Archive of Our Own

Lunch time was always a chaotic affair, which meant it was always a familiar one as well. It was one of the few times the Sinners were given a budget, and one of the very few times Vergilius was willing to indulge them.

Sated Sinners made for obedient Sinners, he once said, as though he was a teacher to a group of unruly toddlers. Which, to be fair, wasn't too off the mark. Gregor couldn't argue, not when he'd seen the effects for himself.

But that didn't change the fact that lunch was still lunch. Everyone had their idea of it.

Most weren't willing to budge from it.

"Enough is enough! We've had steak for the last three lunches! Give me soup or I-I’ll…I’ll…!"

"I want something fresh... something crisp... something with color for once..."

"That's called well-done with a side of sweet potato fries Ishy~ Not that I'm judging—a meal's a meal!"

Gradually, Gregor began to tune them out, using the time to savor a freshly-lit cig. Wasn't like his input ever made a difference anyway. He'd offer a nice little suggestion, a hearty meal of meat and potatoes, only to get shot down, ignored, or worse: used as a sign everyone wanted steak again. Plus, nobody trusted his taste anymore, not since that fiasco of a cook-off that was still a thorn in his side. Every time he stepped towards the kitchen door, Meursault would not-so-subtly steer him away. It was pretty damn insulting, and a clear blow to his pride. Canned food cuisine had been one of the few things he was proud of. 

Unfortunately, it was one that nobody in this bus trusted—nobody except for Yi Sang, that was. Which wasn't much of a comfort. He could eat food capable of destroying one's stomach, and had once downed spoiled milk like it was offers of free beer. Frankly, it was a miracle Dante hadn't needed to save him from food poisoning. Even he got it from time to time, and he was engineered to eat anything. 

He took a glance at the fella in question, noticing him doze away even as the bout was ramping up. Outis had recruited Meursault in her fight against Rodya, who had somehow convinced Don Quixote to join her under her banner. Steak was justice, Gregor heard them declare more than once, which was more than enough for him to tune them out again. He went back to Yi Sang, to his cheek pressed against the window, to his mouth hanging open, to the drool running down his chin. 

Maybe it was the fact that Yi Sang was a strange guy. Or maybe it was the fact that it was a new sight from a new him. Sleeping like a rat nestling in an empty soup can—unlike Gregor, however, he made it look endearing instead. His face was softer, more relaxed. Happier. It made sense—not too long ago, he was barely more than a husk. Searching and grasping for what he despaired was out of reach. Gregor knew how it felt. It was a grim experience he was still living now. 

Briefly, he wondered what it would be like to have his own pair of wings. One that wasn't verminous, but ordinary. Pretty. 

Outis threw up her hands in a rare show of defeat, evidently strong-armed into it by the duo of steak and justice. "Fine, we get it! We'll have steak again, but this is the last time, Rodion. The very last time!" As if she was disciplining a soldier under her command. Rodya flashed a grin that told everyone no promises. 

Everyone started making their way off the bus, but Gregor stayed where he was, waving off their questioning looks. He wasn't all that hungry, preferring the smoke to yet another steak. And if he had to be honest, what he really wanted was the quiet. Not that he hated eating with the other Sinners—it was certainly a welcome change to when he huddled alone in his apartment. Or worse, when he didn't have a home and had to rummage through the garbage. It was just sometimes too much, being around so many people and all their prying eyes. He needed his own space to unwind, to convince his nerves everything was fine. Crowds were never going to be his thing, even if he now had colleagues crazy enough to make him seem normal. There would be many more days where they could eat together, he reasoned, and many less days where he could have the whole bus to himself. 

Sinclair turned to Yi Sang who hadn't moved a single inch. Sheesh. Fella sure wasn't a light sleeper, was he? Still napping away like he was already six feet under. But maybe he needed it. Before K Corp, he was more or less a reed bowed over by a single breeze. 

Gregor waved his hand. "Let him sleep. Fella sure looks like he could use the rest anyway. I’ll wake him up once I finish my pack.” He held it up and shook it—just three left. 

Ishmael shrugged. "Sure, whatever you say." Meanwhile, Don Quixote swore she'd bring back the most unctuous of steaks for him. 

Once they finally left, the peace was immediate. As though he was inside a different world or a better dream. Only the smoke and soft snores of Yi Sang surrounded him. No yelling, no chaos. A fantastic smoke break by his standards.

