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[prfct7act]

[...]

Some nights were harder. Ever since that night.

Some nights, the universe granted him a peaceful sleep, dreamless.

Yeong’s presence had become a sort of talisman, keeping the bad memories at bay. He only felt that warmth, and it soothed him.

Other nights, the timelines tangled in his mind. He had glimpses of lives that didn��t feel entirely false—or true. So many different ways that night could have ended. Blood. Screams. Yeong collapsed. A weakening heart.

He muttered in his sleep. Felt the electric jolt cover his back. But he knew there was nothing there. Just echoes of past memories. That didn’t make the agony any less real.

His eyes shot open as he gasped mid-dream. He woke up sitting in bed. His chest still heaving.

He thought he was still asleep when the bedroom door opened abruptly, and Yeong appeared at his side.

It wasn’t the first time the man had witnessed something like this.

“It’s okay, Gon. I’m right here.” The voice was whisper-soft. And Gon didn’t miss the way his name was spoken. The greatest intimacy Yeong had allowed in weeks.

Gon thought Yeong didn’t even realize how his hands caressed the king’s, trying to help regulate his breathing.

Little by little, the king returned to his timeline. But it still hurt.

He saw Yeong hesitate before brushing strands of hair from Gon’s forehead. And when his hands threatened to pull away, Gon quickly held them in place.

“Yeong, please.” It was disarming to hear the king beg—it didn’t suit him. None of this did. “I need you,” came the next whisper, a breath within Yeong’s space.

And Yeong had always had devastating empathy for Gon’s emotions. He seemed to feel what the king felt. It was disorienting. That state of vulnerability put him in his own state of vulnerability. And this time, he didn’t have the strength.

It was he who closed the distance between them. And allowed himself to sink into Gon.

The hesitation barely existed. As soon as their lips met, there was nothing else. He was overtaken by a hunger, amplified by weeks of starvation. The fire ignited in his veins. And he heard Gon gasp.

The opportunity came, and he didn’t think before his tongue moved to explore Gon's mouth. An old dance. One already rehearsed. But now it was all too much. Too intense.

He felt his own moan rise in his throat, dying in the other’s mouth as the man pulled him closer. Arms made sure he landed on Gon's lap, sheets already pushed aside. His lungs threatened to collapse, but he didn’t want to stop.

He took a breath only to change the angle of the kiss. A hoarse sound escaped when his lower lip caught on Gon’s teeth. And he pressed into him. He felt destroyed. Overstimulated. Naked, despite the layers between them.

His mind went blank when Gon’s lips descended to his neck. Waves of shivers spread across his skin. He felt himself gasp. A breathy sigh came in the form of “Gon.”

Meanwhile, the older man unbuttoned Yeong’s shirt. Warm hands traced his skin beneath the fabric. Leaving marks. He was one step away from surrendering.

When Gon’s hands reached his waistband, a jolt shot through his body. And his brain came online again.

What were they doing?

What was he letting happen?

Gon felt Yeong’s body tense above him. But he didn’t stop. He needed to bring Yeong back to them. He heard his name as a plea from Yeong’s voice—but it meant something different now.

“Pyeha, stop.” came Yeong’s weak and robotic voice. But the devastation was there.

He tried to find Yeong’s eyes, but the younger man was quick to slide off his lap. He stood away from the bed.

Gon was still breathless when he heard Yeong speak again.

“This shouldn’t have happened.” Yeong himself sounded breathless, dazed. Almost ashamed.

“Don’t say that.” And the vulnerability was even greater now. “You don’t have to do this.”

It seemed like a good sign when Yeong didn’t move.

"I can't lose you," Gon continued. And he was saying I can't have only part of you. I won't accept that.

“You have me, Pyeha.” And there was no mask at that moment. “Just not the way you want.”

This time, when he left, Yeong closed the door silently.

[...]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 더 킹：영원의 군주 | The King: Eternal Monarch (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jo Yeong/Lee Gon (The King: Eternal Monarch) Characters: Jo Yeong (The King: Eternal Monarch), Lee Gon (The King: Eternal Monarch) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Boys In Love, True Love, Established Relationship, The Unbreakable Sword(s) (The King: Eternal Monarch), Protective Lee Gon, King Lee Gon, Protective Jo Yeong, Hurt Jo Yeong, Fights, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

“You named me your Sword.”

Yeong knew Gon was many things. But he was certain Gon wasn’t cruel. Still, the king continued.

“Then I’m the only one who can separate you from that title.”

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 더 킹：영원의 군주 | The King: Eternal Monarch (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jo Yeong/Lee Gon (The King: Eternal Monarch) Characters: Jo Yeong (The King: Eternal Monarch), Lee Gon (The King: Eternal Monarch) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Boys In Love, True Love, Established Relationship, The Unbreakable Sword(s) (The King: Eternal Monarch), Protective Lee Gon, King Lee Gon, Protective Jo Yeong, Hurt Jo Yeong, Fights, Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

“You named me your Sword.”

Yeong knew Gon was many things. But he was certain Gon wasn’t cruel. Still, the king continued.

“Then I’m the only one who can separate you from that title.”

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Established Relationship, Soft Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Top Kang Yo Han, Soft Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Possessive Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Love Bites, Fluff without Plot Summary:

Apparently, Ga On was very good at breaking Yo Han’s determinations.

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kang Elijah, Kkomi (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Light Angst, Comfort/Angst, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Established Relationship, Soft Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Kang Yo Han Needs Therapy, Top Kang Yo Han, Sad Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Love Confessions, Idiots in Love Summary:

It’s a jamais vu.

  When the familiar becomes a stranger.

  Ga On imagines Yo Han, Elijah, and Mrs. Ji felt that way at first. A familiar face that suddenly didn’t move the right way. Didn’t express itself the right way.

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I'm not the biggest fan of first-person narratives, and in some cases, it's unimaginable—practically impossible.

Can you imagine a Hannibal fanfic written in the first person? Being inside his mind? It's impossible to do it justice. And it would completely strip the character of his beauty.

I feel the same about Will. No, you can't understand his mind. You can't explain it.

We should stick to being mere spectators of their actions.

Even in fanfics that explore more of Hannibal's perspective, it still feels strange and artificial. I think we're better off behind the veil.

[prfct7act]

He sees the heat.

Vivid red. Steaming. Suffocating.

He recognizes the pattern. Sees it more than he feels it. What is more fire when you're already burning? It's an out-of-body experience. An entity that operates above everything else.

A thud.

It's the sound of something falling.

Desperate screams. Rhythmic sounds. His skin is on fire, but his insides are frozen. Down to the bone.

A dripping.

And then he's no longer surrounded by heat. Yet, he sees the flames reflected in the pupils of the one beneath him. Eyes bulging from the pressure around that neck.

His arms are locked around that body. Semi-flexed and unmoving. He couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. But he knows he doesn’t want to.

His eyes break away from those wide pupils to trace the face of the one who stirs so much rage in him. Bubbling. Seething. A candle with an eternal wick. The wick that wraps around the very throat.

Then it comes into focus.

Jeong Seon-a still bears the ghost of a smile, even with her crushed trachea. Static. Disfigured. The vision sharpens again. And then it’s a sequence.

Jeong Seon-a

Cha Kyung Hee

Jeong Seon-a

Heo Joong-Se

Jeong Seon-a

Min Jeong-Ho

His father

The faces blur. Form other personas. Yo Han can feel them choke, but presses harder. How long does it take for breath to be severed forever?

The mutations continue. Yo Han catches glimpses of familiarity. But he's too blind to notice until it becomes clearer.

And then—

Kang Isak.

His brother's face appears. And Yo Han falters. His hands loosen slightly. It must be some trick. Because Isak doesn’t deserve to be there. There's no damage, no collateral, tied to him. Because Yo Han doesn’t want there to be.

His hands loosen just enough for the figure to utter a whisper. A single name.

"Yo Han."

It’s unsettlingly familiar. He hears it like a broken sound, begging. It’s strange—none of them deserve to beg. He shifts to regain control. The pressure lessens for just a few seconds.

And it’s Ga On gasping for air.

It’s Ga On’s wide red eyes staring at him. He looks on the verge of fainting, weakly trying to release Yo Han’s hands from his trachea.

Yo Han lets go. As if burned. Strange.

His vision clears. And he's back in their room. With Ga On beneath him.

Sweat drips down his neck. He feels breathless.

But nothing compares to seeing Ga On choking for air, sinking deeper into the pillow, coughing.

"Ga On." A breathless plea, but Yo Han stays frozen, stuck above the younger man. Like a prisoner. Locked as in the dream seconds ago.

"I... I’m okay." Ga On can barely get it out. It’s a weak, ragged sound, more painful than Yo Han remembers.

Ga On had only ever felt Yo Han’s restrained strength. At least until today. His lungs were on fire. It hadn't been like this before.

Half-curled, Ga On is more worried about the aftermath.

"You... you had—" he tries to say through gasps of air, "a nightmare."

