modern, two-storied. There are tall first-floor windows that overlook a well-tended garden, split down the middle by stone pathing that connects the driveway to the porch. The driveway continues further in past the house to a separate garage and behind that; nothing but trees.
Yeosang knows he shouldn’t be so impressed by what is, by all measures, a comfortable middle-class home. But up until this point, his life has been dominated by gray-walled facilities and tall chainlink fences, and then, later, the crowded crush of alleyways and tall apartment buildings. Preparing himself to walk into an everyday, normal home is a surprisingly alien feeling.
“Ah, Yeosang-ssi, can we talk for a second?”
Yeosang makes a point to keep his ears still, keep his expression neutral. They’ve been in the car for at least an hour and a half at this point, they’ve had plenty of time to talk already. But, then again, it’s not like he’s about to tell Hongjoong no.
“Of course,” Yeosang says amicably, taking his eyes off of the house and refocusing back on his current company. “Is everything okay?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you, actually.” Hongjoong says, reaching up to idly smooth out the hair behind his ears. There’s concern in his voice, in the way he’s meeting Yeosang’s eyes, and Yeosang fumbles under it. “It’s not– you didn’t do anything wrong, at all. It’s just, it’s unusual for a houseguest to kind of join up this way.”
Yeosang just looks at him, understanding but not. All of this is unusual to him.
Hongjoong continues, “I mean, from offer to acceptance, without making contact with anyone else or coming by to see the house, and in such a short amount of time… That’s not usually how this goes.”
Yeosang nods along, face impassive. These are all fair observations, and part of him, if anything, is relieved to know that the program he’s joined is headed up by someone who cares enough to notice, to ask.
“Ah, right.” Yeosang says. “Everything came on a bit suddenly, but I thought I should–” Take what felt like the lesser of two evils at the time. “Take an opportunity like this as quickly as possible.”
Hongjoong nods, studying the bangles and bracelets he’s got looped around his wrist. He fiddles with them idly as he continues,
“And that’s because you were… unhappy? There, at the facility?"
Yeosang gives a slight shake of his head, brow creasing. “I mean, I don’t– As happy as I could be, I think.” Given the circumstances.
“But you didn’t– they took care of you there?” Hongjoong asks, biting into his lip. “When someone takes an out at the first possible opportunity without even a quick look at where they’re going, it’s not really a huge endorsement for how they’ve been treated previously. If that makes sense.”
The intent behind Hongjoong’s question hits Yeosang a little over half way through him trying to find a polite way to finish his thought. Yeosang almost can’t bite back the smile that pulls at his cheeks, surprised by how endeared he is by it.
“Oh, no, they were– the facility was fine. They were nice, good. Professional. Good.” They’d kept him warm, fed, clean; it was more than he could say for his life before then. He’d had no inclination to ask for more.
“Then,” Hongjoong’s ears swivel as he talks, and it takes wide arcs to fold them back, “Why take off out of there like a bat out of hell?”
Ah.
I don't want to do this again.
The realization strikes him fast, heavy enough to make his shoulders sag. He’s said it all so many times– gotten his hopes up again and again, despite time stretching on with not even a hint of good news. It’s the same feeling as drawing a fingernail over the pebbled surface of a week-old scab, so tempting, despite the rush of pain that’s sure to follow.
But, no. It’s better to say the course, trust the professionals, and wait. Yeosang is well-trained, patient, he can wait as long as it takes.
And Hongjoong is already being generous enough as it is; opening his program, his home to Yeosang, all sight-unseen. Yeosang can’t think of a worse way to show gratitude than to start off their relationship by handing off all his excess baggage.
So Yeosang doesn’t tell him about the black cat, or the new roommate, or that he’d originally planned to turn Hongjoong down. But in the absence of an answer the silence stretches too long and when Yeosang realizes it, his lips work to find anything that can serve as a response.
He ends up staring blankly ahead, into the curtained windows of the house in front of him and says, “I don’t know what I want.”
It’s not the whole truth, and yet it feels like he’s stating a fact as clear as the mid-July morning.
There are some things, some people, some chances, that he would do anything, anything to wrap his fingers around again. But those are empty, intangible wants, indistinguishable from regrets. Remove the ability to grasp blindly for the past, and Yeosang’s list shortens considerably.
Hongjoong just makes a small noise, a kind of hm, but his face stays impassive, neutral. He gives the statement the moment it needs to breathe, nodding and pursing his lips, before turning to unbuckle himself from the seat and remove the keys from the ignition. “...Do you want to figure it out?”
In a world where it all could be so simple, absolutely. In the world he’s currently inhabiting? It’s impossible to say. But Yeosang isn’t in the mood for nuance.
“I think so.”
Hongjoong is glad to hear it. He smiles, friendly and inviting, and stuffs the car keys into his pocket. He motions towards the house in front of them.
“Well, we can start by getting out of the car.”
It’s warm outside, sunny, and the air this far outside of the city is almost sweet to taste. Yeosang can’t suppress the stretch that takes him over as he steps outside– tension sings through his spine, the muscles in his legs shivering as he stretches them out. Sunlight sinks into his arms, his cheeks, a wave of vertigo hitting him so strongly that he needs a moment to blink it away.
His mind these days is a busy thing, heavy, perpetually gray with fog. But in this moment the animal of his body is thrilled to be here, and warm, and outside and alive.
A heavy click then, as Hongjoong unlocks the trunk and moves for one of Yeosang’s two bags. Yeosang abandons his revelry to go help.
“It’s– this is a really nice place,” Yeosang says, bag in hand, as he and Hongjoong approach the porch steps. Hongjoong nods, looking proud, his tail twitching in short jerks.
“Isnt it? Sometimes I still can’t believe the city lets us use it.”
The question of the house’s ownership, of how this operation functions from the city's point of view, hadn’t occurred to Yeosang for a single second. Something on his face must convey this to Hongjoong, who takes no offense. If anything, he seems happy at the opportunity to explain.
“Yeah, there were a few we were looking at, actually, when everything was coming together. We knew we wanted something with space– space was the key word. Lots of bedrooms, big yards. But of course, with all of that comes the upkeep. So it was a real back and forth for a while, and we–”
Hongjoong walks and talks, Yeosang follows closely behind. He’s trying to pay attention to what Hongjoong’s saying, but his attention can't help but drift. Something inside him notes that the surrounding woodland makes for a very well-marked perimeter, and he’s busy trying to chase that thought away when he sees it.
Noise stops. Thought stops. The sky above them could turn purple and Yeosang wouldn't see it.
Off in the distance, curled in a patch of grass at the edge of the yard, lying in a spot where the sun paints a dappled pattern of gold between the shifting and swaying branches, lies a sleeping black cat.