#( wc: 4237 )

[downbad4yoongi]

Capturing Family

For @bangtanwritershq To Begin Again quarter event

Pairing: Jimin x Namjoon

WC:4237

Rating: MA

AU/Genre: marriage au, slice of life, surrogacy

Warnings: implied/referenced homophobia, gay sex

A/N: Written as a slice of life follow up to Closer

Summary: Married four years, Jimin and Namjoon dream of a family. Surrogacy or adoption? The decision weighs heavy. Unwavering support from friends clashes with Jimin's parents' disapproval. A gallery break-in threatens their plans, but their love strengthens. Through challenges, their bond deepens, and with their friends' help, they overcome obstacles and build a beautiful, unique family. A story of love, perseverance, and the power of chosen family.

“Love, we’ve been talking about this for years now. We’re ready,” Namjoon's voice echoes through the quiet park as he takes Jimin's hand in his own.

“But what if we’re not?” Jimin asks, his eyes searching Namjoon's face for reassurance.

“Where is this doubt coming from? You’d be an amazing father, and we have wanted this for years. It’s all coming together; you’ve been at your school for several years, and I have the gallery. It feels like the stars are aligning for us,” Namjoon reassures, the warm summer breeze tousling their hair.

Jimin takes a deep breath and bobs his head a few times. “You’re right. It just feels like a lot all of a sudden.” He holds his hand up, stopping Namjoon from interrupting, “I know it’s not. This is our fourth anniversary after all, but after talking about it for so many years, it just feels…surreal.”

Namjoon gathers Jimin in his arms. “Love, every day feels surreal with you.” Leaning down, Namjoon captures Jimin’s lips with his. They stand there in the middle of the park, surrounded by nature and love.

As they make their way back to their home, a quaint house nestled in a quiet neighborhood, Jimin can't help but feel overwhelmed with happiness and anticipation. Time slips away as Jimin drives them home, their fingers intertwined and hearts full.

Their peaceful sanctuary greets them as they step through the door. The sunlight floods into the open floor plan through large floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the space and highlighting all of Namjoon's beloved plants.

Namjoon's restless fingers wander over Jimin’s form as they make their way through the shared space. A sense of peace settles around them as they enter their bedroom, a place where their love and connection run deep.

After weeks of waiting, they finally have a chance to sit down and discuss their family plans in detail. Their past conversations were merely wishes, but now it's becoming a tangible reality. Jimin plops a thick binder onto Namjoon's lap and snuggles beside him, the warmth of his body filling the space between them.

"What is this?" Namjoon grunts as he feels the weight of the binder on his thighs. The entire Encyclopedia Britannica?"

Jimin giggles and nuzzles closer to his husband. "You're so silly, honey. This is our family plan, or at least the start of it. We have a lot to go over."

Namjoon sets down his coffee and reaches for his camera, snapping a quick candid shot of Jimin before powering off the device. Jimin barely flinches, used to being photographed by now. Their walls are adorned with many such candid moments, and Jimin wouldn't have it any other way.

Pushing aside his amusement, Jimin delves into their discussion. He opens the binder and begins detailing their options.

Surrogacy or adoption?

They both agree on surrogacy.

They spend hours poring over Jimin's meticulously assembled profiles of potential surrogates. After much deliberation, they narrow it down to two women, but the conversation keeps going in circles as neither wants to back down. One woman, 32, is a kindergarten teacher and a mother of two; the other woman is a pediatrics nurse in her late thirties and the mother of one.

Frustrated, Jimin huffs and sighs dramatically before turning to face his handsome husband. "Listen," he says bluntly, "we're using your sperm this time. Let me make the final call."

The passion in Jimin's voice gives Namjoon pause, making him reconsider his stance. After some internal debate, he gives a small nod and concedes. "You're right," he admits, "we both deserve equal say in this process. I'm providing the biological material. You should have the right to choose the bio-mother."

Jimin's shoulders relax as some of the tension from their argument dissipates. "Thank you, honey," he says gratefully, crossing over to Namjoon and wrapping his arms around the taller man. “Let’s set up a meeting with this one,” Jimin decides, pointing to the kindergarten teacher.

Namjoon murmurs reassurances of his love as they hold each other tightly, unwilling to let go. After several minutes, they finally part, lips swollen from lingering kisses.

"Bed?" Jimin suggests with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Mmm, bed," Namjoon agrees with a smile.

Jimin's voice trembles through the phone as he speaks with Namjoon, his tone shrill and panicked. The news he just received is enough to make anyone anxious.

"Can't you give me any more details?" Jimin asks, trying to control the fear building up inside of him.

"Please, my love, it would be best if you came in person," Namjoon responds calmly, hoping to ease his husband's nerves.

Jimin lets out a frustrated laugh. "Fine. I'll call in a substitute and be there as soon as possible."

Namjoon barely has time to convey his love before the line goes dead. He takes a deep breath, trying to convince himself that everything will be okay. Jimin must be scared and overwhelmed, he reasons, which explains why he ended the call without their usual exchange of affection.

Within an hour, Jimin rushes into Picture This, Namjoon's gallery that’s located in the bustling downtown area. "I'm here! I made it!" he exclaims, out of breath and disheveled.

Namjoon excuses himself from speaking with a detective and meets his husband halfway across the moderate space. The contrast between them is evident - Namjoon exudes calmness while Jimin is frazzled and restless, his brown locks sticking up in all directions from running his hands through them repeatedly.

When Jimin received the call from Namjoon about the break-in at his gallery, it felt like the ground had disappeared beneath his feet. His mind immediately went to worst-case scenarios, and all he could think about was the safety of his loved one. So when their bodies collide, Jimin can't help but run his hands over Namjoon's broad frame in reassurance. He knows Namjoon is physically unharmed but needs to feel it for himself. He couldn't imagine life without him.

"I'm fine, love. Really. I wasn't here when it happened," Namjoon reassures him.

Gradually, the words pierce through Jimin's foggy mind, and he collapses against Namjoon, resting his head on his chest. "I know. I know you are, but how about emotionally? This gallery is your pride and joy."

A pained smile tugs at Namjoon's lips as he responds, "I'm still processing, but it will be okay." He rubs Jimin's shoulders comfortingly. "Let me finish up with these detectives, and then we can go home and discuss our next steps." With a quick peck on the lips, Namjoon turns to face the tall and imposing detective, leaving Jimin to survey the damage left behind.

Covering his mouth with a hand, Jimin's heart breaks for Namjoon as he takes in the chaos and destruction caused by the robbers. Priceless prints have been slashed to pieces, glass shards litter the floor, and equipment has either been stolen or smashed on the newly polished concrete.

Jimin immediately sends a text to their friends, updating them on what has happened before Namjoon leads him out of the gallery. He runs a soothing hand over Namjoon's back as they make their way to their small SUV parked behind the building.

The drive back home is silent except for the sound of their soft exhales as Jimin navigates them through traffic. When they arrive, they both drop their keys on the entryway table and kick off their shoes before collapsing onto each other on the cozy sunken couch - a focal point of their living room.

“Love,” Namjoon whispers, his voice soft and soothing as his fingers trace patterns on Jimin's back.

“Honey,” Jimin responds, snuggling into their tangled embrace. “I don’t know where to even start…”

“It’s okay, love. I'm here for you,” Namjoon reassures him, reaching over to grab the laptop from the coffee table.

With a few expert clicks, Namjoon has the insurance claim page open and is logging in to start the process.

But then, Jimin suddenly goes still next to him. “Love, what is it?” Namjoon asks with concern.

Jimin's eyes are glued to the screen in front of them. “Why wasn't the policy renewed?” he says, his voice shaking. “It's saying right here that our coverage lapsed.” Panic rises in his chest. “This won't be covered...”