Different images flicker in Yo Han’s mind. For the first time in a long while, he can’t decipher what they mean.

"You could have died." A statement. Senseless and unnecessary in the moment. But true.

"You stopped." It comes low from Ga On’s sore throat. He already feels it scrape. It’ll take a few days to fully heal.

Finally, Ga On catches a glimpse of something he understands. There’s anger and disbelief in Yo Han’s face. A look he usually receives in response to impulsive actions. Disapproving.

Ga On doesn’t fully understand why he’s getting that look now. Well, not until he feels hands on his neck. The same from moments ago.

They slide, rough and firm, completely encircling. Instinctively, he feels himself following the hands’ movements, as if to avoid being crushed.

But now it’s different—the pressure is lighter, deliberate. It feels like a reminder, not an attempt on his life. Like before.

His body betrays him when Ga On gasps and his heartbeat speeds up. This time the concern isn’t for himself, but for Yo Han.

The hands tighten slightly more around his neck. Just enough pressure to bring color to Ga On’s face. Yo Han’s eyes scan him. That look that would rather hurt than be hurt. Pointless. Because Ga On knows.

"I’m not afraid of you." Ga On tries to say, weakly but determined, in response to that look. Because he understands what Yo Han is doing. It’s a poor attempt to reclaim control.

"Are you sure?" Yo Han’s half-lidded eyes fix on him and the grip tightens.

Ga On’s long past that stage.

It doesn’t hurt, but it irritates. Restricts just a bit of Ga On’s breathing. He feels marked. But he never was one to retreat—especially not in front of Yo Han.

"If you wanted me dead," comes out small, shaky, and broken. The word seems to provoke Yo Han further. Ga On forces himself to finish, "I’d already be."

Ga On’s heartbeat echoes in his ears. He sees himself reflected in Yo Han’s black eyes.

One

Two

A pressure pushes him deeper into the pillow. And then—relief.

He draws in a huge gulp of air, as wetness runs down his temples. He becomes aware of the ache in his head. He feels hot.

Yo Han releases his hands and crawls off of Ga On. He seems to choose to leave the trance. Moves to the edge of the bed, ready to leave the room. But an even more dangerous look clouds his vision. And Ga On is afraid.

"No!" The sharp sound breaks the silence. He turns toward Yo Han, still hunched over, clutching his own throat. It’s enough to make Yo Han falter. Just enough.

"Please." Ga On’s eyes stay wide, though now for a different reason. He sounds on the verge of panic. Tries to steady himself before continuing. He attempts to swallow. "I need you."

It’s a low blow, and he knows it. But he doesn’t care—not now. He feels like if he lets Yo Han out of his sight, something will shatter. And it’ll never be put back together.

And Ga On is tired. Tired of ultimatums. Of irreversibility.

That’s why, when facing the scarred fabric of the other man, whose fists clench and unclench, and shoulders tremble ever so slightly, Ga On continues—because he never knew when to stop. And doesn’t want to.

"Yo Han. Please." He repeats, his voice steadier now. Once he finally stops coughing.

It takes another five heartbeats for Yo Han to show defeat. Ga On realizes his heart is racing. With unnamed urgency, no longer familiar.

Yo Han turns to him. Hair falling over his forehead. A sheen runs over his body. He looks exhausted. Ga On feels a pang in his chest. It’s unfair.

The older man stays still. Unsteady on his feet. Well, as unsteady as someone like Kang Yo Han could look. His gaze doesn’t meet Ga On’s, but falls slightly lower.

Ga On realizes he hasn’t moved for a while. Frozen in the other’s presence. He releases his own throat, but still feels it—he knows it must be a deep red. And not in the way Yo Han would like.

It’s a lingering pain. The ghost of Yo Han’s hands still there. But he ignores it. Tries to sit upright again on the edge of the bed. Everything still burns.

They sit there, crushed by their own silence. A void Ga On hasn’t yet decided how to break. So much already feels broken tonight.

And it’s Yo Han who does.

"I’ll be right back." Comes in a soft sound, just enough for Ga On to hear. He says it while finally locking eyes with Ga On for the first time since pulling away.

Ga On remembers—he loves those hands.

His instinct is to protest, to say Yo Han needs to stay, that there’s no reason to leave. But those eyes fixed on his lead him to nod. It feels like a promise.

Ga On sighs with relief that he can still read that expression.

Yo Han leaves. The blood cools. Ga On becomes hyper-aware of everything, even with his eyes closed. Of himself. His body. The situation. He doesn’t have the strength to hate anything.

He makes a mental count. A safety measure.

He reopens his eyes when he feels Yo Han return to the room. A glass of water is offered to him. He stares. He’s not thirsty. But he accepts anyway.

He knows it won’t help. But drinks it anyway.

"I hurt you." Of course, it’s Yo Han who breaks the silence. A statement. True for what it is. But still, wrong. Ridiculous. And insufficient.

Ga On knows there won’t be a real discussion tonight. Not the kind that matters.

"It was an accident." A logical reply. Another statement. True. Insufficient. And wrong, to Yo Han.

"Does that matter?" A rhetorical question. Ga On reaches out to place the empty glass on the nightstand. It doesn’t matter to Yo Han. But it matters to Ga On. Of course it does.

It’s carelessness, more than anything else, that makes the glass wobble on the edge. Ga On hears the sound before seeing the glass shatter.

The shards scatter alarmingly close to Yo Han’s bare feet.

"I’m sorry." Ga On says instinctively. Automatically, as he starts to reach down to pick up the pieces.

Yo Han breaks his stillness to push Ga On’s hands away. Bending to the floor.

"Leave it." A minimal sound.

Ga On sits upright again. Watches as Yo Han, head lowered, picks up piece by piece of that transparency, gathering them in his own hand.

Ga On feels his eyes burn. He loves those hands.

"It matters to me." Ga On swallows and answers the question. A question is a question if the listener treats it as such.

Yo Han pauses, hands midair, just long enough for Ga On to know he heard. Before continuing to gather the glass in his left hand. He finishes collecting and throws the pieces in the nearest bin.

He no longer has an excuse—except to face Ga On again. Who urgently searches for his eyes.

Ga On pulls Yo Han’s hands back to his neck. Tilts his head to offer even more space.

"Then end it." Wrapping his hands over Yo Han’s, urging him to take his breath away. Ga On had already grown used to it.

Yo Han knows Ga On is trying to prove a stupid point.

He pulls away easily. Anti-climactic. Empty.

"You never knew when to stop." It comes robotic and dulled. Because Yo Han swears Ga On has no sense of self-preservation.

He feels anger vibrate beneath his skin. It’s old. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have felt it. It would’ve just existed, constant, already part of him. Now, it seems to echo through the room. He hears it buzz in his ears.

But he’s achieved his goals, in a way. Fulfilled his vows. Avenged, in direct faces. He doesn’t know what—or who—to direct it to. The dead don’t flinch before his rage.

He feels himself floating through the room. Only knows he’s moving, slowly, but restlessly, because he feels Ga On’s eyes following him. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

What do you do when the bitter taste lingers?

It’s dawn. A bluish light hits his face. That’s when he realizes he’s by the window. Five steps until he feels it.

A hand wraps around his. Slides down his arms. Down to his waist. Arms enfold him. Ga On’s cheek rests and rubs against his shoulder.

He feels the soft sweater fabric brush his bare back. It’s comforting in a way it shouldn’t be. Like it says everything’s okay. He can’t help but close his eyes.

"We keep going, Yo Han." It comes like a breeze—low, yet louder than anything else. In the silence. An answer to an unasked question. But one felt under the skin. Yo Han doesn’t know when it became so easy to read him. He hates it.

But again—you have to care enough to hate.

"That’s what we do." A final murmur. He feels his skin being soothed in slow circles. Everything about Ga On is comforting. He used to hate that. Never Ga On himself. Nor the effects. Just how susceptible he’d become. Undetectable until it was undeniable.

They don’t count time. No markers. They ignore the beats. Or any other percussion. They have nowhere to go. Yet they still echo.

Yo Han was never susceptible to the cold. He was always warm. Burning. Blue. Yellow. Red. Scorching, to the brink of unbearable. Maybe beyond.

But now, here, he sees a purplish hue. Feels a cold current swirl through the room. Feels the alarming chill of the hands that hold him. He inhales.

"It’s cold." Just barely audible, coated in casualness. Then, irresolute: "Go to bed."

Yo Han feels Ga On shift, just enough to sink deeper into him. Almost trapped.

"I’m fine." Comes as a vibration against his back. The smallest of expressions lift the corners of his eyes.

Finally, he touches Ga On’s arms, just to peel himself away for the third time tonight. Those deep eyes lock on him. Along with that red mark. Ga On always looks like he’s about to protest. When he’s not already protesting. It’s endearing.

The younger man threatens to speak, but Yo Han is faster—he pushes him toward the bed. Ga On is not some fragile thing, he remembers. Not a thin glass that shatters and can never be put back together. Never the same again.

