Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

🐈‍⬛ 

Jisung collapses against the wall with a pained groan. 

He screws his eyes shut for a second, allowing himself a small break even if he knows he shouldn’t. He pants sharply into the night air, pressing one gloved hand to his torn suit and against the open wound on his torso, as if that might help stop the bleeding. 

He needs to patch himself up now, before he loses any more blood, and it looks like this alley is the best he’s going to get because he’s not sure he can continue much longer. 

It hurts everywhere. 

There is a ringing in his ears that is driving him insane, a telltale sign that he went overboard, and his head is spinning, his vision blurring at the edges. Blood pours warm and steady between his fingers where that monster, creature - whatever the hell that thing was - attacked him, and he shudders involuntarily at the memory. 

He had never seen anything like it before. 

Seungmin had given him pointers before he went in, as usual, and he even sent him a few pictures and diagrams, so he knew more or less what to expect. But it was one thing to hear and read about it, and another thing entirely to stand in front of it while it devoured a tray full of cocktail shrimp off the floor. 

It was a reptile of some sort, but it was about as tall as a freaking Great Dane. At first glance, it could’ve passed for a small dinosaur, but not one of the cute ones. It had a thick neck, dark plated scales, and a spiky ridge running down its spine, so really, it was more like a bloodthirsty, miniature Godzilla, but with long arms and claws. Just nightmare material. 

Whatever it was, it was completely out of place at the fancy cocktail party it somehow ended up crashing.  

When Jisung got to the hotel, the banquet hall was basically in ruins. Tables and chairs had been thrown into disarray, and remains of food, puddles of champagne, and shards of broken glass littered the marble floor. There were even blood stains in several places, still fresh and bright red, smeared messily over pristine white. 

A worker assured Jisung there had been no fatal victims, which was great, but it looked like that lizard thing had still managed to latch onto the limbs of a few unfortunate guests as they made their hysterical way out.  

Jisung was sent to help with the monster’s immobilization and recapture. 

He had never fought a weird, mutant, probably lab-grown creature before, but he’d thought - how hard could it be? It wasn’t like he had to defeat it. He only had to immobilize it, and the recovery team would handle the rest. 

It sounded simple enough on paper, especially with his powers, so he accepted the solo mission without much thought. 

But of course it turned out to be hell.  

It was already late into the evening when Seungmin sent him the details of the mission, and Jisung had been pretty tired and sleep-deprived even before that, so maybe his reflexes weren’t at their best. But maybe that by itself wouldn’t have been so bad if the mission notes hadn’t explicitly prohibited any type of structural damage to the hotel. 

That really complicated things. 

The monster was fast and vicious, and it had no qualms about property damage. 

It moved too quickly for Jisung to hurt it with his short-range sound waves alone, making it nearly impossible for him to take the offensive properly. He needed a few uninterrupted seconds to properly affect the creature’s inner ear with a sustained frequency, but that was hard to come by when it kept darting in and out, slashing at him rabidly and destroying everything in the way. 

Which meant Jisung would have to create those seconds himself. 

If he threw food at the creature, he might be able to distract it and find a vantage point from which he could attack it. Then, from afar, he could aim an ultrasonic note that left it stunned long enough for the recovery team to take it away. 

But the creature wasn’t stupid. 

Jisung tried to retreat, and as he did, he tossed a tray of tiny cocktail sandwiches across the room, hoping it would catch the creature’s attention and lure it away, but it didn’t even look at it. 

Instead, it kept going after him, somehow enraged that Jisung would even try to leave. It knocked over a table that was still standing, shattering a cascade of expensive glassware in the process, and used it as leverage to jump towards him. 

The creature’s yellow vertical pupils locked onto Jisung’s as it made its fiercest attack yet, this time from above. 

It was all so strange, so uncanny, and so different from the dangers Jisung was used to fighting against that a wave of honest-to-god fear washed over him, freezing him in place for a second too long.  

Claws sharp enough to tear through kevlar slashed at him, slicing into the flesh beneath and blooming white-hot pain across his chest. 

The force of the attack was so great that it sent Jisung crashing hard against the floor, his body sliding across spilled champagne and broken glass. His helmet took most of the impact when his head hit the marble, but not all of it, so his vision flared, and his hearing collapsed into an urgent, piercing ring. 

“Shit,” he gasped as he looked up, watching with unsteady focus as the creature advanced again, slower this time. Slow enough to lift its bloodied claw and drag its disturbingly long tongue across it, tasting him on it. 

Jisung’s stomach twisted, the taste of copper thick in his mouth and fear spiking in his veins. 

He was in trouble. 

Lying there, stunned and bleeding and probably twenty seconds away from being eaten alive, he realized he was not getting out of this without breaking a few of the rules they’d given him. 

D1 was going to have to deal with it if they wanted him alive. 

He filled his lungs with as much air as he could despite his aching, bleeding head and chest.  