Namjoon's heart sinks as he leans closer to the computer screen, scanning the information. "Okay... this isn't ideal," he mutters to himself. "But that's why we have savings."

“Joon,” Jimin speaks up again, his voice small and vulnerable. “The savings are for our baby...”

Namjoon's stomach drops at the thought of not being able to access their savings for such an emergency. He immediately starts brainstorming alternative solutions. “Yes, of course. We can't touch that money. What if we ask your parents for help?”

But instead of relief or agreement, Jimin stiffens beside him. “That's not an option,” he says firmly, shutting down any further discussion.

Namjoon is taken aback by this sudden change in attitude from his usually open and communicative husband. Worried now, he furrows his brow and reaches out to rub circles on Jimin's back in an attempt to comfort him.

“Jimin, please talk to me,” he pleads softly.

Taking a deep breath, Jimin finally turns to face Namjoon. Tears are welling up in his eyes as he speaks. “My parents... they weren't supportive of our decision to adopt or use a surrogate.”

Namjoon's heart sinks as he listens to Jimin's words, trying to make sense of it all. “But I thought they were okay with us starting a family?”

The tears start rolling down Jimin's cheeks now, and he looks away, unable to meet Namjoon's gaze. “They said it was fine because they thought we would change our minds. And their exact words were, 'Realize how abnormal it would be for a child to have two fathers'."

Heat flushes across Namjoon’s skin as anger and hurt course through Namjoon as he processes this information. "How could they even say something like that? You know what? Screw them. We don't need their approval or their money. We'll figure this out together, just the two of us." He squeezes Jimin's hand tightly, determined to find a way to rebuild their gallery and make their dreams of having a family come true on their own terms.

Jimin holds onto Namjoon's hand tightly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. "It's not just about the money," he whispers softly. "I know we can make it work, but I don't want to sacrifice our happiness for it. We deserve to have a family and give them the best life possible." Tears well up in Jimin's eyes again, but he quickly wipes them away before they can fall.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Namjoon pulls him close into his embrace, holding him tightly against his chest as they snuggle into the soft couch cushions. He runs a soothing hand through Jimin's hair and presses gentle kisses to his forehead.

"It's okay, baby," Namjoon murmurs, his voice filled with emotion. "We have time." He looks deep into Jimin's eyes, his gaze filled with unwavering determination. "And we will make it happen for us. For our family.”

At the park, Taehyung carefully sets down his takeout box and spreads out a soft, checkered blanket for them all to sit on. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves in the trees above, carrying with it the sweet scent of freshly mown grass and blooming flowers. Taehyung settles down next to Jin and picks up a pair of elegant chopsticks, twirling them between his fingers with practiced ease.

As Jin hands Taehyung a plate laden with fried chicken, kimchi jeon, and mandu, he asks, "Where are y'all in reopening the gallery?"

Namjoon nods along, watching Jin and Yoongi dish out the food onto their own plates.

"We actually finished yesterday and plan to fully reopen next week."

Hoseok does a little happy dance, clapping his hands together in excitement. "That's fantastic! Are we going to have a little celebratory party?"

"Of course!" Jin eagerly chimes in. "I can bring the champagne."

"And Yoongi can create a playlist-," Hoseok starts before being interrupted by Jimin.

"Whoa, let's slow down," Jimin interjects, holding up a hand to pause Hoseok's eager planning. "We're not going to do some extravagant shindig."

Taehyung scoffs playfully, "It's not an extravagant party. It's just a small to medium celebration, you know, with some string lights, light appetizers, champagne, and maybe some decorations."

Jimin's nostrils flare in frustration as he replies, "We don't have the time for that, okay? We are trying to save-" He pauses abruptly and sends Namjoon an imploring look.

Namjoon calmly rests a soothing hand on Jimin's knee and whispers, "It's okay. Go ahead and tell them."

Yoongi swallows his mouthful of chicken before asking curiously, "Tell us what?"

Jimin lets out a sigh and traces the back of Namjoon's hand before intertwining their fingers. "We don't have the time for that because Joonie and I are starting a family."

The chopsticks with a piece of kimchi jeon clatter out of Taehyung's hand as his eyes widen at the unexpected announcement. Jin acts quickly and snags Taehyung's plate just in time before he launches himself at Jimin in excitement.

Yoongi winces at Taehyung's high-pitched squeal.

"Really? Why didn't you tell me?" Taehyung blurts out in a rush, wrapping himself tightly around Jimin.

Jimin rubs Taehyung's back soothingly before attempting to untangle their limbs gently.

"Tae, let him breathe," Namjoon urges with a small smile.

Taehyung gives one last squeeze before pulling back. "Sorry, I'm just so happy for you and Jiminie."

Jimin smiles fondly. "I know, Tae. We didn't say anything because the incident at the gallery kind of delayed things. We had to use the money we set aside for the surrogacy process to fix what was destroyed."

Their friends exchange concerned looks before turning back to them. "What happened?" Yoongi asks with furrowed brows.

Namjoon's head dips down slightly as he replies, "The insurance policy on the gallery had lapsed. So we ended up having to cover the damages and repairs out of our own pockets." He squeezes Jimin's hand supportively before continuing, "We had actually decided on our anniversary to start the process, but we had to shift our plans due to unforeseen expenses. Now we're ready to get back on track."

Jimin nods in agreement. "It wasn't the ideal situation, especially since we had been saving for years for this moment. But we made it work - I started tutoring kids after school let out, and Namjoon took on more commissions. And now, here we are, meeting with an agency on Monday."

Tae lets out a small whimper of distress. "Why didn't you come to us? We could have helped you."

Jimin reaches out to his soulmate, softly cupping his cheek. "Oh, my sweet Tae. I guess we just didn't want to burden you."

A loud, caustic guffaw suddenly interrupts their conversation, drawing their attention across the small circle. Jin sits there looking outraged. "How dare you keep something like this from us!"

Both Jimin and Namjoon are taken aback at Jin's sudden shift in tone, his voice now laced with heat and frustration. They can feel the tension rising in the room as he continues to speak.

"Do you honestly believe that anything you could ask of us would ever be considered a burden?" Jin's voice softens, his eyes searching theirs for understanding, "We care about both of you so deeply. None of us would ever see you as a burden."

Jimin's eyes start to well up with tears, knowing deep down that Jin's words are rational and true. He lets out a shaky breath before speaking, "I know that logically, but..." Namjoon places a comforting hand on Jimin's back as he struggles to find the words.

"We didn't want to impose or be seen as some charity case," Namjoon finally speaks, voicing their shared fear.

Jin growls in frustration, "How could you even think that? We love you two. You've become family to each other, and we only want to help you expand your family further." He crosses his arms over his chest in exasperation. "The nerve of not coming to us right away."

Yoongi nods in agreement, "Jin is right, Jimin-ah. We're here for you always. And personally, I would be honored to be a part of the process."

Namjoon glances at Jimin, who's nervously worrying his lower lip, both of them feeling properly admonished by Jin's words. "You're right. We would love your support as we navigate this journey."

Jin straightens up with a roll of his eyes. "Well, duh. That's what family is for."

The morning of their meeting with the surrogacy agency arrives. Jimin wakes up to the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sweet sound of birds chirping outside his bedroom window. His heart is already pounding in his chest as he pads into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, to find Namjoon pouring himself a cup. They exchange tired smiles but don't say anything as they both sip their coffee in silence, lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Namjoon gently places his hand on top of Jimin's, stopping him from fidgeting with his mug. Their fingers lace together, and they squeeze lightly before Namjoon pulls him into a warm hug from behind.

Jimin leans into it gratefully, feeling Namjoon's heartbeat steady beneath his ear. He closes his eyes, basking in his partner's comfort—a mix of soap, coffee, and warm skin. He can almost feel the palpable distress emanating from Namjoon as he kisses the top of Jimin's head softly.

