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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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pirate!ateez |2|

The continuation of the pirate ateez au inspired by pretty much every wonderland stage and the kingdom wonderland performance!! Once again credits to mai @wingkkun for the ideas that sparked san, mingi, and yeosang’s stories!

(Reading part 1 isn’t required to understand what happens here; however, there are spoilers for previous members’ stories!!)

Pairing: Ateez x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 11.9k (total)

Genre: some fluff, mostly angst, pirate!au

Triggers: cursing, blood and death (sometimes semi-graphic) - specific triggers for each section are listed below the header!

Part 1 (Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang) | Part 2 (San, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho)

Ateez Masterlist

san (ABS - specialty in swordsmanship)

warnings: cursing

so. san.

poor dude i put him through a lot in hongjoong’s part :/ he didn’t deserve that i’m sorry san

but let’s start from the beginning

unlike some of the others, san has only ever known the streets. he has no memory of real parents, just various random caretakers who ended up causing him more harm than good

there are two singular exceptions to this during san’s childhood: you and an older pirate named jongin

you’ve been there ever since san can remember. even now he’s not entirely sure how or when you two met, he must’ve been very young, but he just knows you’ve been with him for what feels like forever

the two of you wandered the streets together, begging and stealing food whenever you could

it only makes sense that you two would fall in love once you were old enough to understand it (which comes a little later than either of you would’ve liked - you’re probably sixteen or seventeen when you get the guts to press san against a wall and kiss him like person starved as san kisses back with just as much fervor)

when you were still together, it sometimes felt like you were the only reason san could stay alive

you mean the world to each other. the literal world

so that’s you - someone san knows will never abandon him willingly, will always stay by his side as long as they can

now uh moving on to jongin

you two were young when you tried to pickpocket him that one time

immediately it was clear you’d messed with the wrong guy - he noticed you two immediately and you were caught

but surprisingly, all he did was smile and offer to buy you something to eat

and being the hungry children you were (san thinks you were around twelve at the time) you said yes without a second thought

luckily jongin didn’t have any ulterior motives - in fact, he taught you and san to become better pickpockets, how to take advantage of people’s blind spots and your natural talents

so naturally, he became both of your role model

and because jongin was a pirate, you two resolved to become pirates just like him when you grew older, even asking him to take you on his ship whenever he returned to the city to visit.

but every time, jongin refuses. when you’re younger you kind of accept it, but as you and san grow older you start to insist more and more

there’s nothing left for you two here except a life still on the streets, and isn’t being a pirate pretty much the same? stealing and pillaging, just on the ocean instead of on dry land

neither you nor san flinches at blood, and you can both deal with injuries

but jongin still refuses, finally telling you just how far from heroes pirates really are. they kill and steal, often more than they need, not taking just enough money and food to survive or pass out to those less fortunate the way you and san both do

this kills the dream a little for you and san, though you both come to the conclusion that not all pirates have to be horrible - look at jongin

so you still resolve to become pirates, maybe on a crew that isn’t as terrible as the ones jongin has told you two about

this sort of dream goes on for another year or so. you and san figure out your shit and finally kiss, jongin mock claps when he finds out before disappearing again, you and san wander the streets again still with little aim but your interlocked hands are purpose enough

until you get kidnapped.

san literally almost goes insane when he can’t find you after two days. tears around the city like a man possessed, looking everywhere you might be and then everywhere you definitely aren’t on the off chance he’ll find you

but even when jongin arrives back in the city a few weeks later and joins san’s frantic search, you’re never found

it’s all too much. way too much for san - he’s literally lost the one person who keeps him sane - and honestly the last straw is when jongin asks if he wants to join his crew now

deep inside san knows he means it out of the goodness of his heart. jongin isn’t evil and he’s hurting too with your disappearance, he’s just trying to give san a semblance of a new home

but san explodes. none of this would’ve happened if jongin had taken them in earlier, had let them join the crew together, if he’d even taught them more - it’s his fault, it’s his fucking fault

jongin tries to grab san but he just twists away - jongin’s touch feels like fire burning against his skin - and runs

for how long he runs, san genuinely doesn’t know. he just knows that he can’t stay here, can’t stay in this city anymore

so he becomes somewhat of a highway robber? holding travelers at sword point and demanding what they have

the sword he uses was gifted to him by jongin and it makes him feel sick every time he pulls it out, but even though san is sometimes irrational, he’s not stupid - he needs a weapon, and if this is the only one he has, so be it

doesn’t matter if memories of you and an older pirate come flooding back every time he grips the handle.

san makes a name for himself - people whisper about him, tell travelers to avoid the paths he frequents, but the thing is he doesn’t really frequent anywhere. he’s a wanderer too, which makes him so dangerous because he’s so unpredictable

until hongjoong appears and san makes the mistake of challenging him to a fight.

i say mistake but really, it was probably one of the singularly most life-changing events for san except for 1. meeting you, 2. your disappearance, and 3. leaving jongin

because when hongjoong has his sword positioned over san’s neck and san thinks he’s about to die, hongjoong gives him a choice - join his crew or get his throat cut

san just scoffs at first and is like why would you want a highway robber on your crew? don’t you know who i am?

hongjoong does know, of course - he actually tracked san down because he needed a good swordsman to join his crew and thought san would be perfect

san is on the edge of saying no, but hongjoong is one of three people who’ve ever beaten san in a fight (jongin, you, and now joong) so he’s got a little grudging respect for the guy

but even more than that, he remembers you and remembers your pact to find a semi-decent ship and join the crew

it seems like a childish pact now, but for some reason, once he remembers it, he can’t put it out of his mind

(maybe it’s because if you’re dead, which you probably are, san wants to at least fulfill his part of any promises you made so long ago)

so he says yes

for the first few weeks, san really considers jumping ship

seasickness is a bitch, first of all, even if the ship’s doctor is nice enough to give him tips on how to handle it

but the main issue isn’t just him being sick - it’s the people

not all of them. most are fine. but san has a particular problem with wooyoung and his partner, not because they’re assholes or anything, but because they remind him way too much of him and you. childhood friends who grew up together and wouldn’t part for the world, except they’re still joined at the hip while you’re lost

and san just thinks it’s horribly unfair that you had to be torn away from him while others are allowed to stay together

but really, the ship is better than living on the edge on land. besides woo + his partner, the others are nice, and san has found himself a match in sword fighting with hongjoong and yunho

so as time passes, san acclimates to the ship. he gets closer to everyone there and comes out of his shell, even becoming friends with yeosang whom he previously deemed too close to woo + his partner to deal with

and because yeosang is a package deal with the other two, san eventually becomes friends with them too

for the first time in a long time, san thinks he’s happy, even though he still sorely misses you and wishes you were here. but you’re dead or at least long gone, and he’s not going to find you again

so when you turn up on an enemy pirate ship several years later, san nearly has a heart attack when he sees your face (wooyoung actually has to catch him when he stumbles)

from the widening of your eyes, it’s pretty much the same reaction for you

there’s no fight, at least not then. the town your ships have docked in is safe ground for pirates, meaning the villagers will deal with them but won’t tolerate fights

so your crews resupply, all the while studiously ignoring the pirates from the other ship

but san is itching to talk to you - even just see your face one more time

you look so different yet somehow exactly the same and san wants to know what happened to you - how did you get that scar down the side of your face?

you feel the exact same way.

when you were kidnapped, you were taken on a pirate ship that was far less respectable than hongjoong’s. meaning you went through a fucking lot

you tried to escape at least five times but each time you just got caught, so you eventually gave up. so here you are, ignoring the literal love of your life because your ship is shit and happens to have beef with hongjoong’s

meaning you couldn’t escape if you tried.

so you’ve resigned yourself to mere stolen glimpses of san’s face but then your captain gives all of you a mission

he wants a hostage. and he wants you to lure one of them in.

you don’t want this mission. you fucking hate it and you hate your crew and you don’t want anything more than to just run away so you just ignore it and resolve to subtly sabotage your crewmates’ efforts in any way you can

and for the most part it works

but then you’re on deck, helping one of your crewmates put some supplies away

when a crowd comes on board, bruised and bloodied, and drops choi san onto the wooden floor.

the captain is ecstatic - they’ve managed to catch hongjoong’s best swordsman, no doubt they’ll get a hefty ransom for him

but you’re not listening. all you can do is avoid san’s sharp gaze

and think of a way to help him escape.

the ship sets sail within hours, trying to get away from hongjoong as quickly as possible. san lives his days in one of the tiny cells belowdecks, barely fed between questioning sessions during which he says nothing

but he can feel hope slipping away, day by day - even he can’t break through chains, and even if he could, his sword is gone. five or six pirates he could maybe take alone without a weapon, but there are far more on this ship

still, when the ship finally docks, san has resolved to at least attempt an escape. he knows the captain is in negotiations with hongjoong over getting him back so hongjoong has to be in the same port, or at least nearby

so when someone opens the cell again, san literally launches himself at them in an aborted attempt to run

you subdue him quickly - you’re not dehydrated and underfed, after all

san just gapes into your face that’s barely lit by a torch on the wall outside his cell. he has so much he wants to say, the first being how could you do this to him, did none of your time together mean anything -

but then you unlock the chains around his wrists, toss him a bundle of fresh clothes, and tell him to get changed

dressed in the new clothes, he looks like a member of the crew, and you tell him to keep his head down as you bring him up out of the ship and into the village

san’s still kind of dumbfounded so when you tell him to run, he doesn’t understand at first. run where?

hongjoong’s ship is in the next port, you say. on foot, it’ll take a few days to get there, so he needs as much of a head start before people realize he’s missing

therefore - you push back his forehead with a finger - fucking run, choi san. i don’t recall you being stupid before.

when he understands, he tries to tell you to come with him - hongjoong’s a decent captain, he’ll probably understand

but you shake your head. you yourself need to leave. once your captain realizes san has disappeared, it’s only a matter of time before you get found out, considering the number of unconscious and dead bodies you left in your wake, and you need to be long gone and away from san before that happens. you’re not going to bring more harm on him again. the least you could do is maybe divert their attention for a while

san’s heart sinks when he realizes you have no intention of coming with him, no matter how much he tries to convince you

and he almost starts crying again - just when he’s finally gotten you back, fate is forcing you to slip through his fingers yet again

you just hug him and apologize for everything, for getting kidnapped, for not helping him escape until now even though none of that is your fault

san says that and more, apologizes for even thinking you’ve changed - he should’ve known you were still the same person he’d fallen in love with so long ago

but there’s no more time and now you’re pushing him away and telling him he needs to go before it’s too late. in the process, you press a blade into his hand.

for protection.

it’s faintly familiar. and when san looks a little more closely, he realizes it’s the blade that jongin gave you so long ago, a copy of the same one he gave san. only the initials etched into the handle are different.

it makes him feel sick. san had switched his blade out for another sword the second he could, too many memories of you and jongin attached to it. but you never stopped using yours.

that knowledge makes his insides burn with shame and he tries to give it back to you but you force him to take it. i have more weapons than just this. you have nothing. and now you need to go.

he kisses you one last time. you kiss him back with just as much fervor and when you break away, there’s a small smile on your lips

you tell him you’re glad he’s found a kind crew, a crew he’ll be happy to remain with. you’re glad he’s luckier than you

san tries to tell you again to come with him, but you shake your head. hongjoong won’t be happy to take in a member of an enemy crew, and even if he was, that’d only turn your ship’s sights on san’s for a long time. you won’t have that.

so you disappear with a last reminder not to be stupid, a wavering smile on your face

it takes everything san has to return to hongjoong’s ship without chasing after you, and he’s welcomed back with open arms and warm words

but despite being back with his family, san’s heart sinks the farther they get from the harbor, knowing that he’ll probably never find out what happened to you, his original family, after this

wooyoung tries to comfort him, saying not to lose hope - after all, you met once after your separation, you might meet again

however, fate isn’t kind. san knows that very well. twice you’ve met, and twice you were separated

san hopes wooyoung is right, hopes he’ll see you once more

but as the ship cuts through the water into the open ocean and land fades from sight...

deep inside, something tells san he won’t.