Then, he unleashed it in the form of the loudest screech he was capable of.  

The sound waves were intense and unavoidable, not unlike a cannon, hitting sharply like an invisible physical force. They had the creature stopping in its tracks and growling in sudden pain, the sound guttural and distorted. Just a few seconds of that, and it lost its balance, overpowered and defenseless at last. 

But of course that wasn’t all. 

Sound waves can’t exactly be contained. 

Every light bulb in the hall exploded at the first burst of sound, plunging the room into darkness instantly. All the glass and ceramic the monster hadn’t broken yet was destroyed in rapid succession, and the massive crystal chandelier at the center of the hall burst apart, sending a rain of priceless shards crashing down. 

The fragments barely scratched the creature’s hide, but that was alright - Jisung wasn’t looking to cause external pain anyway.  

He kept going, even in the dark. 

The acute vibrations surged through the air, tightening pressure, and they burrowed into the structure of the building itself. In an instant, they overloaded the electrical system, short-circuiting in a series of sparks that burst across every lamp and outlet in the room. 

Jisung held his scream even then, until the shrillness was too much for the circuitry to handle. Light fixtures exploded into smoke and fire all around, and soon enough, the chandelier couldn’t hold anymore. 

The top of the fixture sparked, then exploded. 

The metal structure, now completely stripped of its crystals, gave out. It fell in the darkness and crashed down with a deafening crash right where the creature struggled against the force of Jisung’s scream, pinning it beneath twisted metal and debris.  

Jisung only stopped when he was sure it wasn’t moving anymore, and the silence that followed was almost louder than the noise. 

He lay there for a moment, off to the side of the ruined, dark hall. His chest heaved, his entire body trembling. His maroon suit was soaked through with blood and champagne, and dusted with shattered crystal. 

The place was destroyed, so he should expect a huge ear-pulling, but at least he was alive and the mission was completed. 

He forced himself up and slipped away as quickly as possible, running on the last fumes of adrenaline. There was no time to bask in victory. He was hurt badly, and he had to hurry back. 

He made it through the front door, where the recovery division awaited. Jisung had wanted to avoid them, but he was swarmed by them anyway, all of them asking questions. He barely processed any of it. Everything sounded warped and distant, somehow too loud and too low at the same time, so he only gave them the bare minimum. 

Yes, he went full sound bomb, and yes, the creature had been immobilized. No, he didn’t know if it was dead. 

It could be, for all he cared.  

He pushed past them as soon as he could and headed to where he’d left his bike, just a few streets away. 

Sadly, he didn’t even make it halfway there. 

All too soon, his steps slowed, unsteady and uneven. The pavement seemed to shift under his feet, his balance all over the place. 

It was obvious he couldn’t ride like this. 

He was still bleeding out. His head throbbed with every step, each pulse sharper than the last, and his vision lagged behind with every movement of his head. He’d probably crash right into a building before making it two blocks, and that would be a billion times more pathetic than getting killed by the monster. 

He could make it to a safehouse instead. There had to be one nearby. 

Except his tech was gone. His GPS, helmet, coms - he’d fried everything with his scream, so it wasn't like he could look one up, or ask Seungmin for the address. 

It was all just great. 

Maybe he could ask a civilian for a phone and use it to call Chan’s personal number. Civilians liked them well enough, so finding one who wanted to help him should be easy work. But first, he needed to stop the bleeding. 

That was how he ended up in this alley, halfway between the fancy hotel and his parked bike, half-hidden in the dark and cut off from everything and everybody. 

The blood loss had gotten even worse after moving around so much. He could feel the warm liquid trickling between his fingers and down his body, seeping into the torn threads of hyper-resistant fabric.  

It was a battle against time, because dizziness was starting to chew at the edges of his vision. His knees gave out, and he slid down the wall, the back of his helmet screeching when it scratched against bricks on his way to the ground. 

Focus. He needed to focus. 

His breath hitched at a mind-numbing spike of pain as he reached blindly for his utility belt. 

He had antiseptic, gauze, and scissors in there. An adrenaline shot for emergencies, too, which - actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea. It would probably keep him from passing out and give him a few minutes to work with. If this wasn’t an emergency, Jisung didn’t know what was.  

His gloved hand fumbled with the clasp of one of the pouches, but his fingers were not cooperating, shaking and slick with blood.  

He gritted his teeth in frustration, sweat gathering on his temples.  

“Come on,” he breathed, the words slurring together and barely audible even to himself. 

The clasp only gave on his fourth attempt. He quickly fished out the injector, but his relief was short-lived because it slipped from his shaky grip almost right away. The syringe clattered against the concrete, the sound shrill enough that it hurt his damaged ears. 

“No,” he hissed in frustration, reaching out without looking, patting the ground around him for the injector. He grazed it with his fingertips, but he accidentally pushed it further from reach in his haste. 