"Hey," he whispers, "it's going to be okay." Namjoon’s lips brush the shell of Jimin’s ear before pressing another kiss just underneath it.

He continues to trail kisses down the smaller man’s neck, nudging the collar of his sleep shirt aside to maintain contact. A shiver racks up Jimin’s spine as his head lolls to the side, leaning even further into his husband’s hold. A hum resonates through Jimin’s chest as thick fingers settle on his hips before pushing under the large sleep shirt to trail up his chest.

“Need a distraction?” Namjoon’s voice is huskily in his ear, sending goosebumps down Jimin’s spine.

Jimin whimpers, shivering in anticipation, “Namjoon,” he protests weakly. “We have to leave soon.” He can’t help the way his hips roll back a little into Namjoon, seeking more.

Namjoon chuckles in response, trailing his lips back up to Jimin’s ear and sucking gently on the lobe. Jimin moans, his eyes sliding shut as his hand comes up to grip the counter for support. “We have time.” Namjoon presses a lingering kiss to Jimin’s neck before spinning the smaller man around to face him. Pressing their foreheads together as they both catch their breaths, their heartbeats syncing.

Jimin opens his eyes to find Namjoon staring at him with so much love and affection it takes his breath away. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with adoration.

Surging forward together, their lips connect. Jimin’s arms wind around his love’s shoulders, pulling their bodies flush together. The kitchen fills with the sound of their lips smacking together as Namjoon backs Jimin into the counter. His hands slide down to cup Jimin’s ass, giving it a squeeze.

Jimin gasps, opening up to Namjoon, their tongues twisting together. Moaning as Namjoon’s hands cup the back of Jimin’s thighs and lift him onto the countertop. Their mouths move seamlessly together.

Namjoon angles his hips so their erections grind together. Jimin whines into the kiss, gripping Namjoon’s shoulders desperately as he grinds down on his husband’s hard length. Namjoon moans, clutching at Jimin’s thighs, his control rapidly slipping.

Jimin’s fingers start pulling at Namjoon’s shirt, tugging it up and off of him. Namjoon breaks the kiss slightly, panting as he helps Jimin undress him. Their lips part and come back together repeatedly as they discard their clothes, pooling them on the floor with a carelessness they usually don’t have in the morning.

Namjoon lifts Jimin again, setting him back on the countertop, legs hanging over his forearms. A devious glint in his eyes as he presses their hard lengths together, grinding against each other.

“Joonie,” Jimin whines, biting his lip as their friction increases. His nails dig into the countertop as he is teased.

Namjoon pulls back just enough to look into Jimin’s eyes before grasping his chin and bringing their lips together again. Their tongues tangle in a slow-burning dance that is further stoked by their desperation for release. Both moan into the kiss as they rock together on the countertop, pants and groans filling the kitchen.

“Baby,” Jimin whines, “I need more…please.”

With his voice rumbling out, dripping with desire for the man in his arms, Namjoon pulls away a little, reaching for a drawer by the sink. He hushes Jimin gently as the other man whimpers at the loss of touch. Namjoon quickly steps back into Jimin’s arms with one of the small bottles of lube they keep stashed around their home.

Their lips collide once again, urgency and passion fueling their kiss. Namjoon's fingers grasp the lube bottle, uncapping it with a heated determination before coating his fingertips in the slick substance. Without breaking the kiss, he trails his lubed-up fingers between Jimin's spread legs, causing him to moan and suck on Namjoon's thick lower lip even harder.

Namjoon works a finger with skilled precision inside Jimin, who arches his back and keens in pleasure. Jimin can't help but nip at Namjoon's lip before leaning back on his hands and watching intently as Namjoon expertly stretches him open. Soon, Jimin is laid out on the counter, writhing and moaning uncontrollably as Namjoon drives three fingers deep inside him, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through his body.

Namjoon's fingers dig deep into Jimin's flesh, eliciting waves of pleasure as he hits that spot inside him. With a final powerful thrust, Namjoon pulls away, leaving Jimin whining in desperate need of more. In a frenzy, Namjoon slicks up his throbbing cock and drags Jimin upright, kissing him deeply.

As their lips collide, Namjoon guides Jimin's hands to grip him tightly as he spreads his legs wide. With a primal growl, Namjoon enters Jimin with force, watching in awe as his husband’s thick cock stretches his tight hole to its limits. Sweat glistens on their foreheads as they both pant heavily from the intense pleasure coursing through their bodies.

With one of Jimin's legs hooked over his strong arm and the other draped across his firm hip, Namjoon thrusts into him with purpose and force. Jimin's body responds eagerly, aching for more of Namjoon's skilled touch. He clings onto his lover, his fingers digging into his back as each powerful thrust hits him in just the right spot. Jimin can feel himself teetering on the edge, his entire body quivering with anticipation.

"Do you think you can come untouched for me?" Namjoon's deep, raspy voice sends shivers down Jimin's spine, intensifying the pleasure he's already feeling. "Show me how much you want it, baby. Come just like this."

With Namjoon's words urging him on, Jimin lets go and gives in to the intense pleasure building inside of him. His body trembles and quakes as he reaches his peak, unable to hold back any longer under Namjoon's skilled touch. Their bodies move together in perfect harmony, reaching new heights of ecstasy together.

Namjoon's fingers dig into Jimin's skin, leaving red marks in their wake as he yanks him closer. Their bodies collide with a force that sends them both tumbling over the edge, cries of pleasure escaping their lips as they reach their peak together. Jimin trembles with each thrust of Namjoon's cock, his insides filled with a thick heat that spreads through his body. Their chests coated with evidence of Jimin’s desire. The sensation is overwhelming, waves of pleasure crashing over him as he surrenders to the intense pleasure of their love-making.

Breathless and entwined, they take a moment to catch their breath before reality comes crashing back. "We're going to be late," pants Jimin, his chest heaving as he speaks.

Namjoon's hand rubs soothingly along Jimin's hip, the sensation calming him as their lips meet in a final rush of pleasure. With a soft groan, Namjoon pulls out of Jimin, both men feeling sticky and satisfied. Helping Jimin down from the counter, Namjoon rushes him off to the shower, eager to wash away any traces of their passionate encounter.

Returning to the kitchen, Namjoon quickly cleans up their mess with practiced efficiency. Several minutes later, the kitchen is sanitized, and Namjoon joins Jimin in the shower. He takes over washing his husband's body, reveling in their intimate closeness. A gentle smile graces his lips as Jimin returns the favor.

After a thorough cleansing and refreshing shower, the couple steps out of the steamy bathroom to dress for their looming life-changing meeting. The air feels charged with anticipation as they prepare for what lies ahead.

"Ready?" Namjoon asks, extending his hand to Jimin. A smile lights up his face, radiating warmth and assurance.

Jimin’s heart flutters at the sight, and he gladly takes Namjoon's offered hand, intertwining their fingers comfortably. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this, husband."

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 21 ~ Blurry (out of place)

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: ANGST, omg the angst there’s so much o.o, flashback fun for everyone! 😅, brief nonspecific flashback to csa, panic attack(s), painful wound cleaning, wishing for death, unsure of what is real but not quite unreality so make of it what you will, oh shit-almost forgot: captivity tw, restraints tw :') been awhile since i needed those lol

WC: 4237

Taglist (😱 I remembered this time!): @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles (i've been having trouble tagging you, but i wanted to put this up here in case you see and were wondering where your tag was)

In which reality is a bit fluid, folks, and no one is happy about it

AN: Including me, I was also unhappy writing this. I need that bunker to protect myself and also to piece my heart back together.

You know that whole bit about how things get worse before they get better? Yeah, that is this :')

Carr

Carr had plenty of time to review her options as she returned to the wreckage of their carriage to search for supplies. 

