Archive of Our Own

“You’re going to get us killed,” Sunghoon hisses, barely above a whisper. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

Sunghoon wants to roll his eyes, but his body convulses with a panic that ruptures his ribcage. Steady breaths—they’ve done way worse for much longer. Though here, in the dark where they should thrive, Sunghoon can’t help but feel as though this is the end of the road.

A bright spotlight hovers over the area, swaying back and forth in search of not only them, but the four others who hurtled in different directions the moment sirens sounded.

To his great fortune—or misfortune, he is yet to uncover—Sunghoon winds up glued to their little mastermind’s hip. Sunghoon looks him over once, twice, stopping both times to scrutinise the black necklaces hanging from his neck. The warm breeze ruffles through his hair, unkempt from lack of sleep and the constant fidgeting of his hoodie. It wouldn’t be a surprise if they were caught: their red uniform makes them beacons in the night. He only hopes the others made it far away. Or far enough, at least.

“Come on.” Jungwon wraps a hand around his wrist and tugs.

It’s a good thing he does: Sunghoon might have fought him over it for another five minutes before caving in and following.

Jungwon drags him behind a winding set of stone steps. They curve into the dreadfully long bridge they’re going to have to cross. Sunghoon’s still-beating heart gives a sickening lurch.

“They’re everywhere,” Jungwon mutters to himself.

“You didn’t realise that before you came up with this idea?”

“Stop talking as if you did.” Jungwon frowns. “You would’ve told me.”

“There was never really much time to talk to you during all the impromptu rendezvous. You’d usually steal me halfway through a meal.”

His frown deepens. “Not during the meetings. After.”

Something passes between them in blinks and glances. If Jake were here, he’d call them out on it in front of everybody: Can you two just use your words?

But in an instant, Sunghoon understands. The warmth spreads beneath his cheeks despite the bitter chill nipping at them.

Jungwon sighs, turns away. “It doesn’t matter now,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Like he always does when it comes to Jungwon, like he always tries not to, Sunghoon follows. With his deranged plans and uncontrollable whims, Jungwon is always getting himself and the rest of them into trouble. Not that he’s to blame this time. Sunoo, Sunghoon thinks, recalling the way he and Jake would always hide around corners or talk in hushed tones, even when they thought nobody was listening. A lump forms in his throat, but before he can clear it, Jungwon throws an arm out and points ahead.

“Over the bridge, then half an hour out,” he says, mostly to himself, but Sunghoon is happy to indulge him. He talks to himself a lot; Sunghoon figures he’d appreciate one person listening.

“You really think it’s safe enough?”

Jungwon shrugs. “Should be. It’s all we’ve got. “

“Food?”

“I seriously hope so.”

It takes them three minutes to sneak their way onto the steps, and another five to creep high enough to see the other end of the bridge. The helicopters circling above are like omens; annoying reminders that no matter if they get out of this, they’ll still be on the run after.

The idea sends a chill running down Sunghoon’s spine.

He groans, dropping his head against the cold stone. Ever so gently, he wobbles on the balls of his feet, knees knocking into Jungwon’s.

“I’m starving,” he complains. “And tired.”

Jungwon nods in assent, placing a hand atop Sunghoon’s knee to still it.

“We can rest when we get there, I promise,” he says, squeezing tight.

Sunghoon might be sick—he just can’t tell whether it’s from nerves or because Jungwon is abnormally and invitingly warm for a vampire.

They stake out for a while, observing the helicopters, listening for any bit of intel they can pick up from this far away, and falling under the hypnosis of wind billowing through the trees. The moon is already high, bright and comforting; Sunghoon wants nothing more than to curl up beneath its light and drift off to sleep. He can’t remember the last time he got any. He’s growing delirious: the wind starts sounding like a shrill voice and at one point, he swears he spots a shadowed figure shooting through the woods.

Another six minutes, then their window finally opens. They stumble across the bridge before adrenaline takes over and sends them sprinting as fast as their bodies will allow. Riki had always been the fastest amongst them alongside Jungwon, gloating with a gleeful grin each time he managed to dart across rooms in less than a second. Silently, no matter how jealous he’s always been of his skill, Sunghoon hopes it had been Riki he’d seen running amidst the trees—unscathed and waiting.

When they slip behind a railing, Jungwon glances over at him with wide eyes that Sunghoon has dreamt of while dozing in the prison’s cafeteria. They’re just as much reassurance now as they had been then.

“Are you okay?” Sunghoon asks, despite everything inside of him telling him to shut up. He’s supposed to be mad at Jungwon for fucking up the plan he created.

Jungwon nods. “I’m okay. I was just wondering about…”

He gestures towards his own nose, then juts his chin out in the direction of Sunghoon’s.

Ah. Yeah, now that he thinks about it, it still hurts. It’s a dull throb he’s trying not to pay too much attention to, one that came from a revolutionary thud across the face when a prison guard almost yanked Jungwon away from him. Sunghoon ran for it in a futile attempt to take the guard down before another crept up out of nowhere and nearly knocked him clean out. Blood trickled and dried, smeared across his top lip after he swiped a fist across it. But before he could topple and fall, Sunghoon noticed the stake in the guard’s grip and quickly slipped his hand into Jungwon’s before taking off again.

Now, his legs threaten to buckle.

“Hey,” Jungwon says, a little louder. He reaches out to steady Sunghoon again. “Just a little longer, okay?”

“Yeah, I know,” he exhales. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, unconvinced. “You’re looking a little…”

“A little what?”

Jungwon pauses to consider his next words—very wise—then shrugs again.

“Not… like yourself.”

This time, Sunghoon actually rolls his eyes.

“Okay, well, the faster we get to the safe house, the faster I can clean up and start acting like the Sunghoon you know and love.”

Jungwon grins. “Know? Yes. Love? Hm—”

“Jungwon.” He scowls, throwing his arm out. “Stealth mission. Focus. You can annoy me all you want later.”

“Annoy you? I don’t annoy—”

Sunghoon spots it for a second time: a flickering shadow, an outline of a human. It appears at the end of the bridge one second, then closer after he blinks, then—

“Jungwon, move!” he whisper-yells, pulling at Jungwon’s arm to draw him closer.

Jungwon blinks in confusion, his sentence dying prematurely in the back of his throat as he stumbles.

“What are you doing? Sunghoon, you can’t—”

“There.”

Jungwon whips his head around to look at the figure, but the moment he does, the universe decides that the two of them are its next victims. Two more sprint around the corner, one screaming at the top of his lungs.

Sunghoon’s stomach bottoms out. He knew this plan wouldn’t work; it was too rough around the edges. But no matter how shit the cards they’ve been dealt are, they have to leave whatever fight they get into. He is not dying here, not after everything it’s taken to get this far.