mingi (ABS)

warnings: cursing

you look me in the eyes and ask how it is possible for me to write angst for someone like mingi. i tell you i will try my best

that is a threat and a promise

anyway! let’s get on with it

mingi is a pure-hearted orphan who has somehow survived the demoralizing and horrible orphanage system in his hometown

he never knew his parents, all he’s ever known was that shitty little orphanage, it’s a miracle that didn’t break apart his pure personality

it helps that from a young age, mingi was taller and bigger than his peers - people didn’t want to mess with him

also when he’s not smiling, he can look pretty scary

but that left mingi lonelier than he wanted to be, so he resolved to smile whenever he could so that people wouldn’t feel intimidated by his stare

it didn’t win him many friends??? like the kids his age were more just weirded out by him smiling when they lived in a fucking orphanage. but he did get more free handouts from adults when he’d pretend to act like a cute kid, so he just kept doing that

eventually when he grew older, maybe mid-teens, he got a job working at his town’s port

mingi’s pretty smart and more importantly here, he’s very strong - just the type of worker his supervisors were looking for

the job is okay - not horrible, but it’s kind of boring and mingi’s supervisors aren’t always the nicest

but mingi’s always been the type of person to just content himself with the fact that hey, things could be worse

he might not have survived the orphanage

he might not have been born with strength

he might not have gotten a job that comes with a semi-stable roof over his head

so for a couple of years, this goes on, mingi helping ships unload and reload, stuff like that

until hongjoong’s ship pulls into port

it normally wouldn’t mean anything if hongjoong hadn’t been half dead on his feet with his partner and seonghwa pretty much carrying him down the gangplank

most people were just shoving them around, totally ignoring the fact that hongjoong clearly needed help

but even though his supervisor told him to go help one of the bigger ships, mingi saw hongjoong and went off to go help them

recommended a cheap place to get rest and offered to help them with some of the ship repairs so they wouldn’t have to pay so much (because their boat was... a little beaten up to say the least)

after a few days, hongjoong recovers from his sickness (brought on by exhaustion, not eating well, and god knows what else - his partner chewed him the fuck out), and they all thank mingi profusely

they’re about to leave then - the ship has been repaired thanks to mingi’s help and they’re ready to set sail again

but a glint appears in seonghwa’s eye and he suddenly turns around and asks mingi if he’d like to come with them

mingi: wha - you mean me?

seonghwa: is there another guy named mingi around?

mingi: i mean technically yeah, there’s a lee mingi working on the other end of the shipyard -

at first mingi’s like... no i don't think so because he has a stable job here, right? nothing really happens and it’s kind of boring, but being a pirate sounds kind of scary

but another part of him has been aching for something more interesting than the monotony of working at the port day in and day out

besides, hongjoong seems like a much nicer person than his supervisors

so in the end, mingi throws caution to the wind and joins the crew

he kind of questions it at first because he really doesn’t seem to have a knack for swordplay, also he kind of tends to panic/get squeamish when there are fights

but seonghwa keeps faith in him no matter what - he was the one to ask mingi if he wanted to stay, after all

so as time goes on and more people join the crew, mingi adjusts to life as a pirate. he finds his role on the ship in making repairs when they’re in port or even when they’re on board, which makes him happy - mingi likes being useful

he also likes jongho, who joins him as one of the ship’s repairmen when he ends up with the crew

he even becomes a fair swordsman - definitely not the best on the ship, not by a long shot, but after being trained by first hongjoong and then yunho (with san occasionally interjecting when he joins the crew), he definitely has the skills to defend himself and others

emphasis on others. because while mingi might panic during a fight where he’s only defending himself, when those he cares for come into play, mingi is a demon. an absolute demon.

an enemy pirate once got within a hair’s breadth of killing seonghwa once and mingi just unleashed absolute fury. first time he ever killed someone

it haunts him sometimes, but the knowledge that he was protecting seonghwa keeps him from dwelling on it too much. that’s how much mingi cares about his crew

and that comes into play when you enter his story

you’re the child of a couple corrupt aristocrats who have never, not once in their lives, given you the attention you deserved

no matter what you did, they didn’t care

you studied your ass off. you worked so hard on swordplay. you’re literally the golden child in the aristocratic circles of your region and other nobles wish you were their child, but all your parents ever do is give you a passing glance and a fake smile

sure they’ll praise you at parties and things when they talk to other nobles, but it’s all empty - they only barely remember all of your accomplishments. they just don’t care

then one day, hongjoong’s crew pisses off your family - ruins trade at some port or whatever

so your father puts a bounty on his crew’s heads

it’s not exactly a common thing to put bounties on the heads of pirates, but it can happen if a crew fucks around a little too much

and when the bounty goes out for the crew of the aurora (hongjoong’s ship), you seize on it as your last chance to gain your parents’ approval, the approval you’ve been seeking for quite literally your entire life

you’re not dumb - you know it’ll be hard, and you know your family is only going to be completely satisfied if you bring back proof that the captain is dead. not some other random crew member, though that’s a step in the right direction

you decide to go for one of those crew members first, preying on the fact that if one goes missing, the captain will likely be easier to capture

you’ve heard stories about hongjoong, he isn’t heartless. he actually does care about his crew, each of whom plays an integral role on the ship

which means if you can get one of them, you can lure him out - you might not even have to kill off the rest of the crew if you can just take him out

therefore you set your eyes on one song mingi. from the rumors he’s the worst at fighting, but he’s also essential when it comes to ship repairs

the perfect target for your plan

so you set out on your journey. your idea is to try and see if you can befriend mingi somehow, get him to trust you, then take him hostage

and somehow, you get lucky at the first port you visit - hongjoong’s ship is right there, aurora emblazoned on its side

it’s not hard to spot mingi - he’s one of the tallest, and he’s busy tinkering around the side of the ship

it’s even easier to get his attention

because your master plan is simple and dumb as fuck

fall into the water and pretend to drown.

mingi, being the pure-hearted lovely soul he is, jumps in to save you despite you being very able to swim

he’s worrying over you when he pulls you out of the ocean, spitting and choking water

and all you can think is 1. mingi is very handsome but more importantly 2. all of this is genuine. like too genuine

it unnerves you - how can a pirate be so pure of heart?

but you push that thought away. there has to be some hidden side of mingi that he hasn’t shown yet, he’s a pirate after all. you can’t feel guilt for using him - you need to gain your parents’ approval. you need to

so you do your damn best to keep him in port. every night you go out and subtly undo some of the repairs he’s made and create a few new problems as well

the ship ends up staying in port for a few more weeks than expected

and during that time, you find that mingi... is really not hiding anything

at all

you keep trying to prod at him when you invite him to bars for a drink, when you “coincidentally” catch him on the streets, etc.

but there’s nothing to mingi except his very kind personality that sometimes, against your better judgement, sweeps you off your feet

like when that horse-drawn carriage almost hit you and mingi pulled you away just in time

or when you bumped into the wrong person and they pulled a knife on you that mingi was fast enough to deflect

by the time those several weeks are over, you haven’t made any headway in your plan to kidnap mingi

you tell yourself that it’s fine, this mission was always going to take a long time - you could be here for over a year before the right opportunity presents itself after all, and mingi probably doesn’t trust you enough just yet for that to work anyway

mingi ends up sailing off again, and he promises to come back

also makes you promise to stay and wait for him.

you tell yourself another lie, that you’re happy he’s asking you to wait just because it’ll make your plan so much easier - plus, it means he likes you, which is a step towards trust

it’s definitely not because mingi’s smile is as bright as the sun itself.

the next time you see the aurora come into port, you swear to yourself you’ll do it this time. you’ll kidnap mingi, force hongjoong to come out so you can put his head on a silver platter

but it doesn’t happen. and the next time it doesn’t happen, either.

and in the end, you have to accept that the reason you keep sabotaging the ship, trying to keep mingi in port as long as you can, is that you like his smile. way more than you actually should.

some stupidly hopeful part of you tries to convince you that it’ll be fine, you can continue living like this

but another part of you knows lies never last

and a last part of you screams that you’re a disappointment to your family, falling in love with one of the pirates your parents have put a bounty on when that pirate probably doesn’t even love you back

he does, though. he really does

mingi loves the curve of your lips when you smile genuinely, when the clouds in your eyes disappear for a moment of pure, blessed happiness

he’s fallen in love with your mind, with your quick wit and light banter when you speak

for the past two trips on the ocean, mingi has dreamed of little more than holding you close and kissing you and he’d resolved to that, finally, when he came back this time

which is why his heart completely shatters when he finds you by the ship one dark night, carefully undoing some of the repairs he made just this morning

he never suspected it, but as he stands, watching you work, the pieces begin to click together

mingi isn’t stupid, after all - he knows you’re smart, knows you’re good with your hands, and you’ve also been extremely secretive about your past

even more secretive than he is about being a pirate.

you sense his presence when he gets closer before he even says anything and your hands freeze

for a moment, neither of you says anything

then mingi just lets out a cracked why?

you could lie. you consider it for a few frantic moments, mind working to conjure something credible

but it’s mingi. it’s fucking song mingi, the pirate you’ve fallen in love with against every single one of your wishes

so the truth behind all of your lies spills out in one go

in the moonlight, you can see mingi’s eyes turn from confused and betrayed to even more betrayed

but what really drives it home is when you mention hongjoong, and how you were trying to use mingi to lure him out

mingi’s eyes turn angry for the first time since you’ve met him

because like i said, mingi doesn’t take kindly to anyone who tries to hurt those whom he cares about

like yeah, he cares about you, but hongjoong is his captain, the captain who’s saved mingi’s life multiple times, often at risk of his own

that’s when mingi’s eyes narrow and his expression turns cold

a chill runs down your back, a chill you’ve never felt before in his presence

and mingi tells you then and there that he better not see you ever again

because if he does, it won’t end well

you’re in the next town before you allow yourself to process anything that just happened, mainly because you know that if you try you’ll start crying

and that’s exactly what happens in a dark little tavern at the edge of the city

you cry over yourself, over losing mingi, over failing your stupid mission for stupid parents who were never going to accept you anyway

you cry because you hurt someone so pure of heart just for two cold aristocrats who didn’t give a shit

you cry because now you have no purpose in life - you’ve catered your entire existence to your parents, and they don’t even care

what’s the point of anything now?

back on the ship, mingi doesn’t cry. he just stares at the fading town as the aurora draws farther and farther from land

your story plays in his mind over and over again

he sympathizes for you, he really does - mingi isn’t cruel or heartless, he heard the desperation in your voice when you talked about your parents and he’s seen the clouds in your eyes firsthand

but it doesn’t change the fact that you’d sought him out with the intention of hurting his crew beyond repair

he tries to tell himself this as comfort, to reaffirm that he did the right thing by chasing you off

deep inside, though, even if he’s sure he did right

the pain of a broken heart and what could have been, he knows, will never fully go away.

wooyoung (ABS)

warnings: cursing, death, blood

before i start i’d like to preemptively apologize

probably should’ve done that before every other part too idk why i'm only doing it now

maybe it’s because this one is 3.4k long and the second longest is a mere 2.8k (fuck you san)

doesn’t matter i've done it please don’t come for me

wooyoung is a ball of pure sunshine aboard the ship. almost literally

sometimes shines a little too bright (ie he gets annoying), but without him, the crew would fall into darkness

but a light needs a source, doesn’t it? it doesn’t just spontaneously emit out of nowhere - fires need kindling, candles need wax, even the sun burns on fuel

and wooyoung’s fuel is you.

like i mentioned in san’s part, you and wooyoung are childhood friends. probably not quite as long as san and his partner - you met when you were a bit older, maybe just after you turned twelve or something, but that doesn’t mean your bond is any less strong

wooyoung remembers your first meeting very clearly - in fact, it’s one of his favorite memories

some older kids were pushing him around, and wooyoung was just trying to run away

he’d just broken free and was running off when a hand grabbed his wrist, dragging him behind an empty market stall, and another hand slapped over his mouth to muffle his cry of surprise

the older kids ran past, then stopped, looking confused, but when they couldn’t see wooyoung anywhere they just left

you finally let go of wooyoung and he turns around to look at you

and from then on, he swears you’re his savior

seriously, wooyoung thinks you’re literally the greatest fucking thing on this planet. might not act like it all the time because he’s a little shit, but you mean more to him than anything in the world

you don’t plan to get attached to him, not at first - you’re a little more standoffish, you told wooyoung you only helped him because you really hate the group of kids that was messing with him

but wooyoung attaches himself to you like a fucking limpet and as the months pass, you find you don’t mind. not at all.