Ga On sits on the bed, grabs the sheets, and doesn’t look at all pleased when Yo Han forces him to lie down. A scowl covers his face.

The protest dies when he sees Yo Han kneel on the bed. Arms wrap around him, and he’s pulled into an embrace. His face pressed to Yo Han’s chest.

He exhales and lets himself be enveloped in the warmth. There’s a rhythm to their heartbeats. They slow as Ga On feels his eyes grow heavy and lets sleep take him.

Comfortable. Floating. He doesn’t feel cold.

Yo Han has no defenses against the cold.

---

It’s bright.

Yo Han feels his eyes open. At some point, he must’ve drifted off. But he didn’t really sleep. Morning came as the specters faded. He has a vague memory of the flashes that danced behind his eyes. He feels exhausted. Numb.

His arms are empty—Ga On is no longer there. It’s rare for the younger man to wake up before him. But the sound of running water proves Ga On hasn’t gone far.

He remains there, blinking at the ceiling. Until he hears the thump of a door closing. Ga On emerges, rubbing his hair with a towel.

Droplets of water slide down his neck, chest. Some of it left to imagination.

Yo Han doesn’t really see any of it—except the band of color wrapped around his neck. The scarlet has deepened into a darker tone. It contrasts more starkly with his pale skin.

Ga On must notice he’s being watched, because instinctively, his hand goes to his throat. He looks unsettled.

"It’s not as bad as it looks." And his eyes flick away.

Yo Han steps closer—two paces from Ga On. But he doesn’t close the distance.

"Sit." A command Ga On doesn’t feel compelled to obey. But he does anyway. On a surface near the bed.

When Yo Han returns, he takes the spot in front of Ga On. The younger man keeps a wary expression. He feels Yo Han’s fingers touch his neck, followed by a thick, pasty substance.

The silence is more painful than anything else.

"It doesn’t hurt," Ga On says, feeling the need to fill the quiet, as the fingers stroke gently, almost reluctantly.

Yo Han lets a small smile show. Almost amused.

"Liar," he replies. Ga On hadn’t flinched—not even once. It's impressive. Yo Han continues applying the ointment.

Then he stops. His fingers still. His gaze travels across Ga On’s face and finally locks onto his eyes. Ga On doesn’t know why he feels so bare.

"I’m sorry."

"It wasn’t your fault."

Yo Han closes the jar and stands.

"Still." And disappears into the bathroom.

Ga On chooses a high-collared shirt.

—--------------------

They don’t talk about it anymore. Because what else is left to say? Yo Han’s nightmares haunt him. That much is known. Ga On has more ghosts than he’d like, too.

Still, the tension is suffocating. There’s no sign it’ll lift. Or dissipate.

That night, Ga On takes his side of the bed. Yo Han sticks to his. The lights are still half-on. Yo Han reads a book. He looks calm.

But Ga On still feels the air buzzing.

So he cuts through the silence.

"Shouldn’t we talk about it?" The first words of the night come out uneasy and anxious. Almost bubbling.

Yo Han flips another page.

"What do you want me to say?" His eyes don’t leave the paper.

Ga On ignores the question. Turns, positioning himself partially in front of Yo Han. In case he lifts his eyes from the page.

He’s never been known for his patience.

"Something’s bothering you." A statement, not a guess. Obvious. He tries to catch Yo Han’s gaze.

"Is it?" Yo Han murmurs with disinterest. Another page turns. Then a sigh—and the book is tossed aside.

He finally looks at him. And Ga On knows that look. Equal parts restraint and rage. Simmering.

"Nothing you don’t already know." Yo Han gestures vaguely—his voice tight, clenched between his teeth.

"Yeah. A mutual agreement. Already settled," Ga On agrees. And concludes, "But you’re still distant."

Yo Han blinks. Ga On almost misses the faintest twitch of his lips.

"I’m right here next to you." It’s a blank, detached tone. Almost bored. But Ga On knows better.

"No. Don’t treat me like that." Because they’ve long passed that stage. "I’m not some disposable pawn," he finishes, drowning in his own frustration.

"No, you’re not," comes the reply. Instantly.

Yo Han stares at him. That hollow mask starts to crack. Almost imperceptibly. Almost.

He exhales.

"It’ll pass. Eventually, I’ll miss you," he says, disturbingly casual. "I already do." That last line comes a beat later. The rhythm shifts as he adds, "And I’ll hold onto you. Tighter each time. Hoping I don’t break you."

Ga On likes to think he knows Yo Han. And he does. More than he knows himself. But sometimes, the things that come out of that man’s mouth are unexpected.

"And you already know that," Yo Han adds, almost like a belated thought.

And it’s true. He had warned Ga On. Yo Han had made it clear—if Ga On chose him, there’d be no turning back. Because Yo Han would have him, in every possible way. A stupid clause, if you asked him. One that only mattered if Ga On ever wanted to go back. He never did.

But Ga On also knew Yo Han’s love was unconditional. Unconditional so that Ga On’s choices could remain his own. Above everything. Even this.

And of course, it’s not about the mark on his neck. It became a mere reminder of all the other ways a person can break. Of how many forms of influence someone can be bent by.

"I’m not that fragile." After what feels like hours, Ga On finally responds. Because that says it all.

"I know." It comes instantly. Because it’s not about that either. "But you’re still capable of falling apart. I’ve seen it happen. More times than I’d like."

It’s not about how much he can bend—but about how much force can be applied.

"And despite all that, I’m still here," Ga On adds. "I understood and accepted your terms. I don’t know what we’re arguing about here."

"You have no sense of self-preservation, Ga On. You give everything," Yo Han shoots back, more urgent now, the rhythm quickening, though his voice remains measured. "There’s no room left for anything else."

Ga On is overwhelmed by exhaustion. Because they’ll never meet in the middle.

"Stop acting like there’s even a threat to begin with." His voice rises, frustration bleeding through. Because he knows what Yo Han is going to say. His words nearly prove Yo Han’s point. So he keeps going—determined to cut him off. "You forget that I understand you. More than anyone in this world. Maybe not completely, like I’d like to. But more than enough."

Yo Han watches him for a few seconds. Looks ready to argue again.

"Do you trust me?" It cuts the air. Absolute silence.

A long breath.

"Yes." Yo Han answers. And adds, "Irredeemably."

And that only proves Ga On’s point. Because everything about Yo Han is deep. Absolute. Never half-measures. Total surrender.

He accuses Ga On of it—but can’t see it in himself.

They are alike.

"Then trust me when I say there’s no threat here." It hits like a final blow. No room for argument. A truth born from lived experience.

He watches Yo Han’s expression shift into a side-smile. His eyes flick to something beyond Ga On. He looks proud.

"You’re a good judge." A light remark, but true. It sounds like a confirmation—and an acceptance of Ga On’s argument. He wants to feel more victorious.

Ga On mirrors the smile. Then feels his hand being taken and pulled closer. In part, he’s already won.

Yo Han stares at him deeply.

"Okay." A small word, but in this context, it carries weight. "As you wish."

Once again, Yo Han pledges to keep respecting Ga On’s choices. In the absolute way only he knows how. Sacrificial, like he learned in childhood. But selfless, like he learned later.

Still, Yo Han hopes he doesn't shatter him.

.

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Love Stories, Confessions, Choking, Canon-Typical Violence, Aftermath of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Protective Kang Yo Han, Kang Yo Han is Bad at Feelings, Caring Kang Yo Han, Kang Yo Han Needs A Hug, Top Kang Yo Han, Soft Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kim Ga On Needs a Hug (The Devil Judge), Hurt Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Idiots in Love, Boys In Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Night Terrors, Late Night Conversations Summary:

"I’m not afraid of you." Ga On tries to say, weakly but determined, in response to that look. "Are you sure?"

Or alternatively, Yo Han has no defenses against the cold.

[prfct7act]

Because his presence always brought extra weight, like an invisible pull, Ga On felt watched—by a Yo Han leaning in the doorway. With the same unreadable expression.

“How long have you been there?” Ga On asked without lifting his eyes from the cutting board.

Three beats before Yo Han answered—then he decided to approach, circling the counter and Ga On himself.

“Long enough.” came the steady, neutral response, as if it made any sense. His eyes wandered to the stove, but his mind seemed miles away. An unfamiliar occurrence in recent months.

Ga On decided not to press. Not yet. Not when Yo Han’s hands slid around his waist and rested on his hips. As if they belonged there.

The younger man didn’t get the chance to protest before Yo Han’s breath sent chills down his spine, lips pressing at the base of his neck. Once, twice, three times, before leaving a trail across his skin.

Ga On tried not to gasp. Or close his eyes. Tried to escape Yo Han’s assault, his hands still gripping the knives.

The feeble attempt only seemed to excite Yo Han, who, with deliberate control, turned Ga On’s hips toward him, covering his face with kisses. Knife forgotten.

Hands rose to his face, threading into his hair, while Ga On’s knees already threatened to give out.