His breath stuttered as he sank even further in his desperation to reach for the syringe, his body sliding down the wall until he was barely upright at all. His breath was coming in shallow and uneven puffs, and his eyelids suddenly felt way too heavy to keep them open. 

This was bad. 

He could barely tell up from down anymore. 

Then - 

Something caught his attention. 

A sound, strange but familiar, that cut through the ringing and pain in his ears. 

It was not from the city, or the recoil from his own powers. 

It seemed to come from the sky. 

Featherlight footsteps against concrete, the faint but unmistakable squeak of leather, the buzz of a whip cutting through air. 

Suddenly, a shadow dropped from above, and if Jisung wasn’t Jisung and he didn’t have his hearing, it would’ve taken him by surprise. A black-clad figure landed on the ground in front of him with feline grace, kicking up a faint cloud of dust around it. 

Jisung’s head tipped back instinctively to look, even with his body still slumped over and his arm still outstretched, fingers curled up on the ground. His movements were slow and delayed, like his body was taking too long to listen to him. 

“Well, look at that,” a familiar voice drawled, low and amused, though it sounded wrong and almost foriegn to Jisung’s damaged ears. “What do we have here?” 

Jisung swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching. He forced his eyes open wider, his vision struggling to focus on the figure. 

Black boots. A tactical black, tight-fitting leather bodysuit that seemed to perfectly hug the defined body underneath it. 

Jisung easily recognized that sharp jawline, fully exposed, and that fitted black hood covering the man's head. A pair of oversized goggles with opaque amber lenses sat low over his eyes, obscuring the upper half of his face. The hood itself tapered into two small, pointed spikes at the top, like a pair of stylized cat ears. 

Of course. 

Even at a time like this, he just had to show up. 

Jisung let out something like a weak, breathless laugh. 

“Stray,” he greeted, but his voice cracked pathetically. He swallowed again, tasting blood in the back of his throat. Ugh. “It’s not —” his breath hitched. “Not a good time.” 

The man tilted his head slightly, curiously, studying Jisung more attentively. 

“You seem quite beaten up.” 

Jisung nodded faintly, his eyes already slipping shut again. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “I’m aware.” 

He tried to push himself upright, hoping to recover at least some of his dignity in front of the other man, but he failed instantly. His arm buckled and he went down fully this time, the whole world tilting on its axis. His vision went dark, and then he heard the crack of his helmet hitting the ground. His other arm fell from where he had been pressing his hand to the wound on his chest, and the movement tugged the skin open anew. A fresh wave of blood came flowing out, spreading fast around him. 

Great. 

“Whoa. Hey, One...?” Stray started, stepping closer quickly now, the crunch of debris under his boots turning sharper. “Are you…?” 

Jisung couldn’t hold it together anymore. A pained sound left him, somewhere between a groan and a whine. He tried to nod, but all he felt was the scrape of concrete against his helmet. 

He could barely hear himself when he slurred. “Help me.” 

“Shit,” Stray muttered under his breath, and just like that, all the teasing was gone from his voice. He dropped down on the ground before Jisung could warn him about the blood, but he didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. 

Gloved hands grabbed Jisung by the arms, steady and nimble, and lifted him from the floor. He closed his eyes and let himself be pulled up and in, pressed against something warm and solid, but so much softer than the ground had been. 

“How are you bleeding this much? What the hell happened to you?” Stray asked, voice tight with concern now. He guided Jisung with his hands gently until his head lolled back against his shoulder, helmet knocking softly against leather. 

His words barely registered, though. 

Jisung couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. The darkness behind them was too heavy, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. He could really go for a nap, and Stray’s shoulder made a surprisingly good pillow. 

An arm tightened around him, anchoring him there. 

“FX come in,” Stray called, not to Jisung but to someone else, his voice tinged with urgency. “I’ve got a… situation, you could say.” 

A deep voice answered directly through his comms. It was familiar, Jisung had heard it through Stray’s earpiece many times before, but right now it was too distorted and distant to make out. 

“Yeah. I need a pickup," Stray said. "Not the bike, though. I need H to bring the car. And a bunch of plastic foil, too. It’s a bloodbath.” 

He paused, the deep voice in his comms exclaiming something into his ear before he replied. “No, it’s not me, I’m fine. It’s… someone else. You’ll see. Just – please tell H to hurry, alright?” 

Jisung felt shuffling again, and the next time Stray spoke it was right by his ear. 

“Hey. One,” he spoke sternly, his hand coming up to tap lightly against the side of Jisung’s helmet before it settled on his jaw, so he could cradle his face. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, you hear me? Stay with me.” 

Jisung tried to make a sound of acknowledgement at that, but he probably didn’t succeed. His fingers twitched weakly where they rested against Stray’s jacket, like holding onto him might be enough to keep himself here, but it wasn’t. 

He’d been holding on for far too long already, and he was so, so tired. 

The last thing he registered was warmth and the solid presence of arms around him and a gloved hand on his jaw before the whole world went dark. 