you’re both street orphans, pickpockets and all that - neither of you are in the orphanage (wooyoung just never ended up there, while you ran away early on) and you’ve both been alone for a long while, so it’s nice to have someone with whom you can trust your back

and as time goes on, you start thinking of wooyoung less as an ally and more as a friend, then less as a friend and more as someone you love

wooyoung, on the other hand, has been head over heels since day one - getting into your space, pressing stupid little kisses onto your dirty face even as you try to bat him away

but he obviously doesn’t make a move at first because he’s like fucking twelve and doesn’t understand what he feels, and when he grows older and figures it out, he refrains from doing too much (like kissing your lips) because you don’t seem to feel the same way

except you are an impatient fuck

so once you figure it out and more importantly, you figure wooyoung out, it takes less than a day for you to have him pressed up against a wall, kissing him with all the strength you can muster

when you pull away, lips swollen and eyes suddenly shy, wooyoung tries to crack a joke like wow, didn’t know i was that irresistible

you just smirk and say you’re the one who’s been staring at my lips day in, day out for the past several years, woo

oh yeah that’s when wooyoung knows you’re the one

(he does ask why the fuck you waited so long if you noticed everything over the past few years)

(the truth is you only really figured it out a few days ago, but you tell him you just wanted him to suffer)

(it cues a lot of angry whining and cute pouts even though he knows it’s a joke so what can you do but kiss him until he shuts up?)

anyway you and wooyoung more or less rule your small section of the streets

master pickpockets and all that, plus you know how to use a knife very well and wooyoung is adept at fighting with whatever the fuck happens to be nearby

you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and though you never truly lie, your reasonable-sounding words always have several layers of meaning, which is very useful in negotiations

meanwhile wooyoung is just really, really good at sliding out of sticky situations - you turn your head the other way for one second and he’s disappeared

people don’t really dare mess with either of you because they know that if one of you get hurt, the other will literally go out for blood

the same goes for yeosang - you met the quiet orphanage boy on one of the rare times he went outside, and everyone knows not to mess with him since he’s under your protection

this reputation precedes you, which is why you and wooyoung are very surprised when a tall, gangly looking dude comes into your little pocket of territory looking very lost

both of you immediately think this is someone good to pickpocket, or at least harangue for news - he’s clearly not from here

too bad mingi has a hongjoong on his side who is very worriedly looking for his tall lost repairman

and in the middle of you two getting up in mingi’s space, hongjoong appears, wielding a very scary-looking sword

both you and wooyoung know this is someone not to be messed with, but curiosity gets the better of you - who is this guy, why is he here, and why doesn’t he know to stay away?

instead of asking, though, you both run away fast enough that hongjoong doesn’t have to deal with you

the next day, though, when you see a familiar face with a familiar sword hanging around the market, you decide to tail him for a bit

turns out he’s a pirate, which is intriguing in and of itself - it also explains the unfamiliarity with the territory

but what’s even more intriguing is how he manages to defend himself against your knives all the while answering your peppered questions in the most evasive manner possible

in the end, hongjoong has you pinned against an alley wall, sword inches from your throat

he clearly expects you to start begging for your life

but you just laugh breathlessly and say - hey, i’ve got two friends who’ve got nothing left here, just like me. do you have an opening for three on your crew?

hongjoong thinks you’re joking but you’re dead serious. there’s nothing in this town, you’re sick and tired of pickpocketing people and protecting your little territory to no end - there’s no point to it all

you know wooyoung feels the same way. he’s so energetic, always looking for something new, and even though he doesn’t say anything, you know he’s itching to get out of here

yeosang might take a little convincing, but if you can prey correctly on his desire to visit the lands he’s only ever marked on maps, he’ll come too

hongjoong asks what you have to offer to his crew. you say a sharp tongue, resourceful fighters, a navigator

and most importantly, a source of light.

(hongjoong doesn’t ask and you don’t elaborate on the last one, even though you can see a hint of confusion in his eyes)

he gives you two days to convince wooyoung and yeosang, if you don’t show up by then he’s setting sail

wooyoung is convinced almost immediately - his only qualm is seasickness, and you tell him he’ll get used to it

yeosang takes a little more effort, but with your persuasion skills, he agrees

and so the three of you join hongjoong’s crew

being a pirate isn’t as glorious as you originally thought it’d be - the first few weeks are just being seasick all the time, and there are fewer fights and less exploring than you’d like, more just running around and maintaining the ship

but the crew makes up for it more than tenfold

you and wooyoung have never really had family - just each other and then yeosang

but now that you’re with the crew, that sense of home you’ve only ever felt with woosang just multiplies

you love it on the ship. so does wooyoung

(he says it’s because there are so many hidden places where you can hide to kiss, but you think it’s because he has seonghwa to annoy now and not just you + yeosang)

both of you are on cloud nine, even with the nonstop work day in and day out

it’s all worth it when you can see the new cities, pilfer a little something in the marketplaces every now and then

life goes on like this - some crew members are lost and others join

you mourn for those gone, especially hongjoong’s partner, and you try to welcome the new members as best you can

(san is a tough nut to crack, but in the end, you and wooyoung are both happy that you kept at it long enough to see the results)

it’s a constant give or take - you know the ocean isn’t kind, know that the life of a pirate isn’t kind, and you’ve learned to live with it even though a piece of your heart breaks away with every crew member who falls

but then yeosang falls. literally.

and wooyoung begins to fade away.

wooyoung feels his emotions deeply, he’s always known that - it’s what binds him so strongly to you and what bound him so strongly to yeosang

so when he fell during that battle, stabbed several times, and could only watch yeosang fall into the ocean from the crow’s nest - essentially yeosang’s home on the ship -

wooyoung cries for hours after the battle, locked in your arms

and for once, even the knowledge that you’re by his side doesn’t seem to be enough to fill the void left by yeosang’s loss

the entire crew is experienced with their own types of loss, loss of partners and friends

but this is the first time wooyoung has felt it so deeply, like a knife carving out a hole in his chest

eventually, though, he recovers

it takes months, but he still has you. he still has san. he still has yeosang’s grieving friend, who might have become his partner had he lived, and he still has all of the crew

and you let him latch onto you whenever the void comes creeping on him again, because though wooyoung might be the light, you’re the source of fuel that keeps his sputtering flame burning

(guilt eats at you, too - you’re the one who convinced yeosang to join the crew, after all. but wooyoung calls it bullshit - you’re not at fault, not at all, yeosang understood what he was risking - and when he latches onto you, you take your own comfort in the warmth of his arms)

life goes on after the battle and yeosang’s death. wooyoung takes a long time to recover from his injuries and you’re by his side the entire way

but then san gets kidnapped and wooyoung almost goes off the deep end again - he can’t lose another friend

thankfully, san returns, so wooyoung doesn’t lose himself completely

but he begins to fear the disappearance or death of one of those whom he loves even more than he used to

as time goes on, he realizes he might not be able to handle the life of a pirate - he cares too deeply, too much, losing the people he cares for is breaking him slowly, bit by bit

you ask him what’s wrong one day and he spills all of this to you, sobbing

the next day you ask hongjoong to leave you and wooyoung at the next port - you can’t be on the crew anymore

hongjoong asks why, but when you explain he doesn’t even hesitate to nod and thanks you for your service

he does say that he’ll miss the source of light on his ship, the light and its kindling, but if this is what you and wooyoung really want, then it’s what he’ll give you

wooyoung feels a guilty sense of relief when you bring him back the news - he’s relieved that you two are going to leave, but there’s also the guilt of taking you away from a life that you enjoy

but you remind him that he’s your life. wooyoung is everything to you, and if he isn’t happy, you’re not going to be happy, no matter what

so it’s settled that you two will split off from the crew at the next port, which you’ll reach after a few weeks of sailing, maybe

you reach the port and are ready to part ways, saying goodbye to the rest of the crew

the aurora is staying in port for a couple of days for repairs, and you and wooyoung decide to stick around for at least the night before you go off

you go on a walk that night with him, darkened streets lit up by evenly spaced torches and lanterns

which is why you see the other ship pull into port with a navy seal on its side. and your blood freezes.

with one look, you and wooyoung are racing off to where you know the crew of the aurora is staying because you have to warn them

hongjoong looks grim. there’s a fight, it’s going to be inevitable, and you can feel wooyoung tensing up next to you

your former captain says you don’t have to fight if you don’t want to, you’re technically not part of the crew anymore

but one look between you and wooyoung settles it. one last battle to help the family that took you in

the battle is in the dark, bloody and brutal and made even worse by the fact that you can’t see the rivers of blood flowing down the streets - it’s all a mess of sticky black that your feet leave tracks in on the roads

you and wooyoung are back to back with san, the three of you fighting to the last

until there’s finally an opening and you manage to escape into a little alley

except the alley ends in a wall. a wall tall enough to climb over, maybe, but wooyoung has a wound in his stomach and san’s bleeding out of his side and you’ve got injuries of your own so you’re wholly, completely fucked

as several naval soldiers appear at the end of the alley, all you can think is how you and wooyoung were supposed to have gone off today, were supposed to have left to find a more stable life together

but at the same time, you know that if you hadn’t stayed for the night, your crew, your family, might not have gotten enough warning to save at least a few of their lives

wooyoung is starting to wheeze behind you. san doesn’t look much better, and you feel like you’re going to collapse

there are four soldiers standing in front of you, and there’s no shred of uncertainty in your mind when you think we’re not going to survive this

except - maybe if you can buy yourselves some time -

your eyes light on one of the torches on the side of the alley and a really dumb plan springs into your mind

you spring forward, ignoring wooyoung’s cry, and snatch up the still-burning torch

with a prayer that the ground is flammable, you hurl the torch in front of you

and thankfully, a flame begins to burn

you turn around and start helping wooyoung boost san over the wall

wooyoung is about to go next, grasping san’s hands - you go to help push him up

but then metal flashes in corner of your eye and you have to whirl away, dropping wooyoung to dodge the sword that came a hair’s breadth within slicing the skin off your cheek

how the soldier got past the fire, you have no idea - it’s still burning

maybe they got over it when it was still low

but then there are two shadows, not just one, both with blades flashing

and you know with a stark certainty that both you and wooyoung are going to die if you don’t get up that wall immediately

the problem is, there isn’t enough time to get both of you up - one is going to be slashed to pieces by the time it’s their turn

but one of you...

you block one of the blades and send the soldier crashing to the ground. the other is farther away and for one split second, you lock eyes with them

there’s enough light to see your smirk

give me a moment here, will you? you say

then you turn around and kiss wooyoung on the mouth.

it’s a brief kiss, barely longer than a second, but it’s all you have time for before you bodily lift wooyoung as much as you can so that san can reach him, arms pulling him up

san acts on reflex - he doesn’t realize what you’re planning just yet and neither does wooyoung

but they sure as hell figure it out when you duck under the second soldier’s swipe and begin fighting, despite the blood streaming from your face and body

in the background, you can hear wooyoung screaming and no doubt he’s thrashing around in san’s grip

but it’s all you can do to focus on the fight at hand - two against one with the one injured isn’t fair, but since when has the navy played fair?

you notice the sword flashing down at your side. you notice it, but you’re not fast enough

white hot pain bursts below your rib cage and you fall to your knees, blades clattering from your hands

another explosion of pain enters your back and you let out a scream of agony, collapsing to the ground

wooyoung watches you fall in the moonlight, red and black blood pooling beneath you

and only then does he stop thrashing in san’s hold

because he’s crying too hard, too hard to see or do anything but let a silently crying san carry him away

san takes him back to the ship where hongjoong manages to set sail in record time, leaving the navy behind

wooyoung doesn’t even move from where san has laid him on the floorboards - the only sign he’s still alive are his eyes, deadened eyes that track the land they’ve left behind, growing smaller and smaller in the distance

the land that holds your body

the body he’ll never see again.

