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[4] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "do you want know the first thing my father taught me?"
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5
a/n: 23k words omg......part 4/5, had to split the final chapter in two violence, reader experiences misogyny but they are gender neutral, implied sexual tension/relationships/lead up to sexual situations but nothing explicit (aside from the yearning lmao), talk of people burning at the stake, gross imagery i.e. eating raw meat, brief reference to the grooming and assault of a child (not hongjoong or reader), cheating, toxic hongjoong, reader becomes progressively more manipulative, references to SA (not hongjoong or reader), implied physical abuse (not hongjoong or reader), yeosang/reader situationship, one sided mingi/reader, whew this one is a doozy of introspection, also thought about this quote a lot: "no one will know how much violence it took to become this gentle"
-
they say the kims are closer to god then they are to men. you were warned of this, and, some days, you'd believed it.
you believed it on some days. when king kim would send you and hongjoong raw meat from the kitchens with the explicit orders that that was all you were both to eat for a month. hongjoong had the meat sent back every time, but the stench of raw meat never left your nose. when you stood in the gallows of king's landing with the rest of the court and watched innocents burn at the stake, green fire rising and swirling into a column of smoke that disappeared into the glum sky of king's landing, pained screams still ringing in your ears and the stench of burnt flesh still lingering in your nose long after the executions. those days hongjoong would stand in front of you as if he meant to block your view of the scene, but you'd always see it and hear it. there was no way to avoid it when the king insisted the court should have full view of the executions.
with each passing public execution, the anguished screams and choked sobs of those in the audience melted away, until one day you stood in an audience that was only chilling silence, as if the world itself had gone numb.
worst of all, you could still smell everything. the stench of fire and ashes and burnt flesh.
the king faced no consequences for these acts of violence.
eventually the queen stopped taking visitors, even hongjoong, you'd noticed. the two of you continued to share his bedchambers, and you quickly grew accustomed to his extensive schedule. he stopped visiting his mother around a fortnight after you'd wedded him. only a a handful of maids were allowed to see her, which you knew because one of the maids reported to hongjoong of his mother's condition every morning. even though you slept in his too-big bed, and he had the servants lay out a separate bed near the balcony for himself, you grew accustomed to his habits.
you'd wondered once if he knew of yours. it was likely he did not.
king kim was so close to god, he did whatever he wished without consequence, and the thought of his reign of terror going unchecked left you more anxious than you wished to admit.
at least until one warm summer night, when the king called for you to help feed the dragons in the dragonpit. a task he deemed a rite of passage for the newest kim, though you both knew damn well you would not make it out of the dragonpit in one piece.
you were no kim in the dragon's eyes.
the king sat upon his cold iron throne and looked upon you with a treacherous glint in his eyes. it was a look that grew as time passed, as if he'd forgotten his content with hongjoong and your betrothal, and his mistrust for you and dorne had returned. the feeling of his eyes boring into you, knowing he could decide whatever you wished, made you angry. without hongjoong there to counteract the mad king's demands, you were vulnerable. you could not stand vulnerability. you could not stand that you understood why they said the kims were closer to god. not because of their dragons, but because they were above punishment. the king was allowed to dole out punishment as he wished, to whomever he wanted, and no one lifted a finger to deny him of his supposed gods-given rights.
the king's serpent grin as he bestowed his request upon you haunted your thoughts.
that night, barely a name-day after you were wedded to hongjoong, you'd found yourself eye-to-eye with a dragon you'd never seen before. a smaller one, with blue leather skin and sharp eyes. you thanked the gods, old and new, that this time the dragon did not seem in the mood to breathe fire. the kingsguard who had escorted you down to the dragonpit had long disappeared, and you'd stared at the beast as it reared its head and stalked towards you and the bloody slabs of meat you'd dropped long ago.
you were not as brave as you had been your first night you'd entered the dragonpit, and perhaps that was a testament of the years you'd spent in king's landing away from sunspear. the person who stepped off that ship and snuck into the dragonpit was long gone. your dornish curiosity, your bravery, it had all been snatched from you, and you now stood before this dragon with your heart lodged in your throat, frozen and terrified.
the dragon sniffed at the bloody meat between you both, and you knew the only reason you'd managed to move, despite the terror, was the thought that your family did not deserve to see your body returned to them in pieces.
so you'd ran. you ran from the dragon, king's orders be damned.
you ran to the to the door, your footsteps echoing through the dragonpit, an eerie sound that bounced off the walls, ringing in your ears as if even your footsteps were chasing after you. the dragon roared. the sound of it tearing at the meat, it's jaw snapping, following the roars.
your hands shook as you fiddled with the rusted steel door handle, and panic filled your stomach when the door remained firmly shut. the dragon roared once more. the sound was closer. you slammed your shoulder against the door. once. twice. thud, thud, thud.
it swung open with a clang. you stumbled into something - no, someone - sturdy and warm. hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you.
you'd blinked at him. his unruly silver hair, gritted teeth, and furrowed brows.
hongjoong was supposed to be in a strategy meeting at the other side of the red keep. the king knew as much, and you knew it too when you'd agreed to the king's demands.
he wasn't supposed to be here.
so, why was he here?
hongjoong frowned at you, his eyes narrowing into annoyance as he studied your face. for a long moment, you both merely stood at the threshold to the dragonpit. another roar from the dragon and you surged closer to hongjoong and further from the open door. hongjoong's grip on your shoulders tightened, his fingers curling around your elbow, even as he he yanked you away from the door and kicked it shut behind him.
the door slammed shut with a dull thud, drowning out the dragon’s roars, and only then did he let you go. your back hit the wall, and suddenly everything was too quiet. all you could hear was your ragged breathing and your own heart knocking against your ribs. the dragon and the dragonpit was gone, but as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, leaning against the wall, and tried to catch your breath, hongjoong's furious gaze burned hotter than the breath of a dragon. it was a fury you did not see from him anymore, though perhaps that was because you and hongjoong had barely spoken since your conversation during the bedding ceremony.
the silence over the dimly lit corridor settled between you both. he stepped closer, his vindictive eyes fixed on you as he snapped, "why the hell did you come here?"
you bristled at his tone, "your father ordered me to!"
hongjoong's eyes widened. was he truly surprised? after everything the mad king had done?
hongjoong stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, gaze skeptical and tone accusatory, "and you did not think to ask me to join you before you came here?"
"you were occupied," you spat, rolling your eyes.
despite your tone, you slumped against the wall behind you, hand over your heart to calm it. hongjoong's scowl was a burning thing, his gaze digging into your skull. you pointedly ignored it in liege of catching your bearings.
eventually he spoke, tone scathing, "you are an idiot."
you scowled at hongjoong, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at your expression. if anyone deserved his wrath, it was his father. not you.
"your father has always been mad, and i've looked past it same as the rest of you. however, i cannot ignore this. he demanded this of me knowing damn well you would be occupied. clearly he wishes upon my death," you'd bit out, hiding at an ache on your arm. perhaps the dragon did not breathe fire, but it had clawed at you, the same way the mad king had with his own claws.
there was a scratch along your arm, right above the burn from long ago. blood trickled down your forearm. you stared at it for a long moment, unable to recall how you'd gotten it. now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp sting of the wound was at the forefront of your mind.
you turned your scowl on hongjoong, watching as his gaze flit to your wounded arm and remained fixed there. he did not, you noticed, deny your accusation. yours was a heavy, treasonous statement to make against the king of westeros. especially to his son. he should have denied it.
you frowned at his silence, "you are aware of this?"
it was a question you knew the answer to.
hongjoong stood with his arms crossed over his chest. he grit his teeth, "my father believes i wish to usurp him using your father's support."
"and why would he believe something as absurd as that?" you asked, warily.
hongjoong's dragged his hand through his silver-white hair, shrugging. his gaze left yours, fixing over your shoulder, over nothing. it wasn’t the most absurd idea, not in this mad court.
"he is the mad king, y/n.” he emphasized mad king as if that were explanation enough.
"so what? some of his mad thoughts are not always unfounded," you said, narrowing your eyes at hongjoong as you watched him fidget. you've come to learn that hongjoong did not fidget as others did. it was subtle. a moment's glance away, a tap of his fingers against his forearm. they were all subtle signs you'd picked up from sleeping in his chambers, and you were not sure if you liked this newfound ability of yours. it only made you wonder what habits hongjoong had noticed of yours.
hongjoong stood before you, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to keep speaking. how he knew you would was beyond you.
you crossed your arms over your chest when the silence stretched on too long, "so, do you wish to usurp him? is that what the mad king’s vendetta is about?”
"i am no kinslayer," hongjoong glowered.
you'd raised a skeptical brow in response, "only because kinslaying is socially irredeemable."
"must you always think the worst of me?"
you snorted, "am i incorrect in my assumption, then? that the king’s anger is unfounded?”
hongjoong then let out the smallest of laughs, a bubble of a thing that graced his annoyed features. he shook his head, but he did not answer you. instead, he said, "come. let us tend to your wound."
you drew your arm to your chest, narrowing your eyes at his attempt to dodge your questions.
hongjoong merely held his hand out, waiting.
you glared at him and the offending hand, "you did not answer me."
"because i do not want to."
"then i will take it to be true, usurper."
"you’ve made up your mind already. will it make a difference? if it were true or not?”
you'd blinked at his expression. he shook his outstretched palm at you, an impatient movement.
you both knew that even if hongjoong truly did wish to usurp the throne, you'd still be entangled in the king's plots. you would remain a target. and if it wasn't true? the king would still continue to plot against you both. he was mad, after all, even if some of his madness was not unfounded. he hated dorne, and you were of dorne. he hated his son, and you were his spouse.
“yes, your admission would.” you cradled your arm to your chest. you clarified, "make a difference, i mean."
"how?"
"you'd have told me the truth."
"do we do that now?"
you frowned, "i suppose not."
hongjoong smiled, and it was a soft thing. he shook his head, before he held his hand out once more.
after a moment, you placed your injured hand in his. he held it carefully, and you'd ignored the way your chest ached.
in the year or so that you'd been wedded to hongjoong, nothing had truly changed. little things had changed here and there. he bothered you less than he used to, and your septa no longer reprimanded you for the way you responded to him.
other than that, he continued on with his lessons and his meetings. you continued on with your sword and riding lessons, and attended events and meetings as duty called.
the only difference that mattered was you and hongjoong slept in the same room together. nightly routines meant you'd lay in his too-big bed until sleep came, and sometimes you'd stir awake in the middle night when hongjoong entered the chambers and readied himself for bed. some mornings, you woke at the same time as him, and you ignored him getting dressed as you stepped into the bathing room to dress yourself or draw yourself a bath, not bothering to call for the servants. hongjoong never left the room when he wished to get dressed, much to your annoyance. still, most mornings, you woke to his bed empty.
some days, during banquets or jousting matches, you'd have to arrive alongside hongjoong. he'd hold his arm out for you to hook your arm through his elbow and the servants would dress you both in matching colors. he'd cock his brow in amusement as you took his offered arm, but he maintained a polite distance otherwise as he led you to the tourney or banquet. you'd made it a point every jousting match to not once give him your flower wreath and bestow him your favor. at banquets you sat next to him and not once did you turn to speak to him.
at one of the jousting tourneys, hongjoong waited at the foot of the stands for your favor, his silver-white hair pushed back from his eyes as he held his jousting sword out in your direction, his armor glinting under the sunlight. you'd treaded right past him, placing it upon the sword of ser eunwoo of the riverlands instead. hongjoong's eyes had flashed, even as he let out a loud bellowing laugh that rang loud in your ears. his grin was a wide terror of a thing. to the people of the court, your behavior was all fun and games between newly weds. teasing, good fun. sometimes, there were whispers that it was something less kind, but no one truly dared speak ill of the heir at court. the mad king was one thing, but the mad king's son was an entirely different matter. you knew it angered hongjoong, however, when you undermined him so publicly, but you doubted he cared otherwise. his sword was always adorned by flower wreath after flower wreath, favor upon favor, from too many to count. you were a wreath among many others. what did your favor matter to him?
ser eunwoo, ser baekhyun, every knight you'd ever favored in hongjoong's stead, ended up sprawled across the ground with his helmet gone and his nose or arm or fingers or some other appendage broken or severely injured from the impact of hongjoong’s jousting sword. hongjoong always tugged at his horse's reins as he galloped back and forth after in celebration, the crowd cheering him on. once you’d dared meet his eyes through the crowd, and his dark eyes glinted as his grin widened.
when he'd defeated ser eunwoo, your favor had flown from ser eunwoo's broken jousting sword, and he'd scooped it up and placed it on his, waving his sword to and fro to the sound of crowd howling at his act. your heart raced against your ribs and your stomach turned. you'd watched as hongjoong galloped to where you stood in the stands, reining his horse in. he held his sword out to you, and the tourney grew silent in anticipation. your favor slipped from the tip of his sword and fell to the floor in front of you, past your limp hands. he grinned, all teeth and fire in his eyes, before he dismounted his horse and turned away, bowing to the crowd.
"you could have killed him," you'd admonished afterwards, when you both left together in hongjoong's carriage.
you'd reminded him of that fact every time he did such a thing.
every time, hongjoong shrugged in response and said, "if you worry for their lives, why do you give them your favor?"
you'd frowned and hongjoong had laughed.
the next tournament, you kept your favor in your lap, defiant as you met hongjoong's gaze. he won the match and dumped all the favors he'd received in front of your feet, and his grin was not as wild as it once had been. the audience hooted with glee. hongjoong turned away from you.
"quite a lover's quarrel, huh?" yeosang asked with a grin and a congratulatory pat to hongjoong's back before he opened the carriage door, after that particular tourney incident.
hongjoong narrowed his eyes at yeosang, and you were shocked he did not strangle yeosang where he stood. it was a testament, you thought, to their bond, and it always made your chest tight to see evidence of such a thing when you had nothing. the carriage ride home was a long and silent.
some days, you'd believed the kims were closer to god than to the rest of you, but on days like this you knew they were the same as any other person. human and angry and begrudging as the rest of you. it made you laugh, a bubbling giggle escaping your lips, and hongjoong glanced sideways at you before he huffed and fixed his gaze out the carriage window.
~.~.~.~.~
a year prior, the sun beat down over your heads as you stood at port. the smell of rotting fish invaded your senses and you could almost taste it on your tongue alongside the sea salt carried with the ocean breeze. the heat of the sun trickled down your spine. you did not know when king's landing's sun became hotter than dorne's, but you thought it fitting that you'd notice it now, as you stood on the docks and watched your father's knights ready his ship.
dorne's flag - orange with a yellow spear piercing a red sun - fluttered high in the sky. it beckoned to you, and you wanted so badly to join your family. you wanted so badly to return to dorne, to touch the sands of sunspear and take meals alongside your brothers. you wanted so badly to find forgiveness for your father, to kneel at your mother's feet and eat the fruits she'd cut for you while she massaged hot oil into your hair. you dreamt of those evenings, her fingers gentle on your scalp while she hummed an ancient melody she said her mother had taught her. you'd asked her to teach you once, and she hummed and said she would when her duties allowed her rest. she'd never gotten around to it. you wanted so badly to learn it now.
you wanted your family. you wanted dorne. you wanted to leave.
your chest ached with the want.
that day, mingi stood at your side, instead of hongjoong. the king, queen, and hongjoong had already said their farewells to your family in the throne room. you hadn't been there. you'd woken to an empty bed, and an anxious thrum deep in your bones. you'd wrapped a cloak over your sleep clothes and stumbled to the chamber doors. at the threshold to hongjoong's chambers, you found mingi and two other kingsguard you did not recognize standing guard outside hongjoong's chambers.
they all stood with their heads held high, eyes boring straight ahead. not once did any of them look your way. not even mingi. in just one night, so much had changed. all because of a few vows.
you had not realized the true impact of wedding hongjoong until that moment.
you cleared your throat, and you asked, "where is the prince?"
surely, he'd have been left alone the night after his wedding as you had been. you thought of the conversation that transpired between you, but you took care to pack away the conversation, the whole night. you did not care to linger on it. now, especially, was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters.
one of the other kingsguard spoke loudly, his voice grating on your frazzled nerves. he did not look at you. neither of them did. was that how you would be treated now? as someone so respected, they saw right through you?
"the prince has gone to see the king's guests off in the throne room, my liege. the king has ordered that they all depart immediately.”
you'd blinked at that. why hadn't you been told that your family would be departing so soon? why were they leaving so soon?
you knew why, but you still could not fathom that it was happening.
you'd clutched the door, voice rough even to your own ears, "when?"
no one said anything.
"when did they leave?" your voice rose, and only then did they look at you. really look at you. you did not recognize any of them. mingi, however, met your gaze with sympathy. pity almost, and you held your breath in anticipation. you expected him to say they'd already left. that you'd slept through their departure, and this time you hadn't had a chance to say your goodbyes.
but then he said, "they're being escorted to the port. they are to leave when the sun is highest in the sky."
"i want to see them."
"my liege -"
"i demand to see them off," you scowled at mingi, "were you ordered to keep me here?"
mingi shook his head. “not me.”
the other kingsguard threw him a look.
you'd tied your cloak securely around yourself and stepped out into the hall, "then i am going."
a day ago, the kingsguard would have ignored your demands completely. even mingi, because despite your companionship with him, he answered to the crown first.
this time, however, they'd exchanged nervous looks, shifting from foot-to-foot, before mingi stepped forward and said, "i will escort them to port.”
the other kingsguard frowned, "what if the prince...?"
mingi shrugged, "i will take full responsibility if the prince wishes to punish us."
so mingi had brought you to port with an urgency you appreciated. throughout the walk there, mingi remained silent. steadfast. as if he was a stranger and you were meeting him all over again. perhaps, that was what happened when one becomes the heir's spouse.
now, he stood by your side. your mother had already stroked your cheek and insisted you stay warm. her voice was a soft, choked thing, and you'd pulled her into another hug. she'd pulled away first, and you felt a part of your heart walking away with her.
your father pressed a hand to your mother's shoulder as she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back, giving him room. he searched your gaze for a long, long time. an inkling of rage settled in your stomach as he said, "i am proud of you."
you did not want the burden of his pride. you only wanted to go home. you dipped your head, murmured, "thank you, father."
your father pushed your hair from your face, and he smiled sadly at what he saw in your expression. perhaps he could see the anger and longing in your eyes. then he joined your mother with another piece of your heart. they walked aboard the ship hand in hand, and waited.
you watched them, until you were tugged sideways, into a warm embrace. you let out a gasp of surprise, before you clung to him. the ache in your chest grew, and your fingers curled around the back of his shirt. you looked up at wooyoung's face as he leaned back just a bit and reached up to cup either side of your face in his warm, calloused hands. he said, kindly, too kindly, "take care of yourself, alright?"
"you, too." you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, "please."
wooyoung's fingers tightened against your face before he pulled away. he glanced sideways, throwing mingi a small, amused smile, before he turned away completely and boarded the ship, joining your parents.
yunho stood before you then, and he embraced you for a long, long moment, rocking you back and forth. when he stepped back to take a better look at you, he peered down at you as if he were committing you to memory. as if he would not see you again.
he would not, you both knew, but you did not wish to dwell on the thought right then. the yearning ache in your chest only grew. you knew that this was it.
this was it.
yunho held your hands between his, squeezing tightly, and he said, "write me, please."
"i will, but it will be shallow..."
you trailed off when yunho shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, full of a burning fire you hadn't expected. such a look was unfamiliar on the yunho you knew. he was determined as he said, with a meaningful squeeze of your hands, "there are other ways to send letters. besides you are no longer a ward. you are the heir's spouse. do you understand what that means, y/n? you have access to channels you’ve never had before.”
the thought never occurred to you. you'd blinked, nodding slowly.
your thoughts reeled at the possibilities. he was right. you held a modicum of power, no matter how limited. you said, slowly, “i will write you often, then."
"yes. write me of everything. i wish to know of even the most mundane of details." yunho’s smile was contagious, and you could not help the small laugh as you nodded.
the gaze beneath his smile held an edge you needed time to acclimate to. time you did not have with yunho or wooyoung. time you wanted so badly to have.
yunho ruffled your hair, and he retreated. he joined your family against the rails. the crew raised the anchors, and shouted at each other as they set sail. you watched with bated breath as wooyoung leaned over the rails and grinned, waving at you with both hands. he wiped at his face as he did so, and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the thought of wooyoung crying. you were the cause of it. yunho merely leaned against the rails beside wooyoung and watched. your mother sobbed. the sound curled over the ocean breeze and lodged itself in what was left of your heart. your father crossed his arms over his broad chest. you waved back until your arm ached. until their boat was a tiny dot on the horizon. until your aching heart felt as if it'd been torn away from your chest, swept across the ocean. you wanted so badly to stand beside them once more. just one more time.
but you were still standing in king's landing.
the silence then was a deafening thing. the sea still crashed against the port, and the port was still a busy, bustling thing, but the silence engulfing you was worse than the ache in your chest. saying goodbye a second time was infinitely worse than saying it once. wind gusted around you, and you heard the distant roars of a dragon - you could see a dragon weaving in and out of the clouds above the sea. you could not tell whose dragon it was. hongjoong's was an onyx black, large and thin with claws longer than your head. you'd see it from afar in the dragonpit a few times. despite the spectacle above you, despite the bustling around you, your head felt empty, muffled.
you knew your heart had crept aboard the ship, and left you behind too. the part of your heart that always held onto dorne and wished to go home was finally going home, and you were left behind to rot.
"something sweet and a listening ear always helps after something like this, you know," mingi's deep voice startled you from your thoughts. he'd been so quiet, you'd forgotten of his presence.
you looked over at mingi, and his neck remained craned as he peered up at the dragon weaving through the clouds. he must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to look at you, and that wide grin of his graced his serious features. his eyes did not light up the same way his face had, and you could not fault him for it.
“oh?” you asked, "what do you suggest?"
mingi turned away from the sky and the sea, turning fully to face you. he explained, "the kitchen cook makes such decadent desserts with the leftover dough. he fries it and rolls it in sugar."
your chest still ached, and you felt like too many parts of you had gone missing, but mingi's sweet smile staved off the ache just a bit. his expression held a hint of excitement you had not seen in too long. not since before mingi joined the kingsguard, really, so you found yourself grinning along with his excitement as best as you could.
you nodded, "you've convinced me."
mingi grinned, "you'll love it."
~.~.~.~.~
when you were a small child, yunho, wooyoung, and you were often left to your own devices to entertain yourselves as you saw fit. your parents had assigned the three of you your own caretakers, but they'd grown resigned to the fact that neither of you liked to be watched during all hours of the day. the three of you ran off too often, quickly making it a game. your caretakers eventually gave up. as long as you were together, your parents and your caretakers did not mind.
often times, you spent your days in the orchards and mango groves climbing trees or picking mangoes or practicing swordplay on the beach or chasing each other through the narrow streets of sunspear or lounging about under the sun in one of the hidden courtyards.
that day, long ago, you and yunho were practicing your swordfighting with wooden swords you'd swiped from the training vaults, while wooyoung used his wooden sword to crouch in the sand to the side and draw silly renditions of the two of you, a pile of seashells towered by his feet. he always made your head too big and yunho's limbs much longer than the rest of him.
you'd knocked yunho over once again, grinning as he remained sprawled in the sand.
"you're quite terrible at this," you'd teased. wooyoung was the one with sword talent. you and yunho competed often for who was worse. today, it seemed yunho was winning.
yunho merely remained sprawled out on the sand, scowling at you when you poked at his sprawled form with the end of your sword. he did not give you a response, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
"hey," wooyoung looked up from his drawing, his expression almost pensive. his brows were furrowed together and he wrapped his arms around his knees, the wooden sword dangling from his fingers. from your angle, woo looked tiny. he asked, his voice drifting on the breeze between the three of you, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"
you'd frowned, confused by wooyoung's sudden sincerity. he'd been quite serious all day, really, and he hadn't explained why, merely choosing to remain quieter than usual. you and yunho exchanged a look. you'd both wondered aloud what was weighing him, but you neither of you had wanted to ask him. sometimes, questions set wooyoung off worse when he fell into one of his quiet moods.
yunho shrugged, his gaze fixed on the sky, "i'm going to be the prince of dorne. and you're going to be my army's combat general. y/n is going to be my diplomat."
wooyoung grimaced, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed. there was a storm brewing beneath his expression that you did not understand at the time. he said, "i am not asking what father and mother decided we'd be. what do you want, yunho?"
yunho blinked, craning his neck to examine wooyoung. whatever he saw softened the furrow of his brow. he said, "i do not know, brother. i've never considered doing anything else."
"don't you think you should?" wooyoung sighed.
you'd frowned at wooyoung then, your voice quiet, "what is this about?"
wooyoung looked up you for a long moment, before he shrugged, and he said, "of course yunho doesn't know. for a boy with access to all the lessons in the world, you're quite shit at using your own brain aren’t you?"
there was a teasing lilt to wooyoung's voice, under all the other emotions.
yunho rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of hurt cross his features. then yunho chucked his wooden sword in wooyoung's direction. you giggled at how far off the throw was. wooyoung put a hand over his heart, offended.
you spoke then, if only to offset the hurt you'd seen in yunho's eyes for just a moment. you loved wooyoung, but he tended to say things that were quite mean, even if he only meant it in jest. "leave yunho alone, woo. why wonder and dream of other possibilities when your future is already set in stone?"
yunho's smile was small, though his nod was vigorous as he threw wooyoung a smug look. wooyoung stuck his tongue out at yunho.
"well what about you, y/n? what do you want to be when you grow up?"
he'd raised a brow, ignoring you completely.
"kind," you said with a shrug, humoring him. you'd thought about it often anyway. you said, "like the cooks when they're tired but they still make us extra desserts, and the ladies by the well, and like the stable boy that takes care of the horses at the east end."
wooyoung blinked at you, and that stormy look returned.
"you are already kind," yunho muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position. he rolled his eyes, though the act was good-natured, "just admit you don't know either."
"so woo can also declare me an idiot?"
"at least with you, he's not wrong."
you'd kicked yunho’s foot, and he giggled in response.
wooyoung's voice was soft as he pursed his lips. his words, however, were sly as he pointed his wooden sword at you, "i knew you’d taken a liking to the stable boy."
"i did not!" you tossed your stick at wooyoung, and unlike yunho, you did not miss. wooyoung shrieked when it hit his arm with a light thwack. he sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his arm as if you'd stabbed him with a real sword.
you'd rolled your eyes, calling over his whining, "and what about you?"
he paused in his rolling in the sand, pouting as he said, "i'm not certain i want to grow up. father is always traveling to the other kingdoms for his meetings, and mother never looks happy anymore."
"it's politics," yunho said. "the kingdom comes first."
"even if it costs you your happiness?" wooyoung waved a hand around them, "even if we won't be able to spend hours at the beach?"
"is that what makes you happy?" you asked, softly, smiling a bit at the thought. "spending time with us?"
"don't make it sappy, y/n." wooyoung snapped, though he would not meet your gaze and his smile was visible even from where you stood. "i only wonder what doing something you do not love does to a person. father is distant, and mother drinks so much i heard the kitchen servants mention that it was concerning. what if you cannot be kind, y/n? what if we all become terrible? what if we forget what we love?"
you'd blinked at his sincere words. wooyoung was always profound. he appeared thoughtless and loud and reckless, but you knew he spent too much time thinking when he was alone, and he cared more than he'd ever let on. where yunho was loud with his love, despite being reserved and held back with everything else, wooyoung was the opposite. quiet with his love, but exaggerated in his teasing, and rowdy, and always so there. always thinking of you all, it seemed.
"oh," yunho's voice was a quiet thing, "you think if we don't know what we want to be when we grow up, then we'll become something we never imagined? that we will become something we hate? is that it?"
yunho stared at the sky, as if he was speaking to the gods.
wooyoung pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on yunho’s profile. he hung in yunho’s words as if he would have the answers. yunho always knew the answers, how to logically soothe the most anxious of thoughts.
but yunho did not say a word, he only stared at the sky.
wooyoung drew his knees closer to his chest.
"well, why are those the only options? why do we become terrible just because we don't have a dream or goal? why do we need one? there are plenty of people who don't have dreams or goals, woo, and they turned out all right." you spoke up, your voice ringing in the silence.
"those people aren't meant to inherit kingdoms and armies though," wooyoung muttered, frowning.
"my point still stands," you said, nudging yunho's foot with your foot, "right, yun?"
yunho craned his neck in your direction, to wooyoung, and he said, "yes, exactly."
wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to relax at yunho's confirmation. he never took your word for anything. you found yourself rolling your eyes as wooyoung asked yunho, "really?"
yunho nodded vigorously, and woo smiled, and you said, "see. really."
~.~.~.~.~
it was outside the kitchens, after your family had sailed away, sat on a bench the servants often used to take their meals while you brushed toasted sugar from your finger tips, when mingi finally broke the silence, "i was eight years old when i was sent to king's landing."
that brought you pause.
mingi fiddled with one of the sweets in front of him, his armor clinking softly.
you held your breath as you waited for him to continue. mingi did not divulge information about himself often, and you knew this was a rare occurrence. all that could be heard from your spot in the dark corner outside the kitchens was the distant sound of servants and cooks scrambling in the kitchen. the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls. the smell of roasting meat carried through the air. a bout of laughter here. a scolding there. the clatter of dishware. the world was anything but silent even as you two sat with in silence. you watched mingi scratch idly at the wooden tabletop.
mingi did not say more.
after a long minute, you broke the silence with a tentative voice, "you were brought here? then are you...were you a ward, too?"
you found yourself enraptured by the image of mingi as a ward. sometimes wards were not hostages, not always. sometimes, there were other reasons for lords, ladies, and lieges to place their children in wardships. sometimes, there was a genuine want to build a mutual relationship of trust and love between houses and the ward maintained their freedoms. from the way hongjoong - the red keep really - seemed to adore mingi, you figured that must have been the case. it angered you to know that the red keep was capable of kindness, that a ward could be beloved and treated more than a hostage. you did not want to fault mingi for that.
it made sense. mingi was bastard born, thus carrying the name flowers long before adopting the name and sigil of house song.
in dorne, bastards were treated as equals. in westeros, bastards were punished for simply being born. bastards were treated like scum too often, and you found the practice a despicable thing. even legalized, bastards faced scorn. you peered at mingi in concern, waiting.
"no," mingi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, "i was no ward. my father...lord song brought me with him to live in king's landing while he worked in the small council. no one considered me their ward. not the king nor lord song. i was merely a motherless bastard lucky to be accepted in the prince’s inner circle."
"oh," you'd blinked at the information, unsure how to respond or what to ask.
"she passed from the pox a few months before lord song found me and we set off to king's landing," mingi divulged, seeming to take pity on your confusion. he said, "i had nowhere else to go, really. even then, the king did not legitimize me for a long, long time."
mingi's expression was distant. you watched as he shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. he said, "i understand how it feels to be left behind, y/n. to miss a home that no longer feels like home. before i was legitimized, lord song left me behind in the red keep. he could not take me back to highgarden. lady song did not take kindly to my existence.”
"what about after you were legitimized?"
"lady song did not change her mind surrounding my existence. i believe being legitimized bothered her more," mingi said with a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back and picked at his nails. everything about him was nonchalant. despite his words. despite never having a home in the lands from which he was born.
that thought made your heart ache, the same way it had when you'd watched your family leave. soon you would live in king's landing longer than you had in dorne. soon you would not have a home in the lands in which you were born, either. sure, your brothers were still there. your parents. but if your brothers have changed so much, then what of your home? what of sunspear? how would you reconcile that as well? you could not blame mingi for his nonchalance. it was easier to remain indifferent then let the worries consume you.
“i never understood the shame westeros has surrounding bastards," you said instead, shaking your head of your thoughts as you frowned at mingi, "it is no fault of yours that your father broke his vows to his wife. a babe should not be shamed for such a thing."
mingi blinked at you, his dark eyes flickering in surprise over your face. his fingers curled around each other briefly, before he shrugged once more. a perfect picture of unbothered. he said, "i've heard dorne treats their bastards well. your judgement is biased.”
"being born is not a crime,” you'd scoffed. “westeros could learn a thing or two from dorne."
mingi smiled, and this time it was genuine. sweet, almost.
you frowned at him as realization dawned on you, "then, lord song left you here alone? every time he returned to highgarden?”
lord song, to this day, visited his home, highgarden in the reach, almost once a month. he made it known to anyone who would listen that he loved and missed his wife dearly. perhaps he did, or perhaps he was overcompensating for his past adultery. either way, it meant he always left king's landing on his own. you recalled how mingi often mentioned that lord song had left for highgarden, how he'd shrugged and he appeared so nonchalant. you'd always assumed mingi chose to stay back, but now that you knew that was never truly the case, your heart tugged for him. yeosang used to spend more time with mingi when his father left. you remembered that much from your childhood. you remembered hongjoong would throw his arm over mingi's shoulders and drag him down to his height. they were always more affectionate with mingi, but you'd never realized why. your frown deepened at the thought of mingi alone somewhere in the red keep, so often. it was an image that was difficult to reconcile with.
"he did," mingi shook his head at your expression, waving his hands in a placating manner, “but i wasn’t completely alone. i had hongjoong and yeosang. san and jongho too whenever they visited. eventually, you were here, too.”
his mention of you was surprising. you'd never thought he cared much for your company. you'd spent too often arguing with hongjoong or scoffing at yeosang. you never thought much of the times hongjoong or yeosang would say something terrible and the two of you would lock gazes over their shoulders, grimaces matching. he'd sometimes shake his head, attempting to deter you, and you would roll your eyes before you spoke up anyway. of course, he sat with you in the library and listened to you read often, and he voluntarily paired off with you during lessons more often than not. he even used to throw yeosang looks when his teasing became too cutting, too pointed, but you'd always believed that was merely what mingi did. you never thought he'd learned to see you as anything but a ward, a hostage of the king's that was lumped together with him and his companions for propriety’s sake. when san courted you, you believed mingi only saw you as an extension of san, and now as an extension to hongjoong. you did not think he saw you as a person, let alone a comforting presence of any sort due to your circumstances.
as you looked at him, and the softness in his eyes, and the small smile on his lips, you detected care. at least a hint of it. it made your thoughts reel.
that had always been your dilemma at king's landing. no one cared much about you as a person. they only ever cared for you due to your status or who you were bound to. even san, though he seemed to care enough to provide you comfort, had other intentions. you wondered, briefly, if mingi would dare devote himself to you. could you ask him for favors? would he carry out your orders? were you thinking ahead of yourself?
you blinked away your, frankly, treacherous thoughts as you murmured into the silence, “it must have been lonely though.”
“it was,” mingi murmured, “as you are well aware of, i’m sure."
you'd frowned.
"i know i am a kingsguard with vows that may not serve you, but," mingi gave you a small, genuine smile, "i am also your friend, y/n."
"is that not a contradiction?" you'd asked then, "to be my friend, to care for me as such, is an insult to the king."
mingi blinked, a slow thing, and he said, "you are married to the king's son."
"a son he does not care much for," you muttered. it was a push, you knew, especially to say such a thing to a member of the kingsguard and to a long-time friend of hongjoong's, but you wanted to know how far you could push him. how deep did the care in his eyes run?
could you make it deeper?
the thought made your stomach churn, the way it did when hongjoong spoke to you the night of your wedding. it was a mixture of fear, and a morbid curiosity, an interest, that you were not sure what to do with.
you focused on mingi. he bit his lip, his gaze slipping past your shoulder for a moment, before he looked at you once more. he said, "the king cannot hurt hongjoong. he cannot hurt you."
"how do you know that?"
"i don't," mingi's brows furrowed into a pained expression, "but i know that i will not stand by and let it happen."
you'd blinked, "are you admitting that you'd turn your cloak?"
"i've turned my cheek too many times, y/n, to too many atrocities," mingi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, his armor clinking softly. "i do not think i could live with myself if i allowed hongjoong and you to get hurt. if i must become a turncloak, then so be it.”
it was always hongjoong in the end.
but you can use that, a voice at the back of your head whispered.
it sounded like hongjoong, and it left a bad taste in your mouth, but you knew the voice was right. you'd pushed mingi, and he let you, and as long as you allowed him to frame his care in a way that appeared as if he was protecting hongjoong, too, then perhaps his devotion could mean something more to you. perhaps, this was what yunho meant. you were the heir's spouse. you had power. sure, it was tied to hongjoong, but did hongjoong have to know how you wielded it? he whispered that he'd teach you, but perhaps you could teach yourself.
"i appreciate your honesty, mingi," you'd sighed. "i know it's difficult to admit such a thing."
mingi dipped his head, his sweet smile making your heart curl in around itself. he said, "you'd asked for honesty once before, y/n, and i do not wish to dismiss your request. i understand hongjoong can be a handful, but you should remember that he listens to yeosang and me. i'm sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever...if you..." mingi cut himself off as he stiffened, shaking his head, "i apologize, i realize i may be speaking out of turn."
you'd shook your head, endeared by his stutter. you did not think yeosang could be helpful, not in the way you thought mingi could be, but you still said, "don't apologize. admittedly, i do need...help with hongjoong sometimes."
mingi's eyes flashed with an emotion you could not place. he only nodded.
you said, "if i need anything, i will ask for you."
he dipped his head in acknowledgement, even as he stood. he held out a hand to take, his armor clinking softly with his movements. you took his hand, allowing him to help you.
"thanks," you said, after a moment of walking silently side-by-side through the halls, "for this. for talking to me."
mingi smiled, and it was a genuine thing, and you almost felt terrible for thinking of using his kindness for your own means.
almost.
~.~.~.~.~
the mad king still held tourneys as if the red keep is not wrought with the stench of burnt bodies, and the courts do not whisper of the king's sure demise. the queen no longer makes public or private appearances.l, except with a select few. mingi often appears haggard when he steps into the library or settles into his assigned post outside hongjoong's chambers. you'd questioned him often, and all mingi would say was that he'd had a long shift guarding the king or queen.
"sweet thing," yeosang grinned, dragging his fingers through his tousled, long blond hair as one of the servants adjusted his jousting armor over his shoulders. kang crimson and gold glinted off his armor as he leaned close and tilted his head, "did you enjoy the matches?"
you could not say that you did.
it had gone as all public appearances for you had, you with your elbow hooked through hongjoong's as you two were announced, the cheering, and you and hongjoong donning his kim black and red, the dragon sigil blaring. the mad king would not attend. he never did. his paranoia was an all-consuming thing. it left hongjoong and you to entertain his father's guests. you watched that evening as hongjoong had roared, waving his jousting sword, as he gathered flower wreath favors from too many to count. as usual, he'd stopped in front of where you sat last, and he presented the tip of his sword.
that night, you'd refused him as you always did, and the whispers were louder than ever. at first, the court believed it playful banter, but it has been too long since you'd been wedded, almost two name days of yours since the event really, and now the amusement had morphed into something more sinister. the king lacking favor made the disdain hongjoong, and ultimately you, received worse.
that night something ferocious flashed in hongjoong's gaze, but he'd only grinned and bowed his head.
that night he lost.
you saw it, in the way he was distracted as his gaze flit across the stands, past you. you'd followed his gaze. you did not wish to care, but your gaze followed his without a second thought.
you saw a man, around your age, around hongjoong and mingi and yeosang and san's age, with hair black as a raven and skin as smooth as the calmest of seas, and his clothes were muted. everything about him was muted, yet he held your attention. you understood why hongjoong fumbled with his sword. why he faltered just at the sight of this man. the man was beautiful. the moon, personified.
he was everything you were not.
hongjoong's second match ended with the opponent he lost to lying flat on his back and heaving for air he could not and did not have, blood sputtering down his lips and half of his face smashed in. he would be dead in minutes, you knew, and the thought only made you tired.
when the tourney finished, you stood waiting for hongjoong, and yeosang appeared in front of you, his sweaty brow glistening under the setting sun, his eyes twinkling as he eyed you in curiosity.
you ignored his question, your gaze sweeping over the other participants, until you found the man who had made hongjoong falter smiling quite sweetly as he spoke with san. you'd blinked. in the stands, the man was the epitome of stoicity, of ice, of the coldness of the moon, but here his smile was a pretty thing. it warmed your heart, the way the afternoon sun would warm your skin when you laid in it. he was everything but cold then.
"park seonghwa," yeosang's low voice settled over you.
you tore your gaze from seonghwa and san, from the way hongjoong sauntered up to san and pat him on the shoulder, turning to the man - park seonghwa - with a wide, toothy grin and unwavering eyes. "what?"
"that is park seonghwa. i am surprised san found a way to convince seonghwa to join us for the tourney," yeosang grinned, but his eyes were fixed on you. "ever since seonghwa left the eyrie, he's kept himself locked away in the north. something about awaiting the north's treacherous winters at winterfell.”
you'd heard the venom laced in yeosang's tone as he spoke. it was not well-hidden, or perhaps you have gotten quite good at picking up on the changes in yeosang after so many years in his vicinity.
you knew of house park, known for their honor and their generosity. the winters up north were long and treacherous, and you did not fault him for remaining in winterfell to help his kingdom last through it. division would bring ruin to any kingdom, but especially to one living under such harsh conditions.
still you focused on the mention of san and the venom in yeosang's expression. you frowned at yeosang, searching his expression for a moment. when he met your inquiring gaze, his smile grew sly. you'd frowned as you said, "why would san have any sway over park seonghwa?"
yeosang let out a small laugh. he said, "seonghwa was fostered in the vale when he was eight years old. jongho and san spent many years there under house lim’s care as well. in fact, jongho and san have quite a long history with seonghwa. rumor has it jongho is smitten with him, though i would not dare repeat such slander."
"oh," you were surprised, and yeosang latched onto to it. you could see it in the way the corner of his mouth tipped upwards and his eyes glinted under the setting sun. you shook your head, "right. why is he here then?"
yeosang pursed his lips. his grin slipped into a steely expression, "i have no idea. diplomacy, perhaps?"
you did not believe him. kang yeosang knew everything. his father was not the only resourceful kang.
you'd rolled your eyes, and yeosang only grinned, shrugging. the conversation ended when hongjoong entered, his jousting armor and helmet gone, his long white-blonde hair tied back into a neat knot. he was spotless, his rings glinting in the setting sun as he held his arms out in greeting, smile all teeth. his eyes fell on you first, lingering briefly before his gaze slid to his friends. he did not look at you again.
that night, hongjoong placed a warm hand at the middle of your back, and he waved mingi over. his gaze never met yours, but his thumb settled into a small pattern along the middle of your back. even through your robes, his hand was warm. you had a bit of ale in you. that was why you did not stiffen the way you should have. at least that was how you planned to explain away the feeling the next morning.
you only stiffened when hongjoong called for mingi a second time, pulling him from a conversation with yeosang. mingi sauntered over, entirely too sober, and hongjoong grinned, his hand flat on your back, unmoving, "ser mingi, take y/n to our chambers so they may rest."
you'd blinked at the demand. the dismissal.
mingi only bowed.
you glanced yeosang's way, and he waved to you, a toothy grin gracing his features, his cheeks pink from his ale. he raised his mug to you in mock salute. you'd looked away.
your gaze slid to san then. it often did, whenever he stayed at the red keep. and he would always react the same. san only ever returned your glances with blank, unreadable eyes. like he was a stranger, as you asked. you met seonghwa's gaze over their shoulders. over hongjoong's shoulder.
seonghwa hovered, separate from the rest of the group, where he merely observed the scene in front of him. something about him brought irritation to the pit of your stomach. he was fostered, yeosang had said, and you knew that in an ideal world, without the mad king's twisted intentions, that would have been your fate instead of the glorified hostage you had been delegated to.
fosterage and wardship were two sides of the same coin. however, where you were a hostage, never meant to return to sunspear no matter if you fell to your knees and begged for it, seonghwa could. fostered children were free to travel between both kingdoms as they pleased once they turned of age. a fostering was what you believed you’d been walking into at four-and-ten.
perhaps the bubbling tension in the pit of your stomach was something of a rage. or perhaps, when hongjoong glanced back over at seonghwa, and you caught a twinkle in his eyes and a familiar darkness, a familiar want, you knew the tension at the pit of your stomach was something else, something close to concern, close to understanding that hongjoong wanted creatures of the sun and the stars, and that his greed knew no bounds. he had a creature of the sun, and now he wanted a creature of the moon. he wanted, and he took, no matter the consequences, and he was not above ruining those very same creatures for it.
you met seonghwa's dark eyes once more, and he did not smile. he truly reminded you of the moon when it sat highest in the night sky. bright, silent, and so bitingly cold.
"go on," hongjoong said, pushing you in mingi's direction, his fingertips brushing down your back, a featherlight touch.
hongjoong did not have to say it for you to understand. celebrations were in order, and you were not invited. you were dismissed.
how dare he dismiss you? a voice that sounded eerily like hongjoong whispered at the back of your head. you did not entertain that voice, as you would not entertain hongjoong.
you'd only nodded, catching a flash of disappointment flit through hongjoong's expression. the ale brought a vindictive thought to you head. a vindictive, as he should be, as you'd taken your leave.
that night, in the empty hall leading to your chambers, something you could only describe as a beast reared its ugly head from the pits of your being. you'd come to a halt and you stared at mingi's retreating back. you called after him, your quiet voice echoing off the high walls, "can i ask a favor of you, mingi?"
your voice sounded emptier, different. you often looked in the mirror and wondered if you'd been reborn a new person when you'd wedded hongjoong. a tiny voice at the back of your head would always respond, not when you wedded hongjoong. when they left.
mingi's boots stopped thumping. his tall figure seemed to slump under your words, as if he could feel the weight of them. perhaps he could. perhaps your words were heavier than you gave them credit for. his armor no longer clinked.
he'd merely turned, and looked to you. his arms hung at his side, and his eyes bore into your skull.
"have you heard of 'the dornish man'?" you asked.
"do you mean the tavern at west end?"
you'd nodded.
"why?" mingi gave no warnings that the tavern sat nestled between brothels and seedy inns, nor that hongjoong would have his head if you two were caught beyond the walls of the red keep without his knowledge. he only wanted to know your reasons, the question hanging over you two. it clawed against stone walls. it rang high and true. over and over and over. it rang in your ears. it burrowed in your skin.
you should tell him the truth, but you could not. you would not. you thought of the bloodied man hongjoong had maimed during the tourney. all the others before that knight. the thoughtful kindness in seonghwa's eyes as he spoke to san, when he met your gaze as you were dismissed. the anxious bubble at the pit of your stomach as you looked on. as hongjoong's smile stretched across his face when he met seonghwa’s eyes. you thought of your brother holding you, his voice as firm as his touch, you are the spouse's heir.
so, instead you said: "i miss my home."
you looked up at him, softened your brows, and when you met mingi's gaze, he faltered. he faltered as you knew he would, and perhaps you were evil for the way you made your voice tremble and your brows furrow, but you would not allow yourself to falter. not tonight.
mingi's jaw clenched as he looked away. his armor clinked as he dragged a hand through his messy dark hair.
"i only need you to cover me. you do not need to join me," you said.
the silence after you spoke was tense. you did not move.
finally mingi said, "letting you go to the west end alone would only worry me more."
you'd blinked at him. you expected he would not give in, that he would not allow you to push him even just that bit. you certainly did not expect such an admission. all you could say was, "oh."
mingi sighed as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, "two hours. that is all we have."
you nodded, grinning, and mingi's lips twitched up into a small smile of his own.
~.~.~.~.~
the streets of king's landing was not as thrilling as you remembered it with hongjoong. you slipped through the crowds and sidestepped merchants, pickpockets, and drunks alike, following mingi so closely your nose brushed against his back whenever he came to a sudden stop - he removed his outer armor and stashed it in the closet hongjoong had the servants clear for you, donning a simple brown cloak. mingi looked younger without his kingsguard armor and cloak. your heart constricted at the thought. still, you found yourself moving forward.
you could have told him to turn around at any moment. that was what stayed with you most on that journey. you had plenty of time to turn back, to not drag a well-meaning mingi into your plans, to remain a shadow in the red keep for the rest of your days while hongjoong did whatever he wished.
but you did not, and you would not have, and as mingi looked back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes always vigilant, there was a glint of knowing lingering there as his gaze met yours. he'd raised a brow, and you'd smiled, and mingi merely nodded to himself. you recognized the brothels and the alley as you drew closer, and when mingi opened the door to the tavern, you stepped up the creaking stairs with your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers curled around the fabric of your cloak, limbs filled with nervous energy.
you both stood at the threshold to the tavern, and not an eye strayed your way when you entered. the tavern was filled with the harsh stench of cigar smoke, a hint of grilled meat, and the usual staleness of old mead, and though your heart was lodged in your throat, you knew right then that you'd stepped into this new role and there was no backing out. not now.
mingi took a seat at one of the tables, and you gestured to the bar. he waved you on, but his eyes remained on your back. you leaned against the bar, and the barkeep was a familiar face. the owner hongjoong had pointed out earlier. his skin was like yours - no longer kissed by the sun as it once was, but still different from the rest of king’s landing’s patrons, still so obviously dornish - and his hair was like yunho's. his smile was a sweet, playful thing, like wooyoung. your heart leapt against your ribs.
he truly looked as dornish as they came, bright traditional robes and all.
the thought only pressed you closer to the bar, your fingers curling around the edge of the wooden table.
since the wedding, you'd returned to writing shallow letters to your brothers and parents through lord kang and his council. sometimes, you'd lie awake in hongjoong's too big bed and wonder if you'd died the morning your family boarded that ship and crossed the sea to sunspear without you.
half of your heart, half of your soul, half of your wit, half of your patience, half of you, it had had all gone with them, you knew, tucked under wooyoung's waving arm and yunho's melancholic smile. you laid on your side too often, watching hongjoong sit beside melting candlelight as he perused through documents, his back always to you, and you started to wonder who you'd become because of it. before the wedding, you would have never thought to push mingi's boundaries just because you saw a hint of care in his eyes. you would have never left the red keep in the dead of night. nearly two name days later - you were no longer sure of the exact day, if you were honest - you were doing everything you would never have done prior to this.
the barkeep met your gaze, and his eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. he dipped his head in greeting as he made his way over to you, throwing a rag over his shoulder. he leaned forward and said, "welcome to the dornish man. how may i help you?”
his eyes bore into yours, his smile crooked. you swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin, meeting his gaze straight on with a resolve you had not mustered in quite some time. it filled you like a fire, like the fires from hongjoong's dragon or the greenfire that the mad king used to burn so many at the stake. you said, "what would you recommend?"
you tilted your head as you watched the man contemplate you. a small smile crept upon the man's lips as he seemed to decide something right then.
"hmm," his eyes twinkled, "may i recommend our sunspear special? it is a mango dish rumored to be the prince of dorne's heir's most coveted dish. he requests for it every evening, i've heard."
your sweetest summers were spent with yunho and wooyoung climbing mango trees. each of you would pick the reddest of mangoes, and you'd sit with your knees knocking against each other as you peeled them with yunho's blunt silver dagger, your fingers sticky with the sweet juices, the soft fruit melting on your tongue. the juices would often run down the corners of your mouth and you'd wipe it with the back of your hand and wooyoung would call you disgusting and you'd wipe your hands on him in response. yunho would laugh his belly-ache of a laugh.
every summer you'd ruin your clothes with ripened mangoes and blackened dirt. the three of you knew your mother would scold you for it later, but in the summer your mother stayed in her chambers or the gardens and all that remained in those moments was the sweltering heat and the sweet taste of mango on your tongue. it was always one of your favorite times of the year. wooyoung used to bounce on his toes as he rushed you and yunho to the mango groves. yunho often indulged wooyoung in his insistent shouts to race there. you'd watched them run on ahead, and you'd waved off the call from your mother to return before sunset as you walked after them.
the summer before you left for king's landing, when you were three-and-ten, you and yunho sat beneath the shade of one of the tallest mango trees, the soft sweet aroma of ripened mangoes filling the air. the two of you watched wooyoung climb along the branches of one of the trees, tugging himself up onto the tallest branch before he nestled between the trunk and its branch, his neck craned as he stared at the blue sky. the crimson color of the mango in his hands glinted brightly under the summer sun. one could mistake it for a jewel. yunho's voice drew your attention from wooyoung, his voice soft as the summer breeze. he asked, "do you think we will ever grow too old for this?"
"for what?" you'd blinked at yunho's melancholic tone, "picking mangoes?"
"no," yunho shook his head, gesturing vaguely around him, "for all of this, y/n."
a crease formed between his brows. you'd always hated the way worry contorted yunho's features into something unrecognizable. it never looked right on him, no matter how often you've seen such a look on him since he started his heir studies with father.
yunho sighed, "for each other."
you'd frowned, "we'll never be too old for each other, idiot."
you expected yunho to reprimand you or toss a mango pit at you. instead he only slumped further against the tree trunk behind him, his brows contorting into something dreadful.
"i am destined to be the heir, and woo will lead our armies, and you will..." he'd trailed off, frowning once more. his eyes welled with tears, and your eyes widened at the sight. wooyoung showed sadness, even you did, but yunho? not since he learned of his future calling. you watched as he blinked away his emotions, as he straightened, his back rigid. as he took the form of the pillar he believed he needed to be. it was a habit he'd picked up over the years, that wooyoung was beginning to pick up too. perhaps you were, as well.
"i'll be here, too," you scooted closer, bumping your shoulder against his, "i know my talents do not lie with pretty words or complicated strategies or with the sword like you and woo, but i'll find something useful to do so i can help you be a good prince to dorne. i have time to figure that out, and so do you. i understand you worry, but you do not have to, yun."
you bumped his shoulder harder this time, and he pouted at you, rubbing his shoulder. he did not say anything. he only stared down at his lap.
at the time, you had not understood what he'd known, and for years you did not. but you'd laid awake too often replaying and picking apart every memory you've ever had to not have realized that yunho knew you were going to be sent away. the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day now that you remembered, years later, and you hated your father for placing such a burden on him.
at the time, yunho always worried, and both you and woo teased him relentlessly for it. but you knew that sometimes it affected him more than he ever let on. sometimes, you sat with him and let him worry until his expression morphed into the face of creature you never recognized. you knew that was because he always came back. as you did. as woo would.
so, at the time, you'd reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his worried fists, ignoring the picked skin of his fingernails, and you said, "most importantly, i'll be here every harvest season to climb the mango trees with you both. you're both awful at climbing anyway."
you'd gestured with your chin in wooyoung's direction, and you grinned as you watched wooyoung struggle to climb down the tree, mangoes spilling from the sling he'd looped around his neck, his curses echoing through the grove. you turned, nudging yunho, waiting for a giggle. it did not come. you remembered faltering at the sight of yunho blinking rapidly at the sight, his chin trembling the slightest bit. you only squeezed his hand.
he closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. he returned to the yunho you knew as he wiped at his cheeks with his free hand, and when he met your gaze again, he was all kind eyes, the sun shining off his dark brown, his smile amused.
he said, "perhaps climbing mango trees is your only true calling, y/n."
you'd scowled at him, and he threw back his head and laughed, and wooyoung plopped onto the ground in front of you both, covered in dirt, leaves caught in your hair, mangoes tumbling from his arms, ignoring your admonishments that he was bruising the fruits, and that day returned to the soft, hazy summer afternoon you often basked in.
you were three-and-ten when you'd spent your last summer picking mangoes with your brothers, despite your promise.
the memory made you stare at the barkeep, your heart pounding against your ribs. your voice was small to your ears as you asked, "a mango dish is the heir's favorite?"
the man dipped his head, "so i’ve heard. our mangoes are sweet as well. they are in season after all."
and in that moment, you allowed the hope in your chest to thrive. you allowed yourself to nod. to feel a sliver of hope for just a little while. it’s been years since you had.
the barkeep placed the dish in front of you, and the faint scent of mangoes reminded of you hazy summer afternoons and an unkept promise.
the barkeep said, "would you like me to place any special orders to dorne? it appears you, like me, miss our home quite a bit."
"do you deliver letters?" it was bold, but you were never one to beat around the bush.
the barkeep outright grins. he said, "woo said you had no patience for pretty words and riddles. i did not know your patience would run thin so quickly."
you'd blinked. "you know -"
"my name is yeonjun, your grace," the barkeep murmured, "and i only serve dorne. your letters will remain sealed among our shipment requests. lucky for us, the lords, lieges, and ladies of king's landing have taken a liking to dornish cuisine. i've made quite a number of shipments since i've opened."
you'd grinned, you could not help it. you knew you could not trust yeonjun yet, and you already knew you would need to confirm your brothers were receiving your letters before you truly let yourself believe in this opportunity. you knew you were not in the clear quite yet, but yeonjun's grin was an infectious thing. you'd grinned and grinned, and for the first time since you were a child alone in westeros, you had a channel of communication with your brothers that remained only yours.
~.~.~.~.~
"do you feel better?" mingi's voice was quiet in your empty chambers. he'd donned his armor in your chambers. the clinking of his armor as he tightened the plates had been the only sound between you both. you hadn't said a word since you left the tavern, since mingi picked at the mango dish with a small frown gracing his features, since he brought you back to the red keep.
you peered up at mingi. he towered over you, as he always did, his hair a mess of black, yet his brown eyes were unbearably tender. the guilt inside you reared its head once more, but you shoved it away. mingi knew you were asking him for favors that could get him in trouble. you were not holding a sword to his neck and demanding such things from him. you doubted you'd win in a sword fight anyway. you were not forcing him to help you, so you did not need to feel guilt.
you'd nodded. mingi's smile was the gentlest thing you'd seen in a while here in king's landing. it was the sea lapping against port, the way the horses in the stable would neigh softly as they tucked their heads against the stableboy's palm, and the way hongjoong rubbed his thumb along the crown of his dragon and the soft rumble that followed would remind you of a cat’s purr. mingi’s smile held all the little moments of gentleness you've witnessed here. it curled around your heart.
it was suffocating.
he placed a warm hand on your shoulder and he said, "i'm glad i could be of help, your grace."
you shouldn't encourage such gentility. yet, you knew you needed to solidify this moment. you needed this gentle mingi on your side. you needed his care for you to fuel him. so you pressed your hand over his. he stilled.
you said, "you always are of great help to me, mingi."
he blinked at you, before he turned away. his fingers curled into a fist, even as he bowed deeply before you, even as he hurried from your chambers. he left, and you refused to let your heart feel heavy.
but, you do not sleep.
~.~.~.~.~
that same night, hongjoong returned smelling of honeyed mead and sour ale, of sweat and smoke. of fire, really.
he stumbled through the room. you watched as he tore his shirt and tossed it into the darkness. he did this often when he returned after he believed you'd gone to bed. you'd always wondered why he did not light a lantern and stumbled in the dark.
he turned suddenly, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when you met his gaze in the dark, you could only make out shadows.
he stood frozen, so you said, "just light a candle. it helps neither of us listening to you bumble about like an idiot."
there was a beat of silence. you could not make out his expression.
then he laughed. it's a soft thing that bounced off the high ceilings. you heard the strike of a match moments later.
the light of the candle on his desk was dim, and it took a moment for your eyes to readjust to the new lighting. the candlelight lit up his features. his eyes drooped, a heady drunken look to him that reminded you of the night of your wedding. you watched him stumble, until he reached for the ties of his pants. he paused, and your eyes flicked up to his, heat flooding your face when he grinned. he continued and you scowled, flipping over, only for his chuckle to echo in your chambers.
perhaps it was the remnants of the ale from the tourney, or the remnants of the adrenaline of sneaking out of the red keep and finding a channel of communication that was finally fully yours, or purely the inability to sleep, but you found yourself speaking quietly as you stared at the stone wall opposite you. "you had no right to dismiss me the way you did tonight.”