🐈‍⬛ 

Consciousness comes back slow and strange, like goops of melted chocolate. 

Coincidentally, that is also the first thing he becomes aware of when he wakes: the smell of chocolate - sweet, and warm and enticing. 

Jisung sniffs the air with interest, chasing the unexpected scent through the haze in his mind. It is rich and soft, way too real to be a part of whatever dreamless pit he’s crawling out of.  

Before he can really begin to appreciate it, though, a wave of intense pain crashes over him, flooding him from head to toe. It’s strong enough to make him hiss, his breath catching in his throat, but there is something weirdly dull at the same time, like someone put a heavy blanket over his nerves. 

As awareness slowly returns, Jisung realizes his entire body feels that way. Heavy, sluggish, and throbbing with a crushing but muted ache. There’s a ringing in his ears that just won’t stop, loud enough that he can hardly make out anything else, and that is so odd. 

The world is not supposed to be this quiet. 

He grits his teeth, swallowing a pained sound threatening to escape his lips, and instinctively brings a hand to his chest, where the pain seems particularly intense. 

That’s when things start finally clicking into place, the smoke in his brain clearing. 

He realizes a number of things. 

First, he’s lying on a bed. It’s not a particularly great bed, from the feel of it, and the mattress seems a little worn, but it’s comfortable enough. 

Second, he’s… half naked, apparently? At least, he feels cool air directly on his skin, so he can take an educated guess and infer he’s not wearing anything from the waist up. From the waist down, though… 

He frowns, opening his eyes in a rush to try to look down at himself under the blanket, but it’s like a dagger pierces his brain when he does, so he shuts his eyelids tight once again.  

Okay, bad idea. No looking yet. 

Grimacing, he pats himself under the covers and discovers that he’s shirtless but not completely naked. He only seems to be wearing his underwear, though, which is kind of strange. 

A little more patting himself leads him to discover that there is a thick bandage wrapped tight and secure around his chest. It covers most of his torso, too, so that probably explains the generalized pain. Whatever’s under there must be nasty. 

Whoever patched him up must have taken off his suit to help him, leaving him half naked like that while he slept the mission away. 

Wait -  

His suit. 

The mission. 

His identity. 

That thought pierces through the haze, sudden and sharp. 

There is a flicker of panic as Jisung’s hand flies to his head, fingers tangling immediately in slightly damp, messy hair. 

No helmet either. And he doesn’t remember making it home, or even somewhere remotely safe. 

Was he kidnapped? 

It wouldn’t be the first time, but it would be the first time it happens to him during a mission and in full disguise. 

Unless he isn’t in full disguise anymore. 

His stomach drops. 

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, quickly dragging his hand down from his exposed hair to his face. Thankfully, his fingers find the leather of his domino mask still clinging stubbornly to his skin, covering his eyes and forehead, and he exhales in genuine relief.  

Alright, at least he still has that. Whoever kidnapped him at least seems to have manners and a semblance of respect for the concept of secret identities — 

“Relax, already.” 

A voice comes out of nowhere, cutting through the hazy, unsettlingly quiet mess in Jisung’s head. It should be sweet and pleasant, but it is not. At least not to the current state of Jisung’s ears. The voice is weirdly muffled, but also loud enough to make the ringing in Jisung’s ears intensify. It hurts, the vibrations pounding in his skull, and Jisung startles violently, bringing his hands to cover his ears, body jerking in the process. 

But that is also bad. Moving so violently only makes it all worse because it pulls at everything that hurts, everywhere in his body. 

“Hey, easy,” the voice is closer now, but it’s also softer, almost edging on concern. 

A warm hand falls on Jisung’s bare shoulder, the touch cautious but firm enough to keep him from moving any further.  

“Be careful, or you’re gonna rip something open,” the voice whispers, volume lowered to almost nothing. “Sorry, forgot about your freak hearing. Better if I talk like this?” 

It is better, yeah. The painful reverb in his brain recedes, so Jisung nods slowly in gratitude. 

He decides to try to open his eyes again, blinking them open little by little instead of just forcing them open this time. It takes a second, but his vision eventually settles enough to make out the figure standing next to him. 

The blur turns into dark blue jeans and an oversized forest green hoodie. It has varsity letters written across the chest, and the sleeves are pushed up to reveal a pair of smooth but defined forearms. 

It’s a nice, comfortable look, Jisung supposes. This person would look like just any other regular civilian if it weren’t for the fact that he’s wearing a mask. 

Only the lower half of a pretty face is visible, but just that small peek is enough of a familiar sight. 

Jisung knows this man. They’ve bumped heads so many times during the last few months, it would be rude if he didn’t recognize him. Also, that mask is kind of impossible to miss. Jisung would recognize those oversized amber goggles anywhere, even if they sit over eyes Jisung has never seen before. They were his goggles not too long ago, until the fateful day their paths first crossed last year. 