“You’re distracting me.” It came out breathy, disheveled, murmured amid the sudden onslaught—before his lips were claimed and he was pressed against the counter.

“Good.” between teeth-locked lips. Yo Han seemed utterly unbothered as he slid his tongue deeper into Ga On’s mouth, like he was starving.

Dizzy, but alarmed, Ga On managed to trace Yo Han’s chest—enough to push him back, necessary to remember.

“It’s going to burn.” The food, in this case. And maybe some other things too. The swollen lips and red face made the protest weak, in Yo Han’s opinion.

His eyes slipped to the lower part of Ga On’s face before replying.

“Isn’t that what timers are for?” He leaned in again, resuming his earlier activities.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut, Soft Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Top Kang Yo Han, Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Soft Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Possessive Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Idiots in Love, Love Bites, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Established Relationship, Sexy Summary:

Awake — and unsatisfied. Gluttony at its worst.

Whenever Ga On thought he was close to satisfied, Yo Han would set him on fire again. In the most unexpected ways.

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut, Soft Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Top Kang Yo Han, Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Soft Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Possessive Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Idiots in Love, Love Bites, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Established Relationship, Sexy Summary:

Awake — and unsatisfied. Gluttony at its worst.

Whenever Ga On thought he was close to satisfied, Yo Han would set him on fire again. In the most unexpected ways.

[prfct7act]

It was disarming.

It shouldn’t have been surprising, but it was. They were opposites. What brought them together could just as easily pull them apart. But Ga On hoped it wouldn’t. At least, not again. It’s disarming, when reality hits and expectations are shattered.

Ga On knew. Every single reason. Every disagreement. It was in the past. Until it wasn’t. Until he found himself submerged in a wave of déjà vu.

His trust had grown into solid, reinforced concrete—immovable, indestructible. Until the smallest of cracks hit the surface and threatened to corrode it. But that was something he wouldn’t allow, not again. Not after everything. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

 

He trusted Yo Han. With everything he had. He knew the man—more than he knew himself, he liked to think. After a long journey, through bumps and breaks and rebuilding, he had finally reached a level of trust that felt unshakable. Because now he loved. And understood.

 

So no, that trust wouldn’t be broken so easily. Part of him believed there was no decision Yo Han could make that would destroy it. Because he understood the intentions. But Ga On wasn’t perfect, and when you place so much expectation, so much admiration, you can’t help the disappointment. Because Yo Han was not set in stone.

It’s mostly sadness, a bruised ego, and a trace of disappointment that lead him to now—in the guest room—not theirs—gripping a backpack, his keys, and a coat, because he feels like he can’t be there right now.

A sound reaches him at the same moment he finishes zipping up. He’s one step away from leaving the room—bag slung over his shoulder—when he sees her. Elijah.

The wave of guilt and shame is instant. Because in his rush, she hadn’t crossed his mind. There’s no way not to freeze.

She stares at him for a few seconds, as if analyzing the situation. It hurts how much they look alike. She seems the same as years ago when she speaks—except she isn’t.

“You’re leaving?” and the again is audible even if unspoken. She’s always so direct.

The distress is clear in her eyes, and he feels his reflect the same. Except there’s no reason for that. If his eyes are still a little red, even so, it’s the lack of reason that’s to blame.

“Elijah,” he starts, and seems to try to catch his breath. “I just need to take a walk. I’ll be back before you even notice.”

“You fought again.” It’s not a question. She always knows. At some point, voices were raised—like before. They were never good at hiding it. “You’re both idiots and I’m the one who has to deal with the consequences.”

It’s clear she didn’t believe a single word he said. And he couldn’t blame her. It’s one of the reasons he can’t be there right now. There’s no pride in it.

“Elijah”—and his voice trembles because he can’t bear her not believing in him—“I will come back. I promise. It’s not like before.” For hundreds of different reasons.

Ga On steps closer, making sure his eyes are locked with hers. And he wants to turn back now, not even set foot outside that room. But he feels like he’s going to drown. A gentle touch to her shoulders, before he speaks.

“No matter what happens between me and your uncle, I’ll always be here for you. Always.” And it’s irrefutable. A debt.

Somehow, the words feel wrong, because Elijah still looks unsettled. She’s strong—tough like her uncle. They fight back tears the same way.

 

“Sounds like something you’ve said before.”

And it hits Ga On like a slap. He pulls back instantly.

It becomes hard to look at her, but he needs this. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her.

“Nothing will happen between us. It’s different now.” And yet there’s a knot in his throat. “You’re my family. Both of you. That won’t change.”

“Then why don’t you just stay?” she gestures, while a storm brews on her face. Her cheeks redden even more. And it goes past Ga On.

For a few seconds, everything goes black. Everything hurts. Breathing gets even harder.

Why doesn’t he stay?

 

“How long do I have to keep justifying my trust in you?” echoes like a scream.

 

And he’s a coward, he realizes.

He regrets it the moment he opens his eyes again—because he sees tears flowing down Elijah’s cheeks. She tries to wipe the traces away, but the damage is done.

“I’m sorry,” is the whispered reply he gives her. He’ll disappoint her, but not with lies. He forces a small smile, one that has no effect with swollen eyes. “It’ll be okay.”

And then he leaves.

 ________________________________________

Ga On remembered warmth.

Comforting. Familiar. His. Home.

He didn’t notice until his hand was already on the doorknob. The path there had been silently cold. Numb. A thousand thoughts had been running through his mind, but none followed any coherent thread consciously. He opened the door.

 

It had been five months. Six, maybe. Hard to say. Since he last stepped inside.

His apartment looked the same. The same sheets on the bed. The same forgotten books. The same empty water bottles he hadn’t remembered to take out with the recycling.

One last plant, already dried up—he must’ve forgotten to come back for it.

 

The same photo with Soo Hyun, alongside Professor Min. He hadn’t been able to take it with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away either. So it remained there. Static. A loud reminder.

Ga On dropped the backpack beside the bed and threw himself onto it. The mattress was stiffer than he remembered. He turned on the heater before sitting again.

He didn’t know what he expected. But it wasn’t this. Part of him had thought he was going back in time.

This apartment was his refuge. Where he felt most like himself. The essence of his parents lived here. The advice and teachings of Professor Min. Soo Hyun’s laughter.

Warm meals.

Reviewing documents.

Board games and playful teasing.

Knowing glances.

Heated debates.

Warm touches.

Family.

Belonging.

And now he was back in the present. Back to him.

“It wasn’t the right time,” comes in Yo Han’s sharp tone. He doesn’t leave room for discussion. And Ga On hates that.

“It’s not up to you to decide that, Yo Han!” Ga On snaps back, his stormy nature flaring. Some things never change. “That excuse is outdated. I at least deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

 

Silence falls between them. Ga On studies Yo Han’s face. He sees a familiar expression there. It looks blank, but he knows better.

 

“You don’t trust me,” Ga On concludes. Because it doesn’t seem like there’s any other explanation.

Ga On gets up. His clothes feel suffocating, so he changes. The sweatshirt set brings back an old familiarity, but the scent is new. And it overwhelms him.

 

He walks to the kitchen, but knows there’s nothing to find. A water bottle, a forgotten pack of instant noodles—he keeps himself busy at the sink. He wants to run from himself. But he’d hoped to find himself here. How naïve.

The clock reads 11:55 PM.

His thoughts turn to him. Because they always do. And he suspects they always will. Ga On’s shoulders sag as he leans against the counter. There’s no running from it.

"Kim Ga On," Yo Han says, his black eyes fixed. It's accusatory and reprimanding.

 

"You don’t trust me to make any decisions," Ga On’s measured tone tries to regain rationality. "Not anymore."

"Don't." comes Yo Han’s sharp reply, his hands clenched into fists. He seems to restrain himself. The follow-up is harsh, trembling, and precise.

"I respected every one of your decisions. Every single one." Even the ones that nearly destroyed me, Ga On’s mind completes.

Yo Han seems to be trying to keep his composure before continuing. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t trust you.”

 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Ga On demands, his voice already exceeding his own limits.

 

“Because it wasn’t the right time!” Yo Han yells, the sound of flesh hitting wood loud in the air. “It would’ve been an unnecessary, premature worry. I was trying to protect you!”

 

That answer only heightens Ga On’s exasperation. He opens his mouth to shout that he doesn’t want protection. Not like this. That Yo Han has no right. But Yo Han is faster.

“To protect you from your own impulsive decisions!” is how he chooses to finish.

Part of Ga On knows it was deliberate. Maybe that’s why it hurts more. Maybe not. He sees in Yo Han’s eyes that the man knows he went too far. But that changes nothing.

Painful words.

A hand on his throat, cutting off air.

Doubts.

Blood dripping.

Tears in his eyes.

Desperate screams.

Yo Han might’ve been right. But not this time.

Ga On is tired.

“You don’t see me as your equal.” And then he leaves. He swears he hears Yo Han call after him, but that changes nothing either.

12:00 AM.

The clock’s chime pulls him back. He feels even worse. And at fault.