By the time he burnt his last one down to the filter, he was sorely regretting not bumming an extra from Ryoshu. Not that she'd let him, but it wouldn't have hurt to try. Worst case, she'd roll her eyes. Very worst case, she'd lop off his head in exchange.

Gregor checked the clock, a small, metallic thing, installed early on by Faust to stop everyone from misusing Dante's. Lunch time was nearly coming to its sweet, sweet end. With the bitterness of finishing a good movie, he got up and made his way to where Yi Sang was sleeping. 

“Rise and shine, buddy,” he said. He shook him as gently as he could. Yi Sang blinked once, then twice. His bleary eyes peered up at Gregor, doe-like. Gregor found himself smiling instinctively at the sight. Cute, he thought. And pretty too.

...Wait, pretty? 

Gregor immediately looked away before looking back again. Like he was a kid caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t have. He didn't know why—it wasn't as if what he thought was bad. 

But how often did a guy think another guy was pretty? 

Yi Sang stared blankly at him like he still had one foot in a dream, and Gregor did his best to fight the urge to not look away again. It was a sign of guilt, and he didn't want Yi Sang to think he was guilty. Not that he was—so what if Yi Sang was pretty? Flowers were pretty too, and there was nothing wrong in acknowledging it. It was just simple facts. Nothing more, nothing less.

Slowly, recognition passed over Yi Sang's face like a shadow. His eyes widened. Except he didn’t look at him like he was Gregor. There was a wariness in his gaze that suddenly caught him off-guard. 

Gregor frowned. A bad feeling was beginning to brew in his stomach. “Yi Sang? You okay there, bud?” he asked carefully. Once again, the odd fella blinked and stared.

It felt like walking into a trap he had no choice but to trigger. Yi Sang's mouth opened before it fell into a grimace.

“Director… Hermann?” he muttered.

Barely a whisper. Barely an accusation. Yet every word was a knife plunged deep into Gregor's heart. He froze. There was lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow without choking. Pinpricks of ice shot painfully up his arm. Instinctively, he gripped it, trying to ground its wrath—and himself. The taste of nausea was curdling his tongue with its sweetness. 

His feet stepped away. No, he wasn’t her. Another step. But he looked like her, didn’t he? The same eyes. The same hair. The same curve of the mouth when they smiled. The same blood on their hands, even.

It felt like he was looking into the mirror again. 

The world was spinning rapidly, and it wouldn't let Gregor escape it. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he tried desperately to quell it. Sweat stuck to his skin. It was strange to feel so numb, yet so pried open. Like somewhere inside him was already bleeding out, even if the rest of him couldn't sense how much.

In his peripheral, Yi Sang's eyes were slowly fluttering shut, his head lolling to the side, body slumping against his seat again. Good. That was good. He was tired, wasn't he? He needed to sleep. 

And he needed to be alone.

Gregor stumbled to the bathroom, one hand over his mouth. Vomit splattered across the rim as he barely made it in time. Morning's breakfast stared accusingly as it sat in brownish chunks. Like the color of roaches or well-done steak. Too bad he was an idiot to have turned down lunch.

A laugh crawled through his throat, bitter and self-deprecating, before he hurled again, causing more bile to cling to his stubble. Disgusting, he thought, but without the usual sting of self-loathing. It was true, wasn't it? Just like how was so much like his mother.

It didn't stop, not until he was sure his stomach was thoroughly emptied. His good hand gripped the toilet bowl as Gregor gagged and sputtered. He was still heaving like a dying man, but at least no more vomit was spilling out. Just saliva and some broken pride, which meant practically nothing. He would be fine, after this. He would be okay again once he got through this.

Voices echoed in the distance. Footsteps of varying sound and heft. A new fear gripped his body, self-preservation kicking into overdrive. He scrambled to clean the evidence up—the toilet, the puke, his face that was now an even uglier mess. Couldn't let them know he had a breakdown while they had lunch. It was shameful. Embarrassing. Wasn't he too old for this by now?

But as Gregor splashed cold water onto his skin, as he dared to take a glimpse of the mirror again, he realized how much and how little had changed.

The wrinkles, the gray hair, the unkempt beard. The exhaustion that seemed to be permanently etched across his face. None of it changed how small he felt.

None of it changed how he was still a boy afraid of his mother.

The plan was simple: Gregor pretended everything was fine. Because it would be soon enough, as long as he kept telling himself that it was. He ignored the tremors still lingering in both arms. Such occurrences weren't rare. A cig or three was enough to make it disappear.