several hours pass. someone’s moved him into the medbay, wooyoung doesn’t know who because all he can see is you collapsing to the ground over and over again, dark blood flowing endlessly from your wounds

tears build up behind his eyes again and he wants to scream, scream how nothing is fair, nothing is fucking fair, he was the one who wanted a new life that wasn’t that of a pirate and you were just going along with it but now he’s still alive and on the same fucking pirate ship he wanted to leave in the first place

and he’s lost both of his childhood friends, first yeosang to the waves and now you to the navy

with this loss, wooyoung is grasping his will to live by a mere thread

and he isn’t even sure he wants to hang on any longer.

there is no sun aboard the aurora anymore, at least not in the form of jung wooyoung

because once a fire’s fuel is gone, it can no longer burn

and wooyoung’s fuel is out.

jongho (ABS)

warnings: cursing, death, blood

ah yes jongho stronk boy

when i listed the best fighters i bet you were expecting me to put him in there too

but what i meant by best fighters is best sword fighters

see, jongho is extremely good at fighting and has the arms to prove it

however, his skills don’t solely lie in swords - hongjoong/yunho/san are better than him there - but he will fight with whatever the fuck else happens to also be around him

mingi sometimes likes to bring up that one time there was an enemy pirate fighting next to him and jongho just picked him up, swung him, and knocked out a second enemy pirate right then and there

so yeah. that’s jongho. well-rounder extraordinaire

no one knows how the fuck he’s so good at everything and at this point most of the crew is afraid to ask

but anyway let’s talk about the back story a little shall we

unlike most of the others, jongho has parents that he remembers and as far as he knows are still alive

however that does not mean he likes them

they weren’t abusive, exactly - they just were never around and when they were, jongho mostly got ignored or ordered around to do stuff like cook dinner or fucking whatever

so that’s what he suffers through for most of his childhood

during that time, he learns how to be pretty self-sufficient - he’s the one who takes care of himself, after all

he learns to cook, clean, etc.

but most importantly he learns to repair things, like the house

he gets really good at it too, to the point that people start hiring him to help them with fixing their shit

which is how hongjoong finds him

well, more accurately, yunho finds him

the aurora has docked in jongho’s town after a long storm and the ship has a lot of damage that’s going to take mingi a lot of time to fix

so yunho sets out to find someone who they can hire to help mingi out

he asks around and everyone recommends jongho, so yunho goes to find him. after losing his partner in that storm, hongjoong is in no shape to leave the ship, san is still recovering from injuries and guilt, and seonghwa’s busy tending to the crew members and making sure they don’t fall apart

when jongho answers the knock on his door, yunho is like ???? at first because what the fuck this guy can’t even be older than him - is he really that good at fixing things??

tbh yunho was expecting some middle aged man with massive muscles or something

but jongho’s staring at him like wtf do you want and yunho remembers he actually has a purpose here plus jongho does have really big muscles even if he isn’t middle aged so he’s like hi i heard you’re jongho can you help us fix our ship we’ll pay you

and what’s jongho gonna do? say no?

so he works with mingi for the best part of a couple of months, fixing up the aurora

and during that time, he meets the rest of the crew, who come and go

jongho gets to know them and he grows to like them - he used to be a pretty solitary person, but it’s really impossible to stay that way after meeting one jung wooyoung and his partner

even after he puts it together that they’re pirates, he still likes them

jongho isn’t stupid, it’s pretty obvious after working with mingi for a couple of weeks - they talk of treasure and travels when they think he doesn’t hear

but really, jongho doesn’t care too much - pay is pay, no matter who it comes from

and really, pirates can’t be much worse than the greedy nobles and aristocrats who run his city, right? their illegal acts are just blatant and out in the open, while the aristocracy try to keep their wrongdoings under wraps

he does ask mingi about it one day - why he decided to join the crew of the aurora

after the initial spluttering of we’re not pirates, cueing jongho’s deadpan expression that has mingi immediately quailing, mingi tells jongho more or less his story of joining the crew

maybe a few embellishments because yknow it’s mingi and we love him for it

and jongho listens carefully. his story is a little similar to mingi’s, actually, even if he knows his parents and was never at an orphanage

they were both alone, they both learned to do repair work...

that night, jongho lies awake in bed in his empty house, thinking about what mingi said

as they continue working, jongho prods mingi for more and more stories about the crew and their adventures, and though he visibly shies away from some topics (major fights and major storms, particularly the one that drove them into this port), mingi tells jongho enough for him to see that hongjoong’s crew isn’t immoral. far from it, really

there’s no explaining away the battles and murder and pillaging, but as far as jongho is concerned, at least they’re upfront about it

nobility does the same shit, they just prefer to call murder “the hanging of criminals” and pillaging “taxes”

and jongho is tired of both

after about a month or a month and a half, he decides to himself that he wants to join the aurora

so he asks mingi one day how hongjoong might feel if jongho wanted to join the crew

he doesn’t know hongjoong, he’s only caught maybe a glimpse or two of the captain because he’s been grieving this whole time, which is why he goes to mingi first

mingi tells him to come back the next day, he’ll see if seonghwa can better answer that question as the second in command since hongjoong is still out

seonghwa takes a liking to jongho almost immediately, and the feeling is mutual

even just minutes after meeting, seonghwa gives jongho the sense that he truly cares for him in a way that jongho really hasn’t felt before, not even from his own parents

so the deal is settled and after the repair job is finished, jongho returns to his small home to pack up his stuff. the next day, he’s sailing into the open ocean without looking back

like almost every other new crew member, jongho gets seasick for the first few weeks he isn’t on land

meaning he stays in the medbay more often than he’d like to

but it’s fine - because that’s where he meets you

you’re the ship’s doctor. relatively new since the last doctor was killed in battle maybe half a year ago, but wooyoung was lucky enough to befriend you, an apothecarist’s apprentice, in one of the towns the aurora docked in

you come from a town that’s a safe zone of sorts for pirates - the locals are friendly if wary, and pirates don’t get into fights on your land

it’s a pretty decent existence if you ignore the fact that royalty/nobles would have all of your heads if they could find definitive proof that your town likes to harbor criminals, but people keep their mouths shut here so it doesn’t happen

however, as decent as this existence is, you got a bit of the short end of the stick

your parents died after you were apprenticed to the apothecarist, leaving you with no nearby relatives or places to stay other than the orphanage or the apothecary

and the orphanage in your town majorly sucks so you just opted to stay at the apothecary

except the apothecarist is not a good human being. major leech. creepy. you hated being around him any more than necessary

which means you learned everything as fast as you could just so you could stay away and look after customers on your own

and when the opportunity to use your skills elsewhere came up, you barely hesitated before telling wooyoung please get me the fuck out of here

only thing that made you balk was the possibility of death on the seas, but you’re young and naive and when you’re at that age, you feel like you’re invincible - therefore you brush it off

plus, everyone dies eventually, right?

you’re the new blood for several months until jongho joins the crew

and because he’s the new guy now, you take it upon yourself to familiarize him with how the ship and the crew work while he’s currently bedridden

it gives him something to focus on other than the rolling sea beneath him

and it’s nice to talk to someone who’s just mildly sick and not bleeding to fucking death

even after jongho gets better, he continues to spend a lot of his free time in the medbay because he likes being around you. your voice is soothing and somewhere in the back of his mind, he probably associates it with care and comfort, given how you treated him during those first few weeks

slowly but surely, you grow closer and closer

you’re the one jongho goes to when he feels a little stifled, too used to independence on land and unfamiliar with the teamwork that comes with being part of a crew

and you like to talk to him when you’re exhausted after treating wound after wound after wound after a harsh storm or bloody battle

it feels like you understand him, no matter what, and jongho does his best to lend you a listening ear as well - it’s the least he can do

you feel comforting, but in a different way from the rest of the crew

like yeah, seonghwa’s comforting in that mother sort of way, hongjoong has that tired dad vibe where jongho knows he can go to him with whatever, and the rest of ateez are like older brothers he knows he can trust

but there’s something different about you

he figures it out, of course, because jongho isn’t dumb or clueless - but he is a little afraid of being so attached to you

because what if he loses you? then what happens?

he tries to go to seonghwa to talk about it because he’s genuinely so scared

but seonghwa’s not in his room and instead, a tired-looking hongjoong catches jongho in the hallway knocking on seonghwa’s door and asks what he needs from hwa

jongho is slightly nervous because he hasn’t spoken that much to joong, or at least not as much as some of the other crew - after all, he joined the crew when hongjoong was still in grieving and has only really been talking to him for a few months

and by now he knows what happened to hongjoong’s partner in the storm - the same storm that wrought the damage on the aurora that jongho helped repair

so he isn’t sure if it’s a good idea to talk to joong about it

but hongjoong presses him a little, saying that hwa is dealing with some other stuff at the moment and that jongho can talk to joong if he wants

so in a fit of recklessness (he’s also been holding it in for kind of a while, he needs to talk), jongho spills it in hongjoong’s office

and hongjoong goes silent.

jongho regrets his entire existence during the few minutes of silence and he’s opening his mouth to apologize and take his leave

but hongjoong talks first

and he says to go for it.

you can’t live your life in fear of what might happen, especially when it comes to love

losing love hurts, but the memories you make are worth the pain

hongjoong’s eyes look haunted, but there’s a faint smile on his face that jongho somehow knows isn’t faked - his words are the truth

and he takes them as comfort when he goes to talk to you later about how he feels

turns out you’ve felt the same way for a while, but you didn’t think the feelings were reciprocated so you didn’t say anything, just kept caring for him in the ways you know best

you talk the entire night about what this means for the two of you, and it ends with you and jongho holding each other on one of the medbay beds, curled into the other’s warmth

it turns out to be a blessing that jongho talked to hongjoong about this and not someone else

mingi/yunho/san don’t have partners on the ship, while wooyoung and his partner have been together for literally forever - getting together was barely a decision for them, more like the only logical path to follow

seonghwa would’ve been good to talk to, probably - he lost his partner (at this point he still thinks they’re dead) and would’ve said something similar to hongjoong

he still wears the ring, after all

but the talk with hongjoong breaks down that last wall between him and jongho, and they grow closer

which is something jongho really appreciates, because hongjoong is as dependable as seonghwa and another figure jongho can now trust

life goes on - it gets better for jongho, actually, what with you and finally growing close to every member of the crew

he loves sword fighting practice and delights in terrorizing his crew members during mock fights by using whatever happens to be nearby, not just his sword

he also loves sitting with you on deck and breaking an apple in half, wordlessly handing one part to you and keeping the other for himself, all the while staring at the clouds during the day or the stars at night

just being near you makes jongho instantly feel not safer, but more comforted

because jongho’s in as much danger as he always was, he knows that

but having you close by makes him feel more able to handle that danger.

at least, until yeosang dies.

jongho watches him being flung off the crow’s nest and into the water, never to resurface

watches his partner race to the railing and scream until their throat goes raw and the screams die to begging wails

the scene replays itself in his head again and again after the battle is over

only instead of it being yeosang flung through the air, it’s you

which doesn’t make sense. you’re the doctor, you stay belowdecks during fights and have never ventured into the crow’s nest as far as he knows

but suddenly jongho is confronted with the very real fear that you could die any second

he knew that before, but like you, he was young and reckless and thought himself invincible

now, though, he knows what could happen

and it worries him. you’re not the worst at fighting on the ship, you can defend yourself pretty well, but you don’t have have as much experience as even mingi because 1. you’ve been on the ship for less time, and 2. you don’t go above decks during fights - you stay in the medbay with someone designated to protect you. a ship’s doctor is valuable, after all

your instincts are to heal, not to destroy, and that terrifies jongho

it gets even worse after wooyoung loses his partner and jongho sees the shell that he’s become

jongho didn’t see it happen, but san tells him and seonghwa several days later, eyes haunted as he tries to describe the sight of wooyoung’s partner jerking under the blades, wooyoung going limp as a rag doll as they fell, san being forced to bring basically a corpse back to the ship - the only reason he knew wooyoung himself wasn’t dead was because of the tears running down his face

the story cuts deep into jongho’s heart - wooyoung’s partner was a very good fighter, far better than you, and even they were lost

what if it was you, not them?