"hmm," hongjoong hummed, and it was closer now. you did not turn around, your fingers curling around the pillow at your head. "then why did you not stay?"
you frowned, shooting up to a sitting position. you turned to glare at him, and he remained where he had been earlier, though now he was fully dressed in his sleeping robes. "you wish for me to undermine you?"
he shrugged, as he stepped closer to the bed, twisting at the rings on his fingers, "undermine me? not quite. try to undermine me? perhaps."
"you're a right idiot," you'd shook your head, ignoring the way he stepped closer, the way he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "i am being serious, hongjoong."
"i am the picture of serious," hongjoong said, his words slurring the slightest bit.
"clearly," you'd sighed, said, "go to bed, hongjoong. you're drunk."
it was all too reminiscent of that night. despite that night being so long ago, it lived in your head, clear as day. you'd rolled your eyes at the way he raised his brows. you laid back down, turning your back to him. perhaps, that is a testament to how accustomed you've become to hongjoong's presence. you could turn your back on him without feeling like prey. you were unsure when that had started.
another moment passed before hongjoong's low voice drifted through your chambers, "if you did not wish to be dismissed, all you had to do was say something. if you do not like something, tell me."
you'd flipped back over, your fingers curled around your pillow as you looked down at hongjoong, who remained seated near your feet. "why?"
"you're my spouse, whether we like it or not," hongjoong muttered.
"'we'?" your voice sounded muffled to your own ears, "and here i thought it was just me who disliked this arrangement."
hongjoong tilted his head at you, his brows raised, questioning, waiting. oftentimes you wondered how he knew that you had more to say before you'd even said it.
you said, "i saw you falter during your match. you'd never been so distracted before."
hongjoong loved to say he would not be like his father, but you'd heard the rumors of his father's adultery. it went so far that the queen had to dismiss members of her own court, one of whom was rumored to be yeosang's mother. you watched as he scooted up the bed, as he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the burn scar on your arm, as he said, "i see the way you look at san, y/n. is it not the same?"
"is it?" you asked, frowning. san was hope to you, he was opportunities and a life lost. was park seonghwa the same to hongjoong? why did it concern you if he was?
hongjoong drew warm circles around your burn scar, each stroke softer than the last.
"be careful, y/n," he murmured, "you're beginning to sound rather jealous."
your stomach turned as he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
"i do not care for your indiscretions," you scoffed. "i care that you dismissed me for another when our arrangement is meant to benefit us both.”
you did not want to revel in his statement. you did not want to admit to it. you did not want to delve into the thoughts that came after that green monster at the pit of your stomach, the wondering at hongjoong's greed, nor the moment of worry you felt for park seonghwa, despite everything. all hongjoong would ever know of was that you did not care. he would believe you did not care, and so would you. until the end of your days.
"are we supposed to benefit each other now?" hongjoong raised a brow.
"we could," you said, your eyes fixed on his. "we do not need to be friends, but -"
"we can be allies," hongjoong finished with a small, amused smile. you remembered the other night, when you'd had a conversation like this. he wanted you to beg that night. you'd refused, and you would refuse again. you would refuse until the day death came knocking at your door.
you'd nodded, "something like that."
"will you beg for it, then?"
you'd laughed, knowing he'd have the insolence to ask such a thing once more, but you found there was no venom bubbling at the pit of your stomach this time. perhaps it was his tone, the jest in it ringing between you both. you said, "not even if you held a knife to my throat."
"oh, wouldn't that be quite a lovely sight?" hongjoong murmured, and you were quite aware of the fingers on your skin, the proximity, the way your own fingers tightened around your pillow. the rough pad of hongjoong's thumb circled up to the crease of your elbow, "where do we go from here, then, y/n?"
you shrugged. where do you go from here? he was an unstoppable force, and you were an immoveable object. you would not be the one to concede. you refused.
but perhaps you could wield his power if he believed you on his side, then you could find other channels of communication you could call yours. you could have more than just yeonjun and his tavern. you could have more than just mingi to do your bidding.
"i need trust," you admitted, with a shuddering breath. it was never something you thought you'd tell him. not hongjoong. maybe it was easier to admit such a thing in the darkness, under melting candlelight, without the sun bearing witness to your admissions. "i need to be able to trust you."
can i ever trust him? you thought, and the answer was so wholly there. no, you could not. no, you were of dorne, and he was of king's landing, and he would not allow you to step foot in dorne again, let alone sunspear. you could not trust him. but, you slept with your back to him too many nights to count already. and you looked to him first when his father called you both to the courtyards for his executions. he was yours to benefit from. you could not trust him, and you would not, but you did not fear him as you once had. perhaps, that was a step in the right direction.
his finger stilled against the smooth skin of your burn scar, and he said, "do you want to know the first thing my father taught me?"
you'd blinked at the sudden question, watching hongjoong. he stared at your scar for a long moment, his fingers still. you shook your head.
"the word dracarys," hongjoong said, "it is from the old language. it is a command to our dragons to breathe fire. to burn everything. when i was a very small boy, my father called me to the pit. i never went there often, since there were so little dragons left and my father and his maesters wished to keep the dragons isolated. father insisted there was a matter he wished for me to resolve. at the time, i was excited that i was needed by my father. when i arrived there was a servant girl in the pit, no older than two-and-ten. just a few years older than me. she was pregnant, that much i could tell."
you watched as hongjoong's hand fell from your scar. his gaze was hardened as it met yours. he said, "the council was there that night as well. my father and his small council had her stand in the middle of the pit. she was dragged in the way you were, still in her sleep robes. i recognized her. even a small boy is privy to the red keep's rumors, y/n. my father bedded too many to count, and oftentimes it went ignored. this girl would not have been ignored. so, my father told me to say the word he taught me, and… and i did."
your nails dug into your palms as you laid there, your gaze fixed on hongjoong. "why are you telling me this?"
"isn't that where trust starts? from stories of the moments that made us who we are?"
"yes," you said, "i think it should."
hongjoong paused. you did not speak further. he expected a story from you. he expected something. perhaps even sympathy. you would not concede. you could only wonder for the poor servant girl, wonder if hongjoong would in fact burn a little girl alive without his father’s directions. you wondered often who he'd broken over the years, and as you laid in his bed you wondered if he would burden you with all he has ruined one day, in the name of trust.
finally, hongjoong nodded as he pushed himself off the bed. he reached over, and brushed hair from your forehead. his fingers lingered. you did not push his touch away. you only watched him as he did so. his dark, tired eyes flickered over yours as he murmured, voice sweet as honey, but laced with an edge that always lived in hongjoong no matter what, "we'll take it slow, then."
you watched as he blew out the candle and made his way to his bed.
~.~.~.~.~
the letter yeonjun returned to you was unsealed, untampered, and real. you knew this because of yunho's response, a simple perhaps climbing mango trees is not your only talent, little sibling, and his unbroken wax seal. it was him. it was untouched, and it was him, and you could not contain your excitement.
mingi had handed you the letter in the library, and after you'd brushed your fingers along the seal - the symbol of your house, a sun with a spear through it - and read yunho's words, fingers tracing over his inked writing, you'd tossed your arms around mingi, drawing him into a tight embrace.
mingi had stiffened in surprise, though he'd steadied you by the waist, his armor cold under your touch.
you caught yourself too late, stepping away with hurried apologies, embarrassed. mingi shook his head, his cheeks reddening, "it is all right, your grace."
it became a routine of sorts, to write your letters, and have mingi escort you to yeonjun's tavern. sometimes, he'd take the letters on his own. you would press a hand to his arm, or the top of his hand, and you'd thank him. mingi would hide his blush when you did. you'd feel awful for it, but the letters were enough to quell that guilt. you'd do it over and over again, despite the guilt.
yeonjun introduced you to the owner of the brothel across the street, a slight, beautiful woman with an air of regality to her that many speculated the origins of. she went by the name irene. you called the doe-eyed children she sent all about king's landing as her eyes and ears her little birds. she smiled at the phrase, but she smiled wider at the gold you promised her in payment. a contract, you’d both called it.
mingi did not trust her. you trusted her less than you trusted hongjoong, yet mingi seemed to think otherwise. still, despite his clear disapproval, mingi said nothing to you. he gave you irene's correspondence without question, and he gave her the gold you'd written off hongjoong's maester's ledger without batting an eye. mingi would ruin everything he had for you, that much you could tell.
but you did not stop on your new path.
instead, you stopped sleeping through the night.
~.~.~.~.~
the mountain that rides. lord kang's mad dog. most call him the mountain.
lady irene's words remained with you long after you'd read them, long after you'd tossed the letter into the library fireplace and watched it turn to blackened ash.
you’d gone about your day mulling over her words. now, you stood under the shade of a peculiarly bent tree with yellow blooms as bright as the gold of house kang's banners. the queen loved her flowers and trees, and this one in particular grew well even as executions took place beneath her blooms more often than not.
today, the tree oversaw outdoor festivities. the mad king was quite generous with his death sentences, but he was even more generous with his calls for celebration. spring was in full bloom, flowers sprouting throughout the kingdom, and that demanded for a spring festival.
you contemplated only for a moment, before you asked, "who is the mountain?"
perhaps, you should have learned to make your words prettier. you certainly partook in the kinds of games that required pretty words these days, yet you could care less when it came to having a sweet or sharp tongue.
yeosang stiffened beside you. you took a sip of wine from your cup as you watched him unclench his jaw, the taste sickly sweet on your tongue.
you both watched on as lord kang clapped a hand over hongjoong's shoulder, tilting his head, his smile matching yeosang’s as he spoke to hongjoong. hongjoong's stiff smile did not budge. the mad king was not here, as always, but his maester had gave quite a moving speech in his place, of westeros's greatest king and the dragons riding free, thriving, before food and drinks were announced shortly after. the mad king's presence would not be missed once the wine started flowing anyway. you took note when you'd entered that mingi, and a few of the other kingsguard, were not in attendance. you wondered often what the king did instead of attending his celebrations. you wondered often of the queen's fate. you had not seen her since your wedding. you had never had the chance to bond with her, but you worried for her. it was the same worry you felt in your chest when you first saw hongjoong lay eyes on park seonghwa. when hongjoong told you of the little girl he'd burned to ashes for his father.
"hmm," yeosang hummed after he caught his bearings, "dare i ask how you know of him?"
"you could dare," you said, tearing your eyes from hongjoong to meet yeosang's gaze. "clearly you know of him."
yeosang's gaze narrowed, but his smile was amused as always. "the mountain is father's new addition to the kingsguard."
his words were biting, but they matched what irene had informed you. at least she could be trusted, for now.
"i figured as much," you said, downing your cup of wine.
"you'd do well to stay away from him," yeosang's voice was low, but it brought you pause. you looked over your shoulder at him, watching his concerned gaze flicker over your face. kang yeosang and concerned did not quite match.
you raised a brow at him, amused, "now why is that?"
"do you think they call him 'the mountain' for fun?" yeosang sneered.
you rolled your eyes at yeosang's disparaging tone. he did not grin. in fact, the twinkle in his eyes was undetectable. he shook his head at you.
he said, "i do not know how you came upon such information, but, for your sake, for all our sakes, i pray you've guaranteed that thread cannot be traced back to you."
his warning left a bad taste on your tongue, exacerbated by the lingering taste of wine. you muttered, "i do not leave loose threads. i am not an idiot."
"i like to think you are not," yeosang said, "but it would do you well for you if the small council continued to believe that you were."
you'd frowned at him. even after establishing contact with yeonjun, you'd continued sending letters to your family through lord kang, if only to not raise suspicion. you assumed they’d continue underestimating your involvement, but yeosang's words implied that something had changed.
"do they have reason to believe i am, in fact, not an idiot?"
yeosang plucked a cup of wine from a passing servant, and placed it in your limp hands. his gaze flickered ahead, and you followed it. to lord kang. to the man dressed in kingsguard armor and a kingsguard cloak.
he towered over everyone, a beast of a man that had all the mad king's guests giving the man a wide berth. hongjoong was the only one who looked the man in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin held high, despite how far back hongjoong had to tilt his head to look up at the newly appointed knight. the knight's predatory expression, his unwavering eyes, and the way he only responded to lord kang’s instructions, left a chill beneath your bones, an acute sense of fear curling right down your spine. you knew right then that this man was the mountain - an apt name for a man like that - and that you did not want to be alone with him, ever.
“oh, sweet thing,” yeosang's hand brushed your elbow, drawing your attention to him. yeosang shook his head, his words ominous, "not yet.”
~.~.~.~.~
king's landing sustained itself off gold and whispers. secrets were not safe at court, and nothing ever went unseen. you should have known such a thing the moment lady irene introduced you to her little birds, some of whom were kitchen boys and errand girls and stablehands you'd seen too often in the red keep. she had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. what was stopping the other lords, ladies, and lieges from doing the same?
you'd known the whispers well since you were four-and-ten. the people of king's landing did not view dorne kindly. even now, at something-and-twenty, they were a constant nuisance, trailing after you with terrible whispers wherever you went.
the rumors were particularly terrible after the king started preparations for your wedding to hongjoong. you and san had hardly kept your courting a secret, and you weren't the only one blindsided by the sudden arrangement to hongjoong. the whispers were harsh.
you'd tuned them out, mostly, but they still existed.
your refusal to give hongjoong your favor during tourneys was seen in good fun at first, but the whispers turned accusing very quickly. you were a sly fox, you'd heard from one of the ladies. prince hongjoong was kind enough, he was prince kim hongjoong, of course, so what was wrong with you to deny him?
you were seen downing too many cups of wine at king kim's spring festival. you were too familiar with the kingsguard, lord kang’s son.
the servants saw you leaving the library late in the evenings. you laughed too hard at one of the kingsguard's quips, lord song’s bastard son. you never laughed around prince hongjoong, the whispered accused.
prince hongjoong kissed the hand of lady jihyo of hightower at the tourney. surely, you were not working hard enough to keep his attention from others. what was wrong with you?
prince hongjoong left the celebrations too late. no one who loves his spouse would spend so long drinking ale so early in marriage. surely, you had said something to keep him away. you were not enough, you'd done something wrong, you were a fox, conniving, ungrateful, a who-
hongjoong raised a glass.
"a toast," he said, "to my father. may he remain healthy and strong. may he rule for many, many years to come. long live the dragons, long live king kim."
it would have amused you to no end, to attend the nameday celebration for a king who wasn’t even there, if the whispers were not so loud today, and the mood was not so damp.
the response to hongjoong's toast was half-hearted at best.
the king had certainly celebrated his nameday well; he'd beheaded half his upper ranked army officers the day before and hung their heads from the gates of king's landing. he’d done it based off suspicion of mutiny and a the beginnings of rebellion. king's landing had been quiet since then, eerily so. even the commonfolk could sense the tension.
the court bard waved his hand in response, and the sound of a fiddle filled the room, a jaunty tune that seemed to liven up the crowd better than the food and drink had. some took to the dance floor, prompting others to join.
you watched from your seat at the royal table above the festivities as members of the court shuffled to the dance floor, as wine flowed freely, and bouts of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. this was not the liveliest of dances you’ve attended, but it was enough for now.
some time after too many cups of wine, and a small brawl that had broken out on the floor - ser yuta and ser johnny had separated them before it could escalate into anything further - after the bard crooned as he swayed with his fiddle, the harpist strumming an angelic melody, after some ladies, lieges, and lords began shuffling out from the room and back to their beds, your septa beckoned to you.
you were too drunk, too, and you found that it was becoming a common occurrence for you. you slept better when you drank too much.
mingi helped you down the steps, and you'd grinned at him as he bowed exaggeratedly. you clutched his fingers.
the whispers were always whispers. though they were loud, they were never said to your face.
until that night.
"whore." the word was spat in your direction.
you'd known of that word since you were very little, and when news spread that you would not wed san, but rather hongjoong whore was thrown around more than your name. the hastiness of the arrangement was what made the court gossip.
you used to ignore it. you used to worry for how san would feel. or worse, how your mother would react if it ever reached her ears. your brothers. your father. you used to swallow your rage and let the whispers slip off your skin, pretending your skin was armor and you were left untouched.
mingi's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his deep voice held an undercurrent of fury as he said, "how dare you speak to their grace in such a manner?"
but, by the gods, your skin was no armor, and you were everything but untouched. you were drowning in your rage and the whispers.
and the rage? the rage inside of you was a churning fire that clawed it's way out of you from the pit of your stomach. it burned right through you.
lord lim was an older man, a distant cousin to the kangs, and his family had deep roots in the royal army. one of the ten ranking officers who had been beheaded and put on display at the gates had been his nephew. his house fostered seonghwa, and hosted san and jongho when they were young boys. you knew this because you'd seen the note regarding family relations and condolences on hongjoong's desk.
the festivities continued all around you. drunk laughter, dancing, shouting, the bard cooing, drumbeats loud, rhythmic, the crooning of the harp and the fiddle. it all rang in your ears. the festivities continued, but your head was pounding.
lord lim laughed. his eyes were full of mirth. "my nephew is dead because the king believed he was plotting against the crown. the only person in this damned court who would plot against the king is you."
lord lim jabbed a finger in your direction. you should have left. you should have excused his treasonous words for grief-stricken rage fueled by drink, and excused yourself. you should have.
but you turned to him, and you said, "nothing you say is going to bring back your nephew. he is dead, and that is no fault of mine."
lord lim advanced on you, then, and fury and grief contorted his features into something ugly and monstrous. you felt the urge to laugh. his expression matched the feeling at the pit of your stomach. his displaced anger made you want to scream.
when he stepped towards you, mingi stepped between you both, his elbow braced as mingi shoved lord lim back. lord lim did not budge, his eyes fixed on you.
he hissed, "with the amount of times you’ve been passed around the red keep, you are no better than a common whore. you should have been the one hanging from the gates."
you opened your mouth, the rage at your stomach curling into your chest. you wanted to scream. wanted to take his displaced, irrational anger and toss it back at him. burn him alive with it. tear his mouth from his face with your bare hands. but you knew that his words only reiterated what the court whispered behind your back. you did not know what the public, the commonfolk, thought of you, but you knew the other nobles did not think highly of you. you did not know it was to that extent, and you never thought they'd say it out loud, but perhaps there was a first for everything.
only then did you realize how quiet it had gotten.
only then did you feel a hand on your back, heavy and warm, and a voice sharp as the edge of a sword.
“what did you say?”
lord lim spat, “you heard me.”
hongjoong shook his head, "guards, bring lord lim to the courtyard."
his words rang high and loud.
you turned, and hongjoong's gaze met yours. it was hard, angry, and full of fire. it was the same rage in your stomach, the same rage in lord lim's expression, but there was no grief there. he was merely cold fury.
lord lim protested as mingi grabbed lord lim's arms and yanked them behind his back, the other kingsguard drawing their swords. his shouts rang throughout the quiet room.
hongjoong turned to you, and he said, "do you wish to retire to your chambers, or do you wish to join me?"
you should have gone to bed.
your gaze followed mingi as he dragged a shouting, squirming lord lim behind him, the kingsguard following behind him.
you said, "i will join you."
despite the cold fury, a small smile tugged at the corner of hongjoong's lips.
the queen's yellow flowers were at their brightest, even under the moonlight.
hongjoong called for his dragon, and after a long moment, the wind picked up all around you. you looked up and his black dragon circled the courtyard as it prepared to land, it’s wings flapping. mingi tied lord lim to the very same blackened post his father tied so many others to before he used his green fire or his own dragon to execute them.
despite how quiet it was, the guests that were left lingered at the threshold to the courtyard. no one said a word, watching on in dread and anticipation. the distance made you feel strange. watched. revered. powerful. perhaps, simply feared.
hongjoong's dragon landed before you both, your robes whipping all around you. hongjoong's hair fluttered, his eyes glittering under the moonlight as he stared up at his dragon. up close, his dragon's black scales shone beneath moonlight, it's large, watchful eyes unblinking. the ground shook as it landed, and the crowd by the entrance to the courtyard stumbled back further into the fortress. further from you.
hongjoong stroked his dragon’s head, and it hummed in response.
hongjoong stalked closer then, to lord lim tied to the post, waving away his guards. lord lim looked small, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard the way he did. hongjoong said, "your words are treason of the highest order, lord lim."
"you cannot do this. you are not the king. you have no right!”
"but i am a kim, and i have a dragon.” hongjoong's voice, though low, shook with anger. "it's a shame you could not hold your tongue around my spouse, lord kim. now we shall decide whether you lose a limb or your life."
he looked over his shoulder at you, and he raised a brow at you.
you should have called him off. lord lim's voice broke with his cry.
yet, the rage in your stomach turned to something that resembled glee, and you kept your mouth shut. you did not shake your head, and that was permission enough.
hongjoong's dark eyes flickered over your face, his eyes softening for just a moment. then he turned back to lord lim, and he grinned, "it appears you will be reunited with your dear nephew after all.”
lord lim screamed and screamed.
his screams were cut off by a low, “dracarys."
his dragon's fire was so hot, you stumbled away, heat rolling off it in waves. the screams were loud. the loudest sounds in king's landing since the mad king executed those officers.
they rang and rang, like the crooning of the bard or the twangs of the harp and fiddle. they filled the air, much like the festivities had, but this time you did not have a headache.
your gaze flicked to hongjoong, even as he turned to you, his grin glorious, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze. his dragon left as quickly as it came, and hongjoong laughed as he watched it go.
the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. the crowd was quiet, so so quiet.
your stomach flipped as hongjoong gestured back to the hall and said, "come now. there is more drink and food to be had."
you were not as disgusted by hongjoong as you thought you'd be.
as you should be.
and that realization would remain with you for the rest of your life.
~.~.~.~.~
"hongjoong?"
your voice drifted between you both in your dim chambers. you'd returned to your chambers shortly after the bard began to sing again. the crowd had already trickled away, and mingi had disappeared. when you stepped through the crowd of nobles, they parted like the sea, the fear in their eyes feeding the fire that always burned at the pit of your stomach. they parted for you as if they could sense the fire in you, and they were afraid they'd burn at the smallest of touches.
your stomach turned at the thought.
you'd hurried to your chambers, then, the kingsguard meant to escort you hurrying to keep up, and readied yourself for bed, scrubbing your skin to rid yourself of the scent of dragonfire and burnt flesh until your skin stung.
you laid in your bed, ceiling too far away, and the linens felt rough against your scrubbed skin.
hongjoong entered the chambers shortly after, and you listened to him quietly ready himself for bed, as if did not wish to wake you. he sat down at his desk and lit a candle. the warm glow of the candle filled the otherwise dark room. his back was to you, the candlelight casting a long shadow over your side of the chambers.
this was often the routine with you two. neither of you could sleep, you noticed, and hongjoong spent many nights bent over his desk, his back turned to you. you'd imagined piercing a knife through his turned back too many times. you wondered if he ever worried you would do such a thing. you spent many sleepless nights watching him work. neither of you ever said a thing. perhaps, it was an unspoken rule between you both. you knew for certain he could tell you were watching him. his back was never relaxed.
that night, you broke the silence with his name.
hongjoong froze, the sound of his pen scratching stilling. then it returned, as if the moment never happened. his voice was low, "i did not do it for you."
you'd blinked at the declaration, surprised. hongjoong continued to work, even as he spoke. his voice held a soft edge, a seething tone you knew was rage. you knew rage well, you've come to learn. "you are a kim through our vows. disrespecting you is treason."
"you did not have to kill him."
"my father would have killed him within a fortnight," hongjoong muttered. then he turned in his seat, his loose sleep shirt slipping as he turned, exposing skin and the sharp dip of his collarbone. he gripped the back of his wooden chair, the candlelight casting dark shadows and an orange glow over his features, hiding his expression. "did you want me to spare him?"
you laid on your side as you contemplated his question. his gaze flickered down your form as he waited for your response. lord kim’s words brought you fury.
so, you shook your head in response.
the corner of his lips tipped upwards at your admission, his fingers gripping the back of his chair. strands of silver hair fell into hongjoong's eyes, and he used his other hand to push it back as he said, voice barely a whisper, "good."
you tucked your hands underneath your pillow, if only to have something to do under his intense, almost knowing gaze. you should have been disgusted by the intimacy in this moment, but you found yourself enraptured by the softness in his voice, your eyes flickering over his turned figure. you found yourself voluntarily speaking to him. the anger you always felt for him was a muted thing. worst of all, you were left wondering why the guilt wasn't much much worse.
it should have been.
yet, your mouth was loose.
"i am terrified of spiders. the ones in dorne were bigger than my hands," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "and wooyoung or yunho always killed them for me. when i was very little, i used to cry when they killed them. i never wanted them to die, even though i feared them."
hongjoong's feathery whisper caressed you like a finger against your cheek, "when did you stop crying when they killed those spiders?"
"i don't know."
a pause.
"will you cry tonight?"
it was such a simple question, but the tone he held, sincere and almost reverent, made your heart skip a beat.
you stared at hongjoong, a lump growing in your throat.
he broke away from your gaze first, his eyes flickering to his lap. when he met your gaze once more, he said, so quietly, so gently, you wondered if this was the same man you'd known since you were four-and-ten. he said, "you can, you know. if you'd like. i will not tease you for it."
it was strange to hear such kindness from kim hongjoong, but this was not the first time. perhaps between all his horrid decisions he was capable of being kind.
for a moment, you wondered if you could be vulnerable in such a way with him. if you could shed tears in front of him.
you shook your head quickly, cheeks hot, "i won't."
the thought of crying in front of him embarrassed you, more than anything.
he'd given you a brisk nod.
the silence grew awkward then, charged with an emotion you could not quite place. so you said, "good night, then."
you turned your back to him, staring at the wall instead.
hongjoong said, "good night, y/n."
he did not blow out his candle, his shadow dancing against the wall.
you did not sleep.
~.~.~.~.~
father is very sick, yunho wrote to you. i am scared worried, y/n.
~.~.~.~.~
you watched the letter wither in the fireplace, the edges of parchment curling before it turned to blackened ash.
you turned away, then, when the door to the library opened and the library's maester stepped through. he was not as old as most maesters, maester robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. he was not highly ranked, not like the grand maester who was elected by the conclave to serve the iron throne and the red keep and sat on the small council, but he watched over the grand library. judging from all the different metals adorning the chain around his neck, he was well-versed in many areas of study. the lead and black iron chains were what interested you months ago. they indicated the study of poison and black iron. maesters were not supposed to hold political allegiances, as servants to the realm.
yet, here maester haechan stood, with his sunkissed skin and perpetual wary expression.
you spent too much time in the library. you were bound to walk into something of substance. in fact, the other night you'd walked in on maester haechan in a uncompromising position with one of the king’s servants. in the past, you would have left immediately, but that night you'd cleared your throat. you'd made yourself known. the two men jumped off each other, not once meeting your eyes.
it took months to wear maester haechan down. you flipped through books, maester haechan glancing sideways at you when he thought you were not looking, and mentioned the moment offhandedly. you held your knowledge over him, knowing he would snap and come to you one day. you left a comment here of didn't all maesters take an oath of celibacy? and another there of how would the citadel react if they heard of such a transgression? and finally a pointed what about the grand maester? what would he think? before maester haechan slammed a book down in front of you, the chains around his neck rattling, and he asked, "what do you want from me?"
you'd merely shrugged. you made him stew in his anxiety.
tonight, he finally stood before you, and you asked, "what do you know of essence of nightshade?"
"it is meant to calm one's frayed nerves so they may sleep," maester haechan raised a brow, "but a high dosage can be fatal. and undetectable."
you hummed. you'd thought so, but the confirmation eased you.
"it seems you were already aware of that," his voice was quiet.
"i read about it and wanted confirmation. i have trouble sleeping at night and i've been told it is helpful," you said, with a shrug.
he eyed you skeptically, eyes too knowing, "is it only for you?"
no. you thought of hongjoong. you thought of how easily he'd burned a man alive, as he was taught when he was a boy. you thought of the way you'd felt drawn to the action, of the sheer amount of violence he was willing to display to protect your name. your father would not start a war for you, yet hongjoong would kill a man? the thought made your heart curl, and that was precisely why you needed this. thoughts like that needed to be cut off easily. put into a deep, dreamless, fatal sleep. you did not need to think of hongjoong in such a way. whether that was you who ended up that way, or hongjoong, it did not matter.
you needed this.
"of course, it is," you said.
the maester did not believe you, but he still nodded.
"and you do not wish for me to mention this elsewhere, i assume?"
"i should hope so. unless you want the red keep and the citadel to know you are an oathbreaker, maester haechan."
haechan poorly suppressed his grimace, "your request will be easy enough, your grace."
“and if i have future requests?”
haechan sighed, “i will do as you bid.”
~.~.~.~.~
mingi stood at your shoulder, while you knelt in front of a little girl in ragged scraps of clothing, her sunken eyes piercing as she covered her mouth and brought her lips to your ears.
"choi jongho has held three meetings in lady irene's brothels thus far. several nobles have been in attendance. the lims, the lees, the yuns."
"does lady irene know what for?"
the little girl shook her head.
you could not understand what for. you knew choi jongho was an honorable man, if san were to be believed, though rumor had it the man loved his drink more than he should have. however, even the most honorable ended up in brothels. it was an unspoken norm among nobles. you could not understand why jongho would host other nobles in a brothel. surely, there was more to it.
you'd nodded as you fished out a couple gold coins from your pockets and tucked it into her limp hands, "thank you, little bird."
the little girl only nodded before she stepped into the crowded street and disappeared.
you'd stood, readjusting your hood, and you said, "do you want something to eat?"
mingi shook his head. his eyes were still on the little girl, a distant look.
"then let us head back," you said, "hongjoong should be back soon."
your beloved spends quite a lot of time in my brothels, irene had told you once. you thought about that often, when you'd lay sleepless in your bed, and hongjoong would stumble in to your chambers drunk or smelling of smoke. he whispered stories of his childhood. amusing stories of his mother, mischief yeosang, hongjoong, mingi, jongho, and san had gotten up to, inconsequential things. sometimes, you shared stories too. of climbing mango trees. of hidden courtyards to bask in sunlight. it only ever happened in the dead of night, awash in darkness. when irene told you of her discovery, the ugly beast at the pit of your being reared it’s head once more.
you'd walked in silence, even as mingi gestured for you to lead the way up the winding secret passages you both frequented often.
right before you'd exited the passage mingi called your name.
you'd paused, and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. his eyes were conflicted as he said, "you should end this."
"end what?" you'd taken your hand off the exit, and you both stood facing each other behind the tapestries. the corridors were narrow enough, but as mingi ascended the final step and towered over you, his armor clinking softly, you realized just how cramped the hidden corridor was.
"end all of this," mingi gestured around him, gestured at you, your clothes, behind him. "i speak to you not as a knight, or as your subordinate, but as your friend. this will all end in ruin, y/n. this is a dangerous game you are playing."
you'd frowned, "i am playing no games."
you were, but mingi did not need to know that. yeonjun, maester haechan, and lady irene could know you were, but for an inexplicable reason, you could not bear for mingi to find out that you were using him in any way. that you left lingering touches on purpose. that you looked up at him until he blushed for another reason. that you were playing a game, and he was one of the pieces you kept close.
mingi blinked at you, his brows furrowing.
you stepped closer to him. he watched your movement like you were opposite him in battle, and he was assessing your next move.
"i miss my family. ever since i came to king's landing, lord kang has opened all my letters. they cannot speak to me candidly in fear of saying something the king or small council will fault me for, mingi," you sighed. "i'm only doing this with yeonjun and the brothel so that i can keep in touch with my family, and keep myself safe. you have to understand that."
"but it is dangerous," mingi muttered, shoulders slumping. "what will become of you if you are found out?"
"i won't be found out," you said, tone adamant. you reached up then, and placed a hand on mingi's cheek. his eyes shot up to meet yours as you said, voice low, "and if i am caught, they will not blame you. i will not allow it."
he frowned. he relaxed into your touch, and your heart clenched as if he had reached into your chest and wrapped his fingers around it. he trusted you so much, despite everything. he had no reason not to. at least a reason that he knew of.
"i worried you'd say as much," he shook his head, "i cannot live with myself if you take all the blame."
you'd laughed, "it appears we've arrived at an impasse then."
a small smile tugged at mingi's lips, "it appears so."
"then we'll have to make sure that neither of us has to take the blame. we have to be extra cautious." you pat his warm cheek once before stepping back.
mingi broke eye contact, looking away as he dragged a hand through his hair. he bit back his growing smile, eyes serious, "more than that."
you agreed, "more than that."
mingi softened as he nodded, and the vice-like grip around your heart tightened once more.
~.~.~.~.~
"my favorite color is yellow," hongjoong said. he sat cross-legged on his chair, his arms folded over the top, his chin resting there. his billowy sleep shirt was thin, the candlelight illuminating the shape of him through the shirt. with his back to his table and his candle, his face was full of shadows, unreadable.
"like the flowers on your mother's tree in the courtyard?" you asked, in response. you lay on your side once more, your knees drawn close to your chest.
hongjoong was silent for a long moment.
you said, "you do not have to talk about her."
his mother was a sore subject. you hadn't heard from her since your wedding, but hongjoong stopped hearing from her shortly after. you often wondered what had become of her. you wondered if your fate would mirror hers one day.
"your mother reminded me of her," hongjoong said. “especially the way you two interacted.”
"do you resent your mother as well, then?" you'd never admitted that aloud.
hongjoong laughed, but it held no amusement. "sometimes, i do. other times, i only pity her. she deals most with my father, after all."
it was quiet once more, before you asked, "would you kill him?"
a pause.
"i don't know," hongjoong sighed, though there was a sharp edge to his voice, "if you were in my place, would you kill your father?"
"yes," you said, without hesitation. you thought of the mad king, with his sharp, long nails and the horrible things he's said to you and the way he looked at you as if you were scum beneath his feet. you grit your teeth, "i would kill him."
"so easily?"
"he'd deserve it."
you could barely see his expression under the shadows, but the way he tilted his head as he looked at you, the glint of a grin on his face, it brought chills down your spine. it was...fascinating.
"oh, how i wish you were in my place then," hongjoong murmured.
the conversation died away after that.
~.~.~.~.~
16,784. that is where our army's numbers currently stand, wooyoung wrote. it is our army, but most importantly it is yours, y/n. if you ever require it.
~.~.~.~.~
"where is he?"
you sat alone in the dining hall. at least you were alone until yeosang and mingi joined you, their armors clinking and their cloaks fluttering behind them. the king and queen always took dinners in their chambers. hongjoong would often join you for dinner, and surprisingly your conversations had become quite light, aside from a few pointed jabs from you both. neither of you could shake the habit, it seemed.
tonight, you had been alone.
until your escorts joined you.
yeosang gave you a lopsided grin as he brought his wine cup in mock salute, "is our company not enough, your grace?"
mingi frowned at yeosang's tone.
the chois were in the red keep - just to visit, they said, though you knew of the brothel visits - and so was park seonghwa. you'd heard the servants discuss sending dinner to the choi's guest chambers, as they wished to rest after a long afternoon of hunting with hongjoong. you heard nothing regarding park seonghwa.
you stared at your own wine cup for a long moment. the servants had left the hall after they'd served the food. finally, you lifted your gaze to mingi and yeosang, and you said, "he's with seonghwa isn't he?"
you meant to sound nonchalant, but your voice was too small, even to your own ears. since when did you care about such things?
yeosang leaned back in his chair, wine cup still in his hand, and he said, "does it matter?"
mingi's frown deepened.
you'd glared at yeosang, "hongjoong's dalliances ruin my reputation. that matters."
"at the end of the day, you are still the heir's spouse, and he returns to your bed," yeosang said, with a shrug. "nothing else matters."
you rolled your eyes, venom dripping from your tone, "you think so?"
"i know so," yeosang snapped back, his eyes narrowing. "if you make a problem of it, then you will become the problem. do you not understand that?"
"what the hell does that mean?"
"do you think the queen disappeared because she wanted to?"
mingi shook his head, "yeosang, stop."
"no," you glared at mingi, "yeosang, continue."
mingi pressed his mouth into a thin line.
yeosang looked genuinely sorry when he glanced mingi's way.
you pressed your hand to his elbow, his armor cold to your touch, "what are you implying, ser yeosang?"
yeosang glanced down at your touch, and though he could not feel your touch, he still shook your hand from his elbow. he downed his drink, his expression stony. his cold features turned colder as the moments slipped by. there was no kang amusement, no mischief, and it brought a chill down your spine.
worst of all, it worried you.
mingi cleared his throat, and you turned to him. his usually expressive brown eyes held a vacancy in them that made the perpetual guilt-ridden grip mingi had over your heart grow in side.
mingi said, "though the kingsguard acts as the queen's guards, y/n, we do not answer to the queen. we do not...owe the king's spouse anything. we answer to no one but the king," mingi turned his gaze to the ceiling briefly, as if he were lamenting the gods. you did not know mingi's beliefs surrounding the gods, nor how devout he may or may not be, but the sight of him take a deep, harrowing breath burrowed beneath your skin. it was a sight meant to haunt you. mingi certainly appeared haunted, his eyes returning to you, his hands curled into fists on the table. "we've heard many things over the years stationed outside her door. the king is...he is our priority. she made a problem out of the king's adultery, and the king dealt with her as he saw fit. now she remains in her chambers for a reason. if you've seen her...heard how she...if you knew...she's..."
mingi stuttered over his words, his jaw clenched, and his eyes glossed with tears. you'd never seen him cry. not once. it was not something you thought he was capable of, logical, kind, and watchful mingi, with walls as high as yours. if he was a terrible person, perhaps you would not feel so much guilt for the way you pushed his boundaries.
you hoped the mad king would not hurt the queen. perhaps it was wishful thinking, to think the man who would have married you off to a dead babe to spite your father had limitations. but you were wrong. the king had no limits, no one to stop them, not even the kingsguard. whatever the king had done to the queen, that left her bedridden, that seemed to leave devastation in mingi and yeosang even now, whatever it was should have terrified you. mingi's pain and your subsequent terror should have been the final reason to end your indiscretions.
to learn to resign yourself to your fate. to become the person you knew choi san and your brothers and your parents would pity. the person the seven kingdoms would one day sing pitiful songs of. the little bird trapped in their cage, left to a tragic fate, left to dissolve into the shadows, ruined, ruined, ruined.
the person you were before you'd wedded hongjoong would have ended everything. they would have stopped fighting for the sake of survival.
however, you could not help but imagine hongjoong ascending the throne one day, and continuing his father's legacy. you could very well face the same fate as the queen. no one would protect you if you did.
but that was not new. you'd known this since the moment you stepped foot on the shores of king's landing at four-and-ten. the part of you that dreamt of being rescued, of knights like the many you'd bestowed favors upon at tourneys, of your parents or your brothers, was merely the dreams of a child. you knew damn well no one in king's landing would protect you.
so why should you stop fighting? why should you stop? because of a little bit of guilt? because of a fate like the queen's?
besides the person you were before you wedded hongjoong was dead and gone when your family left a second time.
you would never step foot in sunspear again. you'd live in king's landing longer than you ever did in dorne. what did you have to lose anymore?
still, you said, "do you think hongjoong is capable of the same?"
mingi shook his head quickly. yeosang did not say anything.
"he is your friend," you frowned, frustration clawing it's way up your throat, under your skin, burrowing itself into ever nook and crevice like a disease, like the anger that always lived inside of you. "if you saw violence taking hold in him, you should have done everything in your power to keep it away. you sit here and warn me of possibilities when stopping such violence is your responsibility. not mine."
not mine, not mine, not mine. it echoed in your head, like the court's whispers. you did not mean to admit that the whispers that blamed you for hongjoong's misgivings bothered you. but you shook with your anger, and yeosang and mingi watched on as if you were a funeral pyre burning before their eyes.
"he is not violent." mingi murmured, voice breathy, "he does not want to be like his father."
you crossed your arms over your chest, looking from mingi to yeosang, "do you really believe that?"
"i want to believe it," yeosang sighed, his voice wistful, "hongjoong isn't a bad person. he's caring, and he remembers the littlest things. he sends medicine when he hears his friends are under the weather. he knows my favorite flower, and he wraps my name-day gifts with them. he sends san and jongho their favorite sweets when their mother's death day comes around. he cleared a space in the garden to commemorate mingi's mother, since lady song refuses to do so in the eyrie. he is...he cares, and he is so gentle, y/n, sweet even, when he is not angry." yeosang dragged a hand through his blond hair, closing his eyes, and perhaps this was the first time you'd seen him so candid with you. no kang amusement, no honeyed words. he speaks as yeosang. only yeosang. "but the mad king lives in his nature, and he knows it. he ruins things because of it, and i'm afraid it will set him on the exact path he despises."
you did not think yeosang thought highly of hongjoong. not truly. neither did you think hongjoong cared much for san, especially after san courted you. but perhaps, they truly were brothers, more than you'd ever accounted for. you'd known it ran deep, and longer than even your time at court. it ran through their fathers, if the chosen members of the small council was anything to go by, but you hadn't truly wanted to believe it. that a family existed in the red keep, found not made, while you were still so alone.
you should have fell in line that night and allowed the gods to determine your fate. the strength of their bonds, of how well they knew hongjoong, seeped into every word, and you should have taken it at face value. you should have stopped.
but you've become quite terrible at doing as you should.
"do you think he would," you hesitated, fingers curled in your lap, "...hurt me?"
mingi closed his eyes, turning to the gods once more.
yeosang twirled his cup in his fingers, the wine sloshing in his cup. he said, "hasn't he already?"
it was a quiet sort of acknowledgement you had not expected from kang yeosang, of all people.
hongjoong hadn't hurt you physically, but he'd taken from you for his own gain. he turned you into the type of person that pushed song mingi's boundaries just to see how far he would go for you, short of becoming a turncloak and betraying his king and vows. hongjoong turned you into this, and it was everything you did not want to be.
once upon a time, you dreamt of being kind. now, you were anything but.
to have that acknowledged brought a certain relief, but it also angered you. he knew of your pain, and he merely watched.
"you're right, ser yeosang," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoided eye contact with both yeosang and mingi. "it doesn't matter."
~.~.~.~.~
that night, hongjoong returned to your chambers smelling of amber and sweat and smoke. he shrugged his shirt off, his shoulder and chest blotched with reddish marks. even in the candlelight, you could see it. he did not say a word as he drew his bath and disappeared.
you'd turned away, but you could not sleep. it was not the guilt this time, but rather a heaviness in your chest. you ignored that heaviness, focusing instead on the part of you that wished to survive. if hongjoong found someone else to fixate upon, then your misgivings would not be so easily forgiven. the possibility was very real. you'd frowned at the wall as those thoughts ran rampant.
you startled when hongjoong's voice echoed through the chambers, "why don't you ever sleep?"
it was a simple enough question, but it made your heart beat faster. your palms were clammy. you were wracked with guilt. it was not a new feeling, but it continued to eat at your insides. you knew it would eat at you until there was nothing left.
you turned to face him. "why don't you?"
hongjoong's sharp features grew sharper in the shadows. when he rose, he loomed over you, his shadow creeping up over the wall and into the high ceiling. he truly looked the part of a god, the kinds of gods people feared.
you spoke before you took the time to think. you said, "is it because of the guilt?"
this was you you spoke of, but hongjoong's shoulders stiffened, and his looming shadow sunk back into him. vulnerability should not have suited hongjoong, and it truly did not. but you liked vulnerability on him. it bought you control you did not expect.
you clutched the sheets beneath you as you continued, "does it eat at you with every waking breath? do the faces of every person you'd burned or ruined or broke haunt you to this day, hongjoong?"
hongjoong stood so still, clenched fists at his side. your heart lodged in your throat, along with the lump growing there.
it was a strange thing, to understand the emotional turmoil kim hongjoong felt, despite everything. your words sawed its way into your gut the same way it did to him. it was ironic, truly, that the words you used to hurt him hurt you too.
you whispered, "or is it shame?"
"shut up," hongjoong growled.
you should have.
"oh," your laugh was humorless, "it is shame. do you finally feel a sense of shame when you look my way? when you return to our chambers still smelling like another?"
he stalked towards you then, one step, then two, then three, four, five, until he stood above you at the edge of the bed. his voice rang through your chambers, loud and sharp, "i said shut up."
"beg and i'll consider it," you mocked, anger curling at the pit of your stomach at his tone.
he grit his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on you.
you wondered if hongjoong would kill you where you sat. you waited, then, watching his every movement. the twitch of his brow. the curl of his fingers. the deepening of his scowl. that darkening in his eyes. time stopped, and you merely watched as he came back to life.
instead, he sunk to his knees, the bed dipping with the weight of him. he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he would sooner let it cripple him then let it slide off his shoulders. he looked the personification of the anger and shame and guilt that always lived inside of you.
he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his shadowed eyes heavy with emotions you could not place. guilt, desire, shame, amusement, contradictory emotions. he mirrored your insides, you knew, and that was a terrifying thought. to admit that you were truly just like him was one thing, but to see it spread out for you like this? to find such a sight fascinating? by the gods, surely you were terrible for this.
"jealousy does not suit you one bit," his voice was rough, low.
"i am not jealous," you bristled. you were not, you should not be, you could not be. you were pushing him so you could survive. so he wouldn’t wander too far. there was nothing else.
"oh, y/n, are we still lying to each other?"
you'd deflated at his brow raise, though your grip beneath you, on the sheets, was still so tight. his eyes fell to your hands, before they returned to your face. he waited patiently.
you could tell him the truth, or you could aim to burrow your words deep under his skin and hope it lived there for eternity.
"yes," you said, "you will never have me as i am. you will never know me, no matter how many sleepless nights we spend sharing stories. you will never know what is the truth and what is a lie."
"i know when you're lying, y/n," hongjoong's voice was not unkind. it held an ancient exhaustion. "whether you like it or not, i know you."
"how could you possibly know me? you don't care for me. you never did," your voice trembled, despite your spite.
hongjoong laughed, then, and it was softer now.
his dark eyes carried the weight of the world as it settled on you, and your breath caught in your throat.
"i know that you always take sugar in your tea." hongjoong said, "i know that you always forget your heavy cloak because you do not wish to acknowledge the winters. your favorite color is green. an emerald green like the jewel. you are terrified of spiders, still. i know that you hate cucumbers. that your favorite flower is dragon's breath, and that is the only reason why you visit the godswood. you do not believe in the gods, new or old.”
your breath remained caught in your throat, and your fingers found purchase around your knees.
hongjoong reached out then, his bare fingers hovering above your cheek. he met your gaze, and you did not think about it when you nodded in permission. his caress was a light thing, barely there, but his fingers trembled. he pressed his palm to the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheek. you let out a breath as he dragged his fingertips along your skin, a breath you did not realize you were holding.
"i know that you adore the three legged mare the stablehands keep hidden during inspections. that you’ve been drinking more so you can sleep," he said, with the smallest of laughs, "and i know that you are afraid of me."
you shook your head, then, and you managed to say, "not always."
"that is not enough," hongjoong murmured, his silver hair falling into his eyes. his dark eyes fell along your face, from your gaze to your lips and back.
you should have pushed him away.
instead, you said, "i am not afraid. not now."
he leaned closer then, his silver hair brushing along your temples, his touch on your cheek warm. "and now?"
your heart knocked against your ribs. you shook your head, "no."
then he leaned even closer, his forehead resting against yours. he was so close, you could count his eyelashes. his silver hair tickled your skin. his touch burned, like fire. like the sun.
your heart stopped, and the silence in the room was deafening. you were afraid any sudden movement, any loud noise, would bring you both back to reality, that it would shatter whatever this was, as tentative and fragile as it felt. your gaze flickered from his dark eyes to his pink lips, and watched his jaw clench.
he breathed, "now?"
you shook your head.
"words, y/n," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles along your jaw, "i need words."
"beg for it, then," you mocked his words, matching his tone. a grin stretched across his face. all teeth and glinting, despite his hooded dark eyes.
one of his hands dragged down your skin, drawing circles and letters and words you would never be privy to along the skin of your neck, and you shuddered under his touch. he said, with an air of the kind of gentle care that left you breathless, "please." his other thumb brushed to the corner of your mouth, pressing into the soft skin as he repeated, gentle and desperate and wanting in a way that made your thoughts run blank, "y/n, please."
you turned your head, pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his thumb. his eyes tracked your movements. you knew because you held his gaze in yours.
you said, "i am not afraid of you, hongjoong. not anymore."
a lie.
his lips twitched upwards.
he knew when you lied.
he asked, "and if i were to kiss you? would you be afraid then?"
terribly so, you thought, and not because he was the son of the mad king, or because he was volatile. no, what you feared the most was the way you hung onto his movements with bated breath and your heart beat too fast at his touches. you feared you liked this - him - more than you should have. more than you could handle.
you only feared yourself, when you shook your head and said, "no."
when he pressed his lips to yours, you were caught by surprise not by the kiss, but by his gentleness. you kissed him back. he tasted of the remnants of sweet mulberry wine. he smelled of the soap and bath oils you both shared. you pressed up into him, deepening the embrace, and he cradled the back of your head as he maneuvered you into the bedsheets, and your fingers found purchase in his silver-blond hair. he gasped against your lips, and you could feel the grin there. his lips were soft and kind and everything you longed for since you stepped foot in the red keep. of kindness, of softness, of being held as if you were the most precious creature to exist. it made you breathless.
he broke away first, and you gasped for air, even as one of his hands pressed under your jaw. your own hands remained tangled in his hair. he tucked away loose strands of hair as he hovered above you, as he peered down at you. his gaze was intense, as if he was memorizing the sight of you like this, as if he was admiring you. the rough pad of his thumb dragged along your cheek.
he said, "i've wanted to do that since i laid eyes on you."
you'd blinked at his admission, your grip in his hair tightening. his thumb dragged down your cheek, down the length of your neck, down, down, down. he stopped just short of the hem of your shirt.
"keep going," you allowed, untangling one of your hands from his hair just to push it back from his face. just to cup his cheeks in your hands. "just...do not hurt me."
"i won't. i swear it," he promised, and the sincerity of it made something inside you wither. he dipped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it left a fire in your heart. he said, with a grin and dark eyes, "if anything, you will be the death of me."
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[4] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "do you know the first thing my father taught me?"
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5
a/n: 23k words omg......part 4/5, had to split the final chapter in two violence, reader experiences misogyny but they are gender neutral, implied sexual tension/relationships/lead up to sexual situations but nothing explicit (aside from the yearning lmao), talk of people burning at the stake, gross imagery i.e. eating raw meat, brief reference to the grooming and assault of a child (not hongjoong or reader), cheating, toxic hongjoong, reader becomes progressively more manipulative, references to SA (not hongjoong or reader), implied physical abuse (not hongjoong or reader), yeosang/reader situationship, one sided mingi/reader, whew this one is a doozy of introspection, also thought about this quote a lot: "no one will know how much violence it took to become this gentle"
-
they say the kims are closer to god then they are to men. you were warned of this, and, some days, you'd believed it.
you believed it on some days. when king kim would send you and hongjoong raw meat from the kitchens with the explicit orders that that was all you were both to eat for a month. hongjoong had the meat sent back every time, but the stench of raw meat never left your nose. when you stood in the gallows of king's landing with the rest of the court and watched innocents burn at the stake, green fire rising and swirling into a column of smoke that disappeared into the glum sky of king's landing, pained screams still ringing in your ears and the stench of burnt flesh still lingering in your nose long after the executions. those days hongjoong would stand in front of you as if he meant to block your view of the scene, but you'd always see it and hear it. there was no way to avoid it when the king insisted the court should have full view of the executions.
with each passing public execution, the anguished screams and choked sobs of those in the audience melted away, until one day you stood in an audience that was only chilling silence, as if the world itself had gone numb.
worst of all, you could still smell everything. the stench of fire and ashes and burnt flesh.
the king faced no consequences for these acts of violence.
eventually the queen stopped taking visitors, even hongjoong, you'd noticed. the two of you continued to share his bedchambers, and you quickly grew accustomed to his extensive schedule. he stopped visiting his mother around a fortnight after you'd wedded him. only a a handful of maids were allowed to see her, which you knew because one of the maids reported to hongjoong of his mother's condition every morning. even though you slept in his too-big bed, and he had the servants lay out a separate bed near the balcony for himself, you grew accustomed to his habits.
you'd wondered once if he knew of yours. it was likely he did not.
king kim was so close to god, he did whatever he wished without consequence, and the thought of his reign of terror going unchecked left you more anxious than you wished to admit.
at least until one warm summer night, when the king called for you to help feed the dragons in the dragonpit. a task he deemed a rite of passage for the newest kim, though you both knew damn well you would not make it out of the dragonpit in one piece.
you were no kim in the dragon's eyes.
the king sat upon his cold iron throne and looked upon you with a treacherous glint in his eyes. it was a look that grew as time passed, as if he'd forgotten his content with hongjoong and your betrothal, and his mistrust for you and dorne had returned. the feeling of his eyes boring into you, knowing he could decide whatever you wished, made you angry. without hongjoong there to counteract the mad king's demands, you were vulnerable. you could not stand vulnerability. you could not stand that you understood why they said the kims were closer to god. not because of their dragons, but because they were above punishment. the king was allowed to dole out punishment as he wished, to whomever he wanted, and no one lifted a finger to deny him of his supposed gods-given rights.
the king's serpent grin as he bestowed his request upon you haunted your thoughts.
that night, barely a name-day after you were wedded to hongjoong, you'd found yourself eye-to-eye with a dragon you'd never seen before. a smaller one, with blue leather skin and sharp eyes. you thanked the gods, old and new, that this time the dragon did not seem in the mood to breathe fire. the kingsguard who had escorted you down to the dragonpit had long disappeared, and you'd stared at the beast as it reared its head and stalked towards you and the bloody slabs of meat you'd dropped long ago.
you were not as brave as you had been your first night you'd entered the dragonpit, and perhaps that was a testament of the years you'd spent in king's landing away from sunspear. the person who stepped off that ship and snuck into the dragonpit was long gone. your dornish curiosity, your bravery, it had all been snatched from you, and you now stood before this dragon with your heart lodged in your throat, frozen and terrified.
the dragon sniffed at the bloody meat between you both, and you knew the only reason you'd managed to move, despite the terror, was the thought that your family did not deserve to see your body returned to them in pieces.
so you'd ran. you ran from the dragon, king's orders be damned.
you ran to the to the door, your footsteps echoing through the dragonpit, an eerie sound that bounced off the walls, ringing in your ears as if even your footsteps were chasing after you. the dragon roared. the sound of it tearing at the meat, it's jaw snapping, following the roars.
your hands shook as you fiddled with the rusted steel door handle, and panic filled your stomach when the door remained firmly shut. the dragon roared once more. the sound was closer. you slammed your shoulder against the door. once. twice. thud, thud, thud.
it swung open with a clang. you stumbled into something - no, someone - sturdy and warm. hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you.
you'd blinked at him. his unruly silver hair, gritted teeth, and furrowed brows.
hongjoong was supposed to be in a strategy meeting at the other side of the red keep. the king knew as much, and you knew it too when you'd agreed to the king's demands.
he wasn't supposed to be here.
so, why was he here?
hongjoong frowned at you, his eyes narrowing into annoyance as he studied your face. for a long moment, you both merely stood at the threshold to the dragonpit. another roar from the dragon and you surged closer to hongjoong and further from the open door. hongjoong's grip on your shoulders tightened, his fingers curling around your elbow, even as he he yanked you away from the door and kicked it shut behind him.
the door slammed shut with a dull thud, drowning out the dragon’s roars, and only then did he let you go. your back hit the wall, and suddenly everything was too quiet. all you could hear was your ragged breathing and your own heart knocking against your ribs. the dragon and the dragonpit was gone, but as you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, leaning against the wall, and tried to catch your breath, hongjoong's furious gaze burned hotter than the breath of a dragon. it was a fury you did not see from him anymore, though perhaps that was because you and hongjoong had barely spoken since your conversation during the bedding ceremony.
the silence over the dimly lit corridor settled between you both. he stepped closer, his vindictive eyes fixed on you as he snapped, "why the hell did you come here?"
you bristled at his tone, "your father ordered me to!"
hongjoong's eyes widened. was he truly surprised? after everything the mad king had done?
hongjoong stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest, gaze skeptical and tone accusatory, "and you did not think to ask me to join you before you came here?"
"you were occupied," you spat, rolling your eyes.
despite your tone, you slumped against the wall behind you, hand over your heart to calm it. hongjoong's scowl was a burning thing, his gaze digging into your skull. you pointedly ignored it in liege of catching your bearings.
eventually he spoke, tone scathing, "you are an idiot."
you scowled at hongjoong, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed at your expression. if anyone deserved his wrath, it was his father. not you.
"your father has always been mad, and i've looked past it same as the rest of you. however, i cannot ignore this. he demanded this of me knowing damn well you would be occupied. clearly he wishes upon my death," you'd bit out, hiding at an ache on your arm. perhaps the dragon did not breathe fire, but it had clawed at you, the same way the mad king had with his own claws.
there was a scratch along your arm, right above the burn from long ago. blood trickled down your forearm. you stared at it for a long moment, unable to recall how you'd gotten it. now that the adrenaline was wearing off, the sharp sting of the wound was at the forefront of your mind.
you turned your scowl on hongjoong, watching as his gaze flit to your wounded arm and remained fixed there. he did not, you noticed, deny your accusation. yours was a heavy, treasonous statement to make against the king of westeros. especially to his son. he should have denied it.
you frowned at his silence, "you are aware of this?"
it was a question you knew the answer to.
hongjoong stood with his arms crossed over his chest. he grit his teeth, "my father believes i wish to usurp him using your father's support."
"and why would he believe something as absurd as that?" you asked, warily.
hongjoong's dragged his hand through his silver-white hair, shrugging. his gaze left yours, fixing over your shoulder, over nothing. it wasn’t the most absurd idea, not in this mad court.
"he is the mad king, y/n.” he emphasized mad king as if that were explanation enough.
"so what? some of his mad thoughts are not always unfounded," you said, narrowing your eyes at hongjoong as you watched him fidget. you've come to learn that hongjoong did not fidget as others did. it was subtle. a moment's glance away, a tap of his fingers against his forearm. they were all subtle signs you'd picked up from sleeping in his chambers, and you were not sure if you liked this newfound ability of yours. it only made you wonder what habits hongjoong had noticed of yours.
hongjoong stood before you, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for you to keep speaking. how he knew you would was beyond you.
you crossed your arms over your chest when the silence stretched on too long, "so, do you wish to usurp him? is that what the mad king’s vendetta is about?”
"i am no kinslayer," hongjoong glowered.
you'd raised a skeptical brow in response, "only because kinslaying is socially irredeemable."
"must you always think the worst of me?"
you snorted, "am i incorrect in my assumption, then? that the king’s anger is unfounded?”
hongjoong then let out the smallest of laughs, a bubble of a thing that graced his annoyed features. he shook his head, but he did not answer you. instead, he said, "come. let us tend to your wound."
you drew your arm to your chest, narrowing your eyes at his attempt to dodge your questions.
hongjoong merely held his hand out, waiting.
you glared at him and the offending hand, "you did not answer me."
"because i do not want to."
"then i will take it to be true, usurper."
"you’ve made up your mind already. will it make a difference? if it were true or not?”
you'd blinked at his expression. he shook his outstretched palm at you, an impatient movement.
you both knew that even if hongjoong truly did wish to usurp the throne, you'd still be entangled in the king's plots. you would remain a target. and if it wasn't true? the king would still continue to plot against you both. he was mad, after all, even if some of his madness was not unfounded. he hated dorne, and you were of dorne. he hated his son, and you were his spouse.
“yes, your admission would.” you cradled your arm to your chest. you clarified, "make a difference, i mean."
"how?"
"you'd have told me the truth."