The noise calls upon the attention of both helicopters hovering above them. Their searchlights trail closer until blinding white light rains upon them all. At the very least, it clears up the scene: two men carry guns, the other a stake, and all of them wear belts of various weapons.

Sunghoon has nothing but his hands and fangs aching to feed.

“More are coming,” says Jungwon, who already looks as if he’s calculating the safest approach to taking them all down. “They have to be.”

“They’re already here,” he imparts. Sunghoon can sense them. “Just follow my lead.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Follow my lead,” he insists, meeting Jungwon’s wavering gaze. “And be careful. Please.”

Hesitantly, after a second too long, Jungwon nods, turns away, and squares his shoulders.

Sunghoon knows that Jungwon knows what to do—they’ve gone over every possibility countless times in their cell—but it doesn’t stop his stomach from tying itself into knots. Jungwon’s fast, but he’s not as quick-witted on his feet.

So Sunghoon takes the lead. He rushes forward and takes the first man out in seconds: a quick disappearing act and a tap on the opposite shoulder is enough to trick the fool. Sunghoon winces when he hears the knock of his head against stone.

Passed out. The man is only passed out.

Sunghoon can already smell blood, sweet and intoxicating, from where Jungwon is stuck in a push-and-pull with another. A knife glints in Jungwon’s hand.

He’s holding it wrong. He always holds it wrong. Sunghoon is never going to let him hear the end of it once they get out of here.

He moves on to the next, astutely appraising those forming an outer circle. It’s good to be smart about this, but as more begin to appear from around corners and drop from helicopters, Sunghoon can’t help but think that being fast may better their chances of getting to safety.

Another man goes down when an arm comes out of nowhere; it jerks Sunghoon backwards in a headlock. Sunghoon chokes on his own spit, lathers his lips until they’re slick.

Fuck, he’s hungry. This man is bleeding somewhere beneath his clothes and the smell—

Sunghoon would take a bite if it weren’t designed to poison him the second his fangs sunk through the gear.

The man tightens his grip enough for Sunghoon’s stability to waver. He coughs again, desperate for air, before his knees start to shake.

From across the bridge, a guard crumbles to the ground, revealing Jungwon, eyes bright and blood dripping down his chin.

At least one of them got a decent meal tonight.

Oxygen evades him. Every attempted breath is like a thousand tiny knives jabbing the back of his throat.

Behind him, the man struggles to unelash something from his belt—his stupid belt. It reeks of garlic. So much garlic, as if that’s actually going to do more than make Sunghoon a little dizzy.

Well, dizzier, he supposes now that he’s starting to see stars.

He sinks to his knees and immediately despises how good the relief of giving in feels.

Jungwon spots him then, panic written all over his face, and ducks beneath the arm of another prison guard to reach him. He won’t make it in time; Sunghoon’s already done the calculations.

The man behind him curses, pulling away by a hair’s breadth to reach for whatever is stuck in the depths of his belt. His plight is almost enough to make Sunghoon laugh, but then he’s reminded that he can’t even breathe without choking, and terror seizes him once again.

Somewhere in the background, he thinks he hears Jungwon call for him in that overly-sweet, worried tone Sunghoon still hasn’t gotten used to. It’s nice, the way his voice cracks a little. Maybe he should be on the brink of death more often, if only to hear that sliver of desperation escape Jungwon in his final moments.

He wonders, then, as his eyes fall shut, if things would’ve been different—better—had he stopped Jungwon before they took it this far and his ideas turned lunatic. Or if Sunghoon stopped shying away from the truth—of this world, of himself.

Whatever the guy pinned against him is using must be working: black burns the edges of Sunghoon’s vision and a steady buildup of bile rises in his throat. Great. This is how he’s going to go out. Choking on his own vomit, then, most likely, a nice stake to the heart to seal the deal.

At least he had fun and a couple of friends, even if half of them are the reason he’s in this position to begin with. He’s grateful regardless.

Sound muffles as he finally hits the ground with a thud, feeling the burn of the impact spike through his back. Slowly, Sunghoon inhales, deep and final, then parts his lips to release his final breath.

At the same time, some guy—

Some bastard is pulling a stake behind Jungwon, who still hasn’t torn his attention from Sunghoon’s pathetic body. Jungwon doesn’t even know what’s going on; he has no clue that they’re about to die together.

Whatever energy Sunghoon has left steadily converts into prickling fury.

Despite his fuck ups, his head-in-the-clouds ideas, and his unyielding faith in the world, Yang Jungwon is not going to die tonight.

Sunghoon bites down on the arm that holds him, feeling skin rip between his teeth. It’s so good, already so satiating, but there’s no time for anything to come of it: the moment the man snatches his arm away, Sunghoon steals his chance.

He crawls behind one guard, forces himself onto unsteady legs behind another, and keeps moving. Jungwon looks relieved—almost. He’s also taking wary steps forward, hyperaware of everybody except the evil right behind him.

Sunghoon tries to call out his name or a warning, whatever his mind can form first, but his throat is too scratched up to curve around a vowel. An unfamiliar sensation has started buzzing against his temples, a personified white noise whispering down the dip of his earlobe and sinking into his neck.

The stake rises, held aloft by a hand that must have killed hundreds before reaching them, but Sunghoon refuses to let it decide their fate. With a final surge of energy, he staggers forward, reaching for Jungwon as Jungwon does the same with bated breath and concern pulling at his expression.

There’s no time to savour it: the stake is already shooting through the air, as sharp and menacing as a needle, and Sunghoon doesn’t think twice before stepping around Jungwon and taking it right through the chest.

It pierces through his back first, shatters bone and tears sinew, and spills blood as it threads right through.

A weak mewl crackles past Jungwon’s lips.

“Oh, no, no,” Jungwon mutters, pitch rising with every word.

He stares at the hole ripped through Sunghoon’s chest, hypnotised by the leaking crimson that Sunghoon can feel slipping from muscle.

This time, when he tries, he’s able to cough. Blood mixes with spit and splatters across Jungwon’s shoes.

“No— Sunghoon— ”

It’s not a bad way to die—looking at the arch of Jungwon’s brows and the sweep of his cheekbones. Sunghoon only wishes it were more peaceful; that he was being sent off with the same smile that lulls him to sleep on troubled nights.

The last thing he expects to happen happens: Jungwon doesn’t panic or call for him. Instead, his gaze darts towards the perpetrator, and before Sunghoon can take a long, languid blink, Jungwon’s eyes darken.

It’s unlike anything he’s seen before.

It’s terrifying.

Sunghoon sags against the stake when it’s forced deeper, then heaved out of him with a struggling tug. Once it’s gone, as is he: He collapses at Jungwon’s feet, forced to watch his own swirls of blood begin to dry as the dark eats away at his vision once more.

Sunghoon doesn’t remember his last breath.

He doesn’t remember much at all.