jongho decides it’s better to be paranoid than to do nothing and he trains you harder, asking san/yunho/hongjoong to help

you notice the change in his demeanor but don’t question it - after all, you’re wrestling with similar thoughts to his

you confide to him during long nights with you two curled up together on one of the infirmary beds and jongho talks, too

neither of you wants to end this, and you both agree that ending it won’t do much, anyway - you still live on the same ship together, and breaking apart will only hurt you two more

but jongho wishes there was something he could do about this constant fear that he’s going to lose you

wooyoung is still a shell of his former self - jongho doesn’t know if he’d become the same way if you died, and he doesn’t want to test it out

he tries to ignore the fear, to just enjoy every day with you like it’s his last

pressing his lips to yours always makes him feel a little better, anyway

the fear never goes away, though - it’s almost like something is warning him that he will soon suffer the same fate as wooyoung and his partner

jongho ignores it. prays to every higher being he knows that you’ll be safe and extends his prayers to those he doesn’t even know

but prayers don’t work when fate has already decided its path.

the battle comes quickly, and jongho is thrown into the fray, incapacitating as many navy members as he can

he’s so focused on the fight to see the two navy soldiers going belowdecks

because nobody goes belowdecks. the fight stays on top of the ship, only when the ship is being pillaged after the fight do they go below to see what’s there

but since when have naval officers played fair?

jongho has just stabbed an enemy soldier when he hears the muffled yell through the floorboards

a yell of fear, familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time because he knows the voice, but he’s never heard it so frightened

no one has ever seen jongho move that fast. he crashes through the throng of individual battles, earning himself a scrape in the side and several cut ons his arms, but in the moment, he doesn’t feel any of the stinging pain

he crashes belowdecks and freezes for a second at the sight of a dead crew member on the floor, the crew member who was assigned to guard you during this battle

and in that frozen moment, he realizes that there’s no screaming anymore.

jongho throws himself into the medbay

and the first thing he registers is the blood all over the floor.

grief pulls a desperate cry from his lips

the soldiers turn around

and jongho doesn’t know what happens next.

when his mind catches up to the present, jongho’s throat is raw and two naval officers are dead at his feet, their blood seeping into the floorboards, almost ripped apart

but he can’t even take sick satisfaction in that

because no matter how much navy blood he spills, you will still be gone

dead

your blood staining the medbay floors

jongho falls to his knees - blood soaks into his pants, your blood or the officers’ blood, he doesn't have any fucking clue

all he knows is that you’re dead, gone forever the way he always feared

and no amount of blood he spills will ever bring you back.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for me these parts were so much longer than they should’ve been I think I’m going insane)

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

A FMC x Lavinia hurt/comfort fic, where Lavinia comforts FMC or the other way around. I feel really lonely currently.. I'm going through a tough time and I kind of crave some comfort :/ Thank you and sorry for bothering you. Take care :3

Written by @blue-is-the-coolest-color

It felt good to be in the camper again. Between fluffy blankets and surrounded by random books Lavinia has picked up from libraries or bookstores that have interested her. It’s a strange collection, fairy tales and fiction, a few vegetarian cookbooks scattered about the small kitchen area, a few books about animals or fauna. A collection to capture Lavinia’s curiosities of this world.

Speak of the devil. Annisa had to move her arm quickly as the taller woman shifted next to her until she managed to snuggle up close against her, wrapping her arms around Annisa and placing her head on her chest. Annisa rolled her eyes affectionately as she put down the book she had been flipping through in favor of running her hands through Lavinia’s hair.

“You’re very affectionate tonight,” Annisa pointed out, though she really couldn’t blame Lavinia for a bit of clinginess. It had been weeks since they had been able to have a moment alone, but she could tell the ordeal with Rapunzel had caused something short of frustration to play on Lavinia. The girl was distant since she arrived at the camper, deep in thought at moments with her brows furrowed together and lips tight. Annisa had played it off as exhaustion after everything, but now she was a bit more worried as she felt Lavinia cuddle as close as possible.

“Thinking.”

“Ever articulate.”

Annisa teased as she started rubbing circles into Lavinia’s shoulder blades. Soothing the tension that stuck there and causing a soft sound very reminiscent of a purr to leave Lavinia’s lips. The two stayed like that for a moment before Lavinia gently pushed away until she was on her elbows hovering closely. Annisa could see the confusion and frustration in the other woman’s eyes as she waited patiently to see if Lavinia would deflect or if she would say what had been haunting her for the last hour and a half.

“Ranpuzel has killed innocent witches. Simply for being witches, and she wanted to kill me regardless of what it would do to the people of my kingdom. She even threatened the witchling, and yet-” Lavinia’s eyes narrowed slightly in a brief glare as if the reasoning of it pissed her off, “and your friends are really going to let all that go? Even though she’s proud of those she’s slain.”

Annisa listened patiently, not commenting as she felt Lavinia’s arms tense and relaxed with the statements, as if Lavinia was trying to keep from letting the anger consume her more than it has.

“We are not unalike.”

Lavinia admitted reluctantly, as if the statement was acid in her throat.

“We both grew up in less than ideal situations, used or thrown away, isolated, forced to struggle for years. We crawled out of it in different ways, killed people, did horrible things in the name of our own selfish justice or reasoned it in whatever way. We both-”

Lavinia trailed off hard and Annisa had to fight the urge to brush the long silver hair out of her face as it slipped from her shoulders. There’s a pain in Lavinia’s voice, on that Annisa hadn’t heard too often from the other girl before.

“Gothel,” Lavinia tried to articulate what she wanted to say, but it’s choked and Annisa feels her heart break at the sound.

“Lavinia,” Annisa pushed herself up a bit as Lavinia hastily rubbed at her eyes and tried to go back to how she was laying.

“Forget it, it’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” Annisa argued as she let her hands move to Lavinia’s face, trying to get the woman to look at her, “it’s hurting you, so it’s not nothing.”

Lavinia looked away, a bit of shame crossing her face.

“I was once a student of Gothel. There was a time, back when I was young, that I wanted to be strong and feared like her. Because then maybe I could hold on to the things that mattered to me, then maybe-” Lavinia’s eyes darkened and she tried to turn her head as to no look into Annisa’s eyes, but Annisa still saw the tears the threatened to spill over, “I was orphaned when I was very young, I couldn’t use magic, I was alone. Gothel had this power and I wanted her to teach me. She didn’t at first, but decided I was amusing and worth playing with. She’d send me on these ridiculous errands and I’d do an insane amount of magical research to try and convince her I was worth her time.

Then my magic appeared, my ice alignment made itself known and suddenly I was the only student Mother Gothel wanted to teach. She taught me spells she wouldn’t utter to the other witches in her coven. It felt like she had taken me under her wing. I would have done anything for her.”

Annisa listened quietly, horrified by the raw pain that had claimed Lavinia’s throat. She had known Rapunzel was a victim of Gothel, but hearing that Lavinia had also been a target caused her heart to ache for the woman in her arms.

“She told me about how she planned to kill the ice king and needed my help. I was important to this mission and she needed me to follow her orders to the T. I was so excited to help her, to make a real difference and to take down the Tyrant who abused his power and caused the mass slaughter of so many magical beings in the ice kingdom. The king liked to set up his own witch hunts where he’d release a witch he had captured into his private woods to hunt down and kill. Our plan was for me to get captured and to wait for Gothel who would come and stage a breakout. During the panic she would kill the king while I distracted all his guards with a permafrost spell I had read about in a book.

So I did my part, I let the king catch me and I lived in the dungeon underneath the castle. I waited for Gothel to appear. I waited weeks, starving in a dark wet cell. I was so hungry, I hadn’t felt hunger that strong since arriving at the orphanage. Eventually it was my turn to be hunted, and when they let me into those woods I decided I would kill the king myself. So I used an old spell Gothel had me test a while ago and I slaughtered almost all of the king’s men in the forest. And then I killed him and sat on the throne covered in blood and announced that the king had fallen.”

“Gothel had left, abandoned me there, then had the nerve to show up two weeks after my coronation and demand I give her magic in exchange for teaching me. We fought and I threw up the magical barrier around my kingdom using one of her spells for spite.”

“I guess that explains how you don’t age.” Annisa interrupted and then almost hit herself for such a sudden outburst, but Lavinia nodded.

“I don’t age because it’s the same spell Gothel uses to steal magic, only my people can refuse to give me their magic, they offer up their magic to keep the barriers around the kingdom, so I guess in a way I’m not giving them much of a choice.”

Lavinia sighed, balancing herself on one arm for a moment to run a hand through her hair.

“I let all my pain get the better of me, and I hurt more people because I was too afraid of losing my newfound power. I wanted to keep everything out, because that’s how everything could stay safe,” Lavinia shook her head, “I sound like a maniac.”

“Lavinia, it doesn’t matter what you did before, all that matters to me is that you’re trying to do better now,” Annisa flashed the other girl a soft smile, “what Gothel did to you was horrible, and you shouldn’t have had to suffer to feel like you weren’t alone.”

“But I always am, somehow.”

It’s so quiet and heartbreaking to hear Lavinia’s voice like this. Annisa’s smile dropped as she tried to process the hurt, pain, and anger flashing through Lavinia’s icy eyes.

“To have a chance like Rapunzel has been given. To actually be allowed to keep writing my story without having to hurt you more to do so. I’d have to bend over backwards to be given a quarter the chance at redemption that she’s been allowed after everything. Why? Because her story deemed her a hero despite her murders and crimes?”

Maybe weeks ago Annisa would have said something to defend Rapunzel, defend why she should be given chance after chance where Lavinia shouldn’t. Lavinia dropped her head back to her shoulder in frustration.

“...You’re mad because they won’t give you that chance,” Annisa commented as she wrapped her arms around Lavinia’s shoulders, keeping her in place when she felt her start to shift, “I didn’t think you cared so much about what they thought about you.”

“I don’t,” Lavinia grumbled into her shoulder, “but I know it would be easier for you if they trusted me to keep you safe at least. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to sneak around to see me.”

Annisa held the woman tighter, placing a firm kiss to her head as she felt her relax into her arms.

“They’re not all against you. Arin wants to give you a chance, and I could convince Oliver to as well. And you have me.”

“As long as I have you.”

Of course the melting queen would sneak in some sweet nothings while they layed there, Annisa couldn’t say she was surprised by the familiar affection in Lavinia’s voice.

“So you're using me as a pillow here all night? I’m supposed to be home.”

Lavinia smirked, wrapping her arms tighter.

“Stay, please?”

“Oh my,” Annisa pretended to swoon, batting her eyelashes, “did her majesty just say please? To little old me. What a blessing that has bestowed upon my unworthy ears!”

“Brat,” Lavinia laughed, a beautiful light sound that Annisa would kill to hear, “you’re not allowed to leave now, punishment for mouthing off to a queen.”

“You love when I mouth off to you.”

“Maybe.”

The smirk caused Annisa to blush, suggesting a far dirtier joke that Lavinia had opted out of saying.

“I wish I could stay here,” Annisa sighed as she looked up at the ceiling of the cabin, the little snowflake fairy lights making her smile, sinking her fingers into unbelievable soft silver hair as she felt Lavinia tilt to head, eyelashes brushing against Annisa’s neck in soft butterfly kisses, “I love being this close to you.”

Lavinia hummed her agreement as Annisa’s fingers scratched at her scalp and wandered through her hair.

“It’s certainly a treat, watching the Ice Queen melt just for me.”

“You’re the only person worth melting for.”

Annisa hated how her mind immediately flashed to a certain snowman character from a Disney movie. She couldn’t control the way the giggles shook her form. Lavinia propped herself up on her arm, trying to look bored but the soft look in her eyes betrayed her horribly as she watched Annisa laugh at a joke she didn’t understand.

“Remind me that I need you to watch a movie with me.”