Ga On knows he’ll never fully forgive himself for the choices he’s made. He wishes he could’ve gotten to where he is without blood spilled. Without his blood spilled.

 

But Ga On also knows that this time, it’s not impulsiveness, or doubt, or mistrust that’s pushing him to demand transparency from Yo Han. Yo Han has nothing left to prove to him.

It’s the need to feel closer. Mutually interconnected. He wants Yo Han to trust him the same way he trusts Yo Han. They were some kind of partners, even before everything. Ga On has never been good at being in the dark.

He hadn’t thought things through when coming here. Didn’t plan how long he’d stay. Or when he’d return. He’d hoped to feel better. To find comfort.

 

It’s cold. Deep down to the bone.

 ________________________________________

1:34 AM

 Time had already become abstract for Ga On.

 He lay on the bed, turned toward the left side. He convinced himself it had nothing to do with the fact that Yo Han preferred the left side.

 He blinked because the heater wasn’t the same anymore. There was no breathing besides his own. No weight besides his own. It was irritating.

He focused on the sounds of the street. Crickets and a car.

1:36 AM

 A loud wooden sound.

 Two knocks.

Ga On’s mind spun before he even realized it was coming from the door.

 At this hour. In this place.

He approached the apartment entrance. Another two knocks. He opened just enough.

Of course. Who else would it be?

But still, Ga On’s eyes widened, lips parting slightly, and he stood there. Frozen. In two dimensions.

On the other side of the door stood Yo Han, hands in the pockets of his pants. He wore a sweater and black trousers. His hair was slicked back. And damn, Ga On could hear his own blood rushing.

Yo Han’s face remained expressionless, but the slight crease in his brow hinted at impatience. His eyes locked on Ga On’s revealed uncertainty. He didn’t seem inclined to speak.

“What are you doing here?” Ga On gave in.

A heartbeat.

“May I come in?” Yo Han replied, rolling his eyes slightly. In some way, he understood the importance of obvious questions. He seemed impatient.

Reluctantly, Ga On stepped aside to open the door wider. Yo Han walked straight in and stopped in the middle of the apartment. He looked around.

 

“Not much has changed.” An obvious fact. He looked out of place there—for all the right reasons.

“I don’t come here often,” Ga On said. As if Yo Han didn’t know. He didn’t know what they were doing.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” Ga On tried again. Standing several feet away from Yo Han, the heater seemed to start working again. Maybe the answer was obvious, but he wanted it anyway.

Yo Han let his gaze drift from the space to Ga On’s face. He was looking for something. Whatever he found made him respond.

“It’s almost 2 AM. You weren’t home,” the older man stated.

“I was going to come back.” Ga On might be angry, tired, and sad, but he wasn’t cruel. He left out the when, though.

“I know.” A beat, and Yo Han had a reply. “But you should be sleeping.”

And the answer seemed to awaken something in Ga On again. Why did it feel so warm now?

The irritation in his voice was transparent when he started to snap back. Because how dare he? “How do you—”

“You think too much, Ga On-ah,” Yo Han cut him off, lips forming a faint side-smile. And Ga On knew exactly what he was doing. There wasn’t a trace of sleep in Yo Han either.

A cloud of irritation threatened to form on Ga On’s face. His scowl deepened, lips pushed forward. Yo Han decided to change his tone. He always had to steer things.

“I swore I’d never interfere in your decisions. That they would be yours,” every word left Yo Han’s mouth deliberately. The shift in tone caught Ga On’s attention. “But I decided it wouldn’t hurt to remind you that you can come back. That I want you to come back.”

And it wasn’t what Ga On expected. So he softened. Because it was true.

In the past, Ga On constantly found himself uncertain with Yo Han. He wavered. Some things brought him closer to Yo Han, others pushed him away.

When he pulled away, Yo Han respected it.

 When he came closer, Yo Han accepted it.

 No questions, no doubts.

 So when Yo Han asked him to choose. And Ga On chose. Yo Han didn’t insist, didn’t ask him to reconsider—just accepted it.

 When Ga On’s world collapsed, Yo Han took him back without needing him to ask, as if it were that simple.

 As if Ga On always had a place to return to.

So now, for the first time, seeing Kang Yo Han in front of him, deliberately asking Ga On to return, to stay. Ga On was weak. He fought the burn in his chest.

“You don’t have to ask me that.” I would’ve come back anyway was implied. Ga On managed to respond in almost a whisper, trying not to burst their fragile bubble. “But I’m glad you did,” he finished, his eyes soft.

Yo Han’s gaze never left Ga On’s. He mirrored him, a faint, almost relieved smile crossing his lips.

“How did you know I’d be here?” Ga On asked because he wanted to hear the answer.

Yo Han let out a light huff, his eyes darting sideways before returning to Ga On.

“Where else would you be? You still keep this place.” The apartment—yes, but Ga On wasn’t so sure anymore.

Why did he keep it? 

Hours ago, the answer was obvious. This place was a palace of memories, a refuge, a home. Except it wasn’t. In the past few hours, in this so-called home, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to go home.

“Maybe it’s time to let it go.” And he realized he’d said it out loud when Yo Han looked genuinely surprised. So he added, “I don’t know why I still have it.”

Yo Han always seemed to see beyond Ga On. To decode him when Ga On himself took years to understand certain things about who he was.

“Because it’s yours. You still want something that’s only yours.” Like everything with Yo Han, it was deliberate—but genuine.

Ga On didn’t know why, but he smiled. Something small, but bright.

“I thought I did,” he replied, wrapping his arms around himself, as if holding back. “But I don’t want to run anymore.”

Subconsciously, that’s what he had been doing. Keeping a place reserved for when everything fell apart. He never thought about the apartment until he felt cornered. That said a lot.

He realized he didn’t have to do that.

Because he would make sure he didn’t fall apart. Because, contrary to rationality, he had become emotionally dependent on Yo Han.

Ga On had never wanted to go home so badly.

And Yo Han and Elijah had always made sure he never had to think twice about it.

 So he took a few steps forward and wrapped his arms around Yo Han’s neck. And it was instant.

It was easy to tell the older man was caught off guard, because he didn’t respond immediately. It took three heartbeats from Ga On before Yo Han accepted it—grabbing his waist, no space left between them.

And so much warmth, Ga On thought. He melted.

Ga On hadn’t realized how much restraint Yo Han had been holding until he felt him give in and exhale into his neck. He pressed the ghost of a kiss there.

Three more beats, and Yo Han pulled back. Just enough to move his hands from Ga On’s waist to cup his face. He wanted Ga On’s full attention.

“I thought I was making the best possible decision,” Yo Han resumed, and everything about him was breathtaking. “But I was undermining yours. I’m sorry.”

Ga On pulled back, reluctantly—because thinking was hard like this.

He could count on one hand the number of times Yo Han had used those words. He showed he was sorry through actions. Ga On had learned to recognize that over time.

“I was unnecessarily cruel,” Yo Han added, seemingly deciding at the last second. It was disarming. “I’m sorry.” Again.

 Ga On fought back the smile threatening to surface. They’d come a long way.

Ga On lets out a relief.

“I need you not to shut me out. I just want to share everything with you.” Because in the end, it was that simple. “Whatever it is,” he finished with a promise.

Moving closer again, the older man pressed his lips to Ga On’s forehead. Yo Han mirrored him.

Ga On didn’t hold back from lifting his face and bringing their lips together. It was achingly slow, tender, and intoxicating. Yo Han caressed his jaw with the pressure of his thumb. The sound Ga On made in response was involuntary.

Yo Han never missed an opportunity, so he took advantage of the space between Ga On’s lips to deepen the kiss—and rediscover him.

Everything intensified—Ga On drowned and caught fire. Cold couldn’t have been further away. Everything about Yo Han screamed comfort, familiarity, and home. He couldn’t stop the next moan that slipped out.

Yo Han pulled him impossibly closer, guiding them toward the nearest surface. They reached the couch. Yo Han took Ga On with him, never breaking the kiss.

Somehow, in the dark, Ga On lost balance. Yo Han used his hand to support him and pull him into his lap. And Ga On felt it.

It felt like a deserved eternal punishment.

Ga On was on his knees between Yo Han’s thighs. One of Yo Han’s hands gripped his hips, the other mirrored Ga On’s, supporting his weight. And Ga On’s eyes strayed from their destination.

Yo Han seemed confused, still catching his breath, when he followed Ga On’s gaze—fixed on his left hand. On what was nothing more than an uneven line across his skin.

 

Yo Han had wanted to avoid this tonight.

Most of the time, Ga On forgot it was there. He knew Yo Han tried to keep it out of his line of sight. But sometimes, it was inevitable. They got distracted. The scar appeared. And every time, it seemed to steal Ga On’s breath.

Yo Han pulled his hand from Ga On’s, palm down, as he placed it on the younger’s waist. His eyes sought Ga On’s.

Ga On looked away from the hand, because he was tired of this—of his own reaction.