There’s supposed to be an afterlife, apparently. Sunghoon doesn’t know if he’s ever believed in one; he’d rather a rebirth. Maybe he wouldn’t end up a monster in another lifetime. He’s been stuck as one for far too long.

Jay once said that doing what they do doesn’t make them monsters, but neither Riki nor Sunghoon had been convinced. They have to kill to live and live too long to truly be happy—both factors that, to Sunghoon, sound more monstrous than not.

Tonight should have ended it all and torn the monster straight out of him.

So.

Why is the light so bright?

Why is his vision adjusting?

Why does the world around him look exactly the same when he should be dead and freed of the sin he’s been burdened with since birth?

Where is the next life he’s been craving since he awoke in this one?

There’s no strength in his body to make a sound, let alone turn his head of his own accord: it flops to the side the moment he takes a cursory look around. With his cheek smooshed against the ground, he observes the—

What are those called again?

Right. Of course.

He observes the shelves, all empty save for a handful of papers and water bottles, neither of which seems particularly appealing at the moment. One sip of water might make him throw his entire stomach up.

Which shouldn’t be possible.

If he recalls correctly, there’s a hole in his chest—he’s not supposed to be able to taste rising bile. Or taste anything at all.

There’s a hole in his chest.

Sunghoon shouldn’t be here.

Still, it curdles in his stomach before clambering its way upward, hot and acidic. Sunghoon gags on it before it bursts through and his sick soaks the wooden floorboards. Immediately, he chokes, sucking in sharp breaths that do nothing but agitate him further.

He rises with the support of one arm. Whatever is still inside of him needs to get out. He coughs and splutters until his dry throat stings from the force of it and his nose grows stuffy.

“No. Stop doing that— stop!”

Strong hands grasp at his shoulders and push him back to the floor.

No—back to the carpet? It’s softer than Sunghoon remembers it being seconds ago.

He’s rolled onto his side and draped in a thick, woolly blanket. It’s only then, when he feels the scratch of it against skin, that Sunghoon realises he’s wearing nothing from the waist up.

“M’ chest,” he blubbers.

The person says something in response, but it flies right over Sunghoon’s head.

He grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Here,” says the person. A straw is shoved between Sunghoon’s lips. “Drink.”

The voice is nice. Sunghoon’s new favourite sound. Of course he listens to it.

The first sip is warmer than expected, sweet and tangy and so refreshing that Sunghoon goes for a second, third, then more until he’s drained whatever he’s gulping from.

It settles inside of him like hot coals on a winter’s day. The warmth of it eases the anxiety rolling off of him and, again, the nice voice says something that does the same, but Sunghoon doesn’t quite catch it.

He’s too far gone.

Sleep takes him for a second time.

The next time he comes to, it’s to the sound of gentle footsteps and creaking floorboards.

A quiet breeze billows in, fanning stray hairs into his eyes. Sunghoon huffs to blow them away, then groans when it makes the pressure pounding against his skull stronger.

He still has no clue where he is; he can only hope that it’s the safe house out in the woods, but he knows the odds of that being true are low. It was too far for them to make it, let alone for him to make it all the way over himself while half unconscious—if he’d been conscious at all.

The place smells of trapped dust and earth and is dimly lit by what appears to be an oil lantern in the corner of the room. Good. Sunghoon’s eyes can fully adjust this time without daylight threatening to blind him.

He looks directly up at the ceiling, rolls his gaze over to the shelves he just barely remembers, then to the opposite end when he hears another set of footsteps. They’re followed by a softer sound: a small puff of air.

When Sunghoon musters the might to shift slightly, he’s met with the sight of a man’s back: broad shoulders poke through a white shirt, and the sweatpants he wears—deep red and loose-fitting—are a tell-tale sign.

Jungwon isn’t blowing air past his lips in little puffs; the longer Sunghoon listens, the more apparent it becomes that the sounds he’s making are haphazard sniffles and sighs. He’s muttering to himself, struggling to light a match with shaking hands.

“How’d ya—”

Sunghoon cuts himself off at the sound of his voice: dry like sandpaper, crackling halfway through the first word.

Jungwon whips around to look at him, faint lamplight sparking the shock in his wide eyes.

“Sunghoon,” he breathes, tossing the box of matches aside as he hurries over. From what Sunghoon can see, Jungwon is pale with dark circles beneath his eyes to contrast. Sick is the word that first comes to mind. “How are you feeling?”

One hand drops to Sunghoon’s knee, gripping tight enough to remind Sunghoon that he’s supposed to feel things there; that he’s supposed to feel all over. Numbness tickles beneath his skin like thousands of tiny pins, but the spot on his knee blooms with a warm, electric hum.

“I…” he croaks out, leaning into the touch. “I don’t know.”

“Here,” says Jungwon, reaching past Sunghoon to retrieve a half-empty bottle of water. Sunghoon wrinkles his nose in disapproval. “You have to. Come on, just…”

Jungwon’s hand moves higher, up and up, to cup the back of Sunghoon’s head. He pushes his palm into his hair, urging Sunghoon to lean back. Defeated—not that he put up much of a fight—Sunghoon tilts his head back and parts his lips. Lukewarm water trickles down his throat the next second, disgusting and rubbery, but he manages to swallow it down with a wince.

Jungwon, at the very least, looks the slightest bit appreciative.

“Are you hurting?” he asks, gaze flicking down to Sunghoon’s chest.

Embarrassment sizzles inside of Sunghoon: he’s still not wearing anything besides his dirtied red sweatpants and the blanket pooling at his waist. He can’t look down to inspect the state of his torso for fear of what he might find. Sunghoon can only be happy that he’s still breathing.

But something else presses against him, right beneath a collarbone. It’s ice cold and metal, and when Sunghoon takes a peek, he notices the leather wrapping around his neck.

“This is—”

“Mine. I know,” finishes Jungwon. They stare at each other for a moment, though for once Sunghoon can’t tell what it is that’s passing between them.

The moment shatters when Jungwon stands and walks around the makeshift bed he must’ve created while Sunghoon was out cold.

“Are you hungry? You usually eat around this time.”

“Huh?”

Sunghoon twists to look at him, but Jungwon keeps his back to him, teetering on the balls of his feet.

“You’ve been in and out of sleep,” he explains. “Usually, when you wake up, you eat. Or drink, I mean. Do you want some?”

“I don’t…” remember that. The memory of the one time is hazy within his mind; he can’t believe it’s happened again. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Uh… four. Four days today.”

“Four days?” Panic grips Sunghoon’s heart. “We should’ve— we need to move, Jungwon. What about the others?”

“I’m handling it,” he answers easily, as if it should be obvious.

“How?”

“I’ll get your food,” says Jungwon, already making a beeline for the doorway. “Be back in a second.”

“Jungwon.”