"do we do that now?"
you frowned, "i suppose not."
hongjoong smiled, and it was a soft thing. he shook his head, before he held his hand out once more.
after a moment, you placed your injured hand in his. he held it carefully, and you'd ignored the way your chest ached.
in the year or so that you'd been wedded to hongjoong, nothing had truly changed. little things had changed here and there. he bothered you less than he used to, and your septa no longer reprimanded you for the way you responded to him.
other than that, he continued on with his lessons and his meetings. you continued on with your sword and riding lessons, and attended events and meetings as duty called.
the only difference that mattered was you and hongjoong slept in the same room together. nightly routines meant you'd lay in his too-big bed until sleep came, and sometimes you'd stir awake in the middle night when hongjoong entered the chambers and readied himself for bed. some mornings, you woke at the same time as him, and you ignored him getting dressed as you stepped into the bathing room to dress yourself or draw yourself a bath, not bothering to call for the servants. hongjoong never left the room when he wished to get dressed, much to your annoyance. still, most mornings, you woke to his bed empty.
some days, during banquets or jousting matches, you'd have to arrive alongside hongjoong. he'd hold his arm out for you to hook your arm through his elbow and the servants would dress you both in matching colors. he'd cock his brow in amusement as you took his offered arm, but he maintained a polite distance otherwise as he led you to the tourney or banquet. you'd made it a point every jousting match to not once give him your flower wreath and bestow him your favor. at banquets you sat next to him and not once did you turn to speak to him.
at one of the jousting tourneys, hongjoong waited at the foot of the stands for your favor, his silver-white hair pushed back from his eyes as he held his jousting sword out in your direction, his armor glinting under the sunlight. you'd treaded right past him, placing it upon the sword of ser eunwoo of the riverlands instead. hongjoong's eyes had flashed, even as he let out a loud bellowing laugh that rang loud in your ears. his grin was a wide terror of a thing. to the people of the court, your behavior was all fun and games between newly weds. teasing, good fun. sometimes, there were whispers that it was something less kind, but no one truly dared speak ill of the heir at court. the mad king was one thing, but the mad king's son was an entirely different matter. you knew it angered hongjoong, however, when you undermined him so publicly, but you doubted he cared otherwise. his sword was always adorned by flower wreath after flower wreath, favor upon favor, from too many to count. you were a wreath among many others. what did your favor matter to him?
ser eunwoo, ser baekhyun, every knight you'd ever favored in hongjoong's stead, ended up sprawled across the ground with his helmet gone and his nose or arm or fingers or some other appendage broken or severely injured from the impact of hongjoong’s jousting sword. hongjoong always tugged at his horse's reins as he galloped back and forth after in celebration, the crowd cheering him on. once you’d dared meet his eyes through the crowd, and his dark eyes glinted as his grin widened.
when he'd defeated ser eunwoo, your favor had flown from ser eunwoo's broken jousting sword, and he'd scooped it up and placed it on his, waving his sword to and fro to the sound of crowd howling at his act. your heart raced against your ribs and your stomach turned. you'd watched as hongjoong galloped to where you stood in the stands, reining his horse in. he held his sword out to you, and the tourney grew silent in anticipation. your favor slipped from the tip of his sword and fell to the floor in front of you, past your limp hands. he grinned, all teeth and fire in his eyes, before he dismounted his horse and turned away, bowing to the crowd.
"you could have killed him," you'd admonished afterwards, when you both left together in hongjoong's carriage.
you'd reminded him of that fact every time he did such a thing.
every time, hongjoong shrugged in response and said, "if you worry for their lives, why do you give them your favor?"
you'd frowned and hongjoong had laughed.
the next tournament, you kept your favor in your lap, defiant as you met hongjoong's gaze. he won the match and dumped all the favors he'd received in front of your feet, and his grin was not as wild as it once had been. the audience hooted with glee. hongjoong turned away from you.
"quite a lover's quarrel, huh?" yeosang asked with a grin and a congratulatory pat to hongjoong's back before he opened the carriage door, after that particular tourney incident.
hongjoong narrowed his eyes at yeosang, and you were shocked he did not strangle yeosang where he stood. it was a testament, you thought, to their bond, and it always made your chest tight to see evidence of such a thing when you had nothing. the carriage ride home was a long and silent.
some days, you'd believed the kims were closer to god than to the rest of you, but on days like this you knew they were the same as any other person. human and angry and begrudging as the rest of you. it made you laugh, a bubbling giggle escaping your lips, and hongjoong glanced sideways at you before he huffed and fixed his gaze out the carriage window.
~.~.~.~.~
a year prior, the sun beat down over your heads as you stood at port. the smell of rotting fish invaded your senses and you could almost taste it on your tongue alongside the sea salt carried with the ocean breeze. the heat of the sun trickled down your spine. you did not know when king's landing's sun became hotter than dorne's, but you thought it fitting that you'd notice it now, as you stood on the docks and watched your father's knights ready his ship.
dorne's flag - orange with a yellow spear piercing a red sun - fluttered high in the sky. it beckoned to you, and you wanted so badly to join your family. you wanted so badly to return to dorne, to touch the sands of sunspear and take meals alongside your brothers. you wanted so badly to find forgiveness for your father, to kneel at your mother's feet and eat the fruits she'd cut for you while she massaged hot oil into your hair. you dreamt of those evenings, her fingers gentle on your scalp while she hummed an ancient melody she said her mother had taught her. you'd asked her to teach you once, and she hummed and said she would when her duties allowed her rest. she'd never gotten around to it. you wanted so badly to learn it now.
you wanted your family. you wanted dorne. you wanted to leave.
your chest ached with the want.
that day, mingi stood at your side, instead of hongjoong. the king, queen, and hongjoong had already said their farewells to your family in the throne room. you hadn't been there. you'd woken to an empty bed, and an anxious thrum deep in your bones. you'd wrapped a cloak over your sleep clothes and stumbled to the chamber doors. at the threshold to hongjoong's chambers, you found mingi and two other kingsguard you did not recognize standing guard outside hongjoong's chambers.
they all stood with their heads held high, eyes boring straight ahead. not once did any of them look your way. not even mingi. in just one night, so much had changed. all because of a few vows.
you had not realized the true impact of wedding hongjoong until that moment.
you cleared your throat, and you asked, "where is the prince?"
surely, he'd have been left alone the night after his wedding as you had been. you thought of the conversation that transpired between you, but you took care to pack away the conversation, the whole night. you did not care to linger on it. now, especially, was not the time to dwell on such trivial matters.
one of the other kingsguard spoke loudly, his voice grating on your frazzled nerves. he did not look at you. neither of them did. was that how you would be treated now? as someone so respected, they saw right through you?
"the prince has gone to see the king's guests off in the throne room, my liege. the king has ordered that they all depart immediately.”
you'd blinked at that. why hadn't you been told that your family would be departing so soon? why were they leaving so soon?
you knew why, but you still could not fathom that it was happening.
you'd clutched the door, voice rough even to your own ears, "when?"
no one said anything.
"when did they leave?" your voice rose, and only then did they look at you. really look at you. you did not recognize any of them. mingi, however, met your gaze with sympathy. pity almost, and you held your breath in anticipation. you expected him to say they'd already left. that you'd slept through their departure, and this time you hadn't had a chance to say your goodbyes.
but then he said, "they're being escorted to the port. they are to leave when the sun is highest in the sky."
"i want to see them."
"my liege -"
"i demand to see them off," you scowled at mingi, "were you ordered to keep me here?"
mingi shook his head. “not me.”
the other kingsguard threw him a look.
you'd tied your cloak securely around yourself and stepped out into the hall, "then i am going."
a day ago, the kingsguard would have ignored your demands completely. even mingi, because despite your companionship with him, he answered to the crown first.
this time, however, they'd exchanged nervous looks, shifting from foot-to-foot, before mingi stepped forward and said, "i will escort them to port.”
the other kingsguard frowned, "what if the prince...?"
mingi shrugged, "i will take full responsibility if the prince wishes to punish us."
so mingi had brought you to port with an urgency you appreciated. throughout the walk there, mingi remained silent. steadfast. as if he was a stranger and you were meeting him all over again. perhaps, that was what happened when one becomes the heir's spouse.
now, he stood by your side. your mother had already stroked your cheek and insisted you stay warm. her voice was a soft, choked thing, and you'd pulled her into another hug. she'd pulled away first, and you felt a part of your heart walking away with her.
your father pressed a hand to your mother's shoulder as she pressed a hand to her mouth and stepped back, giving him room. he searched your gaze for a long, long time. an inkling of rage settled in your stomach as he said, "i am proud of you."
you did not want the burden of his pride. you only wanted to go home. you dipped your head, murmured, "thank you, father."
your father pushed your hair from your face, and he smiled sadly at what he saw in your expression. perhaps he could see the anger and longing in your eyes. then he joined your mother with another piece of your heart. they walked aboard the ship hand in hand, and waited.
you watched them, until you were tugged sideways, into a warm embrace. you let out a gasp of surprise, before you clung to him. the ache in your chest grew, and your fingers curled around the back of his shirt. you looked up at wooyoung's face as he leaned back just a bit and reached up to cup either side of your face in his warm, calloused hands. he said, kindly, too kindly, "take care of yourself, alright?"
"you, too." you said, swallowing the lump in your throat, "please."
wooyoung's fingers tightened against your face before he pulled away. he glanced sideways, throwing mingi a small, amused smile, before he turned away completely and boarded the ship, joining your parents.
yunho stood before you then, and he embraced you for a long, long moment, rocking you back and forth. when he stepped back to take a better look at you, he peered down at you as if he were committing you to memory. as if he would not see you again.
he would not, you both knew, but you did not wish to dwell on the thought right then. the yearning ache in your chest only grew. you knew that this was it.
this was it.
yunho held your hands between his, squeezing tightly, and he said, "write me, please."
"i will, but it will be shallow..."
you trailed off when yunho shook his head, his eyes fixed on yours, full of a burning fire you hadn't expected. such a look was unfamiliar on the yunho you knew. he was determined as he said, with a meaningful squeeze of your hands, "there are other ways to send letters. besides you are no longer a ward. you are the heir's spouse. do you understand what that means, y/n? you have access to channels you’ve never had before.”
the thought never occurred to you. you'd blinked, nodding slowly.
your thoughts reeled at the possibilities. he was right. you held a modicum of power, no matter how limited. you said, slowly, “i will write you often, then."
"yes. write me of everything. i wish to know of even the most mundane of details." yunho’s smile was contagious, and you could not help the small laugh as you nodded.
the gaze beneath his smile held an edge you needed time to acclimate to. time you did not have with yunho or wooyoung. time you wanted so badly to have.
yunho ruffled your hair, and he retreated. he joined your family against the rails. the crew raised the anchors, and shouted at each other as they set sail. you watched with bated breath as wooyoung leaned over the rails and grinned, waving at you with both hands. he wiped at his face as he did so, and you felt tears spring to your eyes at the thought of wooyoung crying. you were the cause of it. yunho merely leaned against the rails beside wooyoung and watched. your mother sobbed. the sound curled over the ocean breeze and lodged itself in what was left of your heart. your father crossed his arms over his broad chest. you waved back until your arm ached. until their boat was a tiny dot on the horizon. until your aching heart felt as if it'd been torn away from your chest, swept across the ocean. you wanted so badly to stand beside them once more. just one more time.
but you were still standing in king's landing.
the silence then was a deafening thing. the sea still crashed against the port, and the port was still a busy, bustling thing, but the silence engulfing you was worse than the ache in your chest. saying goodbye a second time was infinitely worse than saying it once. wind gusted around you, and you heard the distant roars of a dragon - you could see a dragon weaving in and out of the clouds above the sea. you could not tell whose dragon it was. hongjoong's was an onyx black, large and thin with claws longer than your head. you'd see it from afar in the dragonpit a few times. despite the spectacle above you, despite the bustling around you, your head felt empty, muffled.
you knew your heart had crept aboard the ship, and left you behind too. the part of your heart that always held onto dorne and wished to go home was finally going home, and you were left behind to rot.
"something sweet and a listening ear always helps after something like this, you know," mingi's deep voice startled you from your thoughts. he'd been so quiet, you'd forgotten of his presence.
you looked over at mingi, and his neck remained craned as he peered up at the dragon weaving through the clouds. he must have felt your gaze on him, because he turned to look at you, and that wide grin of his graced his serious features. his eyes did not light up the same way his face had, and you could not fault him for it.
“oh?” you asked, "what do you suggest?"
mingi turned away from the sky and the sea, turning fully to face you. he explained, "the kitchen cook makes such decadent desserts with the leftover dough. he fries it and rolls it in sugar."
your chest still ached, and you felt like too many parts of you had gone missing, but mingi's sweet smile staved off the ache just a bit. his expression held a hint of excitement you had not seen in too long. not since before mingi joined the kingsguard, really, so you found yourself grinning along with his excitement as best as you could.
you nodded, "you've convinced me."
mingi grinned, "you'll love it."
~.~.~.~.~
when you were a small child, yunho, wooyoung, and you were often left to your own devices to entertain yourselves as you saw fit. your parents had assigned the three of you your own caretakers, but they'd grown resigned to the fact that neither of you liked to be watched during all hours of the day. the three of you ran off too often, quickly making it a game. your caretakers eventually gave up. as long as you were together, your parents and your caretakers did not mind.
often times, you spent your days in the orchards and mango groves climbing trees or picking mangoes or practicing swordplay on the beach or chasing each other through the narrow streets of sunspear or lounging about under the sun in one of the hidden courtyards.
that day, long ago, you and yunho were practicing your swordfighting with wooden swords you'd swiped from the training vaults, while wooyoung used his wooden sword to crouch in the sand to the side and draw silly renditions of the two of you, a pile of seashells towered by his feet. he always made your head too big and yunho's limbs much longer than the rest of him.
you'd knocked yunho over once again, grinning as he remained sprawled in the sand.
"you're quite terrible at this," you'd teased. wooyoung was the one with sword talent. you and yunho competed often for who was worse. today, it seemed yunho was winning.
yunho merely remained sprawled out on the sand, scowling at you when you poked at his sprawled form with the end of your sword. he did not give you a response, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
"hey," wooyoung looked up from his drawing, his expression almost pensive. his brows were furrowed together and he wrapped his arms around his knees, the wooden sword dangling from his fingers. from your angle, woo looked tiny. he asked, his voice drifting on the breeze between the three of you, "what do you want to be when you grow up?"
you'd frowned, confused by wooyoung's sudden sincerity. he'd been quite serious all day, really, and he hadn't explained why, merely choosing to remain quieter than usual. you and yunho exchanged a look. you'd both wondered aloud what was weighing him, but you neither of you had wanted to ask him. sometimes, questions set wooyoung off worse when he fell into one of his quiet moods.
yunho shrugged, his gaze fixed on the sky, "i'm going to be the prince of dorne. and you're going to be my army's combat general. y/n is going to be my diplomat."
wooyoung grimaced, straightening his back as his eyes narrowed. there was a storm brewing beneath his expression that you did not understand at the time. he said, "i am not asking what father and mother decided we'd be. what do you want, yunho?"
yunho blinked, craning his neck to examine wooyoung. whatever he saw softened the furrow of his brow. he said, "i do not know, brother. i've never considered doing anything else."
"don't you think you should?" wooyoung sighed.
you'd frowned at wooyoung then, your voice quiet, "what is this about?"
wooyoung looked up you for a long moment, before he shrugged, and he said, "of course yunho doesn't know. for a boy with access to all the lessons in the world, you're quite shit at using your own brain aren’t you?"
there was a teasing lilt to wooyoung's voice, under all the other emotions.
yunho rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of hurt cross his features. then yunho chucked his wooden sword in wooyoung's direction. you giggled at how far off the throw was. wooyoung put a hand over his heart, offended.
you spoke then, if only to offset the hurt you'd seen in yunho's eyes for just a moment. you loved wooyoung, but he tended to say things that were quite mean, even if he only meant it in jest. "leave yunho alone, woo. why wonder and dream of other possibilities when your future is already set in stone?"
yunho's smile was small, though his nod was vigorous as he threw wooyoung a smug look. wooyoung stuck his tongue out at yunho.
"well what about you, y/n? what do you want to be when you grow up?"
he'd raised a brow, ignoring you completely.
"kind," you said with a shrug, humoring him. you'd thought about it often anyway. you said, "like the cooks when they're tired but they still make us extra desserts, and the ladies by the well, and like the stable boy that takes care of the horses at the east end."
wooyoung blinked at you, and that stormy look returned.
"you are already kind," yunho muttered, pushing himself up to a seated position. he rolled his eyes, though the act was good-natured, "just admit you don't know either."
"so woo can also declare me an idiot?"
"at least with you, he's not wrong."
you'd kicked yunho’s foot, and he giggled in response.
wooyoung's voice was soft as he pursed his lips. his words, however, were sly as he pointed his wooden sword at you, "i knew you’d taken a liking to the stable boy."
"i did not!" you tossed your stick at wooyoung, and unlike yunho, you did not miss. wooyoung shrieked when it hit his arm with a light thwack. he sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his arm as if you'd stabbed him with a real sword.
you'd rolled your eyes, calling over his whining, "and what about you?"
he paused in his rolling in the sand, pouting as he said, "i'm not certain i want to grow up. father is always traveling to the other kingdoms for his meetings, and mother never looks happy anymore."
"it's politics," yunho said. "the kingdom comes first."
"even if it costs you your happiness?" wooyoung waved a hand around them, "even if we won't be able to spend hours at the beach?"
"is that what makes you happy?" you asked, softly, smiling a bit at the thought. "spending time with us?"
"don't make it sappy, y/n." wooyoung snapped, though he would not meet your gaze and his smile was visible even from where you stood. "i only wonder what doing something you do not love does to a person. father is distant, and mother drinks so much i heard the kitchen servants mention that it was concerning. what if you cannot be kind, y/n? what if we all become terrible? what if we forget what we love?"
you'd blinked at his sincere words. wooyoung was always profound. he appeared thoughtless and loud and reckless, but you knew he spent too much time thinking when he was alone, and he cared more than he'd ever let on. where yunho was loud with his love, despite being reserved and held back with everything else, wooyoung was the opposite. quiet with his love, but exaggerated in his teasing, and rowdy, and always so there. always thinking of you all, it seemed.
"oh," yunho's voice was a quiet thing, "you think if we don't know what we want to be when we grow up, then we'll become something we never imagined? that we will become something we hate? is that it?"
yunho stared at the sky, as if he was speaking to the gods.
wooyoung pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on yunho’s profile. he hung in yunho’s words as if he would have the answers. yunho always knew the answers, how to logically soothe the most anxious of thoughts.
but yunho did not say a word, he only stared at the sky.
wooyoung drew his knees closer to his chest.
"well, why are those the only options? why do we become terrible just because we don't have a dream or goal? why do we need one? there are plenty of people who don't have dreams or goals, woo, and they turned out all right." you spoke up, your voice ringing in the silence.
"those people aren't meant to inherit kingdoms and armies though," wooyoung muttered, frowning.
"my point still stands," you said, nudging yunho's foot with your foot, "right, yun?"
yunho craned his neck in your direction, to wooyoung, and he said, "yes, exactly."
wooyoung rubbed the back of his neck, but he seemed to relax at yunho's confirmation. he never took your word for anything. you found yourself rolling your eyes as wooyoung asked yunho, "really?"
yunho nodded vigorously, and woo smiled, and you said, "see. really."
~.~.~.~.~
it was outside the kitchens, after your family had sailed away, sat on a bench the servants often used to take their meals while you brushed toasted sugar from your finger tips, when mingi finally broke the silence, "i was eight years old when i was sent to king's landing."
that brought you pause.
mingi fiddled with one of the sweets in front of him, his armor clinking softly.
you held your breath as you waited for him to continue. mingi did not divulge information about himself often, and you knew this was a rare occurrence. all that could be heard from your spot in the dark corner outside the kitchens was the distant sound of servants and cooks scrambling in the kitchen. the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls. the smell of roasting meat carried through the air. a bout of laughter here. a scolding there. the clatter of dishware. the world was anything but silent even as you two sat with in silence. you watched mingi scratch idly at the wooden tabletop.
mingi did not say more.
after a long minute, you broke the silence with a tentative voice, "you were brought here? then are you...were you a ward, too?"
you found yourself enraptured by the image of mingi as a ward. sometimes wards were not hostages, not always. sometimes, there were other reasons for lords, ladies, and lieges to place their children in wardships. sometimes, there was a genuine want to build a mutual relationship of trust and love between houses and the ward maintained their freedoms. from the way hongjoong - the red keep really - seemed to adore mingi, you figured that must have been the case. it angered you to know that the red keep was capable of kindness, that a ward could be beloved and treated more than a hostage. you did not want to fault mingi for that.
it made sense. mingi was bastard born, thus carrying the name flowers long before adopting the name and sigil of house song.
in dorne, bastards were treated as equals. in westeros, bastards were punished for simply being born. bastards were treated like scum too often, and you found the practice a despicable thing. even legalized, bastards faced scorn. you peered at mingi in concern, waiting.
"no," mingi let out a small chuckle, shaking his head, "i was no ward. my father...lord song brought me with him to live in king's landing while he worked in the small council. no one considered me their ward. not the king nor lord song. i was merely a motherless bastard lucky to be accepted in the prince’s inner circle."
"oh," you'd blinked at the information, unsure how to respond or what to ask.
"she passed from the pox a few months before lord song found me and we set off to king's landing," mingi divulged, seeming to take pity on your confusion. he said, "i had nowhere else to go, really. even then, the king did not legitimize me for a long, long time."
mingi's expression was distant. you watched as he shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. he said, "i understand how it feels to be left behind, y/n. to miss a home that no longer feels like home. before i was legitimized, lord song left me behind in the red keep. he could not take me back to highgarden. lady song did not take kindly to my existence.”
"what about after you were legitimized?"
"lady song did not change her mind surrounding my existence. i believe being legitimized bothered her more," mingi said with a nonchalant shrug as he leaned back and picked at his nails. everything about him was nonchalant. despite his words. despite never having a home in the lands from which he was born.
that thought made your heart ache, the same way it had when you'd watched your family leave. soon you would live in king's landing longer than you had in dorne. soon you would not have a home in the lands in which you were born, either. sure, your brothers were still there. your parents. but if your brothers have changed so much, then what of your home? what of sunspear? how would you reconcile that as well? you could not blame mingi for his nonchalance. it was easier to remain indifferent then let the worries consume you.
“i never understood the shame westeros has surrounding bastards," you said instead, shaking your head of your thoughts as you frowned at mingi, "it is no fault of yours that your father broke his vows to his wife. a babe should not be shamed for such a thing."
mingi blinked at you, his dark eyes flickering in surprise over your face. his fingers curled around each other briefly, before he shrugged once more. a perfect picture of unbothered. he said, "i've heard dorne treats their bastards well. your judgement is biased.”
"being born is not a crime,” you'd scoffed. “westeros could learn a thing or two from dorne."
mingi smiled, and this time it was genuine. sweet, almost.
you frowned at him as realization dawned on you, "then, lord song left you here alone? every time he returned to highgarden?”
lord song, to this day, visited his home, highgarden in the reach, almost once a month. he made it known to anyone who would listen that he loved and missed his wife dearly. perhaps he did, or perhaps he was overcompensating for his past adultery. either way, it meant he always left king's landing on his own. you recalled how mingi often mentioned that lord song had left for highgarden, how he'd shrugged and he appeared so nonchalant. you'd always assumed mingi chose to stay back, but now that you knew that was never truly the case, your heart tugged for him. yeosang used to spend more time with mingi when his father left. you remembered that much from your childhood. you remembered hongjoong would throw his arm over mingi's shoulders and drag him down to his height. they were always more affectionate with mingi, but you'd never realized why. your frown deepened at the thought of mingi alone somewhere in the red keep, so often. it was an image that was difficult to reconcile with.
"he did," mingi shook his head at your expression, waving his hands in a placating manner, “but i wasn’t completely alone. i had hongjoong and yeosang. san and jongho too whenever they visited. eventually, you were here, too.”
his mention of you was surprising. you'd never thought he cared much for your company. you'd spent too often arguing with hongjoong or scoffing at yeosang. you never thought much of the times hongjoong or yeosang would say something terrible and the two of you would lock gazes over their shoulders, grimaces matching. he'd sometimes shake his head, attempting to deter you, and you would roll your eyes before you spoke up anyway. of course, he sat with you in the library and listened to you read often, and he voluntarily paired off with you during lessons more often than not. he even used to throw yeosang looks when his teasing became too cutting, too pointed, but you'd always believed that was merely what mingi did. you never thought he'd learned to see you as anything but a ward, a hostage of the king's that was lumped together with him and his companions for propriety’s sake. when san courted you, you believed mingi only saw you as an extension of san, and now as an extension to hongjoong. you did not think he saw you as a person, let alone a comforting presence of any sort due to your circumstances.
as you looked at him, and the softness in his eyes, and the small smile on his lips, you detected care. at least a hint of it. it made your thoughts reel.
that had always been your dilemma at king's landing. no one cared much about you as a person. they only ever cared for you due to your status or who you were bound to. even san, though he seemed to care enough to provide you comfort, had other intentions. you wondered, briefly, if mingi would dare devote himself to you. could you ask him for favors? would he carry out your orders? were you thinking ahead of yourself?
you blinked away your, frankly, treacherous thoughts as you murmured into the silence, “it must have been lonely though.”
“it was,” mingi murmured, “as you are well aware of, i’m sure."
you'd frowned.
"i know i am a kingsguard with vows that may not serve you, but," mingi gave you a small, genuine smile, "i am also your friend, y/n."
"is that not a contradiction?" you'd asked then, "to be my friend, to care for me as such, is an insult to the king."
mingi blinked, a slow thing, and he said, "you are married to the king's son."
"a son he does not care much for," you muttered. it was a push, you knew, especially to say such a thing to a member of the kingsguard and to a long-time friend of hongjoong's, but you wanted to know how far you could push him. how deep did the care in his eyes run?
could you make it deeper?
the thought made your stomach churn, the way it did when hongjoong spoke to you the night of your wedding. it was a mixture of fear, and a morbid curiosity, an interest, that you were not sure what to do with.
you focused on mingi. he bit his lip, his gaze slipping past your shoulder for a moment, before he looked at you once more. he said, "the king cannot hurt hongjoong. he cannot hurt you."
"how do you know that?"
"i don't," mingi's brows furrowed into a pained expression, "but i know that i will not stand by and let it happen."
you'd blinked, "are you admitting that you'd turn your cloak?"
"i've turned my cheek too many times, y/n, to too many atrocities," mingi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, his armor clinking softly. "i do not think i could live with myself if i allowed hongjoong and you to get hurt. if i must become a turncloak, then so be it.”
it was always hongjoong in the end.
but you can use that, a voice at the back of your head whispered.
it sounded like hongjoong, and it left a bad taste in your mouth, but you knew the voice was right. you'd pushed mingi, and he let you, and as long as you allowed him to frame his care in a way that appeared as if he was protecting hongjoong, too, then perhaps his devotion could mean something more to you. perhaps, this was what yunho meant. you were the heir's spouse. you had power. sure, it was tied to hongjoong, but did hongjoong have to know how you wielded it? he whispered that he'd teach you, but perhaps you could teach yourself.
"i appreciate your honesty, mingi," you'd sighed. "i know it's difficult to admit such a thing."
mingi dipped his head, his sweet smile making your heart curl in around itself. he said, "you'd asked for honesty once before, y/n, and i do not wish to dismiss your request. i understand hongjoong can be a handful, but you should remember that he listens to yeosang and me. i'm sure you can handle yourself, but if you ever...if you..." mingi cut himself off as he stiffened, shaking his head, "i apologize, i realize i may be speaking out of turn."
you'd shook your head, endeared by his stutter. you did not think yeosang could be helpful, not in the way you thought mingi could be, but you still said, "don't apologize. admittedly, i do need...help with hongjoong sometimes."
mingi's eyes flashed with an emotion you could not place. he only nodded.
you said, "if i need anything, i will ask for you."
he dipped his head in acknowledgement, even as he stood. he held out a hand to take, his armor clinking softly with his movements. you took his hand, allowing him to help you.
"thanks," you said, after a moment of walking silently side-by-side through the halls, "for this. for talking to me."
mingi smiled, and it was a genuine thing, and you almost felt terrible for thinking of using his kindness for your own means.
almost.
~.~.~.~.~
the mad king still held tourneys as if the red keep is not wrought with the stench of burnt bodies, and the courts do not whisper of the king's sure demise. the queen no longer makes public or private appearances.l, except with a select few. mingi often appears haggard when he steps into the library or settles into his assigned post outside hongjoong's chambers. you'd questioned him often, and all mingi would say was that he'd had a long shift guarding the king or queen.
"sweet thing," yeosang grinned, dragging his fingers through his tousled, long blond hair as one of the servants adjusted his jousting armor over his shoulders. kang crimson and gold glinted off his armor as he leaned close and tilted his head, "did you enjoy the matches?"
you could not say that you did.
it had gone as all public appearances for you had, you with your elbow hooked through hongjoong's as you two were announced, the cheering, and you and hongjoong donning his kim black and red, the dragon sigil blaring. the mad king would not attend. he never did. his paranoia was an all-consuming thing. it left hongjoong and you to entertain his father's guests. you watched that evening as hongjoong had roared, waving his jousting sword, as he gathered flower wreath favors from too many to count. as usual, he'd stopped in front of where you sat last, and he presented the tip of his sword.
that night, you'd refused him as you always did, and the whispers were louder than ever. at first, the court believed it playful banter, but it has been too long since you'd been wedded, almost two name days of yours since the event really, and now the amusement had morphed into something more sinister. the king lacking favor made the disdain hongjoong, and ultimately you, received worse.
that night something ferocious flashed in hongjoong's gaze, but he'd only grinned and bowed his head.
that night he lost.
you saw it, in the way he was distracted as his gaze flit across the stands, past you. you'd followed his gaze. you did not wish to care, but your gaze followed his without a second thought.
you saw a man, around your age, around hongjoong and mingi and yeosang and san's age, with hair black as a raven and skin as smooth as the calmest of seas, and his clothes were muted. everything about him was muted, yet he held your attention. you understood why hongjoong fumbled with his sword. why he faltered just at the sight of this man. the man was beautiful. the moon, personified.
he was everything you were not.
hongjoong's second match ended with the opponent he lost to lying flat on his back and heaving for air he could not and did not have, blood sputtering down his lips and half of his face smashed in. he would be dead in minutes, you knew, and the thought only made you tired.
when the tourney finished, you stood waiting for hongjoong, and yeosang appeared in front of you, his sweaty brow glistening under the setting sun, his eyes twinkling as he eyed you in curiosity.
you ignored his question, your gaze sweeping over the other participants, until you found the man who had made hongjoong falter smiling quite sweetly as he spoke with san. you'd blinked. in the stands, the man was the epitome of stoicity, of ice, of the coldness of the moon, but here his smile was a pretty thing. it warmed your heart, the way the afternoon sun would warm your skin when you laid in it. he was everything but cold then.
"park seonghwa," yeosang's low voice settled over you.
you tore your gaze from seonghwa and san, from the way hongjoong sauntered up to san and pat him on the shoulder, turning to the man - park seonghwa - with a wide, toothy grin and unwavering eyes. "what?"
"that is park seonghwa. i am surprised san found a way to convince seonghwa to join us for the tourney," yeosang grinned, but his eyes were fixed on you. "ever since seonghwa left the eyrie, he's kept himself locked away in the north. something about awaiting the north's treacherous winters at winterfell.”
you'd heard the venom laced in yeosang's tone as he spoke. it was not well-hidden, or perhaps you have gotten quite good at picking up on the changes in yeosang after so many years in his vicinity.
you knew of house park, known for their honor and their generosity. the winters up north were long and treacherous, and you did not fault him for remaining in winterfell to help his kingdom last through it. division would bring ruin to any kingdom, but especially to one living under such harsh conditions.
still you focused on the mention of san and the venom in yeosang's expression. you frowned at yeosang, searching his expression for a moment. when he met your inquiring gaze, his smile grew sly. you'd frowned as you said, "why would san have any sway over park seonghwa?"
yeosang let out a small laugh. he said, "seonghwa was fostered in the vale when he was eight years old. jongho and san spent many years there under house lim’s care as well. in fact, jongho and san have quite a long history with seonghwa. rumor has it jongho is smitten with him, though i would not dare repeat such slander."
"oh," you were surprised, and yeosang latched onto to it. you could see it in the way the corner of his mouth tipped upwards and his eyes glinted under the setting sun. you shook your head, "right. why is he here then?"
yeosang pursed his lips. his grin slipped into a steely expression, "i have no idea. diplomacy, perhaps?"
you did not believe him. kang yeosang knew everything. his father was not the only resourceful kang.
you'd rolled your eyes, and yeosang only grinned, shrugging. the conversation ended when hongjoong entered, his jousting armor and helmet gone, his long white-blonde hair tied back into a neat knot. he was spotless, his rings glinting in the setting sun as he held his arms out in greeting, smile all teeth. his eyes fell on you first, lingering briefly before his gaze slid to his friends. he did not look at you again.
that night, hongjoong placed a warm hand at the middle of your back, and he waved mingi over. his gaze never met yours, but his thumb settled into a small pattern along the middle of your back. even through your robes, his hand was warm. you had a bit of ale in you. that was why you did not stiffen the way you should have. at least that was how you planned to explain away the feeling the next morning.
you only stiffened when hongjoong called for mingi a second time, pulling him from a conversation with yeosang. mingi sauntered over, entirely too sober, and hongjoong grinned, his hand flat on your back, unmoving, "ser mingi, take y/n to our chambers so they may rest."
you'd blinked at the demand. the dismissal.
mingi only bowed.
you glanced yeosang's way, and he waved to you, a toothy grin gracing his features, his cheeks pink from his ale. he raised his mug to you in mock salute. you'd looked away.
your gaze slid to san then. it often did, whenever he stayed at the red keep. and he would always react the same. san only ever returned your glances with blank, unreadable eyes. like he was a stranger, as you asked. you met seonghwa's gaze over their shoulders. over hongjoong's shoulder.
seonghwa hovered, separate from the rest of the group, where he merely observed the scene in front of him. something about him brought irritation to the pit of your stomach. he was fostered, yeosang had said, and you knew that in an ideal world, without the mad king's twisted intentions, that would have been your fate instead of the glorified hostage you had been delegated to.
fosterage and wardship were two sides of the same coin. however, where you were a hostage, never meant to return to sunspear no matter if you fell to your knees and begged for it, seonghwa could. fostered children were free to travel between both kingdoms as they pleased once they turned of age. a fostering was what you believed you’d been walking into at four-and-ten.
perhaps the bubbling tension in the pit of your stomach was something of a rage. or perhaps, when hongjoong glanced back over at seonghwa, and you caught a twinkle in his eyes and a familiar darkness, a familiar want, you knew the tension at the pit of your stomach was something else, something close to concern, close to understanding that hongjoong wanted creatures of the sun and the stars, and that his greed knew no bounds. he had a creature of the sun, and now he wanted a creature of the moon. he wanted, and he took, no matter the consequences, and he was not above ruining those very same creatures for it.
you met seonghwa's dark eyes once more, and he did not smile. he truly reminded you of the moon when it sat highest in the night sky. bright, silent, and so bitingly cold.
"go on," hongjoong said, pushing you in mingi's direction, his fingertips brushing down your back, a featherlight touch.
hongjoong did not have to say it for you to understand. celebrations were in order, and you were not invited. you were dismissed.
how dare he dismiss you? a voice that sounded eerily like hongjoong whispered at the back of your head. you did not entertain that voice, as you would not entertain hongjoong.
you'd only nodded, catching a flash of disappointment flit through hongjoong's expression. the ale brought a vindictive thought to you head. a vindictive, as he should be, as you'd taken your leave.
that night, in the empty hall leading to your chambers, something you could only describe as a beast reared its ugly head from the pits of your being. you'd come to a halt and you stared at mingi's retreating back. you called after him, your quiet voice echoing off the high walls, "can i ask a favor of you, mingi?"
your voice sounded emptier, different. you often looked in the mirror and wondered if you'd been reborn a new person when you'd wedded hongjoong. a tiny voice at the back of your head would always respond, not when you wedded hongjoong. when they left.
mingi's boots stopped thumping. his tall figure seemed to slump under your words, as if he could feel the weight of them. perhaps he could. perhaps your words were heavier than you gave them credit for. his armor no longer clinked.
he'd merely turned, and looked to you. his arms hung at his side, and his eyes bore into your skull.
"have you heard of 'the dornish man'?" you asked.
"do you mean the tavern at west end?"
you'd nodded.
"why?" mingi gave no warnings that the tavern sat nestled between brothels and seedy inns, nor that hongjoong would have his head if you two were caught beyond the walls of the red keep without his knowledge. he only wanted to know your reasons, the question hanging over you two. it clawed against stone walls. it rang high and true. over and over and over. it rang in your ears. it burrowed in your skin.
you should tell him the truth, but you could not. you would not. you thought of the bloodied man hongjoong had maimed during the tourney. all the others before that knight. the thoughtful kindness in seonghwa's eyes as he spoke to san, when he met your gaze as you were dismissed. the anxious bubble at the pit of your stomach as you looked on. as hongjoong's smile stretched across his face when he met seonghwa’s eyes. you thought of your brother holding you, his voice as firm as his touch, you are the spouse's heir.
so, instead you said: "i miss my home."
you looked up at him, softened your brows, and when you met mingi's gaze, he faltered. he faltered as you knew he would, and perhaps you were evil for the way you made your voice tremble and your brows furrow, but you would not allow yourself to falter. not tonight.
mingi's jaw clenched as he looked away. his armor clinked as he dragged a hand through his messy dark hair.
"i only need you to cover me. you do not need to join me," you said.
the silence after you spoke was tense. you did not move.
finally mingi said, "letting you go to the west end alone would only worry me more."
you'd blinked at him. you expected he would not give in, that he would not allow you to push him even just that bit. you certainly did not expect such an admission. all you could say was, "oh."
mingi sighed as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, "two hours. that is all we have."
you nodded, grinning, and mingi's lips twitched up into a small smile of his own.
~.~.~.~.~
the streets of king's landing was not as thrilling as you remembered it with hongjoong. you slipped through the crowds and sidestepped merchants, pickpockets, and drunks alike, following mingi so closely your nose brushed against his back whenever he came to a sudden stop - he removed his outer armor and stashed it in the closet hongjoong had the servants clear for you, donning a simple brown cloak. mingi looked younger without his kingsguard armor and cloak. your heart constricted at the thought. still, you found yourself moving forward.
you could have told him to turn around at any moment. that was what stayed with you most on that journey. you had plenty of time to turn back, to not drag a well-meaning mingi into your plans, to remain a shadow in the red keep for the rest of your days while hongjoong did whatever he wished.
but you did not, and you would not have, and as mingi looked back at you over his shoulder, his dark eyes always vigilant, there was a glint of knowing lingering there as his gaze met yours. he'd raised a brow, and you'd smiled, and mingi merely nodded to himself. you recognized the brothels and the alley as you drew closer, and when mingi opened the door to the tavern, you stepped up the creaking stairs with your heart lodged in your throat and your fingers curled around the fabric of your cloak, limbs filled with nervous energy.
you both stood at the threshold to the tavern, and not an eye strayed your way when you entered. the tavern was filled with the harsh stench of cigar smoke, a hint of grilled meat, and the usual staleness of old mead, and though your heart was lodged in your throat, you knew right then that you'd stepped into this new role and there was no backing out. not now.
mingi took a seat at one of the tables, and you gestured to the bar. he waved you on, but his eyes remained on your back. you leaned against the bar, and the barkeep was a familiar face. the owner hongjoong had pointed out earlier. his skin was like yours - no longer kissed by the sun as it once was, but still different from the rest of king’s landing’s patrons, still so obviously dornish - and his hair was like yunho's. his smile was a sweet, playful thing, like wooyoung. your heart leapt against your ribs.
he truly looked as dornish as they came, bright traditional robes and all.
the thought only pressed you closer to the bar, your fingers curling around the edge of the wooden table.
since the wedding, you'd returned to writing shallow letters to your brothers and parents through lord kang and his council. sometimes, you'd lie awake in hongjoong's too big bed and wonder if you'd died the morning your family boarded that ship and crossed the sea to sunspear without you.
half of your heart, half of your soul, half of your wit, half of your patience, half of you, it had had all gone with them, you knew, tucked under wooyoung's waving arm and yunho's melancholic smile. you laid on your side too often, watching hongjoong sit beside melting candlelight as he perused through documents, his back always to you, and you started to wonder who you'd become because of it. before the wedding, you would have never thought to push mingi's boundaries just because you saw a hint of care in his eyes. you would have never left the red keep in the dead of night. nearly two name days later - you were no longer sure of the exact day, if you were honest - you were doing everything you would never have done prior to this.
the barkeep met your gaze, and his eyes widened in what you hoped was recognition. he dipped his head in greeting as he made his way over to you, throwing a rag over his shoulder. he leaned forward and said, "welcome to the dornish man. how may i help you?”
his eyes bore into yours, his smile crooked. you swallowed your nerves and lifted your chin, meeting his gaze straight on with a resolve you had not mustered in quite some time. it filled you like a fire, like the fires from hongjoong's dragon or the greenfire that the mad king used to burn so many at the stake. you said, "what would you recommend?"
you tilted your head as you watched the man contemplate you. a small smile crept upon the man's lips as he seemed to decide something right then.
"hmm," his eyes twinkled, "may i recommend our sunspear special? it is a mango dish rumored to be the prince of dorne's heir's most coveted dish. he requests for it every evening, i've heard."
your sweetest summers were spent with yunho and wooyoung climbing mango trees. each of you would pick the reddest of mangoes, and you'd sit with your knees knocking against each other as you peeled them with yunho's blunt silver dagger, your fingers sticky with the sweet juices, the soft fruit melting on your tongue. the juices would often run down the corners of your mouth and you'd wipe it with the back of your hand and wooyoung would call you disgusting and you'd wipe your hands on him in response. yunho would laugh his belly-ache of a laugh.
every summer you'd ruin your clothes with ripened mangoes and blackened dirt. the three of you knew your mother would scold you for it later, but in the summer your mother stayed in her chambers or the gardens and all that remained in those moments was the sweltering heat and the sweet taste of mango on your tongue. it was always one of your favorite times of the year. wooyoung used to bounce on his toes as he rushed you and yunho to the mango groves. yunho often indulged wooyoung in his insistent shouts to race there. you'd watched them run on ahead, and you'd waved off the call from your mother to return before sunset as you walked after them.
the summer before you left for king's landing, when you were three-and-ten, you and yunho sat beneath the shade of one of the tallest mango trees, the soft sweet aroma of ripened mangoes filling the air. the two of you watched wooyoung climb along the branches of one of the trees, tugging himself up onto the tallest branch before he nestled between the trunk and its branch, his neck craned as he stared at the blue sky. the crimson color of the mango in his hands glinted brightly under the summer sun. one could mistake it for a jewel. yunho's voice drew your attention from wooyoung, his voice soft as the summer breeze. he asked, "do you think we will ever grow too old for this?"
"for what?" you'd blinked at yunho's melancholic tone, "picking mangoes?"
"no," yunho shook his head, gesturing vaguely around him, "for all of this, y/n."
a crease formed between his brows. you'd always hated the way worry contorted yunho's features into something unrecognizable. it never looked right on him, no matter how often you've seen such a look on him since he started his heir studies with father.
yunho sighed, "for each other."
you'd frowned, "we'll never be too old for each other, idiot."
you expected yunho to reprimand you or toss a mango pit at you. instead he only slumped further against the tree trunk behind him, his brows contorting into something dreadful.
"i am destined to be the heir, and woo will lead our armies, and you will..." he'd trailed off, frowning once more. his eyes welled with tears, and your eyes widened at the sight. wooyoung showed sadness, even you did, but yunho? not since he learned of his future calling. you watched as he blinked away his emotions, as he straightened, his back rigid. as he took the form of the pillar he believed he needed to be. it was a habit he'd picked up over the years, that wooyoung was beginning to pick up too. perhaps you were, as well.
"i'll be here, too," you scooted closer, bumping your shoulder against his, "i know my talents do not lie with pretty words or complicated strategies or with the sword like you and woo, but i'll find something useful to do so i can help you be a good prince to dorne. i have time to figure that out, and so do you. i understand you worry, but you do not have to, yun."
you bumped his shoulder harder this time, and he pouted at you, rubbing his shoulder. he did not say anything. he only stared down at his lap.
at the time, you had not understood what he'd known, and for years you did not. but you'd laid awake too often replaying and picking apart every memory you've ever had to not have realized that yunho knew you were going to be sent away. the guilt in his eyes was as clear as day now that you remembered, years later, and you hated your father for placing such a burden on him.
at the time, yunho always worried, and both you and woo teased him relentlessly for it. but you knew that sometimes it affected him more than he ever let on. sometimes, you sat with him and let him worry until his expression morphed into the face of creature you never recognized. you knew that was because he always came back. as you did. as woo would.
so, at the time, you'd reached for his hand and threaded your fingers through his worried fists, ignoring the picked skin of his fingernails, and you said, "most importantly, i'll be here every harvest season to climb the mango trees with you both. you're both awful at climbing anyway."
you'd gestured with your chin in wooyoung's direction, and you grinned as you watched wooyoung struggle to climb down the tree, mangoes spilling from the sling he'd looped around his neck, his curses echoing through the grove. you turned, nudging yunho, waiting for a giggle. it did not come. you remembered faltering at the sight of yunho blinking rapidly at the sight, his chin trembling the slightest bit. you only squeezed his hand.
he closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. he returned to the yunho you knew as he wiped at his cheeks with his free hand, and when he met your gaze again, he was all kind eyes, the sun shining off his dark brown, his smile amused.
he said, "perhaps climbing mango trees is your only true calling, y/n."
you'd scowled at him, and he threw back his head and laughed, and wooyoung plopped onto the ground in front of you both, covered in dirt, leaves caught in your hair, mangoes tumbling from his arms, ignoring your admonishments that he was bruising the fruits, and that day returned to the soft, hazy summer afternoon you often basked in.
you were three-and-ten when you'd spent your last summer picking mangoes with your brothers, despite your promise.
the memory made you stare at the barkeep, your heart pounding against your ribs. your voice was small to your ears as you asked, "a mango dish is the heir's favorite?"
the man dipped his head, "so i’ve heard. our mangoes are sweet as well. they are in season after all."
and in that moment, you allowed the hope in your chest to thrive. you allowed yourself to nod. to feel a sliver of hope for just a little while. it’s been years since you had.
the barkeep placed the dish in front of you, and the faint scent of mangoes reminded of you hazy summer afternoons and an unkept promise.
the barkeep said, "would you like me to place any special orders to dorne? it appears you, like me, miss our home quite a bit."
"do you deliver letters?" it was bold, but you were never one to beat around the bush.
the barkeep outright grins. he said, "woo said you had no patience for pretty words and riddles. i did not know your patience would run thin so quickly."
you'd blinked. "you know -"
"my name is yeonjun, your grace," the barkeep murmured, "and i only serve dorne. your letters will remain sealed among our shipment requests. lucky for us, the lords, lieges, and ladies of king's landing have taken a liking to dornish cuisine. i've made quite a number of shipments since i've opened."
you'd grinned, you could not help it. you knew you could not trust yeonjun yet, and you already knew you would need to confirm your brothers were receiving your letters before you truly let yourself believe in this opportunity. you knew you were not in the clear quite yet, but yeonjun's grin was an infectious thing. you'd grinned and grinned, and for the first time since you were a child alone in westeros, you had a channel of communication with your brothers that remained only yours.
~.~.~.~.~
"do you feel better?" mingi's voice was quiet in your empty chambers. he'd donned his armor in your chambers. the clinking of his armor as he tightened the plates had been the only sound between you both. you hadn't said a word since you left the tavern, since mingi picked at the mango dish with a small frown gracing his features, since he brought you back to the red keep.
you peered up at mingi. he towered over you, as he always did, his hair a mess of black, yet his brown eyes were unbearably tender. the guilt inside you reared its head once more, but you shoved it away. mingi knew you were asking him for favors that could get him in trouble. you were not holding a sword to his neck and demanding such things from him. you doubted you'd win in a sword fight anyway. you were not forcing him to help you, so you did not need to feel guilt.
you'd nodded. mingi's smile was the gentlest thing you'd seen in a while here in king's landing. it was the sea lapping against port, the way the horses in the stable would neigh softly as they tucked their heads against the stableboy's palm, and the way hongjoong rubbed his thumb along the crown of his dragon and the soft rumble that followed would remind you of a cat’s purr. mingi’s smile held all the little moments of gentleness you've witnessed here. it curled around your heart.
it was suffocating.
he placed a warm hand on your shoulder and he said, "i'm glad i could be of help, your grace."
you shouldn't encourage such gentility. yet, you knew you needed to solidify this moment. you needed this gentle mingi on your side. you needed his care for you to fuel him. so you pressed your hand over his. he stilled.
you said, "you always are of great help to me, mingi."
he blinked at you, before he turned away. his fingers curled into a fist, even as he bowed deeply before you, even as he hurried from your chambers. he left, and you refused to let your heart feel heavy.
but, you do not sleep.
~.~.~.~.~
that same night, hongjoong returned smelling of honeyed mead and sour ale, of sweat and smoke. of fire, really.
he stumbled through the room. you watched as he tore his shirt and tossed it into the darkness. he did this often when he returned after he believed you'd gone to bed. you'd always wondered why he did not light a lantern and stumbled in the dark.
he turned suddenly, as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when you met his gaze in the dark, you could only make out shadows.
he stood frozen, so you said, "just light a candle. it helps neither of us listening to you bumble about like an idiot."
there was a beat of silence. you could not make out his expression.
then he laughed. it's a soft thing that bounced off the high ceilings. you heard the strike of a match moments later.
the light of the candle on his desk was dim, and it took a moment for your eyes to readjust to the new lighting. the candlelight lit up his features. his eyes drooped, a heady drunken look to him that reminded you of the night of your wedding. you watched him stumble, until he reached for the ties of his pants. he paused, and your eyes flicked up to his, heat flooding your face when he grinned. he continued and you scowled, flipping over, only for his chuckle to echo in your chambers.
perhaps it was the remnants of the ale from the tourney, or the remnants of the adrenaline of sneaking out of the red keep and finding a channel of communication that was finally fully yours, or purely the inability to sleep, but you found yourself speaking quietly as you stared at the stone wall opposite you. "you had no right to dismiss me the way you did tonight.”
"hmm," hongjoong hummed, and it was closer now. you did not turn around, your fingers curling around the pillow at your head. "then why did you not stay?"
you frowned, shooting up to a sitting position. you turned to glare at him, and he remained where he had been earlier, though now he was fully dressed in his sleeping robes. "you wish for me to undermine you?"
he shrugged, as he stepped closer to the bed, twisting at the rings on his fingers, "undermine me? not quite. try to undermine me? perhaps."
"you're a right idiot," you'd shook your head, ignoring the way he stepped closer, the way he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "i am being serious, hongjoong."
"i am the picture of serious," hongjoong said, his words slurring the slightest bit.
"clearly," you'd sighed, said, "go to bed, hongjoong. you're drunk."
it was all too reminiscent of that night. despite that night being so long ago, it lived in your head, clear as day. you'd rolled your eyes at the way he raised his brows. you laid back down, turning your back to him. perhaps, that is a testament to how accustomed you've become to hongjoong's presence. you could turn your back on him without feeling like prey. you were unsure when that had started.
another moment passed before hongjoong's low voice drifted through your chambers, "if you did not wish to be dismissed, all you had to do was say something. if you do not like something, tell me."
you'd flipped back over, your fingers curled around your pillow as you looked down at hongjoong, who remained seated near your feet. "why?"
"you're my spouse, whether we like it or not," hongjoong muttered.
"'we'?" your voice sounded muffled to your own ears, "and here i thought it was just me who disliked this arrangement."
hongjoong tilted his head at you, his brows raised, questioning, waiting. oftentimes you wondered how he knew that you had more to say before you'd even said it.
you said, "i saw you falter during your match. you'd never been so distracted before."
hongjoong loved to say he would not be like his father, but you'd heard the rumors of his father's adultery. it went so far that the queen had to dismiss members of her own court, one of whom was rumored to be yeosang's mother. you watched as he scooted up the bed, as he reached out and pressed his fingertips to the burn scar on your arm, as he said, "i see the way you look at san, y/n. is it not the same?"
"is it?" you asked, frowning. san was hope to you, he was opportunities and a life lost. was park seonghwa the same to hongjoong? why did it concern you if he was?
hongjoong drew warm circles around your burn scar, each stroke softer than the last.
"be careful, y/n," he murmured, "you're beginning to sound rather jealous."
your stomach turned as he chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest.
"i do not care for your indiscretions," you scoffed. "i care that you dismissed me for another when our arrangement is meant to benefit us both.”
you did not want to revel in his statement. you did not want to admit to it. you did not want to delve into the thoughts that came after that green monster at the pit of your stomach, the wondering at hongjoong's greed, nor the moment of worry you felt for park seonghwa, despite everything. all hongjoong would ever know of was that you did not care. he would believe you did not care, and so would you. until the end of your days.
"are we supposed to benefit each other now?" hongjoong raised a brow.
"we could," you said, your eyes fixed on his. "we do not need to be friends, but -"
"we can be allies," hongjoong finished with a small, amused smile. you remembered the other night, when you'd had a conversation like this. he wanted you to beg that night. you'd refused, and you would refuse again. you would refuse until the day death came knocking at your door.
you'd nodded, "something like that."
"will you beg for it, then?"
you'd laughed, knowing he'd have the insolence to ask such a thing once more, but you found there was no venom bubbling at the pit of your stomach this time. perhaps it was his tone, the jest in it ringing between you both. you said, "not even if you held a knife to my throat."
"oh, wouldn't that be quite a lovely sight?" hongjoong murmured, and you were quite aware of the fingers on your skin, the proximity, the way your own fingers tightened around your pillow. the rough pad of hongjoong's thumb circled up to the crease of your elbow, "where do we go from here, then, y/n?"
you shrugged. where do you go from here? he was an unstoppable force, and you were an immoveable object. you would not be the one to concede. you refused.
but perhaps you could wield his power if he believed you on his side, then you could find other channels of communication you could call yours. you could have more than just yeonjun and his tavern. you could have more than just mingi to do your bidding.
"i need trust," you admitted, with a shuddering breath. it was never something you thought you'd tell him. not hongjoong. maybe it was easier to admit such a thing in the darkness, under melting candlelight, without the sun bearing witness to your admissions. "i need to be able to trust you."
can i ever trust him? you thought, and the answer was so wholly there. no, you could not. no, you were of dorne, and he was of king's landing, and he would not allow you to step foot in dorne again, let alone sunspear. you could not trust him. but, you slept with your back to him too many nights to count already. and you looked to him first when his father called you both to the courtyards for his executions. he was yours to benefit from. you could not trust him, and you would not, but you did not fear him as you once had. perhaps, that was a step in the right direction.
his finger stilled against the smooth skin of your burn scar, and he said, "do you know the first thing my father taught me?"
you'd blinked at the sudden question, watching hongjoong. he stared at your scar for a long moment, his fingers still. you shook your head.
"the word dracarys," hongjoong said, "it is from the old language. it is a command to our dragons to breathe fire. to burn everything. when i was a very small boy, my father called me to the pit. i never went there often, since there were so little dragons left and my father and his maesters wished to keep the dragons isolated. father insisted there was a matter he wished for me to resolve. at the time, i was excited that i was needed by my father. when i arrived there was a servant girl in the pit, no older than two-and-ten. just a few years older than me. she was pregnant, that much i could tell."
you watched as hongjoong's hand fell from your scar. his gaze was hardened as it met yours. he said, "the council was there that night as well. my father and his small council had her stand in the middle of the pit. she was dragged in the way you were, still in her sleep robes. i recognized her. even a small boy is privy to the red keep's rumors, y/n. my father bedded too many to count, and oftentimes it went ignored. this girl would not have been ignored. so, my father told me to say the word he taught me, and… and i did."
your nails dug into your palms as you laid there, your gaze fixed on hongjoong. "why are you telling me this?"
"isn't that where trust starts? from stories of the moments that made us who we are?"
"yes," you said, "i think it should."
hongjoong paused. you did not speak further. he expected a story from you. he expected something. perhaps even sympathy. you would not concede. you could only wonder for the poor servant girl, wonder if hongjoong would in fact burn a little girl alive without his father’s directions. you wondered often who he'd broken over the years, and as you laid in his bed you wondered if he would burden you with all he has ruined one day, in the name of trust.
finally, hongjoong nodded as he pushed himself off the bed. he reached over, and brushed hair from your forehead. his fingers lingered. you did not push his touch away. you only watched him as he did so. his dark, tired eyes flickered over yours as he murmured, voice sweet as honey, but laced with an edge that always lived in hongjoong no matter what, "we'll take it slow, then."
you watched as he blew out the candle and made his way to his bed.
~.~.~.~.~
the letter yeonjun returned to you was unsealed, untampered, and real. you knew this because of yunho's response, a simple perhaps climbing mango trees is not your only talent, little sibling, and his unbroken wax seal. it was him. it was untouched, and it was him, and you could not contain your excitement.
mingi had handed you the letter in the library, and after you'd brushed your fingers along the seal - the symbol of your house, a sun with a spear through it - and read yunho's words, fingers tracing over his inked writing, you'd tossed your arms around mingi, drawing him into a tight embrace.
mingi had stiffened in surprise, though he'd steadied you by the waist, his armor cold under your touch.
you caught yourself too late, stepping away with hurried apologies, embarrassed. mingi shook his head, his cheeks reddening, "it is all right, your grace."
it became a routine of sorts, to write your letters, and have mingi escort you to yeonjun's tavern. sometimes, he'd take the letters on his own. you would press a hand to his arm, or the top of his hand, and you'd thank him. mingi would hide his blush when you did. you'd feel awful for it, but the letters were enough to quell that guilt. you'd do it over and over again, despite the guilt.
yeonjun introduced you to the owner of the brothel across the street, a slight, beautiful woman with an air of regality to her that many speculated the origins of. she went by the name irene. you called the doe-eyed children she sent all about king's landing as her eyes and ears her little birds. she smiled at the phrase, but she smiled wider at the gold you promised her in payment. a contract, you’d both called it.
mingi did not trust her. you trusted her less than you trusted hongjoong, yet mingi seemed to think otherwise. still, despite his clear disapproval, mingi said nothing to you. he gave you irene's correspondence without question, and he gave her the gold you'd written off hongjoong's maester's ledger without batting an eye. mingi would ruin everything he had for you, that much you could tell.
but you did not stop on your new path.
instead, you stopped sleeping through the night.
~.~.~.~.~
the mountain that rides. lord kang's mad dog. most call him the mountain.
lady irene's words remained with you long after you'd read them, long after you'd tossed the letter into the library fireplace and watched it turn to blackened ash.
you’d gone about your day mulling over her words. now, you stood under the shade of a peculiarly bent tree with yellow blooms as bright as the gold of house kang's banners. the queen loved her flowers and trees, and this one in particular grew well even as executions took place beneath her blooms more often than not.
today, the tree oversaw outdoor festivities. the mad king was quite generous with his death sentences, but he was even more generous with his calls for celebration. spring was in full bloom, flowers sprouting throughout the kingdom, and that demanded for a spring festival.
you contemplated only for a moment, before you asked, "who is the mountain?"
perhaps, you should have learned to make your words prettier. you certainly partook in the kinds of games that required pretty words these days, yet you could care less when it came to having a sweet or sharp tongue.
yeosang stiffened beside you. you took a sip of wine from your cup as you watched him unclench his jaw, the taste sickly sweet on your tongue.
you both watched on as lord kang clapped a hand over hongjoong's shoulder, tilting his head, his smile matching yeosang’s as he spoke to hongjoong. hongjoong's stiff smile did not budge. the mad king was not here, as always, but his maester had gave quite a moving speech in his place, of westeros's greatest king and the dragons riding free, thriving, before food and drinks were announced shortly after. the mad king's presence would not be missed once the wine started flowing anyway. you took note when you'd entered that mingi, and a few of the other kingsguard, were not in attendance. you wondered often what the king did instead of attending his celebrations. you wondered often of the queen's fate. you had not seen her since your wedding. you had never had the chance to bond with her, but you worried for her. it was the same worry you felt in your chest when you first saw hongjoong lay eyes on park seonghwa. when hongjoong told you of the little girl he'd burned to ashes for his father.