If she “stumbled” into the camp’s clearing, would the reaction be more favorable if she dressed as a man or a woman? Had it been long enough for the bandits to assume the other people in the carriage had died? Surely they had searched and been curious about the lack of bodies, though. Carr tapped a grimy finger on her lip, barely even seeing the gown she’d found stuck in a bush some ways from the crash site. 

Aside from the cut on her brow, Carr was also fairly sure she didn’t look like a survivor of the kindling strewn across the ravine. Which meant she could pretend to be a runaway, but… from where? Maybe she could get away with not wanting to say. Fuck if she could even remember the places they had visited. 

So. Girl or boy? Child or adult? Found on the outskirts of camp or by the guards on the fringe or just stumbling straight into the camp, bypassing the guards altogether? 

While she could physically pass as a child at first glance, it wasn’t a ruse she could keep up for long, and she needed these people to feel sorry for her and take her in. She wrinkled her nose and smoothed Orla’s dress out on the ground in front of her. It was torn in places, which was fine since Carr wanted it to look like she’d been roughing it for a few days. It would be too short, but not by much, so it might make her look… poorer. The material was still too fucking nice, though. Maybe if she got it dirty enough, no one would notice. 

Carr left the dress behind and returned to the carriage. Or what was left of it. After a bit of digging, she found one of Orla’s headscarves, this one a pale pastel blue. Perfect; the dumb dress was blue, so it would even match. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Her hackjob haircut was acceptable for a boy or young man but less so for a woman. She’d never cared about her hair before and wasn’t going to start now, but if she went with the fairer option of subterfuge, she’d need an excuse for that, too. Gods, this sucked. Why did that place have to be filled with what seemed like halfway-decent people instead of a bunch of lowlifes who’d look better with a few more holes in them? 

Which was another question. How many weapons could she get away with carrying? Carr ground her teeth, knowing very well she’d be lucky to justify just one, if it was found. 

Even if she went in posing as a man, she couldn’t carry as many blades as she had on her right now. But she’d all but decided on pretending to be a woman–it seemed more likely she’d just be killed straight off as a man–so one blade it was. She’d hide the others somewhere close to the camp so they’d be nearby if she needed them. 

She tried not to think of the last time she’d donned a dress while she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on Orla’s garments–which were slightly too small in the chest and shoulders as well as too short. 

The clothes she’d discarded served as a wrap for her extra blades; the only one she’d kept was strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts, which ended at mid-calf instead of her ankles. Each breath she took was stifled, and her range of motion was shit. This was starting off just wonderfully. 

It just needed to get her into the camp, she reminded herself. Too small clothes, chopped off hair, small and skinny with a bruised face… someone would take pity on her. They had to. 

Carr hadn’t caught sight of Resh in a day and a half. She’d spent all damned day watching the fucking camp. Now dusk was approaching, and she wasn’t willing to wait another night. She needed in now, and gods help these people if she didn’t like what she found. 

~~~

Resh

Resh’s head hurt–like ice-picks stabbing his eyes, vice-grip around his temples, skull about to crack like an egg hurt. 

The pain about drowned out the red-hot pulsing under his collarbone. The rest of his body didn’t feel all that great either. 

He groaned soundlessly and tried to curl up on his side.

Resistance. He couldn’t move his arms. 

Nothing but darkness greeted him when his eyes snapped open. Which his head appreciated, but his mind not so much. Resh yanked on his arm, but the motion had no effect except to send shards of agony lancing through his chest. Shit, his ribs… gasping shallowly for air, he stilled. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

The air went nowhere as everything he thought he knew splintered and warped, aided by the throbbing in his head. He was lying on something hard, in the dark, his limbs tied down, pain splintering through every facet of his being. 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. To not be back there. The last weeks couldn’t have been the dream. They couldn’t have they couldn’t! 

He started struggling again, hoping he would wake up if he hurt himself in real life, but a voice penetrated the weighted silence, its owner sounding as if the person was moving. Straining his ears, Resh paused, listening.  

“Burning pits, Lox, did you see his forehead? He’s a royal mage, we can’t be stealing royal mages!” 

A royal mage? Horror washed through him at the thought. Is that what the prince had done when he’d branded him? Claimed him for the Crown? Fuck; fuck! 

And who was that talking? No one spoke in his dreams but the prince, which meant… 

His stomach twisted. This was real? But then, the prince shouldn’t know about his magic, not unless he’d used it without realizing… He cringed as a vicious throb tried to liquefy his brain. It felt-it felt like a reaction headache–oh gods, what had he done?

“If such a thing even exists, we could surely ransom him. If not, could you imagine how useful a Kinetic would be? I’m not interested in killing people–I don’t want another such occurrence as what just happened. Robbing people is annoying, sure, but killing them will get us hunted down and exterminated.” 

The unknown voices moved on, becoming indistinguishable before fading away completely. The meaning of the words barely penetrated the fog of Resh’s panic, but one thing stood out. 

Ransom? But–he tugged on his wrists, wincing as coarse rope chafed his skin. Everything felt muddled and upside down and wrong and–Carr! Killing people? Carr killed people, but… that’s not what that person had meant, now was it. Resh’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might break through his chest. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness, his thoughts couldn’t…

Flashes of memory, purple light flooding a carriage. He had tried so hard to cushion them with his magic… Lightning speared through his head, obliterating the memory. Resh cried out, nothing emerging but a puff of air. 

Hot tears trickled down his temples, tracking down into his hair as his breathing quickened. He’d failed. If killing people was bad, if they wanted him so it wouldn’t happen again–it meant he’d failed, that Carr and his sister were–were dead. 

He keened silently at the thought until the pain in his chest left him too breathless to continue. His mind twisted again as he lay there, panting through the waves of physical and emotional agony. 

But was that–was that real? The carriage, the crash–had that happened? Or–he pulled on his arms again–was he still in the prince’s torture chamber, awaiting the man’s next godsforsaken sadistic whim? 

Resh shuddered, his heart beating erratically while his skin flushed hot then cold, leaving him clammy and even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t–he couldn’t… His thoughts scattered, his mind shutting down. 

As pain and despair dragged him back under, he couldn’t decide which reality would be worse. 

~~~

Carr 

Branches whipped past Carr as she ran, one etching a line of fire across her cheek when she misjudged the distance in the waning light under the Seleni Wood’s canopy. Shouts echoed behind her, and an arrow whizzed past, barely missing as it embedded into a nearby tree with an ominous thud. 

Fuck fuck fuck. She’d meant to get close enough to the camp to approach one of the women, figuring she’d have better luck appealing to them than just walking into a bandit camp and looking stunned, an easy target for archery practice. 

The perimeter had been guarded more heavily than she’d been able to tell from afar. Now, she was a moving archery target. Less easy, surely, but fuck it all, not ideal. Her heart thrummed quickly enough that the individual beats were indistinguishable as she ducked under a low-hanging branch and swung around a tree, heading deeper into the underbrush. She could get away, probably. But that would defeat the purpose, so she needed to allow herself to be caught. Without getting killed, preferably. 

But the men chasing her would tackle her, take her down. The thought made her skin crawl–would they stop there, buy the not-so-much-an-act she’d put on, or would they prove to be the brand of bandits she’d originally thought they’d be? 

It’s for Resh. She repeated the thought over and over as she “tripped” and curled up on the ground, covering her scarf-wrapped head. Her body quivered for real as she awaited either an arrow to the back or rough hands grabbing her. 

Thankfully–but also not–callused fingers wrapped around her wrists in a bruising grip, forcing her arms to the ground by her head as a large man dressed in patched leathers straddled her body. 

“The fuck,” he said, staring down into what Carr supposed were her saucer-wide eyes. 

Eyes that rapidly filled with tears as she put up a weak struggle against his hold. It took everything she had not to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and flip him off her–would’ve been hard to do in the stupid too-tight dress anyway, and moreover, would’ve been suspicious. But gods. 