And he’s gone, just like that.

Unbelievable.

All of this is fucking unbelievable.

Sunghoon curls his fingers into the blanket beneath him, trying to conceive some sort of solution to the question of how he ended up here, alive, with Jungwon and not dead and buried out back while Jungwon ventures forth to find the others.

A bitter chill strikes him. When he searches for one, Sunghoon doesn’t find a shirt lying anywhere: not thrown over the rickety desk chair, or stacked beneath the curtained windowsill. Not dumped beside the bag sitting by the unlit fireplace or poking out of it.

He sinks into the blanket, tugging it halfway up his torso before he stops. It’s his first time seeing it—not that there’s much to behold. Too low for Jungwon’s necklace to graze it, a white bandage wraps around him, over one shoulder, under the other. There’s no blood, so there is nothing gruesome for Sunghoon to imagine. The only question on his mind is: how?

Jungwon returns with a glass cup that he holds out for Sunghoon to take.

Warily, Sunghoon accepts it, toying with the straw.

“It’s not poison,” says Jungwon. “Not any more than you already had, anyway.”

How did you get it out of me? he thinks. How, how, how?

Sunghoon sips, gulps it down, and is instantly welcomed by that tingling warmth he’d felt the last time Jungwon handed him a drink. The anxiety ticking behind his forehead slows, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“Where are you getting this from?”

It’s blood—fresh blood. Unlike anything Sunghoon has had in months.

“From one of the prison guards,” he says. “The one who almost killed you.”

Sunghoon stops, straw halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?”

“It’s his blood. I dragged him here after.”

“After… what?”

“After I killed him.” Jungwon frowns, as if frustrated that Sunghoon isn’t keeping up. “And the rest of them. But I only brought him.” He nods behind Sunghoon. “He’s in the bathroom, so don’t jump when you find him in the tub.”

Jesus.

Holy shit.

Sunghoon sets the cup on the floor beside him.

“Jungwon…” he begins slowly. “How did we get here?”

“I carried you,” he says. “On my back. But I patched you up back on the bridge.”

“Okay, but— Jungwon— how? How did you do that? How did you patch me up, or- or take everybody out? There were so many people, I don’t understand. I need you to explain it to me—all of it.”

Jungwon shrugs. “There’s not anything to explain; I don’t really remember much.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, Sunghoon,” he says sharply. “I just remember you—falling. And the blood, and that man behind you. He was smiling, you know? He was so happy about it.” Jungwon scowls. “It was pathetic. I was so angry, seeing you there—your eyes were closed and your chest. You were just lying there—and he was smiling about it. I just wanted to…”

He clenches his fists, looks away in what Sunghoon has to assume is shame.

“I hate it. You know I hate it,” Jungwon continues desperately, the rims of his eyes turning red. “But I had to. He killed you. They all wanted to kill you.”

“They wanted to kill us.”

“Whatever—you, us, it doesn’t matter. It was them or us, either way, and there was no way I was going to let it be you.” His voice trembles. “I don’t kill for sport; I’m not like Riki or Jay, or whoever. I can’t just do that. But, Sunghoon—they killed you. I couldn’t just…”

Frantically, Jungwon shakes his head, eyes shut and cough caught in his throat.

He’s crumbling and Sunghoon doesn’t know what to do but watch. His brain is screaming for him to hold out a hand, hold Jungwon’s leg or arm or shoulder, anything to placate him.

“Jungwon…”

“What, do you hate me for it?” he asks, head bowed.

“No, I don’t hate you.” He pushes himself completely upright, cringing at the twinge of pain that burns his side. “You didn’t do anything wrong; how could I hate you? I’m just… trying to understand it all.”

“You can,” Jungwon murmurs. “You don’t kill like that, either.”

Sunghoon sighs. “Listen to me,” he says softly, leaning into Jungwon’s space. “I don’t hate you for it. I don’t.”

Jungwon still won’t look at him. The shame—the guilt—it must be devouring him; chewing away at the little things he always managed to keep in check. His emotions seldom take control; that’s what makes him so good at what he does. Jungwon leading them through half-assed plans will always be better than anybody else doing the same.

Oftentimes, Sunghoon wonders how he manages. The six of them have taken hit after hit for years, running and hiding for so long that it’s becoming difficult to remember what came before. How Jungwon could smile at him over a terrible prison breakfast, or reassure him after an argument broke out—Sunghoon has no clue. He’s never been that strong.

But Jungwon has.

Until now, at least.

That same feeling resurges with a vengeance, the same one that had crept up on Sunghoon when Jungwon had touched him minutes ago, steady and blazing. It’s like an invisible rope wrapped around his wrist, pulling and pulling in Jungwon’s direction.

Sunghoon’s teeth start to ache.

When he gives in, nervously grazes Jungwon’s cheek with his palm, it’s like a lightning bolt striking him from the sky.

Has anything ever felt this good? They’re only touching, skin to skin. They’ve done it countless times before—they did it last night, when Jungwon ushered him to what he thought would be safety. But this is different; it’s too much.

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” Sunghoon whispers, gulping around the lump in his throat. He tries angling his head to meet Jungwon’s eyes, but his face is obscured by dark, mussed hair. “They were terrible people. You did the right thing, Jungwon.”

Jungwon sniffles, the same way he had when Sunghoon awoke earlier, and now he can’t help but wonder if Jungwon had been silently crying to himself then, too.

“I hated it. I hate it,” Jungwon whispers back. “Do you want to know how I did it?”

“Jungwon—”

“I grabbed him until he couldn’t breathe. I watched him struggle and I dug my nails into his neck and I pulled, just like he did to you, and then he died. He died, but I didn’t stop, because I saw you—and you still weren’t moving. You looked so sad lying there and I— I can’t remember,” he exhales unsteadily, pressing both hands against his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. I wish I just…” he groans. “I stopped whoever else got in our way, and I took care of you, and now we’re here. That’s all I know.”

Ice spreads through Sunghoon’s veins; not for the dead men scattered across the bridge, but for the hatred that’s drowning Jungwon, little by little.

Sunghoon traces along Jungwon’s temple, higher and higher until he can thread his fingers through Jungwon’s hair.

“They would have killed us both,” he says gently. “You were smart about it. You did good, Jungwon, even if that’s not what you want to hear.”

Jungwon whimpers into his hands. “I know. I know that. I’m just glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if…” He lifts his head, his unsteady gaze finally meeting Sunghoon’s as he heaves a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

Sunghoon’s heart cracks right down the middle at the possibility.

Suddenly, he’s not sad or afraid; he’s angry. At the things they’ve had to go through, at the people who put them through it all. At the guards who cornered them last night and thought the world would be a better place without Jungwon in it.

“You won’t. I promise,” he says, drawing Jungwon nearer.

“How do you know that for sure?”