Lavinia hummed and let her fingertips trace patterns into Annisa’s arm before bringing her hand up to her lips, pressing a soft kiss that caused Annisa to blush.

“Do you really have to leave now?”

“I guess I can spare five minutes.”

Five turned to an hour, but it wasn’t like Annisa was complaining.

#anonymous #answered #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #lavinia le guin #lavinia x mc #eaa lavinia #ever after academy #eaa #woeful wednesday #soft angst #fluffy comfort

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imma-potatoo · 4 years

Note

Im not sure if you take requests but if you do can I please have some angsty janus HC? if not im sorry for bothering you. have a nice day!

First of all, you aren't bothering me, I love it when people ask about my headcanons. And secondly, *shocked* I'm being ASKED to share my angst?!

We're gonna be here for a while

He picks/scratches at his skin,

he doesn't really know why he does it, but he often spends full nights scratching his arms, chest, and legs. But NEVER at his neck or face, the other sides can see that. It's normally targeted at his scaled half, but he does scratch at the human side too

The scratches typically run very deep, there's a lot of blood, and Janus doesn't always have access to a medkit

Janus is the youngest out of all the sides, around 21-24, but he never really got to have the full childhood that he was supposed to

Virgil is the oldest of the sides, and when they were younger he was around a lot, basically playing mother hen. But once Janus turned 10 or so, Virgil stopped spending as much time with him and Remus

So Janus had to grow up quick. He learned how to cook (not very well, but food is food), spent most of his time reeling Remus in (who is around 15 at this time), and delivering food to Virgil's door, trying to get him to come out

At the end of the day, Janus was too tired to play, read, or do anything really. He just went to bed.

So young Janus' schedule was;

wake up, make Remus/Virgil food, force Remus to eat the food, attempt to keep the house from a disaster fire from Remus, make lunch, talk to Virgil through his door, more babysitting of Remus, make dinner, send Remus to bed, clean up, go to sleep

Hardly time for playing in there

To this day, if you hand him a toy, he'll simply stare at you with wide eyes

Janus can tell when people tell lies

They don't taste nice or anything, he can't even taste them at all. The lies are revealed with a sharp stabbing pain to his chest

Similar to a heart attack.. But worse.. So much worse.

Imagine if you took a long knife, and stabbed it repeatedly, over and over for hours, breathing faulting, and the entire room starts to spin. It hurts

Now imagine that you have to keep a straight face during this pain or get strange looks and get told you're faking

Janus has gotten a little too used to that stabbing pain

Everytime that Janus stumbled in SvS? That was him trying to hide the pain

The dark side is cold, really cold, like Canadian winter cold. But the darks don't have central heating

It's sadly very common for Remus to find Janus passed out, near hypothermic, in random places in their own home

The dark sides home is... a lot less pleasant then someone would prefer. It looks like a prison with concrete walls and floors, bars cover the windows, and the backyard is completely fenced in with 15ft+ high fences.

The sides rooms move when Thomas is willing to accept that they're a part of him and that he needs to work with them

Remus' room moved back in DWIT, because Thomas accepted that he's there and that he can't get rid of him

Janus is still stuck in the dark. Thomas has given him a chance, but he's not completely accepted that he's needed yet

Janus can often be found passed out on the light side's couch, simply because his room is far too cold

Virgil almost always finds him first, he doesn't like Janus by any means, but he knows first hand that the dark half is cold, so he normally just throws a heated blanket over him and calls it a day

Janus is always gone before Virgil can talk to him

His shepards crook is actually a cane

He had to start using it right after Virgil left, Remus ran off to the imagination and Janus chased after him. He ended up getting cornered by a monster, and it punctured his knee almost clean through

Remus only found him because he was screaming so loud. Roman could hear it from his half of the imagination, but thought it was an animal and didn't bother to investigate

Even as an adult, his sleep schedule is horrible

He's coldblooded, makes the dark half so much worse

The closest thing that he's ever had for a friend (when he was younger) was Logan. They would watch documentaries together and talk about them for a bit

Those stopped when Janus had to take care of Remus

Remus is his friend now, but he still spends most of his time looking after him and making sure that he's eating (he tends to forget that he needs to eat)

Remus goes back to the dark half everyday to spend time with Janus

Janus is a really bad cook, he can make half burnt grilled cheese and pasta. Thats about it. It's not from lack of effort really

The other sides are genuinely concerned for his health and well-being. Everytime he shows up he seems paler, his eye bags are larger, and his clothes hang off of him

Janus doesn't actually believe them when they say that they want to help though

Janus gets maybe two hours of sleep daily

He spends the entirety of his free time trying to help Thomas

He would drink coffee to help him stay awake and productive, but he hates the taste of it

The others grow more and more concerned everytime he passes out. Which is a lot. Janus always brushes it off though

Logan is the only one who doesn't believe him

He remembers what Janus was like when they were younger, and it was NOTHING like how Janus acts now. They're completely different.

The Orange side made him show up and impersonate the other sides. The only time that he showed up willingly was in POF

He honestly doesn't know what he did to make Virgil hate him, nor does he know why Virgil locked himself away when he was 10

Janus is angry, he's angry that he had to grow up quickly, he's angry that Virgil abandoned him, he's angry that Remus needs to be constantly supervised, he's angry at Orange, he's angry at himself. He's angry. But doesn't have the energy to do anything

He cries himself to sleep a lot more then you would think

Touch starved. Completely touch starved. He breaks down completely when someone touches his wrist

You would think that self preservation would have better self care, but no. He's really bad at it. The closest he gets is getting 4 hours of sleep instead of the normal 2

Even after Remus left, he spends all of his time trying to help Thomas... Only to get pushed to the side

He normally completely forgets to eat food and only remembers when he's on the verge of passing out

He's gotten super good at makeup to hide the red streaks from crying so much

He loves snakes, but can't own one in the dark half because the temperature would put them in extreme pain or even kill it. Janus doesn't want to put the poor creature in suffering

The only toy he still has from childhood is a stuffed snake, but even that has had extreme mending

He sewed his entire outfit himself, and he was quite proud of it! Every time another side insults it, he withers a bit inside

The other sides have tried to stage an intervention so many times, but Janus can somehow avoid them everytime

He doesn't want their pity, because thats what he thinks it is, pity.

T r u s t I s s u e s

Lots of trust and abandonment issues

He has talked to Emile, but he has a hard time trusting him

Completely avoids Patton. Completely.

You can occasionally see him out of the corner of your eye in the common rooms, but the second you turn around he's gone

He's short as hell

His hair is like curly fries. Complete ringlets. But he hates them, hense the hat

He hates it when the others steal the hat

Everytime they insult his scales, he dies a little inside

Let me know if you want more :)

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uraichievents · 4 years

Photo

Monday, May 24th, 2021 - Sunday, May 30th, 2021

General Info

What is UraIchi Week?

It’s a week-long fanworks event to promote the Urahara Kisuke x Kurosaki Ichigo ship. There’s no sign-up, it’s just for fun, and everybody can participate. Completed works and wips are both acceptable, and any type of fanwork (fanfic, fanart, gifsets, etc.) is welcome. The ship itself can be written romantically or platonically, basically anything you want so long as it stars these two characters together in some way. Poly is also fine so long as Ichigo and Kisuke are still the focus of the fanwork.

Posting:

For those of you with Tumblr, you can tag your stuff with #UraIchi Week 2021 in the first five tags of your post. I’ll be tracking that tag so I’ll see it and reblog it to this blog. (If it’s been a few days since you posted and I still haven’t reblogged it, something probably went wrong, Tumblr’s not always reliable, so just shoot me an ask about it and I’ll reblog it.)

For those of you with AO3, I will create a collection a day or two before the event starts, and you’ll be able to add your work to the collection when you post. (I’ll toss up a notice for everyone once the collection is up.)

And of course we have our Discord server (link is on the sidebar) so if you want to come and talk about what you’re working on or you just want to chat, feel free to join us there!

Themes

As always, I’ve sorted through all the votes and chosen the top ones as the official prompts, four per day (except the last day) this time, but of course, creating something based off of them is optional. It’s your choice whether or not you want to make a fanwork that includes all the themes of that day, or a fanwork for each theme, or a fanwork for just one. You can make something for each day of the week or just one or two days. And if your fanwork doesn’t fit any of the themes, there’s a Creator’s Choice option on the last day so feel free to come up with your AUs and other ideas. All prompts can be interpreted any way you want as well, it’s entirely up to you. The point of this event is simply for everyone to have fun and contribute even more to this ship :)

May 24th, 2021 - Day 1:

Time Travel/Dimension Travel AU

Crossover/Fusion AU

Reincarnation/Transmigration AU

Canon Divergence AU

First up is as always some fan favourites. You can move Ichigo or Kisuke forward or backward or sideways through space and time, or pick another fandom for them to cross into, or fuse them with another fandom’s setting. You can dump their souls into someone else’s bodies back in the TBTP Era, or have them reborn into another family in another world. Wherever you put them, they’re definitely not in their own time period or even dimension anymore.

May 25th, 2021 - Day 2:

Loyalty Kink

Touch-Starved Character(s)

Codependency

"If you're running away, I'm coming with you."

Here’s a chance to make Ichigo and Kisuke suffer and give them all the reasons to only trust and depend on each other. Let’s see all the possessive/protective feels they’re capable of given only to each other, firmly set in that us vs. the world mindset. They’d kill and die for each other, and they’re unapologetic and feral about it, and everyone else will just have to deal.

May 26th, 2021 - Day 3:

Rebellion/Revolution

vs. Gotei 13

Assassin

"Hypothetically, if I needed to bury a body, where would be a good place to do that? In a hypothetical scenario."

Is there war on the horizon? What idiocy has the Shinigami’s prejudices kicked off this time? Or maybe it’s just a few (dozen) people who desperately need an accident or two in their near future. Whatever the reasons, it’s never a good idea to cross Ichigo’s bottom line, especially when he comes in a two-for-one package.

May 27th, 2021 - Day 4:

Eldritch

"When I said I'd steal your heart if you're not careful, I wasn't speaking figuratively."

Wingfic

Secret Identity/Identity Reveal

One of these things is not like the others. Maybe one of them is a little more than just human (or Shinigami, or Quincy, or Visored). Maybe the way they smile or move is just a little bit off. Maybe what they are under their skin doesn’t even have a name, and most people instinctively know to not look too closely at the extra appendages or sharper teeth or darker shadow. Or on a lighter note, maybe being born such a unique mix of races gives Ichigo something more than just a lot of reiatsu. Or perhaps all dead souls really do have wings.

May 28th, 2021 - Day 5:

Soulmates AU

Idiots in Love

Accidental Relationship

Courtship

Here’s the day for all that romance floof (and maybe some angst too). Are they both oblivious to the other’s feelings and even their own feelings? Does everybody else already know? Or maybe they’re aware of it and one of them sets out to court the other. Or maybe they were always meant for each other, but with all their history it just takes them a while to click together. However they fall in love, they always get there in the end.

May 29th, 2021 - Day 6:

Zanpakutou

Soulscape

"Don't you get it yet? I've always known."

Throne

This day could be interpreted as a little more worldbuilding-centric than the others. Can Zanpakutou be shared if the bond between Shinigami is strong enough? How about their soulscapes? Or you can jump right into canon - what if Ichigo has always known about the various plans Kisuke has in reserve for him, whether that’s fighting Aizen or becoming the next Soul King. What about Kisuke? Benihime has never been a nice Zanpakutou spirit, but maybe she makes an exception for her wielder’s love.

May 30th, 2021 - Day 7:

Creator’s Choice!

Go wild!

I’m looking forward to seeing all kinds of fanworks once again this year!

#psa #uraichi week 2021 #uraichi week #bleach #uraichi

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solara-bean · 4 years

Text

Grimmjow Headcanons Plus a Few x S/O ones

( pretty sure I read some of these somewhere but I forgot so here's a self indulgent list :)

He died in his early twenties so he's still pretty young mentally but physically as a hollow he's old as hell

He's European

He takes a lot of naps in random places such as the roof of Las Noches

In fact he does a lot of cat like stuff and doesn’t realize it

He can purr but rarely and it’s mostly in his sleep

When he became an arrancar he had long hair similar to his release form. It kept getting in the way so he cut it

he doesn’t like wearing clothes

Him and his fraccion use to sleep close together in case they were ambushed by other adjuchas and still did even after they became arrancars

They didn’t think much of it. Except Di Roy. He’d say it was weird and ‘un-masculine’ to which Grim would tell him to shut up and go to sleep after laying an arm or a leg over his face.