Everything was fine because he managed to clean himself up. Everything was fine because he managed to drag himself out of there. He even dropped by his room to snag a couple of extra cigs. Didn't even puke again when he saw a bottle of nail polish by his bed.

He couldn't slack off, after all. Not when he finally had a job again. Not when he was now working for a company that had real, actual expectations. Chop up enemies. Listen to your manager. Acquire the Golden Bough. Sure, he failed the latter, but he was doing a fair enough job with the former. Despite the numerous, painful deaths, it was still better than his previous job—one that expected a nice, normal body and an equally pleasant past. Nobody here seemed too displeased with him. If anything, they shrugged him off and moved onto the next person.

But he still had to earn his daily bread. He still had to show that he wasn't a liability. That he was fine and harmless outside of a fight, and not a complete burden to the company whenever he wasn’t. 

Gregor took a long drag, letting the nicotine soothe his nerves before deciding it was time to go back to the front of the bus again. He plastered on a smile as he turned the doorknob, willing it to not falter as soon as he stepped through. Everyone was there, looking fuller, happier, better—or more obedient, as Vergilius would call it. Which was a good thing, and not just because it meant less chaos. Everyone would be too distracted by their food comas to notice. Everyone would be too distracted by their food comas to care.

But soon as he saw Yi Sang thanking Don Quixote for the steak, the scene replayed in his head like an old, shitty tune. And when he looked up and smiled, as if nothing had happened, as if everything was fine, Gregor couldn't quite return the same smile back. Being seen as vermin, as the dregs of society? He was used to that, no matter how much he sometimes wished he wasn’t. Even during the short period when he was actually admired, everyone treated him as his mother’s son instead.

Not her. Never her. Which meant this was horribly new. Like finding out she planned for him to be a weapon all along. Gregor didn't know how to handle it, beyond his usual cigs and denial, which was how he dealt with everything that he didn’t know or want to process. Yi Sang hadn’t meant anything by it, he told himself, more of a plea than a fact to be repeated. He'd just woken up. The sleep probably scrambled his brain. It wasn't his fault that in that hazy moment, he caught a glimpse of her instead of him.

His hand shook a little as he lit a new cig, as he smiled enough to make his brows twitch and hurt. Yi Sang's face remained a happy one, which meant nothing was wrong and everything was fine again.

Except it wasn't because he was unfortunately stuck with being Gregor. He couldn't stop the whys and what-ifs from infesting—whenever he squashed one, another would simply pop up in retribution. Yi Sang spent enough time under Hermann to know what she was like, and more than enough time on the bus to know what Gregor was like too. It was inevitable that he would come to compare them both. To find them so similar, despite Gregor’s best attempts. 

And it was more than just their eyes and hair. More than just their faces or how they smiled. It was what they were both capable of—her greatest strengths the same as his most terrifying fears. Everything he once swore that he'd never inflict onto others. Of course, that was a lie, and one Yi Sang easily saw through. Gregor knew he could be charismatic—be the leader, the mentor. The one promising them the future while leading them to their deaths. Those recruits who'd looked at him with such trusting eyes, even when they barely reached his height. Was he really so different from his mother, who did the very same to her son?

It wasn’t just that, even though it was already bad enough. He could be a selfish bastard too—prioritizing himself above all others. He never volunteered to take the helm or do the nasty work. Whenever he could, he always sought the easy way out: running away when it got too tough. Pretending everything was fine, because to acknowledge it meant it wasn't. Pushing others to avoid a fight, even if it came at the price of someone else. He knew how to be selfish, and knew more he wasn’t good enough to reject it. 

But worst of all was how he could be as ruthless as her, especially if he wanted to, especially if he had to. He could slash at some guy's throat without a second thought. To pull the trigger without flinching at all. He knew what needed to be done and knew how to do it, even if something inside him would threaten to splinter. Sure, it was one thing if it was someone trying to kill him, but his arm didn’t discriminate. It felled both friends and foes alike. Hurting others had became a natural part of him, just like ignoring the guilt or even justifying what he had done.

Even if he did grow up as a normal human being, with a perfectly nice body and a mother who loved him, there were still Mirror Worlds that easily proved the opposite. No matter how much he ran, he would always be Gregor.

So really, it wasn’t Yi Sang’s fault for making that mistake. In fact, it was Gregor's for being too much like her. Children were a reflection of their parents, after all. He just happened to be stupid enough to think he could be the one sole exception. 