“I think you might just have to take my word for it, Jungwonie.”

A small, clipped laugh slips from Jungwon’s lips. “That’s it? Seriously? Hah… you suck at comforting people sometimes.”

“Looks like it’s working to me.”

“Sunghoon… You can’t…”

He’s so close—so close that flames dance atop Sunghoon’s skin. He swears if he really focuses, he can feel the blood pumping through Jungwon’s veins; can smell it and grow dizzy because of it.

“I don’t want to do this without you, either. I’m not sure I can,” he confesses. “Actually, I know I can’t; last night proved that. So, I’m afraid you might be stuck with me.”

“Oh, no.”

Sunghoon grins. He has more to say, more things to tease Jungwon about in hopes of lightening his spirits, but the moment he opens his mouth, the throbbing returns to his gums, strong and painful.

“Seriously, though, I need to check up on you,” Jungwon says, ducking his head and wiping his eyes. He taps Sunghoon’s shin. “I mean, your bandages. I should change them.”

“Oh. Right,” he says dumbly, pulling away only a fraction.

But Jungwon pulls back all the way, sniffling and inhaling long and hard as he recollects himself. He stares over Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Could you sit back for me? Just a little.”

Sunghoon does as he’s told, shuffling aside and leaning against the pillows to make room for Jungwon.

He works deftly, with nimble fingers unwrapping the bandage and cleaning the frightfully small wound. Sunghoon’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull at the sight of it. There’s no way to heal this fast without magic, which neither of them has the fortune of harnessing.

Jungwon has gone back to avoiding his eyes, which is fine. Sunghoon gets it; this is difficult. He knows they just smiled and laughed as much as possible, but he can still see the sadness at the edges of Jungwon’s expression. It’s in his red-rimmed eyes, his pink, stuffy nose, and his shaky breaths.

Sunghoon wishes he could take the pain away, or even carry more of the burden himself. He wishes he could do more for Jungwon like Jungwon always does for everyone else. He wishes he could help him when he sinks into the sadness, hold him close if that’s what he needs. He wishes he could catch that whiff again, the tang of his blood. He wishes he could taste— just sink his teeth into— just have one taste of—

“All done,” Jungwon announces, resting a hand against Sunghoon’s chest. His thumb rubs gentle circles, half against the bandage, half against skin.

“Thanks,” he rasps. “Jungwon, did you uh- did you do something different?”

Jungwon tilts his head. “Huh?”

“I don’t know. I mean… you smell…”

“I smell?”

“No.” Sunghoon rushes to correct. “No, you don’t smell. I’m saying that you have a smell. A new one. Or something, I think.” He cringes. “Something’s just different.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows rise. “Uhm… No. I haven’t done anything differently. Maybe it’s just… the food. And sleep. I haven’t had much of either.”

“What? Why not?”

“I was trying to make sure that you didn’t die, Sunghoon—”

“No, I know that, but you should still eat something,” he says with a frown. “Have the next glass for yourself. We can share whatever we have left.”

“You need to get better.”

“No offence, I always love how you look, but you’re not looking too hot yourself, right now.”

“You love how I look?”

“Did I say that?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Sunghoon nods slowly.

“Do I look hot normally?”

“What? Well— yes. Of course. Not that I noticed. I didn’t mean it like that, though. I just meant that, you know,” Sunghoon splutters. “You’re… pretty. Pretty pale. And… yeah.”

He should have died on that bridge.

“Uh-huh…” Jungwon squints. “Did you hit your head? Should I have checked for a concussion?”

“No, no, no, my head is fine. Best it’s been in days.” He smiles—fake, fake, fake. “But I do need the bathroom, so… I’ll be right back.”

So he doesn’t tackle and mawl poor Jungwon within the next five seconds because, yes, he’s always been pretty. He’s always nice and funny, a little sarcastic, good in all the ways that matter, and Sunghoon wants to sink his teeth into Jungwon’s neck so terribly that it’s killing him.

He leaves before he can. Shuts the bathroom door. Breathes. Tries not to die over and over and over—

Holy shit, there is a body in the bathtub.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Sunghoon turns his nose up.

The man is splayed unnaturally across the tub, one arm bent in a way arms should not be bent; one eye peeking open where the porcelain tugs at his blood-splattered cheek.

Then, his neck…

Well, his neck isn’t really there. It’s sort of a mass of red and black where skin should be, all crushed up and murky. A fruit fly descends from the stained walls to land in its depths.

It’s been years; Sunghoon has seen worse. Much worse. Still, he gags, spinning around to grip the corners of the sink in an attempt to steady himself.

Jungwon did that. For him.

If Sunghoon wasn’t so nauseated, he might be flattered.

“Jesus…” he repeats, glancing away.

What the hell is going on? Where are the others? Does Jungwon know yet?

Jake and Sunoo, a not-so-friendly voice in his head reminds him. They’re gone; fled into the night with no indication as to where they’d end up. Frustration pounds at Sunghoon’s temples.

In the corner of the room, he spots a pile of folded clothes. Jungwon’s uniform is mixed in with other jackets and jeans he must have scrounged up in this foul-smelling, old, creaky house. Sunghoon knows that his shirt is done for, for sure; he can imagine the massive hole that ripped through it. But anything found in this place seems as though it requires thorough inspection before use.

He’s not going to risk it. Sunghoon pulls Jungwon’s shirt from the pile and tugs it over his head.

God. He keeps catching whiffs of the man’s dried blood.

Sunghoon leans over the sink again, dropping his head to stare at the ground; at his socked feet and clothing tainted by more bad memories.

His red sweatpants make it difficult to tell how much blood soaked into them after the fight. Maybe he could—

Wait.

Sunghoon crouches to inspect his sweatpants, running a hand all over the cotton. There are no hard bits of crusted blood or any scents clinging to it except for something warm and earthy.

These have been scrubbed and left out to dry.

Sunghoon’s heart plummets. He doesn’t want to think about Jungwon caring for him while he was barely tethered to reality: stocking up on food, making sure Sunghoon didn’t lie there, clothes soiled by his own demise.

But what he really, really doesn’t want to think about is the state Jungwon must have been in while doing it. If Sunghoon had only witnessed half of his mental collapse tonight, he can’t imagine Jungwon swallowing back dry heaves while tending to his wounds, or the running water he used to scrub the clothes drowning out breathless sobs; Jungwon doing anything to keep his hands busy, better yet to erase all evidence of the night that plays on loop in his mind.

Sunghoon drops his forehead to the cabinet, frustrated with everybody, with himself.

He can’t believe that this is where they are.

Before he leaves, Sunghoon takes a final glance at the man who’d run a stake through his chest. Besides the obvious—gruesome, disgusting, nasty, Sunghoon could go on—damage, he can’t find any other gashes or signs of blood.