"hmm," yeosang hummed after he caught his bearings, "dare i ask how you know of him?"
"you could dare," you said, tearing your eyes from hongjoong to meet yeosang's gaze. "clearly you know of him."
yeosang's gaze narrowed, but his smile was amused as always. "the mountain is father's new addition to the kingsguard."
his words were biting, but they matched what irene had informed you. at least she could be trusted, for now.
"i figured as much," you said, downing your cup of wine.
"you'd do well to stay away from him," yeosang's voice was low, but it brought you pause. you looked over your shoulder at him, watching his concerned gaze flicker over your face. kang yeosang and concerned did not quite match.
you raised a brow at him, amused, "now why is that?"
"do you think they call him 'the mountain' for fun?" yeosang sneered.
you rolled your eyes at yeosang's disparaging tone. he did not grin. in fact, the twinkle in his eyes was undetectable. he shook his head at you.
he said, "i do not know how you came upon such information, but, for your sake, for all our sakes, i pray you've guaranteed that thread cannot be traced back to you."
his warning left a bad taste on your tongue, exacerbated by the lingering taste of wine. you muttered, "i do not leave loose threads. i am not an idiot."
"i like to think you are not," yeosang said, "but it would do you well for you if the small council continued to believe that you were."
you'd frowned at him. even after establishing contact with yeonjun, you'd continued sending letters to your family through lord kang, if only to not raise suspicion. you assumed they’d continue underestimating your involvement, but yeosang's words implied that something had changed.
"do they have reason to believe i am, in fact, not an idiot?"
yeosang plucked a cup of wine from a passing servant, and placed it in your limp hands. his gaze flickered ahead, and you followed it. to lord kang. to the man dressed in kingsguard armor and a kingsguard cloak.
he towered over everyone, a beast of a man that had all the mad king's guests giving the man a wide berth. hongjoong was the only one who looked the man in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin held high, despite how far back hongjoong had to tilt his head to look up at the newly appointed knight. the knight's predatory expression, his unwavering eyes, and the way he only responded to lord kang’s instructions, left a chill beneath your bones, an acute sense of fear curling right down your spine. you knew right then that this man was the mountain - an apt name for a man like that - and that you did not want to be alone with him, ever.
“oh, sweet thing,” yeosang's hand brushed your elbow, drawing your attention to him. yeosang shook his head, his words ominous, "not yet.”
~.~.~.~.~
king's landing sustained itself off gold and whispers. secrets were not safe at court, and nothing ever went unseen. you should have known such a thing the moment lady irene introduced you to her little birds, some of whom were kitchen boys and errand girls and stablehands you'd seen too often in the red keep. she had eyes and ears in every nook and cranny. what was stopping the other lords, ladies, and lieges from doing the same?
you'd known the whispers well since you were four-and-ten. the people of king's landing did not view dorne kindly. even now, at something-and-twenty, they were a constant nuisance, trailing after you with terrible whispers wherever you went.
the rumors were particularly terrible after the king started preparations for your wedding to hongjoong. you and san had hardly kept your courting a secret, and you weren't the only one blindsided by the sudden arrangement to hongjoong. the whispers were harsh.
you'd tuned them out, mostly, but they still existed.
your refusal to give hongjoong your favor during tourneys was seen in good fun at first, but the whispers turned accusing very quickly. you were a sly fox, you'd heard from one of the ladies. prince hongjoong was kind enough, he was prince kim hongjoong, of course, so what was wrong with you to deny him?
you were seen downing too many cups of wine at king kim's spring festival. you were too familiar with the kingsguard, lord kang’s son.
the servants saw you leaving the library late in the evenings. you laughed too hard at one of the kingsguard's quips, lord song’s bastard son. you never laughed around prince hongjoong, the whispered accused.
prince hongjoong kissed the hand of lady jihyo of hightower at the tourney. surely, you were not working hard enough to keep his attention from others. what was wrong with you?
prince hongjoong left the celebrations too late. no one who loves his spouse would spend so long drinking ale so early in marriage. surely, you had said something to keep him away. you were not enough, you'd done something wrong, you were a fox, conniving, ungrateful, a who-
hongjoong raised a glass.
"a toast," he said, "to my father. may he remain healthy and strong. may he rule for many, many years to come. long live the dragons, long live king kim."
it would have amused you to no end, to attend the nameday celebration for a king who wasn’t even there, if the whispers were not so loud today, and the mood was not so damp.
the response to hongjoong's toast was half-hearted at best.
the king had certainly celebrated his nameday well; he'd beheaded half his upper ranked army officers the day before and hung their heads from the gates of king's landing. he’d done it based off suspicion of mutiny and a the beginnings of rebellion. king's landing had been quiet since then, eerily so. even the commonfolk could sense the tension.
the court bard waved his hand in response, and the sound of a fiddle filled the room, a jaunty tune that seemed to liven up the crowd better than the food and drink had. some took to the dance floor, prompting others to join.
you watched from your seat at the royal table above the festivities as members of the court shuffled to the dance floor, as wine flowed freely, and bouts of laughter echoed off the high ceilings. this was not the liveliest of dances you’ve attended, but it was enough for now.
some time after too many cups of wine, and a small brawl that had broken out on the floor - ser yuta and ser johnny had separated them before it could escalate into anything further - after the bard crooned as he swayed with his fiddle, the harpist strumming an angelic melody, after some ladies, lieges, and lords began shuffling out from the room and back to their beds, your septa beckoned to you.
you were too drunk, too, and you found that it was becoming a common occurrence for you. you slept better when you drank too much.
mingi helped you down the steps, and you'd grinned at him as he bowed exaggeratedly. you clutched his fingers.
the whispers were always whispers. though they were loud, they were never said to your face.
until that night.
"whore." the word was spat in your direction.
you'd known of that word since you were very little, and when news spread that you would not wed san, but rather hongjoong whore was thrown around more than your name. the hastiness of the arrangement was what made the court gossip.
you used to ignore it. you used to worry for how san would feel. or worse, how your mother would react if it ever reached her ears. your brothers. your father. you used to swallow your rage and let the whispers slip off your skin, pretending your skin was armor and you were left untouched.
mingi's hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his deep voice held an undercurrent of fury as he said, "how dare you speak to their grace in such a manner?"
but, by the gods, your skin was no armor, and you were everything but untouched. you were drowning in your rage and the whispers.
and the rage? the rage inside of you was a churning fire that clawed it's way out of you from the pit of your stomach. it burned right through you.
lord lim was an older man, a distant cousin to the kangs, and his family had deep roots in the royal army. one of the ten ranking officers who had been beheaded and put on display at the gates had been his nephew. his house fostered seonghwa, and hosted san and jongho when they were young boys. you knew this because you'd seen the note regarding family relations and condolences on hongjoong's desk.
the festivities continued all around you. drunk laughter, dancing, shouting, the bard cooing, drumbeats loud, rhythmic, the crooning of the harp and the fiddle. it all rang in your ears. the festivities continued, but your head was pounding.
lord lim laughed. his eyes were full of mirth. "my nephew is dead because the king believed he was plotting against the crown. the only person in this damned court who would plot against the king is you."
lord lim jabbed a finger in your direction. you should have left. you should have excused his treasonous words for grief-stricken rage fueled by drink, and excused yourself. you should have.
but you turned to him, and you said, "nothing you say is going to bring back your nephew. he is dead, and that is no fault of mine."
lord lim advanced on you, then, and fury and grief contorted his features into something ugly and monstrous. you felt the urge to laugh. his expression matched the feeling at the pit of your stomach. his displaced anger made you want to scream.
when he stepped towards you, mingi stepped between you both, his elbow braced as mingi shoved lord lim back. lord lim did not budge, his eyes fixed on you.
he hissed, "with the amount of times you’ve been passed around the red keep, you are no better than a common whore. you should have been the one hanging from the gates."
you opened your mouth, the rage at your stomach curling into your chest. you wanted to scream. wanted to take his displaced, irrational anger and toss it back at him. burn him alive with it. tear his mouth from his face with your bare hands. but you knew that his words only reiterated what the court whispered behind your back. you did not know what the public, the commonfolk, thought of you, but you knew the other nobles did not think highly of you. you did not know it was to that extent, and you never thought they'd say it out loud, but perhaps there was a first for everything.
only then did you realize how quiet it had gotten.
only then did you feel a hand on your back, heavy and warm, and a voice sharp as the edge of a sword.
“what did you say?”
lord lim spat, “you heard me.”
hongjoong shook his head, "guards, bring lord lim to the courtyard."
his words rang high and loud.
you turned, and hongjoong's gaze met yours. it was hard, angry, and full of fire. it was the same rage in your stomach, the same rage in lord lim's expression, but there was no grief there. he was merely cold fury.
lord lim protested as mingi grabbed lord lim's arms and yanked them behind his back, the other kingsguard drawing their swords. his shouts rang throughout the quiet room.
hongjoong turned to you, and he said, "do you wish to retire to your chambers, or do you wish to join me?"
you should have gone to bed.
your gaze followed mingi as he dragged a shouting, squirming lord lim behind him, the kingsguard following behind him.
you said, "i will join you."
despite the cold fury, a small smile tugged at the corner of hongjoong's lips.
the queen's yellow flowers were at their brightest, even under the moonlight.
hongjoong called for his dragon, and after a long moment, the wind picked up all around you. you looked up and his black dragon circled the courtyard as it prepared to land, it’s wings flapping. mingi tied lord lim to the very same blackened post his father tied so many others to before he used his green fire or his own dragon to execute them.
despite how quiet it was, the guests that were left lingered at the threshold to the courtyard. no one said a word, watching on in dread and anticipation. the distance made you feel strange. watched. revered. powerful. perhaps, simply feared.
hongjoong's dragon landed before you both, your robes whipping all around you. hongjoong's hair fluttered, his eyes glittering under the moonlight as he stared up at his dragon. up close, his dragon's black scales shone beneath moonlight, it's large, watchful eyes unblinking. the ground shook as it landed, and the crowd by the entrance to the courtyard stumbled back further into the fortress. further from you.
hongjoong stroked his dragon’s head, and it hummed in response.
hongjoong stalked closer then, to lord lim tied to the post, waving away his guards. lord lim looked small, kneeling in the middle of the courtyard the way he did. hongjoong said, "your words are treason of the highest order, lord lim."
"you cannot do this. you are not the king. you have no right!”
"but i am a kim, and i have a dragon.” hongjoong's voice, though low, shook with anger. "it's a shame you could not hold your tongue around my spouse, lord kim. now we shall decide whether you lose a limb or your life."
he looked over his shoulder at you, and he raised a brow at you.
you should have called him off. lord lim's voice broke with his cry.
yet, the rage in your stomach turned to something that resembled glee, and you kept your mouth shut. you did not shake your head, and that was permission enough.
hongjoong's dark eyes flickered over your face, his eyes softening for just a moment. then he turned back to lord lim, and he grinned, "it appears you will be reunited with your dear nephew after all.”
lord lim screamed and screamed.
his screams were cut off by a low, “dracarys."
his dragon's fire was so hot, you stumbled away, heat rolling off it in waves. the screams were loud. the loudest sounds in king's landing since the mad king executed those officers.
they rang and rang, like the crooning of the bard or the twangs of the harp and fiddle. they filled the air, much like the festivities had, but this time you did not have a headache.
your gaze flicked to hongjoong, even as he turned to you, his grin glorious, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze. his dragon left as quickly as it came, and hongjoong laughed as he watched it go.
the smell of burning flesh lingered in the air. the crowd was quiet, so so quiet.
your stomach flipped as hongjoong gestured back to the hall and said, "come now. there is more drink and food to be had."
you were not as disgusted by hongjoong as you thought you'd be.
as you should be.
and that realization would remain with you for the rest of your life.
~.~.~.~.~
"hongjoong?"
your voice drifted between you both in your dim chambers. you'd returned to your chambers shortly after the bard began to sing again. the crowd had already trickled away, and mingi had disappeared. when you stepped through the crowd of nobles, they parted like the sea, the fear in their eyes feeding the fire that always burned at the pit of your stomach. they parted for you as if they could sense the fire in you, and they were afraid they'd burn at the smallest of touches.
your stomach turned at the thought.
you'd hurried to your chambers, then, the kingsguard meant to escort you hurrying to keep up, and readied yourself for bed, scrubbing your skin to rid yourself of the scent of dragonfire and burnt flesh until your skin stung.
you laid in your bed, ceiling too far away, and the linens felt rough against your scrubbed skin.
hongjoong entered the chambers shortly after, and you listened to him quietly ready himself for bed, as if did not wish to wake you. he sat down at his desk and lit a candle. the warm glow of the candle filled the otherwise dark room. his back was to you, the candlelight casting a long shadow over your side of the chambers.
this was often the routine with you two. neither of you could sleep, you noticed, and hongjoong spent many nights bent over his desk, his back turned to you. you'd imagined piercing a knife through his turned back too many times. you wondered if he ever worried you would do such a thing. you spent many sleepless nights watching him work. neither of you ever said a thing. perhaps, it was an unspoken rule between you both. you knew for certain he could tell you were watching him. his back was never relaxed.
that night, you broke the silence with his name.
hongjoong froze, the sound of his pen scratching stilling. then it returned, as if the moment never happened. his voice was low, "i did not do it for you."
you'd blinked at the declaration, surprised. hongjoong continued to work, even as he spoke. his voice held a soft edge, a seething tone you knew was rage. you knew rage well, you've come to learn. "you are a kim through our vows. disrespecting you is treason."
"you did not have to kill him."
"my father would have killed him within a fortnight," hongjoong muttered. then he turned in his seat, his loose sleep shirt slipping as he turned, exposing skin and the sharp dip of his collarbone. he gripped the back of his wooden chair, the candlelight casting dark shadows and an orange glow over his features, hiding his expression. "did you want me to spare him?"
you laid on your side as you contemplated his question. his gaze flickered down your form as he waited for your response. lord kim’s words brought you fury.
so, you shook your head in response.
the corner of his lips tipped upwards at your admission, his fingers gripping the back of his chair. strands of silver hair fell into hongjoong's eyes, and he used his other hand to push it back as he said, voice barely a whisper, "good."
you tucked your hands underneath your pillow, if only to have something to do under his intense, almost knowing gaze. you should have been disgusted by the intimacy in this moment, but you found yourself enraptured by the softness in his voice, your eyes flickering over his turned figure. you found yourself voluntarily speaking to him. the anger you always felt for him was a muted thing. worst of all, you were left wondering why the guilt wasn't much much worse.
it should have been.
yet, your mouth was loose.
"i am terrified of spiders. the ones in dorne were bigger than my hands," you said, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "and wooyoung or yunho always killed them for me. when i was very little, i used to cry when they killed them. i never wanted them to die, even though i feared them."
hongjoong's feathery whisper caressed you like a finger against your cheek, "when did you stop crying when they killed those spiders?"
"i don't know."
a pause.
"will you cry tonight?"
it was such a simple question, but the tone he held, sincere and almost reverent, made your heart skip a beat.
you stared at hongjoong, a lump growing in your throat.
he broke away from your gaze first, his eyes flickering to his lap. when he met your gaze once more, he said, so quietly, so gently, you wondered if this was the same man you'd known since you were four-and-ten. he said, "you can, you know. if you'd like. i will not tease you for it."
it was strange to hear such kindness from kim hongjoong, but this was not the first time. perhaps between all his horrid decisions he was capable of being kind.
for a moment, you wondered if you could be vulnerable in such a way with him. if you could shed tears in front of him.
you shook your head quickly, cheeks hot, "i won't."
the thought of crying in front of him embarrassed you, more than anything.
he'd given you a brisk nod.
the silence grew awkward then, charged with an emotion you could not quite place. so you said, "good night, then."
you turned your back to him, staring at the wall instead.
hongjoong said, "good night, y/n."
he did not blow out his candle, his shadow dancing against the wall.
you did not sleep.
~.~.~.~.~
father is very sick, yunho wrote to you. i am scared worried, y/n.
~.~.~.~.~
you watched the letter wither in the fireplace, the edges of parchment curling before it turned to blackened ash.
you turned away, then, when the door to the library opened and the library's maester stepped through. he was not as old as most maesters, maester robes thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. he was not highly ranked, not like the grand maester who was elected by the conclave to serve the iron throne and the red keep and sat on the small council, but he watched over the grand library. judging from all the different metals adorning the chain around his neck, he was well-versed in many areas of study. the lead and black iron chains were what interested you months ago. they indicated the study of poison and black iron. maesters were not supposed to hold political allegiances, as servants to the realm.
yet, here maester haechan stood, with his sunkissed skin and perpetual wary expression.
you spent too much time in the library. you were bound to walk into something of substance. in fact, the other night you'd walked in on maester haechan in a uncompromising position with one of the king’s servants. in the past, you would have left immediately, but that night you'd cleared your throat. you'd made yourself known. the two men jumped off each other, not once meeting your eyes.
it took months to wear maester haechan down. you flipped through books, maester haechan glancing sideways at you when he thought you were not looking, and mentioned the moment offhandedly. you held your knowledge over him, knowing he would snap and come to you one day. you left a comment here of didn't all maesters take an oath of celibacy? and another there of how would the citadel react if they heard of such a transgression? and finally a pointed what about the grand maester? what would he think? before maester haechan slammed a book down in front of you, the chains around his neck rattling, and he asked, "what do you want from me?"
you'd merely shrugged. you made him stew in his anxiety.
tonight, he finally stood before you, and you asked, "what do you know of essence of nightshade?"
"it is meant to calm one's frayed nerves so they may sleep," maester haechan raised a brow, "but a high dosage can be fatal. and undetectable."
you hummed. you'd thought so, but the confirmation eased you.
"it seems you were already aware of that," his voice was quiet.
"i read about it and wanted confirmation. i have trouble sleeping at night and i've been told it is helpful," you said, with a shrug.
he eyed you skeptically, eyes too knowing, "is it only for you?"
no. you thought of hongjoong. you thought of how easily he'd burned a man alive, as he was taught when he was a boy. you thought of the way you'd felt drawn to the action, of the sheer amount of violence he was willing to display to protect your name. your father would not start a war for you, yet hongjoong would kill a man? the thought made your heart curl, and that was precisely why you needed this. thoughts like that needed to be cut off easily. put into a deep, dreamless, fatal sleep. you did not need to think of hongjoong in such a way. whether that was you who ended up that way, or hongjoong, it did not matter.
you needed this.
"of course, it is," you said.
the maester did not believe you, but he still nodded.
"and you do not wish for me to mention this elsewhere, i assume?"
"i should hope so. unless you want the red keep and the citadel to know you are an oathbreaker, maester haechan."
haechan poorly suppressed his grimace, "your request will be easy enough, your grace."
“and if i have future requests?”
haechan sighed, “i will do as you bid.”
~.~.~.~.~
mingi stood at your shoulder, while you knelt in front of a little girl in ragged scraps of clothing, her sunken eyes piercing as she covered her mouth and brought her lips to your ears.
"choi jongho has held three meetings in lady irene's brothels thus far. several nobles have been in attendance. the lims, the lees, the yuns."
"does lady irene know what for?"
the little girl shook her head.
you could not understand what for. you knew choi jongho was an honorable man, if san were to be believed, though rumor had it the man loved his drink more than he should have. however, even the most honorable ended up in brothels. it was an unspoken norm among nobles. you could not understand why jongho would host other nobles in a brothel. surely, there was more to it.
you'd nodded as you fished out a couple gold coins from your pockets and tucked it into her limp hands, "thank you, little bird."
the little girl only nodded before she stepped into the crowded street and disappeared.
you'd stood, readjusting your hood, and you said, "do you want something to eat?"
mingi shook his head. his eyes were still on the little girl, a distant look.
"then let us head back," you said, "hongjoong should be back soon."
your beloved spends quite a lot of time in my brothels, irene had told you once. you thought about that often, when you'd lay sleepless in your bed, and hongjoong would stumble in to your chambers drunk or smelling of smoke. he whispered stories of his childhood. amusing stories of his mother, mischief yeosang, hongjoong, mingi, jongho, and san had gotten up to, inconsequential things. sometimes, you shared stories too. of climbing mango trees. of hidden courtyards to bask in sunlight. it only ever happened in the dead of night, awash in darkness. when irene told you of her discovery, the ugly beast at the pit of your being reared it’s head once more.
you'd walked in silence, even as mingi gestured for you to lead the way up the winding secret passages you both frequented often.
right before you'd exited the passage mingi called your name.
you'd paused, and he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. his eyes were conflicted as he said, "you should end this."
"end what?" you'd taken your hand off the exit, and you both stood facing each other behind the tapestries. the corridors were narrow enough, but as mingi ascended the final step and towered over you, his armor clinking softly, you realized just how cramped the hidden corridor was.
"end all of this," mingi gestured around him, gestured at you, your clothes, behind him. "i speak to you not as a knight, or as your subordinate, but as your friend. this will all end in ruin, y/n. this is a dangerous game you are playing."
you'd frowned, "i am playing no games."
you were, but mingi did not need to know that. yeonjun, maester haechan, and lady irene could know you were, but for an inexplicable reason, you could not bear for mingi to find out that you were using him in any way. that you left lingering touches on purpose. that you looked up at him until he blushed for another reason. that you were playing a game, and he was one of the pieces you kept close.
mingi blinked at you, his brows furrowing.
you stepped closer to him. he watched your movement like you were opposite him in battle, and he was assessing your next move.
"i miss my family. ever since i came to king's landing, lord kang has opened all my letters. they cannot speak to me candidly in fear of saying something the king or small council will fault me for, mingi," you sighed. "i'm only doing this with yeonjun and the brothel so that i can keep in touch with my family, and keep myself safe. you have to understand that."
"but it is dangerous," mingi muttered, shoulders slumping. "what will become of you if you are found out?"
"i won't be found out," you said, tone adamant. you reached up then, and placed a hand on mingi's cheek. his eyes shot up to meet yours as you said, voice low, "and if i am caught, they will not blame you. i will not allow it."
he frowned. he relaxed into your touch, and your heart clenched as if he had reached into your chest and wrapped his fingers around it. he trusted you so much, despite everything. he had no reason not to. at least a reason that he knew of.
"i worried you'd say as much," he shook his head, "i cannot live with myself if you take all the blame."
you'd laughed, "it appears we've arrived at an impasse then."
a small smile tugged at mingi's lips, "it appears so."
"then we'll have to make sure that neither of us has to take the blame. we have to be extra cautious." you pat his warm cheek once before stepping back.
mingi broke eye contact, looking away as he dragged a hand through his hair. he bit back his growing smile, eyes serious, "more than that."
you agreed, "more than that."
mingi softened as he nodded, and the vice-like grip around your heart tightened once more.
~.~.~.~.~
"my favorite color is yellow," hongjoong said. he sat cross-legged on his chair, his arms folded over the top, his chin resting there. his billowy sleep shirt was thin, the candlelight illuminating the shape of him through the shirt. with his back to his table and his candle, his face was full of shadows, unreadable.
"like the flowers on your mother's tree in the courtyard?" you asked, in response. you lay on your side once more, your knees drawn close to your chest.
hongjoong was silent for a long moment.
you said, "you do not have to talk about her."
his mother was a sore subject. you hadn't heard from her since your wedding, but hongjoong stopped hearing from her shortly after. you often wondered what had become of her. you wondered if your fate would mirror hers one day.
"your mother reminded me of her," hongjoong said. “especially the way you two interacted.”
"do you resent your mother as well, then?" you'd never admitted that aloud.
hongjoong laughed, but it held no amusement. "sometimes, i do. other times, i only pity her. she deals most with my father, after all."
it was quiet once more, before you asked, "would you kill him?"
a pause.
"i don't know," hongjoong sighed, though there was a sharp edge to his voice, "if you were in my place, would you kill your father?"
"yes," you said, without hesitation. you thought of the mad king, with his sharp, long nails and the horrible things he's said to you and the way he looked at you as if you were scum beneath his feet. you grit your teeth, "i would kill him."
"so easily?"
"he'd deserve it."
you could barely see his expression under the shadows, but the way he tilted his head as he looked at you, the glint of a grin on his face, it brought chills down your spine. it was...fascinating.
"oh, how i wish you were in my place then," hongjoong murmured.
the conversation died away after that.
~.~.~.~.~
16,784. that is where our army's numbers currently stand, wooyoung wrote. it is our army, but most importantly it is yours, y/n. if you ever require it.
~.~.~.~.~
"where is he?"
you sat alone in the dining hall. at least you were alone until yeosang and mingi joined you, their armors clinking and their cloaks fluttering behind them. the king and queen always took dinners in their chambers. hongjoong would often join you for dinner, and surprisingly your conversations had become quite light, aside from a few pointed jabs from you both. neither of you could shake the habit, it seemed.
tonight, you had been alone.
until your escorts joined you.
yeosang gave you a lopsided grin as he brought his wine cup in mock salute, "is our company not enough, your grace?"
mingi frowned at yeosang's tone.
the chois were in the red keep - just to visit, they said, though you knew of the brothel visits - and so was park seonghwa. you'd heard the servants discuss sending dinner to the choi's guest chambers, as they wished to rest after a long afternoon of hunting with hongjoong. you heard nothing regarding park seonghwa.
you stared at your own wine cup for a long moment. the servants had left the hall after they'd served the food. finally, you lifted your gaze to mingi and yeosang, and you said, "he's with seonghwa isn't he?"
you meant to sound nonchalant, but your voice was too small, even to your own ears. since when did you care about such things?
yeosang leaned back in his chair, wine cup still in his hand, and he said, "does it matter?"
mingi's frown deepened.
you'd glared at yeosang, "hongjoong's dalliances ruin my reputation. that matters."
"at the end of the day, you are still the heir's spouse, and he returns to your bed," yeosang said, with a shrug. "nothing else matters."
you rolled your eyes, venom dripping from your tone, "you think so?"
"i know so," yeosang snapped back, his eyes narrowing. "if you make a problem of it, then you will become the problem. do you not understand that?"
"what the hell does that mean?"
"do you think the queen disappeared because she wanted to?"
mingi shook his head, "yeosang, stop."
"no," you glared at mingi, "yeosang, continue."
mingi pressed his mouth into a thin line.
yeosang looked genuinely sorry when he glanced mingi's way.
you pressed your hand to his elbow, his armor cold to your touch, "what are you implying, ser yeosang?"
yeosang glanced down at your touch, and though he could not feel your touch, he still shook your hand from his elbow. he downed his drink, his expression stony. his cold features turned colder as the moments slipped by. there was no kang amusement, no mischief, and it brought a chill down your spine.
worst of all, it worried you.
mingi cleared his throat, and you turned to him. his usually expressive brown eyes held a vacancy in them that made the perpetual guilt-ridden grip mingi had over your heart grow in side.
mingi said, "though the kingsguard acts as the queen's guards, y/n, we do not answer to the queen. we do not...owe the king's spouse anything. we answer to no one but the king," mingi turned his gaze to the ceiling briefly, as if he were lamenting the gods. you did not know mingi's beliefs surrounding the gods, nor how devout he may or may not be, but the sight of him take a deep, harrowing breath burrowed beneath your skin. it was a sight meant to haunt you. mingi certainly appeared haunted, his eyes returning to you, his hands curled into fists on the table. "we've heard many things over the years stationed outside her door. the king is...he is our priority. she made a problem out of the king's adultery, and the king dealt with her as he saw fit. now she remains in her chambers for a reason. if you've seen her...heard how she...if you knew...she's..."
mingi stuttered over his words, his jaw clenched, and his eyes glossed with tears. you'd never seen him cry. not once. it was not something you thought he was capable of, logical, kind, and watchful mingi, with walls as high as yours. if he was a terrible person, perhaps you would not feel so much guilt for the way you pushed his boundaries.
you hoped the mad king would not hurt the queen. perhaps it was wishful thinking, to think the man who would have married you off to a dead babe to spite your father had limitations. but you were wrong. the king had no limits, no one to stop them, not even the kingsguard. whatever the king had done to the queen, that left her bedridden, that seemed to leave devastation in mingi and yeosang even now, whatever it was should have terrified you. mingi's pain and your subsequent terror should have been the final reason to end your indiscretions.
to learn to resign yourself to your fate. to become the person you knew choi san and your brothers and your parents would pity. the person the seven kingdoms would one day sing pitiful songs of. the little bird trapped in their cage, left to a tragic fate, left to dissolve into the shadows, ruined, ruined, ruined.
the person you were before you'd wedded hongjoong would have ended everything. they would have stopped fighting for the sake of survival.
however, you could not help but imagine hongjoong ascending the throne one day, and continuing his father's legacy. you could very well face the same fate as the queen. no one would protect you if you did.
but that was not new. you'd known this since the moment you stepped foot on the shores of king's landing at four-and-ten. the part of you that dreamt of being rescued, of knights like the many you'd bestowed favors upon at tourneys, of your parents or your brothers, was merely the dreams of a child. you knew damn well no one in king's landing would protect you.
so why should you stop fighting? why should you stop? because of a little bit of guilt? because of a fate like the queen's?
besides the person you were before you wedded hongjoong was dead and gone when your family left a second time.
you would never step foot in sunspear again. you'd live in king's landing longer than you ever did in dorne. what did you have to lose anymore?
still, you said, "do you think hongjoong is capable of the same?"
mingi shook his head quickly. yeosang did not say anything.
"he is your friend," you frowned, frustration clawing it's way up your throat, under your skin, burrowing itself into ever nook and crevice like a disease, like the anger that always lived inside of you. "if you saw violence taking hold in him, you should have done everything in your power to keep it away. you sit here and warn me of possibilities when stopping such violence is your responsibility. not mine."
not mine, not mine, not mine. it echoed in your head, like the court's whispers. you did not mean to admit that the whispers that blamed you for hongjoong's misgivings bothered you. but you shook with your anger, and yeosang and mingi watched on as if you were a funeral pyre burning before their eyes.
"he is not violent." mingi murmured, voice breathy, "he does not want to be like his father."
you crossed your arms over your chest, looking from mingi to yeosang, "do you really believe that?"
"i want to believe it," yeosang sighed, his voice wistful, "hongjoong isn't a bad person. he's caring, and he remembers the littlest things. he sends medicine when he hears his friends are under the weather. he knows my favorite flower, and he wraps my name-day gifts with them. he sends san and jongho their favorite sweets when their mother's death day comes around. he cleared a space in the garden to commemorate mingi's mother, since lady song refuses to do so in the eyrie. he is...he cares, and he is so gentle, y/n, sweet even, when he is not angry." yeosang dragged a hand through his blond hair, closing his eyes, and perhaps this was the first time you'd seen him so candid with you. no kang amusement, no honeyed words. he speaks as yeosang. only yeosang. "but the mad king lives in his nature, and he knows it. he ruins things because of it, and i'm afraid it will set him on the exact path he despises."
you did not think yeosang thought highly of hongjoong. not truly. neither did you think hongjoong cared much for san, especially after san courted you. but perhaps, they truly were brothers, more than you'd ever accounted for. you'd known it ran deep, and longer than even your time at court. it ran through their fathers, if the chosen members of the small council was anything to go by, but you hadn't truly wanted to believe it. that a family existed in the red keep, found not made, while you were still so alone.
you should have fell in line that night and allowed the gods to determine your fate. the strength of their bonds, of how well they knew hongjoong, seeped into every word, and you should have taken it at face value. you should have stopped.
but you've become quite terrible at doing as you should.
"do you think he would," you hesitated, fingers curled in your lap, "...hurt me?"
mingi closed his eyes, turning to the gods once more.
yeosang twirled his cup in his fingers, the wine sloshing in his cup. he said, "hasn't he already?"
it was a quiet sort of acknowledgement you had not expected from kang yeosang, of all people.
hongjoong hadn't hurt you physically, but he'd taken from you for his own gain. he turned you into the type of person that pushed song mingi's boundaries just to see how far he would go for you, short of becoming a turncloak and betraying his king and vows. hongjoong turned you into this, and it was everything you did not want to be.
once upon a time, you dreamt of being kind. now, you were anything but.
to have that acknowledged brought a certain relief, but it also angered you. he knew of your pain, and he merely watched.
"you're right, ser yeosang," you said, swallowing the lump in your throat as you avoided eye contact with both yeosang and mingi. "it doesn't matter."
~.~.~.~.~
that night, hongjoong returned to your chambers smelling of amber and sweat and smoke. he shrugged his shirt off, his shoulder and chest blotched with reddish marks. even in the candlelight, you could see it. he did not say a word as he drew his bath and disappeared.
you'd turned away, but you could not sleep. it was not the guilt this time, but rather a heaviness in your chest. you ignored that heaviness, focusing instead on the part of you that wished to survive. if hongjoong found someone else to fixate upon, then your misgivings would not be so easily forgiven. the possibility was very real. you'd frowned at the wall as those thoughts ran rampant.
you startled when hongjoong's voice echoed through the chambers, "why don't you ever sleep?"
it was a simple enough question, but it made your heart beat faster. your palms were clammy. you were wracked with guilt. it was not a new feeling, but it continued to eat at your insides. you knew it would eat at you until there was nothing left.
you turned to face him. "why don't you?"
hongjoong's sharp features grew sharper in the shadows. when he rose, he loomed over you, his shadow creeping up over the wall and into the high ceiling. he truly looked the part of a god, the kinds of gods people feared.
you spoke before you took the time to think. you said, "is it because of the guilt?"
this was you you spoke of, but hongjoong's shoulders stiffened, and his looming shadow sunk back into him. vulnerability should not have suited hongjoong, and it truly did not. but you liked vulnerability on him. it bought you control you did not expect.
you clutched the sheets beneath you as you continued, "does it eat at you with every waking breath? do the faces of every person you'd burned or ruined or broke haunt you to this day, hongjoong?"
hongjoong stood so still, clenched fists at his side. your heart lodged in your throat, along with the lump growing there.
it was a strange thing, to understand the emotional turmoil kim hongjoong felt, despite everything. your words sawed its way into your gut the same way it did to him. it was ironic, truly, that the words you used to hurt him hurt you too.
you whispered, "or is it shame?"
"shut up," hongjoong growled.
you should have.
"oh," your laugh was humorless, "it is shame. do you finally feel a sense of shame when you look my way? when you return to our chambers still smelling like another?"
he stalked towards you then, one step, then two, then three, four, five, until he stood above you at the edge of the bed. his voice rang through your chambers, loud and sharp, "i said shut up."
"beg and i'll consider it," you mocked, anger curling at the pit of your stomach at his tone.
he grit his teeth, his dark eyes fixed on you.
you wondered if hongjoong would kill you where you sat. you waited, then, watching his every movement. the twitch of his brow. the curl of his fingers. the deepening of his scowl. that darkening in his eyes. time stopped, and you merely watched as he came back to life.
instead, he sunk to his knees, the bed dipping with the weight of him. he looked like he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and he would sooner let it cripple him then let it slide off his shoulders. he looked the personification of the anger and shame and guilt that always lived inside of you.
he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his shadowed eyes heavy with emotions you could not place. guilt, desire, shame, amusement, contradictory emotions. he mirrored your insides, you knew, and that was a terrifying thought. to admit that you were truly just like him was one thing, but to see it spread out for you like this? to find such a sight fascinating? by the gods, surely you were terrible for this.
"jealousy does not suit you one bit," his voice was rough, low.
"i am not jealous," you bristled. you were not, you should not be, you could not be. you were pushing him so you could survive. so he wouldn’t wander too far. there was nothing else.
"oh, y/n, are we still lying to each other?"
you'd deflated at his brow raise, though your grip beneath you, on the sheets, was still so tight. his eyes fell to your hands, before they returned to your face. he waited patiently.
you could tell him the truth, or you could aim to burrow your words deep under his skin and hope it lived there for eternity.
"yes," you said, "you will never have me as i am. you will never know me, no matter how many sleepless nights we spend sharing stories. you will never know what is the truth and what is a lie."
"i know when you're lying, y/n," hongjoong's voice was not unkind. it held an ancient exhaustion. "whether you like it or not, i know you."
"how could you possibly know me? you don't care for me. you never did," your voice trembled, despite your spite.
hongjoong laughed, then, and it was softer now.
his dark eyes carried the weight of the world as it settled on you, and your breath caught in your throat.
"i know that you always take sugar in your tea." hongjoong said, "i know that you always forget your heavy cloak because you do not wish to acknowledge the winters. your favorite color is green. an emerald green like the jewel. you are terrified of spiders, still. i know that you hate cucumbers. that your favorite flower is dragon's breath, and that is the only reason why you visit the godswood. you do not believe in the gods, new or old.”
your breath remained caught in your throat, and your fingers found purchase around your knees.
hongjoong reached out then, his bare fingers hovering above your cheek. he met your gaze, and you did not think about it when you nodded in permission. his caress was a light thing, barely there, but his fingers trembled. he pressed his palm to the underside of your jaw, cupping your cheek. you let out a breath as he dragged his fingertips along your skin, a breath you did not realize you were holding.
"i know that you adore the three legged mare the stablehands keep hidden during inspections. that you’ve been drinking more so you can sleep," he said, with the smallest of laughs, "and i know that you are afraid of me."
you shook your head, then, and you managed to say, "not always."
"that is not enough," hongjoong murmured, his silver hair falling into his eyes. his dark eyes fell along your face, from your gaze to your lips and back.
you should have pushed him away.
instead, you said, "i am not afraid. not now."
he leaned closer then, his silver hair brushing along your temples, his touch on your cheek warm. "and now?"
your heart knocked against your ribs. you shook your head, "no."
then he leaned even closer, his forehead resting against yours. he was so close, you could count his eyelashes. his silver hair tickled your skin. his touch burned, like fire. like the sun.
your heart stopped, and the silence in the room was deafening. you were afraid any sudden movement, any loud noise, would bring you both back to reality, that it would shatter whatever this was, as tentative and fragile as it felt. your gaze flickered from his dark eyes to his pink lips, and watched his jaw clench.
he breathed, "now?"
you shook your head.
"words, y/n," he murmured, his thumb tracing circles along your jaw, "i need words."
"beg for it, then," you mocked his words, matching his tone. a grin stretched across his face. all teeth and glinting, despite his hooded dark eyes.
one of his hands dragged down your skin, drawing circles and letters and words you would never be privy to along the skin of your neck, and you shuddered under his touch. he said, with an air of the kind of gentle care that left you breathless, "please." his other thumb brushed to the corner of your mouth, pressing into the soft skin as he repeated, gentle and desperate and wanting in a way that made your thoughts run blank, "y/n, please."
you turned your head, pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his thumb. his eyes tracked your movements. you knew because you held his gaze in yours.
you said, "i am not afraid of you, hongjoong. not anymore."
a lie.
his lips twitched upwards.
he knew when you lied.
he asked, "and if i were to kiss you? would you be afraid then?"
terribly so, you thought, and not because he was the son of the mad king, or because he was volatile. no, what you feared the most was the way you hung onto his movements with bated breath and your heart beat too fast at his touches. you feared you liked this - him - more than you should have. more than you could handle.
you only feared yourself, when you shook your head and said, "no."
when he pressed his lips to yours, you were caught by surprise not by the kiss, but by his gentleness. you kissed him back. he tasted of the remnants of sweet mulberry wine. he smelled of the soap and bath oils you both shared. you pressed up into him, deepening the embrace, and he cradled the back of your head as he maneuvered you into the bedsheets, and your fingers found purchase in his silver-blond hair. he gasped against your lips, and you could feel the grin there. his lips were soft and kind and everything you longed for since you stepped foot in the red keep. of kindness, of softness, of being held as if you were the most precious creature to exist. it made you breathless.
he broke away first, and you gasped for air, even as one of his hands pressed under your jaw. your own hands remained tangled in his hair. he tucked away loose strands of hair as he hovered above you, as he peered down at you. his gaze was intense, as if he was memorizing the sight of you like this, as if he was admiring you. the rough pad of his thumb dragged along your cheek.
he said, "i've wanted to do that since i laid eyes on you."
you'd blinked at his admission, your grip in his hair tightening. his thumb dragged down your cheek, down the length of your neck, down, down, down. he stopped just short of the hem of your shirt.
"keep going," you allowed, untangling one of your hands from his hair just to push it back from his face. just to cup his cheeks in your hands. "just...do not hurt me."
"i won't. i swear it," he promised, and the sincerity of it made something inside you wither. he dipped down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, and it left a fire in your heart. he said, with a grin and dark eyes, "if anything, you will be the death of me."
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A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one
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[11:50 PM] + natural disaster apocalypse au + road trip au + "what are we supposed to do now?"
a/n: 3.2k words, gender neutral reader as always, san x wooyoung x y/n :), lots of implied hooking up and sexual relationships but no descriptions of it, fwb san, red flags galore, miscommunication, insecurities & anxiety, drinking, mention of the dating app tinder (derogatory) and the terrible nicknames that come out of that lmao, environmental disasters and existential crises go hand in hand lol, i have wips to finish but i wanted to write this rippp please lmk if anyone wants more though
taglist: @leeknowsalot, @hither-to-undreamt-of, @not-everything-is-so-primitive
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you’d made it a point to never stay the night. san and your arrangement was almost clinical in it’s execution. if one of you wanted to blow off steam, you’d text - never call - and the other would show up at the asker’s doorstep if they were up to it. no kissing on the mouth. no excessive cuddling. nothing too intimate. outside of that arrangement, you both remained friendly - you had to when you both shared so many mutual friends.
still, despite the rules, san was polite, and he treated you with a kindness you did not expect.
“why are you being so nice?” you’d asked once, after that first time, when you’d both danced at hongjoong’s birthday party and ended the night in san’s bedroom. you were sprawled out on top the towel he'd laid out over his sheets, sweaty and trying to return to your senses.
san paused in the act of opening the water bottle he’d plucked from his mini fridge, his brows knitting together. he’d already handed you a washcloth and your clothes, and now he sat at the edge of the bed frowning at you. he said, “aftercare isn’t optional, y/n. “
you’d blinked, and his frown deepened when you said, “i guess not.”
it had been, for your previous partners, but you did not want to elaborate on it so you’d only sat up and taken the water bottle. san did not ask, but his brows remained furrowed. after that, you never asked. neither of you asked each other much about your personal lives. it was as if it was an unspoken rule, to remain as uninvolved as possible. friends with benefits, with as little possibility of attachment as possible. frankly, the two of you were barely friends, only ever spending time together outside of your arrangement in group settings.
they say, however, you learn a lot about someone just from sleeping with them.
you’d never touched on personal matters too much, but sometimes he texted you and his touch was angrier and rougher than usual.
sometimes, you had eyes. you saw the way his eyes followed mingi during seonghwa’s monthly bowling tournaments for months. the way his jaw clenched, and the way mingi avoided the group for a while, until one day mingi showed up to a board game night with a six pack of beer and san and mingi bumped fists, and everything was back to normal.
you saw the extra toothbrush he’d left in the bathroom - used and obviously not meant for you - and the familiar hoodie hanging from the drying rack while you tugged your jeans back on - “i don’t think you’ve met wooyoung yet, have you y/n?” hongjoong said once at a random thursday night happy hour, dark eyes fixed on you as he threw an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close. wooyoung wore a black hoodie that he fiddled with the strings of, rolling his eyes as hongjoong whispered in a conspiring tone, wooyoung's warm brown eyes lingering on your face, your stomach flipping at his lopsided grin and twinkling eyes, “woo is san’s college sweetheart.” - and the wrapped christmas presents sitting on the counter that you were never a recipient of - “can i grab a croissant on the way out?” you'd asked san, pausing at the door, and san only waved at you over his shoulder as he flipped open his laptop.
despite learning too much about him, despite wondering if some of the flags you'd noticed and blatantly ignored made you the bad person, for months and months and months, you never stayed the night.
one summer night, you’d sat with your knees tucked to your chest, squished between hongjoong and wooyoung, an empty soju bottle in front of you and a slice of pizza halfway to your mouth. your face was hot from the alcohol you hadn’t meant to down so much of.
summer nights were usually not so hot, but lately the weather had been absolutely dreadful. hongjoong blasted the a/c and seonghwa dragged a fan into the little living room and the blankets you’d usually use were tossed aside. the sweaty skin of your knee stuck to wooyoung’s but when you looked over at him to elbow him so he'd give you some space, you caught a glimpse of san’s hand resting on wooyoung’s bare thigh, above his tattoo. san's thumb circled over the skin there. your stomach flipped at the sight. you’d looked up then, and san's attention was fixed on the drama hongjoong put on. you tore your gaze from san's profile, glancing sideways, only to -
wooyoung smiled at you. it was a wide grin, all teeth and twinkling eyes and a knowingness that had your stomach churning. the churning in your stomach was not new. you'd always felt that way about him, since the day hongjoong introduced you two, but this time, you felt...caught.
you blinked at him. wooyoung dropped a hand to the curve of your knee, and pat it with the lightest of touches. your breath hitched.
you did not know the details of san and wooyoung's relationship. the rest of your friends did - a side effect of joining a friend group formed entirely during their college years, long before you ever met any of them - and hongjoong seemed to have taken a liking to eyeing you strangely whenever you interacted with san in a public setting.
hongjoong was always the nosy type. it was why you'd ended up a part of his friend group the way you had. you met hongjoong while the two of you were working at a coffee shop after graduating from university, bonding over the struggle of finding a real job (as your parents loved to put it). hongjoong was focused on producing music during his free time, while you applied to every entry level corporate job you could find. the two of you spent a lot of time going to bars to unwind or trying new food places, until hongjoong introduced you to his friends.
there was seonghwa and siyeon. the twins and the bane of hongjoong's existence, according to hongjoong's grumbling every morning over the espresso machine. you'd taken it seriously the first few times he said it, until siyeon and seonghwa showed up to the coffee shop with lunch for hongjoong and hongjoong's entire expression lit up before he even saw the food in siyeon's hands. later, you learned they were all roommates. then there was seulgi, siyeon's girlfriend, who had a penchant for ordering too many rounds of tequila shots and staying over at seonghwa, siyeon, and hongjoong's apartment more than she stayed at her own place - another complaint hongjoong liked to grumble about even though he tended to complain more if seulgi wasn't staying at the apartment. it was ironic, really, but you'd learned long ago not to question it. then there was mingi and san. they were roommates first year of university and refused to live with anyone else since then. mingi liked to study in the coffee shop you and hongjoong worked at, and you'd taken to having his regular order ready for him before he even walked in the door. a year later, wooyoung moved to the city and you liked the way he smiled, the way he got on with everyone as if no time had passed at all, and most of all there was an unexplainable ache in your chest whenever you saw wooyoung cuddled up with san. when you saw the tattoo on wooyoung's thigh one summer at the beach - nearly identical to san's - you'd felt that ache again, joining the butterflies in your stomach whenever wooyoung smiled at you, or san did something as simple as holding the door open for you in public.
you refused to unpack that ache, any of it really, but hongjoong was nosy and perceptive, and one night hongjoong pulled you into his kitchen, the sounds of siyeon and seonghwa bickering in the living room loud, grating almost, and hongjoong crossed his arms over his chest as his gaze bore into your skull. he asked, "are you fucking san?”
you’d sputtered, stepping away from hongjoong as if he'd smacked you. he might as well have, because you thought you and san had done an incredible job of hiding your arrangement. but hongjoong was nosy and perceptive, and you should have known he'd catch on. you should have known the moment he threw his arm over your shoulders and introduced you to wooyoung the way he did.
hongjoong crossed his arms over his chest and sighed at whatever he saw in your expression. he hadn’t given you the chance to answer, only dragged a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the kitchen counter and said, “i had a feeling you were, but...i thought you knew better. woo and san have been a thing for ages. they're...complicated, but they're them.”
you'd wondered, sometimes, when you saw wooyoung's clothes on the drying rack, or his christmas presents on the counter, or even when san handed you a shirt to wear if he'd ruined yours and you'd recognized it clearly as wooyoung's if you were blatantly in the middle of something. you'd wondered if wooyoung knew about you. that thought often kept you up at night, for more reasons then you'd like to admit.
you frowned, “why would i get hurt? we're not serious.”
hongjoong raised a brow in disbelief.
"we're not," your voice raised, echoing through the kitchen. siyeon and seonghwa were no longer bickering. you worked to lower your voice, "why do you care anyway?"
hongjoong blinked. once, twice. he dropped his arms to the side, and he frowned at you as if you were an idiot. maybe you were, for asking such a question. you'd only known hongjoong for a couple years, while hongjoong knew san and seonghwa and siyeon and mingi and seulgi and wooyoung for so much longer. you were always the new one. the one left out. the one listening as they recounted old college stories. the one on birthdays feeling as if your gift was too surface level. it was a stupid thing to feel bad about - the history - but sometimes, you felt so far behind and so far removed. it always felt like you versus them, and the way hongjoong said them about wooyoung and san - it made your chest ache something awful.
"because i care about you."
hongjoong said it kindly, softly, and it reminded you of how nice san was to you. it made your chest tight.
you said, "i know what i'm doing. it's...it's not serious. i'm fine."
hongjoong opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes swept over your face and he clamped his mouth shut. he only nodded, said, "okay."
then he turned and grabbed wine glasses from the cabinets.
hongjoong proceeded to shove the empty wine glasses into your limp hands and wave you back to the living room. siyeon pat the spot next to he on the couch, and seonghwa only smiled, and hongjoong never brought up san again.
that was nearly a year ago.
now here you are, one of too many sweltering summer nights, with wooyoung's warm hand resting on the curve of your bare knee, and his eyes twinkling, and you refusing to acknowledge the butterflies churning at the pit of your stomach, or the way you glanced slightly to san, his jaw and the curve of his nose and the way his gaze remained fixed on the television screen and his hand on wooyoung's upper thigh and the slight disappointment that joined the butterflies at the fact that he did not even care to glance your way.
you did not know how to react - that was a constant with you really - so you put down your half-eaten pizza and poured yourself a shot of soju.
wooyoung nudged your shoulder. you could not ignore that.
you nudged him back, raising a brow as you downed the shot.
wooyoung's eyes flickered over your face, watching as you swallowed the shot before he said, "not going to offer me any?"
your eyes flit to his thigh. san stopped drawing circles there, his grip tightening slightly. you made a face, "you seem preoccupied."
wooyoung laughed, and the sound was a loud boisterous thing. san looked over. he smiled politely at you - it was always so polite in public, so clinical - before his eyes landed on wooyoung. wooyoung tossed his head back on the couch behind him.
hongjoong shushed him, "shut up. it's getting good."
you giggled. san's gaze flickered to you then, before it returned to the television.
wooyoung's hand remains on your knee. it's distracting. you take another shot, returning to the television.
in that moment, your heart is a wild thing in your chest. you'd stayed awake one too many nights wondering why your heart raced the way it did whenever you were around wooyoung. he'd do something as simple as smile, and you'd find yourself thinking of it over and over.
wooyoung simply reached over, picked up your half-eaten pizza and took a bite. without asking.
before you could turn on him, the television blared. the siren was a terrifying thing, loud and grating and too loud, too loud, too loud.
you yelped. wooyoung dropped the pizza on his lap. san's hand dropped from wooyoung's upper thigh. hongjoong shouted, "what the fuck."
seonghwa dropped the pizza box in his hands. the pizza went everywhere.
~.~.~.~.~
six weeks.
forty two days.
the television flickered through the quiet apartment. it was muted, the news anchor's expression solemn as she spoke, as clips of floods and the sun and long lines outside grocery stores - all things you'd seen on social media from around the world for last few months - blared behind her. sweat stuck to the back of your shirt.
you stared at the empty soju bottles in front of you. seonghwa and hongjoong had left long ago, to the convenience store, after the announcement. they hadn't asked. seonghwa merely said, "i think we need more soju" into the impending silence.
hongjoong shot to his feet, his keys jiggling. seonghwa took the pizza box with him, and you watched his hands tremble.
you don't know how much time passed. your ears were ringing. wooyoung's thigh was no longer pressed to yours. he sat across from you.
san was pacing. back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
you met wooyoung's gaze over the green soju bottle, and he held you there in his gaze.
forty two days.
six weeks.
"maybe they're wrong," san murmured, and you thought he'd pace a hole into the carpet at the rate he was going. "the sun can't just explode. we can't just...there has to be some way to stop it. they have to be wrong."
"they wouldn't announce it like that if they weren't sure," wooyoung said.
a car alarm blared in the distance. screaming. shouting.
you closed your eyes.
a beat of silence, before you felt a hand on your shoulder. you opened your eyes, looked up, and san peered down at you. he smiled politely once more. even with the world ending, he was always so polite. so kind.
you tore your eyes from his, to wooyoung across from you. there was a look in his eyes you couldn't quite place. it was a mix between softness and an edge, that was only intensified by that perpetual twinkle in his eyes.
you said, "what are we supposed to do now?"
wooyoung shrugged, "anything we want?"
but the way he looked at you then, the way his gaze flickered up to san, before returning to you, it made the butterflies at the pit of your stomach morph into a flock of birds, into a problem. the tension grew so thick, you were afraid to even move. san's hand remained warm on your shoulder, grounding, while wooyoung's gaze made you float.
before you could formulate a response, though, a series of beeps echoed through the apartment, and the door swung open. mingi stumbled in, still in his work uniform, hair a mess, and his smile was a solemn thing as he spoke into the silence, "we're going to die."
san sighed, scowling at mingi. the tension disappeared so quickly, you wondered if you imagined it. "do you have to say it like that?"
"is there any other way to say it?" mingi asked, kicking the front door shut behind him.
"you're lucky siyeon isn't here right now. she'd kill you for kicking her door."
mingi turned to inspect the door, wiping at where he kicked, before he spun on his heels and gestured all around you both. "look, you don't understand. this is an opportunity you guys."
"to do what exactly?" wooyoung crossed his arms over his chest.
"quit work, take a road trip, go the fucking beach, anything." mingi gestured all around them, his eyes wide and his smile wider, and he said, "it's the end of the fucking world, and we can do whatever we want."
"aren't we supposed to, like, reflect on our decisions and shit? see our parents maybe?"
mingi pointed at you, grin widening, "technically yes, but doesn't a road trip sound more fun."
you raised a brow at mingi, suspicious, "where do you want to road trip to?"
mingi grinned, all teeth and charm, "well i was thinking busan."
wooyoung laughed, said, "does this, by chance, have anything to do with the guy you matched with on tinder? what did you save him as? busan babe?"
the door to the apartment opened once more, hongjoong and seonghwa stumbling in with clinking plastic bags.
"okay," mingi drew out the word, still grinning, "maybe busan babe invited me to an end of the world party. but i thought, hey why not propose a road trip with my best friends and get laid? two birds, one stone, right?"
"mingi's getting laid? who would want to do that?"
"you want to go on a road trip?"
hongjoong frowned at mingi, while seonghwa dropped his bags on the table between you and wooyoung.
"you do realize the earth is going to blow up in forty two days, mingi."
"and what better way to die then doing what you love?" mingi raised a brow, matching hongjoong's body language.
seonghwa frowned as he tossed the plastic bags in the kitchen drawer, "you want to die partying?"
"i want to die getting the life sucked out of my -"
wooyoung and san's laugh drowned out the rest of mingi's words. you couldn't help but join, the laughter contagious.
in that moment, as seonghwa placed more shot glasses on the table, you could only think of how in a way mingi was right. the world was going to end in forty two days. six weeks. the world was ending, and you could do whatever you wanted.
you had to. your gaze flickered over wooyoung, to san with his head resting on wooyoung's shoulder.
"maybe," you said, "a road trip isn't a bad idea."
a smile tugged at hongjoong's lips as he downed another shot and said, "yeah, maybe it isn't."
wooyoung's voice was quiet, a sobering thing, when he said, "what else do we have to do anyway?"
the muted television flickered behind him as he said it, and the apartment was still too-hot, and you all nodded as you took another shot.
truly, what do you have to lose? the sun would explode in six weeks whether you wanted to believe it would or not.
-
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[2:24 PM] + hero/villain au + "are you happy?"
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9
masterlist
a/n: 4k words, no one asked for this at all but I read over this fic and felt it needed something more definite i guess? so here is a more conclusive ending to this fic!!
-
there is an irony to your new living arrangements, you think. yeosang, san and yourself sharing a three bedroom apartment.
you'd been arrested after wooyoung, handcuffs suppressing your powers wrapped around your wrists and a blindfold over your eyes, and after weeks sitting in a prison cell alone awaiting your fate, you'd been called into court. hongjoong sat in the witness stand, dressed in a suit, his hair a different color and an eyepatch over one eye.
you could not get used to how different he looked. how much older he was. the soft lines in his face were harder, and his eyes were ancient, as if he'd seen too much, and you did not dare ask anyone how much time had passed. you hadn't gotten the chance, anyway, since you'd been locked up the entire time.
hongjoong explained to the court that you'd been brainwashed. the serum. the research from the labs. the gaps in your memories. brain scans of how the serum affected you. the doctors had already told you how it affected your hippocampus and how they weren't sure how your short term memory would be affected. he hadn't looked at you the entire time he spoke. you hadn't had the chance to speak with him either.
the judge and jury ruled that you would be on house arrest for fifteen months, and you would need to do community service afterwards. you were banned from using your powers for two years.
you didn't think that was punishment enough, really, but you did not say anything. there would be enough outcry on the internet anyway, after the trial results were released.
that night, the government officials handling your case drove you up to an apartment building at the edge of town, and hongjoong did not look at you then either.
you'd had weeks to think about the aftermath of wooyoung surrendering. you'd let the armed officers cuff you, and only yunho stayed with you during it. you'd sat on the ground, with your hands behind your back, a flimsy piece of metal wrapped around your wrists, and hongjoong had appeared before you, a bloody scar running over his eye, and his chest heaving, and he crouched in front of you that day and held you tight. you were taken into government custody with his blood on your shirt, mixing with wooyoung's.
while in captivity and isolation, you knew you'd done too many despicable things, serum or no serum, to not be punished. even then, wooyoung was right.
that night, you stood in front of a red apartment door, and the government officials reminded you once more of the court's stipulations before they left you with hongjoong. you were given a bracelet on each wrist, so tight it made the skin around the bracelets tender, that rendered your powers completely useless. for the first time in your life, you did not have enhanced strength.
hongjoong looked at you then, for the first time in weeks, and you asked then, "how long has it been?"
"seven years," he said, his voice soft, his hard expression crumbling into something sad. his good eye flickered over your face.
"oh." you could not believe you were seven years older and you missed all those years. not only did wooyoung steal your autonomy, but he also stole years from you. you wanted to hate him for it, a part of you did. a part of you will never, though, and that's the worst part.
hongjoong held out his arms, and you'd blinked at him, and he said, "i'm sorry we couldn't figure out a way to get you out sooner. i told you you wouldn't have to do it alone again, but you did."
you shook your head, "that isn't your fault."
hongjoong let out a small laugh, shaking his head, his arms falling to his side.
you stepped into his limp embrace anyway. you hadn't had anyone hold you since yunho, and you needed it, despite everything.
he seemed surprised, but he quickly wrapped his arms around you, and he said, "i'm sorry."
you just shook your head, and hongjoong held you for a long moment before turning to the door.
when he opened the door to the apartment, yeosang and san were curled on the couch. they'd turned off the news as soon as they realized you'd walked in, but you'd still caught a glimpse of your face walking out of the courtroom.