“What’ve you got?” another male voice called from somewhere to her left. 

“A fucking woman,” her captor responded, gripping her wrists even harder. He moved, placing one knee between her legs, which effectively pinned them in place within the prison of her skirts. 

Carr went limp, focusing all her energy on convincing her body not to fight and flee. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the man could hear it. 

“Are there more?” a third voice asked. Crunching followed their question, the person moving with no care through the detritus of the forest. 

The man cocked a dark brow at her. “Well?” 

She shook her head frantically. “N-no. No. Please–” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth closed, swallowing against the tears thickening her throat.  

Rotten breath wafted across her face while a hand swept under her skirt. 

“That’s right, be a good girl now and I’ll be nice to you, I promise.” 

One hand pinned both her wrists now while the other swept over her body, then beneath her skirt, unerringly finding the blade strapped to her thigh. 

She shivered beneath the too-large body, her cheek throbbing where he’d already hit her, her wrists aching beneath his hold. 

Her wrists ached beneath the man’s hold as he held up the dagger and laughed. “Do you even know how to use this?” 

A mixture of rage and shame set her face aflame, and the cut on her cheek throbbed. Her breath caught. 

Dark hair curled around his face, framing amused blue eyes that quickly darkened with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The hand covering her mouth after she’d screamed for help was too big. It covered her nose as well and she couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t 

She couldn’t breathe, the air she sucked in between choked-off sobs going nowhere as she battled her past to stay in the way too similar present. 

“Shit.” The man scrambled off her, calling out to his friends. 

The words he exchanged with them made no sense through the ringing in her ears. Pinpricks of white flashed before her eyes, and aside from tucking her hands beneath her chin, Carr didn’t move–couldn’t move.  

Memory flickered in and out of her mind’s eye–no matter what, it was always this one she was thrown back into. This one that haunted her dreams. This one that paralyzed her, highlighting how fucking helpless she’d been–

Carr pushed up with a wheezing gasp, flinching as hands reached out to help her. She was not helpless; she was just pretending. Pretending pretending pretending

A hand moved over her back, up and down, up and down, and she trembled, desperately trying to keep still and allow this strange man to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m sorry about before, we thought… it doesn’t matter what we thought.” Leaning forward, he caught Carr’s eyes. “You with me now?” 

She nodded, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much she wanted to turn and rip his hand off. Her skin prickled. 

“Look like you’ve been through it. You need help?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded again. 

Someone scoffed. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, and she twisted her head, rearing back. The man’s hand moved, tightening around her shoulder. 

“Just gonna take her at her word? Probably some thief putting on an act.” 

Her captor-turned-protector pulled her back against his chest. She made herself melt into him, pulling up her legs to make herself smaller while the new bandit glared at her suspiciously. 

“You didn’t see her when I had her pinned. No one puts on an act like that.” Her bandit’s voice dripped with derision. 

Carr couldn’t decide if it was directed towards her or the other man. Didn’t matter, long as he decided she was worth helping. Take me back, take me back, take me back, she chanted in her head. Her body shaking like a leaf was entirely unfeigned; the reaction disgusted her, but she didn’t suppress it, letting her fucking weakness serve its purpose.  

“She needs help.”  

“So bring her some supplies and send her on her way. We gotta get back to our post,” the suspicious one said. 

“More help than that!” her bandit responded hotly. 

Carr let a small whimper escape, pressing a hand to her mouth after in a show of embarrassment. Her bandit held her closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was Resh so she wouldn’t do something stupid like pull his dagger and slit his throat. She wanted to crawl outta her skin. She couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

“You gonna take responsibility for her?” another voice cut in. There was an extra layer of meaning beneath their tone that Carr didn’t trust in the slightest.

Shit, she’d forgotten about the third bandit. She snapped her head around, watching that one’s approach closely. Tall and slim, with toned muscles evident beneath gear in better condition than the other two, they moved fluidly through the brush towards her. Both her bandit and the suspicious one went still, waiting quietly as they studied Carr. Clearly, that one was the leader and would be the deciding factor on whether she was getting into the camp or not.  

Carr dropped her gaze when they crouched before her, jabbing their bow into the ground to lean upon. Their gaze felt like tiny bugs crawling across her skin, and she shivered. 

After what felt like forever, they finally nodded and stood, strapping their bow over their shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get back. Lox’ll have your hide for this, just so y’know.” 

The suspicious one huffed, sounding dissatisfied.

A thrill went through Carr as her bandit assisted her to her feet, but she kept her eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, settling his arm around her shoulder. 

Ugh. But she leaned into him, allowing him to lead her back to the camp. Her eyes snagged on her dagger, shoved without care through the man’s belt, and her fingers twitched, itching to thieve it back. 

Not yet. She had to pretend a bit longer. For Resh. 

~~~

Resh

A cool cloth brushed over the sensitive skin of Resh’s forehead, waking him. 

His head didn’t hurt as badly, but gods, he felt like he was on fire, his flesh burning, set aflame from a single pulsing point on his chest. 

Subtly, he pulled on his arms, only to find they were still restrained. A shiver went through him, and the cloth pulled away abruptly. 

Resh cracked open his eyes to find a stocky figure sitting beside him, the lamplight flickering over their shoulder-length blond hair. He caught a flash of green as they turned their head to the side, and his insides froze over even while the heat scalded his skin. 

“Good, you’re awake,” the figure said, turning back to him holding a wooden cup. “You need to drink.” 

He shook his head, even though his mouth was dry, so so dry. No. No no nonono he wasn’t back with the prince he wasn’t he wasn’t he–

A hand gripped the back of his head, forcing it up as the cup was pressed to his lips. Liquid poured in, and he choked, unready. It kept coming anyway, so he forced himself to drink through the coughing. It was that or drown. 

“Good, that’s good,” the prince said. 

Resh sobbed as he was released, then pressed his lips together to suppress another bubbling cough. He squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to look at the rest of his surroundings. Unwilling to see white limestone, the final confirmation of his delusions. Real, this felt so real. Too real. 

But so had everything else! Carr, finally, finally talking to him in that meadow. Her small hands removing his gloves, resting against his cheek, soothing him after a nightmare. 

His sister, healthy, her hair growing, her skin losing its pallor. Laughing and joking and enjoying their journey. 

Had it really all been a figment of his imagination? A fever dream? He certainly felt like he had a fever. His heart cracked, the pieces crumbling as he came one step closer to believing the torture chamber was his reality. Maybe he would actually die this time, and it could all just be over. 

“He looks like shit,” a different voice said. Deeper. 

“Yeah, well. You shot him. Don’t know what you expected, really. Don’t think it hit a lung, at least, or surely he’d be dead by now.” 

He wished he was. Gods, how he wished he was.

“I need your help. Need to wash the wound out again, but he always fights, even restrained. Tore the stitches out once already.” 

A sigh, then hands clamping on his shoulders–his bare shoulders–pressing them flat against the hard surface he laid upon. Pain lanced through his chest, and he cried out soundlessly, trying to pull away. Another figure straddled his hips, pinning him down even more. 

“We’re just trying to help you!” one of them shouted at him, but he didn’t, couldn’t trust the words, especially as the liquid poured over his chest. 

He could feel it bubbling in the wound, the fire multiplied by a thousand, burrowing in to burn him alive inside now as well as out. He would’ve screamed, had the prince not ripped even that away from him already. 

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I have got to clean out the wound.” 

Lies. He wasn’t sorry. Resh shook his head from side to side, straining, desperate to get away from it. Lies lies lies lies

“He hasn’t made a single sound, but he looks like he’s screaming.” 

“Have you seen his chest? This guy has been through some shit. I don’t like doing this, Lox.” 

“It needs to be done, or he’ll die. Do you want that?” 

The words washed over Resh, a haze of agony coating everything. They didn’t make sense. Who the fuck was Lox? But he blinked as the pain died down a little, saw the prince bending over him, and didn’t know anymore. 

What was real? This pain was real–but was it? Sometimes it wasn’t, he remembered, but then more liquid poured and his mind whited out under the blistering pain and his throat strained to make sounds it was no longer capable of producing. 

When he came back around, the shape of familiar words flying off his lips–please, no more, please, no more–someone was gently patting at his chest, saying the last words he expected. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m trying to be as careful as I can. Sorry.” 

Exhausted, Resh laid his head back down. His shoulders were no longer pressed down, and there was no weight across his waist. He opened his eyes but allowed them to skim past that person who was the prince who wasn’t the prince because they kept apologizing every time he flinched. 

A flash of blue caught his attention, just past the large man blocking most of the doorframe across the room. The room with whitewashed wooden walls, not stone. Or was it? Oh gods. He blinked. Hazel eyes peered under the man’s–Lox’s?–arm, there and then gone so quickly Resh wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. 

But he’d know those eyes anywhere, and his heart leapt. 

It just didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. 

The cup was pressed to his mouth again, and Resh swallowed this time instead of choking, grimacing at the sticky sweetness left behind on his tongue. The other man was gone by the time he finished, and so was the person in blue. 

It couldn’t have been Carr, then. 

It couldn’t have been anyway because if this was not the torture chamber, then Carr was dead. Orla was dead. He had as good as killed them, making them travel across the country with him. 

Resh turned his head away from the cup when it was offered again, and this time the prince not prince didn’t push it on him. 

He watched dully as they dimmed the lamp, then left the room, the sound of a lock snicking closed horribly familiar. 

And yet, he didn’t care. 

Worse, he decided as the room began to waver in his vision. As his heart caved in and left what felt like a jagged, fist-sized hole behind. As his chest heaved with the silent sobs he no longer bothered to hold back. This was so much worse. 

His crying sparked lancets of agony radiating across his body from the burning wound under his collarbone. Every stuttering gasp felt like inhaling shards of broken glass. He welcomed the pain. 

But whatever had been in the water fuzzed his mind, and his eyes eventually drifted closed, his breathing leveling off. The tears tracking down his temples followed him into his drugged sleep. 