There is also the fitted black hood, with those sharp little points sewn into the top and stylized like cat ears. It’s unique and unmistakable, and Jisung has always thought it looks kind of cool, even if Seungmin thinks it looks stupid. 

He can’t help but let out a weak huff of laughter. 

“It’s you,” he rasps. 

Of course it’s him.  

Jisung remembers now, at least for the most part.  

Many details are still fuzzy, but he seems to recall the most important things. 

He remembers the bloodthirsty creature and how it nearly slashed him open at that fancy banquet hall. He remembers screaming, a rain of priceless crystals, and a giant chandelier trapping the monster underneath. Then, he remembers stumbling down the street, making his way into a nearby alley while bleeding out, and Stray dropping from the rooftops like a freaking nocturnal predator. A panther, almost, with all that black leather and sexy boots. 

The corner of Stray’s lips lifts into a small smirk when he catches Jisung staring.  

“It’s me,” he whispers with a nod. 

He doesn’t look like much of a panther now, though. More like a random college kid with a weird mask - which, Jisung realizes, is probably exactly what he is. 

“You look weird,” Jisung can’t help but say, not without difficulty. “No offense.” 

Stray lets out a quiet laugh. 

“That’s the first thing you have to say? Seriously?” he asks. “Not ‘thank you for saving my life’ or ‘wow, Stray, you are so amazing and sexy, I will be in debt with you forever, how could I ever repay you’?” 

“You’re wearing a hoodie,” Jisung points out instead, ignoring Stray’s little rant. “And jeans.” 

“Ah, yeah…” Stray says, glancing down at himself. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ruin the fantasy for you, but I don’t actually lounge around at home in skin-tight leather,” he pauses for a second before adding, his tone teasing. “I mean, I could if that’s what you’re into. Could even get the whip.” 

The insinuation isn’t lost on Jisung, but he’s already learned to take Stray’s shameless, relentless flirting with a grain of salt. 

Or a lot of salt, actually.  

Falling for that very flirting was how he lost the goggles the first time. 

Besides, there is a piece of information in Stray’s words that just seems way more important than any empty flirting, even in Jisung’s confused and achy state. 

“Home?” He echoes. “You brought me to your home?” 

Stray pauses, leveling Jisung with a look he can’t see through the opaque lenses. 

“Hm, who knows?” Stray settles on, which is definitely not a real answer, but he doesn’t give Jisung time to complain before he continues smoothly. “Anyway, think you can sit up?” 

“Uh. Maybe…?” 

Jisung tries to push himself upright under Stray’s invisible stare. It takes significantly more effort than he wants it to - it hurts to move, and his limbs are all sluggish -, but eventually, he manages to do it without help. 

Once the dizziness from moving settles enough, he finally looks around properly.

He is surprised to find the room is extremely simple, functional rather than comfortable, and barely decorated at all. There are a few yellowish stains on the ceiling, and the only source of natural light is a small rectangular window at the very top of a wall. Through it, Jisung spots what looks like the bottoms of bicycle wheels pushed up against a wall, so he takes a wild guess that they’re in a basement. 

The daylight filtering in isn’t nearly enough to illuminate the space, so most of the room is lit instead by white LED lights that are a little too cool for comfort, like they’re emulating a hospital room. 

There is an old, beat-up loveseat and a medium-sized TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. Then, to the side, a single large bookshelf crammed full with magazines and what looks like books about… art?  

Jisung squints at the spines and recognizes the names of a bunch of famous artists, museums, and art movements, which is pretty intriguing, actually. There’s a ton of them, neatly stacked and organized, most of them the kind of huge hardcovers that rich people like to use as decoration but have probably never even flipped through. These ones look read, though. 

Are they Stray’s? Could he be an arts guy?

There is also a vital signs monitor in the corner of the room, though it looks dusty enough that it probably has not been used in a while. Beside the bed stands an IV pole, much more current, connected directly to the cannula taped to Jisung’s wrist.

And that is pretty much it. That’s all there is to see. 

Aside from the bookshelf, the room looks less like somebody’s bedroom and more like a strange, makeshift recovery room hidden underneath the city. 

“Here,” Stray says suddenly, though he is still mindful not to raise his voice above a whisper for the sake of Jisung’s ears. He nudges a warm and smooth mug into Jisung’s hands, and the sweet smell of chocolate invades his senses again, even stronger than before. “It’s hot, so be careful.” 

Jisung curls his fingers around the mug, the warmth seeping into his skin comfortingly. He looks down at it, and the first thing he notices is how cute it is, a pale pink color with the drawing of an orange cat playing with a ball of yarn. 

Inside, rich brown foam swirls beneath a layer of melting whipped cream. 

Jisung blinks down at it, surprised.

“Is this… hot chocolate?" 

Stray shrugs like it is no big deal. 

“I didn’t know if you were a coffee person or a tea person, so this seemed like a safer option,” he explains. “Also, you lost a lot of blood, and it's not like I know your blood type, so in place of a transfusion, sugar and rest are the best I can do right now… I could get you something else if you don’t like it.” 