Di Roy would also occasionally guilt trip him

Grimmjow: You’re too weak to fight with us.

Di Roy: I wouldn’t be if someone didn’t bite my face off.

Grimm:..........fine! do whatever you want. See if I care.

He was actually much closer to them than he let on

Most of the epsada knew it. Especially after Syazel threatened to experiment on them since they were ‘expendable.’ He did his best to avoid Grimmjow after that.

He only really got to grieve of their deaths when the war against Aizen ended

As much as he genuinely enjoyed fighting Ichigo it was also a distraction from all the pain he tried to burry

Harribel and Nelliel helped him with his grief

They became sort of friends afterwards tho he still tries to fight them both on a weekly basis

Refers to Pantera with female pronouns

One perk of most of Los Noches’ inhabitants being defeated is the nearly infant amount of space. So he was able to choose his own room

He keeps it surprisingly tidy aside from the nicknacks he’s hoarded from wandering around Hueco Mundo

His bed is full of pillows as a substitute of having a pack to sleep with

When asked he’ll say its for comfort

Nelliel: Have you seen my pillow?

Grimmjow: * sitting on it in his pillow pile* No.

He steals everyone’s stuff now and then but mostly Nel’s cuz he likes to mess with her ( insert low key sibling energy )

He talks to animals like people

Grimmjow: I told you to stop crossing the street at the red light idiot!

Cat: Meow

Grimm: Don’t talk back to me you little shit!!

Hangs out at Urahara’s place when he’s in the living world and not trying to fight Ichigo

Likes human food. Especially meat.

Grimmjow: *eating bacon for the first time* hmm tastes like hollows but better

Ichigo:.....I’m sorry what??!!

Was dared that he couldn’t beat Yoruichi at twister. He won five crates of snacks to bring back to Hueco Mundo ( may or may not have shared them cuz “ they gave me too much so take it or I’ll throw it out” )

Says things around the characters in the living world about his terrible experience under Aizen’s rule like it’s normal

Grimmjow: *having another rematch with Ichigo* Damn that almost hurt as much as Tousen slicing my arm off

Ichigo: *pauses the fight* Tousen did WHAT?!!

Becomes friends with Ichigo but won’t admit it.

Somewhat apologizes to Orihime and Rukia for what he did. But not Ichigo cuz he’ll do it all again but with less deadly intent.

Learns how to cook

Likes just about any kind of movie/show. He isn’t picky

Would get his 6 tattoo edited to something else if it bothered him

Would freakin die for Kazui!!!

Here are the S/O ones:

Is pansexual so gender isn’t an issue

Prefers someone who can beat him up but is ok with a human if he feels a very strong connection to them

Doesn’t really have a physical type honestly

Will admire things about their appearance cuz he likes it on them and not in general

Will be in complete denial about his feelings at first

Like “hollows aren’t meant to love” and all that ish

Makes up excuses to hangout with them but it’s mostly for his own benefit

“ I don’t like them. They just have a nice movie collection.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to spar with.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to talk to.” “I don’t like them. They just make me feel safe when I sleep next to them.”

Gives them random things he’s found when wondering around Hueco Undo’s desserts like gems and cool sharp bones

Let's them hold and even use Pantera

Starts to unconsciously turn off his hierro when he’s with them. It causes a lot of fliching and embarrassing gasps when they touch him since he’s not use to feeling so much

Did I mention he’s touch starved?

Like a lot.

Holding his hand for too long would literally kill him

Once he’s gotten use to feeling something other than pain from another person he starts to let them touch him more. Like hugs. Lots of hugs.

He even lets them rub his release form’s cat ears

Then here come the purrs. Louder than they’ve ever been before! It startles them both. He denied it but the blush gave him away.

He’ll do his best to purr more often since his s/o likes it so much. Such as when they’re cuddled up for a nap. Though he doesn’t really have to try.

Is confused as to why they like to squish his toe beans but lets them do it anyway

Wraps his tail around them in his release form

Will let them braid his long hair

Will also let them paint his claws as well as put makeup on him

He’s a total pushover ( insert the ‘please for me’ meme )

Is very protective of them

“ Why are you sad? Do I need to kill someone?”

If asked will follow his s/o when they’re out at night so they feel safe. Potential muggers? Thrown by an unknown force. Stalker? Punched by an unknown force. Cat callers in a car? Car gets flipped over by an unknown force.

Eventually no one bothers them at all cuz word goes around that they’re protected by a ghost or something else supernatural.

They’re of the few that can call him by a nickname and survive. Grimm, Grimmy, Grimmykins, Grimmy-kun, Kitty, Kitten, Catboy, Stinky cat, Baby boy, Baby boi, Big guy, Tough guy, My Arancar, My love, My one and only, Handsome, Blueberry. Literally anything is fine with him.

But call him My King and he’s done for. Dead. A second time. Deceased all over again. His heart will reform just to burst out of existence.

Takes them to Hueco Mundo a few times

Makes a pillow fort with them with his hoard of pillows

Will be skeptical as to why they like him and won’t be surprised if they get tired of him and break up

But oh no! They’re in it for the long run! You’re stuck with them Grimmykins:)

Would most likely say I love you without even realizing it till later

Grimm: *blushes* F*CK!!

Harribel: *pauses the meeting* Is there something wrong?

Grimm: I told Y/n that I love them before I left without realizing it! *puts his face in his hands and groans* I’m so screwed.

Nel: Well it’s about damn time!

Harribel: Congrats Grimmjow

Grimm: *groans and blushes some more*

If he really loves them he’ll find a way to weaken his immortality so they can grow old together ( yes it’ sappy but he figures he’ll get bored after they long gone )

Might go to Mayuri for help and becomes his lab rat in return. Won’t tell his s/o till it’s done so they won’t try to stop him.

It’s not fun. Like at all ( insert angsty fit energy here ). But it works and as an added bonus him and his s/o can have kids if they’d like

A great dad. Incredibly supportive and loving. Mess with them and you’re dead. Or at least scarred for life. No one messes with his cubs.

Grimm: Isn’t it weird that our kids are best friends?

Ichigo: No. We’re friends.

Grimm: I tried to kill you.

Ichigo: Who hasn’t?

Grimm: I’ll drink to that.

Ichigo: That’s a juice box.

Grimm: Have you seen my kids? The last time I wasn’t sober they ceroed the roof off and beat up a hollow. There’s no way I’m missing that again.

#bleach #grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaggerjack #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow headcanons

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years

Text

Google's short-lived data-advantage

There's a lot of ways to think about the movement to tame Big Tech, but one of the more useful divisions to explore is the "Night of the Comet" people versus the "Don't Believe the Criti-Hype" people.

This is a division over the value of the data that Google, Facebook and other large tech firms have amassed over the years - data on their users, sure, but also data on the advertisers and publishers they serve with their ad-tech platforms.

Big Tech companies and their investors are really bullish on the value of this commercial data-advantage: they say that spying on us - the users - lets them manipulate our opinions and activities so that we buy or believe the things their advertisers pay them to push.

More quietly, their investors believe that the data-advantage extends to publishers and advertisers, a deep storehouse of data that makes it effectively impossible for anyone else to do the precision targeted that Big Tech manages, which is why they have such fat margins.

Night of the Comet tech criticism accepts these claims at face value: Big Tech's advantage, they claim, comes from having amassed this insurmountable data-advantage that allows it to both predict and shape what we - and therefore advertisers and publishers - will do.

The implication of this is that traditional antitrust remedies - breakups, say - won't be merely ineffective; they'll be terrifyingly harmful.

If Googbook invented a mind-control ray to sell your nephew fidget-spinners, then breaking them up will only make it easier for Robert Mercer to hijack that mind-control ray to turn your uncle into a Qanon racist.

Googbook's data-advantage, in other words, is like a planet-killing comet heading towards the Earth. If we break that comet up, it will turn into a killing rain of meteors that shower onto every part of the globe - we can't break up the comet, we have to *steer* it.

In this version of tech criticism, the answer is to leave Big Tech intact, but turn it into a utility, or some other highly regulated entity, bound by rules that limit its use of that mind-control system.

Bringing Big Tech to heel by deputizing it to serve as an arm of the state (and perhaps a national champion in the new Cold War with China), like the Bell System prior to the AT&T breakup in '82.

On the other side, you have the Don't Believe the Criti-Hype school. Lee Vinsel coined the term "Criti-Hype" to describe a kind of criticism that actually hypes its subject - say, by repeating Big Tech's self-serving claims.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/02/euthanize-rentiers/#dont-believe-the-hype

These claims aren't just self-serving, they're also highly dubious. Everyone who's ever claimed to be able to read - or control - our minds was lying (to themselves, or to everyone else, or both).

The "psychometrics" that all this behavior-modification depends on is - to quote *Nature* - a "scant science." From Big Five Personality Types to microexpression/sentiment analysis, we're deep into the realm of irreproducible results and junk science.

https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-018-03880-4

The Criti-Hype school posits that the supernormal returns to capital for Big Tech aren't driven by awesome ad-tech capabilities, but rather, by monopoly (buying or crushing all competitors) and the fraud it enables (the industry has nowhere else to go).

That is, Big Tech makes money the same way hedge-fund managers make their own stunning returns: by cheating so they get paid whether or not they're any good at their jobs. The mere existence of a profitable industry is not proof that the industry is run by competent people.

And to be clear, there is a *lot* of fraud in ad-tech. Tim Hwang calls it a "Subprime Attention Crisis," where the ads are fake, the clicks are fake, the publishers' inventory is fake, the whole thing *riddled* with fraud.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

As Aram Zucker-Scharff wrote, "The numbers are fake, the metrics are bullshit, the agencies responsible for enforcing good practices are knowing bullshitters profiting off the fake numbers and none of the models make sense at scale of actual human users."

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#adfraud

It's a "bezzle" - a con whose mark hasn't twigged to the ruse...yet.

And while the Night of the Comet side relies on the irreproducible claims of self-proclaimed Svengalis, the Criti-Hype side has an increasingly corpus of cold, hard facts about the bezzle's operation.

Take last November's "Why Google Dominates Advertising Markets," Dina Srinivasan's superb and detailed dissection of Google's crooked ad-markets, in which they steal from advertisers and publishers by rigging the bids on both sides of the exchange.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#adtech

Srinivasan proves you don't need mind-control rays to explain how Big G makes fantastic returns from the ad-tech market. That prospect is further explored in the UK Competition and Markets Authority's 437-page report on "Online platforms and digital advertising" (Jul '20):

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/5fa557668fa8f5788db46efc/Final_report_Digital_ALT_TEXT.pdf

Here's where it starts to get *really* interesting. In May 2020, Yale's Fiona Scott Morton and Omidyar's David Dinielli used preliminary CMA data to publish their "Roadmap for a Digital Advertising Monopolization Case Against Google."

https://omidyar.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/Roadmap-for-a-Case-Against-Google.pdf

Morton and Dinelli zero in on the actual mechanism of Google's data-advantage, the thing it commands a lion's share of, which advertisers genuinely prize: location data. If I know you're around the corner from my cafe, I might spend a *lot* to show you an ad for my pasties.

This location data advantage is undeniable, but man, it has a short half-life. Thing is, I might spend a lot of money to show you an ad for my coffee shop when you're around the corner, but once you've moved on, you can go to hell as far as I'm concerned. You're dead to me.

This short half-life tells us that we're not living the Night of the Comet nightmare scenario. Break up Google, starve it of location data, and within *hours* most of its location targeting advantage is gone...forever.

As the antitrust cases against Google proceed, more and more of these technical exposes of rigged markets emerge, showing us how monopoly and fraud are at the heart of the data-advantage, and how contingent, time-bound and fragile that advantage really is.