~~~

Carr

Carr’s bandit marched her straight into the biggest of only three cabins in the bandit’s little valley, past the watchful eyes of probably most of the place’s inhabitants. 

Demex, he’d told her his name was.  

Well, Demex bore up against the scrutiny well, even as Carr cringed away from it. Maybe because she cringed, which he could very well tell with his arm around her shoulder, dragging her body into his side. She permitted it. She had no choice, now did she. 

For Resh. 

Demex bore up less well under Lox’s scrutiny. Carr flattened herself against the wall, ostensibly hiding behind her bandit while he got his ass handed to him, but really the positioning allowed her to see under Lox’s arm into the room he was trying to block with his body. Kind of. 

She caught flashes of someone moving around a bed. What looked like medical supplies on a nearby table, some bloodied bandages. 

And then–a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. Their gazes met for all of five seconds before the person at his bedside blocked her view, but Carr was certain it was him. 

Her heart sped up, her breaths quickening. So fast! She couldn’t believe she’d found him so quickly. And he was alive. Her knees buckled as relief sluiced through her, and all that saved her from sliding down the wall was Demex’s hand slipping around her waist. 

“Hey there, you alright? Rowan is a little busy right now, but they can check you out in the morning, if that suits?” 

“Alright,” Carr said faintly. She willed strength back into her legs. “Wh-what now?” 

“What now is you get to talk to me,” Lox said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.  

The only thing that stopped her from snatching her dagger back, burying it in this guy’s chest, and bursting into that room to get to Resh was that it appeared as if they were caring for his injuries. 

And the small matter that a move like that would certainly get her killed. But she would’ve done it regardless, if she’d thought it necessary. 

Not yet, she told herself, staring up into the eyes of the man who’d chased their fucking carriage down.

Next

[rkxsungwoon-blog]

☆ mga5 callbacks; june 27 ! performance: the last of the real ones by fall out boy (singing + piano) ↪ song reference ( 0:06 - 1:11, 2:42 - 3:33 ) / piano reference ( 0:07 - 1:14, 3:08 - 4:01 )

when the email arrives, sungwoon is preoccupied, which is what he’ll call being elbow deep in kimchi for posterity’s sake. the kitchen looks like the scene of a bloody murder, and he grimaces at the thought of having to clean it up alone (unless he can rope any of the guys into doing it for him). it’s one of those things that just had to be done during his day off from work, however, like… laundry, or cleaning the bathroom, or washing the floors. to be clear, sungwoon is not a fussy person by nature; he just feels better when he has a lot on his plate. keeping himself busy with a thousand different things means he has no time to dwell, and sungwoon has too much to dwell on these days. the mgas aren’t even first on his list of ‘shit sungwoon is very obviously and determinedly not touching with a ten foot pole’.

but they are there, a persistent reminder of decisions he’s made, for better or for worse. decisions they’ve all made, since this year is about more than just him and daniel. in some ways, he’s a supporting character this time around; the bulk of the anxiety, the nervousness, the fluttering feelings that come with your first performance ought to belong to woojin, kenta, and minhyun. sungwoon is a little older, a little wiser, no longer the wide-eyed newbie with shaky knees from last season. he wonders what it says about him that he sort of misses that. not the shaky knees part, but being excited for what’s to come—for the beginning of a journey, not a stroll down a familiar path.

unlike the rest, he’s not waiting on the results of their audition with the same fervor. his lack of interest isn’t born out of confidence; rather, the experience of having gone through all this once already mellows him out and makes him less desperate for the news, knowing it’ll come when it comes. thus, when the first member of empty enigma receives an all-important email from mnet, sungwoon is in no haste to check if he received one too. “i’ll do it later,” he says, turning his attention back to his work. neither kenta nor minhyun seem eager to open it anyway—until daniel arrives and shatters the calm with his exuberance.

sungwoon is only tangentially aware of the results (and the celebrations), but he can’t stop the smile from spreading over his face as he hears the other celebrate behind him. he’s thrilled on their behalf, obviously. in his biased opinion, all his friends deserve to make it till the end of this competition. from his self-imposed exile in the kitchen, he makes it a point to look over his shoulder and say, “i always knew you guys had it in you,” the way all gruff-but-proud dads do in the movies.  

but otherwise, sungwoon is, once again, elbow deep in kimchi no matter how much kenta and daniel bother him to check his phone please (“do you guys just not want to eat, then?” sungwoon grumbles). they’re too persistent for him to ignore, so he washes up and takes his sweet time in pulling out his phone to check the inbox (just to mess with them).

and maybe there is a brief moment where sungwoon’s throat constricts because he can’t see anything from mnet there, and he thinks, wildly, about how funny it would be if he was the only member of the band so far who didn’t actually qualify. but he refreshes and there it is, the callback notice with all the details he needs for the second round of pre-show performances. he keeps his expression impassive as he turns the screen to show the rest of his friends. “i’m in,” he says in his best hacker voice. and later, once they’ve bothered woojin into checking his emails as well, he can say, “we’re all in.” no dream-like disbelief to spare here; sungwoon believes that empty enigma deserves at least this much. it’s not full confirmation of all their hard work—they’re not on the show yet—but it’s a step forward.  

and they’re all taking it together.