"we thought it best you stay with some of us during your house arrest," hongjoong said.
yeosang had a burn across his face, a puckered scar that marred his pretty face, his dark hair pulled back from his face in a messy bun. he had scars on his arms, too, that ran all the way up. it wasn't there before. san's hair was short, and his eyes were harder as he looked at you. wary. they both looked so different from how you remembered them, especially when all you've seen of them these past few years were the memories in your head that kept you sane in the serum's liminal space.
you'd wondered briefly why san and yeosang had been chosen, but before you could ask, san explained, "you can't punch me easily and yeosang can...yeosang understands. you've also hurt us less than mingi or yunho or -"
he cut himself off, and his gaze flickered to hongjoong. you'd frowned. hongjoong sighed, but he just pat your back, and said, "i'm down two floors. you can't leave the building, but you can visit if you'd like."
then hongjoong left, disappearing into thin air.
the irony of it was not lost on either of you. three of the people who loved wooyoung most, learning to cope in a tiny three bedroom apartment together. it was not lost on you, when you'd be in the kitchen reaching for a wooden spoon or a plate or a pan or if you stretched your arms over your head while watching television, and san would flinch slightly at your movements. it was not lost on yeosang when he'd open his mouth to say something, raising his voice slightly, and you'd close your eyes, fear running up your spine. he swore he wouldn't use his powers on any of you again, but he made the same promise back then. that was the only thought that ran through your head at those times. it was not lost on either of them when you'd try to open a jar or lift something heavy, and you couldn't do it because of the damned bracelets, and you'd hide in your room for hours trying to ignore the way the thought of being so vulnerable reminded you of when wooyoung ordered yeosang to keep your hands in place, or the fact that all your life you were supposed to be strong and that guaranteed you at least a modicum of safety. if san and yeosang noticed your red eyes or the tear streaks the next morning while you maneuvered around each other in the small kitchen, neither said a thing. none of you ever mentioned the small moments of fear or sadness you'd noticed. you'd figured it was because things have changed between you all. at least between yourself and them.
it was worse when mingi or yunho would visit, and they'd flinch at your movements too. or hesitate to touch you. or treat you as if you were this fragile, weak thing they should handle with care.
it didn't help that you were stuck in the apartment building. there were only so many times you could go to the small apartment gym before you lost your mind. yeosang and san had a job, and you wanted to help with rebuilding as well, but you couldn't leave. the bracelets would electrocute you, hongjoong had said once, and you'd stared in horror as hongjoong shrugged and patted your shoulder gently. you couldn't even visit hongjoong because he was barely home in his apartment. the other patrons of the building avoided you completely, and you couldn't blame them for it.
you only knew a bit of what happened to jongho and seonghwa. they were in prison apparently, but their sentences were much shorter than wooyoung's due to a plea deal worked out when seonghwa had decided to spy for hongjoong, feeding information back to them and even helping yeosang and a few others escape. a light sentence for jongho was a part of seonghwa's plea deal.
you'd avoided the news as often as you could, and san and yeosang always changed the channel. it was strange, trying to figure out how to navigate living again alongside san and yeosang. the three of you didn't always get along. especially san and you, but that had always been your dynamic, even when you first joined the team. you would be an idiot to think everything would be normal between you three. the tiptoeing and awkward silences were enough of a testament to that. you noticed often that san's bed would be untouched, the mornings you woke up early to get some quiet time to yourself, and the door to yeosang's bedroom would be shut, soft music drifting out from beneath the door. perhaps before everything, you would have felt comfortable teasing them for it. now, you weren't sure where your dynamics stood, and what you could and could not tease them about. it made you sad.
the tension did not entirely dissipate for a while. not until one evening where you'd flipped through numerous channels, landing briefly on a news channel. your phone buzzed, san's name lighting up.
i'm bringing pizza home, by the way. with y/n's favorite toppings.
he'd been doing that more often lately, and you wondered often why. he never really asked what you wanted for dinner the times he brought anything home, but the past week he'd gone out of his way to bring home your favorites. even yeosang brought you desserts from various bakeries without you having to ask.
yeosang responded with a cute smiley emoji and a, can't wait! i'll be home in a bit too
you'd smiled at the previews, turning to change the channel, when you'd realized what the broadcast was about.
the eighth anniversary of the siege of seoul. the footage was devastating. you'd stared in horror as you saw wooyoung rise from the ashes, like a phoenix. as you saw yourself tearing through buildings. cctvs devolved into static. the footage was blurry. but it was you. you'd done that. and afterwards, there was a memorial. seven hundred and sixty two died civilians died that day.
"y/n."
you'd jumped at the voice, the remote falling from your hands. it clattered on the floor, and the sound of it made you jump again.
you craned your neck to look behind you in the direction of the voice, and san was placing the pizza on the kitchen bar counter as his gaze flickered between you and the television. yeosang was right behind him.
you'd blinked at them both.
your chest felt tight, and your vision blurred, but you said, "is this why you're being nice?"
san blinked rapidly, taken aback. he said, "what do you mean?"
"for the past week," your voice sounded tight, pitched, even to your own ears, "you've both been so much nicer. is this why? is it because...i did that?"
you didn't know why you were asking. you did do that. even if you didn't remember. even if you were brainwashed. you killed those people. you killed a lot of people.
"because i don't remember it," you gestured at the television still broadcasting the memorial, and your hands shook as you said, "i don't remember anything. and so...so if you're trying to make me feel better i don't think i deserve it."
"don't say that," yeosang said, tone soft, and brows furrowed.
"i killed people, and i don't remember it." your voice cracked then, and you couldn't help the way your eyes stung. you said, "what kind of horrible person can't remember that?"
"none of it was your fault," san's voice was firm, even as he approached you, as he crouched in front of you on the couch and turned off the television.
"then why does it feel like it is?" you blinked back the tears, "i don't know where i stand anymore with any of you. i don't even know what fucking year it is. but i know that that was me, and i did unimaginable things. to innocent people. to you and yun-yunho and mingi and joong, and i got off with a slap to the wrist. i told wo - i told him i hoped he'd die with the guilt, but i think i'm going to die with it first."
"i was the one that took you, y/n. i was the one who started all this," yeosang's voice rang through the apartment, a soft thing that filled you up, up, up. you looked to him, and the guilt in his expression made the tears spill down your cheek. "i've been distant because of it, but i didn't think you'd notice...or care. i just...i'm sorry, y/n."
he trailed off, and you shook your head as you said, "you didn't know how this would turn out."
"why do you do that?" san asked, even as he placed a hand on your cheek and wiped at your tears, "why do you forgive him so easily when you won't even forgive yourself?"
you'd blinked, frowning, "do you want me to be mad at yeosang?"
"i want you to stop crying," san wiped away all your tears before pressing his palms to your cheeks. "most importantly, i want you to stop tiptoeing around us."
"i'm not the only one. why do you flinch around me then?" your voice is louder as you frown at san.
"you've beat the shit out of us for years. i'm getting used to the peace. forgive me if a month hasn't fixed it." he'd rolled his eyes, "still doesn't mean i'm scared of you."
you let out a small laugh at the indignant tone, at the way san still held your face between his palms. his smile turned soft as he observed you.
you glanced sideways at yeosang, "i'm not scared of you either, yeo. i just...didn't know if you hated me."
"i don't hate you," yeosang said, gently. you held out a hand anyway, gesturing for him to take it. he relented after a moment, letting you squeeze his hand.
it was quiet for a long, long moment, before san murmured, "he really fucked us up, didn't he?"
san didn't have to say his name for you to know who he was talking about. san dropped his hands from your cheeks as he sat across from you on the couch. yeosang leaned over the back, leaning his chin against his hands. you dropped your hands to your lap. yeosang hummed, but his brows were furrowed, his expression troubled.
you observed the puckered burn scar on yeosang's face as you wiped your face of your tears.
you asked, "what's happened to him?"
you didn't want to ask, but you wanted to know. you would always want to know.
"death sentence, and solitary confinement in a maximum security containment center until then," san said, quietly. "we all agreed he should live with the guilt. he's technically on death row, but he'll probably die of old age before the state carries through with it."
you watched san's eyes glisten as he spoke.
"do you think he feels guilty at all?"
san only shrugged, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.
yeosang said, "i think he does. he always did."
"you think so?" you asked, reaching up to touch the scar on yeosang's face, the skin rough under your touch. you dropped your hand as you said, "even after this."
"he cried after," yeosang murmured, his eyes faraway. "isn't that fucked up? he cried, and he asked me if i wanted to leave that night."
yeosang laughed, but it sounded hollow.
he said, "you were there."
you'd nodded, but your heart lodged in your throat. you said, "i think i was always there."
"you were," san said quietly. "he never let you leave his side. he let yeosang leave, but he...he never let you leave."
you took that in. the few times you'd woken up, it was beside him. of course it was. of course he didn't. san reached over and thread his fingers through yeosang's limp hand, his thumb drawing circles along the back of yeosang's hand.
yeosang asked after a moment, "do you think we'll be okay?"
"we can try." you murmured. "we have to try."
san nodded and nodded, and yeosang brought the box of pizza and a bottle of wine to the table, changing the channel on the television without another word.
~.~.~.~.~
years later, too many years to count, you find yourself standing on the other side of the glass.
wooyoung sits in a chair in a white room, every wall made of glass. his hair is overgrown, and his tanned skin paler than usual without the sun. he has the same demeanor as he always does, an easy nonchalant façade that you don't think will ever go away.
your phone buzzes in your pocket, no doubt a text from yunho or mingi or hongjoong.
they said they'd be waiting outside. yunho, mingi, and hongjoong agreed to pick you up for dinner afterwards. yeosang, san, seonghwa, and jongho would meet you both there.
the first time you met seonghwa again, he'd crumbled to the ground, holding your hand in his cold hands, and he repeated apologies like he was praying. jongho cried. it took a while, as it did with everyone else, to rebuild what you had. even then, you didn't think it was entirely there. it was certainly different.
his voice is full of static.
"i didn't think you'd visit," wooyoung says, and his voice is rough from disuse.
hearing him talk, seeing him, it made your heart feel heavy. the anger you felt towards him, every time you couldn't remember something that you could have before he put the serum in you, every time you saw the scars over your heart, every time you were reminded of what you did for him, every time yunho or mingi or san or hongjoong flinched, every time you went to the doctors to check if the serum was fully out of your system and the trigger words no longer worked, returned tenfold as you looked at him. you thought you'd come to terms with it. you thought you were okay enough for this. maybe you were wrong.
you said, "i didn't want to."
"then why are you here?"
"i wanted to ask you something," you say, wooyoung's gaze flickering over you.
wooyoung smiles. it reminds you of Before. you shake that thought from your head.
you say, "do you regret it?"
wooyoung's eyes flickers between yours. his voice is a soft, crackly thing, "sometimes."
you stare at his admission.
wooyoung laughs, "i've had a lot of time to think. if there's one thing i've come to terms with, it's that i ruin everything i love."
"you do," you say, thinking of yourself, and san and yeosang and hongjoong and yunho and mingi, even jongho and seonghwa.
a beat of silence, before wooyoung says, "can i ask you something?"
the guard knocks on the door, signaling that your visit is almost over.
you nod.
he asks, "are you happy?"
wooyoung's eyes are soft, sad, and you find that the part of you that will always love him, despite everything, curls in on itself. however, the part of you that is always angry, that despises him for admitting his feelings for you only to take seven years from you while you forcing you to do the most despicable things, wants to scream at him. wants to hurt him. wishes the glass wasn't there so you could kill him the way you'd wanted to years ago. you will always resent him for his choices. he knows that. he nods as if he can hear your thoughts.
you say, "happier than i've ever been."
he nods, but his eyes are a glassy thing. the guilt in his expression is clear then, and you find it satisfying more than anything.
"and everyone else?"
you want to say, the happiest they've ever been.
but you choke. you can't say it. you can hurt him using yourself, but using your friends? you can't do it, despite everything.
they weren't the happiest they've ever been without wooyoung. you've seen them try to move on with the heavy burden of jung wooyoung on their shoulders. he would always remain a hole in their hearts, and in their groups, in their group chats and dinners and conversations. in fact, when you told hongjoong you wanted to visit, he hadn't argued, only looked as if he would cry - something you've never seen from him in all the years you've known him.
"why did you do it? was it really worth losing everything? was..." you frown, "was losing us worth it?"
wooyoung was always one to stand by his resolutions, but perhaps years alone has changed him more than any of you could have.
he murmurs, "i have to believe it was."
the guard knocks on the door, opening it. the creaking hinges echo in the room.
"goodbye, wooyoung," you say, knowing damn well you don't think you'll ever return.
wooyoung smiles as if he can tell.
"goodbye," he says.
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[2] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "nothing can hold down the sun."
part 1 | part 3
a/n: part 2 of 3 - there's too much content (this is 10k words) to split into two parts so i'm making it three...please yell at me if i expand it any further omg, fantasy typical violence, marriages of convenience/arranged marriages, some very unsettling situations - the mad king is like actually mad and creepy, hongjoong is very toxic but at least he has silver hair and he's pretty lol
-
behind the tapestries in king's landing, there were narrow corridors, secret passages really, that led beyond the red keep and into the streets of king's landing. at least that is what hongjoong told you after he'd handed you a black cloak to slip on and pressed a finger to his lips before he pushed one of the tapestries to the side, revealing stone stairs leading into darkness. you'd stared on in surprise.
he said, "it's a family secret."
then he slipped into the narrow corridor, and you'd followed him.
he looked back at you often, grinning, his dark eyes dancing, and your heart slammed against your ribs the further you went. whether that was because of the adrenaline, or because of something else entirely, you were not sure. you did not ruminate on that feeling much, only suppressing a loud laugh when hongjoong slipped on a particularly wet stair, only to catch himself on your arm.
the streets of king's landing were as narrow as the secret passages. the cobblestone was wet from the day's rain, and the stench of rain and trash rotting hit you hard. the crowds were heavy still, despite the weather. the atmosphere was quite lively. men shouted down the streets, singing drunkenly as they pranced by. people scurried about their business, knocking their shoulders into yours if you did not move away quickly enough. the curiosity you'd held since you were a child roaming the streets of sunspear never quite extinguished, and, the further you went, the louder the streets became and the freer you felt. you'd been confined to the red keep for so long, you'd forgotten what the world felt like, what traveling amongst the common folk sounded like, and the exhilaration curiosity brought you. you'd explored sunspear alongside your brothers plenty of times. wooyoung used to hook his arm through your elbow and drag you to the stalls. yunho would exchange coins for street food, letting your and wooyoung split his without much protest. you could see them here, wooyoung in the boy running through the crowds, ducking beneath swinging elbows and bags, and yunho in the boy bargaining loudly with one of the sellers. you could see them here as you remember them, as the young boys you left behind.
for a moment, your awe and excitement dwindled into a deep sadness. you mourned not seeing them often when you were alone in your chambers, but to know that you still imagined them as you remembered them, that you have not seen them for years and you could only imagine how they've grown, pained you. you'd clutched your cloak closer at the thoughts, pushing away the wave of anger and sadness. it would drown you if you let it, and now was not the time. prince hongjoong was not the person to feel such sadness around, and the streets of king's landing was not the place to feel such a way either.
in a blink of an eye, the crowds felt tighter, shoulders pressed too close, the rowdiness around, you the drunken chants, felt louder. drunks laughed as they pushed back at anyone who touched them. you'd pressed into hongjoong's side, then, frowning, and he peered down at you. you met his dancing eyes, the raise of his brow, and the sideways grin. he'd angled his body so he could press his hand to the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd, shouldering anyone that got too close away without glancing back.
his silver hair remained tucked behind a cap, out of sight as it would immediately give his identity away. women called prices from stone doorways. one stepped in front of hongjoong, bringing both of you to a halt, her skirts swishing all about as she dragged a hand along hongjoong's chest, her fingers curling there. you'd stared at it before watching as she leaned close and spoke into hongjoong's ear.
hongjoong only shook his head. she leaned back, her hand still curled on hongjoong's chest, and she then leaned between you both as she said, "are you certain? i have a special for partners."
you'd blinked in surprise, heat rising to your cheeks, and hongjoong only threw his head back and laughed, shaking his head all the while. she took her leave after that, one hand patting your arm while the other patted hongjoong's chest before she was gone in a flurry of wispy silks.
you'd willed the warmth of embarrassment in your cheeks away, just as honjgoong pressed your back to urge you to keep walking, even as he leaned over, his lips against your ear, and said, "we're almost there."
you'd nodded.
the crowd thinned out as you turned down a particularly damp alley, and hongjoong pulled on the fabric of your cloak, gently pulling you to a stop. he opened a small door to the side of the alley, and it had another set of stairs, this time headed upwards. hongjoong gestured for you to go in first. you did.
the ascent was short, and you'd emerged to familiar scents and a dimly lit congregation room of sorts. you took a look around, even as you followed hongjoong to a table in the corner. the patrons minded their own business, and the barkeeps carried small plates of food and drinks. there were men and women laid out on colorful cushions, draped prettily in silks and textiles with patterns that reminded you of sunspear, though the colors were more gaudy than you remember. the scent of baked bread and a woody, earthy mixed with the softness of roses filled the room. it reminded you of the perfume oil your mother would dab onto her skin. your heart twisted in your chest at the familiarities.
"what is this?" you'd asked, turning to hongjoong. he was already seated, leaning with his chin against the heel of his palm as he watched you stand there gawking. slowly, you took a seat across from him. your hands trembled against the wooden table, so you drew it to your lap. hongjoong's eyes followed the movement, before he met your gaze.
he said, "some people in king's landing have a taste for exploring from home. the head barkeep is supposedly dornish."
you'd blinked, gaze flickering to the barkeep in question. he had familiar features, and the familiarity was what made you unable to look away for a long moment. at least until hongjoong waved down one of the other barkeeps. they brought a pitcher of ale and fresh, steaming bread. that was most familiar of all. you hadn't seen something so simple since you left sunspear.
you'd blinked, said, "why did you bring me here?"
he'd shrugged, his right shoulder only, and he said, "they do not have things like this in storm's end."
you'd frowned. hongjoong took a sip of his ale. he still appeared so high strung.
you took a bite of the bread. tentative, worried. it tasted familiar. not quite the same. that was how this whole place appeared. like a poor imitation of the real thing. and that was what it would always be, because nothing would ever compare to the real thing, to your home. however, the imitation still had you clutching the bread in your hand and blinking away the sadness gathered at the pit of your stomach. you'd swallowed around the bread. it was hard to swallow.
you said, "i did not know they had things like this in king's landing."
"neither did i," hongjoong looked around, his dancing eyes watchful, curious even, "i came upon this place a long while ago with yeosang. he'd mentioned you'd like it here."
you'd frowned, "neither of you care for dorne. why would such a place appeal to you?"
"my father does not care for dorne," hongjoong corrected.
"is that not the same?"
"no," hongjoong's jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists beside his pitcher of ale, "it is not."
you'd nodded, but did not press.
hongjoong sighed, "i am not my father, y/n. at least, i do not want to be like him."
"how so?" you'd asked, raising a brow. you saw too many similarities between hongjoong and his father. perhaps the madness was not there yet, but you'd wondered often when it would start to show.
"jealous, possessive, unfaithful." hongjoong frowned, "mad."
"and you've decided you do not possess any of those traits?" your voice sounded too skeptical, even to your own ears.
hongjoong narrowed his eyes, his expression growing guarded. he said, "yes, i am nothing like him in that regard. do you disagree?"
you'd frowned at the question, "i don't believe i know you well enough to agree or disagree, my lord."
"we can change that," hongjoong leaned back, regarding you with an amused smile, "if you'd like."
you'd frowned at his change in demeanor, taking a bite of the bread instead. you'd taken bread with too many meals, and you used to sit with yunho in the kitchens and watch as wooyoung helped knead the bread with a concentrated furrow to his brows. yunho would ridicule the expression on his face and wooyoung would attempt to throw flour at you both, the head cook chastising the three of you before he could.
you said, "i miss home. my brother loved making this."
hongjoong blinked at that.
after a moment of silence, he said, "tell me about it."
and you did. you were not sure why, since hongjoong did not like you, and he ridiculed you whenever he could, but you found yourself leaning your elbows on the wooden table and recounting stories of your brothers, your mother, your father, of sunspear.
you said, "wooyoung wanted me to go to the dragonpit. yunho wanted me to, as well, but he is too polite to ask. woo wanted to read about dragons, so i snuck in there that night for him."
you'd never admitted the reason behind the dragonpit to him. he never seemed to care.
but here, he nodded, and he said, "if you'd just asked, i'd have taken you."
"i thought i was a ward."
"yes," he said, "but you are my ward. i'd have taken you on the dragon's back if you'd asked."
he'd grinned as he said that, drawing out the word taken with a small smirk. the implications of his words settled between you both, and your stomach churned.
you said, "and if i asked, you would have dropped me from the highest point in the sky without a second thought."
hongjoong laughed, leaning over the table as he said, "you seem so sure. shall we see?"
"no we shall not. my brothers have received enough details of dragons for a lifetime."
"and what of you? are you not curious?"
"i've had enough as well."
"quite a shame," hongjoong sighed.
the barkeeps brought a dish that you'd only eaten a few times, during your brother's birthdays. it steamed in front of you and smelled divine. it tasted the same as the bread, similar but not perfect, not the same. never the same. your hands trembled as you tore a piece off. hongjoong shook his head when you offered some to him.
you did not want to show vulnerability around hongjoong, but you couldn't help the way your stomach churned, or the way you heart felt heavy in your chest.
you took a long swig of your ale. as you lowered the cup, you met hongjoong's eyes. he studied you well. you did not want to know what the saw there.
still, you murmured, "thank you."
it's a foreign phrase for you in king's landing, especially towards hongjoong.
"no need to thank me," his dark eyes remained on you as he said, "i only ask that when choi san courts you, you think of me. think of this, and of king's landing."
he said it as if you were fond of him or king's landing.
you'd frowned, "do you think that i have any say in who i wed?"
hongjoong's smiled slightly, "no, you do not, but nevertheless," he leaned too close, his hands flat on the table, his face hovering close to yours, his eyes pinning you in your spot. he continued, voice low, the rings on his fingers glinting under the dim light, "think of me. while you sit all pretty and listen to choi san brag of the battles he's won and he tells you of all his moments of righteousness, think" - hongjoong moved his hand to the burn scar on your forearm that peaked out from beneath the cloak - "of" - his fingertips were gentle against the rough skin as he finished, voice low, too soft, "me."
you'd blinked, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd taken. you leaned back, said, "we should get going. it's late."
hongjoong did not protest. the walk back to the red keep through the narrow corridors was silent. he still stuck to you through the dwindling crowds, still let you lead the ways up the stairs, but he did not say anything, and neither did you. your thoughts raced, but you needed time to yourself to truly analyze what hongjoong meant. he was high strung and intentional with his actions and words. you wondered, briefly, if this was another form of entertainment to him. the two of you held your boots in your hands so that you did not track muddy footsteps through the red keep, and you stood in front of your chambers, hesitating.
you swallowed, "what was the reason for all this?"
hongjoong pursed his lips, and his eyes danced despite the darkness.
you spoke before he could say more pretty words, play prettier games. you said, "no one is here. it is just us, so," you sighed, "speak candidly."
hongjoong tilted his head, "i could have your head for such implications."
his tone was not mean nor vindictive however. merely thoughtful.
"i could care less. you could have my head whenever you pleased. we'd established such threats years ago," you said with a roll of your eyes, "i am only asking for a true answer. just this once."
"just this once?" hongjoong stepped closer, and though the step was a small one, it felt like a league, an ocean's length truly, and you held your breath. his dark eyes flickered between yours. strands of silver hair hung over his eyes, his sharp delicate features, and you found you could breathe even if you wanted to. he said, "are you sure you want the truth just once?"
you pressed your muddy boot to his chest, dirtying his black cloak in the process, as you pushed him away from you. you said, "is this a game to you?"
hongjoong stumbled at the force of your shove, and shock flickered through his expression. it wasn't often that you saw anything other that amusement or annoyance on prince hongjoong's face. he glanced down at the mud on his cloak, wiping at it with a furrow to his brows.
"you've been here long enough to understand that most things in king's landing are games," hongjoong examined you, "have you not?"
you stepped closer this time, gritting your teeth, and he watched you approach him with guarded eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. you swung your hand in his direction, anger you've always felt around him filling your chest to the brim, and your boot swung with your hand, swiping to close. you were angrier than you ever were. perhaps the emotions you felt earlier tonight, the fact that hongjoong took you somewhere that reminded you so much of a home and of family you weren't sure you'd ever see again, and you weren't sure if his intentions were true, only heightened that anger. either way, you found yourself tossing the boots to the side, the dull thud resounding all around you both, as you advanced on him. you curled your fingers around the lapel of his cloak.
this was treason, you knew. he spoke of punishments and beheadings often whenever you stepped out of line, and often you were sent to your chambers to reflect on your retaliation towards the prince. but you'd never laid a hand on him like this, so blatantly, so clearly. his eyes flickered from the hand around the collar of his cloak to your face. his expression was unreadable, but he remained quiet, waiting almost.
this was treason, but you did not care.
"you can play games with me all you want, but," your drew his collar closer, and hongjoong kept his dark gaze on yours. the fire in his eyes no longer danced, leaving behind a darkness that drew you in. it was difficult for you to look away, but you spoke through gritted teeth, each word lingering between you both in the silent halls, "my feelings for my people are not something you can play with, do you understand me? i will not stand for it."
"is this a threat?" he breathed, even with your hands at his throat, his held his head high and his eyes remained upon yours. even with your hands at his throat, fighting back, he had something to say.
your fingers tightened around his collar, "it's a warning."
he let out a breathless little laugh. it echoed all along the halls of the empty red keep, bouncing off the walls.
then he reached up and captured your chin in his hand. you jerked, but he held you in place, driving you back until your back hit the wall. you kept your hands tight against his collar, digging your fingers into the skin, while he pressed the pads of his fingers to the skin of the underside of your jaw. the cold metal of his rings pressed against your skin, a shiver running down your back.
his dark eyes danced under the torch above the entrance to your chambers, and you gasped when your back hit the wall too hard. you abandoned his cloak to dig your nails into the skin of his neck. he didn't seem to care.
"threats. warnings." he pressed close, until your hand around his neck was stuck between your bodies, his face hovering over yours. his gaze flickered over your face, lingering here and there. he murmured, "it is all the same to me, y/n."
"it is funny," you raised your chin, maintaining his gaze, and your stomach churned at the closeness, despite everything, even as you said. "because you and your father are the same to me."
his jaw clenched. you wondered, then, if he'd kill you where you stood. he certainly looked angry enough to do it, his fingers tightening under your jaw. you squeezed his neck back, your nails digging into his skin, likely drawing blood.
"i am not my father," he grit out.
you let out a breathless laugh, one muffled by the press of his fingers squeezing at your jaw and your mouth. you did not stand down. he did not appear to like that.
this time, he glared.
"prove it," you breathed.
his eyes flickered down your face as you spoke, his eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched. his grip on your face tightened once more as he said, "i have nothing to prove to you."
"then why did you take me there?"
hongjoong hadn't responded. instead, his expression grew guarded, hard to read, as he suddenly stepped back.
he did not kill you. he did not snap your neck. he let you go, stepping back as if touching you burned him. it was amusing to think a kim could burn, even figuratively. you rubbed your chin, slumping back against the wall, and he watched you do so.
"why?" his voice was low and soft and not at all filled with the anger you expected. he seemed gentle almost, a contradictory thing that did not match the darkness of his eyes. he said, "you said you missed them."
you'd blinked at that, your fingers stilling against the underside of your jaw, "pardon me?"
the gentleness disappeared as quickly as it came as he sighed, shaking his head.
"if i were you, i'd forget about them," hongjoong said, "or at the very least stop admitting your weaknesses to your enemies."
"are you my enemy?"
"well, do you threaten your friends?" hongjoong's smile was unamused, "do you choke them?"
"i suppose not."
your gaze flickered to his neck. you did draw blood. red dripped down his neck, and all you could think was that the rumors were untrue, that the kims bled red like everyone else.
"do you do this to your friends?" you asked then, turning the question back on him.
he smiled, mocking your words, "i suppose not."
there was a moment of silence, quiet, and long, and almost comfortable, despite everything.
"do not dare to threaten me again," hongjoong said it quietly. you looked up to meet his gaze. he continued, "i would hate to return you to your kingdom in pieces. if anything, your poor family deserves better."
you spat, "do not provoke me, then."
you expected him to say something pointed. something that would set you off. you'd already stepped over the line. you didn't think you were above throwing yourself over the line to quell your annoyance with hongjoong.
instead, hongjoong said, "i won't."
you'd blinked in surprise.
"you're the only person in the seven kingdoms who has had the gall to threaten me. i do find the sheer idiocy entertaining enough," hongjoong said. "besides, you'd be quite boring without a head."
you sputtered in shock as hongjoong picked your muddy boots off the ground and pressed them into your limp hands, unable to form a response even as he spun on his heels. without another word, he'd waved over his shoulder and walked away, and all you could do was stare after him.
~.~.~.~.~
choi san, of storm's end, is as kind and honorable as the rumors said. moreso, even.
you walked with him after lunch through one of the outer courtyards adjacent to the godswood, the holy trees looming in the distance with their blood red leaves and ash white branches. you never liked the godswood and avoided it often. in dorne, there were barely any trees, and the white and red trees of the godswood unnerved you, especially when you learned that the people of westeros prayed under them. their leaves reminded you of dripping blood.
san waited for you in the courtyard, examining one of the rose bushes mingi's family sent after he was legitimized years ago. he'd foregone the usual sword at his hip, and his black hair hung loose. you'd taken in his sharp jaw, and dark eyes. when you cleared your throat, he turned to you with a sweet smile and even sweeter tone.
choi san could even be perfect. he pressed his lips to your hand, and his dimpled smile appeared often as he nodded along whenever you spoke. he listened to you, in ways no one in king's landing ever did aside from mingi. you hadn't realized how much you missed it until that moment. he asked you questions about how you were faring, about your brothers and your parents, and it seemed so genuine, it made your heart feel heavy in your chest. you hadn't been around such sincerity in a long while. you understood why everyone seemed to think so highly of him, why your mother suggested him to the queen.
yet, your thoughts wandered to hongjoong, wondering of his intentions, of the way he had moments of kindness interspersed with moments where you thought he would gladly order your death and gleefully watch the kingsguard carry it out. his grip had not left bruises, but as you attended lunch the next day with hongjoong, yeosang, mingi, and a newly arrived san, the bruises and wounds you left on his neck remained entirely too visible. he hadn't bothered to cover it up, his red and black robes unbuttoned for all to see. your septa averted her gaze when she greeted hongjoong, before leaving you in the dining hall. his maester whispered in his ear, gesturing, but hongjoong only dismissed him with a beligerent wave.
hongjoong bowed his head when you entered the dining hall, barely acknowledging your septa, and you'd avoided his gaze. the few moments that you held his dark gaze, the amusement made your stomach churn. you'd greeted san with a bow of your head, however you kept to yourself throughout lunch, only acknowledging san when he asked if you'd like to stroll through the courtyard after. mingi and yeosang spoke to san as if they've known him forever. even hongjoong. you listened to them catch up, feeling hongjoong's burning gaze on you as you made a point to look at everyone and everything but hongjoong. it must have been obvious, because you often heard yeosang snort into his drink. when you met mingi's gaze while sipping from your goblet, he gave you a kind, encouraging smile before he teased san for his poor appetite. oftentimes, mingi's smiles were kind, but they never met his eyes anymore. you weren't close enough to ask him why, so you were only ever left to wonder.
when san took his leave, bowing to hongjoong, yeosang, and mingi, before finally bowing to you.
he said, "i'll see you in the courtyard in half an hour, my liege. thank you, hongjoong, for this meal. i've missed you three."
yeosang and mingi called out goodbyes, and even hongjoong smiled at san. it wasn't vindictive or mean. it was almost uncharacteristic in its normalcy.
you finished your food, making it a point to ignore everyone else in the room, before you took your leave. you'd looked at hongjoong then, and he regarded you for a long moment, before he said, "enjoy your walk."
yeosang giggled. you'd glared at yeosang. mingi smacked yeosang's back in response.
hongjoong's gaze was a piercing thing you desperately wanted to flee from. you left the dining hall with a heart that slammed against your ribs, not even bothering to gather your septa before heading to the courtyard. when san smiled at you, the tension in your chest dissipated a tiny bit.
there you both stood, deep in the courtyard, peering at a pretty yellow flower that stretched high towards the sun.
in the quiet of the courtyard flowers, far from prying eyes, san spoke softly, "may i speak candidly?"
it reminded you of what you asked of hongjoong. you'd suppressed the grimace at the reminder, nodding to san as you smiled, said, "please. not many do around here."
san let out the smallest of chuckles, his shoulders dropping as he released a breath you hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"i came to king's landing to court you, my liege," san turned to face you, his dimples making a small appearance as he smiled, "the queen recommended you, and so did the princess of dorne."
"my mother," you murmured more to yourself than to him, nodding, "the queen mentioned my mother suggested you. i figured...i figured if my mother suggested you, then you'd be all right."
san pursed his lips, and he looked at you with something you could only describe as pity. he said, "i understand your circumstances here, and i am sorry for it. all of us are, back at storm's end."
you shook your head, "i do not care much for pity, lord choi."
san bit his lip, "and i do not care much for the pitiful."
you'd stared at him, turning to fully face him.
san copied your movements, his kind eyes flickering between yours. he said, "my brother asked me to move forward as soon as he read your mother's letter. i...did not agree at first. i am not one to maintain relationships, and certainly not the type to marry. i told him i'd like to meet you first before i decided. i do not," san sighed, "i do not know what happens behind closed doors, and i like to think my childhood friends are as kind as i remembered them to be, but i know the king. i've heard the rumors. i do not wish to pity you, and i do not think you appear to be in need of it, however, everyone deserves help."
you'd blinked at his tone, the softness of it, the way it settled in the breeze and held you kindly. perhaps you found resentment in your heart for the circumstances you were in and towards your parents for placing you in such a situation, but as you looked at san, awash the dreary sun of king's landing, you felt as if you would be all right. you saw your mother there, and she was, despite how far she was. choi san was the love of your mother personified. the words of your mother promising she would send for you, the feel of your mother's fingers against your scalp as she spoke soothing words you did not understand at the time. you'd blinked at san, your chest tight.
he reached out a hand, held it in front of you, and he said, "i swear to you that you will see your family again. if you will have me, i will treat you as my equal in every aspect. if you will have me, then i wish for us to be friends first, and partners second. if you will have me, y/n, i swear to you that you will no longer be a prisoner. you will be given respect. you may come and go as you please. most of all, you will not be pitied."
you'd held back tears at his words. a part of you wondered if this was a game, as well, but san held a sincerity in his expression you could not doubt. you said, "you are too kind, my lord."
"only in king's landing am i considered too kind," san said, softly. "i hope you know that the rest of the kingdoms are not so terrible."
you'd blinked away the tears threatening to fall, nodding quickly as you thought of your home, of dorne. you'd nodded, and he smiled with that same sincere gentleness that made the tension in you melt a bit. perhaps, you would be okay.
slowly, you took his hand, and curled your fingers around his. you said, "if you can swear to me that you do not just speak prettily, then i shall have you."
his smile deepened, and he squeezed your hand tightly as he said, "i swear it."
he held your hand tight, and you believed you could finally be free of king's landing. of the mad king and his son and their mad court.
of course, you were wrong.
~.~.~.~.~
your twentieth name-day was the last name-day you'd kept track of. you'd lost the years after that. they became increasingly quieter and lonelier as the years went by, after all.
san courted you for a long time, and the queen looked pleased when she asked you what you thought of him, and you'd said he was lovely. the queen always treated you with distance. you were merely a duty to here, and you did not hold it against her. you were not her kin, through blood nor marriage. but when you'd told her you agreed, she gestured you closer to the bed. she held a hand against her bulging stomach - she was pregnant again, and the court whispered that she would have yet another miscarriage due to her poor condition, though no one dared say it beyond the shadows. when she raised her arm, her robes fell away, and there were puckered claw marks around her wrists. she did not pull them up. she merely placed her cold palm to your cheek, and she said, "you've grown up well."
"i am grateful for your hospitality, my queen."
she'd laughed, and she had the same dancing eyes as hongjoong. it pierced through you the same way, as she said, "i did nothing. your mother has resented me for it."
"my mother?"
"we are friends, in a way," she said, patting your cheek. "as friendly as one can be when one has taken a parent's child from the other."
you didn't say anything.
the queen sighed, her familiar eyes resting upon you for a long moment. she said, "i am glad you like san. he is kinder than most nobles. he will treat you well."
you'd taken in the sight of her, bedridden and unable to hold the balls and dinners she used to love so dearly. the silence lasts too long as you stood by her side.
eventually, you said, "there's more to it, isn't there?"
the queen smiled. nodded. she drew her robes close, sinking into her bed, and she said, "the king must bless your union before anything can move forward."
you'd frowned, "do you think he won't?"
she sighed, and she looked sad even as she turned her gaze from you. "i do not know what he thinks anymore."
san courted you for a long while after that, and he was patient and kind and worried often whether the king would even allow it. he wrote you letters from storm's end - letters whose seals remained intact when they were handed to you, unlike your family's, lord choi smiling to you as he handed them to you - and when he visited, he took you horse-riding, or you both explored the red keep courtyards, or he joined you in your lessons, or he sat with you in the library and took any recommendations with him. he read what you recommended and sent you letters about them if he did not get to tell you in person.
i think he makes me happy, you'd wrote yunho and wooyoung once, and the very act of writing such a thing down, voicing such a thing to the people you'd loved most in the world, left you in a daze after.
you'd gotten particularly terrible with the sword. mingi held a hand out for you to take. you let him pull you to your feet.
mingi poked at your shoulder, where he'd gotten a particularly terrible hit in, and said, "san's going to murder me if this bruises."
"that wouldn't be too bad. you're quite annoying. someone should off you already." yeosang called as he took a swig of his water canteen. he handed to mingi, who glared at him, crossing his arms over his chest. yeosang only shrugged and handed the canteen to you.
you made a move for it, when hongjoong snatched it from your hands. he downed the whole thing, as he eyed you coldly.
yeosang was the one to speak, breaking the tense silence, "how is san, anyway? he hasn't visited in a long time."
you'd never heard yeosang speak with anything but mischief about anyone, but as time passed and you listened to yeosang speak of san, you learned he seemed to respect san in a way he didn't with anyone else. not even hongjoong. he stopped calling you his sweet thing since you'd agreed to court san. in fact, he asked after san more than you ever expected him to. san said they all grew up together - san, jongho, hongjoong, yeosang, and mingi - but you never saw the extent of their closeness until moments like these. it wasn't in their words. it was in the softness of yeosang's voice. in the way mingi would smile in a way you'd never seen before when he joined you to greet san at the gates. in the way hongjoong would clasp his hand over san's shoulders as passed him.
"he said he'd visit soon. he's gone up to visit winterfell."
yeosang's brows furrowed. before he could speak, hongjoong said, "ah, jongho's quite smitten with the north. san always did like playing his diplomat."
mingi frowned at hongjoong, and you knew then you were not imagining his clipped tone.
you said, "what's your problem?"
hongjoong had kept to his promise since that night. he hadn't provoked you as much as he used to, and you almost found it peaceful, but you'd be an idiot if you hadn't noticed that his antagonizing had turned more passive. lately, he'd taken to implying you did not know as much about san as you thought. you didn't think you did, and neither did you expect to as you were both only starting to build a tentative friendship, but you didn't like the smugness in hongjoong's demeanor as he spoke down to you. most of all, you did not like that he still spoke down to you, despite everything. you'd hoped that night bought you a sliver of respect from him, but it only seemed to make him more bitter.
hongjoong had swiveled on you then, and you figured he'd held in his annoyance with you as long as you had with him. he snapped, "you don't deserve him."
that had brought you to a halt. you hadn't expected him to say such a thing, to take that angle.
you glanced at yeosang, who only observed you both quietly. mingi shook his head at hongjoong, but looked on in silence as well. it was always like that, in the end, no matter who you were tied to. you'd hoped it'd be different, since you were soon to be promised to san, but nothing changed. perhaps you've gotten too hopeful since meeting san. you would always remain a peripheral for them, an outsider, a ward, a glorified hostage, and therefore, you would always be treated as such.
"i do," you said quietly, and the anger that always lived in you seared at your insides. you held your chin high as you met hongjoong's furious gaze, "i deserve him and everything he can give me. you cannot tell me otherwise."
"oh? tell me," hongjoong stalked towards you. mingi made a move to grab him, but yeosang pulled mingi back. hongjoong stopped a hairsbreadth from you, unyielding, "tell me, then, what can he even give you that you do not already have here? what did he promise you?"
you're surprised at the way his voice lowered, smoothing over in a way that made you want to grab him by the collar once more. at the way his eyes flickered over your face.
"kindness," you said. "he can give me kindness."
hongjoong laughed.
"hongjoong," yeosang spoke, and you've never heard him speak informally to hongjoong until then. it was always titles with yeosang, even if he used them sarcastically. "don't."
you'd blinked in surprise at yeosang. yeosang never spoke up with hongjoong, and he certainly never spoke up for you. yeosang did not look at you. hongjoong ignored yeosang. he threw his head back, and laughed, and laughed.
"he's going to use you the way everyone else wants to. you're an idiot if you think all you need is kindness. he will only remain kind as long as you are useful."
your fingers dug into your palms, fists shaking at your sides at his condescending tone, at the fact that it felt like once again you knew nothing and everyone else knew everything. at the fact that you were reminded once again that you only existed at your status because of your usefulness.
you copied his tone, "what do you think i need then, your grace? since you seem to know everything about everyone around me."
hongjoong's jaw clenched, even as he leaned close enough to look you in the eye. his dark eyes flickered between yours. your heart slammed against your ribs. his voice was low, "power, and someone who can teach you how to wield it well."
you said, "power is useless for me while i'm in a place like this."
"it's what you want, deep down."
"oh, now you know what i want?"
"tell me then. tell me you do not want power." he pressed, "tell me you do not want to watch me and my father and everyone who has ever disrespected you within these walls to burn."
you frowned. he wasn't wrong. sometimes, you'd hide under the covers and dream of it. a master escape plan that involved the ashes of those that belittled you. but you'd always felt disgusted with yourself afterwards. you never truly wanted such a horrid thing. you never truly wished death on anyone. besides, admitting to hongjoong's words would be an act of treason. perhaps you'd acted on it when you were alone, but neither of you were alone. aside from yeosang and mingi, the servants stood quietly in wait for orders.
"i am not you."
"no," hongjoong's expression turned stony, guarded, as he stepped away. he tossed his practice sword behind him, to a stunned mingi who caught it with practiced hands, and a contemplative yeosang, and he said, "you are."
he walked away, while you seethed.
~.~.~.~.~
san visited days later. he entered the red keep in the pouring rain, but he grinned wide when he saw you waiting, slipping off his horse to walk to you with his arms held wide open. it wasn't the most appropriate behavior, but you'd gladly let him pull you into his embrace.
he'd pulled away moments later, turning to embrace mingi, who had waited with you. later, in the dining hall, after he'd greeted the king, he clasped his arms around hongjoong, patting him lightly on the back, and hongjoong said, "you've been away too long."
san said, "i know. jongho is too sick to take courtesy visits."
hongjoong nodded, said, "give him my regards when you see him again. i'll send medicine and some supplies with you."
it was the kindest you'd ever seen hongjoong. it was as if san's kindness permeated into all those who touched him.
yeosang embraced san after, and mingi clasped hands with san, and they spoke quietly.
afterwards, your septa escorted you both to the courtyard, but the rain was too heavy to walk. you'd waved your septa away, ignoring her warning look as she hesitantly stepped away, and you and san sat at the top of stairs leading down into the courtyard. the pitter-patter of rain echoed around you both.
you said, "what would the chois gain from a marriage alliance with dorne?"
it should not have been the first thing to say to him, but hongjoong's words haunted you for too many nights.
san leaned back on his hands, turning his head to peer at you. he was handsome. his rain-damp hair stuck to his forehead and the gold of his cloak darkened by wet patches. you'd always thought you could learn to love him. for yourself, and your people, and to see your brothers and parents once more.
the skies wept heavily over your beloved courtyard where you once held hope, as san's voice drifted around you, barely above a whisper, "the loyalty of dorne."
"why?"
"i..." san sighed, "i truly do not know yet. i believe it is to strengthen our ties."
"and to indebt my family to yours," you finished for him, despite the fact that he did not keep talking.
san watched as you wrapped your arms around yourself. he said, "i suppose so."
"hongjoong was right, then." you sighed, hating that you'd admitted such a thing aloud, "you wish to use me in your games as well."
"i meant what i said," san spoked firmly. "i meant every word i said."
you dragged a hand through your hair. you said, admitted really, "i despise this, you know. i despise that i must rely on you to guarantee my freedom."
san smiled, held out a hand. he'd looked for you for permission, and you nodded. he then placed it over your wrapped arms, at your elbow. he shook his head, and he said, "nothing can hold down the sun, y/n. the king and every king before him have tried and failed."
his words reminded you of your house's words. unbowed, unbent, unbroken. it was coined because dorne was the only one of the seven kingdoms to have never truly been conquered by outsiders. it was why you were sent to king's landing as leverage. it was why the king was wary of your father. perhaps, it was why you did not let hongjoong treat you as he wished. you'd nearly forgotten it because of your time here. your brothers would chant it when you'd hurt yourself when you were very little and the three of you were doing something you were not supposed to be doing. yunho and wooyoung would crouch beside you and whisper it until you stopped crying. in retrospect, they did it only to get you to keep quiet so as to not get caught by your parents or the servants. but it remained with you.
"they always play games here in king's landing. you can play, too."
"i cannot." you were never good as pretty words and beating around the bush.
san looked sad, "you must."
and he was right.
the skies wept harder, and the sound trickled down your spine. san only squeezed your arm, a comforting gesture.
he was right.
~.~.~.~.~
you saw prince hongjoong again in the library. he rounded a corner and you looked up from your book. he reminded you of the night he'd taken you into the streets of king's landing. high strung, frustrated, annoyed perhaps, the silver rings on his fingers glinting under the light of your candles. his silver hair lay messily over his shoulders.
he met your gaze over the candlelight.
you'd thought long about san's words.
you shut the book in front of you, and the dull thud echoed all around you.
you said, "you were right."
hongjoong's shadow casted over you as he stepped closer. he regarded you slowly, looming, and your heart raced under his gaze. the candlelight danced against the inky black of his eyes.
he tilted his head, "am i dreaming? since when did you admit such a thing?"
you'd ignored him, still holding his gaze despite the way your stomach churned and your palms were slippery with sweat. "i want power. i am -"
you'd cut yourself off.
the front of hongjoong's thighs pressed to the table you sat at as he leaned over and pressed his palms to the table, his face inches from yours. the chain necklace around his neck hung between you both.
you tilted your head up to keep his gaze, to keep from feeling like hunted prey.
his voice was low and soft and settled under your skin, "you are?"
"i am just like you." you swallowed your pride. just this once, san's words still in your head. you said, "you were right."
"i am always right," his grin lit up his face. he reached over and placed his fingers beneath your chin. the metal of his rings were cold against you skin. he said, "and i always get what i want."
those words burrowed right under your skin, where your stomach churned and your heart raced. you'd known you held his focus, but you never knew if he'd admit it like this. what he wanted from you, you couldn't be sure, but you've always believed he wanted you to yield to him. he never liked that you fought back. you did not know how you felt about this, though. you only knew that you hated the way he spoke of you as if you were something to be won. he always spoke of you as if he knew you. you could not swallow your pride when you bit out, "you don't have me. i am not yours to own."
"no," he hummed, "i suppose not yet."
he turned to leave.
you called after him, fingers curled into fists on the table, "that can change, of course. but only if you give me what i want."
you expected him to ignore you. to leave. instead, he paused, his hand on the library door.
he looked over his shoulder at you, silver hair glinting under the moonlight streaming in from the highest windows of the library. you mimicked the picture of insolence he'd always loved to flaunt throughout his days as you leaned forward in your seat, elbows on the table. you could see the raised brow, the jaw clench, and the small smile, even from your spot on the table, as you rested your chin on your palm, even as you said, "are you surprised, my prince? you said it yourself didn't you? i am you," you grinned, "and you always get what you want."
for a moment, you thought he'd stride across the room and strangle you right then.
instead the slam of the library door glanced off the high library ceilings, making you flinch.
~.~.~.~.~
at twenty, a fortnight after the queen had yet another miscarriage - a baby that was carried almost to full term this time, only to pass from complications when contractions began too early, according to one of your more chatty maids - there was a resounding knock at your chambers in the middle of the night.
you jolted from your sleep, your heart racing, and you were quicker, this time, to pull your robes around you before you went to the doors.
yeosang stood before you. he was no longer a kingsguard-in-training. of course it was him, though you hoped mingi would have been the walk to escort you. at least mingi's presence was more of a comfort.
that night, there was an extra moment of silence between you as yeosang looked at you. you could not read his expression. there was another kingsguard there - one you did not recognize.
yeosang said, "the king requests your presence with his small council, my liege."
you'd nodded, but this time you knew what to expect. the king may be mad, but there was a method to his madness, and you were not caught unawares this time around.
still, your hands trembled, and you tucked them under your robes as you pulled them tighter. the other kingsguard led the way, while yeosang walked behind you.
you recognized the path. it was not to the dragonpit, and that brought you a bit of relief.
still, your heart felt as if it would leap from your chest as you came upon the doors to the throne room.
you paused before the kingsguard did. he hadn't noticed. yeosang put a hand on your shoulder. you looked back at him. he nodded. it was not quite encouraging, but neither was it mean. it was a look that said, the sooner you get this over with, the better.
his hand remained on your shoulder for another moment before it dropped away and the kingsguard announced you to the king.
you entered the throne room with your head held high, and your gaze fixed on the mad king. he lounged upon his throne fashioned of the blades of kim the conqueror's enemies. it was sharp and cold and stood as a reminder of what the king's legacy was born from. on each side of the king's throne stood his small council. lord kang, lord song, lord choi, hongjoong, the lord commander of the kingsguard, three members of the kingsguard including yeosang, and the king's maester. you had not seen the king in such close proximity in a long while, due to the fact that he'd shut himself away in his chambers for long periods of time. paranoia, some whispered. hongjoong never said anything about it. you doubted he cared much, though most took care not to whisper of the king around him. his hair was unruly, reaching mid-back, and his nails her longer than ever. you'd remembered the feel of them on your skin, and you could only imagine how painful such a length could be. they truly reminded you of claws.
"it's a shame," the mad king's voice boomed through the throne room, when the doors to the hall slammed shut, "that your son could not be here, lord choi. is that not customary when asking for the king's blessing?"
lord choi looked sheepish as he bowed, "my apologies, your grace. it appears my letters did not reach my son in time. i will make sure he is aware of your decision to bless this union."
the king scowled, "i never said such a thing."
the resounding silence was loud. blood rushed to your head, and you swore he could hear your heart pounding. he'd looked at you, then, even as lord choi said, "pardon, your grace?"
"jeong still holds a force of ten thousand strong. i am no idiot. it has been three years. it is likely it's grown double in size," the king stepped off his throne, descending the stairs as his red and black robes swung behind him. "whoever weds his child will have access to it. why would i allow that?"
lord kang spoke then, his voice, "your grace, lord choi is a part of the small council. his assets are yours."
"no," the mad king cackled, throwing his head back, "no, his assets are yours, kang," he turned to lord choi, said, "and if your were here, i'd have him burnt at the stake for even requesting for such a thing. my ward's assets belong to me."
you watched, wary, as lord choi's expression morphed from surprise to betrayal to a set jaw and a fury you did not think the man was capable of. he'd always appeared as the calm one. he said, "the queen suggested this union to my son. i should hope you remember that my son's and my house's loyalties lie with you, your grace."
at the mention of the queen, the king grew more agitated, shaking his head, "the queen does not have a say in this. if your loyalties truly lay with me, you would understand my reservations."
"then what of lord jeong? what of dorne's army?" lord song spoke up. they spoke of you as if marriage was all you were good for, and maybe it was true in a place like this, but you didn't think this discussion required a meeting in the dead of night.
the king swiveled on you, and you refused to cower this time. you'd had too any nightmares of that first time. you refused to let yourself feel so vulnerable again.
"shall i wed them then?" the king's voice dragged through the throne room, and it pounded against your ears. you'd stared in horror, your gaze flickering around the room. lord kang frowned. lord choi looked downright furious. hongjoong stared on, expression blank. yeosang was the only one who looked remotely as horrified as you did, even if it was only for a moment. the king turned fully to face you, "shall i wed you, and take your father's army?"
his eyes dragged down your form, blue-white eyes seeing straight through you, and the humiliation crept under your skin, only serving to feed your anger. you decided right then, that if no one stopped the king, if he laid a finger on you, you would retaliate. you'd rather die by green fire, hell by dragon fire, then let him humiliate and disrespect you any more than he already had.
he laughed at you. "or better yet, shall i wed you to my newest babe? he's just a fortnight old, but he's already a better heir than hongjoong will ever be."
you did not think he was serious. a fortnight ago, the queen miscarried. there was no babe. there couldn't be. unless-
the king waved his hand, and his maester swiftly left only to appear moments later with something swathed in cloth cradled in his arms. the maester's expression was perfectly still, even as he stepped closer with it. the stench of rotting flesh and strong incense hit your nose first, and you could not suppress the gag, no matter how you wished to.
the king frowned, said, "this is a union fit for someone like you. do not disrespect him."
you stared at him, horrified, at a loss for words. no one said anything. it was as if the whole room held their breath. as if you were a spectacle they could not tear their eyes from. entertaining, hongjoong had said to you once. you caught his gaze over his father's shoulders, and his eyes were wide. concerned, even.
"come now," the king waved his small council closer, "where is the marriage cloak? we can hold the bedding ceremony tonight. it'll be quite fun."
his laugh was a boisterous thing, and you felt as if you would vomit. the stench of the dead child, the fact that no one was putting an end to this madness, it all filled the air, filled you, with dread and horror and anger and fear. you were scared, and helpless, as you were last time. nothing's changed. three years, and nothing's changed.
the king reached out.
"marry them to me, your grace," hongjoong's voice rang through the silence. the king's hand stilled a hairsbreadth from your face. you held your breath. he breathed, "father. please, let my brother rest."
he spoke as if his father was a wounded animal in the corner, as if he wasn't the hunter.
hongjoong pleaded, "please."
king kim never listened to his son. he never liked him. it was well known in the court.
but that night, the mad king blinked at his living son, and whatever he saw there brought a calmness to the king's ever-vibrating madness that you hadn't seen in all your time here. perhaps this was the king before his madness. the king's long-clawed fingers touched your shoulder. he pushed you towards hongjoong, and you stumbled into hongjoong's arms. he'd steadied you before he carefully maneuvered you towards yeosang, who stood behind him, with looking at you once. yeosang pressed a steady hand to the middle of your back, and this time, it was appreciated. it was grounding.
"fine," the king said. "you will marry in a fortnight, and i will discuss the army with jeong once it is done."
hongjoong nodded. you stared at his tense back.
the king said, "you all are dismissed."
yeosang pushed you forward, but you could not move. marrying hongjoong meant you would never leave. you were never going to leave. you could try to escape, but you knew nothing of the geography. you knew nothing. you always knew nothing.
a pair of black boots stood in your line of sight. you were staring at the floor, trying to make sense of what happened. you could still smell the rotting flesh, and you were grateful that the maester covered his face so you did not need to see. slowly, you looked up.
hongjoong stood in front of you. the throne room was empty save for the looming throne, yeosang, and hongjoong. his silver hair was unruly, and he looked tired. his eyes did not dance, and he did not smile.
you said, "you got what you wanted."
anger bloomed across his face, like dandelion drift with the wind when you blow on them.
"would you have rather married a stillborn?"
"i'd rather not marry at all."
"y/n," hongjoong dragged his hand through his hair. his hands were not adorned with rings this time, and they looked smaller, more delicate. all of him did right then. "i -"
"how do i know i'll be safe with you? how do i know you won't turn out just like your father?"
any concern that may have crept onto his face disappeared at your words. he grit his teeth, "i am not my father. i never will be."
"what if you are worse?" you asked. your voice broke on the last word.
you watched a series of emotions flicker across his face, but you were too tired to read them, to analyze him. he opened his mouth, but for once he remained speechless.
so, you said, "i see it sometimes. in the way you look at things. at me. there's something there."
hongjoong's brows furrowed. he murmured, "it is the dragon."
"it is terrifying," you said. "and it's cost me my freedom."
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"in this place, full of lies" by @wordstro is quite literally the perfect representation of this trope . im telling yall right now to go read it
came back wrong trope but the character knows that they came back wrong. they’re so acutely aware of how different they are now from how they were before that it drives them fucking insane. they’re stuck trying to return to somebody that’s long dead. they can never be the person they once were. everybody around them knows it. deep down, they know it too, but they’re trapped in a cycle of their own making. of trying to revive someone that no longer exists.
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[1] gang/mafia au + fake dating + "he promised he'd leave us alone."
part 1 | masterlist | part 2
a/n: seonghwa x y/n, san x y/n, wooyoung x san, 4k words, reread something i wrote a long time ago, and decided to do this instead of anything i promised or had planned smh. either way, i hope yall enjoy!
-
"you promised me that you'd leave me alone after I helped him. we forget you, you forget us."
there is something so unnerving about seeing your best friend of nearly a decade so utterly terrified for the first time in your life.
choi san stands with his hand outstretched in front of you, protective as always, but his gaze is fixed on the man in front of you both. the man's face is covered by a black face mask, his hood pulled up over his red hair, but his sharp eyes remain unfazed at san's words.
in fact, he merely tilts his head, his eyes glimmering under the dim yellow wash from the street light. you both watch, san's fingers curling around the sleeve of your jacket, as the man leans heavily against your apartment door, his hands shoved into his pockets.
"you're right," he says, "a promise is a promise, yet," he pushes himself off the your front door, stepping closer. san's grip on your sleeve tightens. he sighs, and he says, "you didn't forget us though, did you?"
he's only looking at san, his brows raised, his eyes fixed on san, and your stomach churns as you watch. san remains rigid, but steadfast under the man's gaze.
the alcohol from the night has long worn off, and any remnants of your alcohol blanket disappears right then as chills run up and down your spine.
you hadn't forgotten about them, despite how hard you and san tried. you could recall that night like it happened an hour ago.
you'd come home from your shift at the office, already mentally checking off all the chores you could postpone until the next day so you could spend the night on the couch eating snacks and catching up on your shows. san had a late shift at the hospital so he'd be home late. you'd have the apartment to yourself for a few hours. at least that's what you thought.
you'd only been home for fifteen minutes, on the verge of settling onto your couch with a glass of wine and a bag of chips, when the door had swung open - slammed open really - and san stood at your doorstep, pink scrubs splattered with blood.
for a moment, your heart had stopped. san's gaze met yours, and all you could think about was the fact that san worked as a nurse in the children's wing, he had no reason to be covered in blood, all you could think about was the terror in san's eyes, the way he shook his head ever-so-slightly when you made a move to speak before he stepped into your apartment, the way he sprinted to the dining table, cleared it of all the books and bags and unopened mail you both meant to put away to the floor, the way a tall person carried in a much smaller man bridal-style into your apartment. he dangled from the person's arms, one of his limp arms dripping blood, his eyes not quite closed but not quite open. his face though - it was not covered like the man holding him. he looked young. too young to be bleeding all over your floor. another shorter person strode in after, their sharp eyes falling on you immediately, red hair peeking through from under the beanie on his head. a third person stepped into your apartment and closed the door behind them. this person stood at the door, simply watching.
you hadn't known what was happening at that moment, however every self-preservation instinct in your body screamed at you that this was dangerous. these people were dangerous.
you'd stood in shock as the tall person placed the injured man on the table. at least until san looked up at you and said, tone sharp and no-nonsense, "get the first aid kit from the bathroom."
you'd have said no. you'd have crossed your arms and asked for a thorough explanation, but the way the sharp eyed person looked at you, the wait the one at the door looked at you, even the tall one, it left your heart pounding in your chest and your legs moving on autopilot.
those few hours moved in a blur. a bottle of vodka, too many towels, blood everywhere, a needle and thread. san worked diligently, and if you hadn't known him for as long as you did, you wouldn't have caught his tells. the way he tapped his toes as he worked. the rigid tension in his shoulders. it was all there.
when it was done, and the too-young man lay half unconscious on the table, no longer breathing, but too close to death, san sunk into one of the strewn dining room chairs and reached for your hand. you let him. the person with the sharp eyes merely looked between san and you, tilting their head, as they said, voice low, strangely gentle for the tension in the room, "thank you, san."
you'd blinked at that, just as san said, exhausted, "this is the last time, wooyoung. "
the person - wooyoung - merely let out a small chuckle and a nod.