Jisung shakes his head quickly (though he regrets it immediately when his vision blurs and his head pounds). 

He’s starting to feel more and more like he got killed and went… maybe not to heaven, exactly, but to somewhere just as surreal. 

“No way, this is perfect,” Jisung says sincerely before taking a careful sip. 

The taste is perfect, the precise balance between sweet and bitter, and the texture is so silky that it even soothes his achy throat a little on the way down. It almost feels professional, actually; like something Jisung would pay for in one of those stylish cafés near campus when he’s craving something sweet. 

He can’t help but wonder, though. Did Stray buy it somewhere and then pour it into this ridiculously cute cup before giving it to him? Or did he actually make it himself? Jisung doesn’t know which scenario he likes more because both of them seem so silly and so at odds with the sexy night creature he’s used to.  

“It's my favorite, actually,” he admits, smiling up at Stray over the rim of the mug. “Thank you.” 

A self-satisfied, slightly tilted smirk spreads slowly on Stray’s lips.  

“Well, I’m glad,” he says.

He’d look very cool and nonchalant, saying that while smirking like that, if only Jisung hadn’t just noticed the slight crookedness of one of his front teeth. It’s subtle, something he somehow never noticed during all these months, but now that he has seen it, he cannot unsee it.

Stray’s tooth gets briefly caught on his lower lip when he smirks, and Jisung is hit by a sudden, probably completely misplaced, burst of cuteness aggression. 

It occurs to him that this is the first time they have ever seen each other during the day, or at least under lighting bright enough for them to actually look at one another properly.

Usually, it is rooftops and streetlights and neon signs.

Stray only ever existed in the night, and only ever in motion - never still enough for Jisung to notice something like that. Forever in the shadows, in flashes of black leather and teasing laughter.

This is nothing like that.

Jisung presses the mug against his lips to hide his smile, instead taking in the sweet scent of hot chocolate before taking another sip. 

Of course, he learned from a very young age that he should never accept drinks or food from strangers. He knows this, and he doesn’t need reminding. 

However, at the same time, Jisung reasons that if Stray really hated him and wanted him dead, there would be easier ways to go about it. He’s actually had more than enough opportunities to do it by now. He could’ve finished the job easily when Jisung was dying in his arms, or - even easier -, he could’ve simply left him there to bleed himself dry, disappeared back onto the rooftops, and never looked back.

Instead, he helped him. He somehow carried him all the way to his weird-looking home and patched him up, and was even considerate enough to let him keep his mask throughout all of it. 

Drugging or poisoning his hot cocoa would be the most unnecessarily elaborate option available when Jisung is already completely at his mercy. 

Also - Jisung isn't even sure they qualify as strangers at this point. 

They may not know each other’s real names, or even what they look like underneath their masks. He doesn’t know how old he is, or where he grew up, or what his hobbies are, or what he studies - if he studies anything at all. But Jisung could make out the sound of Stray’s boots, the whistle of his whip, and the bubbliness of his laughter from three blocks away. That has to count for something. 

Jisung takes another sip, his eyes slipping shut automatically in appreciation.  

Next to the bed, Stray’s posture finally seems to relax a little, too. The line of his shoulders loosens, his smirk softening as he turns away for a moment so he can plop down on the loveseat with casual familiarity. 

After a few more sips, Jisung feels marginally more alive. 

His headache is still very much present, and every cell of his body hurts like he was the one who got squashed by the chandelier, but his mind finally feels a bit clearer and calmer. At least enough to be able to string longer, more complex thoughts together, which is perfect because he could really use a few answers. 

He taps his blunt nails against the side of the cute mug thoughtfully. 

“Hey, Stray,” he tries, voice still terribly weak and scratchy. “Can I ask you something?” 

Stray hums lazily. “Sure. You can ask. Whether I want to answer is another matter, though.” 

Jisung snorts weakly.

“Okay, that’s fair. I probably have, like, a million questions I wanna ask,” he says, shifting carefully against the pillows. “There’s gotta be at least one you’d wanna answer.” 

“Probably more than that,” Stray says, sitting back comfortably on the seat. “Alright, let’s run them one by one. You’re gonna be here for a while, so we have a lot of time.” 

“Alright, then —,” Jisung begins, but cuts himself off mid-sentence right away before he can even think of the first question to ask. “Wait. What? What do you mean, ‘a while’?” 

Stray tilts his head like the answer should be obvious. 

“I mean exactly what it sounds like. You’re not going anywhere like that any time soon,” he says, quiet but with finality, crossing his arms defensively. “I still have to change your bandages and replace the IV every few hours, and if I speak louder than a whisper, you look like your skull’s about to split open. So, you’re staying here.” 

Jisung sinks further back against the bedframe with a frown.

“But - but I can’t stay here,” he says, and he hates how weak and pathetic he sounds. 