Then came.

 “Ga On, there’s nothing left to forgive.” Because Yo Han always knew. And it was about more than the scar.

He had understood that Ga On, by coming there, had been trying to run from guilt, from regret. Why don't you stay? Elijah had asked him earlier that night.

He hadn’t been running from her or from Yo Han. But it had still ricocheted onto them.

 

Ga On realized he had run the wrong way. He didn’t want that anymore. A small nod was all he could give Yo Han in response.

Yo Han brushed a strand from Ga On’s face. A soft caress with the back of his hand across his cheek. One more heartbeat.

 

A gust of cold air hit his back. The windows were closed. Ga On seemed to hesitate, preparing to leave Yo Han’s lap.

Once more that night, Yo Han didn’t let him. Pulling him back in and reconnecting their lips. He knew what Yo Han was trying to do. Even so, he closed his eyes and let himself be consumed.

He felt exposed. Unraveled. And so incredibly seen.

Maybe Ga On would never fully forgive himself. But Yo Han deserved a try.

 

His mind went blank. Because Yo Han wanted him to stay.

As they pulled apart, breath heavy, lips red, skin tingling—Yo Han looked incredibly pleased with himself.

Ga On didn’t care. He sank back in, chasing Yo Han’s lips with his teeth, with renewed, almost desperate fervor.

But then, something shifted in Yo Han’s eyes and he changed the pace once more that night.

He pressed kisses along Ga On’s jaw and neck, forcing him to slow down.

When he came back, it was languid and reverent. Ga On understood.

He opened his eyes, dazed, lips tingling, body warm. It was so obvious.

A few moments passed—he let his breathing settle before continuing. He swallowed.

“Since I decided I don’t need this place anymore…” And Yo Han’s brow furrowed at the return of the subject. “Can I move in with you?”

Genuinely and unexpectedly, a laugh escaped Yo Han. Ga On felt him tremble beneath him.

Because how ridiculous was that question?

“You’re asking that now?” Yo Han replied with mock indignation. After he had already taken over Yo Han’s entire place and life.

“I just walked into your house and never left. I figured I should ask at least once.” Ga On leaned even closer, his legs locking Yo Han in place. “For manners,” he added petulantly.

The smile stayed on Yo Han’s face as he answered. Somehow, he felt himself being pulled even closer.

“Well, I never wanted you to leave. I still don't.” His eyes were shinning. Is it possible to be more in love than this? “So yes.” he finishes. Because with this, it had always been that simple.

Ga On’s smile deepened. His eyes crinkled. He pressed their foreheads together, letting their breaths mingle again, before answering.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ga On reaffirmed, because he needed that certainty. He needed Yo Han to know he’d never truly had a home before them. That there was no going back. And he would never want there to be.

“I know, Ga On.” So he sinks in.

[prfct7act]

Suddenly, I'm like—'The Weekend' by SZA is so devil's minion-coded.

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kang Elijah, Yoo Soo-Hyun Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Protective Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Soft Kang Yo Han, Top Kang Yo Han, Kang Yo Han Needs A Hug, Kang Yo Han is Bad at Feelings, Sad Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Bottom Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kim Ga On Needs a Hug (The Devil Judge), Found Family, Family Bonding, Idiots in Love, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Living Together Summary:

“How long do I have to keep justifying my trust in you?” echoes like a scream.

All Ga On could think about was how badly he wanted to go home.

[prfct7act]

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t. 

Yo Han considered himself very good at analyzing evidence and arriving at possible motivations and solutions. But it was true that his home was not a courtroom. And emotions were not that simple.

Yo Han took refuge in what he did best. He spent hours in his office, reading documents while incessantly scribbling. His hand movements seemed to give voice to his conflicting thoughts. Reluctantly, his mind kept returning to Ga On.

He had already grown accustomed to taking forced breaks because Ga On demanded attention (something he would never admit). Ga On, in his own way, would eventually become absorbed in some particularly interesting case. And he was as addicted to work as Yo Han was. In that sense, he was a hypocrite.

Now, it had been three days since Ga On show up in the afternoon to call him—or simply to sit by his side with the cat, while pretending not to crave attention.

Three days during which Ga On seemed interested in nothing but dodging Yo Han at all costs. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it, while gently and discreetly trying to push Yo Han away.

 But after experiencing just how warm, gentle, and enthusiastic Ga On could be, there was no comparison and no doubt. What Yo Han had not yet deciphered was the reason for this abrupt distancing. 

They were fine. Great, even. 

Yo Han had settled into a new normal, marked by casual conversations, intertwined bodies, radiant faces, and transparent glances laden with something obvious.

Then, after Ga On had withdrawn and seemed to be slipping through his hands, Yo Han, for the first time in a long while, felt powerless.

The mental flow, the scribbled paper, and the rhythmic tapping of fingers all seemed like a prelude to the dragging sound that soon dominated the room, as Elijah pushed her chair with a ferocity that was nothing new to Yo Han. He had been wondering how long it would take for that moment to arrive. 

So when Elijah gestured exasperatedly and accusingly, he was neither surprised nor particularly roused.

“What did you do?”

The accusatory tone was stronger than the question itself. Yo Han constantly felt like the defendant before his own niece. 

And she was not only a judge but an entire jury. 

He figured he had it coming.

Then he lazily lifted his eyes as he waited for Elijah to explain her accusations. He knew exactly what she had come to do. Yet her first tactic was to feign innocence. 

At that moment, he hadn’t yet decided whether he was innocent or not. Yo Han opted for a petulant:

“What?” while widening his eyes and pursing his lips.

“What did you do to Ga On?” came the impatient reply. “He doesn’t seem like himself. What did you say to him?”

The girl appeared equally angry, impatient, and worried. Deep down, Yo Han couldn’t help but find it endearing—even though Elijah would probably sentence him to the electric chair for that.

“Elijah,” he decided to begin rationally, directing his gaze at her and at the other signs of agitation. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not responsible for Ga On’s feelings.” 

And if that could possibly irritate her even more, he continued,

“I did nothing.” Yo Han went on, not so deliberately leaving an i think implied in his statement as he mentally reviewed, once again, his own actions over the past few days. “He must be tired. He has the right to some time alone, you know?”

And that was not the answer Elijah wanted.

“Well, you should be. He only acts like that when you do something foolish.”

Elijah moved even closer to the table. Someone of that age shouldn’t be so intimidating. “But this time it seems worse. Not even my interventions worked.”

And Yo Han couldn’t help but smile.

“Yah!” came the incriminating reply - or scream.

“Elijah, he’ll be fine. Just give him a few days.” Yo Han was also trying to convince himself of that.

Elijah seemed to deflate, as if understanding that nothing could be achieved there. Speaking more to herself than to Yo Han, she murmured, 

“Why does he have to be like this? It’s annoying.” And, of course, his absence was glaring.

“I know.” The softness in his eyes indicated that Yo Han understood her. “He just needs time.”

That low-toned response was accompanied by a nod as Yo Han pretended to return to his documents.

He heard the sound of wheels turning, yet the scratch of metal on wood was not enough to silence Elijah’s mutterings as she left the room without the solutions she sought. He swore he heard a “why couldn't he just do that?” and something like “if he  leaves again, I swear—”

And once again, Yo Han was reminded of just how much he resembled his niece.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Yo Han discovered that age had not brought as much patience as he had imagined. He had told Elijah that Ga On needed time. He just didn’t say how much. 

On the fifth day, he hadn’t planned on finding out.

The room was shrouded in shadows, but small beams of light still filtered through the curtains when Yo Han abruptly found himself awake in the middle of the night. The moon was still high in the sky.

Still regaining consciousness, Yo Han mentally replayed what might have robbed him of sleep. 

It was nothing unusual for him—quite the opposite. With rapid mental flashbacks, he quickly recognized that this time it wasn’t nightmares or old memories that haunted him.

 Frowning, he unconsciously extended his arms to the far side of the bed. He turned his neck to confirm that his arm had rested on layers of warm sheets. 

The warmth of the fabric was the only indication that Ga On had been there.

In recent days, Ga On had seemed to join Yo Han in bed—only when the other man was already asleep.

Except that Yo Han wasn’t asleep. 

The older man waited patiently on the opposite side of Ga On, his back turned. That seemed to be the only way Ga On could come as close as possible to face him. It was ridiculous and made no sense. 

Exactly six days ago, Ga On had deliberately pushed him into bed, snuggled into his arms, and laid his face on Yo Han’s chest. 

Proximity never seemed enough. Yo Han was warmth, and Ga On lived in the cold.

So yes, Yo Han made a point of replaying every hour of that day, trying to figure out what had triggered this exorbitant distancing.

At what moment did Ga On shift from yearning to suffering with every touch?

Yo Han realized he was extremely tactile with Ga On. He rediscovered a longing for closeness, affection, and warmth that he hadn’t even known he needed. And now, the absence felt like the loss of a limb.