"no," san shook his head, eyes drifting from this wooyoung to the tall person to the person observing by the door. "promise me this is the last time. we forget you, you forget us."
wooyoung pressed a hand to the injured, unconscious man's forehead, as if he's checking his temperature, his gaze flickering to san. it remained there long enough that you felt your stomach churn. "alright. who are we to ignore the doctor's orders? right guys?"
san frowned. the person at the door snorted. wooyoung turned away from his injured friend, heading to the door. the tall person scooped the injured person from the table, and just like that, they disappeared.
you'd stared at the front door with your fingers still curled around san's. until you'd rounded on him, "what the fuck was that?"
"a mistake. a really fucking big mistake," san dragged his bloody hands through his hair. "i met wooyoung - it doesn't matter how i met him - it's just. his friend was bleeding out in an alleyway and i had to help him. i couldn't just leave him there, y/n. you have to understand that."
you'd sighed at the look in his brown eyes, ignoring the tug in your chest. you'd known san forever. you'd been the victim of coming home from university classes to find that san had rescued yet another stray, injured animal. you could have put your foot down to those moments, but san's pout always left you a little breathless. there was a reason why san joined the healthcare field. he was kind and selfless and an absolute idiot.
you said as much, sighing as pulled his bloody hands from his hair, and you couldn't make your tone as annoyed as you wanted, "seriously. you're a total fucking idiot, you know that?"
"he promised he'd leave us alone." san muttered, "that had to count for something."
you'd hoped so. as you helped san bleach the dining table and burn his bloody scrubs. as you and san sat in the couch in silence and finished an entire bottle of wine, you truly hoped so.
yet, three weeks later, after a night out with some of your mutual friends, you and san giggled, san hooking his arm through yours, as the two of you stumbled up the stairs to your rooftop apartment, only to be met by the sight of fucking wooyoung blocking your front door.
three weeks later, and they did not keep their promise. you're an idiot, too, to think they would have.
"what -"
"you didn't keep your promise, sannie," wooyoung sighs shaking his head, "so why should we?"
"i'm drunk. i can't do anything," san shakes his head, over and over, but his hands are trembling the slightest bit against your arm, and concern swells in your chest. when you were kids, you used to put yourself between san and anyone who thought it'd be funny to push him around for no reason other than the fact that he was smaller than them. the same concern and worry and anger used to swell in your chest. san says, "besides, i can't keep doing this. i don't want to be involved in whatever you're in, and if i keep helping you then -"
san trails off, his dark eyes wary.
"san," wooyoung sighs, "please."
his voice is even gentler, kinder, and it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. especially when san seems to falter completely. his shoulders droop. he closes his eyes. he's going to say yes.
you push yourself between san and wooyoung, wooyoung's masked face still hovering too close, and you shove him back. hard.
"no," you speak firmly, despite the fact that the way his eyes land on you and harden absolutely terrifies you. "no."
wooyoung doesn't retaliate the way you expect, with a punch or worse. instead his dark eyes flicker over your face for a moment too long, before he says, "it's a knife wound, and it's deep, san."
"leave us alone," you bite out, shoving wooyoung again.
wooyoung grits his teeth as he looks at you. he's on the shorter side, but his aura is larger-than-life, and absolutely looms over you. wooyoung speaks over you, "he's only sixteen, san."
you know that's going to do it. you know san like the back of your fucking hand. you glare at wooyoung, who only seems to be looking over your shoulder anyway.
san sighs. you turn, just as san says, "i'm still drunk."
"we can sober you up quickly."
"fine," san looks at you then, before his gaze slides to wooyoung, and he says, "they stay here. they stay out of this."
you frown, "i'm not letting you go with him alone. not after what he just pulled."
you glare at wooyoung for good measure. wooyoung merely looks between you, his eyes sharp, his head tilting. he says, "i thought you were single? do they know about -"
san interrupts, the tips of his ears reddening as he lets go of your arm quickly, "shut up. i thought we were in a hurry, you know, since there's a fucking knife in someone?"
wooyoung merely snorts in amusement, but his eyes flicker san's now empty hand.
you blink between them, and wooyoung catches your eye, and your stomach flips, and your heartbeat quickens a bit, and you think fuck.
~.~.~.~.~
here's the thing about being choi san's best friend. one, too many people have asked for your input before confessing to him. two, he's stupidly kind to a fault. and, three, you're a little bit (maybe a lot) in love with him. but isn't everyone?
wooyoung's sleek black car has expensive leather seats and a spacious backseat that feels so, so far away from the front. wooyoung backs the car out of your neighborhood with his arm lying across san's seat as he looks back. his eyes meet yours once more, and you glare at him. his face may be masked, but his eyes are expressive. they're amused, more than anything, as he looks at you, and you hate that, you think, more than his manipulation earlier.
wooyoung says something to san as he turns back that makes san let out a small laugh. your heart flips at the sound.
wooyoung drives you both into the outskirts of the city, and parks in front of a rundown looking building nestled in trees and fenced off. it looks abandoned, but it clearly isn't if wooyoung is rounding the fence. san opens the back door for you, and wooyoung raises a brow, before turning to lead the way.
you aren't sure what you expected, but it certainly was never this. the front door opens into a house, equipped with a kitchen and a living room with a couch. wooyoung heads into the kitchen, rummaging through the kitchen before he pulled out some bread. he hands it to san.
you watch as san eats it. as wooyoung takes his mask off. he's handsome, all soft tanned skin and angles, the kind of face you'd do a double-take for if you were to pass by him in the streets, but the smile on his face irks you. you don't trust it. you don't trust any of this. yet, san seems to grow more comfortable by the second.
you lean against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest.
wooyoung says, "relax."
you glare at him. "i thought this was serious?"
wooyoung rolls his eyes, "i'm only allowing you a moment to prepare yourselves."
"prepare?" san finishes the bread, "is it that bad?"
"worse."
and it is.
wooyoung leads you both to the basement - and maybe in retrospect that was not the safest thing for either of you to do - but you follow behind wooyoung and san, the basement stairs creaking beneath your feet.
you walk into the basement, and you're hit with the stench of blood, metallic and overwhelming. it's so bad, you can almost taste it on your tongue, and you resist the urge to gag. lying in the middle of the basement, on top of a makeshift stretcher of sorts, a young man. he's only sixteen rings in your head. he looks even younger than that.
there's a knife lodged in his stomach. and his shoulder. and his thigh. it's not just a single knife wound. there's blood everywhere, everything is red.
san freezes in front of you. he says, "you said it was a knife wound."
"i never specified," wooyoung responds, voice just as quiet as san's.
you only belatedly register the rest of the dimly lit room. someone standing with their arms crossed over their chest against the wall, watching on. another kneeling next to the bleeding kid, his fingers carding through his hair as he mutters indecipherable words of comfort. a tall person patting the distraught person's back. the lighting is so dim, you can barely make out their faces. then your gaze lands on a person who stands with his arms crossed over the boy. the dim lighting casts long shadows over the man's face, however you can make out his dark eyes. there's a regality to him that unnerves you. where wooyoung's aura is larger-than-life, this man's entire essence is a giant looming presence.
"clear the room," the man speaks, the authority in his tone non-negotiable. the tall person who was patting the distraught person's back hooks a hand under theirs and pulls them up. the distraught person lets them. they don't fight it, despite how much they clearly care for the boy. "now."
the person scurries out the door, knocking their shoulder against yours as they go. no one else leaves. then the man looks at you.
his gaze sends a shiver of fear straight down your back. he tilts his head, his dark eyes appraising you in a way that makes you feel like you're under a microscope. he says, "wooyoung, who is this?"
san looks back at you, brows furrowed in worry as his eyes dart from you to wooyoung to the terrifying man who seems to be in charge.
wooyoung says, "they're our medic's emotional support."
the man does not avert his eyes from you, and all you want to do is melt through the floor to get out from under his unrelenting gaze. he lets out a small, humorless laugh, "this is easy work. can i trust a medic who needs emotional support for something as easy as this?"
"if it's so easy, then why have none of you fixed him up yet?" san's voice echoes through the room. he's already cutting apart the kid's shirt, his hands already covered in blood. his head is bent over the kid, but his jaw is clenched in a way that tells you just how wary he is of the man's hostile presence.
the man's gaze moves to the back of san's head, narrowing, and your stomach churns at the way the man steps forward, closer to san.
he doesn't answer though, and san mumbles, "that's what i thought."
you think the man is going to say something, or worse, do something, but instead he turns his attention back to you. he says, "i never cleared your emotional support, choi. do you know what i do with uncleared problems?"
surprisingly, wooyoung is the one to speak up this time, his voice quiet, "look hongjoong, i didn't expect them to come along either, but san's here and he's fixing jisung up. that's all that matters."
the man - hongjoong - lets out the smallest of chuckles. it hangs in the silence, looming just like him. he says, "does your mouthy little medic know he's just set his friend up for life, too?"
this has you freezing. san pauses too in the his attempt at threading the medical needle in his hand, his head whipping up. for a moment, all that can be heard in the room is the boy's ragged breathing. san snaps, "i've only helped you three times. i'm not a part of this. i can't be."
"can't this conversation wait?" the tall person next to san asks, gesturing towards the boy. san starts to stitch the boy up, but the movements are slow. you can see the anxiety rolling off him in waves.
"if your medic wants to stop, they can. all he has to do is stop operating."
you know damn well he won't, and apparently so does hongjoong, because he grins when san glares at hongjoong and says, "i will not leave him here to die."
"but you'll drag your friend into this world to die? how noble."
hongjoong laughs a bit, even as he turns to look at you. your fingers curl around nothing, even as san continues working silently. you'd helped san study in university often enough to know san would never let anyone who needed medical attention die. it was engrained into him. it's being used against him.
but san is already tying off the stitches, already pulling off his bloody gloves and getting to his feet, spinning on his heels to look at hongjoong.
san says, "we are not a part of this. i saved him as you asked, and now we're leaving."
"do you think it's that easy? you've been seen with us three times, choi." hongjoong smiles, and it is all teeth, "that's three times too many."
here's the thing about being choi san's best friend. he's always shined brighter than you, and you'd met too many people hellbent on snuffing out that light than you could count on one hand. it's a scary thought, to know people are capable of such feats, and especially to know that people would try it with someone like san.
yet, here you were, once again, witnessing an attempt. however, this time, you weren't sure if you could keep them from succeeding, and that was the scariest part of all this.
only three days later, your apartment is broken into and everything is torn from the inside out. san calls wooyoung, and you try not to think about the fact that san has wooyoung's number.
three days later, you're sitting in that same fucking kitchen you'd glared at wooyoung in, the same kitchen on top of the basement floor a sixteen year old was bleeding out on thanks to multiple knife wounds, with a small backpack of your essentials in your lap.
san sits across from you, his fingers clamped together on the tiny table in the corner of the kitchen.
wooyoung leans against the counter behind san.
you say, "do i need to quit my day job now? start selling drugs or something?"
san lets out a small, choked laugh.
wooyoung grimaces at you, "don't be an idiot. you're useless to us."
you glare, "thanks."
"i'm going to work for them a bit," san finally says, after a stretch of silence. "so we can stay here for a bit."
"they're not letting you stay here for free? the raid on our apartment is their fault."
san sighs, "hongjoong doesn't care."
you roll your eyes, "of course he doesn't."
wooyoung is the one to say, "just stay in your room and stay out of the way."
san gives you an apologetic hand squeeze, but he does not refute wooyoung's words.
you figured if you were to look back on everything that's transpired since then, this was the singular point of no return. it's one thing to get to know a member of some sketchy crime syndicate, it's another to start working for them part time.
and, as san trailed wooyoung out of the kitchen to discuss the logistics of living in what you assumed was some kind of crime base - the gun cases laid out on the living room certainly made that assumption a fact - a familiar looking person steps into the kitchen, kneeling as they look through the refrigerator.
your eyes remain fixed, still, on the entrance to the kitchen that san left through, until the sound of someone clearing their throat pulls you from your throat. you look up.
a man with jet black hair cut into an undercut, an intimidating face, and sharp brows raises a brow at you. he holds out a bottle of water, "you look like you need it."
that has you frowning at him.
the man merely shrugs, chugging his water bottle before he places the extra bottle in front of you and tosses his empty bottle in the trash. "if it's any consolation, i don't think you're useless. you're very useful, actually."
"were you eavesdropping?"
the man shrugs, "it's hardly eavesdropping when wooyoung's the one talking."
you can't help but agree with that.
the man gives you a small smile. it changes his face, adds a hint of kindness that doesn't make sense. not in a place like this, among people like him.
he says, "i'm seonghwa, y/n."
before you can respond, he strides out the kitchen, leaving you more confused than ever.
--
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[20] apocalypse + ex! san + "i can't fix this, can i?"
part 19 | masterlist 
a/n: 9k words whew. also the final part! thank you everyone for showing so much support for this! i love you all!!! warnings for some very existential talks, mentions of su1c1de once again, and some setting-typical gore descriptions. i am very sorry for how this ends lol........i will say this ended a little differently than originally planned though.
-
"how does this thing always survive?" you ask san, fiddling with the beat up radio.
san chuckles, shrugging, "if the internet still existed, i'd give this thing five stars."
you flip the radio in your hands for a moment, the grooves and scratches scraping at the pads of your fingertips. the volume button is beginning to come off. you carefully clip to your belt loop and decidedly ignore the memories of the sanctuary the thing dredges up. you'd decided long ago that you wouldn't talk about the place. in fact, you're yet to visit the burnt remains, despite knowing how close it is to your cabin.
you look up at san. he sits on the remnants of a broken brick wall in front of one of the more damaged houses. someone crashed a small pickup truck through the wall. you both already scoured the house in search of anything salvageable. all that was left was broken glass and plates all over the floor. the walls were stripped as bare as the pantry. even the bedroom mattresses were stripped of all its bedding. you took great care not to look to far into it, as you usually did when you broke into abandoned homes in search of food or shelter, but five minutes ago, you both came upon a locked attic door and the stench of rotting flesh, maggots crawling along the hallway floor. how either of you can make jokes, or just...move on, when something like that sits mere meters from you is yet another thing to feel guilty about.
san kicks his feet, his hair falling into his eyes. you say, "your hair is too long."
"my hairstylist is all booked out this month," san says.
you can't help but laugh.
san gives you a small smile, his gaze lingering on your face for a long moment. you're unsure, sometimes, what you're supposed to do when you catch him lingering like that. you figure it makes sense. he thought you were dead for months upon months. he's going to look at you like he's trying to remember details of your face he'd forgotten. you give him a pass for that because, frankly, it's understandable. still, you find yourself trailing off, gaze falling to the radio once more. you don't want to deny him that, especially when you let him believe you were dead for so long, and you don't necessarily hate the lingering moments, but you don't know what to do with it. the way it makes you a little nervous, the way it makes you look away, you don't want to examine that. it's baggage you're determined to never ever unpack.
there's a beat of silence before san points at the radio clipped to your belt loop, "i'll bring extra batteries next time. i think the convenience store south of the bunker should still have some."
you sigh, "you really don't have to. i can find some on my own."
it's been four weeks since you saw san again, and you've seen him every week since then. four days. once a week. for four weeks. you'd both agreed on it after that first day, and maybe you were a total idiot to take on his offer, to let him back into your life after everything, but everything he had said that day was not wrong.
you'd thought about it all that first week. you spent so many nights wide awake, curled on your side and listening to the faint clicking noises beyond your barricaded door as you mulled over every single word san had said to you, and how he said it to you.
that second time, you'd stood far enough from san that you both had to cup your hands around your mouths to shout at each other so the other could hear, and you'd yelled, "i'm not going back to that bunker."
san said, "i don't blame you."
the look in his eyes was...sad. you'd wondered during your nights wide awake if he was ever upset with his friends for what happened. you'd wondered how that day went after he thought you'd burned yourself with the sanctuary to save him and his friends, the same friends who put you in that damned place in the first place.
you'd said, "and i don't want to go anywhere near the sanctuary. ever. understood?"
"i don't...i'd never ask you to go back there. i haven't been back since the day...since the day after. when i tried to find your body," san called, shrugging. he kicked at grass, hands in his pockets, lips pursed.
something in your chest curled at the thought. he'd even gone back there.
you'd also called, "you don't get to know where i'm staying."
san nodded, "i understand."
from then on out, the conversation faded out and you were both left in silence. somehow your weekly meetups turned into hours of rummaging through houses and stores for food and supplies to split between the two of you.
neither of you really said much, but the company was enough. at least for you. sometimes, san would hold a tree branch back for you as you trekked through trails to explore smaller towns and farms off the highway, or warn you of sudden steps. sometimes, he'd ask if you were hungry and conjure snacks.
your meetups consisted of the smallest of small talks, yet the silences were...comforting. perhaps, you've gotten used to having a companion with you - from spending most of your chore time at the sanctuary at jongho or san's side to all that time with mrs. kim - and that's why you've started finding yourself looking forward to seeing san every week.
that was something you did not wish to delve too far into. so you decided that your time with san reminded you of your time with mrs. kim. to an extent, it really did. it was as if you were both living in a little bubble of peace that did not make sense in a world like this, and it brought you a moment of serenity you thought had walked away with mrs. kim.
but the dread? the anxiety? it was still there. worse than when you sat in limbo with mrs. kim. it sat at the pit of your stomach and draped itself over your shoulders, whispering of how things were going too smoothly. how this was too good to be true.
now here san is giving you the same damned radio you'd left your apartment in the city with. it's like an omen, especially coupled with what you'd both left behind in that house. death always follows this radio, you've learned, and that thought has your stomach churning.
you glance over his shoulder, at the broken house, fingers curling around the radio.
"i know i don't have to, but i want to." san's voice drifts through the silence, "besides, i think we should have some way to communicate throughout the week."
"i..." you turn the radio over in your hands, once, twice, before you say, "okay."
you turn your gaze from san to the broken pickup truck lodged into the wall san sits on. there's a pair of fuzzy purple dice hanging from the crooked rearview mirror inside the car.
san says, "i wasn't going to give that to you, but..."
your gaze flits to san, from the way he fiddles with his fingers in his lap, to the way he turns slightly to look back at the house. he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. the expression on his face is a familiar thing, something you'd feel lodge in your throat whenever you'd stare at that damned rifle for far too long. live with it, live with it, live with it. your own words echo in your head like a mantra, like a prayer, like a plead.
the thing about the end of the world is that death is a constant. every morning, you'd come upon mangled bodies that you believed were the fog's doing. oftentimes you'd come upon scenes just like the one in the house, bodies hanging from chandeliers and ceiling fans, or worse, with guns lodged in their mouths or knifes clutched in their fingers. it's normal, even, you'd say. each body was another guilty notch on your list of reasons to live, and maybe that does make you a naïve idiot, to let everyone else's problems become your burden. or maybe that's just what you're wired to do. either way, you find yourself frowning at san, at the clear unsaid words lingering in the air between you both.
you say, "i'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're afraid of."
san blinks.
you roll your eyes, but your heart is lodged in your throat, and live with it rings loud in your ears and you say, "i killed all those people when i blew the sanctuary up, and that guilt eats me alive every single fucking day. i don't think i'm allowed to just...die. not yet."
san's fingers curl into fists in his lap. he says, "why did you do it? why didn't you just come with us?"
"if the sanctuary survived, they wouldn't have left us alone."
"that was never your burden to bear," san says with a sigh, dragging both hands through his hair. his eyes glitter with an unreadable emotion. those words make you come to a pause. no one's ever said that to you. not in so many words.
"should i have let jongho do it, then?"
san gives you a small smile. he says, "i guess not."
then you both fall into silence as he walks you to the edge of the forest and you both say your goodbyes.
~.~.~.~.~
with the radio comes conversations throughout the week. they're sporadic, but you keep the radio clipped to your belt even as you're wringing out laundry in the clearing outside the cabin or exploring the woods to find dry wood for fire. they start off as small pleasantries, reports even about your days.
things like:
"jongho is trying speech therapy. yunho says it'll work." san said one evening, while you were boarding up the door and windows for the night. your heart did a little flip at the name and the confirmation that he's alive and okay, despite everything.
"is yunho even a trained doctor?"
"not a paramedic like you were. but he was two years into med school when everything happened. doubt any residency would have ever given him half the amount of hands on training he's had since everything went to shit though."
and:
"mrs. kim tried to teach me how to make rabbit and squirrel traps, but we're both awful at it," you'd explained once.
san said, "i can teach you next time. apparently that's one of my talents."
"setting up traps?" you'd asked, "sounds about right."
san had groaned, "that's fair."
even:
"do you want me to bring you some books? no one reads around here."
"please," you said, "i've been reading the same book for months. i think i can recite it word for word now."
san laughed, "you can't just say that and not recite it word for word. go on."
and sometimes even just:
"good night."
~.~.~.~.~
three more weeks pass, and san's kept his word on taking you into the woods to show you how to set up traps to hunt for food.
he holds a low hanging branch as you edge past him. the ground is cold and hard, trees bare of leaves, and you both know you're not going to catch anything anyway. it's the dead of winter, and the animals are sleeping. still, san showed you how to tie secure knots, raising a brow at you in silence, waiting for your permission before he placed his fingers over yours and guided your hands through the proper motions. even Before, he'd never been quite so sweet, but you figured this was because he'd promised to start over, and the san you once knew is not the san of After. you used to think that was a strange thing, and it made you uneasy. and, maybe, it still does, to an extent. however, in the grand scheme of things, it certainly makes starting over easier.
san trips over a protruding root, and the little yelp that leaves his mouth as he catches himself has you giggling. san narrows his eyes at you, but his grin is contagious.
you don't know about forgiveness, or forgetting, or even trust, but three more weeks have passed and you think maybe you're both getting somewhere.
~.~.~.~.~
the trees start to bud around your clearing. you'd missed the foliage shading you from the sun, but the tiny pink buds of one of the trees brings a fullness to your heart you hadn't felt in a while. you'd never stayed in one place long enough to see the seasons change.
even then, winter does not seem to want to leave. it's snowing.
san blinks up at the grey skies, his nose and the tips of his ears pink, his cheeks flushed, and his hair falling into his eyes. white snowflakes stick to his hair.
you hold out a hand, and you find yourself smiling. "so pretty," you say.
"yeah," san says, and you look back over your shoulder to find san looking at you, his dimple peeking out over his scarf. he looked away first, his cheeks flushed.
you laughed. san grimaced at you, fighting a smile all the while.
maybe starting over isn't so bad.
~.~.~.~.~
only a week later, when the snow has melted away completely and the flowers are still tiny colorful buds, you trip over a familiar boot lodged in the bushes. san catches you by the arm before you can smack your face into the hard ground, but that still doesn't stop you from sinking to your knees.
you recognize that boot because you've spent too many mornings staring at them from your vantage point sprawled in the grass of the clearing in front of the cabin while mrs. kim cooked or cleaned or just sat in silence.
you and san hadn't ventured far from your cabin. you still have not shown him the cabin, but you've both been venturing the forest around it recently. the thought of mrs. kim's boot being so close to your cabin brings a sinking feeling to your stomach.
"y/n?"
san crouches beside you, his hand on your back.
you say, "this is mrs. kim's."
you never told san much about mrs. kim, other than the fact that she saved you and she left for the sea before you met san again. still, san's hand stills on your back.
"maybe," your voice sounds shrill to your own ears, "maybe she had a spare?"
and, perhaps you will always be the type to seek out more reasons to feel guilty. perhaps you really are wired for it.
because you stand up, and you start to look, and san his on your heels, quietly following you as you call for her knowing damn well she's not going to answer.
under a tree further north, you find her other boot. it's tied to the lowest tree branch by its shoelaces, the ratty black boot swinging lightly in the breeze.
you step forward, intent on looking further, when you feel a tug on your sleeve.
you turn, and san's hand remains on your elbow, squeezing lightly. his touch is reassuring. he says, "what are you going to do with yourself if you find her?"
you both know damn well you won't find her alive. you can't help the way your eyes start to sting. in fact, you try to stop the tears, fingers curling into fists. you want to shout. you want to cry. you want to understand how the hell she only made it this far.
"she was," you take a deep breath, "she was supposed to visit."
but your voice cracks as you say it, and you find yourself crumbling despite everything. you hadn't even cried like this when you saw san again and you two talked about starting over. as you stand here with one of mrs. kim's boots dangling from your fingers and the other one dangling from the tree branch, your tears do not stop. your chest hurts with the pain of it. your knees buckle. san catches you before you fall, and he wraps you up in his arms. you clutch onto him. he presses your face to his chest and you let yourself sob. you hadn't cried for a long, long time. you've forgotten how to, your breathing unsteady as you gulp for air.
you cry, and san strokes your back.
~.~.~.~.~
san sits on the steps of your cabin beside you, the two of you staring at the mound of dirt in the clearing. you'd dug up the hole and buried her shoes away. you hadn't dug the hole deep enough.
you say, "she told me she helped me because she owed you."
"oh," san lets out a small, breathless laugh. you watch him look down at his hands. the skin around his nails is rough, as if he's been picking at them. that is a habit he'd never had before. it's new. "before the bunker, i spent some time with another group. there was this girl, doyeon. i wasn't surprised she was mrs. kim's granddaughter. she was so nosy and loud just like mrs. kim. we all used to share stories and so many people talked about their grandparents, and doyeon used to say she wished she had the chance to get to know them."
san trails off, and you ask, "what happened to her?"
san closes his eyes. maybe you aren't the only one wired to carry the burden of guilt on your shoulders. he draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his knees. he says, "my old group found the bunker. there used to be a lot of in-fighting. i picked a side, when i should have tried to keep the peace, but how was i supposed to know this fight would be serious?"
san lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders drooping. it explains why he maintained such neutrality between you and his friends.
"it was five against three that day. me, wooyoung, and doyeon against five guys. things didn't work out. they beat the shit out of us. i'm talking broken bones, lots and lots of blood... we were tied up like pigs for slaughter. wooyoung had a fucking knife in him. i had broken fingers - i don't even think they've healed properly. doyeon's jaw was broken, and she could barely talk. as night drew closer, it became increasingly obvious that it was either us or them. so -" san rubs his red-rimmed eyes, "so we came up with a plan. doyeon thought of it, actually, and sometimes, i wonder if she just...knew what was going to happen to her from the moment she suggested the plan. she lured them out to the front of the bunker. i'll spare you the details, but we managed to push them out of the bunker. it was going smoothly, until it didn't. as we were closing the doors, one of them dragged doyeon out with them. i tried so hard to save her, but...but the sun was setting quickly and she decided to let go. the look in her eyes - i think she knew. woo says it wasn't my fault. either way, she died that night and i couldn't save her. the next morning, there were only pieces left of them. ears and limbs and...and doyeon's hands. woo and i buried her in her favorite part of town and we decided to stay at the bunker anyway. we decided we wouldn't let something like that happen again. that's why it's so hard for the boys to trust people, y/n, and i understand that isn't an excuse, but i think you deserve that explanation. doyeon...i couldn't keep her safe even though i said i would, and i thought i could live with that too, but then i ended up at the sanctuary and met her fucking grandmother." you watch san let out a staggering breath, his eyes fixed on the burial spot, "if anything i'm the one who owes mrs. kim."
you don't know what to say about san's admission. you remember him telling you he'd done horrible things to end up at the bunker. you remember how irritated he had been when you let it slip that you felt safe in the bunker that first night, despite the fact that you were surrounded by strangers. he'd been so angry, and now you can see why. you don't know what to say, so you resort to an attempt at lightheartedness, your chest tight.
"join the club," you mutter, your voice shaky despite your attempt for nonchalance, "i owe her my damned life too, and instead of letting me repay my debts, she had the fucking nerve to die so close to home."
san laughs, says, "she could have at least made it to the sea."
you snort, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you both sit in silence. you say, "if it's any consolation, i'm sorry about doyeon. you tried your best."
he says, "i thought i'd come to terms with it, but when you...i promised i'd keep you safe, and i couldn't do that with you either."
"you tried," you repeat, "that's what matters in the end, i think."
"it wasn't enough."
"it will be."
you can hear the sharp intake of breath, the way san stiffens under your head, but he does not move. he does not say anything.
you hear a sniffle. he says, "you think so?"
you push away to look up at him. he peers down at you, his face inches from yours. his eyes are glassy, and his hair is too long, and his nose is tinged red, and he looks so otherworldly, like a painting. his honeyed gaze curls around your racing heart, and the sun casts gold over his sharp features. you think you understand why throughout history people went to war for pretty queens and kings.
he presses a thumb to your cheek. your heart pounds.
you say, "you really need a haircut."
san laughs. you could drown, you think, in his dimples and his glassy eyes and the rough circles he traces along your cheek and loud laugh.
he asks, "do you have scissors?"
"kitchen scissors."
his gaze flickers over your face. he says, "perfect."
he sits on mrs. kim's once untouched chair, and stares apprehensively at the rusty kitchen scissors in your hands.
he helps you board up the windows and door when the sun starts to set.
he opens the canned food for you. canned food tastes better, you find, when you share it with someone.
he sleeps in mrs. kim's once untouched bed, and you really do think trying is enough.
~.~.~.~.~
only three days pass when you start to notice things are...strange.
not between you and san, but in the woods.
"i think someone must have accidentally planted a shit ton of mint leaves around here. they were too small last time i saw it, so maybe now it's going to -"
you come to halt next to a giant oak tree. its bare branches stretch out to one side, trunk bowed, as if it is a giant looming over you. nailed to the trunk sits a purple piece of cloth. it's flag-like in its shape. it flutters in the breeze. a chill runs straight down your back. you hadn't seen a purple flag since that day you ran into san. you hadn't seen flags since your attempt to avoid the sanctuary. the fact of the matter is that this flag means that someone is out here other than you and san. and they are close.
san's voice echoes all around you, crackly and filled with static. "y/n? y/n? what's wrong?"
your stomach churns as you swivel on your heels, scanning the other trees. despite the beginnings of spring, the leaves have still not returned fully. there are so many bare branches and dead leaves. as you walk, the leaves crunch under your boots.
for a moment, you don't think you should say anything.
but you're starting over, aren't you? you're supposed to try. you don't have to -
a few hundred steps away, another purple flag is nailed to an old tree trunk. your heart jumps in your chest.
you press the radio, "what do purple flags mean?"
your voice is quiet. the ensuing silence rings loud as you step further through the forest, as you come upon another one. it's a trail, you realize, as you keep walking. maybe you shouldn't follow it.
yet you do, even as san's crackly voice fills the silence, "purple flags?"
it takes thirty-six seconds for you to recognize the trail as you keep walking, dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. you say, "there are purple pieces of cloth nailed to the trees, san. they look flags or markers or something."
a pause. "are you following them?"
"yeah," you come to a stop at the next nailed purple flag, your gaze falling on the familiar trees. the clearing. your clearing. you swallow the lump in your throat, your grip on the radio so hard you're afraid you'll break it. "fuck."
"y/n, what is it?"
you say, "it leads to the cabin."
"shit," san's voice is sharp, alert, with an undercurrent of terror curling underneath everything, "y/n, you need to leave now. get out of there right n-"
you turn off the radio, dousing yourself in the silence of the woods. it's not so peaceful now, and every crack of a branch, every rustle of dead leaves, makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you should run. every cell in your body screams at you to do so, but you find yourself stepping forward. you find yourself peering into the clearing.
wedged into the lump of overturned dirt where you buried mrs. kim's boots is a purple flag fluttering at the end of a wooden stick. there's nothing telling about it. it's merely a poorly dyed purple bedsheet, splotchy and lighter in some parts then others, wrapped around a wooden stick. still your heart pounds against your ribcage. it's as if the shoddiness of the person's work is more terrifying then if the flag was cleanly done, the way the sanctuary's had been. and a smidge of anger curls at the pit of your stomach. your eyes drift to your cabin. the door is wide open, swaying on its rusted hinges.
you back up, one step, two steps, three, until you're running.
~.~.~.~.~
you emerge from the trees to san out of breath, his hair windswept.
you blink in surprise. he surges forward, clutching your shoulders as he gives you a onceover, out of breath the entire time.
your stomach continues to churn, even as san says, "you're okay. you're okay."
you're not sure who he's trying to convince of that.
you are not okay.
you'd spent so many months in a bubble, thinking that everything would be fine. that the end of all things was this gentle, careful, serene thing where all that is left in the world is yourself and anyone you allow in it. that you could make a home somewhere and you would be okay. but the world is nothing like that. you're unsure why you ever thought otherwise. you were in that fucking sanctuary. you were robbed at knifepoint by san and his friends. you killed your mother. you've come upon dead bodies, whether by others doings or their owns. mrs. kim is dead.
you're no ghost, because at least ghosts wander peacefully. you will never find any peace. someone or something will always find a way to burst your bubble. they'll encroach on your space, and you will never truly be safe, and the realization, however late it is, is terrifying. maybe you are naïve. you thought you'd hardened after everything, but you still clung to hope. you look at still san. you still are. to have reprieve from the terror of the end of the world only to feel it so wholly all at once - it's fucking jarring. you hate yourself for ever believing the reprieve could be permanent. as long as those things float in the sky, you'll never find peace.
your hands are shaking. your vision is blurred.
your gaze slides over san's worried face.
wooyoung stares back at you.
you grab san's hands, placing them at his sides, and you squeeze them once before letting him go. you ask, "someone was inside my cabin. they fucking...they put a marker on mrs. kim's grave. purple. everything was purple."
wooyoung is the one to speak, his voice low, thoughtful, "i've been seeing purple markers all over the place, but they never led anywhere. i thought someone was just using them to help them remember places."
"you can't go back there," san's voice is a quiet thing, fragile almost, "it's not safe. i know you said you didn't want to go back to the bunker, but y/n, you cannot go back there."
"it isn't safe anywhere," your fingers curl around each other, "i'd feel safer squatting in one of these houses then staying in your bunker."
you give wooyoung a pointed look, even as you gesture at the dilapidated stone houses around you.
wooyoung rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he cocks his head to the side, "come on, y/n. wasn't robbing me enough?"
"no, actually," you turn fully on him, stepping closer. "let me get a few more punches in."
wooyoung laughs, eyeing you up and down as you round on him. "good to see you're back in tip top shape."
"you really want me to punch you don't you?" you say, fingers clenched into a fist.
"oh," wooyoung grins, tone dripping with honeyed amusement, "i'd love to see you try."
"wooyoung, shut the fuck up," san groans, dragging a hand over his face. san puts a hand on your elbow, and you realize that you are inches from wooyoung, fists clenched, all while wooyoung grins at you without stepping back.
you step back first, glaring at wooyoung for good measure.
san says, "i'm serious, y/n. we don't know who this person is."
"or group," wooyoung mutters, his grin turning into a frown.
san nods, "exactly."
"he's showing absolutely zero remorse, san. if wooyoung's anything to go by, i'd rather get eaten by those aliens then spend a night around your snake friends."
there's a long long stretch of silence. the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end. the three of you are still at the edge of the forest, out in the open for anyone to watch from the woods. how could you be stupid enough to think no one was ever watching all this time?
"just one night," san says, pleads really, "that's all. just so we have time to clear your place together and find you a new, safer place."
your heart skips a beat at his words, while another part of you is angry you even have to find a new place. you're tired of wandering, and you're tired of feeling scared. you're tired.
still, you meet san's gaze and you sigh. "fine."
~.~.~.~.~
the walk to the bunker had been silent. wooyoung wandered ahead while san matched your strides, his shoulder occasionally brushing against yours.
"i punched him, you know," san says quietly.
you blink up at him. san nods his chin towards wooyoung's back as he leads the way.
"so many times, actually," san smiles a little, "and wooyoung didn't hit me back once. you know him. he always has something to say back, but for months he just...let himself be my punching bag, figuratively and literally, after i lost you."
"that doesn't mean he's sorry," you say, frowning at wooyoung's back.
"in his own way, he is." san purses his lips, "doesn't mean you have to forgive him though. i know i haven't."
you blink. oh. you didn't think he was ever going to hold his friends accountable in any way. you didn't think he even blamed his friends for anything. something churns at the pit of your stomach, and it feels like the strangest bout of guilt. you say, "you love him. you love your friends."
"i think we both know you can love someone and still never forgive them," san murmurs. he looks down at you.
"still," you say quietly, "i'm sorry. your relationship is strained because of me."
he shakes his head.
"it's strained because of their decisions."
"i'm still sorry."
"at least they're trying," san says, and his tone is soft and kind, maybe even a little sad, "they won't hurt you, y/n. please trust me on that at least."
wooyoung turns into a familiar alleyway, one you'd passed through a long, long time ago.
the metal door leading to the bunker sits straight ahead. it's blocked off by abandoned cars, hiding it from view unless one knows where to look. you know where to look.
you take a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. months ago, you wouldn't have conceded with san even on this point, but now you find yourself believing him. maybe that's stupid of you, but you find that you believe him. just a little bit.
~.~.~.~.~
the bunker is exactly as you remembered it. the strewn blankets and cushions. the comforting lights. the long hallway. the way the cold air raises goosebumps along your skin. the feeling that this place is lived in, despite being a metal bunker space.
"you can sleep in my bed," san says, from where he stands awkwardly across from you, next to the kitchen island stools. he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, though his gaze remains steadily on you, "i'll sleep down here."
wooyoung looks between you both in the silence that ensues afterwards, before he turns on his heels and disappears down the dark hallway without another word. you stare after him before turning back to san.
"no," you shake your head, "i'll sleep down here. it's fine."
san looks like he wants to argue, but he just nods. he opens his mouth as if he wants to say something more, but you hear the smallest of gasps.
you look up, and jongho is stands at the end of the hall. wooyoung is behind him, hand on his back. he meets your gaze, and you can't help but smile at him. wooyoung just rolls his eyes and disappears back into the hall, making you wish you could take back that second of gratitude.
jongho blinks over and over and over, and you can't help but let out a laugh. sure, jongho betrayed you, but he'd been a victim, and you couldn't blame him. you really couldn't. here he is, looking well-fed and like he sleeps well, and your heart feels like it's growing three times its size in your chest.
he hovers, and san steps aside, gesturing jongho forward. jongho just stares at you, waiting. you realize he is waiting for permission. that makes you deflate a bit. he likely thinks you hate him, and maybe you should, but you can't find it in yourself to hate him.
so, you hold out your arms, and jongho takes a step, another, before he walks into your arms, still so uncertain, and you say, "you're alive."
he glares at you, even as he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tight. he doesn't need words for you to know what he's thinking. he leans back, frees his arms, and makes a gesture of touching his forehead. he brings his arm down. he keeps doing it. you look at san in confusion.
"it's sign language," san explains quietly, "he says he's sorry."
"oh," you look at jongho. there's a sincerity there you'd always liked about jongho. the apology is something you realize you'd wanted until now. you press your hands to his, and you say, "i know, jongho. i know you are."
jongho nods, over and over and over, as he pulls you into another hug.
~.~.~.~.~
in a way, you expected this eventually. the bunker was only so big.
but jongho asked if you wanted to talk upstairs, and you ended up in that living room once more. san stayed behind downstairs. when you'd pulled yourself through the hatch to the living room, that same feeling you'd felt the first time hit you all at once. the coziness of the room, the home that was so obviously made here, it hurt worse this time knowing that you'd built something like it in the woods and it was encroached upon by intruders. it's like you lost normalcy a second time, and it makes you so angry, yet so fucking sad.
you'd sat on the couch and jongho took out a notebook, and he asked, how are you alive?
you started from the beginning, recounting mrs. kim and your time with her. robbing wooyoung and yunho. jongho giggled at that. you spoke of your time with san. it wasn't a very long story, but it was the first time you'd spoken of it all at once, and it was yours. you hadn't had much that you could call yours since the world ended.
where will you go after tonight? jongho asked.
"i don't know," you said. jongho put his hand over yours. he seemed to be thinking, his brows furrowed, but before you can say more, there are footsteps hurrying down the stairs in the corner.
you look up, and the person comes to a screeching halt at the threshold to the living room, his eyes widening as he meets your gaze.
it's yeosang.
you shoot to your feet.
yeosang frowns as he steps further into the room, his eyes narrowing as he glances between jongho and yourself.
he says, "are you fucking kidding me?"
his voice is loud, angry, and your fingers curl into fists. suddenly, all the anger you've ever felt, from wandering as ghost, from your time at the sanctuary, from learning of all the betrayals, from the death of mrs. kim, from the fact that your cabin was broken into, bubbles at the pit of your stomach, and all you see is fucking red.
"someone's been keep tabs on you and san's first thought is to bring you here?" yeosang grits his teeth as he scowls at you.
"is that really going to be the first thing you say to me?" you ask, matching his tone. you step closer to him, and he does the same. jongho steps in, putting a hand on yeosang's shoulder, and he shrugs it off, his jaw clenching as he peers at you.
yeosang says, "do you want an apology or something?"
"yes," you grit.
yeosang rolls his eyes.
you can't help it when you swing your fist at him. to be fair, it's been a long time coming, and you'd fantasized about this moment often while lying in the clearing in front of your cabin and staring at the clouds pass by. the sound of your knuckles hitting his face echoes all around you. pain shoots through your arm, but the way yeosang doubles over in pain is absolutely worth it.
yeosang clutches his nose - it's bleeding, you realize with a giddiness you haven't felt in a long, long, long time - and glares up at you with so much vitriol, it makes you laugh.
"didn't think i'd do it, huh, asshole?"
then yeosang lunges at you, fury in his eyes.
you yelp when your back hits the ground. yeosang gets a swipe in on your face, and the pain makes you angrier. you grab him by the collar and use all your weight to roll on top. it works for half a minute before he yanks at your hair. you smack him over the top of the head. he gasps. then he kicks you.
maybe this is stupid, or perhaps you should have predicted this. it's not like yeosang ever seemed like the type to take a punch without retaliating.
before you can retaliate fully, though, you're flailing as you're pulled back. you kick and thrash in the arms of yeosang's savior, only to find that he's also being pulled away. by yunho. you look up. mingi meets your gaze, expression unreadable. mingi promptly places you on the ground. you don't move from the spot.
yeosang's nose is bleeding and his lip his cut and there's a bruise blooming under eye, so you don't fight mingi. sure, your cheek is throbbing and he may have ripped out some hair, and if you get the chance you'll punch him again, but for now you're satisfied enough with the damage you've done to stop fighting back.
yeosang is glaring at you, chest heaving.
yunho scowls between yeosang and yourself, "what the fuck was that?"
"he deserved it," you say, with a shrug.
the floor hatch to the living room swings open, and both san climbs out. san blinks between you both. wooyoung only snorts as he remains on the ladder leading out of the hatch, resting his chin on his hands as he watches.
yeosang rolls his eyes, "they deserved it too."
"you're literally acting like children," yunho sighs, shaking his head as he plops down fully on the ground next to yeosang.
the living room looks small with everyone in it. with you leaning heavily against a wall and mingi seated cross-legged next to you, his long limbs taking up too much space, and yeosang leaning against the sofa, yunho groaning with his head thrown back beside him, rubbing his eyes as he does so, and jongho sitting on the couch where you'd left him, his arms wrapped around his knees, and san with his arms crossed over his chest, looming over all four of you, and wooyoung amused from his position at the hatch door.
you scowl, "so i'm not allowed to be angry? is that it? should i just ignore what you've put me through?"
yunho frowns at the floor. no one quite meets your eyes.
"that has nothing to do with this," yeosang snaps, "you have a fucking target on your back and you've dragged us into it."
you start to laugh, and the hollowness of it is jarring even to your own ears, "do you fucking hear your hypocrisy, yeosang?"
yeosang sits up straight, his lips pressed into a straight line. his fingers clench and unclench as he glares at you, "you should have stayed dead if you were just going to bring trouble with you."
"yeosang!" san's voice is sharp as a knife.
you shake your head at san, arms crossed tighter over your chest, "no, i want to hear this."
yeosang stays silent, clenching his jaw as he rolls his eyes.
you raise a brow at him, "go on. tell me how i'm the bad person here."
yeosang says, "every time we leave this bunker, it's dangerous. every week san spends hours outside the bunker with you. do you understand the danger that's putting not only him, but the rest of us, in?"
he keeps his gaze fixed on you, but you glance at san anyway. san looks angry, in a way you hadn't seen in a long long time. he opens his mouth to say something, but wooyoung tugs at his pant leg, shaking his head.
you sigh, turning back to yeosang, "i'm not putting a gun to his head and making him meet me every week, and i certainly did not give the wrong directions to -"
yeosang scoffs, "i did what i had to do to for my people, y/n. the sanctuary was necessary. i'm sorry you got caught in the middle of everything, but i'm not sorry for what i did. we got san and jongho out. we destroyed the sanctuary. everything worked out in the end."
the anger at the pit of your stomach is tumultuous. you want to throw up at how overwhelming the urge to throw another punch is. maybe, in this world, this makes sense. you are not included with yeosang's people, and you never would be. he doesn't owe you anything. not even just a moment of genuine remorse.
"are you even capable of remorse?" you ask.
you don't mean to say it out loud, but your words spill from your mouth, and the room goes so silent, you could hear a pin drop. san is looking at yeosang, waiting for a response. mingi shifts next to you. yunho bites his lip. wooyoung just watches.
yeosang's hard expression falters. it lasts for the blink of an eye, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings, and you only catch it because you're watching. his gaze flickers to san, as well. for just a moment. it's a tell, you realize, that you've struck something underneath his hard exterior. he clamps his teeth over his bottom lip, lips stretching into a thin line, and his gaze meets yours again just milliseconds later. his face hardens more than you've ever seen it before. if you didn't know better, you could mistake him for a marble statue, carved into the picture of insolence.
he does not respond, though, despite his façade.
yunho frown deepens as he looks at yeosang.
no one looks at you.
so you speak into the silence, "i guess not."
you get to your feet, pushing past san, past the living room table. wooyoung climbs out the hatch, moving aside from you, and he doesn't say anything either. his expression is devoid of his usual shit-eating grin and unfiltered amusement.
in the dimness of the bunker room, you wrap yourself up in a warm blanket - it's the big fur kind you grew up with, right down to the giant floral decal - and you hate how the anger is still there, turning inwards instead. you should have known this would happen. you can't truly start over with san when you share so much history, Before and After.
~.~.~.~.~
you can't sleep. you want to - you'd learned your lesson last time, and if anything the bunker is safe from the aliens, and you should take advantage of it - but you're overheating under the fluffy blanket, and the battery powered light at your side, even at it's lowest setting, is too bright. yunho brought it down for you, wordless in his exchange before he headed back through the hall. you didn't hear the opening of the hatch, so you figured he must have gone into one of the rooms lining the narrow hall. you don't want to turn off the light completely. total darkness unsettles you.
you contemplate going up to the living room and finding a book to occupy your time. at least this time you wouldn't be sneaking around.
before you can, you hear the creaking of the hatch - you'd memorized the sound, a series of cranks and a long squeak followed by a full thud - and you go still in the blanket, peeking over to the dark hall. just in case.
moments later, a shadow appears at the end of the hall. the shadow stretches up onto the ceiling due to the light from your lantern.
your fingers curl around the edge of the blanket as you keep your eyes fixed on the figure, even as you continue to pretend to sleep.
"i know you're awake," san's soft voice fills the bunker. he sounds exhausted.
you sit up. san comes closer. you dial up the brightness of the lantern, illuminating his face. you watch, leaning back on your elbows, as san takes a seat beside you and the lantern, his arms winding around his knees as he chews on his bottom lip.
it's so silent for so long, before san murmurs, "i can't fix this, can i?"
"no," you tug the warm blanket closer as you shake your head, "but at least we tried."
"i can go with you and -"
"no," you interrupt him. you can see it in the furrowed brows, in the way he frowns, that he's going to suggest something stupid. something he'll eventually resent you for. "we said we wouldn't lose ourselves in each other this time, didn't we?"
"y/n."
"you love them," you say, and your heart feels like it's being ripped from your chest. this is worse, somehow, then the anger that had been churning in you earlier. "for better or for worse, you love them. wooyoung, yunho, mingi. yeosang. they are your family. you can forgive them, but still stay with them. i can't. so i will not and cannot ask you to leave them for me, san."
in the low warmth of the lantern, san's features are softer than ever. his eyes remind you of the earth after rain. you watch as he reaches out, as he slowly presses his fingers to your cheek. first the pads of his fingertips, light as feathers, and then heavier touch of his calloused palms, his thumb. he draws small lines along your jaw, and he looks at you like he is committing you to memory, like he is determined to etch your likeness into the recesses of his mind.
his thumb traces down your jaw, along your cheek, to your hairline. around and around and around.
his wet eyes dance in lanternlight.
he says, quietly, "i'm sorry i wasn't enough."
you shake your head, and you swallow the lump in your throat, "these past few months, you were more than enough. you were everything. you are everything." your fingers curl into fists around the blanket wrapped around you, "i'm glad we at least got a little time together. without all the fighting."
"i'm going to miss you," he says quietly, "i'm always going to miss you."
"me too," you whisper, unable to articulate fully how much you agree. you'll miss him in the next life, too, you think.
his fingers brush along your forehead. then he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. it's short and sweet, and the warmth of his hand on your cheek is enough to make you truly feel like he's ripped the rest of your heart out with that alone. he already has so many pieces of your heart, and now he's taken the rest of it.
the silence between you both is heavy. loaded. it is everything said and unsaid all at once. everything and nothing. it's you and san as you were Before, and as you are Now.
you clear your throat, leaning away to pat the spot next to you, swinging the end of the blanket his way. you say, "tell me a story please."
san smiles, his dimple appearing as he scoots in beside you, his voice soft as he tells you something about mingi stepping on yunho. his voice is soothing, soft, and, just this once, you let yourself relax with him next to you. san brushes at your hair as you do.
the next morning, he is gone. the bunker room is cold and dark, despite the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the feeling of home you'd felt here is gone, with san.
that morning, only jongho sees you off, and you're grateful for it. you don't think you could leave otherwise.
~.~.~.~.~
one year passes, yet the year feels like a decade. time is a funny thing when you're alone, and you'd forgotten that when you'd had constant company. the things in the sky are still there. the black fog at night is denser than ever. you avoid people now more than ever. you don't stay in one place for long, though the country is too damn small to not visit the same area twice. you've traveled far enough away from the bunker where the radio clipped to your belt loop remains out of range, not once straying north. you visit the shores to the south. you find wild vineyards to the east. you remain at the outskirts of the bunker, never within range, but not quite far enough away. still, it's as if nothing has changed, as if you've never even met san again or ended up at the sanctuary.
yet everything's different. you avoid going north in case you stumble upon the sanctuary's ruins. you avoid the west so you can stay out of the bunker's range and resist the urge to return to your cabin. but a year has dulled all that, and everything different starts to bury itself away until you can pretend it doesn't affect you anymore. you've gotten very good at that.
it's summer, when you finally have the courage to travel north. this will be your first step in letting go completely, you decide the night you make the decision to go north. did you already cry your eyes out the minute you'd left the bunker while crouched behind an abandoned car? yes. did you keep doing that for months and months after? maybe. but, now you're ready to really, truly start over. no san. no sanctuary. no bunker. no fears. you can truly let go.
the hike had gone well. you were sweating through your shirt, and your water was running low, but it was going well. you felt reborn, really, from sweat and the dense summer humidity and the feeling of your skin burning under the hot sun.
as you climb over the hill, your radio starts to crackle. you must have forgotten to turn it off. everywhere you go, you gather batteries for the thing, so it doesn't die. you don't wish to delve into the reasons as to why you do that when you're never in range of the bunker anyway.
you trudge up to the hillside, kicking rocks as you go, ignoring the soft crackle. the sound is more comforting then the silence and your heavy labored breathing, anyway, so you keep the radio on. besides the radio never picks anything up anymore anyway.
some nights, you'd clicked the talk button and tried to say hello. all you were ever met with was silence. it was understandable, but it still hurt more than you liked to admit.
you reach for the trunk of the lone tree on top of the hill, catching your breath, when you hear a voice over the radio. it's unfamiliar, cutting off between words, but the sound still makes you jump.
you'd forgotten what it was like to hear voices. especially voices that aren't your own.
you fumble with the radio.
...four boxes incoming....south....open....roger.......
you nearly drop the radio when you look over the hill. in the valley sits a sprawling camp, surrounded by wooden walls that were clearly built. there are vehicles and people walking the perimeter. you can hear laughter. it's the unmistakable sound of children giggling, playing. chills run down your spine at the sight. you see military trucks at the furthest end. not every truck is a military truck, but many of them are.
your fingers tighten around the radio. the walls have makeshift guard towers. for a moment, hope sparks at the pit of your stomach. you want to trust this place so badly. there are military vehicles. there's organization. it looks nothing like the sanctuary.
at least until your gaze lands on the guard towers. fluttering at the top of each makeshift guard tower sits a purple piece of cloth. it's identical to the purple pieces of cloth you'd followed back to your cabin, poorly dyed and the color of eggplants.
dread curls down your spine at the affiliation. this isn't a coincidence. it can't be. fear mixes with that spark of hope, and you start to back away. you don't know what to do. should you leave, or should you investigate further? are they another sanctuary, or are they safe?
then you hear a familiar voice through the radio, a crackly voice that will never leave your memories no matter how hard you try to drown it away. it's been a year, yet you remember the voice so clearly, even as he says, "yeosang...open....five."
your breath catches in your throat.
it's choi san.
it's always choi san.
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[18] apocalypse + ex!san + "what else am i supposed to do?"
part 17 | masterlist | part 19
a/n: warnings for mild su1cidal thoughts, guilt, mentions of murder, death, and violence. also a lot of introspection going on in this chapter. also gonna just say i really enjoy writing unlikely allies lol
-
you were prepared to die. you had prepared for it the moment you stepped out from your blood-splattered home with san's radio clipped to your belt loop and decided you would try to survive. you'd wondered once, long long ago, somewhere between cowering in silence in a beautifully impractical marble bathtub of an abandoned home in the upper end of gangnam and the quiet drip-drop of the leaky sink faucet and crouching under a rusty little sink in the bathroom of a rundown gas station at the outskirts of seoul for hours as you listened to the rhythmic thuds of a body slamming against the deadbolted door all night, whether survival was merely instinctual. you never thought you'd had so much fight in you until everything went to shit. something had to explain why you thought surviving was even worth it in a world as hopeless as this one.
you were always prepared to die.
as you come to, the sun's warmth on your face is the first thing you notice. the next is the aching pain curling through your body, the back of your head, your face. the last thing is the realization that you are not dead.
why are you not dead?
you shoot up too fast, and your head spins at the feeling, nausea making you groan. your hands shake as you blink away sleep and sun. you're hungry and dehydrated and exhausted and alive.
someone clears their throat.
you whip your head in the direction of the sound, scrambling away immediately, only to -
"mrs. kim?" you croak out, coughing to clear your throat as you stiffen at the sight of her. a blackened bandage is wrapped around her head, her cheek bruised and her lip cut.
your eyes dart around you, but you're not back at the sanctuary. you're on a bed of grass in front of a small cabin. mrs. kim sits in front of an unlit firepit. her rifle sits at her feet. you stare at it. she places her foot on top of it, and when your gaze flickers back to her face, she is staring at you with an unreadable expression.
she fiddles with her hands, an awkward gesture you've never seen from her before. she chews on her bottom lip as she quietly observes you.
you're too tired to continue sitting up, so you let yourself flop back down on the grass. it's soft enough, and the gentle earthy smell of morning dew is kind on your senses. it's a comfort you hadn't felt in so, so long, and the way your body melts is almost disconcerting. you stare at the green foliage above you, the clear blue sky, the fluffy, picturesque clouds floating on. birds sing to each other. it reminds you of Before. maybe you are dead. your voice is hoarse as you speak without looking at mrs. kim, "where are we?"
"five kilometers south of the sanctuary," mrs. kim responds, her voice as soft as the breeze curling around your cheek. she speaks to you as if you are a small rabbit who will run at the first sign of loudness. it's funny, almost. she's always been loud in the sanctuary, as the sanctuary's resident nosy gossip. she'd never been considerate of such things. her voice always echoed through the halls. when you worked quietly with san or jongho folding laundry, you could hear her laugh from the guard towers or her scolding from the sleeping quarters. oh.
you blink at those thoughts. the sanctuary.
you've destroyed it, you remember. you've destroyed everyone in it - aliens and humans alike. you can hear the bomb blasts in ringing in your ears. you can feel the heat of the flames against your skin. you can see yeosang pulling san away. oh.
you think of all the people who weren't guards, the children. that's when your hands start trembling. their deaths are on your shoulders, whether you want to admit aloud or not. maybe that's why mrs. kim is here. like the grim reaper, she's waited for you to wake up so you could watch as she killed you for destroying her home and killing her friends, aliens and humans alike. you want to hate the idea, but you think maybe...you deserve it. mrs. kim's voice rings in your ears, "i stayed here on one of my solo runs once."
you crane your neck to look her straight on. as you observe the lines along her eyes, the wrinkles around her mouth, the gray strands of hair peppered along deep black, you are reminded of the woman you'd imagined was talking over the radio airwaves you'd clung to after you'd escaped seoul. mrs. kim looks about your mom's age, and the thought subdues the irritation clawing at the underside of your skin.
you don't comment on any of it, or what she said, though. you only ask, "is it gone?"
she frowns at you, "is what gone?"
"the sanctuary."
mrs. kim closes her eyes, and the pain there is something you think will remain etched into your brain for eternity. the only other time you've seen such utter grief was when you'd told him to get into the car. when it clicked for him. it is the same kind of loss you saw on -
mrs. kim nods, "it was still burning when i dragged you out of there. it's probably a pile of ashes by now. everyone was...the sleep quarters was the first to go."
you bite your tongue so hard, you taste blood.
"why would you..." you clear your throat, eyes fixed on mrs. kim, "why would you save me, then?"
her eyes flicker over your face for a long, long time, "i wanted to get at least one person out."
you blink. a guilty conscience, you know, can make people do the strangest things. it has you sitting here entertaining mrs. kim.
mrs. kim sighs, "i'm sorry."
it has mrs. kim apologizing.
her brows are furrowed with sincerity. her eyes hold yours for just a moment before she lowers her gaze. is she apologizing for how you were treated in the sanctuary? or is she apologizing for not letting you die?
mrs. kim nudges the rifle with her toe, a small tap at first before she kicks it towards your outstretched form. she pulls out a small flask from the inside of her jacket. you watch her warily as she takes a large gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before she leans across the space between you both and places the old silver flask next to the rifle. next to your hand.
she cranes her neck, admiring the clouds and foliage above you both. the sun illuminates more gray strands, a cloud-like halo over her that gives the impression of someone angelic. it's funny, you think, because neither of you are anything of the sort. the proof is in her black-blood stained bandages. the proof is in the blood you have on your hands.
she clears her throat, "my world ended long before the world actually ended. it was the first time my husband hit me..."
maybe it's the pain, maybe it's the disappointment of finding yourself alive still, maybe it's hongjoong and yeosang and everyone else speaking into existence that you are just like them, horrible and mean and self serving, maybe it's the near death experience, maybe you're just super fucking tired. maybe it's something else. but you let out a small groan, cutting off mrs. kim mid-sentence. she trails off, her lips pursed as she frowns down at you. the halo of sunlight is gone, and she is just the nosy, old woman you've known all this time.
you match her frown, rolling your eyes, "how is this relevant? so you were abused, and then you finally gave him the death he deserved? why does that matter to me?"
mrs. kim lets out the smallest of laughs. "san told you."
you barely hide the flinch at his name, choosing instead to close your eyes and let the sun's warmth on your face comfort you once more. "he mentioned it."