“You can, and you will,” Stray replies immediately. “It’s not even up for discussion.” 

Suddenly, Jisung finds the certainty in his voice deeply irritating.

“What about my team…? My friends?” Jisung tries, a stormy knot of anxiety and guilt settling in his already aching chest now that he’s finally starting to remember reality more fully.

He destroyed his comms and his tracker back at the hotel, and when he passed out, his bike was still parked exactly where he left it before the mission. The others must’ve gone there and searched the scene when they realized he’d dropped off the grid and they couldn’t get a hold of him.  

Jisung grimaces to himself. He doesn’t even want to imagine Chan’s face when they found all that blood in the alley. 

“What about them?” Stray asks. 

“Can I call them?” Jisung tries carefully. “Please. They must be worried sick. I just - I’m not even going to tell them about you, I swear. I just wanna let them know I’m alive.” 

Jisung can’t see Stray’s eyes through the opaque lenses, but he just knows he’s giving him the sharpest, coldest look of disbelief. He can practically feel it. 

“You’re asking me if you can call a bunch of government agents from my hideout? Is that it?” Stray says flatly, with an almost derisive edge to his otherwise soft voice that almost makes Jisung feel dumb. Stray huffs. “I’m not really looking to get arrested any time soon, so, no.” 

Jisung grimaces, fingertips digging into the warm cup.

“Oh, come on, we’re not —” He cuts himself off with a weak cough. “That’s not what we are.” 

“I’m not arguing semantics with an Official right now.” 

“I wouldn’t even call an official line, I’m not an idiot,” Jisung insists. “Just - just our leader. His personal phone. I just want to tell him I’m okay, please. He’ll have a heart attack if he thinks something bad happened to me.” 

“That’s very sweet,” Stray says dryly. “Still no.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because, my love, you would be handing your people a trail straight to me,” Stray explains coldly. “And if this leader of yours cares half as much as you think he does, he’ll absolutely follow it. It’s adorable that he cares about you so much, but calling him would literally put a target on our backs. Another one. So, no. Let him wait a few days. He’ll be fine.” 

Jisung sighs, closing his eyes and pressing the lip of the mug against his chin so he can at least comfort himself with the chocolatey scent. Stray does have a point, but he kind of hates that he does. 

“He’s going to think I got kidnapped…” he laments, more to himself than to anyone else. 

Stray snorts softly.

“I mean, technically speaking, he’d be right. You were kidnapped,” his mouth curls upward into another one of his crooked smirks. “And by a wanted criminal, no less.” 

“You are not funny,” Jisung grumbles. 

“Eh. Depends on who you ask.” 

“You are letting me out eventually, right?” Jisung asks just to make sure, opening his eyes again and squinting at Stray suspiciously.

“Obviously. Do you think I want to babysit a spoiled brat every day of my life?” Stray says, and ouch. Jisung can tell he’s used to being on the defensive, and he’s not sure he could blame him for that, but he still wishes he didn’t talk to him like that. 

He liked the flirting way better. 

He shrugs. “Who knows?” 

“Well, I don’t. Besides, it’s not like I could stop you once you get better. I don’t have powers, remember?” he says. “You could literally liquefy my organs and turn my brain to pudding with one of your sound waves if you wanted.” 

Jisung grimaces immediately at the gory image.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Glad to hear it,” Stray says coolly. “My friends would get pretty upset if you hurt me, and unlike me, they do have powers. And none of that self-righteous Official nonsense your group has. So if you behave and are good to me, then they’ll behave and be good to you.” 

“You don’t have to threaten me, alright?” Jisung interrupts, irritation flaring hot in his chest at Stray’s tone. “I wouldn’t hurt you. Not even if I could.”

The words come out before he can stop them, and something shifts strangely in the room after that.

Jisung clears his throat awkwardly, doing his best to ignore it.

“And I get it,” he mutters. “No calls.”

Stray studies him for a second in silence before humming approvingly. 

“Good boy,” he says softly. “See? I knew we’d understand each other.” 

Jisung huffs, but the angry sound doesn’t do anything to relieve the heavy, spiky feeling in his chest.  

He takes another sip, and this time he mentally curses at how unfairly delicious it is.

Talking to Stray on rooftops and alleys is always fun, but it’s also always a bit frustrating. He is too witty, too sharp in ways Jisung isn’t. It can be difficult to keep up sometimes.  

Not that Jisung should even be trying to keep up in the first place.

Stray is a wanted vigilante. Officially, he’s a criminal, even if his real identity remains a mystery. 

Jisung has been explicitly instructed to capture him on sight, and he’s always getting scolded because he always fails, and Stray keeps slipping away and disappearing into the night.

“Another question,” Jisung says, suddenly remembering they were supposed to be doing this instead of bickering. Stray hasn’t moved an inch from where he’s sitting, so he might as well. 

“Sure. Ask away.” 

“Is this really your place?” 