He seized every opportunity to touch the younger man’s back, caress his hips, rub his shoulders, trace his cheeks, mark his neck, and bring color to his lips. And Ga On was increasingly receptive to each of these gestures. 

Yo Han watched with immense satisfaction every time Ga On seemed to melt just a little more.

It took a while, but Ga On began to initiate these moments. Yo Han had always been very demanding in his “lessons” to ensure that Ga On absorbed exactly what he wanted. 

Unconditionally— with Yo Han. 

And the young judge showed considerable enthusiasm during those lessons.

Then, nothing. 

As if all the progress they’d made had never even existed to begin with. Whatever was troubling Ga On seemed directly linked to Yo Han. And as much as it fueled self-hatred in him, he believed he should be the only one capable of fixing it.

Ga On always made some excuse to pull away. More documents. More food. More work. More chores. More exhaustion. More disinterest.

His absence in the early morning hadn’t been unusual in recent days, but for some reason on the fifth day, it set off an alarm in Yo Han’s mind.

It was 3:27 when Yo Han wrapped his arms around his robe and decided to go after Ga On—from wherever (room, space, consciousness) he might be sinking.

It wasn’t hard to find him. Part of Yo Han felt relieved, but another part tightened upon seeing Ga On curled up, clutching his own knees at the kitchen table.

Ga On seemed trapped in another moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. A look Yo Han had recognized in himself many times—lost in memories, reliving memories.

He didn’t register his presence.

“Ga On-ah,” 

He tried in a whisper—a voice that surprised him with the fear and caution it carried.

Those words were enough for Ga On to lift his eyes toward him. His eyes stared, yet did not truly recognize him. His worry only deepened.

“Ga On-ah,” he tried again, keeping a safe distance—as if Ga On were a fawn he didn’t want to push away or hurt. “What happened?”

Ga On’s response did not come in words but rather in a wet flow that stained his cheeks. Yo Han saw the tears before Ga On felt them and tried to wipe them away with the backs of his hands.

Before he knew it, Yo Han found himself crouched beside Ga On, his eyes piercing into Ga On’s, searching for something there. Anything.

“And don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Yo Han whispered. “I didn’t believe it the first time, and I’m not going to believe it now.”

Ga On’s eyes seemed to swell even further. Yo Han continued,

“I don’t know what the problem is, Ga On.”

His tone was incisive, yet carried a gentleness not usually characteristic of the judge. “I can’t help you like this.”

Something seemed to break in Ga On—who until that moment had remained silent. A flash of recognition softened his eyes before he answered,

“I don’t want you to do anything.”

Those words should have struck Yo Han hard. But he wasn’t sure whether it was the hollow tone or the almost tender look that had formed an armor against them.

Once again, the evidence pointed directly at him.

Yo Han kept his eyes hard and didn’t move until Ga On once more put distance between them and stared out the window.

“If not me,” he broke the silence slowly, “then tell me who can help you. Elijah is worried.” Yo Han knew it was a low blow. Yet he had never been good at following conventional rules. Part of him felt victorious when he saw Ga On tremble and clench his fists.

“And me too,” he decided to add.

With his back turned, Yo Han could only observe the slight tremors in Ga On’s shoulders. He knew him well enough to understand that Ga On was trying not to fall apart—reminding him of every moment he had, indeed, seen Ga On crumble.

Then, when Ga On’s reply came almost hesitantly, everything became incredibly obvious.

“Soo Hyun” the name whispered in a way that disarmed Yo Han and seemed to tread upon his very heart. “I had a dream about Soo Hyun.”

Yoon Soo Hyun.

Of course. He should have known sooner. It now seemed obvious that he already knew the answer. Two years ago, Yo Han had seen Ga On collapse over the death of his best friend, Soo Hyun. Back then, those were days of inconsolable, isolated, and irreparably shattered despair. The same pattern was repeating now. It was crystal clear. 

And Ga On was right. Yo Han was incapable of helping him—or of taking any action at all—regarding Soo Hyun’s absence.

Yo Han admitted that he had never had the best relationship with her, if it could even be called a relationship. He was indifferent to her most of the time, except when his motives were directly aimed at putting Ga On in a box and distancing him from Yo Han. And that was something Yo Han couldn’t handle well. 

So yes, in those moments he despised her. In a way, they were rivals, inextricably linked by a devastating love for Ga On. And for that, Yo Han couldn’t blame her.

In the end, at least for now, Yo Han got what he wanted.

Who he wanted. 

But it didn’t come for free. It came at the cost of a great burden on Ga On. 

Sometimes, deep down in his mind during those blinding moments, he wondered if he would still have Ga On if Yoon Soo Hyun were still alive. 

In the first year, he found himself constantly defeated by the piercing memory of her. And Yo Han wondered if Ga On still compared them—if he kissed him, still recalling her taste.

He had no right to think that; as quickly as the thought arose, he dismissed it. The truth is that certain “ifs” linger in the subconscious for a long time—even those you despise.

So no—the mention of that name, the cause of all this suffering and the only one capable of solving the problem, should not be a surprise.

 If Yo Han wasn’t surprised by the name, he was disturbed by the timing.

Yoon Soo Hyun’s death anniversary had been exactly seven days ago. Seven days was the period Ga On endured before finally breaking down. 

And yes, Yo Han remembered the date—it would have been even harder to forget. He recalled the terror in Ga On’s eyes, the desperation in his hands, and the agony coursing through his body as he could only watch Ga On experience something strikingly similar to what he himself had once endured. 

Ga On’s world had crumbled. 

Yet he carried on.

During the week of the anniversary, they were stuck with a case in court. Ga On was particularly focused on convincing witnesses. So when the day arrived, Yo Han only remembered halfway through the morning, and his eyes automatically fixed on Ga On.

It was Sunday. They were off. The day began with Ga On practically drowning in him and stealing Yo Han’s breath. Ga On was not a morning person—even if he never admitted it. He even pretended well. But the young man didn’t complain when Yo Han woke him with hands on his waist and a damp weight on his neck.

Hours later, Ga On was still in good spirits. He laughed openly while preparing something between breakfast and lunch with Elijah by his side. Then, as the awareness of the day settled on Yo Han, he froze, as if expecting the worst to happen again.

But the day went on. Ga On never left his side; the smile in his eyes never faded. And when the clock hands overlapped, Yo Han felt himself breathe again, with an arm around Ga On, who nestled even closer.

The next morning, Yo Han’s subconscious still seemed on high alert. But nothing happened; Ga On seduced him into a shower. They went to court. Ga On didn’t mention it. Yo Han didn’t mention it. A part of him wanted to believe that Ga On had decided to focus on the world that still remained for him. That was his mistake.

The rapid cascade of thoughts still ran as Ga On decided to break the silence once more.

“I forgot.”

And the silence of the night had never been so loud. Once again, Yo Han reassembled his conclusions.

The moment Yo Han had spent 24 hours waiting finally arrived some 144.58 hours later. And of course that Ga On was inconsolable. He was being consumed by grief and guilt.

His voice broke in the most painful and intense way that night. 

“So she had to come remind me,” he managed, swallowing hard as he turned to face Yo Han—indeed, for the first time that day.

Yo Han felt his own heart tighten before he tried,

“Ga On,” he began with more gentleness than he remembered possessing, “we had an open case. You were distracted by work, by—”

“By you,” came Ga On’s cutting tone.

It was the clearest he had sounded in days. “I was distracted by you.”

And for the first time in a long while, Yo Han didn’t know what to say.

It was no wonder Ga On wanted him away. Just the sight of him seemed to cause Ga On agony. His touch felt like it burned. Yo Han had become a walking reminder of what Ga On considered perhaps the second worst mistake he’d ever made. For once, Ga On was right—Yo Han simply couldn’t help him.

Something must have passed over Yo Han’s face, because Ga On felt compelled to continue. A new admission and awareness shaped his expression—a mixture of epiphany, recognition, guilt, and anger.

“You remembered.”

That realization lit up Ga On’s eyes. A new wave of pity washed over him. The pain was palpable. “Even you remembered.”

Even you. That struck a part of Yo Han that he had been trying to bury (or heal) for the past two years. The irrevocable and reproachful tone automatically slipped from his tongue.

“Ga On,” was all Yo Han said.

Because it was unfair. For both of them. But it was enough for the other man to understand.

“I’m sorry. I know. I'm sorry.”

Another stream of tears broke out as Ga On brought both hands to his face, as if he wanted to hide or tear away his own thoughts.

“I didn’t remember the day until we were living it.” Yo Han then approached him differently, taking advantage of Ga On’s attempt to hide to draw closer. He had to try to lower the barriers before they held Ga On back any longer. “You seemed… happy.” There was no other word to describe it. “And I wanted you to stay that way.”

It wasn’t until he spoke the words aloud that Yo Han realized how selfish they sounded.

The words made Ga On slide his hands over his face, turning his gaze back to the kitchen floor. And then, back to Yo Han.

“And I was… happy,” Ga On said almost as a secret, as if struggling with a slight curl of his lips. “Happier than I have been in a long time.”