His good hand slid painfully down his face. Clearly, his usual method of ignoring his problems wasn't going to work. It was one thing if Yi Sang had wrinkled his nose at his arm. That, he preferred. That, he was used to. 

A finger poked at his human shoulder, and Gregor nearly recoiled at the sudden touch. Seriously? Didn't they know better than to sneak up on him by now? It was only thanks to time that his arm didn't lash out or kill them.

"Hey, give a fella some warning, will you?" he said, annoyed but not to the point of actual anger. He turned around, another gripe ready at his lips, before he came face-to-face with a Rodya who was staring at him. 

"Did Yi Sang tick you off or somethin'? You're looking at him like he spilled ketchup all over your shirt. Is that why you left him snoring away in his seat?” she asked. Gregor blinked, the words suddenly dying in his throat. A hand came up to his mouth, finding a grim line instead.

"A-ah, well," he said, scratching his stubble in a futile attempt. It might've fooled Don Quixote but certainly not Rodya. What kind of excuse could he come up with? Even when others did treat him like crap, it wasn’t as if he acted any different. Sure, he'd grumble, throw some sniping remark or two, but nothing that had people raising eyebrows or asking questions.

"Look, I tried. I really, really did. Was shaking the fella like he had a cog loose and everything. But he was still sleeping like a log under a pile of 'em,” he gave. But it still sounded like a poor excuse, so he hurriedly added another one: "Wasted a good chunk of my lunch break on it. Haah... was really looking forward to taking a nap before everyone got back. Guess I gotta wait for who-knows-how long now.”

Rodya squinted at him like she was examining his testimony. Sweat dripped down his nape as he wondered how she was going to pick it apart.

Then, she chuckled. "Sounds like you're pretty hangry, Greg~ Told ya to not skip lunch! Anyhoo, just wanna let ya know Yi Sang's looking at ya like a sad, sad puppy. Not that it's any of my problem, thank god, but it's kinda harshing the mood, y'know?"

She nodded towards Yi Sang, who was indeed looking like a sad puppy. The sweet smile that brightened his face was replaced by a clear worry. The stab of guilt left Gregor squirming. Of course he noticed. How could he not?  

With as much effort and reassurance as Gregor could muster, he waved hi to Yi Sang and demanded his mouth to smile again. It faltered a little when he wondered if it was too much like mother's, but he held steadfast and forced himself to shove his fears elsewhere.  

Yi Sang smiled back, but it didn't match his eyes anymore. Whatever glimpse he caught wasn’t going away soon. Gregor couldn't blame him, no matter how much he sorely wished it would. Only the schedule of the bus and Dante's impeccable timing saved him. 

It was the usual affair: training, dungeon, then more training. Luckily, the rest of the day passed by without much fanfare. Unluckily, Gregor wasn’t in the position to enjoy it. He still couldn't quite look at Yi Sang in the eye, and he still couldn't talk to him without that uncomfortable lump inside his throat. Which was embarrassing, really. Wasn’t he much older than him? Old enough to give advice and tell jokes he was too young to understand? But here he was, acting like an immature kid again. Little had changed. Even little was going to, it seems.

Gregor knew he was stalling—even his own conscious wouldn't let him bullshit it. He couldn’t avoid Yi Sang forever, and not just because they lived on the same bus together. A part of him wondered if he would’ve if they weren’t. Another thing he didn’t want to think about—funny how much of those that he had. 

But Yi Sang deserved better. He deserved someone who wasn’t a coward. Who could look him in the eye, who wouldn't run away even if they wanted to. Gregor was used to ignoring his own wounds, but someone else's was an entirely different story. He couldn't drag someone down just because he was miserable, and that he didn’t know how to be anything else.

He willed the nicotine to make him a braver and better man. It’d be fine, he told himself. Easy, even. He ignored the growing insistence in his gut that always told otherwise. He’d say hi to Yi Sang. Tell him the day was perfect for a stroll. And as they enjoyed the sun, the breeze kissing their skin, he’d tell him that he was sorry for avoiding him like an idiot. It wasn’t his fault he’d mistaken Gregor for his mother. He was her son, after all. It was bound to happen. Guess that’s where I got my good looks from, he’d joke, and they'd both laugh at it, and everything would be fine again. 