"he helped me with this."
you turn your head and peer up at her. she's pointing at the bandage wrapped around her head. you stare at her until she squirms in her seat and fiddles with the bandage around her head. your mother would have berated you for your rudeness towards someone so much older than you, but you can't help it. everything about mrs. kim is irritating. her ignorance. her saving you. her mentioned him. her looking at you as if she understands you.
"so what if he did? why should i care?" you finally break the silence.
"i joined seonghwa's guard because i didn't believe people could be good. the alien gave me...power. at least that is how seonghwa put it. that's how it felt. i lost everything when i finally dragged that pig to seonghwa, and seonghwa gave me something to live for."
your heart curls at her tone, but you mumble, "you still haven't answered my question. why the hell should i care? what is your point?"
mrs. kim lets out a dry chuckle, dragging her hand over her wrinkled face, "i used to have children. i had no idea what happened to them long before the apocalypse ever happened - another thing my husband took from me. but... i look at san. at seonghwa and hongjoong. at you. and all i can think of is how sorry i am."
"you feel sorry?" you let out a small laugh, "finally."
"huh," mrs. kim snorts, "maybe i should have left you back there."
"why didn't you?" this time your voice is not soft. it's loud. it's angry. it's a tightness in your breath and your chest heaving and this visceral, bone deep anger that makes your thoughts disappear. it suffocating in ways you've never let yourself feel before. as you lay in the dirt and crane your neck to glare at mrs. kim, it is not just anger. it is fury. it's the sharp pain at the back of your head. it's the way your chest feels hollow. it's everything and nothing all at once. it's everything you've felt during all this time. it's nothing because mrs. kim is a fucking stranger, and you're disappointed she isn't someone else.
mrs. kim doesn't answer. she just opens her mouth and closes it, once, twice, before she clamps her mouth shut and remains still as stone.
you laugh, and it sounds maniacal even to your ears. your chest rises and falls too fast, your breath growing more ragged. too fast. you sit up once more, ignoring the way your head spins and your vision blurs. your fingers curl around the cool metal of the rifle, and you lift it. you point it to her, and the barrel sits inches from her chest. she is so close.
she merely stares at you.
"is this what you want?" your fingers shake, and breathing hurts, and you are so so angry, "for me to make you stop feeling sorry? to shoot the fucking guilt - because that's what it is - out of you?"
mrs. kim's eyes fill with tears, and you would know wouldn't you? guilt recognizes guilt, and the guilt in you rises like bile. mrs. kim nods, and nods, and nods, and she says, "my home is gone, y/n. i've lived too long, while - " she closes her eyes, and her breath comes out in a small shudder, one that has you clutching the gun tighter, gritting your teeth. mrs. kim shakes her head, her eyes hard, "i have nothing left to my name but this guilt. what else am i supposed to do?"
for a moment, her words hit the deepest parts of your chest. for a moment, you resonate with mrs. kim. you never thought you would. you've never wanted to. what else are either of you supposed to do?
you have nothing left either. for a moment, the bunker settles in your mind. the living room, with its books and raggedy couches and warmth. but that is no place for you. that was never a home for you, and it never will be.
now here you are. you've taken mrs. kim's home from her, however horrid of a home it was, however horrid she had been to you, but she saved your life. now, as you look at her, with the gun in your hand and the determination in her eyes, you realize that even that act of hers was transactional, as all things are in this new world. you destroyed her world, she saved you, and now you owe her a favor. now she wants you to put her out of her misery. the thought has you shaking your head vehemently.
you're sick of the transactions and the calculations. you're sick of it all. you bite out, "you're supposed to live with it."
and you don't know if you're talking to mrs. kim, for all the times she turned her cheek on you and let people die for seonghwa and now is practically begging for an easy way out, or if you're talking to yourself, for killing innocent people in order to save someone who you're unsure would even be happy to see you if you showed up at his doorstep. maybe he would be happy to know you aren't dead, but you don't even know if you'd be safe with him and his friends knowing you still lived. even if san somehow convinced his friends to let you stay in the bunker, to no longer be on your own, you wouldn't be able to spend a single minute in that bunker without looking over your shoulder for a scheme against you. you could lie here, in the grass, and wither away. but you're supposed to live with it.
"i'm not going to do the dirty work for you. if you want to die, then do it yourself. i don't fucking care how." you say, dropping the rifle into the grass between you both. your tone is harsh, even to your own years, but you do not care. you will not be made to follow other's whims any longer. you look mrs. kim in the eye as you say, "just leave me the fuck alone."
you snatch the flask and take a drink, your throat dry.
the sting of the alcohol is sharp, burning as it curls down your throat. you cough at the burn, the sound of your cough echoing throughout the clearing.
mrs. kim speaks, her tone bland, a small, wispy thing, "that's vodka."
you glare at her late warning, slamming the flask on the ground as you flop back in the grass and close your eyes.
you lay there under the warmth of the sun and try not to listen to mrs. kim's soft, retreating footsteps, or the sounds of the porch wood creaking under her weight as she trudges up to the cabin, or the way her soft sobs harmonize with the sounds of the chirping birds.
~.~.~.~.~
mrs. kim does not leave you alone. the rifle remains propped beside the cabin door. it's a glaring, tempting thing, but it sits untouched for days upon days. when the morning sun rose to its highest point, the heat became too unbearable to lay in the grass, so you'd made your way into the cabin. the wood groaned under your footsteps and you winced at the sound of the front door swinging open as you stepped into the cabin. even then, mrs. kim did not look up at you. she just continued beating at the dust-covered blankets she'd pulled from the broken closets.
it becomes a morning routine of yours after that, to lay in the grass every morning for hours before heading back into the cabin, all while mrs. kim busies herself with some kind of task she'd silently deemed helpful and you silently thought was pointless.
the cabin is dusty and rundown and smells of rotting wood, but there are two beds and a torn, surprisingly comfortable sofa, and dusty moth-eaten linens, and wood to cover up the windows, barricade the doors at night, and light the fire pit outside. neither of you speak to each other, aside from asking about food or to pass a candle, and maybe you've been alone for too long, even in the sanctuary, because you find solace in her quiet company even if you mentally prepared yourself not to.
a week passes. and then another. and then another and another and another.
time runs together, until months pass. at least you think it's been months. the two of you spent a long, long time gathering berries and living off the food mrs. kim swiped from the sanctuary as she ran. the rifle left its designated, mocking spot next to the door only when either of you attempted to hunt for squirrels and rabbits and failed miserably. neither of you discussed the possibility of going into town. or even going five kilometers back to the burnt down sanctuary and swiping food from there. you'd thought about it, but it felt too much like robbing a grave. you hadn't been above it before, but you think mrs. kim is, unexpectedly enough.
you spent too long lying in the grass every morning and enjoying the warmth of the sun, until the leaves started to change and the weather got cooler. for the first time in a long time, you'd started getting a full night's sleep. without hongjoong banging on your doors, and with the doors and windows barricades so securely, with the way you two were in a cabin alone in the woods, you could sleep.
mrs. kim took swigs from her flask of vodka too often. you slept on your side the nights you couldn't sleep, facing the door, listening to the clicking sounds filling the forest, while the rifle remained propped in its spot beside the door. you'd suggested once that mrs. kim hold onto it, but she'd refused. if either of you noticed that neither of you took weapons to bed, that neither of you stayed very alert despite the clicking beyond the door, that both of you knew damn well that neither of you would care if something burst through that door, despite the fact that every night you both barricaded the doors and windows like clockwork, you didn't talk about it.
sometime between the grass and foliage in the clearing no longer being green and the need to find sweaters, you start going into town for food and supply runs. the towns are as empty as they used to be, when you used to be alone, but you have someone to help you carry things back. you have footsteps joining yours.
you're not the same as you used to be, and sometimes you wonder if that's a good thing. it hit you, you think, the day mrs. kim pocketed a pack of cigarettes as you both passed by an otherwise ransacked convenience store. mrs. kim grinned as she waved the only pack left in triumph. you'd opened your mouth to tell her off for falling into the habit of smoking in the first place - so many things here could kill you both, and to die from something as small as a cigarette would be a waste - when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the otherwise empty town. it sounded desperate, the scream curling into a sob. it was a distant thing. but not distant enough. both of you started moving then, remaining near the walls of the convenience store, covered from view, as you both made your way to the exit.
"what -"
the cry of help stopped mrs. kim dead in her tracks. it was a wail, really, one that reminded you so very distinctly of your time at the sanctuary. maybe that's why you kept walking, even when mrs. kim hesitated. maybe that's why you grabbed her arm, tugging her along behind you.
"we need to keep moving," you said.
mrs. kim's disapproving frown was an annoying thing. and when you'd both made it back into the forest, leaving the cries for help far behind you, when you both made it back to the little cabin and you sat on your bed while mrs. kim cleaned the rifle on her bed, it'd hit you how much you'd changed. if this was you from months upon months ago, you'd have stopped to at least see what had happened. you'd done as much for yeosang and mingi.
you'd changed so much, but maybe that was for the better.
at the very least, it's not so lonely anymore. besides, helping people only brought trouble in this world.
~.~.~.~.~
"why did you help me?"
you probably should have asked mrs. kim this a long time ago. rain trickles over the cabin porch's overhang, and the world is a dreary, tired place, more so than it ever has been before.
mrs. kim hums. you watch her take a drag of her cigarette. the end glows a bright red-orange. it reminds you of the setting sun - a signal of impending doom, of aliens lurking the thick fog at night. the white smoke trickles from her mouth. you'd never admit that the smell is comforting. it reminds you of clubs and bars and walking the streets full of people, of honking cars. it reminds you of Before.
she says, "i owed san."
you'd grimaced at his name. you can't ever really hide your reaction to his name. mrs. kim never brings it up anyway. "he said you owed him before too. what the hell could he have possibly done for you?" you glare when mrs. kim blows more smoke into the air, "and when are you going to stop smoking?"
"do you care about my health that much?" mrs. kim lets out a small, tinkling laugh.
"no," you gag, "never."
"right." she smiles, but she puts out the cigarette anyway. she clears her throat, though the sound is more of a hacking cough, and she stares out into the gloomy forest, the pitter-patter of rain filling the silence for a moment before she says, "san knew my granddaughter. they were in a group together a few years back. i wasn't able to see her very much before all this."
you frown, "how do you know he wasn't lying?"
you want to sound vindictive, skeptical. but you just sound tired.
"he told me stories about her. the night shifts got long, and the chore shifts got boring. i don't think he was lying. the details were -"
mrs. kim drags a hand through her hair. thunder resounds overhead, the sound making you jump.
mrs. kim says, "he told me he wasn't able to save her, and he regretted it. i could see on his face just how much he regretted it, so i couldn't get angry with him."
you want to ask questions, you want to know details, but you also don't think you can handle listening to the horrors of mrs. kim's granddaughter's death. not with the way her eyes look so far away, so glassy, and the way her fingers twist in her lap.
so you keep quiet, watching as mrs. kim sighs, and says, "i got to know her through san's stories, and i'll always owe him for that."
there's a long drawn out silent. he'd mentioned that he let people die before. is this what he - no you don't care. you don't care about him or his motives or his past. you frown at mrs. kim, "what do owing him have to do with helping me?"
mrs. kim just laughs.
you glare, "i'm being serious."
mrs. kim just cackles as she gets up and strides into the cabin. you glare after her.
~.~.~.~.~
you are seated on your bed with a tattered book you found in one of the drawers open in your lap when mrs. kim hands you a flickering candle and says, "i want to go to the sea, i think. i've never been."
"really? never?"
mrs. kim places a hand at her waist, and waves her other hand, "a poor old woman like me was never rich enough to travel."
you laugh. mrs. kim smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes, and your stomach churns at the way silence falls between you both.
the sun has set long ago, and you can almost pretend the clicking outside is merely the sounds of the crickets chirping. in the many months that you'd lived in quiet peace with mrs. kim, you didn't think you'd grow this attached. the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach is something you didn't think you'd feel in a long long time, especially not for someone like mrs. kim.
you should have known she'd find a way to make you care about her. she was nosy, and annoying, and had a tendency to make morbid jokes while cleaning that damned rifle, and liked to rub the fact that she saved your life in your face when she was annoyed with you, and the night after you woke up and told her to leave you alone, she tossed a blanket at your face without a word. two days later, you watched her massage her feet, wincing as she did so, and you'd tossed the very same blanket she threw at you at her face. mrs. kim only snorted in response, and you'd smiled. you should have fucking known.
"would you like to join me?" mrs. kim's eyes are hopeful. her wrinkled expression softens as she looks at you.
a part of you wants to go. this cabin is no real home, and it does not feel like a home, because you're an idiot who makes homes of people not places. people are not built to be homes. they are unstable and flighty and they do not stay, and you've made your home, your bed, with someone else a long time ago and it's not mrs. kim and you hate yourself for it. for the first time since the world went to shit, you think you've felt truly content here. happy, even, you could say.
"the sea sounds nice," you said, but you didn't move.
sure, this place was not your home, but it's a home, and you are so, so tired of wandering. you're tired of the uncertainty. you're tired.
"but you don't want to go." mrs. kim states, rather than questions. she knows you too well. that is most annoying of all.
you say, "i'm tired of traveling all the time."
mrs. kim sighs, "you're going to be alone again. are you sure you want that?"
you'd also told her too much about yourself, those days you spent lying in the grass or when neither of you could sleep so you lay awake and told each other stories about yourselves.
"do you?"
mrs. kim coughs, and the sound is too full, to rough. she says, "i want to see the sea."
"then i can stay," you tell her, with a roll of your eyes.
"alright." mrs. kim smiles at you, and it's the kindest smile you've seen in a long, long time. "this is a nice place. make it pretty then."
it's strange, you think, that of all the people who you've encountered since you're returned to the world from your wanderings, mrs. kim is the one who seems to understand you best. not past you, or a version of you they're so hellbent on perceiving. mrs. kim just sees you for who you are here and now. despite hearing your stories from the past. despite the way you've spoken to her. it's strange to think you'll miss her.
"you can visit whenever you'd like," you say, knowing damn well she's never going to come back. not with that cough. not with the way her eyes grow far away at your words.
she raises a brow, "i thought you wanted me to leave you alone."
you roll your eyes, "or you can do that, too."
mrs. kim laughs, and you help her pack her things.
the next morning she pats your head so gently, tears spring to your eyes. at least until she tells you you need to brush your hair.
you lean against the cabin door, watching as she shoulders her backpack and hobbles out of the cabin. the keys to the vehicle she hid a kilometer out - the same one she used to get both of you out of the sanctuary when it burned - jingles in her fingers.
she sighs one last time as she looks at you, and she asks, "you'll be fine?"
"of course i will."
she nods as she turns away, and you stay at the door until you can't hear her footsteps or see her any longer, until she disappears into the foliage of the trees, and you can pretend that she wasn't even there to begin with. the sun is unusually warm on your skin, but the breeze makes goosebumps run down your spine, so you shut the door behind you and sit on your bed.
despite your insistence, mrs. kim left the rifle behind, lying precariously beside the cabin door.
i don't have much of a need for it, she'd said with a shrug.
of course you'd be fine, you knew. you'd done this before. but you sat in the empty cabin for far too long, staring at the rifle all the while.
~.~.~.~.~
it takes a week for you to go into town on your own for supplies. usually, you and mrs. kim head east, far, far away from the sanctuary. this time, you head west, a knife tucked in your boot and rifle strapped to your back. the walk is a bit longer, but you quickly come upon a small gas station and a few dilapidated stone homes that look promising.
the first house's floor is covered in glass from the windows. each step is accompanied with the crunching of glass under your foot. the family pictures are all on the floor, shattered or torn or both. you take great care not to look at the pictures too closely.
you find the kitchen quickly, shuffling through the pantry and cabinets. you don't find much, aside from a few cans of food that you pocket. you move quick, and you find you miss the small conversations you and mrs. kim would have during these runs.
the second house has a purple piece of cloth tied around the doorknob. you'd never seen it before. it reminds you of the orange sanctuary flags from long ago. something about that makes alarms go off in your head, but the sanctuary is gone. it's burnt. these aren't orange.
still, your skin crawls too much, and your heart rate is too high, so you skip that house, heading to one other tiny house with withering flowers surrounding the entrance. you go through the pantry quickly, grabbing anything that looks relatively edible. it's not a bad haul, but you've had better.
the hairs at the back of your neck still stand on end, so you decide that's enough for the day.
as you're headed back towards the winding path that leads up into the forest trail you'd taken here, you note another purple flag hanging from one of the broken windows of the abandoned gas station.
as you're staring at it, you hear a snap. a footstep. you spin, ducking under an abandoned car.
you hear voices. you crouch behind an abandoned car, and spot two small figures speaking in hushed tones. they're words you can't make out, but you notice the bulging backpack on one of their backs. the other one is limping. the one with the bulging backpack is using most of their strength to hold the other up.
a part of you says to run. another part thinks, easy targets.
you don't think about it. you don't think about what that says about you, either. you only staying crouched and hopping from abandoned car to abandoned car as you quietly sneak up on them.
you don't think about it when you yank the one with the bulging backpack back so hard, they topple over, and the limping one cries out in pain as they collapse, and you immediately draw the knife from your boot, pressing it to the backpack person's throat, putting all your weight on their back so they're pinned to the ground.
you say, "move and i slice your friend's throat."
the injured one's head snaps up, a quick movement that startles you, and - and -
"y/n."
you nearly drop the knife at the familiar voice. nearly. your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand, digging a bit further, and the person in your grip gasps in pain.
you glance down at him, and you groan, "fuck."
your gaze flickers from the person in your grip to the injured person staring at you as if you've risen from the dead. you couldn't blame him. you pretty much have.
still, your gaze continues flickering back and forth from yunho to wooyoung.
wooyoung snorts when your grip on him tightens, a trickle of blood running down his chin where you hold the knife, amusement coloring his voice, "we really can't keep meeting like this, y/n."
yunho sighs.
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[14] apocalypse + ex!san + "i like to call it a mutually beneficial relationship."
part 13 | masterlist | part 15
a/n: 6k, be careful if spider-like imagery bothers you, also pls heed the alien setting part haha
-
hongjoong yanks you to your feet by the hair, and you try to pry his fingers off you. he pulls tight enough for your scalp to sting, and you're sure he's pulled a few strands as he yanks you up. before you can pull him off you, he shoves you forward, and you stumble through the door and into a pair of arms. you look up.
it's jongho.
his kind eyes search yours, flitting back and forth, steadying you by the forearms with a tight grip. you scan his face, as best as you can.
you cannot help but note that there are no injuries on him. nothing.
you meet his gaze once more, and he purses his lips, a sorry look filling his features up, up, up until you let out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding.
you step back, away from him, and maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt, but hongjoong's words - he chose the hard way - rings through your head. jongho's uninjured form hovers in front of you, but he does not say anything. he does not deny anything, or explain himself, and need to make excuses starts to dwindle.
hongjoong steps into the guard tower, shutting the door behind him with a resounding thud. it captures your attention away from jongho. the sound of the door shutting behind him is a loud signal of finality you cannot ignore. your heart pumps in your chest as you take in your surroundings, one eye on hongjoong as you do.
you've never been in the guard towers before. behind you is a metal spiral staircase that leads upwards, likely to the top of the wall. it's rusty and rickety, discolored even, but it still makes it to the top of the wall. past that, the guard tower stretches down into tunnels. the tunnels trail left and right, likely to the other towers. but something about the tunnel straight ahead brings chills down your spine. where could that possibly go? the dim lighting makes it all worse, the stench of mildew and dirt suffocating. stuffy.
as you take in your lack of true exits, you get the distinct feeling you're not going to get out of here in one piece.
"jongho here," hongjoong gestures towards jongho, a small smile on his lips, "says you were planning some type of escape involving stealing our food and a car. and here i thought you weren't a complete idiot."
jongho betrayed you, too.
you glance at jongho, and he's staring at his shoes. you want to be angry, and a part of you is because all these betrayals are wearing you down, but, at the same time, you're fresh off one series of betrayals, what's adding another one to the ever-growing list? even then, jongho's circumstances feel different. you can see the way his fingers tremble at his sides, and the way he tries to make himself smaller, like he thinks he can melt into the shadows with the snap of fingers. as you look at him, you pity him. you want to forgive him. you want to. but, at the same time, you're not sure if you can.
hongjoong lets out a small sigh, stepping even closer, and your gaze immediately flits to meet his. you back up, up, up, until your back hits the rail of the spiral staircase. when you look up, you can see a sliver of the moonlit sky through the open hatch above, a tiny escape route you will not reach no matter how much you try. not with the way hongjoong crowds closer, not with the way he reaches up and takes hold of your chin.
his grip is firm, but it doesn't hurt the way it had in the library.
he says, "and then i just so happened to stroll by san's room, and what do i find?"
you press away from him. hongjoong digs his blunt, painted nails into your skin and you gasp.
he says, "your boy toy standing at the door with an unauthorized radio, and kang goddamned yeosang's voice coming out of the thing."
you blink at that. you want to ask what the hell happened to san. a part of you - the part of you that dreaded seeing san here - is relieved by the fact that san wasn't the one to give hongjoong the radio. still, what the hell happened to him? did hongjoong speak to yeosang? what the hell is going on?
"the punishment for crimes like this are severe, y/n," hongjoong murmurs, his grip loosening slightly so he can brush a thumb along your jaw, where the sting is particularly painful. he presses his thumb harder there, making you hiss. "maybe i'll ask seonghwa for some leniency. you were so willing to rat mingi and yeosang out...though i'll say," hongjoong looks at jongho, smiling, "poor jongho. it took quite some, well, convincing for him to rat you out, while you did it so easily. i wonder how he feels, knowing you're not as loyal as him. i've always told him he trusted too easily. maybe he'll believe me this time."
hongjoong raises a brow at jongho, grinning. jongho looks away.
your breath hitches as your gaze slides to jongho. when he meets your gaze, he frowns. you shake your head, quickly, frantically, "jongho -"
but hongjoong clamps his hand over your mouth, and says, "shut up, and start walking."
you bite the palm of his hand, ignoring the taste of sweat and dirt and gunpowder, relishing in the way he yelps in pain, shoving you hard into the railing with his other hand. you ignore the shooting pain up your back, and the forearm pressing into your windpipe in favor of bringing your knee up to his stomach. hongjoong keels over in pain, clutching himself as he lets out an angry, almost-guttural scream. you immediately move to the door. until a hand wraps around your ankle. you try to kick hongjoong's hand off, relishing in stomping the back of your heels into his fingers. the sickening crunch that follows after is ignored by hongjoong, and that makes you attempt to drag yourself away. hongjoong, however, uses his other hand to grab your calf more securely. before you can change your tactic to curbstomping his face rather than his hands, your arms are pulled back so tightly you cry out in real pain this time.
the grip anchors you in place, and all you can do is thrash your legs, attempting and failing to kick jongho off you. but you can't. he's stronger than he looks, perhaps because of all the labor he's done at the sanctuary. you can't kick him off, and jongho doesn't say anything because he can't, and you wonder how the one person you'd trusted wholeheartedly in this place could do this to you too. he could have just let you go. he could have just -
hongjoong grabs your chin once more, and this time you can feel blood on your skin, from your bite. he smears it on your face, digging his nails into your skin as he leans close and he says, "i'm taking the leniency back, y/n."
"fuck you," you bite out each word with as much venom as you can.
hongjoong just pulls away and turns on his heels, heading towards the dark tunnel. jongho half-drags, half-carries like a ragdoll after hongjoong. your heart slams against your ribs, because with each step into the dark tunnel, fear begins to encapsulate your entire being. they're taking you somewhere else, and you're terrified. still even then, you continue screaming every obscenity you know at both hongjoong and jongho as you're pulled away.
~.~.~.~.~
in all your time since the world went to shit, in all the time you've had to sit by yourself and think, you never thought this would be a possibility. you held onto hope, as minuscule as it was, that salvation was possible. didn't everyone? even Before, you'd walk to class and be bombarded by people with megaphones and signs screaming of salvation. it was never a new concept, and when you'd sit with your knees pressed to your chest in a stranger's bathtub, listening to cackling outside the barricaded door, you used to pray to someone to keep you safe. who? you don't know. perhaps it was in human nature to call for help. to pray. to think that someone or something would save you eventually. a person or a god or even an authoritative entity like the fucking government.
when hongjoong and jongho dragged you threw the tunnel, you thought your heart would burst from your chest. it only got worse from there.
the air was tinged with the scent of burnt hair, and it made you gag as you were dragged closer to wherever they were taking you.
you'd squinted when you saw a light, but it was not bright or fluorescent like the lights hanging in the other warehouses. it wasn't warm or flickering like the candles in your room or in the lanterns.
it was a cool, white light that burned your eyes despite being so dim. it was almost lavender in its coolness.
every nerve in your body screamed for you to run, and you even dug your heels into the stone floors in an attempt to stop.
but jongho all but lifted you from the ground, fully dragging you along.
hongjoong opened a swinging door that creaked on rusty hinges. you recoiled at the onslaught of lavender-white light.
you looked up. around.
it was a building, one that looked very similar to the warehouse jongho worked in, the one san stayed in, with metal walls and industrial metal rods lining the ceiling. even the floors were metal, you noticed, and as you were pushed to your knees, the clanging was desperately loud. your fingers curled into tight fists as your eyes adjusted to the lighting and you focused on the sight before you.
straight ahead was a set of railings that seemed to curve in a giant circle. you could not see what was below, just that seonghwa stood leaning back on those railings in front of you, peering down at you over his nose, hands crossed over his chest. his eyes were dark as ever, and somehow you could tell, even in this lighting. somehow is dark eyes stood out to you.
seonghwa tilted his head, smiling, and a chill ran right up your spine as he said, "what are they doing on the floor? get up, y/n. come see."
in that moment, your brain catches up to everything. you’re fully present. you can't do anything but listen.
you pull yourself to your feet. you join seonghwa at his side.
you look down.
you hadn't prayed for someone to save you in a long, long time. perhaps you've lost touch with that human side of you after you washed your mother's blood from your hands.
down in the floor below, in what seems to be a pit only a few feet deep really, you see something that is beyond anything you could have ever fathomed. with coiled limbs and that same screeching and clicking you heard when you'd nearly gotten caught at night while carrying mingi. it's a creature, or maybe many many creatures, with dark spider-like limbs. there's blood down there. you can see it in the red pools that seem to glint so brightly against the cool lighting. too warm for such an eerie place. too bright.
seonghwa gestures for you to follow him. you cannot tear your eyes from the sight, especially when a single black eye, hollow and watchful and too fucking knowing seems to meet your gaze, and it remains on you. the blackness of that eye is like staring down a well or a sinkhole, as if it keeps going and going and you are seconds from tipping into over and disappearing in its depths. the eye lands on you, and does not waver. a familiarity curls down your spine, though you have now idea how, and its black limb slithers up the side of the metal wall, curling around the railing a few feet from you, leaving a trail of scarlet red in its wake, and you wonder -
you're dragged back from the rails by the elbow.
jongho shakes his head as you glare at him, pushing you forward to follow after seonghwa. hongjoong smiles pleasantly at you.
seonghwa's footsteps clang loudly as he pushes open the next set of doors. this room is bigger, filled with stacked wooden boxes. one of the boxes are open, and inside there are wrapped loafs of bread. the food, you realize. this is the warehouse san talked about. so - so did he know about that pit of aliens? is that why he was so adamant in your suggestion that you steal food from here? where the fuck is he?
past the boxes sits tanks and metal tables. a laboratory of sorts, you figure, what with the computers and vials scattered across the table.
seonghwa moves in that direction.
dread curls in your stomach as you move closer. every single instinct in your body tells you to fucking run, that this is dangerous and wrong and that something so terribly wrong has happened here.
as you turn the corner fully into the laboratory space, your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.
strapped to the metal table lies san, with a bruise on his head and his eyes wide open, glassy, as he stares up at the ceiling, clearly unseeing.
"you wanted to know where we get our food from, didn't you, y/n?"
you shake your head, stopping in your tracks as you stare at san's lifeless body. he looks dead. oh god, is he dead?
"no." your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, "i don't."
"really? what else were you and jongho going to run off together with?" seonghwa asks, his voice too kind, too pointed, "and you were both going to leave poor san behind. after everything he's done for you."
your notice the way his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm, but that does not ease anything. in fact, it only makes you want to cry. you're not sure what happened, but the last fucking thing you said to him was that you wanted him to let go. you fought. like Before. and now you're standing here staring at his body, with terrifying creatures in the next room, with an even more terrifying person smiling lightly at you, and you don't know if you can move on from this. you can fight, but you don't think you'll survive for long. as you look at san, you wonder if survival is even worth it anymore.
still you say, "let him go."
seonghwa hums, stepping closer to san. he brushes the overgrown hair from san's unseeing eyes, and he says, with a tinge of polite curiosity, "why?"
"'why'? you want to know why?" you repeat his question, and suddenly that rage you felt from yeosang's words hits tenfold. maybe you won't survive, and maybe it isn't worth it, but you refuse to go down here without a fight. if anything, you want to punch the smug look off seonghwa's face. you start to laugh.
seonghwa merely smiles.
that is the last straw.
you lunge at seonghwa. that catches him by surprise, his eyes widening, but you manage to tackle him into the table, the two of you toppling to the floor. you straddle him, landing a single punch on his nose. the result crunch is satisfying, despite the absolute searing pain that follows. despite the fact that seonghwa laughs. his eyes are dark, dark black, the same kind of black you'd seen in that pit. he laughs and laughs and you grab him by the collar, only for him to snap his fingers.
you're pulled off him, and you get a kick in just as you're tossed off seonghwa. you stumble to your feet, preparing to throw a punch at hongjoong and jongho if you have to, but you freeze in place at the sight of san looking at you - really looking - and his eyes are darker than usual as he advances on you.
you look between san, hongjoong, seonghwa, and jongho. jongho is the only one looking away, his gaze focused on his shoes.
you say, "what's going on?"
your voice is too fragile, too frail, to sound angry, and you hate it.
you take a step back when san steps forward. even his gait is different than usual.
seonghwa spits blood from his mouth, wincing as he rubs his nose, and he says, "let's ask san that."
then suddenly, san's eyes are back to that warm, warm brown, and his face softens significantly. however, he keeps moving with that strange gait, the kind that makes you feel like prey. san blinks in confusion, before he says your name. it's so very much him.
"y/n," he says, tone growing urgent, worried, "y/n, i need you to run."
"how are they supposed to run when you're the one who's going to chase them down and strap them to this table, san?"
he starts to move, stalking towards you, even as he says, "i can't control it. i'm sorry, y/n."
this time, you believe him, but it doesn't make this moment any worse. you do try to run. you do. but you're yanked back by the back of your shirt and pulled to the ground. you hit the ground hard, gasping in pain. san looks down at you, his face contorted with the most heartbreaking horror you've ever seen. he's essentially being forced to watch as he hurts you.
san drags your wrists behind your back, pulling tight, and he starts to quite literally drag you across the floor. all the while, san is apologizing, over and over, cursing as he does so.
you look at seonghwa from the floor, grabbing his ankle for good measure, "are you enjoying this?"
seonghwa kicks your hand. you yelp. seonghwa says, "immensely."
you don't give up though, grabbing seonghwa's ankle from the floor once more and pulling. san shouts your name, even as seonghwa comes toppling down once more, knocking into san in the process. you scramble away, saying, "so you control people with those aliens and made some kind of deal with them to get food? why are you doing this?"
"you're so fucking annoying," seonghwa sighs, "do you want me to put hongjoong on you?"
your gaze immediately flits to hongjoong. he's grinning all teeth, on his toes as if he's excited to join.
"well," you say, grasping for straws honestly at this point, "have you told him about chaeyoung?"
hongjoong blinks, eyes narrowing. seonghwa lets out a small laugh, "are you so scared you're willing to make things up, love?"
you backup as he's talking, towards the boxes of food, eyes flickering from hongjoong to seonghwa to san.
"maybe you got too caught up in your game of dangling information in front of me and let things slip, hwa?" you match his condescending tone as you say his nickname. you'd heard hongjoong use it once. you look at hongjoong. "he told me the tragedy of antigone. of a sister who loved her brother so much, she went beyond human laws to make sure he rested w-"
san lunges at you. and this time you can't outrun him. it's as if he's faster and stronger, thanks to whatever the hell seonghwa's done to him, and even as you try to put the boxes between you, he seems to glide through the shadows, appearing on your right, startling you. he secures your hands behind your back, and he wraps his arms around you, easily plucking you from the ground and walking you towards that metal table.
meanwhile, san says, whispers really, "y/n, i can't - i don't want to be doing this. i -"
"then fight it," you interrupt.
he drops you on the metal table. the pain shoots right through you, but it hurts worse looking san in the eyes and repeating, "fucking fight it, san. please."
seonghwa grabs your ankles, dragging you flat on the table. his hand is cold, and his nails dig into your skin as he straps you onto the table, the sound of the metal buckle clanging on the metal table ringing in your ears. san does the same with your hands. for a moment, san falters, his hand remaining on yours. for just a moment. his touch lingers, and your chest heaves with the ragged breaths bursting from you, and when you meet san's gaze, you want to toss seonghwa off the highest cliff you can find you want to scream and tear your limbs from these straps and you want to cry. the sheer horror mixed with helplessness in san's eyes is something you've never seen. not Before, and certainly not After. it sears into the back of your eyelids, and when you close your eyes to steady your breath, you still see it.
you crane your neck, to turn your glare on seonghwa, to tear your eyes away from the train wreck that is choi san and your curling, breaking heart. jongho hovers close by - you can see his ducked head. you don't know where hongjoong is. you can't see him from this angle, but you hope he is there to hear you speak, to allow you to at least plant a seed of doubt into something. it's all you have.
you glance at san.
it's all you have.
you bite out, with all the venom you can muster as you say, "i don't know what you did to chaeyoung. but you did something. if i - a total stranger - can tell that you did something, then everyone here has to know it. deep down. hongjoong has to know it."
for a moment, all is silent. then seonghwa's face contorts over you, and the dim lighting behind him casts sharp shadows over his face, distorting him.
"why would i do something to her?" seonghwa screeches, his voice echoing throughout the room, over and over and over.
you flinch at the volume of his tone. the desperation, the offense. it sounds different from his usual voice. shakier, less used. it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, because for once he does not sound smooth and unbreakable. he sounds human. so, so human.
seonghwa leans close, and his voice returns to normal, low and careful and condescending, his wide eyes narrowing. his fingers curl around the nape of your neck, some of the blood from his nose dripping onto your chin. "that book, y/n, was a warning. nothing more, nothing less. chaeyoung has nothing to do with this."
you take a shuddering breath, your heart slamming against your ribs. you don't believe him.
his nails dig into your skin a bit, as if he knows.
you can't help it. maybe it's the circumstances, or the full realization of the predicament you're in, but you find yourself asking, "what are you going to do to me then?"
you think of san, for a moment, but that isn't the time or place. you should worry for yourself. for once.
seonghwa drags a hand from the nape of your neck to your sweaty hair, brushing it back. your heart pounds against your ribs. you stiffen at the mocking gentleness of his touch.
seonghwa's dark, dark eyes - they're so dark, you can't see where his iris ends and his pupils begin - roam over your face for a long moment.
he speaks with a kind of amused pity in his tone that makes your stomach churn, "when someone joins the guard ranks, i need to guarantee their loyalty. the aliens and i - we've established an agreement of sorts, y/n, i'm sure you've guessed by now. i like to call it a mutually beneficial relationship, really." seonghwa strokes your cheek, sighing, "your little games with san have been causing problems in the sanctuary, so i'm going to give you two options tonight, y/n. one, become a guard and ensure your loyalty," he taps your forehead with his forefinger, a light touch that makes you recoil, "or two, i have san toss you into the pit in the other room. i'll let him stay with you, of course. i'm not a complete monster. he'll get to watch until the very, very end."
your breath catches in your throat, "that's not a choice."
"there's two options. and you get to choose," seonghwa says, "sounds like a choice to me."
you close your eyes, gritting your teeth, "then i'm not picking."
"letting you choose is only a courtesy, sweetheart. i can always have someone else choose. jongho maybe? or better yet," you can hear seonghwa's grin, "san?"
"fuck you," you spit in his face, "fuck you, fuck you, fuck you."
seonghwa hums, wiping the spit from his cheek to give you a level stare, his other thumb grazing your jaw, making goosebumps crawl up your skin.
"it'll be interesting, i think, watching you struggle against every single cell in your body as you obey my every command. knowing damn well you can't do a thing but watch yourself listen to me. as tempting as hearing your screams in the pit is," seonghwa says in amusement, still rubbing your cheek, "i think i'll choose for you this time. you should be honored to know that i usually don't choose such things."
he turns, lifting metal prongs as he unscrews a dark jaw. your craned neck hurts, but you can't take your eyes off him or the...the thing he places on the palm of his hand. it looks like a tarantula, but with so many more legs, and so white, it's almost blinding. it skitters around seonghwa's palm, leaving a trail of greenish liquid that makes your stomach turn. seonghwa is gentle as he scratches what you believe might be its head, a bulbous thing that sticks out above all the long, rigid legs. when it looks at you, it's eyes are beady and dark, and full of too much depth. like it knows things. you shake your head, pulling at the straps. oh hell fucking no.
you yank and pull and your wrists and ankles hurt like hell, but hell no, hell no.
yet it doesn't work. you thought maybe it would.
maybe san would be able to fight whatever the hell has happened to him, whatever the hell is about to happen to you.
seonghwa leans over you, and holds your head in place with one hand, the skittering white spider-like creature, with beady eyes and jagged teeth that seem to spill from it's little mouth, with legs that look like shards of glass made of marble, greenish liquid dripping onto your stomach and neck as seonghwa holds it inches from your face.
seonghwa's voice swims in your head, above the panic and disgust and instinctual need to fucking run, "san, hold them down."
san does.
you look up at him, and even though his grip on each side of your face is rough and full of a power that does not remind you of any version of san, not the san from Before, or the san from the bunker, or the san who sat in your room before he went through with his decision to become a guard, or the san who you'd left behind in his room, or the san who lied to you. he is neither of them, and in this moment you would do anything to catch a glimpse of just that. all you have is his dark eyes that do not leave your face.
"please san," you say, "let me go."
san closes his eyes, jaw clenching. it's a glimpse of him. one moment. it does not bring you peace.
you can't help but watch as seonghwa places the creature on your face. it tickles, like a real spider is skittering across your skin. you can't move or shake it off, not with the grip on your face, your skin crawling as you feel it take it's time exploring your face, slime tickling your skin. it slowly treks along your cheek, long past your mouth. it comes near your eyes, and you squeeze your eyes shut. then it crawls to the back of your head. to your ear, you realize too late, when it tickles along your hairline and then keeps going up, it legs brushing your earlobe. it feels the same as when someone lightly dusts your skin with a feather, but it's a bit damp. more spider-like even. it crawls over your earlobe, along the curve. inside. then it keeps going. you think you're going to throw up, gagging even at the feeling of this thing crawling into your ear and not stopping.
seonghwa says, "shhh."
only then do you realize you're gasping for air that's not quite there. only then do you notice the searing pain starting at your left ear, and spreading like wildfire.
~.~.~.~.~
"love," the voice is quiet, and muffled. far away. it says, "love, you have to stay awake."
you open your eyes, and you're met with your old college apartment. the one you and san shared while you dated. there's the posters plastered to the wall, the concert tickets taped haphazardly above your desk, san's anime memorabilia, his framed pictures of his family, even the smell of the barbecue restaurant at its peak hours just a floor below you wafts up from the open window. it's dark out. the sounds of traffic and drunken laughter joins the scent of searing meat. it's too many sounds and smells you haven't experienced in a long, long time. it's overwhelming. even in the sanctuary, surrounded by more people than you've experienced while alone, the world was quieter than this. you can't believe this used to be the norm.
you missed it.
"you're awake."
the voice comes from behind you.
you turn to your other side. nothing hurts, like you expected. the bed creaks under your turning weight. the breeze from the window is chilly. you tuck your feet under the blanket strewn at your feet.
lying there, staring at the ceiling, is choi san. he's younger, and his hair is red, like Before. it's what you remember him as, though it's clearer than ever. you'd done a wonderful job at forgetting him you think, over the years. you study the sharp planes of his face, the curve of his strong jaw, the high cheekbones, the faint dimple, and you whisper, "was that all a dream?"
it was a long dream, and a horrible one, but you truly hope it was just that.
san shakes his head. he turns his head, so his cheek presses against the pillow, and he appraises you slowly. he says, "no it wasn't. it isn't."
you're not even disappointed.
"and i'm here because...?"
"it's a safe place, i guess," san looks around, from your posters to your chair piled up with clothes, to san's gaming set up on the desk, screen still open though the laptop is asleep. when you follow his gaze, you remember how thoroughly entangled he was in your life Before. he says, "though how our shitty apartment is a safe place is beyond me. you were never one to think big, huh?"
"huh," you let out a small laugh, "even in my head, you're kind of a dick."
san laughs. you join him, when you suddenly feel a sharp pain at the back of your head. you groan, clutching your head.
san sighs, presses a hand to your head, over your hand, and he murmurs, "hey, it's okay. stay with me."
then the pain starts to grow, and it's like there's a fire spreading through each one of your nerves. it surges in your head first, before it fires through the rest of your body. san gathers you into his arms, and shushes you, and it's the first time anyone's really held you in a long, long time despite this not even being real. you melt there, and you cling to him as the fire grows in your limbs, in your blood.
he says, "talking helps. to ease the pain."
you don't want to talk, you don't want this pain, but you find yourself saying, "if this isn't real, can i admit that i've never let you go? because - ow, fuck - because it feels like i'm dying right now, and maybe i can admit this to someone at least."
san strokes your hair. he speaks against the top of your head, his voice low, quiet, gentle, "this isn't real though. you're not admitting this to anyone but yourself."
the next surge of pain has you drawing your knees up and curling up. you gasp, "maybe that's the point, that - fuck - that i'm going to die trapped in my head while whatever-the-hell crawled - shit - into my head takes the wheel."
you think maybe admitting it to yourself, at least, will let you die in peace. no one else needs an admission from you. no one else deserves it.
san leans back and presses his hands to either side of your face. he holds you steady as he looks you in the eyes, and he says, "fight it. please."
it's ironic almost, that he is telling you exactly what you told him. your breathing comes out ragged, broken. you shake your heads, unable to even gasp out the i can't. you feel like that thing is crawling all over you as you look at him.
his face morphs into your mother's, and at any other time you would have found it hilarious, but here and now, it has you stuttering. the pain seems to subside with the kindness in her eyes that you've long forgotten. how could time be so cruel to make you forget that too? this was your mother before the crazed dark eyes, before watching the light leave her eyes because of you. she murmurs so gentle, so full of a warmth you'd been craving for so, so long, "you can."
you're nodding, and the tears won't spill but they're there, welling and stinging and making your vision blurry. you missed her. despite the pain, despite everything, you are home again. even for a moment.
she brushes the tears from your face, nodding, "you will."
the room turns dark, as if a storm cloud has fell over everything. you look up, and through the open window, darkness skitters in. at first it's one, then its five, then it's more and more, until dark spider-like things are crawling through the window in droves. they creep across the floor, up your bed, your blanket, and your feet burn at the touch.
beady eyes meet yours, but you don't know where it's from. you don't know anything.
a great, deep voice, one that sounds like a million voices mixed into one sitting on the edge of a knife, sharp and bone-deep, calls, "you will not."
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[12] apocalypse + ex san + "you didn't know?"
part 11 | masterlist | part 13
a/n: 3k, mentions of death, i'm sorry in advance
-
you're still holding the book when you step out of the library, cleaning supplies stacked above it. you'd sat in that empty library and flipped through the book, but there was nothing else in there. nothing but the name chaeyoung. hongjoong's sister.
you thought, for a moment, that seonghwa was talking about her, when he mentioned a friend he once had. you didn't miss the way jongho mentioned that seonghwa and chaeyoung were primarily the ones who figured out how to keep the fog away from the sanctuary. they came up with the original rules. that 'something happened with chaeyoung'. as you sat in that chair and stared at the stupid book, the hairs at the back of your neck remained standing on end, and your stomach churned. you weren't sure what happened to her, or what seonghwa knew, or what the hell the tragedy of antigone had to do with any of it, but the very thought of something else happening to her, something that ended with her throat slit, made your stomach churn and your heart ache. you did not know the woman. perhaps, she was just as volatile and terrible as everyone else here. but as you sat in that library and stared at her name, you couldn't help but wonder about her. after hongjoong told you that story, after jongho told you his, you'd spent too many nights dreaming of a girl with a slit throat. you started keeping candles burning all night to avoid looking into too many dark corners in your jail cell room. you thought about her often. you empathized for her.
so you couldn't leave the book behind.
and as you walk out of the library, juggling a sloshing bucket in one hand, and a spray bottle and dirty rags in the other, you freeze in place at the sight of san leaning next to the door to the library. the library used to be some sort of shed, separate from the main compound where the closet of cleaning supplies sat, and the protruding roof keeps you both covered from the rain as you blink at him. it must have started raining while you were immersed in scouring the pages of the book. you want to ask why san is waiting for you, but an old umbrella with one side bent and lopsided is at his side. you can hear the shouts of the other sanctuary members as they take cover from the rain. there's laughter. giggles.
san pushes himself off the wall, uncrossing his arms, his hair tickling his eyes. it's much too long now.
"it started raining, and mrs. kim told me bring this for you," san says, rubbing the back of his neck as he holds out the umbrella. it's always mrs. kim.
you blink at the umbrella in question. you look up at him and say, "it's broken."
san scoffs, rolling his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. he steps closer, still holding the umbrella handle out for you, "just take it. she let me out early specifically for this."
"what does she think this is? a drama?" you mutter.
this time san laughs, and it's not soft or controlled. it's the kind you remember from long ago. you'd forgotten how contagious it can be. and how loud. it echoes over the sound of steady rain.
"she misses her shows," he says with a snort.
"they all do," you say, pointing with your chin across the field, under the dining hall overhang where a lot of the sanctuary members are taking refuge from the rain. some of them are blatant in their staring.
san waves at them, and everyone seems to immediately turn away or even walk off. you can't help but laugh, and san glances over at you, the small smile still there.
then he cranes his neck, peering up at the sky - something you have yet to feel comfortable doing due to those things hanging around in the sky, though when it's raining it's harder to see them and easier to pretend they were never there in the first place. he says, "let's head in before the rain gets worse. here" - he plucks the bucket and rags from you, fingers brushing yours, and his gaze flickers to the book in your hands before he pushes the umbrella into your hands. he leaves the book - "let's put these away first."
your heart jumps a bit at the way he so casually helps you - when he used to work laundry duty , he'd just laugh at you as you stumbled under the weight of all the laundry and breeze right past you - but you ignore it, instead opening the umbrella and focusing on keeping you both covered from the rain. for a moment, the steady pit-pat of the rain and your squelching footsteps in the mud is all you hear.
the tall grass tickles your ankles, and no doubt you'll have mosquito bites all over any exposed skin by the end of this, but the smell of earth and rain is comforting despite all that.
you come to a halt, and san stops after a moment, shuffling back under the umbrella so he doesn't get rained on.
he tilts his head at you, questioning, curious.
you say, "did mingi ever tell you anything about chaeyoung, uh, hongjoong's sister?"
you don't know why you're asking him. he's made it clear he won't divulge any of his friend's secrets.
you expect san to go steely, to close off or shut you down immediately, but he just purses his lips, readjusting his grip on the cleaning supplies, before he says, "mingi never said much about her. he...he doesn't like talking about it."
"what if i asked him?"
the rain starts to really pour now, your shoulder getting wet. san's is too. this umbrella is terrible.
san sighs, says, "he doesn't talk, y/n. he only really talks to a few people, and even then it's not much."
you just nod, making a move to walk.
after a moment, san tugs on your elbow. you let him pull you to a stop. he asks, "why are you asking?"
"this is hers," you say, waving the book.
san stares down the title of the book for a long moment. the rain drones on and on, before he says, "did seonghwa say something to you?"
that makes you pause, "do you...know something?"
"it's complicated."
"everything is fucking complicated with you," you snap.
san sighs. you start walking faster, yanking open the doors to the hall that holds the cleaning supply closet. the hallway is empty, no doubt because everyone's already at dinner. you shove the soaked umbrella into san's hands as you take the cleaning supplies, ignoring his small whine of protest at getting wet. you put away the cleaning supplies without looking at him. your hands, though, are shaking.
"why are you asking about chaeyoung?" san's voice is low, concerned, behind you.
you shrug, gripping the door so tight, your palms hurt a bit. "i worry sometimes that i'll end up like her."
there's a small pause, before san says, "that's not going to happen."
his voice is still low, but it's adamant. firm. stubborn, even, you'd say. he speaks like it's fact, and with the way things are going nothing regarding your lives is fact anymore. it's unrealistic for him to think otherwise. it's making a promise he can't keep, and god have you had too many of those with him.
you sigh, turning to finally face him as you shut the door. you say, "there's something off about seonghwa, san. i don't know what it is."
"maybe it's the power trip," san mutters, rubbing his wrist.
"maybe," you say, but you don't think it's just that.
before san can respond, the doors to the indoor dining hall open up and people start spilling out, chatting and laughing as they do. johnny spots san, grinning between you both.
"we missed dinner," you frown.
san says, "i can get us something for tonight. if you're still hungry."
"they only ever have desserts and alcohol at the shipments, so yeah," then you pause, and ask, "but if you steal food and get caught, you're definitely going to lose a hand."
"i'm not stealing anything," san rolls his eyes, "guards can get food whenever since so many of us have weird hours."
"i forgot you were doing that," you say, "you get access to the kitchen?"
"no," san shakes his head, heading towards the doors, and you match his stride. the rain stopped, but the air is heavy, humid, and hot, and you grimace at the deep footsteps in the muddied path leading towards the shipment. "there's a warehouse separated from the compound out past the towers behind the laundry field. i think it used to be the officer's quarters back Before so that's why it's separated from the rest of the jail."
that's where the food comes from. that's where they go when they drive their trucks out. it has to be. though you can't help but wonder where the hell they find the food to fill the warehouse.
san pauses, frowning down at you. he searches your face, and he must be able to see something because he narrows his eyes and asks, "why are you asking?"
you don't tell him that how if you find a way in there, you and jongho can get food, a car, and get out. a part of you feels bad about that, because despite everything you shouldn't leave san behind here. it's not right. but a more spiteful part of you reminds you that san has been lying to you nonstop. that he's withholding information from you, to the point where it's become blatant and normal between you two.
you say, "we can escape that way, can't we? i doubt they have too many guards in the inside. they'd want to keep people out, not keep people in, like they do here in the main compound. we could use it as a way to sneak out."
san shakes his head, and the movement is quick, sharp, "no."
you frown at his quick retort, "what? why not?"
"that's not -" san bites the inside of his cheek, "like you said, they want to keep people out over there. getting in is going to be a shitshow."
"that's where you come in."
"let's just stick to the original plan."
"you mean the one you didn't even tell me much about?"
san huffs, but he doesn't respond, looking away instead. you avoid puddles as you walk, and the two of you stew in silence the rest of the way.
~.~.~.~.~
hongjoong takes a seat straight across from you in the little viewing half-circle. every time you look away from seonghwa and his nightly speech, you catch hongjoong's gaze. his lips are pressed into a thin line, and his eyes are narrowed, and your heart does not stop slamming against your ribs at his presence.
san is elsewhere - likely building rapport with the other guards somewhere - and you're not sure why you look for him first, when hongjoong's presence brings you such anxiety. you're lying to him, and planning an escape without him. you shouldn't be looking for him anymore.
but hongjoong doesn't make a move to approach you, so you keep your eyes locked on seonghwa, and later the shipment. you ignore hongjoong as best as you can.
tonight's shipment is just one man. the man who haunts you sometimes, the one who's friend punched him, who hongjoong looked onto the two men fighting with absolute glee as he explained the consequences of a physical fight, who lost his hand too for fighting back. funny, you think, how everything comes full circle eventually.
you leave the shipment early that night, the moment you see people start to head back up the path. you glance back over your shoulder, and san is chatting with seonghwa, seonghwa placing a hand on san's shoulder as he laughs. san smiles, dimples and all. the sight steels you in your resolve then. he has plans, and they are separate from you. he won't tell you what he's doing.
so you'll do the same. you'll act separate from him. you can't believe you spent this long not doing so.
you slip into san's room easily, tucking that extra key away. you shouldn't do this. you have probably half an hour before san comes back. but you're digging under his mattress and pulling out the radio before you can rethink the situation.
you click the button, and call out a greeting.
it takes only a moment for a response. you wonder, sometimes, if they keep the radio on them all the time. you wonder how often san talks to his friends throughout the day. those thoughts run rampant in your head most when you have time to yourself, when you're not doing menial labor and actually have time to sit with yourself and your thoughts. during your errand breaks. when you're alone in your room.
"y/n, please don't tell me he did something stupid again," surprisingly, it's not yeosang or wooyoung who answers you. it's yunho.
"not this time," you say. "san's fine."
there's a long pause. yunho says, "you're calling on your own, and you're early. it must be important."
"are you the only one there?"
"yeah," yunho hums, "yeosang and wooyoung are sorting through their supply run downstairs. mingi's taking a nap upstairs. i was reading. it's just me."
you frown. the amount information he gives you feels...strange, and it's ridiculous because he's telling you very basic details. you drag a hand through your hair at the thought.
yunho's crackly voice cuts through the silence, "disappointed?"
"no, of course not."
"alright," yunho sounds amused, "then i'm all ears. what's so important that you can't say it in front of san?"
that makes you grimace. you take a breath, before you say, "i know the knife isn't wooyoung's."
you'd originally wanted to see their faces as you told them you knew. you wanted to be able to see their reactions in plain view, but with each passing day, you're starting to worry you never will be able to. the image of a slit throat and blood everywhere flickers in your mind, but you shake it away.
you continue, clicking the radio button once more, "i know it's mingi's - which by the way i'm super fucking pissed that none of you told me - so i'm here because i want to know what happened to chaeyoung. i want to know the truth. you said i shouldn't be in the dark anymore, didn't you, yunho? here's your chance."
the silence is a lot shorter than you thought it would be. maybe that's because yunho doesn't have anyone else there to consult, like usual.
"chaeyoung was murdered, but mingi didn't kill her, if that's what you're asking," yunho sighs, "and, for the record, i never agreed to it."
you frown, "agreed to what?"
"having you sent to the sanctuary, of course. i mean san wasn't in on it either, and i doubt he would have agreed if he was, but when yeosang brought up the plan that night, i didn't think it was fair. not to mention, it was rough as hell with too many holes. no contingency plan whatsoever. but i was outnumbered three to one, so i couldn't do much."
you freeze, your heart crawling into your throat. what the hell.
your voice is shrill, even to your own ears as you shakily press the talk button. "what?"
"wait, shit," yunho's voice grows panicked. "you didn't know?"
you press the button quickly, "yunho, don't you fucking dare hang up. explain to me what the hell you mean by sent here."
the silence afterwards is so, so long. he left. he left, and you're sitting there with jumbled thoughts and horror washing over you. your fingers tremble around the radio. you can't even begin to fathom what the hell that meant. how could any of them have sent you here? yeosang made the plan? what fucking plan? what fucking plan could they have possibly made that sent you to the sanctuary? all they did was give you a pack and batteries for the radio and a warning to avoid the orange flags indicating the sanctuary. but what if that was on purpose?
that last thought is a vice-like grip over your heart.
yunho's voice is low, apologetic, filled with static and almost hard to hear. he says, "i thought when san told you about mingi's knife he told you about everything else. but clearly he didn't - i really didn't - y/n, you shouldn't be finding out like this..."
his voice trails off, just as the door opens, just as san slides into the room.
his eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, clutching the radio, hunched on his bed.
then yeosang's voice fills the room, "y/n."
his tone is sharp and tired and not at all apologetic enough for you, and it draws an anger out of you you haven't felt in years. you're shaking now, and it's no longer out of fear or terror or what ifs. it's pure fucking rage.
"if you don't explain what yunho meant by a plan to send me here in the next minute, i'm going to hongjoong and seonghwa and i'm telling them exactly where your fucking bunker is. i'm telling them everything," you say as you hold san's gaze, "i swear i will."
as san stands at the door, as you both hold each other's gazes, you know that you mean every single word of your threat.
with the way san's eyebrows furrow, he knows it, too.
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literally addicted to this story
[11] apocalypse + ex!san + "do you know the tragedy of antigone?"
part 10 | masterlist | part 12
a/n: 4k, more mentions of death haha, this fic has gotten so conversation heavy but i swear it's going somewhere!!! listened to seraph by dpr ian nonstop writing this so whew, finally created a masterlist!
-
it was supposed to go like this: san earns seonghwa's trust and becomes a guard.
"they have the most free reign, second to seonghwa and hongjoong depending on rank," yeosang said to you.
san befriends the rest of the guard. learn who they care about, what makes them tick, and how to have them turn against seonghwa and hongjoong. sow seeds of doubt into seonghwa's most trusted, figure out the easiest and safest escape route, all while the sanctuary implodes from the inside out.
"we wouldn't have to worry about running into them anymore," yeosang explains, voice quiet, "when they're on their hunts. and, frankly, good fucking riddance if they all kill one another."
a part of you thinks the same thing, no doubt because of the same reasons as yeosang, but another part of you wonders how that's fair. there are children here. there are survivors here, in a world where survivors are few and far between. besides, mingi helped start this place. is that why yeosang thinks he can help mingi destroy it? why he seems to think he has some type of authority over what happens to it? that mingi doesn't need to go down with it?
but in a world where everything is so fucking selfish, you succumb to the norm. you ask, "what about me then?"
the plan is simple, easy. and they could have told you about it.
that is, if you were ever meant to be a part of it.
as you listened to yeosang's quiet musical voice fill the empty room, the emptiness that settled over you became full of a quiet sort of anger. one that makes your stomach churned. the kind you used to feel before, when you could not sit still and always had to move, move, move.
"what happens to me in this plan?" you wipe the last remnants of your tears and you grip the radio as you wait for his response, curated as it might be. what else are those silences for, if not to discuss how they should respond to your questions and, as yunho put it, leave you in the dark?
"san wouldn't agree unless you escaped too."
san wouldn't agree. yeosang keeps saying that, and you wonder a lot of things right then. is yeosang lying? is he telling the truth? if he is telling the truth, does that mean he'd pitched plans that didn't involve you getting out? how do you know san hadn't agreed to those plans? what was the reason for excluding you from the planning of this particular plan?
then, in the same breath that you felt the need to apologize to him minutes ago, you wonder what if you decided not to rely on them. what if you and jongho figured out a way to get out on your own. you could secure food from whatever resource seonghwa and hongjoong have. if san could become a guard, you could push that you are san's person, and then use that to secure what you need and leave on your goddamned own.
you'd seen the sympathy you'd garnered. hongjoong had stepped back and left you feeling as if you won. if you can't garner sympathy and help because you need it, then you can provide entertainment, be a spectacle, and find your own way out. you can play the game the same way they are, with their ulterior motives and lies.