Curious, Sunghoon crouches again to examine him from head to toe, but his uniform, other than the random streaks and droplets of blood from his neck, is clean. He hasn’t been touched.

Which shouldn’t be possible, unless Jungwon has developed a very new, very strange power that sucks the blood out of a body without laying a finger on it. Sunghoon wouldn’t be surprised at this point.

But he had to have siphoned it from somewhere. Even the tub, now that Sunghoon is actually looking at it, is clean. The man’s blood clearly dried on the long drag over, but nothing more appears to have been spilt or drained after being dumped.

So, where—

Sunghoon can’t think it.

He can’t think it because the moment he does, he knows it’ll be the answer he’s looking for.

A cracked noise scrapes its way up his throat.

“Jungwon…” he grumbles, running both hands over his face.

They’re not supposed to do that.

He shoves his way out of the bathroom, white heat curdling inside his stomach. Jungwon is still seated on the mattress, hands in his hair and his face pressed into his knees.

Sunghoon mentally curses. Give me your pain, he thinks; begs. He’ll take as much of it as he can.

“You lied,” he says instead.

Jungwon whips around, startled. “What?”

Don’t back down. Don’t give in just because of the look on his face.

“You lied to me about him.” He nods towards the bathroom. “That wasn’t his blood you gave me, Jungwon.”

Jungwon turns fully, defeat already written all over his expression.

“Sunghoon—”

“It was yours, wasn’t it? All of it,” Sunghoon asks. He takes a step forward. “You don’t look like that because you’re just tired, or just— hungry. There’s barely anything left inside of you, is there?”

“I have it under control,” Jungwon says, standing and nearly stumbling over the blanket.

“Like you had the plan under control?” he bites and tries incredibly hard to ignore the way Jungwon flinches at the words. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Jungwon, and it’s killing you.”

“So what if I don’t know what I’m doing?” Jungwon scowls. “At least I’m doing something.”

“As opposed to what? What the hell was I supposed to do when I was halfway dead?”

“You’re supposed to get better,” he argues. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ve got everything planned for the next few days while you recover, and—”

“And then you’ll die,” Sunghoon says, exasperated. “Because you’re not eating or drinking or sleeping, and you’re giving every last drop of your own blood to me when you know what that does.”

“It doesn’t matter what it does.”

“Of course it matters,” he seethes.

How could it not? Vampires steal blood from humans, sure, but when they take from each other, that’s an entirely different story. It creates links that can’t be unlinked, drains the donor more than tens of needles ever could. It’s shared for oaths and spilt for betrayal. It’s the reason Sunghoon is aching every time they’re in the same room.

They’re not supposed to do it, end of story.

“How could you do that to yourself?” Sunghoon asks, voice wavering. “You’re all talk, Jungwon. How could you sit there and say you don’t want to do any of this without me when you’re okay with leaving me behind?”

Jungwon falters, his mouth opening and closing. He’s gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Sunghoon can tell. It’s an old habit, one he picked up when they were first on the run.

“I just want you to be okay,” Jungwon whispers.

The jagged pieces of Sunghoon’s heart cut him up from the inside out.

“I’d be a lot better with you still alive.”

Jungwon’s shoulders drop. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t… after I killed him— after I brought him here… I couldn’t do any more to him. I tried, but I felt so… I had to help you somehow.”

“And you did,” says Sunghoon. With another sigh, he walks up to Jungwon until he’s close enough to touch. “But Jungwon, you’ve done enough. You have to rest now. Okay?”

Jungwon—too tense and wrung out but never having used it as an invitation for rest, but rather a question of how he could still do more for somebody else—stands completely still until he finally, finally nods. It’s a meagre thing that brings Sunghoon immense relief. He sags with the weight of it. It seems like Jungwon might be doing the same.

That’s when Sunghoon decides he can’t take it any longer: he reaches out to wrap an arm around Jungwon’s waist and tug him towards his chest. Jungwon crashes into him with a huff, surprised but not unfamiliar. They’ve hugged before; they’ve figured this out. While Jungwon tends to encircle Sunghoon’s torso, today he clasps his hands behind Sunghoon’s neck. It’s awkward for the second it takes to get it right, but once they do, Jungwon melts.

He’s quiet for a long time, burrowing deeper into the crook of Sunghoon’s neck. Sunghoon can feel the fanning of his eyelashes each time Jungwon blinks; it’s how he knows Jungwon is still deep in thought. He’s not letting it go just yet; nothing is ever easy with him except for being with him.

“You know,” Sunghoon begins a minute later. “This means you’re actually stuck with me. You do realise that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Jungwon admits, small and muffled against Sunghoon’s skin. “I was sort of just hoping you’d be okay with that.”

Laughter bursts free, bright and more comforting than Sunghoon thought his own laugh could ever be.

“There are worse things,” he says eventually, dropping his cheek to Jungwon’s hair.

It’s later that Sunghoon finds out Jungwon has been using the desk chair as his primary sleeping spot, which absolutely will not do in any version of reality ever.

“And I’m driving us tomorrow,” Sunghoon says, clearing space for Jungwon to join him on the mattress.

“But—”

“Once we meet up with Jay, I’m taking whichever car we can find, and you’re resting the whole drive over.”

“You sound like me,” Jungwon grumbles, flopping to the mattress. “Am I really this annoying?”

“Hey.”

Jungwon grins as he slips beneath the blanket. They have two pillows total that they’ve deemed decent enough to use, though Sunghoon has draped his old red hoodie over his—just because it’s comfortable doesn’t mean it’s clean. He knows they’re on the run and all, but he’s going to take every last bit of luxury he can get.

He stares at the ceiling in silence, hyperaware of Jungwon right beside him. Their arms brush whenever one of them shifts; it’s enough to send that bolt of electricity spiking up Sunghoon’s arms and make his hair stand on end. He’s accustomed to the dull ache he gets whenever they’re together, but now, with Jungwon’s blood flowing with his, it’s amplified tenfold. Sunghoon wants to press up against him, slip a hand into his—something—anything.

He might be losing his mind.

“You’re not hurting, are you?”

“What?” Sunghoon squawks.

He’s been caught out, hasn’t he?

Jungwon rolls onto his side to give him a once-over. Then, as if he’s been reading every thought running through Sunghoon’s head, he scooches right into Sunghoon’s bubble.

Like a magnet, Sunghoon does the same.

“This,” Jungwon says, reaching for the necklace hanging from Sunghoon’s neck. “I got it from a merchant when I was a kid. For helping her out with something.”

Sunghoon stares unblinkingly. The golden glow of lamplight flickers across Jungwon’s cheekbone like little embers of a blazing fire. Maybe he’s the reason fires burn in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach more often than not, but Jungwon is a force of his own; beautiful and unwilting no matter the toll he insists he carries.