And it would be fine, because he needed it to be fine. Because the alternative was that Yi Sang did think he was like his mother. That was something he couldn’t stomach, even with therapy and a hundred cigs. Hell, he wouldn’t have stomached it even if he had all the nicotine in the world. 

But once again, it didn't change the fact that Gregor was stuck with himself. Which meant excuses after excuses piled up in his head. Yi Sang was busy. Gregor was too tired. The Dungeon run ran them dry. The luxcavations had gone poorly.

Again, and again, and again. A cycle of shot nerves and familiar misery. It wasn't until dinner was approaching that he was starting to think it wasn't going to happen at all. He was still trying to talk to Yi Sang, but not really, and Yi Sang was still trying not to look like a kicked puppy, but not really. 

People were going to notice, he knew. Rodya already did, and hell, even Meursault was making it obvious. He looked back and forth between them, a twitch of his brow, as if trying to visualize the incident that had happened. Even Heathcliff stepped away from a small spat with Ishmael to give him a "Oi, what's up with you and the lad?" 

Gregor needed to get his act together. To stop being such a damn coward. To just talk to Yi Sang. 

And he needed to desperately, pathetically escape. 

Which meant the kitchen, because anywhere else would've been too easy. Luckily, everyone was too distracted by the second bout that was dinner. He snuck through the door as the new chaos was unfolding, wondering wryly if this is what his stealth training had come down to.

The kitchen on the bus was a spacious thing, thanks to Faust's engineering and Rodya's generous suggestions. There was a wide area for cooking and several large shelves of canned food. Four refrigerators lay in the back, both a relief and a luxury.

He couldn't help but stare in awe at it all. Even in his childhood home, he never saw anything this grand. Hermann would cook for him at times, special meals for special occasions, but the kitchen otherwise remained drab and bare. Especially when he started living in the labs not too long after. 

Wandering around, he let his fingers glide over the canned meals. There was one of hamburger meat his old Manager was fond of, and a couple involving poached chicken that his unit liked as well. They ate with such gusto, tears shining in what was left of their eyes. It was a shame that his fellow Sinners didn't know what they were missing out on.

Only Yi Sang did. Only Yi Sang appreciated the taste. Only Yi Sang—

"Gregor? Is that you?"

Gregor whipped around, hand reflexively gripping his arm. Even if he didn't see the man, there was no mistaking his voice.

Especially when he'd spent all day avoiding him.

"Yeah, it's me. How'd you know I was here?" he asked. No point in hiding, not when it was clear he was already here. He just hoped he couldn't hear the awkwardness in his voice, or worse, the shame that had spent all day building.

Yi Sang gave a soft smile, something that had his heart fluttering despite the guilt. "To seek refuge in the kitchen despite its entrance being forbidden... I myself am in the same predicament as well."

Gregor felt a wince of sympathy. Right. Yi Sang was blocked from the kitchen too. More for his own safety than everyone else's, but the end result remained unfortunately the same. 

Yi Sang held up a mug of something steaming hot, handing it to Gregor, who took it tentatively.

"This is...?"

"Coffee. Though while I have more experience in ssanghwacha-cha, I hope that even with my modest skills, you'll enjoy it aplenty."

It wasn't the cheap, gritty stuff that stuck to your throat. One whiff, and Gregor knew it was what he could never buy for himself. Out of habit or self-inflicted punishment—once again, Gregor didn’t like to think about it.

He chose to focus on the fact it was Yi Sang who made it for him, the discomfort of guilt more tolerable than the discomfort of self-examination. Here he was, pathetically avoiding him while Yi Sang was brewing expensive coffee to his liking.

“Is it to your taste?” Yi Sang asked, which startled Gregor out of his self-wallowing. He nodded reflexively before realizing he still hadn’t taken a single sip. 

“Uh, I mean—“ He downed enough to discern a rich, earthy note and to burn his tongue and sputter at the same time. 

Gregor coughed like he was choking on his spit. It was pretty damn embarrassing, even among his more famous slip-ups. But Yi Sang was laughing, a lovely sound like a bird's song, which Gregor took it as a good thing. He wasn’t the type to do so when pretending. He wasn't like him, which brought about its own sense of hurt.

"It's pretty good," he said, once he could do so without coughing. 

Another smile from Yi Sang. "I'm glad to hear so," he murmured. The bags under his eyes did nothing to detract from his prettiness. If anything, Gregor wished he looked this good while half-dead.