-

sungwoon takes a few more days off work to figure out his performance. his boss doesn’t buy his cryptic, half-assed excuses for why he needs the vacation; she simply tells him to consider the time off his belated birthday gift. the kind edge to her smile makes sungwoon feel marginally better about being selfish here. if he really pushed himself, he could’ve managed to put something together while working days, but sungwoon wants to give the callbacks his entire focus. unlike daniel or kenta or even woojin, he doesn’t instinctively know what he’ll be performing. the back ups (and their back ups) from his first audition are obsolete or sound boring to him now. sungwoon feels the need to start over.

daniel’s doing an original song, from what he knows. sungwoon wonders if he should go the same route too. maybe do a song off the album, since they are meant to promote it whenever they can. hunched over his desk, he goes through the album tracklist multiple times in search of a potential song—and comes back to sleepless in phoenix and winter everywhere each time.  it would be the ultimate power play, right? to perform his own released song on a platform like the mgas? as squall, as empty enigma’s frontman, this should be his job.

but after spending a couple of hours reworking the songs to fit the two minute limit, sungwoon decides against it. they’re too blatant, too personal. he almost tells himself they belong to squall, but he knows that’s not entirely true. the album and these songs were the first time he tried to reconcile squall and sungwoon into one person. the results are… still a little confusing, but sungwoon made the attempt and feels better about harnessing them both overall. maybe they aren’t so different—all personas, all facets that ultimately combine to make him who he is.

searching for a replacement is a daunting task, mostly because it forces sungwoon to confront what type of performer he wants to be in front of the judges. the risky play would be to sing and dance, but it feels like a risk for risk’s sake and nothing else. he could just sing a powerhouse ballad or something (sungwoon knows he’s good enough to pull it off), but that doesn’t feel like him either—it’s too safe. the answer lies somewhere with squall, who all but shoves sungwoon to the song he eventually settles on. it’s… almost perfect: rock, with a sick piano accompaniment sungwoon quickly makes his own. it combines the best parts of him.

sleepless nights pile up as he works on the rearrangement, settling for nothing less than perfection. there is quite a bit to work through; his first attempt at the rearrangement is too dramatic, so he shifts gears and tweaks until he’s happy with the way it sounds. the big worry following that is pronunciation. doing a song purely in english is always tricky, but sungwoon has done enough covers with empty enigma to feel comfortable with it. the rest of the band members are busy with their own preparations in the meantime, and while he’d never call their house quiet, it does feel a little lonely. he consoles himself by thinking about how good performance day will be, to see them all come together.

(in his weaker moments, sungwoon nearly texts daniel, the lyrics from his chosen song swimming in his head. he’s not sure why it resonates with him so much. the translation into korean is clunky, the original meaning lost, but when he thinks of that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from, daniel’s face pops into his mind. at the end of the day, he doesn’t. it seems too much too soon, a blatant acknowledgement of whatever there is between them. sungwoon wishes he could name it, but it’s still too uncertain for him to believe in wholeheartedly. maybe one day, when he confronts the feelings he’s been avoiding, but for now—he thinks, and dreams).

-

“i’m not playing a keytar for the callbacks.”

at certain times in a young man’s life, he has to put his foot down. for sungwoon, this is one of those times. in his eagerness to pull off the best performance possible, he forgot to consider the logistics of… well, everything. specifically, how much effort and sheer physical strength it takes to lug a keyboard across town for a two minute performance. kenta suggests the keytar instead, and sungwoon almost warms up to the idea until he remembers how fucking stupid a keytar looks on anyone. this is not the time for sungwoon to look fucking stupid.

minhyun offers to help, which is nearly enough for sungwoon to insist on doing it himself, but god knows he can’t afford to be petty today. so he swallows his pride and accepts minhyun’s generous offer, promising vaguely to pay him back somehow. smiles, a little, when minhyun’s back is turned, so faintly that he doesn’t even know it until the moment passes. the whole band is dressed in empty enigma t-shirts, courtesy of kenta, to try and get some promo in where they can. it feels like they’re outfitted for a war, which might be fitting in the case of the mgas. at least

they arrive at the venue together with time to spare, though sungwoon doesn’t linger where he’s not meant to—he has a whole fucking keyboard to take care of. maybe he regrets insisting on bringing it, but it’s too late now! instead of focusing on his questionable upper body strength, he takes some time to survey the crowd gathered around. empty enigma are only five out of a hundred. it seemed like such a large number, but sungwoon has worked bigger crowds as squall before. still, this isn’t a dimly lit club, the haze of the smoke machine obscuring the audience’s faces. he actually spots quite a few familiar ones as he makes his way over to some free seats with the rest of the band.

which places them near people sungwoon is mildly uncomfortable to see here. he ends up seated directly in front of eunji and turns around briefly to offer a half-hearted smile. somehow, he doesn’t feel like it lands the way he intends it to. joohyun is further away, saving sungwoon the awkwardness of having to say hello, but she’s right behind daniel. and there is, despite his best efforts, a heavy weight settling on his shoulders as he thinks about the reality he’s been desperately trying to avoid by keeping busy and not allowing his mind to drift to daniel’s confession of a few weeks ago. sometimes sungwoon wishes he were more ignorant and less likely to pick up on the glaringly obvious clues in front of him.

this is not what he wants to think about during callbacks, not when he’s spent so long studiously ignoring the ramifications of whatever the fuck it means to be in love with someone who tells you he’s split between two people. in his darker moments, sungwoon wonders if he’ll ever be enough for someone on his own. while he knows daniel’s indecision doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, if he allows himself to dwell on it, he just feels like shit. in his lighter moments, sungwoon wonders if he could ever be selfless enough to retreat and make the decision that much simpler on daniel, to cut himself out of the equation altogether before he has a chance to get hurt, but—

(“i really, really like you.”)

if only he weren’t greedy. if only he didn’t want so desperately to be chosen this time.

his heart might be a mess, but his head is still alert enough to note the entrance of the five ceos and the hush that descends throughout the room. sungwoon recalls their faces with startling clarity from the previous year, and thinks wryly that he might have an edge on most others here. he’s familiar with being judged by them. but with that comes regret as well; he’d felt inadequate for the first time in a while in front of their eyes during the last season. if sungwoon knew they would be present for this round of judging, he likely would’ve done something different to show he took their criticisms to heart and worked hard to improve. sing and dance, damn the risk, just to make it clear he respected them enough to work on their notes.

it’s too late now. resting a hand on the keyboard propped up beside his chair, sungwoon swallows a sigh and plasters a smile on his face. at the end of the day, he’s still excited about his performance the direction he’s chosen to take. sungwoon just hopes his oversight won’t come back to bite him in the ass. his earlier confidence taking another hit, he’s a little quieter than normal as the ceos begin calling individual performers up one after another. the people in front of the band are rowdy enough on their own; sungwoon makes a face in their direction, then leans over to woojin to whisper, “you’d think the loud crowd would tone it down for the cameras,” to have woojin nod in agreement.

the performances blur together soon enough. a few stand out enough for sungwoon to straighten up in his seat in interest, and some have him slumping down and cringing. kenta’s chatty, likely because he’s nervous, so the bulk of sungwoon’s commentary is directed at him. part of him misses the familiarity of daniel, the long-suffering patience with which he endured sungwoon’s reactions last year. he wants desperately to talk to him, but he’s scared of looking over and seeing something he doesn’t want to. so he contents himself with talking to kenta and woojin, laughing and critiquing and expressing excitement for their performances, until—

he glances over by accident in time to see joohyun lean forward to whisper something in daniel’s ear. sungwoon blinks hard and tears his eyes away, ignoring the voice in his head that whispers, they look so good together. it’s different knowing daniel cares about joohyun and different seeing it in front of him, the easy way in which they both seem to fit, like two puzzle pieces put together at last. maybe this is what love should look like, the proper fucking kind of love. whatever sungwoon feels still seems unnatural some days, like he’s going against nature and everything right in the world and this heartache is his punishment for it. maybe he’ll hurt a thousand times over for the slimmest glimmer of hope—

running a hand through his hair and destroying the hairstyle he carefully worked on this morning, sungwoon tells himself to snap the fuck out of it. this is not the time or place for personal problems. compartmentalization is a wondrous skill, and he retreats into the safe, protective nonchalance of squall. but even squall is morose and annoyed and burning with the bitter kind of jealousy sungwoon specifically does not want to engage in, so he breaks away from him as well and finds himself drifting.