Stray doesn’t answer straight away. He pauses to think about it for a moment, tilting his head a little. 

“Well. Yes and no,” he says finally. “I do live here, but it isn’t my place.” 

“That’s just a technicality. So it is your place.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Is this your room?” 

“God, no,” Stray says immediately, laughing under his breath.

Jisung chuckles too, despite himself. “Okay, I thought as much. So, who else lives here?” 

“Now, why would I tell you that?” Stray says, sounding amused. 

“Is it your scary friends?” Jisung continues, relentless. 

Unexpectedly, Stray breaks into a soft laugh. It sounds silly and sweet, almost, way more fitting for hoodies and jeans than filthy alleys and rooftop chases. 

“My friends aren’t scary,” he says. “Don’t be rude. You would’ve died if it wasn’t for us.” 

Jisung supposes that’s true. Whoever these people are, they saved his life. At the end of the day, that’s all that should matter. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sure they’re great. Will I get to meet my mysterious saviors? I’m very curious about what your friends are like.” 

“Hmm. Probably not. They’re pretty busy people,” Stray tilts his head smugly. “Besides, you already met me. What more could you possibly want?” 

“Well. My own friends, for starters…” 

Stray sighs quietly at that. 

“Hey, relax,” he says, this time without any snark or teasing. “I know you have no good reason to trust me, and that this place looks like a doomsday bunker, but I promise you’re in good hands. Also,” he gestures vaguely toward Jisung. “Metas like you heal faster than regular people, right? Give it two, maybe three days. After that, you’ll be free to go. I promise.” 

Jisung hums softly, finishing the last of his hot chocolate.

“Okay. I, uh…” His throat protests immediately, voice cracking apart mid-sentence. “Thank you for the trouble. I —” He cuts himself off with a grimace. “Ugh.”

Talking this much was definitely a mistake.

Stray shakes his head with an amused little smile as he pushes himself up from the loveseat. He takes the empty mug carefully from Jisung’s hands.

“It’s fine. You need to rest, anyway,” he murmurs. “But once you’re a little better, I wanna hear all about what happened to you. What the hell happened at that hotel, and how you ended up ripped open like that.” 

Jisung shakes his head weakly, slipping lower on the bed.

“That’s classified,” he rasps.

“Ah, I thought you might say that,” Stray sighs theatrically. “Shame. I mean, I do have the hotel guest list. I could always pay those rich old bastards a friendly visit and ask myself,” he says, mouth curling upward again. “But I was hoping to hear it in your pretty voice.”

Jisung squints at him, unable to stop the reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Wordlessly, Stray pours him a glass of water from the small console nearby before coming back to the bed.

Then, surprisingly gently, he fixes Jisung’s pillow.

The exhaustion, the pain, and the lingering numbness from the painkillers have all started dragging him down again during their conversation. Stray notices immediately, helping ease him back properly against the mattress so he doesn’t strain his neck.

His hands are surprisingly careful despite all his teasing. So careful that Jisung’s traitorous heart gives a small, embarrassing jump in his chest.

Pinch of salt, he has to remind himself firmly.

There is still one more question he wants to ask before he falls asleep again, though, so before Stray can move away entirely, he reaches for him.

“Wait,” he says, wrapping his fingers around his wrist. 

Stray pauses, head tilting down to look at Jisung’s hand on him for a brief moment. “Hm?”

“I just wanna ask one last thing,” Jisung whispers. “You’re free not to respond, though I really hope you do.”

Stray exhales in amusement. “I’ll see what I can do. What is it?” 

“Well… Do you have a name?” Jisung asks, blinking up at Stray, even if he can’t see it through the lenses of his domino mask. “A name I can call you, I mean. It, uh. It doesn’t have to be your real name, obviously. It’s just that ‘Stray’ is an odd name.”

“Says the guy that calls himself EumOne,” Stray shoots back. Jisung pouts at him, but he just smirks, unconcerned. “But I do have a name. You can call me Lino.” 

“Lino,” Jisung repeats. It has a nice ring to it. He doubts it’s his real name, but he can’t help but wonder if his real name is somehow hidden in it. “It’s nice.” 

“Thank you. Now, go to sleep and —“ 

“I’m Han,” Jisung blurts. “I mean, that’s what you can call me.” 

Stray pauses, looking down at him, and Jisung wishes, not for the first time, that he could see his face underneath the mask. 

“Han,” Lino nods, smiling a little. “Huh. I get it. One. Han. Pretty clever.” 

Jisung hums, oddly pleased with himself.

Then Lino reaches out again, warm fingers brushing lightly against the side of his face.

“Go to sleep, Hannie,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

For the second time in a row, Jisung falls asleep with Stray’s - Lino’s - hand cradling his face.

This time, though, there’s no leather glove between them. No stench of blood, no yelling at him to stay awake.

Just warm, soft skin, and the faint lingering scent of cocoa on Lino’s fingertips

🐈‍⬛