He waited as Gregor took several more sips, before asking the one question he'd spent all day trying to run from: "If I may inquire as one of your fellows... did I do something so unfathomable as to earn your frown?" 

He sounded so sincere that Gregor couldn't help but wince. There was no avoiding it now, no matter how much he wanted to. In a way, Yi Sang finding him was the second best thing today, next to the coffee that was pleasantly lingering inside his throat.

"It's nothing big," Gregor said, which was already a lie. If it wasn't, then it wouldn't have taken a whole day just to talk to him. "I'm sorry for being an idiot. It's not your fault. It was just..." He took a swallow."...you called me Director Hermann when I was waking you up. But it's fine. I get it. You were still half-asleep, that's all." He downed another gulp, using the burn to distract him from what was in his gut. He did feel better, if only because it wasn't rotting inside him anymore.

But Yi Sang immediately frowned, which set off another uncomfortable squirm. "Look, it's water under the bridge. I know you didn't mean it," Gregor tried. "Kids just happen to look a lot like their parents. There's no terrible injustice in pointing that out."

Facts were facts, and questionable food tastes aside, Yi Sang seemed like a logical enough guy. But he was still frowning, looking more like a guilty puppy now. “No, please. Allow me to apologize," he pleaded. He gazed into his eyes with such heartbreaking want that Gregor couldn’t help but flush and comply. 

"My carelessness still hurt you, regardless of my intentions. While I do not claim to know your mother, I have witnessed enough of the wounds she inflicted." 

Gregor couldn't but grimace at his words, feeling a familiar pain rise up in his other arm. His past was something he'd always thought he'd keep hidden. The fact that others caught a glimpse bothered him more than he'd wanted. 

"Eh, crappy parents are pretty common in the City. I just happen to have one crappy enough to turn me into this." Gregor held up his claw, using it to give a friendly wave. But Yi Sang didn't smile back, looking as forlorn as ever.

He sighed. "I don’t know how many times I gotta say this. It really isn't your fault. I bet every fella on this bus is stuck in the same boat. That's just how it is. Besides, for me, you weren't too off the mark." He looked down, feeling that lump inside his throat again. "I can be pretty selfish sometimes. Pretty damn ruthless too. I'm not exactly squeaky clean. I know the things to say to get people off my back, or to lead them to their deaths and letting them think it meant something. I mean, you saw my old war buddies, didn't you? They thought I betrayed them. Can't exactly blame them for that."

It felt like he was confessing a list of his sins, which he probably was. What he had were the ugly, nasty flaws nobody in their right mind would touch. Nothing like "being too nice and letting people walk over me because of it." That was more other people's fault. This was all because of him. 

But when Gregor dared to look up, when he dared to take a peek at Yi Sang's face, what he saw wasn't disgust or even unease but rather sympathy. 

"Once again, I myself am in the same predicament as well," Yi Sang murmured. "Despite the differences that separate me from Gubo, I still find bits of myself nestling deep within him."

Gregor frowned. Out of everything he thought Yi Sang would say, this wasn't anywhere even in his top 20.  "Wait, really? That asshole? No offense, bud, but he's, well. An asshole. And you’re not."

Yi Sang gave something that wasn't quite a smile. "And yet, I understand his desire all too well. To escape the past, to render it unreachable. To recreate it into something far more magnificent... Even now, those days of yonder still reside in my heart, even if at times it serves as a haunting inside my head. To say I was never tempted would be to speak forth a grave lie."

His hand reached out to Gregor, thin and small. But it was safe, and it was warm, resting patiently near his claw. "So you see why I cannot condemn you as you so wish. Nor can I pretend it is a wound I do not know the pain of."

Understanding, not pity. That was what was in his voice. Gregor let him touch him, and let himself be touched by him. It was dangerous, he knew. How long had it been? His mind still wasn't in the best of states, and there was always a chance things could go awry. 

But it was a touch of comfort, a gesture of kindness. A closeness Gregor thought he would never have again. There was no malice in it, no price he had to pay. It felt too good to reject. It felt more painful to not want it.  

"I do not see you as your mother, much as you do not see me as Gubo," Yi Sang said. "And what you think you lack, I find it aplenty. You are kind, Gregor. Kinder than you think you are."

Gregor felt something tug at his lips. Even when he didn't believe it, hearing him say it almost felt like he could. Yi Sang was a strange guy with even stranger tastes. But he was honest. He wasn't someone who would hurt him like this.