“And this.” Jungwon pulls another necklace—not dissimilar to the former, but longer, less intricate—from inside his shirt. “This came with it.”

“Do they mean anything?” Sunghoon asks. “I never asked.”

“Hm, not really. But one thing about the merchant,” he continues, dragging his eyes up to meet Sunghoon’s. “She used magic. I got a little banged up after I helped her out, and I guess she felt sorry for me, so she gave me this,”—he lifts his necklace—“for healing. And this,”—he lifts Sunghoon’s—“for any pain I might experience.”

“Oh,” is all Sunghoon can say as the puzzle pieces begin to slot into place.

“I wanted to make sure this one was working.” He taps a finger against the big metal clasp. “So you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m. I’m fine. I think so.”

Jungwon hums. “Good. Let me know if that changes and I’ll give you this one back.”

Of course that’s how he healed Sunghoon so quickly on the bridge. Jungwon has always been smart, but a healer he is decidedly not. Magic had always been the obvious answer. And of course Jungwon had given it up for somebody else; for him.

A bud of warmth sprouts and blooms within Sunghoon’s chest.

“You might need it more than me,” Sunghoon says, clearing his throat. “I promise I’m feeling better. Keep it.”

With a small smile, Jungwon drops Sunghoon’s necklace and tucks his own behind the collar of his shirt.

“Uh, listen… I actually wanted to ask you something,” says Sunghoon.

“Oh? What is it?”

Great. Now Sunghoon is the one avoiding eye contact.

“I was thinking… maybe you shouldn’t wait until tomorrow for…” No. Nope. He is not doing it like this. The second he catches another glimpse of the deathly pallor of Jungwon’s skin, Sunghoon blows a frustrated breath and pushes himself upright. “Jungwon, I can’t stand seeing you like this.” He holds out his arm, wrist turned towards the ceiling. “Please just take some.”

Sunghoon doesn’t want to look at him. He can’t. This is the most embarrassing thing he’s done in a while.

“What?” Jungwon asks. “What are you talking about? You know, I can’t—”

“You already let me have some of yours, so it makes no difference,” explains Sunghoon. “We’re still linked either way.”

“Sunghoon…”

“Jungwon.” He glares pointedly at him. “I know you want it; I’ve been feeling the same way since I woke up. Honestly, I have no idea how you’ve been handling it—I’ve been losing my mind just looking at you.”

“I— I guess so, yeah, but I don’t want you to do it out of fairness,” he mutters. “That’s wrong.”

“I’m doing it because I want you to,” insists Sunghoon.

“And then—”

“And then everything will be okay.”

“But—”

“Jungwon, if you don’t touch me right now, I’m going to die; I mean it.”

Jungwon’s eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlights.

“You’re really straightforward sometimes. Has anyone ever told you that?” he asks, too stunned to move.

Sunghoon doesn’t answer; he shakes his wrist in front of Jungwon’s face and pulls an expression he hopes conveys: Come on, hurry up, please just do it, please, right now. Please.

Cautiously, Jungwon wraps a hand around Sunghoon’s forearm. It’s already enough for the throbbing in his gums to return with fervour.

Looking at him like this, Sunghoon can’t help but think that, despite the signature blush missing from his cheeks, Jungwon looks so, so beautiful. Calm but inquisitive, close but not close enough. His eyes, lit by a candle flame, dart from Sunghoon to his wrist, then back again.

Just as Sunghoon is about to guide him on what to do next, a sharp sting stops and restarts his heart as it shoots up his arm; leaves his head reeling.

Two sharp stings.

Jungwon has already bitten into him, the heat of his lips wetting the skin at Sunghoon’s wrist.

God— the feel of him. Jungwon’s touch, his lips, his warmth and desire bundling together—Sunghoon is aware of it all. It’s a grasp on his arm, a throb of a vein, lightheadedness making him squeeze his eyes shut and static buzzing in his ears. Sunghoon sighs as relief rolls off of his shoulders in waves.

Every suck of blood is punctuated by a startlingly strong pulse, followed by the press of Jungwon’s tongue lapping at the excess. It shouldn’t be so addictive for both parties, but Sunghoon thinks he could ride this high and be happy when he’s drained and knocking on death’s door.

Jungwon’s grip tightens, loosens, tightens again, over and over. Sunghoon drops his head back against the headboard and sighs.

Over and over and over and over.

“Fuck, Jungwon,” he groans. “Slow down.”

There’ll be nothing left by the time Sunghoon musters enough strength to open his eyes.

Jungwon gives no indication that he’s heard him at all, and the fact should worry Sunghoon more than it does, but bliss is too overwhelming an emotion to ignore. He wants it all; he wants more.

When Jungwon shoves his fangs in deeper, Sunghoon hisses in alarm. His eyes fly open.

“Jungwon, seriously. Hey— ah.” Sunghoon keels over, knocking their shoulders together.

Leaning against Jungwon’s side for support, Sunghoon steals the opportunity to run his free hand through Jungwon’s hair and tug hard enough for it to hurt. Jungwon makes a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat as his teeth retract.

“That’s enough,” Sunghoon pants, blinking stars out of his eyes. “I need— I need a break.”

When Jungwon looks up at him, Sunghoon swears his heart actually does stop. Blood trickles from one corner of Jungwon’s mouth, a thick line of it already smeared across his bottom lip, and his eyes are blown wide. He looks—

Sunghoon thinks he looks—

“Holy shit,” Sunghoon breathes. Jungwon licks his lips, curiously angling his head, but Sunghoon can’t do this. He can’t. Sunghoon ducks down until their foreheads bump. “Can I? Jungwon, can I—”

“Yes,” Jungwon answers.

He curls his fingers into Sunghoon’s—Jungwon’s—shirt and pulls. Their teeth clash and their noses bump, and Sunghoon has zero idea what he’s doing with his hands. He grabs Jungwon’s waist as their lips glide over one another’s, hot in feel and metallic in taste.

Sunghoon nudges forward, urging Jungwon down and onto the mattress, like he has in the daydreams he constantly feels guilty for having. But this is real: Jungwon is touching him with one hand roaming his neck and the other in his hair; he’s solid and holding him back, kissing him back, and this is real.

The blood left on Jungwon’s tongue makes its way onto Sunghoon’s when he presses into him, and Jungwon lets out an honest-to-god whine. Sunghoon swears he blacks out for a second; he can’t believe he’s getting to hear this.

He creeps one hand beneath the hem of Jungwon’s shirt, and Jungwon arches into his palm in response—a surprising reaction that Sunghoon takes gladly. Warmth is already spreading under Jungwon’s skin, proof that he’d taken enough—that Sunghoon had given enough. Pleasure curdles inside of him at the thought.

“Ow— ah.” Jungwon suddenly yanks away, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his face.