when daniel’s name is called, sungwoon is still a little distracted and dazed, able to offer only a hasty, “good luck,” before he’s gone. he barely notices minhyun has moved into the seat beside him until his hand wraps around sungwoon’s, and he’d laugh at how regular this seems to have become if it weren’t for the tight feeling in his chest. if he didn’t need this and the cheap comfort it provides. whether it’s minhyun or just the physical contact itself, the brief moment anchors him more solidly to the ground and he thinks, it’s okay. i have this.

daniel’s performance is as good as sungwoon expects it to be, and he’s so proud of his friend for having the courage to do an original song. he wishes he had enough courage to lean over and say so, but something keeps him rooted in place. kenta and minhyun perform shortly after, with sungwoon jokingly telling kenta to “hit ‘em with the high and low,” before his performance. they’re both good—minhyun, especially, is much better than sungwoon expected—and he can’t help but think that this is his band. all these talented individuals are his friends. woojin absolutely kills it with his dancing as well; sungwoon genuinely didn’t know he was that good. giving woojin’s shoulder a gentle, congratulatory squeeze when he returns to his seat, sungwoon turns to the front and awaits his turn.  

by some twist of fate, hyun bin is the one to call his name. it’s ironic enough that he feels like it might be on purpose. hyun bin was the one to deliver his elimination sentence last year, his complimentary words offset by the harsh truth. sungwoon sucks in a deep breath and stands up to answer the summons, keyboard in tow. full circle, right? he resolutely does not look at daniel or joohyun or any of his friends as he stands in front of the judges, his back straight and head held high, focus narrowing on the stage and only the stage. no time for bullshit—this is his spotlight.

“hello, my name is ha sungwoon.” diligently, he sinks into a bow before throwing the ceos a smile. “i didn’t think we would meet again so soon.” or at all, but life has a funny way of working out. “i’m no longer the tiny giant from last year; i’ve grown.” literally, because shoe lifts, which he points to with a sheepish laugh, but in skill as well. he hopes that much will be obvious on its own. “i will be performing the last of the real ones by fall out boy today. thank you for this opportunity.” with practiced ease, he slips his keyboard out of its cover and finishes setting up, mind calming as he stands poised to begin.

the first notes he plays stand on their own, bereft of sungwoon’s vocals. he’d thought about cutting straight to the first verse initially, but the initial moment of accompaniment grounds him, puts him in a familiar territory. everything else falls away, like a crumbling cliff-face into the dark sea below. thinking (or overthinking) is not necessary when he plays the piano; it comes from somewhere within, his fingers guided by an unseen force. the piano rearrangement is a lot softer than the original, but sungwoon intended it that way on purpose. the stripped down version allows his vocals to stand out more without sacrificing the integrity of the song. but it’s still representative of him and the things he loves best: singing, playing the piano, and getting creative with his music. he can’t think of anything else that could better express the artist he is and wants to be.  

i was just an only child of the universe and then i found you and then i found you you are the sun and i am just the planets spinning around you spinning around you

you were too good to be true gold plated but what's inside you but what's inside you i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you but not as much as i do as much as i do, yeah

the ghost of a smile touches his lips as he flows easily into the first verse. initially, it is slow, a gentle confession he pours his heart into. eyes fluttering shut, sungwoon channels his own feelings of discovery and sense of wonderment at falling in love so intensely for the first time into his words. it’s supposed to be tentative and meek. you’re supposed to get swept up in the tide, especially when the person you care about burns more brightly than you do. his eyes snap open as he transitions into the second part of the verse, growing louder as the near accusation that pours from his mouth. the fear and anxiety is something sungwoon knows well, and for now he embraces it. a song is always about more than the words and the voice singing it—it’s about the emotions it elicits in the singer and the audience. and he’s peeling back the layers here to leave himself bare.

his gaze drifts to daniel momentarily as he sings the final three lines of the verse, maybe because he’s feeling brave (maybe because he’s just feeling it). and it’s no longer than the span of a heartbeat, but the heat in sungwoon’s eyes morphs into something delicate as he thinks, you know what i mean, right?

'cause you're the last of a dying breed write our names in the wet concrete i wonder if your therapist knows everything about me i'm here in search of your glory there's been a million before me that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from you're just the last of the real ones

the small pause as he sings, yeah, gives sungwoon a chance to collect himself before launching into the chorus. his voice reaches a crescendo while his fingers fly across the keys. the chorus is the highlight, the culmination of all that lovesick desperation. sungwoon doesn’t know if he’d call this a typical love song, but he doesn’t want to sing a typical song for a typical love. he needs more—that ultra fucking kind of love. his mouth twists into a smirk at the word glory, courtesy of squall. there’s been a million on the stage before him, likely, but as sungwoon looks at the judges near the end of the chorus, he wants to be more than just a number.

i'm here at the beginning of the end oh, the end of infinity with you i'm here at the beginning of the end oh, the end of infinity with you

i'm done with having dreams the thing that i believe oh, you drain all the fear from me i'm done with having dreams the thing that i believe you drain the fear from me

he softens once more for the first part of the bridge, his voice growing quieter to match the gentle accompaniment. in his mind’s eye, sungwoon is the only one in the room, singing to himself. and maybe he should be scared of being so vulnerable when more than a hundred people are looking at him to judge. the second half of the bridge all but punches through his apprehensions, face splitting into a genuine, unabashed grin as he sings without any fear. he can’t relate fully—sungwoon still has too many dreams he’s not ready to put to bed just yet, but the thing he believes in is himself, his own capabilities. most of that is thanks to himself. he thinks about how he’d run away after the last mgas, lost and broken and embarrassed, but he’s changed now. fortune favors the bold. it should favor him.

'cause you're the last of a dying breed write our names in the wet concrete i wonder if your therapist knows everything about me i'm here in search of your glory there's been a million before me that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from you're just the last of the real ones

because of the way he rearranged the song, sungwoon decides to play around with the ending. the final line builds into a high note he holds for a few seconds, the accompaniment lingering as it fades. his heart is in his throat as he blinks and sinks into another bow, thanking the audience for watching his performance. without his voice and the piano, he suddenly feels a little exposed and hastens to get offstage. heading back to his seat on unsteady legs (not just because of the keyboard’s bulk; he bets he looks hilarious trying to drag something of that size along with him), sungwoon all but collapses in his seat. the post-performance buzz fades slowly, awareness creeping back in at a snail’s pace, but then—

sungwoon starts as daniel reaches for his hand, his fingers curling open to receive him of their own accord. a jolt runs down his spine at the moment of contact. eyebrow raised, he glances over in question, wondering if he’s okay, wondering if he didn’t mean to reach for someone else. but daniel’s hand wraps around his own, steady and sure, and sungwoon’s eyes soften despite his own scattered misgivings.

maybe he’s destined to end up here every single time, feeling foolish and embarrassed by his own thoughts yet accepting whatever daniel gives him anyway like he hasn’t been waiting for it. maybe he’s destined to take it all—the ugly and the confusing parts, the truths that hurt and the lies daniel won’t say. maybe if sungwoon could do it all again, he’d do it exactly like this. he’d choose to be here. he’d choose to fall in love with daniel (but, his heart supplies, that was never really up to him, was it?)

sungwoon brushes his thumb over daniel’s knuckles before squeezing tightly, fiercely, leftover courage from the performance making him bold. he doesn’t know exactly where they are or what to expect, but for now he’ll take this moment and hold it in his heart.

that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from—

yeah, he thinks. it might be.