Still, there was one thing he felt the need to ask, even when he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"My mother, she... what did you think when you met her?" 

Yi Sang stiffened, though he didn’t move away from Gregor. His hand was still touching his, still warm and close and secure. “Like a spider with her web. Both elegant and cold. She often came by with Gubo and always asked how I was faring. At the same time, she did not hesitate to make certain punishments known.” 

“Sounds like her,” Gregor grimaced. And then, because he couldn’t help himself: “Sorry about that.” He didn’t know why—his mother was the one that hurt Yi Sang, not him. But he was her kid, which meant he was responsible in some way, wasn't he? Sorry I couldn’t make her better. Sorry I couldn’t make her kinder. Sorry I couldn’t change her. It was a guilt that never really left.

Yi Sang shook his head. "It is not your fault. It never was."

Gregor didn't know how much of that was true, but he wasn’t in the mood to debate about his childhood. He gave a small nod, sipping from his mug again. At the very least, the air between them was no longer tense. 

Until Yi Sang spoke again: “And what did you think of me, if you would kindly allow me to inquire?" Which was the right thing to do to make Gregor choke and sputter, and the wrong thing to do if he wanted to maintain his dignity.  

“Er, uh, well." Already off to a great start. Gregor took a big gulp of coffee, definitely not dragging it out. "A strange guy. Gloomy. Talked in a kinda funny way. But now I think you’re—“ Pretty. Beautiful. Someone who I have no business staring at because it’s rude, and because it’s me. “A nice fella. Still strange, b-but not in a bad way! Just…” He gave a vague wave of his hand, hoping Yi Sang could find a conclusion in it.

But Yi Sang was an inquisitive guy. For better or for worse, he didn't hesitate to ask questions.

“Just what, pray tell?” Again, with those doe-like eyes. "I would like to understand, for you are my dear compatriot." 

Scheiße. How the hell was he supposed to say no to that? Only someone with no heart would, which meant he wasn't like his mother. Gregor swallowed hard again,  pushing himself to be honest for once. “You’re a, uh… a good guy. And a good-looking fella." He looked into his dark, gorgeous eyes again.

“Real pretty too. Like flowers, y’know?” 

He sounded like a teenage boy talking to his first crush. Pretty humiliating, but one that was probably accurate. He never got to have a normal childhood after all. This was a first for him, no matter how much he'd liked to deny it.

Yi Sang smiled, and it was one that kept growing. Like little petals unfurling to reach out to the sun. Gregor couldn't stop staring. He was just so damn pretty. Even as Yi Sang drew close, even as a new knot was forming, Gregor couldn’t bring himself to truly stop him. 

Slowly, then all at once, their lips pressed against each other. 

It wasn’t a perfect kiss, not by a long shot. His glasses bumped into his nose and their teeth clinked against each other. Gregor was sure his stubble prickled too much at his skin. But for some reason, he didn't care.

For some reason, it felt so right. 

Gregor came away feeling like it was an eternity. When he looked at Yi Sang, he couldn't help but laugh. The fella's face looked exactly how he felt—red, panting, and most of all amazed. He looked like he enjoyed it. He looked like he enjoyed him.

He couldn’t help himself. “How do I taste?” he asked. Which was a stupid question, really. He probably tasted like shit. There was a good chance Yi Sang got an ashtray from that kiss alone. 

But Yi Sang's lips was pulling up, not down. “Like smoke. Like coffee grinds.” A pause as his eyes shone. “You taste like you, Gregor.” 

Without a second thought. Without even hesitating. It was at this moment he realized Yi Sang could kill him.

He wanted to pull him in and kiss him again. To hold him in his arms in a way he'd never thought he could. He wanted to run away and pretend it never happened, because he was too good for him, which meant it wasn't ever going to last.

Most of all, though, he wanted Yi Sang to keep talking. To keep looking at him like that, like he was pretty. Human. 

”And that’s something you like?” Gregor dared to ask. Anything to keep him going, no matter how stupid it might make him look. “Something you’d want from me again?”

And Yi Sang, so gorgeous, so beautiful with his smile, looked at him and said, ”Of course, Gregor.”

How could Gregor deny him? He'd never been a strong man. He kissed him again, just as clumsy and just as right. His eyes fluttered shut, feeling like the kid he never was. Even with his hand still holding the mug, he still didn't stop. 

He felt lighter now. A lot lighter, actually. 

As if he and Yi Sang were soaring the blue skies together.