“What?” Sunghoon asks, dazed, panicked. “What happened?”

Jungwon scowls, massaging his swollen bottom lip before removing his hand for Sunghoon to see the fresh bead of blood bubbling from it.

“I think you got a little too excited,” Jungwon complains.

“Oh…” Sunghoon stares, transfixed, as the blood rises and falls, slithering down onto his chin. “Sorry.”

He isn’t, really.

Jungwon swipes at his lip with a grumble. “Ah, seriously…”

Then, another surprise: He starts laughing. Jungwon tips his head back and laughs.

Sunghoon raises a brow. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

“A little,” Jungwon says between gasps. “Actually, it’s pretty fun— ow.”

He winces after accidentally biting down on his lip. Another grumble.

He’s so cute. Sunghoon doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself.

“I might be needing that necklace more than you, right now,” says Jungwon.

Immediately, Sunghoon reaches to undo the clasp, but Jungwon rushes to stop him with a hand covering his.

“I’m kidding,” he says pointedly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Oh,” Sunghoon says for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Jungwon slides his hand up Sunghoon’s neck.

“You’re so…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he draws Sunghoon back in for another kiss, this one longer and a little sweeter; as if he really means it. Sunghoon knows he does because he knows Jungwon as much as the luckiest person in the world should. Whatever this is right now, it means something, and—knowing Jungwon—they’ll have discussed that something by morning.

Sunghoon kisses him back to prove he means it, too. And, just in case this is the only chance he has, he wants to make it last.

They break apart but don’t pull away: Their hands find whatever part of the other they can hold, and they hold on tight. Sighing happily—at least, that’s what it sounds like—Jungwon jostles Sunghoon into lying beside him.

Sunghoon wraps an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders.

“This has been the most eventful week of my life,” Jungwon mutters distantly. “And I’ve had a long life.”

“Was it a good one?”

“Hm, believe it or not, I’m inclined to say no.” Jungwon grins at him. “But there were some good parts.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. A few.”

Sunghoon leans in, smiling cheekily. “Name them.”

“You don’t know your own name?”

Oh, Jesus—

“Pfft...”

What starts as a small puff of laughter dissolves into hysterics as Sunghoon bows his head into Jungwon’s shoulder.

“That was so bad,” he says. “Even for me.”

“No way,” Jungwon counters. “You totally liked it. Admit it.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Sunghoon, come on,” he drawls.

Cute. He’s so cute. Sunghoon thinks he says as much, but he’s too lost in the burst of glee to remember. But Jungwon’s blush deepens, a beautiful sign of health and life and, maybe, love.

Sunghoon kisses him again and again, over and over.

“Stop stealing.”

Jungwon snatches the mandarin from Sunghoon’s hand and plops it back into the box.

“Oh, come on, let me have something,” he gripes, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You’re never against us stealing.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” says Jungwon. “But this is a local market. These people need money, not a petty thief.”

“Petty? Where did that come from?”

Sunghoon tails Jungwon as he weaves through the market stalls, keeping an eye out for any suspicious persons or activity. It’s their first day out of the safe house and Sunghoon would be lying if he were to say he didn’t miss it, even if it is only slightly. He’s too wary now; too afraid of the worst happening out of the blue.

As they pass a stall selling various drinks, Sunghoon watches an exchange with an uptick in heart rate: the vendor slides the key across the counter and Jungwon pockets it before anybody so much as blinks in their general direction.

Screw cute—Jungwon’s cool. Which, yeah, Sunghoon has always known as much, but he prefers not to say it out loud; Jungwon would never let him hear the end of it. He’d probably poke and prod Sunghoon all over as teasing remarks spill from his pretty lips and his eyes brighten even further. He’d bump their shoulders together and laugh.

Maybe Sunghoon should tell him.

An arm lands on Sunghoon’s shoulder, snapping him from his reverie.

“Are you okay?” asks Jungwon, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m great. You?”

He smiles. “Great.”

They meet Jay around back. He’s already at the wheel, one hand held up for Jungwon to dump the keys into. They both give his shoulder a grateful squeeze as they make their way to the other side of the car.

“You’re looking healthy,” Jay comments as Jungwon passes by. “Easy escape?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jungwon quips sardonically. “Super easy.”

“Wait a second!” Sunghoon calls, rushing past Jungwon to open the car door for him.

He beams with pride, awaiting either a snarky remark or praise that will make him shiver all over.

Jungwon rolls his eyes and climbs into the passenger seat.

“Cute,” he says, shutting the door on his own.

Cute? Sunghoon?

He’s not really sure how to take that one.

Sunghoon walks back over to Jay’s side, shoving his head through the open window.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

He doesn’t like the glare Jay sends his way. It’s not the worst one he’ll get; Sunghoon already knows that much.

“Ready. If you are.”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon answers, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. “All ready. Jungwon?”

Jungwon gives them a thumbs up. “Let’s go.”

Jay leans in to whisper into Sunghoon’s ear, words pushed through gritted teeth: “This is your last chance to change your mind.”

A lump forms in Sunghoon’s throat, heavy with guilt that has yet to consume him. He’s already made up his mind—he made it up on the way over here, when they’d contacted Jay via radio.

So, with a slap to the car door, Sunghoon takes the necklace from his pocket, forces it into Jay’s hand, and smiles one last time.

“See you later?”

Jay sighs and tucks the necklace away. The car locks as he turns the key in the ignition.

“See you later,” says Jay.

“Wait, what?” Jungwon peers over Jay’s shoulder, clutching at the gearbox. “What do you mean?”

“Get there safe,” continues Sunghoon, though he can feel his smile wobbling. “Be careful, Jungwonie.”

“Sunghoon, wha— what the hell are you talking about?” His expression contorts in equal parts confusion and disbelief. “Get in the car! Hey—”

Jay hits the gas, and Sunghoon steps back as the car rolls forward along the road.

Jungwon’s protests ring in Sunghoon’s ears until the car is only a speck on the horizon.

He’s going to be sick. He can taste it.

Shit.

Sunghoon makes a beeline for the nearest trash can and heaves until he can’t any longer.

It’s a miserably hot day; the sun beats down upon him, rendering the jacket Jungwon had found for him useless.

Well, useless save for one thing.

Jungwon, for all his wit, needs to start paying more attention: he’s not the only one with plans. While Jungwon was busy swiping keys, Sunghoon was busy swiping intel.

He reaches into his jacket pocket to procure the slip of paper and unfolds it.

Co-ordinates. That’s it. That’s all that’s written in small script.

But it’s something.

He’s sure Jungwon and Jay will meet up with Riki safely. They’re travelling an easy route, both with brand new identification papers tucked into their backpacks. And Jay promised to keep an eye out—an eye on Jungwon—while Sunghoon was off searching for Jake and Sunoo.

One thing about them all: they never break a promise.