"that doesn't sound like him," you say in response, resisting the urge to grit your teeth.
"then you really don't know san," yeosang sighs, and it sounds a bit sad even to your own ears.
~.~.~.~.~
four days go by waiting in a state of limbo. you are refused entrance to the prison the first and second day. the third day, hongjoong is the one at the desk, and you're glad he didn't seem to catch you peeking into the room before you'd run off.
four days.
you shouldn't be so worried, since san lied to you and will likely continue lying. but you can't help it. multiple people try to comfort you throughout the day. taeyong helps you peel potatoes during dinner duty, content in sitting in silence. mrs. kim pats your back too often. it's strange, and awfully infuriating as well. this is what garners sympathy? not hongjoong's bullying, but this? for a moment, you almost agree with yeosang's sentiment to let this place burn to the ground from the inside out, good riddance to all. but you reign it in, and you supply extra watery smiles, and small sighs.
jongho raises a brow at you while you're doing laundry, watching as momo folds laundry from your basket, despite not being assigned to laundry duty. you explain how you haven't seen san in days and how it feels like months.
jongho raises a brow at you from across the table at that. you kick his leg under the table, and he snorts.
you feel bad about it for a moment. you tell yourself, it's not manipulation if it's justified. these people wanted a spectacle, so you're giving them one.
four shipments pass. you sit next to mrs. kim during each of them, and despite hongjoong not being there, your shoulders feel heavy as if he's still there weighing down on you. every time those doors open, your gaze flits and you search the faces of those stumbling out, and you let out a small sigh of relief when you don't see san amongst them. you feel bad about that for longer than a moment, because these other people don't deserve this. not just san. but the relief sinks bone-deep and you succumb to it's effects too easily. a part of you cannot find it in yourself to care for the fate of strangers nearly as much as you should.
~.~.~.~.~
you toss and turn in your cot before you lay still, staring at the dark, blurry ceiling. you wonder, yet again, why your skin continues to crawl, why your heart still beats fast and your thoughts run quick, why you can't fall asleep. another night passed without a glimpse of san. that is both a good and bad thing. good because he isn't on the shipment. bad because you're worried and you cannot fathom why the hell you are. he lied to you again.
you groan, and contemplate if you should bite the bullet and finally call yeosang, wooyoung, yunho, and mingi over the radio. you hadn't spoken to them since that first night. that quiet simmering anger that still lives at the pit of your stomach feels like it would boil over if you have to spend another second trying to decipher whether they're lying to you or not. besides -
a soft knock startles you, and you shoot up, head snapping to the door to the jail cell room. no one ever knocks except san.
except san.
your heart does not settle in your chest at that thought.
"come in," you call.
the door creeks open, and a lantern illuminates san's sharp features, his piercing eyes, and overgrown hair. his tired eyes are even more tired, beneath the watchful gaze, and you rub your eyes to make sure you are not imagining him.
san steps into the room, and shuts the door behind him with the softest of thuds. you roll of the cot, still staring, before you stride forward until you are an arms-length away from him. you can't help but sweep your gaze over him, taking note of his limbs. everything seems to be there. there's nothing wrong. not even a single scratch.
san's voice draws your attention back to his face.
"y/n," he says, and the way he says your name, his voice a little dry and raspy, makes you press your lips together, eyes narrowing. "i wanted to tell you something. before you have to hear it from someone else."
you stare at him.
he leans heavily against the door and says, "seonghwa offered me a position in the guard. i'm taking it. i just...that was the plan between me and the boys all along."
he eyes you expectantly, and you wonder if you should bite your tongue and keep your knowledge to yourself. perhaps it's the time, late bordering on too early, or the way relief fills your lungs and your limbs and sinks so far into your bones it must stain you, or it's merely the way he leans against the closed door behind him and fiddles with the lantern in his hands, but you find yourself saying, "i know."
san's gaze shifts up to yours. he takes a shuddering breath, one you can almost feel. he says, rather than asks, "yeosang told you."
you shake your head, "yunho actually."
san lets out the smallest of laughs, breathless as ever, "he would. he's kind."
you wouldn't know, but you'd thought he had a kind face when you first saw him. you doubt finally telling you the truth is kindness, though, so you ignore the comment and say, "i did ask first. i suspected there was something else."
san nods, says, "what else did they say?"
"what else should i know?"
san bites his lips, and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything. then he sighs and murmurs, "yeosang and i used to date."
that makes you freeze. you thought he'd tell you about other motives. not history. though maybe, if you think about it a bit more, that could very well be a motive. or at least an explanation to the way his friends behave with you. that explains why yeosang seemed so adamant when he said he knew you. your stomach flips at the thought.
still, you ask, tone too light, "only used to date?"
san frowns, tilting his head.
"the sweatshirt," you explain. maybe the sweatshirt is a keepsake, like the radio.
san drops his head back against the door with a soft thud, says, "we're still good friends. we ended things on good terms."
you remember the desperation in yeosang's voice, and wooyoung answering for yeosang when he went silent. you wonder if san is the only one to believe that. instead of questioning him, you raise a brow.
san must be exhausted because he lets out a small snort at your expression, and sighs, sinking to the floor. you watch before you slowly join him, scooting so your back rests against the door too. your shoulders brush each other, a light touch, somehow comforting because it solidifies that san is very much here, and no longer in prison because of you. the lantern sits at both your feet, the warm light reminding you vaguely of the sunrays in the prison room. this time, instead of being surrounded in warm sunlight and dancing dust, you are surrounded in devouring darkness and a silence that settles over both of you. it's a sort of tension you wonder if either of you will mention in the morning, or if you'll allow it to be devoured by the darkness too.
"fine," san exhales, "we ended things on bad terms. but we are still good friends."
"so your bad-blood-exes streak is two for two? damn."
san chuckles, and the sound is soft and breathless and tired. he leans his head to the side to peer at you. you twist your body to face him, drawing a knee up to your chest. you study his expression, his dark, exhausted eyes, as he studies yours.
"i'll have you know i've had plenty of exes that ended well."
you raise a brow, "right."
he closes his eyes, barking out a loud laugh.
you shift beside him as you carefully pick your next words.
"can i ask why you ended on bad terms with yeosang? you both..." you trail off, thinking of the few interactions you had witnessed between them and how they could communicate with each other with just a look, how yeosang asks after san on the calls, how san smiles whenever yeosang talks through the radio, the sweatshirt, and you murmur, "you both seem nice together."
san tilts his head down, and fiddles with the edge of his shirt.
you don't know why you ask it. maybe you just know, from the way yeosang's spoken to you, from the things san has admitted. maybe, deep down, you know, and you need to ask to really confirm it. you ask, "please don't tell me it's because of me?"
san drags a hand over his face, peering sideways at you once more.
the silence is confirmation enough. maybe he doesn't care about you, but he used to, and you've also spent so long trying to reconcile your relationship with him and the person you were during that time. clearly, he has too. it's not fair. as you look at him, your chest feeling as if there's a heavy weight in it that will have you sinking through the earth and onto the other side, you think it isn't fair that you obviously have not gotten over him the way he has with you. that you still care about him. that he's ruined something good because of you and you feel bad and want him to have that back, despite the heaviness in your chest and the way your fingers curl around the fabric of your pants. it's not fair that you feel this way when you he's lied to you. you can't help but wonder, questions running through your mind. why did he ruin a good thing on your account? why are you feeling the effects of something that you had no hand in, not directly at least? why the hell do you pity the san before you? why is your heart racing?
you let out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else.
san scowls at your reaction.
"you're a fucking idiot, choi san." you shake your head, clutching your knee closer to your chest, "in the middle of an apocalypse still hung up over an ex that left you years ago. why would you let me ruin a good thing for you?"
san blinks, "you didn't do anything."
you feel the way you did, when you sat in that empty room and apologized to yeosang and san's friends. no, you didn't do anything, but why do you feel so sorry? why do you feel like all of this is your fault?
"you just said -"
san turns to face you, placing his hand on the one that's balled into a fist on your knee, your nails digging so hard into the fabric of your pants you're afraid you'll tear it. san dips his head, until his gaze is level with yours, and he speaks with a maturity that is a testament to the strange san you never knew. the one you've caught glimpses of here. the one you're starting to pick up on.
"i ruined it because of my feelings. i broke up with yeosang because of my issues and my emotions and it is not" - san squeezes your hand, his jaw ticking as he keeps your gaze locked on his - "your fault, y/n. i know i say a lot of shit, but this is not your fault. you have nothing to be sorry for."
"yeosang said that too."
san's hand is a warm, comforting weight on top of yours. "because he's right. you said it yourself, too, not in so many words. none of what's happened since you left the bunker is your fault. the way people are treating you," san sighs, "including myself. it's not really your fault."
when yeosang said it, it felt nice. when san says it, you scan his expression for a long time.
"you're saying that like it is someone's fault."
san shakes his head, pats your hand, before he lets go and leans back against the door once more.
before you can say anything san says, "yeo reminded me of you, you know. at first."
you grimace at that, words spilling from your mouth, "why does everyone keep saying that? first jongho saying i remind him of his friend, then hongjoong, now this? i am my own person, you know? i'm not someone you all can project personalities onto. and it's shitty to get into a relationship with someone that reminds you of your ex, san."
san grimaces, "i said at first."
"my point still stands."
san's expression appears strained. you assume it's because he's biting his tongue. his gaze flickers over your face as he murmurs, "fine, yeah. i'm a huge idiot."
"self awareness is the first step."
san rolls his eyes, but his lips turn up into a smile. you both fall into silence. it's comfortable, strangely so.
but you're the first to break it, "does you being here mean you won't be punished?"
san's eyes darken. he says, "no."
you turn to look at him, eyes flickering to his hands, "what's your punishment?"
"my hands will be fine," san says, shaking his head. his dark eyes are piercing, "i have to execute anyone seonghwa asks me to. mostly those who stray too far after being released on the shipments. that doesn't happen often though."
you're horrified, "that's awful."
he bites his lip, and you can tell he isn't saying something. despite the way his shoulders are slumped and the exhaustion in his eyes, he's holding something back.
he nods, says, "it does give me a chance to explore the guard towers though and figure out if there's a way out through there."
"before or after you have everyone turn on each other."
san shrugs, "i was just going to play that part by ear."
"and where would i be during this?"
"by my side."
you frown, "so why didn't you tell me about this earlier?"
"i can't tell you."
you don't push him. you don't want to play this game again. you don't want to know that he has even more secrets he can't tell you. so you say, "you're right."
san peers at you, but he seems to rethink whatever he wants to say because he settles for a snort and a, "you think so?"
you nod briskly.
san says, "that's a first. usually you tell me i'm wrong."
"don't get used to it."
san chuckles, before he says, expression growing somber, "just stay low for a while, will you?"
you frown, "why?"
"seonghwa's noticed all the friends you've made."
you roll your eyes, "i wouldn't call them friends."
san dips his head, "whatever you call them, he's noticed."
"he doesn't like it." you state it rather than ask.
san just nods. you nod, too, say, "okay, i'll lay low."
lies are getting easier, you've noticed, but san eyes you strangely anyway. maybe lies are getting easier, but you're still getting good at them. yet, he doesn't say a word.
you let the silence engulf you both. you let yourself bask in it, in the quiet, and the presence of someone else in this lonely room.
later, a long while later, san pushes himself to his feet. the lantern at your feet is dwindling.
san holds out a hand. you let him help you up.
he says goodnight, and you watch him go.
~.~.~.~.~
the next morning, after breakfast, you pull jongho behind the building before laundry duty, and you say, "where does the sanctuary get their food from?"
jongho blinks in surprise.
you say, "we're going to need food - and a whole lot of it - if we want to get out of here. and a car. they can't follow us to the other side of the country, can they?"
jongho blinks once, twice, three times, before he breaks out into a wide, ear-splitting grin. he doesn't cover his mouth. you squeeze his hand and you ask, "is this a good idea?"
jongho shakes his head, but he's still grinning.
"but we're going to do it?"
jongho nods and nods and nods.
~.~.~.~.~
"y/n."
you look up from the bookshelf you're wiping down, freezing under seonghwa's unwavering eyes.
seonghwa sits on one of the chairs - the same one hongjoong had been lounging in when he told you his past - and he gestures at the seat next to him. he is so polite, goosebumps settle over your skin.
you glance around the library, though you know damn well it's empty. the few times you've been assigned here after the incident, only seonghwa has been in here, and he barely ever spared you a glance as he intently scoured his books.
you have half a mind to say no.
then, he says, "sit down. let's talk."
his tone leaves no room for argument. so you sit.
seonghwa says, "do you know the tragedy of antigone?"
you frown, shaking your head.
seonghwa places an old, tattered book in your hand. sophocles, it says. you don't read books anymore, and certainly not ancient greek tragedies.
"in short, two brothers fight and both die. the king creon decides to honor one brother and dishonor the other - polynices. he's refused a proper burial, and his soul won't be able to rest because of it. antigone goes against creon's orders and performs a proper burial for her brother anyway. she places her love for her family above human laws. she's punished of course - buried alive in a cave - but later creon decides to spare her an execution and he finds she's killed herself."
"that's morbid," you frown at him. seonghwa continues staring at you, and his gaze is unsettling. he doesn't blink. you swear he isn't blinking. you flip the old book in your hands before you say, "let me guess? you're the king in this story?"
seonghwa smiles, and it is a chilling thing, all teeth but so polite it makes your skin crawl.
seonghwa says, "it's just interesting, i think, how far humans will go for love. platonic, romantic, anything really."
your frown deepens, "humans?"
something about the way he says that makes alarms ring in your head.
seonghwa nods, "people will do anything for the ones they care about. i'm curious what the extent of anything truly is. aren't you?"
you'd mentioned offhandedly that you believed seonghwa to have a god complex, but this is so utterly blatant it makes you want to put as much space the two of you as you can. you'd rather be alone in a room with hongjoong at this point.
he says, "how far are you willing to go for san, y/n?"
you cannot hide your wince. instead you shake your head and say, "less than you think."
seonghwa laughs, says, "a friend of mine said the same thing once. she was a bad liar."
you don't comment on the past tense. you wonder, for a moment, if he's talking about -
seonghwa tilts his head, his dark eyes still so unwavering, so unblinking, and he says, "i don't do well with bad liars, y/n. it's uninteresting."
he stands and leaves, glides almost, and you watch him go, all the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
you stare at the book in your lap for a long time, before you open it. written in elegant letters across the top is a name.
chaeyoung.
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[10:22 AM] + apocalypse + ex!san + "you're going to have to trust me on this."
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9
a/n: 5,600 words. mentions of violence. descriptions/mentions of death. jongho best boy.
-
for once, you're grateful you've been assigned to laundry duty again. you spent the majority of breakfast being stared at - specifically the purpling bruises on your face and neck - and when taeyong giggled at you as he passed, you decided you needed to get away from the prying eyes. you figure seonghwa didn't order you remain in your room because the bruises would no longer be incriminating for hongjoong and him. it'd be a san and you problem. strangely, no one at the sanctuary found the bruises alarming. instead they giggled harder, knocking foreheads against each other as they whispered behind their hands when you passed. when san showed up to breakfast looking as if he hadn't slept at all, his hair messy, and took a seat on jongho's other side, you watched mrs. kim gesture between san and you. taeyong was giggling with jaehyun as they both glanced between you both. the only bright side of that morning was that hongjoong was nowhere to be seen.
you're pulled from your thoughts of the morning when jongho settles into the spot beside you, leaning heavily against the brick wall you both take refuge behind during laundry duty days. the spot is out of sight from the dining hall and main building, giving you both a moment to escape prying eyes monitoring whether you're working. the small overhang and dragging shadow provides the smallest bit of reprieve against the blaring morning sun.
jongho knocks his elbow lightly against your side. you glance his way. he smiles with such kindness, you get the sudden urge to cry. it's so genuine, and the sincerity there hits you hard. you've gone a long time without sincerity. you did not realize how much you missed it until right then.
jongho's brows furrow before he searches his pockets. he pulls out his little notepad, scribbling quickly before he passes it to you.
are you alright? i heard you were sick last night.
"yeah," you say, handing him back his pad, "don't worry. i feel better."
you sure?
you nod.
jongho flips a page, writes for a long time. you watch him do so, the sweat on his face glistening under the morning light. his brows remain furrowed in worry. you hate that for a moment you find yourself questioning that worry and jongho's sincerity.
seonghwa barely deems anyone sick enough to skip shipments. especially if they're perfectly fine the next day. i'm hard to i know it's difficult to trust me, but i hope you know that i'm good at keeping my mouth shut. no pun intended.
you grimace, "you were waiting for an opportunity to use that."
jongho grins, shrugging.
you laugh, and your chest does feel a bit lighter. it's nice.
jongho's small smile falters as he examines your face. he writes, those aren't hickies, are they?
you cringe in horror, "is that what everyone thinks?"
jongho snorts and nods, snickering at your expression.
still, you touch one of the bruises, ignoring the memory of san dabbing ointment onto it that your touch dredges up. jongho watches you do so, a frown curling at his lips. frowns look out of place on him.
you think of hongjoong's story. of seonghwa's words. the moment turns bleak, and the sun feels too hot.
you gesture to the wall, beyond it. "did you know i was out there for four years?"
jongho's eyes widen.
you nod, "yeah, i know." you stare at the wall over the hill, watching one of the guards climb up the ladder to the guard tower. you let your gaze drift upwards, to the sky, and you catch glimpses of flying objects hovering above the clouds, reflecting rainbows back down to the surface. just that moment's glance brings shivers down your spine. you say, "i'm starting to wonder if escaping is worth it? i mean... would you want to go back out there and deal with those things? would you want to escape?"
you turn to look at jongho. jongho purses his lips as his gaze flickers over your face. he seems to be contemplating something, struggling with himself. then he turns to his notepad, and writes.
i tried to escape once, jongho says. back then, we used to live in a gated community. this was the one and only time anyone tried to escape this place. they succeeded, but with their success the entire community suffered. a lot of people died that night, and the fog returned. you've seen how people ignore me here, right? a lot of people lost loved ones that night. it was because of me.
"because of you?"
jongho swallows, do you remember the friend i mentioned? the one you remind me of?
you nod.
we were close... jongho's pen falters, and you watch his shoulders slump. you press a hand to his shoulder, and he looks up at you with tired eyes. he writes, and you read his words over his shoulders. he crosses out his the his first sentence and continues. we helped seonghwa and hongjoong start this place, along with hongjoong's sister and boyfriend. i just started university when it happened, and hongjoong and his sister found me hiding out in an sauna. then we found seonghwa. we met mingi, hongjoong's boyfriend, a few months later. we just went through a lot after that, so we all got close. we were like family, really. i guess you could call it trauma bonding?
your hand slips from jongho's shoulder. jongho knew mingi. your thoughts reel at that revelation, and the confirmation that hongjoong was truly telling the truth. not only that, but mingi also helped create the sanctuary. did yeosang know this? wooyoung? yunho? did san know this? your eyes widen, and jongho gives you a wobbly smile. your stomach flips as you say , "i...you started the sanctuary? the shipments too?"
back then, the shipments didn't go the way they do now. seonghwa and chaeyoung, hongjoong's sister, figured out a way to keep the fog out of the sanctuary. they kept the details between them, but they told us we needed to sacrifice one person to the fog twice a month to quell the creature's hunger. i never questioned it. weirder things were happening anyway. so we used to keep prisoners who we'd send out at night twice a month. those were the shipments. i know that sounds horrible, but the prisoners were bad people, y/n. murderers, rapists, people who hurt other people. their victims often took refuge with us. i guess i...thought it was justified since only evil people were being sent to their deaths.
you don't know if you can blame jongho for finding the sacrifices justifiable. the circumstances of the crimes made the punishment seem more than reasonable, and the desperation to survive is something you've faced firsthand. but you wonder how the hell that evolved into this. what happened? was it because mingi killed hongjoong's sister - chaeyoung? was it because of the escape attempt? was that the real reason why jongho lost his tongue?
something happened with chaeyoung. i still don't know what it was, but it was bad. really bad. she and seonghwa couldn't stand to be in the same room as each other, and she fought with everyone. she and hongjoong spent two hours screaming at each other once. the whole compound could hear it. it didn't help that all of us were falling apart. mingi and hongjoong argued often. their arguments were never loud, but the aftermath of it was always very obvious. the other members of the sanctuary started fighting too. we were running out of food and rationing. people fought over scraps, and the littlest things honestly. one day my friend told me he wanted to leave. there was something there in his eyes that just - it hurt to see it. you looked like that just now you know. like everything was over and done for. hopeless.
you blink at that, placing the notebook in the grass so you can really look at jongho. you don't know how to respond to that last bit, so you don't. instead, you say, "she's dead. chaeyoung."
you don't ask it, and that's probably why jongho's eyes widen slightly in surprise. he doesn't ask either though. he just nods briskly, a sad smile gracing his features.
you take a breath. "what happened to her?"
i don't know. it happened during the escape attempt, so i wasn't there. we decided to do it at night. it happened to be a shipment night, and honestly that is probably the best time to escape, but sometimes i wonder if that made it worse. if that was -
jongho stops writing for a long moment. you squeeze his shoulder once more in support, and sit there in silence until he continues.
he wasn't supposed to use the bombs unless absolutely necessary. i wasn't with him. it was my job to distract the guards. but i felt it when he used the bombs. the blast shook the ground. and the screaming was terrible. it did not stop. the explosion caused a fire that destroyed the community very quickly. everything went up in flames. i've never seen anything like it, but that wasn't the worst of it. the worst part was that the gates were gone. blown to pieces because of the bombs i made. for the first time i really saw what was in the fog. i was hiding, you know, in the guard box, and i could hear the clicks. i laid there and listened as those things ate someone. the sound is disgusting y/n. the sounds of those things crawling, dragging their bodies through the grass and cement, and the sounds of bones breaking and flesh -
you grab jongho's trembling hand, "you don't have to keep going. i understand, jongho. you don't have to relive that part."
jongho nods, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. that night we lost over half the community. seonghwa, hongjoong, and i were the only ones left from our group. our family. chaeyoung was dead. later i learned mingi was the one that killed her, so that he and my friend could escape. i never thought he was capable of something like that, but i also didn't think seonghwa and hongjoong were capable of the things they've done since then. hongjoong told me he'd come too late. by the time he got there, mingi's knife and hands were covered in blood and chaeyoung was on the ground with her throat slit. before hongjoong could do anything, my friend knocked him over the head with something and hongjoong lost consciousness. when he came to, the compound was burning and mingi and my friend were gone. we watched the compound burn to the ground while we all piled into the cars. we traveled for days after that until we found this place. we lost more people along the way. at one point, seonghwa and hongjoong raided an abandoned army base. seonghwa said we were looking for food, but instead we found guns. a lot of them. i don't think seonghwa was ever looking for food there. anyways, they rebuilt this place to make sure what happened that time could never happened again. rules tightened, a security training plan was developed. despite that though, everyone knew i helped with the escape. i was the only one who could make bombs like that. everyone knew it was my fault so many died. the worst part was that i didn't even help that night. i hid and hongjoong was the one who found me hiding under a table.
"jongho," you frown, "you didn't do anything wrong. you were scared. you didn't know it'd turn out like that. you didn't set off those bombs."
i helped, though, and i made those bombs. i lied to seonghwa about it at first, but he's known me for a long time. he knew i was lying. maybe i didn't actually do anything, but i was involved. i executed that plan knowing the consequences.
you wince at the implication that that was why seonghwa punished jongho. that wasn't fair. still, you say, "your friend. did he...did he die, too?"
jongho shakes his head, he didn't die that night. he's probably dead by now though.
you speak gently, still patting jongho's back, "what's his name?"
i'm not allowed to say it.
you blink, "what?"
seonghwa said he'll kill me if i ever bring up his name.
"seonghwa's not here."
i can't say it. he'll know.
your stomach churns.
"how can he - how the fuck does that help?" you sputter, annoyance at seonghwa bubbling in your chest, "why are they punishing you for this?"
it's terrifying, you think, that seonghwa conditioned jongho so well that he refuses to even write his friend's name down. seonghwa is nowhere to be seen, but jongho is still so terrified. and to think jongho considered him family, perhaps even still does. your heart feels heavy as you look at him writing his response.
i'm the only one left they can blame. and i deserve the blame.
you take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the anger and overwhelming way your thoughts run at all the new information.
jongho nudges his notebook into your hands once more. the point is, i've always wanted to escape, but it's impossible.
something about his words makes you want to try. maybe it's the fact that you're angry, more than anything, at jongho's mistreatment. at the level of fear he has for seongwha and hongjoong, especially when they used to be so close jongho considered them both family. that is more monstrous to you. jongho lost chaeyoung, mingi, and his friend, too. he lost family too. from the sounds of it, jongho was kept away from whatever really happened between his friends, tagging along because he was asked to, but now since jongho was the only one left behind, hongjoong and seonghwa were using him as a punching bag for their hurt feelings. the blame and consequences were being placed on someone you did not think deserved it one bit. and the worst part was, jongho truly believed all of it was his fault. you wonder, with a heavy heart, if jongho believed he deserved to lose his tongue in the process.
it isn't fair. the most terrible thing about all this is that it terrifies you knowing that as long as you are here, you will remain at the whims of seonghwa and hongjoong. at least you knew you could avoid the fog and strange alien-possessed with tried and true methods. the unpredictable volatility of seonghwa and hongjoong is something else entirely. seonghwa treats it like a game, and hongjoong like crazed vengeance, and you don't think you're equipped to remain here at their mercy. you know, deep down, that staying is not an option for you. you'd rather die at the hands of strange creatures, a kind, instant death really, then spend years being broken down by two terrible people hellbent on controlling everything and blaming everyone but themselves.
"nothing is impossible, jongho." you say, attempting at a smile.
jongho only stares at you like you've grown another head. look at all the guard towers, y/n. besides, those things in the fog were worse than anything i've ever seen in here.
you frown. "how long do you think the shipments are going to last, jongho? you said it used to be twice a month, but now it's every night. how long can seonghwa sustain that?"
jongho's brows furrow. not long.
"escaping might be hard but it's not impossible," you say, "besides, i think it's time everyone learns who the real seonghwa and hongjoong are."
you grin. jongho stares, unimpressed.
he writes, you don't think they already do?
that brings you pause. you frown at jongho, "they do?"
jongho drags a hand through his hair, peering to his right, to where some sanctuary members are laughing loudly as they make their way to the dining hall for lunch.
before you and san, we didn't get a new member for months. but every person that is here was brought here in the exact same way you were. no one was given a choice in the matter, really, but the majority of them are aware of what's going on. no one puts up a fight once they spend a day here. i think that's what was expected of you, too, but you didn't do that, so seonghwa and hongjoong took you to me. everyone knows what's happening, but it's keeping them alive.
your stomach churns at that, fingers curling into fists. you can't stay here, you decide right then. seonghwa and hongjoong are bad enough, but to stay here when you know that every single person is turning the other cheek to the atrocities occurring here. that truly scares you. this is no longer the doing of two outliers you could deem monsters. this is the doing of the collective. of everyone. bystanders and perpetrators alike. you whisper, "so it's true. only the horrible people are left."
good people don't kill others to survive. they don't step over others to get ahead. that's why they're all dead.
you think of your mother, and the blood you have on your hands too. you'd killed her to survive, so maybe you're not any different. maybe you belong here. you nod, deflating a bit as you read his words, "no, i guess you're right."
jongho doesn't write anything. he just stares at the clothesline on the hill.
you murmur, "i still want to escape, jongho. i can't be here anymore."
jongho looks down at your hands. he writes hesitantly. one stroke at at a time. i do, too.
"then we should try," you frown, "at least we can try."
we?
"yeah," you say, nodding, "you're stuck with me."
jongho's eyes fill with tears, and you blink in surprise. he wipes furiously at them, before he nods, over and over and over. you can't help but laugh, but the laugh sounds heavy, even to your ears. maybe you're about to walk you both into your inevitable deaths, but the sparkly of hope in his otherwise kind, tired eyes is worth the risk, you think.
~.~.~.~.~
"jongho's going to join us," you tell san, the moment you step into his room after curfew.
san takes a step back, his eyes widening as he gives you a quick once over. he asks, "you told jongho?"
"i didn't mention you or the radio or anything. just that i wanted to escape. but he wants to get out of here, so i'm going to help him."
you expect san to put up a fight, but he just chuckles as if you're telling a good joke.
"what?"
"nothing," san shakes his head. he plops down on his bed, and you take your usual spot in his chair. he flips the radio around in his hands, but he does not click the button. after a beat, san says, "what did he tell you?"
"it's not my secret to tell," you mock his words.
san purses his lips, "i guess not."
you expect more of a fight, but san only nods. you frown, say, "i mean, seonghwa and hongjoong have been horrible to him. he deserves to get out of here."
san nods.
he still remains so silent. you wonder if he knows about mingi and jongho. you wonder if you should ask.
san flips the radio in his hands once more, his gaze drifting from the radio to your face, "if you have something to say, say it."
"i could say the same to you."
you hate beating around the bush. you always have, and you always will. maybe san still remembers that about you, because he seems to be waiting as he looks at you. as if he knows you'll say what you want eventually.
you sigh, "jongho knows mingi."
san nods, still waiting. his newfound patience is still a strange thing to you.
"do you want me to spell it out for you? or is this another secret that isn't yours to tell?"
"are you ever going to let that go?"
"are you ever going to tell me the whole truth?"
"i've told warned you haven't i? to not trust anyone?"
"cryptic warnings don't fucking help, san," you scoff at him. "i don't know when you've decided to become the fucking riddler 2.0, but now is not the time."
this time san laughs, and it's...genuine. "the riddler? you're making batman references at a time like this?"
"yeah," you mutter, and your frown fumbles. you can't help the smile. it's contagious. you say, "you're acting like some kind of edgy comic book villain. what else am i supposed to do?"
he laughs again, dragging his hand through his hair, before he sighs and says, "i know this is difficult for you, but try to put yourself in my shoes. for one second, just try."
"what does that -"
"yeosang, wooyoung, mingi, and yunho are important to me. i love them. they are my world now," san sighs once more, "and i will do anything in my power to protect them. they would do the same for me."
you understand him. you get it. but san's loyalty to his friends always makes your heart curl up in a way you cannot fully explain. maybe it's because he was never even that loyal to you. even when he was supposed to be. maybe that's what happens when years go by and lessons are learned. you expect him to be the same, but he isn't, and he never will be. maybe it's bad that you've remained stagnant while everything and everyone has changed and moved on.
you say, "i get it. you don't owe me shit. we're strangers. you've already said this a hundred times. pick new dialogue, san."
san scoffs, rolling his eyes, "if you'd let me explain, that'd be nice."
you wave your hand at him, stiffening as you watch him open your mouth. frankly, you don't want to be reminded that he doesn't care about you. he's said it enough times, already, and there's only so many times you can pretend to let those remarks slide off your skin before it starts to stick.
san opens his mouth once, twice, before he finally speaks, "when i found out you were taken by the sanctuary i..."
you watch him trail off in search of words. the tension in the room doubles as you stare at him.
he says, "i admit i lost it."
his eyes meet yours, and he holds you in his gaze.
"i thought you didn't care?" your voice is soft, a mere whisper.
his eyes remain on yours, and there is something so heavy and encompassing living in his eyes. something that settles into the pit of your stomach and clouds the little room. it makes your heartbeat catch. you don't even dare to breathe, in case you ruin the stillness in the room. even the dust seems to remain suspended in air, waiting with bated breath for his response. an eternity passes, the two of you unblinking. staring.
san breathes, "i don't."
the air leaves your lungs, and the tension crumbles, but san continues holding your gaze.
your nerves are frayed, even when you mumble, "good."
san's smile is a tiny thing, nothing like the amused, almost mean smiles he'd getting the last word in, or the empty ones he'd bestow on you in front of other people in the sanctuary.
he says, so easily, so casually, as if the world hadn't fucking stopped a few moments ago, "all i'm trying to say is that i'm stuck between you and my friends, and i don't want to pick sides."
you snort at that, "you've chosen your friends the moment you let them rob me."
"i admit that wasn't...the nicest."
"no shit."
san rolls his eyes, "whatever."
you say, "no go on. give me more half-assed apologies. you've always been good at that."
"fine," san sits up then, crossing his arms over his chest as he narrows his eyes at you, "i'm half sorry about the robbing thing. the kimchi you had was good though."
"yeah?" your glare deepens, "i spent half a day digging that up."
"thanks for your hard work."
"i'm so glad you could enjoy the fruits of my labor, asshole."
"i'm half sorry about the living room. you shouldn't have been sneaking around, and i'm never letting that slide. but i shouldn't have said what i said to you. i was just angry, and surprised by your reappearance. but that's never an excuse. so i'm half sorry."
you let his words settle over you. you admit, "i don't think the san i knew would have ever admitted any of that out loud."
san lets out a small breath, and his eyes aren't narrowed in anger anymore. his shoulders droop a bit, but he remains with his arms crossed over his chest. "so many years have passed since then, y/n. no one ever stays the same for so long."
"i didn't even know the four years passing, you know. that's why i was like that in the bunker living room. i don't think i ever registered just how long i was out there moving on autopilot. maybe that's why you think i haven't changed."
"that's not it," san scoots back, leaning against the stone wall. he tilts his head back, but still looks at you. "you didn't know?"
you shake your head, "i didn't feel the need to pay attention."
you probably should have been able to tell. you just had to count the seasons. the winters, or summers. the amount of times the leaves turned colors, or the amount of times cherry blossoms bloomed prettily despite the state of the world. you just didn't feel the need to. you thought you were the last person left, and what does the last living person need with years? who would you celebrate your birthdays with anyway? why would you put yourself through that kind of sadness?
another pause.
"well," san's voice is quiet, gentle, "we're going into august now. my birthday just passed. yours will be coming up soon as well."
you blink at san, "oh."
he smiles, and it's as gentle as jongho's had been. your heart constricts. he picks up the radio and waves it, "let's give them a call, then."
you nod, unable to speak because of the lump in your throat.
san scoots to the edge of the bed, asks, "can i ask you one thing?"
you nod. san's finger hovers over the talk button. his expression grows serious.
he says, "can you keep jongho joining us to yourself?"
you frown at him, surprised, "why?"
san seems to mull over his next words for a long moment, speaking carefully, "you're just going to have to trust me on this, y/n."
"that goes against everything you've been nagging me about."
san snorts, "yeah, i know."
you cross your arms.
"come on," he says, "just this one time i won't nag you about trusting people too much. it's a free pass."
you glare, but he smiles. so you sigh, and nod. you don't see any harm in keeping jongho out of the equation until things are finalized anyway. "fine."
he lets out a small sigh of relief.
~.~.~.~.~
you don't say a word about what you know about mingi. san looks at you expectantly throughout the check-in, but you keep it to yourself. you want to see their faces as you ask about it. the radio doesn't feel like a good way of communicating.
instead, you say, "escaping during a shipment will be our best bet, i think. everyone's drinking and dancing. it gives you guys enough time to break in and get us out."
a pause.
then yeosang says, "that's a good idea."
you don't mention mingi, but you'd always been a bit petty. you say, "we can make bombs, too, and use it in case we need to."
you look at san as you speak into the radio. he frowns at you, his eyes narrowing as you talk.
the pause on the other side is much, much too long.
yunho answers, "do you know how to make bombs?"
"i met someone who does. he can teach me."
san outright glares at you then, gesturing for the radio.
you shrug at him, holding the radio close. his scowl deepens as he grips the edge of the bed, leaning close.
"sounds good. we'll finalize details later. it's good hearing from you both. get some rest." yunho's voice is stiff.
the room goes absolutely silent.
san says, "maybe i should have specified not to mention anything jongho said to you either."
"don't you think this is annoying?" you ask, handing him the radio, "there's no fucking transparency."
"says the person who decided to be petty as fuck just now."
"i'm allowed to be a little petty."
he doesn't deny your words. he just sighs, "i'm going to have to deal with the aftermath of that though. so thanks."
you think it's funny, how you're both aware that there's information being kept from you. you don't even dance around the topic anymore. in fact, at this point you're both feeding the damn elephant in the room the best watermelons you can find. it's funny in a what-the-hell-are-you-doing kind of way.
"you talk to them on the radio when i'm not here."
it's not a question. it's a statement. it's confirmation.
"i just to catch up with them."
"right."
san sighs, "let's walk you back."
you nod, and the two of you walk back in utter silence.
when you get to your little jail cell, san says, "i'm half sorry about not being able to tell you anything. they're my friends, and they really are not my secrets to tell, but i still feel guilty."
"is that what all this is?" you gesture at him, standing at the threshold to your jail cell room. "guilt?"
his eyes glisten in the moonlight, but the rest of his face is shadowed and indecipherable.
"yes, i think so." he says.
he doesn't care about you, but he's trying to alleviate his guilt? you don't want that. you don't want his guilt. pity is born of guilt, and that is so much fucking worse. so you shut the door without another word, and he doesn't bother saying a thing.
your heart feels heavier in your chest than it ever was before.
~.~.~.~.~
hongjoong returns that morning. he bangs on your jail cell bars with the stupid knife, and he croons, "good morning."
you groan, nearly toppling off the cot as you scramble to get up.
hongjoong says, "you have bird coop duty. breakfast folks are going to be waiting for those eggs, y/n."
you groan. hongjoong steps around the bars, to the open door of your jail cell. you stiffen then, at his proximity, and quickly get to your feet. hongjoong grins at your reaction.
"meet me outside in five minutes."
you meet him outside in three.
when you arrive, san's waiting there, looking tired, arms crossed over his chest. hongjoong grins, says, "aren't you two a lovely sight?"
you grimace.
hongjoong says, "smile, y/n."
you do.
san frowns, peering between you and hongjoong.
hongjoong gestures for both of you to follow after him, but you fall behind. san has long strides since he's taller. and hongjoong moves ridiculously fast for someone so short. "hurry up, y/n."
the chicken coop and all the other livestock are at the south end of the sanctuary, closer to the well and where the cars are stored. there's a gate here that's used for when someone uses the cars to make supply runs. you don't know who gets assigned for supply runs and how that is run, since it's not a job assignment posted on the community board. you can hear engines running, over the sounds of roosters cawing and the chickens clucking. you look over, and the gates are open, a pickup truck backing up into the sanctuary. the gate clangs shut behind the truck. the back of the pickup truck is piled high with perishable food, in green baskets that seem to be made of woven leaves. the baskets some of the older women make at the sanctuary are made of hay and straw. not leaves. you've always wondered how the sanctuary managed to have bread and cake. perishables like that should have been long gone. but, those items coming in on a supply run truck is even stranger. where could they have found them?
someone grabs your elbow and pulls you away from the truck and the gate. you yelp, stumbling forward.
hongjoong frowns at you, "pay attention, y/n."
you glare at him, though the fear you have for him only makes your heart slam against your ribs. feeling such anxiety constantly cannot be good for you.
your fingers curl into fists, "please do not touch me."
hongjoong blinks, once, twice, three times, before he says, "excuse me."
"don't touch me."
hongjoong steps closer. he looms and your morning brain cannot handle this so early. your heart races. hongjoong grabs your elbow.
"say that -"
hongjoong is suddenly yanked to the side, and a sickening crunch echoes all around you. even the animals stop making noise, as if they can sense the gravity of the situation.
san is breathing heavily, his body angled between yourself and hongjoong. he punched hongjoong. he punched hongjoong, and hongjoong's nose is gushing blood, and holy shit san punched hongjoong.
san speaks with the calmness of someone who is speaking of the weather. one hand remains in a fist, and the other is pressed against your arm, holding you behind him.
san says, "they said not to touch them, so keep your hands to your fucking self."
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# THE CHAOS CHAPTER: FREEZE <YOU> HUENINGKAI
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# THE CHAOS CHAPTER: FREEZE <YOU> HUENINGKAI
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[8:02 PM] + apocalypse + ex!san + "do you want me dead that badly?"
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8
a/n: 4,500 words, once again san is a bad communicator, also seonghwa is scary lmao, y/n goes through some self doubt which may be triggering so pls watch out
-
mingi? hongjoong thought the knife belonged to mingi? mingi was the love of hongjoong's life? the one who slit his sister's throat? you've barely spoken to mingi - the majority of your time spent with him was prying out from beneath an overturned car and then dragging him to his bunker while he was barely conscious, but you remembered wooyoung mentioned that mingi coped by not speaking. either way, you think it funny that you were surprised it was mingi, rather than wooyoung. you'd have believed wooyoung was the culprit over mingi. perhaps it was the sheer determination with which yeosang worked to protect and save mingi. perhaps it was just because you were on the other end of the knife with wooyoung, but not with mingi. then again, san had said it himself - you didn't know mingi or wooyoung. not yeosang. certainly not yunho. you were merely making assumptions based off mere moments of interactions. you didn't know any of san's friends.
and, you didn't know san.
you didn't actually know any of them. that was the thought that echoed over and over in your brain.
you remain sitting on the floor, long after hongjoong left, dishrag and cleaning supplies strewn around you. your fingers curl gingerly around the sore skin of your face and throat but you couldn't stop thinking.
if that was truly mingi's knife instead of wooyoung's - under other circumstances, maybe you wouldn't have believed hongjoong, but the tension in the room, the way hongjoong looked at you, it felt too real and you believed him - then shouldn't wooyoung have known not to give you that knife? especially after the way he'd warned you of running into hongjoong in the first place. of course, you don't know how long ago mingi must have given wooyoung the knife. wooyoung could have simply forgot that it used to belong to mingi. and mingi was recovering from his wounds. but still.
you blink at the library floors, still rubbing your shin, and you wondered why they hadn't brought up the fact since that night. you'd mentioned a hundred times how hongjoong was targetting you because of wooyoung's knife. you'd explained to them that he seemed to want revenge against the owner of the knife. you'd stated wooyoung's name. so why didn't wooyoung or yeosang or mingi or even san bother to correct you. did all of them forget the knife was mingi's? why didn't wooyoung at least explain that hongjoong wasn't seeking vengeance against him? it didn't make sense to you. it didn't make sense.
unless. unless san is right.
the thought rings over all your other thoughts. it burrows itself front and center, and you hate it. because if san is right, then you'll have to admit that you really are too naïve. that you're stupid and naïve and you trusted san's friends more than you ever should have (even if it was just a little bit). that if they really did hide this from you, then there's something else going on and information that is being kept from you, and that the world you once knew is truly dead and gone and all that is left is a self-serving, individualistic world that lies about everything to save their own skins. it means that even san is withholding information from you. perhaps even lied to you too. again. maybe, that's expected, but it's still terrifying to know that in the grand scheme of things, you may not get out of the sanctuary alive because of hidden intentions and secrets you frankly do not give a fuck about.
the dinner bell rings in the distance, and you slowly get to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. you're terrified that you're in this alone. you knew you were - san warned you of it already, a kindness in retrospect, not that you think about it - but the prospect hadn't felt so real until this moment. your fingers curl at your hip, but the radio isn't there anymore. it's with san.
frustration bubbles up in your chest, your heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears, but you file those feelings away so you can process them later (much, much later).
~.~.~.~.~
you skip dinner entirely, and you leave the library just as the other members of the sanctuary are making their way to watch the shipment. you're shoving the last of the cleaning supplies into the supply closet when the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. you look over your shoulder, and seonghwa fixes his gaze on you. you give him a smile, hoping he'll be on his way, but he starts to make his way towards you. you clutch the supply closet door, your heart pounding once more, but you force yourself to take a breath, shutting the door before turning to watch him. the other sanctuary members bow deep as he passes. seonghwa stops to pat them on the shoulder, or smile kindly at them. your stomach churns as you watch. no one takes up too much of his time. you doubt anyone would want to, not when being late to the shipment meant a punishment you'd consider worse than death.
seonghwa stills an arms length away from you. his gaze flickers over your face, your form, lingering briefly on your neck. your bruises sting just from his expression.
you open your mouth to say something. maybe attempt at an excuse, though you're unsure why you're do that, when seonghwa says, "you have permission to skip tonight's shipment, y/n. go to your room."
"what?" you blink in surprise, "why?"
seonghwa raises a brow, "are you questioning me?"
"i'm only asking you why." you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "how do i know this isn't a trick? that once i don't show up, you both consider it 'skipping a shipment' and then have hongjoong gouge an eye out. forgive me if i don't believe you'd speak up for me, seonghwa."
you try to keep your voice steady at the mention of hongjoong's name, but it clearly doesn't work because seonghwa immediately narrows his eyes at you, eyes flickering over the bruises once more. he examines you for a beat, and you keep your gaze level with him, refusing to feel intimidated despite how intense his gaze is.
the echoes of voices and footsteps are far away now, so distant you could almost convince yourself you are imagining them. the hall is now dead silent, and so utterly empty, the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end once more. you're alone with seonghwa, more than you ever have been before. your eyes flick from the open double doors, from the distant laughter and voices drifting back into the hall, to seonghwa's dark, watchful eyes. he looks at you like he is sizing you up. like you are a measly rabbit, and he is an amalgamation of every predator a rabbit would ever encounter; the eyes of a hawk and the ferociousness of wild dogs and the talons of eagles and the sharpness of owls blended into one.
seonghwa takes a step forward. he reaches, until his fingertips brush the bruises on your face. you swipe his hand away. seonghwa smiles at your reaction, says, "your bruises are obvious, and i don't want questions. the shipment is supposed to be a night of joy."
you frown. daily chores are always posted in the dining hall. the library was only ever assigned one cleaner in the morning and one in the evening. and everyone knew hongjoong and seonghwa reserved the library in the evenings to prepare for that night's shipment. seonghwa just wanted to save his ass, because you both know that if people saw the bruises, they would talk. you'd seen the power gossip holds here just from being seen with san after curfew. everyone would know you'd gotten the bruises from either hongjoong or seonghwa. seonghwa had meticulous reputation surrounding his kindness. hongjoong did not. it wasn't such a far-fetched idea either, that hongjoong would hurt you. it was a well-known fact that hongjoong was an asshole. he was well-respected, but a blatant asshole to those he didn't like, and, well, it was also a well-known fact that hongjoong did not like you. the people here may have been easily brainwashed by seonghwa's tactics, but they were not entirely stupid.
"the truth isn't joyful enough for you?" you ask, then, through gritted teeth, "that your right-hand man likes to hurt people for fun? i thought everyone already knew that, what with the punishments and the state of your shipments."
"hongjoong is..." seonghwa shakes his head, seemingly ignoring the venom in your statements. maybe that's for the best. "volatile, unfortunately. he brings out a fear in people that is, frankly, not manageable or productive."
your stomach churns at those words. manageable. productive. he admits it so easily, that he's only really looking to control the people here. like these are not people with thoughts and lives and dreams of their own, but instead they are pieces on a chessboard that seonghwa loves to manage. still, there is something strange about how easily he tells you something so...incriminating. he isn't trying to charm you, not the way he does with the other sanctuary habitants. you've watched him talk to san after the shipments. the smiles, the touches. it was nothing like the way he addresses you.
"i am sorry about that," seonghwa gestures at your face with a small sigh, "i'll send san to your room after the shipment with the first aid kit."
your frown deepens, "san?"
"you're together, aren't you? i thought you'd want him there."
you'd forgot seonghwa must have heard the rumors too. you nod.
seonghwa searches your face once more, his lips pressing into a straight line.
you don't like the way his eyes seem to see straight through you. you say, "so, are you going to punish hongjoong, then?"
"no," seonghwa says, without missing a beat.
you scowl, opening your mouth to say something, anything.
seonghwa speaks over you, "hongjoong doesn't have much to lose. punishment wouldn't have an effect on him. it's useless."
"how is that fair?"
seonghwa raises a brow, tilting his head. he always addresses you with blank eyes and small, knowing smiles, the kind that makes you feel like he can see right through you and into your head.
but as he processes your question, his eyes light up with a sort of curious amusement that sends shivers down the back of your neck.
seonghwa's smile is quiet thing. nothing like the bright smiles he gives the other sanctuary members. it feels like being doused in a bucket of ice water.
seonghwa says, "do you really think i care about fairness, y/n? are you really that dense?"
his voice curls down your spine, and you want so badly to be anywhere but there.
"why are you being so..." you trail off, unable to find the right word for the way he's seemingly dropped all pretense.
"candid?" seonghwa supplies with a snort, his dark eyes unblinking.
your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt as you nod.
seonghwa hums. the sound is quite pretty, echoing throughout the empty hall.
he says, "you seem to respond better to honesty. so i'm being honest."
"o-oh," you clear your throat so you can cover the stutter, "you can't possibly think you'll convince me you're doing anything right here. i'm not going to fall for your brainwashing like the rest of them. unless you're that dense?"
seonghwa laughs. it echoes through the empty hall. it's nice. it's normal.
he laughs and laughs, and then he stops and steps closer, just enough so you can truly feel his presence looming. you hold your head high, and that only brings him more amusement.
"no," he says, between chuckles, "of course i don't expect that. but, complacency is a powerful tool, y/n. especially," seonghwa reaches out once more and presses his fingertips to the underside of your chin. it's a light tap that has you frozen in place. he says, "when you're stuck here with nowhere to go. where would you go? you're stuck here, y/n, whether you like it or not, and you've been following my rules, whether you've wanted to or not. i think that's a success isn't it?"
you shove his hand from your face.
he smiles so pleasantly, so kindly, you think you'll be sick.
"why are you telling me this?"
"because i like that you know exactly what i'm doing to you, and you'll one day be as complacent as the people here you like mocking and calling brainwashed. it's interesting. dare i even say a bit," seonghwa grins, all teeth, "fun."
this time you step back. "you're horrible."
seonghwa shrugs, "we all are. that's what apocalypses do to people. bring out the worst in us all. you've seen the walking dead haven't you?"
you scowl, but you don't have a response to his light tone. all you feel is disgust curling at the pit of your stomach at his words and his tone.
then seonghwa takes a step closer, closing the gap you'd made between the both of you, and he says, "i'm sure you're thinking of ways to escape. i'm sure you're looking for others who will join your side. perhaps a rebellion? but why would you want to leave? i named this place the sanctuary for a reason, y/n. i've guaranteed that we're immune from the chaos outside. from the fog and those aliens. why would you want to leave? why would anyone here want to leave?"
your stomach curls at his words. not only does he seem to know you're trying to escape, and that he's eerily accurate about your methods, but...he's not wrong.
for the first time in a long time, you've been able to sleep through the night without worrying about someone trying to break down your door. of course hongjoong comes banging your jail cell doors in the mornings, but it doesn't evoke the same level of terror as the banging doors and screaming you'd experienced beyond these walls.
for the first time in a long time, you are not sleeping in bathtubs and waking up with sore limbs. you can step outside at night, and though you still feel that creeping terror, it isn't as crippling as it was when you were Wandering. the night sky is no longer a source of death and dread to you. not like it used to be. so, why would you want to leave? why would you want to go back to that? you've wasted four whole fucking years out there and you hadn't even realized that much time passed. four birthdays wandering like a ghost. four years.
and, you are stuck here. you don't know if yeosang, wooyoung, mingi, and yunho truly will help you escape here. for all you know they're formulating a separate plan with san that you are not privy to. you don't know if san is even here to help you get out. for all you know, he could have lied about that. like seonghwa said, complacency is powerful. and you've grown so utterly complacent to the rules here, to avoiding hongjoong and seonghwa's wrath, to putting your faith on a bunch of strangers. seonghwa is terribly correct. you are stuck here, and alone in any attempts to escape, and surrounded by strangers. but maybe surviving means that all those facts are...okay.
seonghwa smiles gently, his eyes flickering over your face, "go to your room, y/n. get some rest."
he waves as he walks away.
you can't do much else but follow his orders.
~.~.~.~.~
there's a knock at the door. no one ever knocks at the door to the jail cell room. especially not hongjoong. you turn your gaze from the ceiling to the door, craning your neck as you call out for them to come in.
the door creaks open, and the sound echoes throughout the room. the candles in the corner - jongho gave you more so you'd have more light after dark - fills the room with soft candlelight, enough to make out the face of the person entering, though the light casts dark shadow figures over the empty corners of the other jail cells. for the sake of your sanity, you've gotten good at ignoring those parts of the room.
you scramble to sit up when the candlelight dances just right, revealing san's stony face.
san steps fully into the room, lingering near the table the lit candles are on. you assume back when this place used to be a courthouse and prison facility, this room must have been a holding room. that table must have been where an officer sat. the door to your jail cell is wide open, but san stands on the side of the desk where the cell bars sit between you both. under soft candlelight, his expression isn't so rigid.
he places a small pouch on the desk and finally speaks, "seonghwa told me to bring this to you. he said you aren't feeling well."
you shrug, "i'm fine."
there's a pause. you twist your blanket between your fingers. the silence feels like eternity.
finally, finally, san says, "i opened it."
you look up from your fingers, and he is still staring at you from beyond the jail cell bars. it's hard to read his expression from this distance.
"it's bruise cream."
his voice is entirely too soft. you can't stop twisting the blanket between your fingers.
you say, "you can just leave it there."
"y/n-"
"what?" the blanket twists around your fingers, and it hurts a bit, but not nearly as much as the bruises on your face. certainly not as much as your wounded ego. maybe you are dense. from wooyoung's - no mingi's - knife to seonghwa's games to your doubts about yeosang's plans and where you truly stand in his plans to the way you'd felt the tiniest bit of relief at san's presence. "what do you want me to say?"
san opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he closes it moments later and averts his gaze. of course nothing comes out.
you laugh. the rough fabric of the blanket digs into the skin of your hands. "did you know that the knife was mingi's, not wooyoung's?"
from beyond the bars of the jail cell, san's face is muddled by shadows and the low orange-yellow glow of candles. it's difficult to read his expressions, but the sag of his shoulders answers your question long before san does.
"i did," san says.
"did your friends know?"
a pause.
then, "yes."
your laugh ricochets off the walls. san steps back as if you've hit him. that makes you laugh more.
you slip from the cot, balling up the thin blanket in your fists, and you round the jail cell doors, until all that is between you is the stupid table with the candles. his gaze flickers over your face, and his brows furrow for just a moment as his eyes linger. then his expression grows stiff and calm. from up close, the candle flame lights up his face so bright it hurts to look at him. san wears the expression of a stranger.
"can you believe that" - you step around the table and candles - "hongjoong of all people told me the truth?" - you throw the balled up blanket in your hands at him - "fucking hongjoong?"
the crumpled excuse of a blanket falls to the ground in a pathetic heap.
"how does knowing that knife is mingi's instead of wooyoung's change anything?"
"i could have avoided this." you gesture to your bruises, to the bruise cream. you wouldn't have put yourself in a position to antagonize hongjoong if you knew just how deep his wounds ran, even a bit. you wouldn't feel so fucking stupid. san grits his jaw as his gaze flickers to your bruises. you say, "and i wouldn't be sitting here doubting your intentions."
"all because i didn't tell you a secret that wasn't mine to tell?"
you pause at that.
his words make you want to scream. in so many ways, he's right, but his loyalty to his friends makes you want to pull your hair out.
"you didn't give me enough information and put me in danger, san. any fucking one of you could have mentioned it was actually mingi's knife. in fact, if you didn't want to disclose that it was mingi's then fine. whatever. at least tell me that hongjoong doesn't just hate the owner of the knife, he wants to kill them. you could have given me something. instead you all left me in the dark."
"why would i do that?" san's voice is quiet, terribly so, but there is not venom behind it. he is genuine, and it weighs on your heart. "we're strangers, y/n. you were dead to me for years. long before the world went to shit."
his voice is as soft as the wisps of smoke curling from the candles on the desk. and like smoke, his voice wavers a bit, lilts in the middle of the word dead and grows stronger, clearer at to me.
"do you want me dead that badly?" you whisper, your heart in your throat.
the impending silence is heavier than anything else.
you don't expect an answer. this is the new, stranger san. silence is a constant with him. so you shake your head and take the pouch with the medicine from the table, turning away.
"i wanted you alive," san voice rings in your ears.
you pause at the threshold to your jail cell, turning to look at him.
his voice lies heavier than the silence, right over your shoulders.
"so badly, y/n. even though we broke up years ago. and that's the problem."
you turn to fully face him. shadows dance across his face. he wraps his arms around him, shuffling from foot-to-foot, a habit from way Before.
"because i thought of you knowing damn well you didn't think of me, and then i finally came to terms with all of it. with this new life and this new me. it took a long time, but i finally moved on. then the universe put you in front of me, the same as ever, like some giant fucking cosmic joke. isn't that funny? how all my other prayers went unanswered, except for the ones i made when i was young and desperate and alone and so fucking regretful."
your ears ring in the silence, and you don't even dare to breathe.
san sounds breathless, "so to answer your question, i wanted you alive once, but now i'm not sure how i want you. "
you blink, your heart slamming against your ribcage. you can feel his gaze boring into you. you say, "that's not - that's not an excuse for everything you've done. or reassuring."
"it isn't," he agrees.
"so what am i supposed to do with that?"
he sighs, shakes his head, "i don't know."
"that's so helpful," you mumble, half-hearted with your annoyance.
san steps around the table, closer, the candlelight behind him now and giving him a soft glow. he says, "i don't know how to reassure you. i don't know how to be the san i used to be, and i don't think i want to be, but i do know that the least i can do is get you out of here. so i will."
you ignore the way your heart skips a bit at the way his gaze flickers between yours and the small smile as he repeats your words from your fight with him earlier back at you. his entire demeanor shifts back into how it was before - a little too confident and holier-than-thou. you frown, "oh, am i just supposed to believe you? you pretty much confessed that you don't know if you want me dead or not."
"i confessed that i don't know how i want you. that doesn't necessarily mean dead."
he grins, and he is nothing like the vulnerable san you'd just witnessed with his arms wrapped around him like he was holding himself together.
you frown at his grin, "you're annoying."
"so are you. what's new?"
you glare, turning away once more just to plop down on your cot. there's shuffling, and you look up to find that san is now leaning against the open jail door. he's never stepped this far into your room, all those times he's walked you back here. you don't know how to process what he's told you, and you don't know how to admit that you'd thought of him too when you believed he hadn't thought of you. you don't know if it's a good idea to disclose it, because you're still doubting his intentions and he isn't doing anything to keep you from doing so.
you uncap the bruise cream, focusing all your attention on it rather than the way san hovers.
after a moment, san says, "let me help."
"no."
"you don't have a mirror. you'll make a mess."
you look up at him. he's holding out a hand.
"fine," you say.
he nods, steps closer, until he seated on the cot next to you. his touch is so gentle and light, it's like he's not even touching you. you don't look at him, staring at the wall straight ahead while he works quietly.
"i am sorry, though."
you glance sideways at him. his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, but his hands continuing dabbing on the cream. you look away first. "for what?"
"for being the reason for this."
"i thought you didn't care."
"i don't." he says it quickly, but his fingers falters against your jaw. you must have imagined the reaction, however, because when you turn to look at him, his smile is easy and he shakes his head as he closes the ointment and places it in your limp hands. he steps away, says, "i didn't bring the radio, so i think i'll go."
"oh," the disappointment is always there, and that is what frustrates you most about yourself. you have expectations for san, and he'll never meet them, yet you keep having them. "okay."
"good night," he says, hand resting on one of the jail cell bars as he looks over his shoulder at you. he doesn't really smile, but neither does he glare.
"'night." you say, watching him go. as he leaves, the door closing shut behind him with a resounding thud you lay back on your cot, too lazy to pick up your blanket from the ground, and you mull over san's words.
shadows dance on the ceiling as a small part of you can't even be sure whether or not he was telling you the truth.
another part of you wonders why anything san says to you matters anymore.
the bigger part of you wonders instead at seonghwa's words. do you really want to leave? should you?
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