The admission led only to more admissions. A flood of confessions seemed to pour out from Ga On.

“Yo Han, I’ve never been happier.” 

And if that were true, why did he seem so devastated, so sad? The reply came next:

“And I’ve never felt more guilty.”

Yo Han noticed he was holding his breath.

“Because it’s so, so unfair. All of it. That I can be so happy when she isn’t here. That I can be happy when she can’t.”

With each sentence, his breath shortened, the urgency mounted, and the pain overflowed.

“Because I couldn’t love her—not in the way she wanted, when she deserved it. I wonder if I had loved her that way, if… if I had chosen her completely. If I had done what she begged me to do.” a suffocating pause. 

Yo Han recalled what Ga On didn’t have the courage to say. He hadn’t forgotten Yoon Soo Hyun running after him, pleading for him to leave Ga On in peace, safe, obedient. 

“Perhaps she would still be here. Happy.”

And the worst part of it, perhaps, was that Yo Han understood. Living on the basis of “ifs.” 

If only he had noticed the fire sooner.

If only he had gone into the church with Elijah. 

If only he had grabbed her hand when it was surrounded by candles and pulled her onto his lap. 

Kang Isak would be alive. Elijah would have a father. He would have a brother. And, quite probably, he wouldn’t have Ga On.

The scale always tips to one side. Certain decisions are better left to fate—to let the coin flip.

When Yo Han thought Ga On had finished confessing, all that had been pent up in recent days finally began to release. He didn’t seem hesitant—rather, he felt lighter. Yet he still couldn’t face Yo Han.

“I love you. More than I can handle,” came Ga On’s soft, deliberate voice—a final confession, it seemed. He couldn’t hide the lingering sorrow in his mouth.

 And for some reason, Yo Han’s body froze even as his inner self warmed.

And with exasperation and absolute indignation, Ga On continued,

“And it’s so unfair that I feel so guilty about it,” now looking directly at Yo Han, because he had never liked to show any sign of being intimidated. “Because you also deserve to be loved freely—without reservations, without guilt.” And another kind of emotion was undeniable in those laden eyes. A quiet “And I want to do that” was whispered. 

Yet Yo Han heard every word.

Yo Han spent a few moments delighting in Ga On’s face, swallowing his own emotions to respond just right.

“As long as it’s yours, Ga On, I’ll want it anyway.”

It wasn’t the response Ga On had expected—that was clear. He opened his mouth once, twice, before choosing which way to go. Ga On felt raw, exposed.

“I distanced myself. Or I distanced you—because I’m constantly reminded of it, time and time again.”

Of love, it wasn’t explicitly said, but it was understood.

“I woke up two days later from the dream about her, and being by your side was unbearable. It was like waves of guilt carrying me away and then bringing me back.”

Ga On didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until he finally let it out. 

“Because I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. Not even her.”

Ga On might never know that he had just shattered some “ifs” that would haunt Yo Han’s mind for years. That’s just how he was.

And Yo Han trembled. What else could he do? Waves of relief washed over him as Ga On seemed to confess something deeply painful.

How can something that makes one incandescent cast so many shadows on another?

“Every time you touch me, I feel as if I’m catching fire. It burns everything and leaves no room for anything else.”

The anything else was also understood.

It became clear once again, and Yo Han found his voice. 

“You were punishing yourself.” It was sad and soft.

Ga On hesitated for a moment. Sometimes, speaking it aloud makes it all the more obvious—especially when it comes from the love of your life.

“I think so. Yes,” Ga On nodded in acceptance; his actions hadn’t simply vanished as he had imagined. “I didn’t want to feel anything but guilt.”

Guilt and love struggled in turn to take control of him. Yet neither was enough to completely overcome the other. Ga On understood that now.

And it became even clearer that much of that confession wasn’t for Yo Han. He was merely a bystander—perhaps one who shouldn’t even be there. That was Ga On allowing himself to be vulnerable. One more stage in his transformation.

Yo Han had always been adept at using the tools he had to his advantage. Ga On had just shown him another tool—a tool he could very well use if Ga On allowed it. 

He didn’t know how to make things better for Ga On.

 It pained him that Ga On’s love was so bittersweet and melancholic, while his own was decisive, irrevocable, and absolute. There was no turning back, but there was a way forward—a long road ahead.

If Yo Han had so much power over Ga On, he might very well use it. If Ga On allowed him.

So he took deliberate steps toward Ga On at a painfully slow pace, trying to close the distance between them while the barriers were not yet insurmountable. Ga On’s breathing quickened, and he seemed apprehensive.

Yo Han reached out his hand, giving the other a chance to pull away if desired—if it was still too soon. Ga On didn’t move.

Yo Han took it as an invitation. 

His left hand grasped Ga On’s waist—a mere touch—while his right rested on his cheek. Ga On’s eyes filled with water once again. Then he closed his eyes and leaned into Yo Han’s touch. The older man studied every micro-expression playing across Ga On’s gaze. 

The tug on his chest made it clear just how much power Ga On held over him. Simple as that.

Yo Han felt his breath mingle with Ga On’s as they brought their foreheads together, resting them there for a while. Ga On’s chest rose and fell—up and down—until a calm rhythm set in, his shoulders slumped, his defenses crumbled. And Yo Han caught a glimpse of the Ga On from seven days ago.

In that small space, Yo Han felt that words still mattered. He exhaled and allowed himself to confess as well.

“Yoon Soo Hyun.” 

It was a name that would always leave a lingering taste in his mouth—and he understood why. “I can understand her more than you imagine.”

That seemed to pull Ga On out of his trance, as he opened his eyes again—as if he couldn’t hide his curiosity. 

“All of her actions were out of love for you. And for that, I will always respect her.”

A flash of recognition passed through Ga On’s eyes. Yo Han let him absorb those words before adding,

“That’s why I’m asking you to believe me when I say that nothing would be more important to her than your happiness. Even if the object of that happiness isn’t her.”

Unspoken, Ga On clearly heard “me”.

Here, Yo Han was using Soo Hyun as a means to confess—allowing her to carry a few more words for Ga On. It’s true that you will never fully understand another human being unless you love them deeply.

Ga On couldn’t have been more grateful. So even as he burned, he closed the distance between them and allowed himself to be bathed in this confusion of feelings—a confusion of certainties.

As their lips intertwine, Ga On’s mind goes blank. As it always has. As it always will—part of him knows that.

Guilt—or any other lingering feeling—will only come when he opens his eyes. Most of the time, for long stretches, there is only love. 

Devotional, undeniable, overwhelming. 

Ga On decides to hold onto that for as long as he can. Because Yo Han deserves it—perhaps more than anyone. And so does he.

Yo Han’s eyes continue to trace his face, moving back and forth. 

Like waves. And he knows.

In a way, there, they found religion. There is no turning back after this.

[prfct7act]

Maybe it's an unpopular opinion – or maybe not – but here's what I think is the biggest difference between Will and Hannibal's love.

Hannibal's love for Will goes directly to Will, for Will. What makes Hannibal love him is his mind, his capacity for understanding and acceptance. Will is a reflection of him.

Whereas Will's love for Hannibal goes beyond Hannibal himself. Yes, it's about the understanding and acceptance that Hannibal offers, but it goes beyond him. It's as if Hannibal opened a box of possibilities, as if Will's vision expanded, and suddenly, he sees more around and beyond.

It's hard to explain, but if love were a beam of light, the one directed at Will (from Hannibal) would be a straight beam into his heart, whereas the one directed at Hannibal (from Will) would be more like a spotlight that includes him but extends beyond him.

Hannibal exists within Will's love. Hannibal's love is Will himself.

That said, I've always argued that Hannibal fell in love first and fell harder. But with this analysis, maybe there are other interpretations. Either way, I don't think either of them reflects unconditional love. And that's okay.

Does this make sense? Does anyone agree?

[prfct7act]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kang Elijah, Kkomi (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Angst, Love Confessions, Protective Kang Yo Han, Possessive Kang Yo Han, Hurt Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Sad Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Established Relationship, Future Fic, Post-Canon, Not Actually Unrequited Love, True Love, Grief/Mourning, Moving On Summary:

They were fine. Great, even. Until Ga On wasn’t. And then, they weren't.

On the fifth day, Yo Han figures something out.

[prfct7act]

Because Yo Han needs a second chance. 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Kang Elijah, Kkomi (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Post-Canon, Future Fic, Whipped Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge), Soft Kang Yo Han, Whipped Kang Yo Han, Top Kang Yo Han, Caring Kang Yo Han, Mentioned Kang Elijah, Established Relationship, Married Couple Summary:

It was so obvious that it was ridiculous, and it clenched his chest in the most direct way possible.

Ga On wanted a child. Yo Han was never good at denying him anything.

[prfct7act]

Rewatching Hannibal, and one of the saddest things is how easily Will trusted Hannibal from the start. Now THAT'S a good friends-to-enemies-to-lovers. The betrayal hits different.