The latest is the bizarrely named "Project Bernanke," a formerly secret ripoff that was exposed when Google forgot to redact a document it filed in its Texas antitrust case:

https://twitter.com/KhushitaVasant/status/1379955848118726659

Google used data from recent ad-auctions to help advertisers shade their bids for ad-placements, exploiting the information asymmetry so the ads it brokered won the auctions, ensuring that rivals ad-brokerages were frozen out.

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/googles-secretive-project-bernanke-reportedly-093732134.html

Though Google insists that this was just an industry practice, the leaked document reveals that Google kept this a secret from publishers. Its internal presentations claim that they made $230m in 2013 alone from this practice.

https://www.wsj.com/articles/googles-secret-project-bernanke-revealed-in-texas-antitrust-case-11618097760

All together, this constitutes a highly specific account of how a data-advantage worked - and what its weak-point is. Project Bernanke was not grounded in longitudinal market data from ad-sales - it exploited *recent* data to deliver a $230m+/year advantage.

The multisided market - a multisided bezzle - exploits the monopolist's data advantage to harm readers, publishers and advertisers, not by predicting and shaping their behavior by bypassing their critical faculties with spooky, advanced psychometrics.

The bezzle requires fresh data - it's a flywheel that uses the monopolist's god's-eye-view to freeze out competitors and entrap publishers and advertisers to get more data to rig the market to entrap the publishers and the advertisers.

It's not a comet. It's a monopoly. It's not terrifying supergeniuses using machine learning to turn us into clicking zombies: it's garden-variety monopolists using anticompetitive, underhanded, dishonest and (probably) illegal tactics to maintain their monopoly.

Bust the trust, ban the conduct, and the data-advantage evaporates with the half-life of that extremely time-bound data. The criti-hype that says that the data-advantage is a deadly, unstoppable comet is just Google's own sales-patter, flipped on its head.

Don't believe the criti-hype.

#pluralistic

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janiedean · 3 years

Note

10 year prompts: FAIRY TALE AU FOR STANNIS E DAVOS <3 If any of your other OTPs acts as a background/helpers "because they have been there" it would be lovely, especially since they are all different takes on the Beauty and the Beast story. But also because it would be really fun to see idk, Sandor trying to give Davos dating advice "as someone who was in Stannis position before". Thank you so much for accepting prompts!

HELLO ANON have uh... the pseudo cinderella reverse au of doom that I don't know where it's from, I HOPE YOU LIKE IT pls presume every westeros kingdom is separated for this and same sex marriage is allowed

buy me a coffee | commissions open

"Well, it seems like we are at an impasse, and I need you to fucking compromise," Robert says, and Stannis has to stop himself from gritting his teeth loudly.

"I am not," Stannis replies, "compromising on this."

"You do realize," Robert says, "that -"

"That according to whichever stupid law your precious Westeros council still hasn't managed to change when they have damned well should -"

"You know it's not a priority -"

"Of course for the seven of you it's not a priority," Stannis groans, "but I do know that if I don't get married Renly can't marry his precious Loras Tyrell either, and for the umpteenth time, as I did compromise years ago and I had to marry someone I didn't even like and who didn't like me and we all know how it ended up, you can forget I will compromise on marrying the first person you find suitable especially when I'm not sure they would be kind to my daughter, and I'm not making that mistake again."

"Oh, come on, you're being unreasonable -"

"Robert, no woman in Westeros actually wants someone with my background and I'm not subjecting my daughter to someone who hates her, and I'm not backing down on that."

"And what if I found some woman who did?"

"I am not marrying anyone I don't like. Not anymore." He's going to stand his ground on that. He hasn't done that for his entire life and both his brothers always ended up ahead of him and he didn't even complain because it was his duty, but -

But now he's not doing that.

Robert sighs. "Do you hate your brother that much?"

"I accepted someone I didn't like once, Robert. And it's not just me anymore now."

Robert sighs louder. "All right, all right. Let's say I strike a deal with bloody Rhaegar Targaryen and he lends me the ballroom in King's Landing, I throw a ball for your hand and you choose whoever you want?"

"No one is going to show up at a ball for me," Stannis grits out. "Do you really want to humiliate me that much?"

"You can choose," Robert says, "as long as you fucking get married. Take it or leave it or I choose someone for you. I'm not letting a Tyrell alliance go to waste because you're too stubborn."

Stannis really doesn't want to agree with this, but.

But if he doesn't agree it's just going to be worse after, and at this point he might as well try to make the best out of it.

"Whatever," he says, "fine."

Out of whoever goes to this fucking ball, maybe there will be someone halfway decent.

Maybe.

Well, Davos thinks, couldn't be faulted for trying, even if he hadn't exactly predicted dying in an execution on the damned public square because fucking Randyll Tarly decided that since some fucking stupid royal ball is happening each single criminal has to be dealt with swiftly.

Also, he was an idiot to get caught, but then again, it's not like he was given a trial or anything and him asking for one had made the arse laugh and say to not waste his precious time, so he supposes he is going to get hanged on the public square.

To think that he's managed to be a smuggler without getting caught for years and now he's here because -

"Lord Tarly," someone says just as Davos gets dragged in front of the noose, "what is this about now?"

"My lord," Tarly says with... somewhat distaste. Davos dares looking ahead. The other guy is... definitely a lord, dressed finely in black and just a smish of gold embroidered in his clothing, but at least it's sober. Definitely a few years younger than Davos, has to be around thirty at most, and while he's not what you'd call astonishing in a man, Davos can't help noticing that he has a nice pair of blue eyes, though they're steely as they look at Tarly as if he's nowhere near pleased with any of this circus. Certainly Davos is not, either. "This man was caught committing a foul deed and I don't want criminals running around with the occasion you know of is looming, so if you'd let me do your job -"

"And what was this foul deed we're talking about?"

"I do not see why we have to discuss -"

"Because," the other lord replies, "the occasion that is looming is supposedly for my own benefit and I would like to know and I do not like to see people killed for something potentially useless. So?"

Tarly shrugs. "Very well. He got caught stealing food, a lot of it, and then it turned out he was a notorious smuggler we have been looking for for a long time, so -"

"So he only ever smuggled goods and stole food? And why did you steal that food?"

It takes Davos one second to realize that the lord is talking to him.

He clears his throat.

"There's a family living next door to me in Flea Bottom," Davos says. "I was friends with the father. He - died recently. Couldn't make enough gold to feed all of them so he gave up on his own food, he worked at the port and died helping unloading a ship." That was bringing Dornish wine for whichever feast they're holding at the palace. "His wife didn't have anything to eat, either. I stole some bread from a bakery near the castle and they caught me."

"I imagine these neighbors of yours haven't eaten that bread now, did they?" The lord asks.

"My lord, you aren't believing him, are -"

"Lord Tarly, kindly let him talk."

Davos shakes his head. "No."

"How many children are you talking about?"

"Five," Davos sighs, wondering how bad they're having it right now.

"I think we should see if he's telling the truth," the lord says.

"Lord Stannis, this is nonsense -"

"I wish to see if he is," the man goes on, "and I would like to remind you, Lord Tarly, that my brother is your sovereign, so how about we do that and see if he's lying or not?"

If anything, I'll get to live a little longer.

Davos leads the way and throughout the entire trip, Lord Stannis does not talk or say anything, just looks ahead with gritting teeth, and when he sees that Davos was, in fact, not lying, he shakes his head, mutters something about Robert and everyone else not having their priorities straight and then shakes his head again.

"Lord Tarly," he says, "get someone to give these people some food. They're bloody starving. And he wasn't lying - that woman kept on singing his praises and honestly, again, he's a criminal but he's never killed anyone, or has he?"

"Not that we know of," Tarly says.

"What's your name?" Lord Stannis asks, and wait, is he talking directly to him for the second time, this is just - no single lord in existence ever looks at commoners this way, as far as he knows -

"Davos Seaworth," he says, "my lord."

"Well, as far as I can see here, you only ever stole and you were trying to do something decent and - never quite mind that. I think," he goes on, "that no one should hang and he swears to not commit crimes anymore and since he still should be punished, he loses the joints in his left hand for that and that's all there is to it."

"But -" Lord Tarly tries to object.

"What do you say?" Lord Stannis asks.

"That I would take that one deal in a heartbeat," Davos replies.

"Well then," Lord Stannis says, "I proposed it, I will do it myself so that no golden cloak of Lord Tarly's gets ideas about taking your whole hand."

Davos decides that it's wildly beyond his expectations, and nods.

He asks to keep the bones.

Lord Stannis looks at him as if he doesn't know why he would but he can, for all he cares, and Tarly's sour face is enough to make Davos forget the pain he feels when the sharp knife goes down almost instantly.

Lord Stannis tells him to try and behave properly from now and leaves muttering something about just wanting to go back to Storm's End, and -

Davos needs to know more.

The moment his fingertips don't bleed anymore and he has the bones safely stored in a pouch, he grabs his old cloak and heads for the tavern where everyone from the golden cloaks and the court hangs out.

Maybe he can find out more about who that one lord is, because sure as the Seven Hells he never ran into one like that.

The last thing he expects to find when he starts asking around the inn is that Sandor Clegane sits down in front of him.

If anything because the man shouldn't even hang around here - last he checked, he hasn't since he stopped going by that Hound nickname and ended up married to the Warden of the North's daughter somehow, and he doesn't even live in King's Landing anymore, but apparently he is, and - well. Davos had seen him around, back in the day. Now he looks... happier, he thinks. Not as angry. And those scars on his face haven't changed but his face looks somehow softer than before.

"I heard," he says, "you're askin' around about bloody Stannis Baratheon."

Oh, Davos thinks, so that was why Lord Tarly was that deferring to him. He could have gotten there when Stannis told him his brother was Lord Tarly's king, but - well. He hadn't been paying that much attention.

"Well," Davos says, "he made sure I didn't end up hanged and he just - I never knew any lord like that."

"Believe me, not many lords are like that one." Clegane takes a sip of ale, then shrugs. "Well, what did you need to know?"

"Just, shouldn't he be in the Stormlands? And what's this occasion thing that was for him that Lord Tarly was ranting about?"

"... You don't know, but of fucking course you wouldn't," Sandor shrugs, "it's not like they'd announce shit in Flea Bottom. Well, you know the royal ball they're holding at the Red Keep tomorrow?"

"Yes?"

"That's for him to pick someone he wants to marry," Clegane shrugs, "and he hates every second of it, not that anyone could blame his sorry ass."

"... Explain," Davos says. That just doesn't fucking make sense.

"I'll make it short," Clegane shrugs, "but he married this... lady Florent something some ten years ago 'cause his brother picked her for him and apparently he's the only one in that family who gets the short straw about everyfuckingthing. And when they went for the bedding they found Robert in bed with some other woman."

"His marriage bed?"

"Well, yeah," Clegane goes on, "and then they had a daughter but she was born with grayscale so half of her face is scarred, her mother fell in with some witch from Asshai and decided that her daughter was an abomination and turned out she wanted to burn her alive, long story short when it happened of course he broke off the marriage and I have no idea where the fuck she ended, but since then he hasn't had anyone offer their daughter's hand. Because everyone thinks he's dull and he said that even if he had a son with another woman he'd consider his daughter his heir or anyway he wouldn't let her get the fucking short straw, too, and like, while a second Baratheon son is not fucking little, he has no offers. But now it looks like he has to get fucking married or his younger brother can't marry bloody Loras Tyrell, either, and they came to that ball compromise. If you wonder how I know all of this, my lady wife spent the entire trip to King's Landing from Winterfell sharing about that and saying that it was a pity poor Stannis never got his good love story, so there's fucking that."

"And the ball's point is...?"

"That if he likes anyone he meets he gets to pick his bride. Or whatever the fuck else."

Davos nods. "I see," he says. "And you're saying people think he's dull?"

Clegane shrugs again. "I mean, I don't personally give a fuck and I think he's all right, but his brothers are both... more suited for fucking court, I guess. And he obviously hates court. And he says he won't have anyone who won't accept his daughter, which means whoever shows up will be really desperate daughters of minor lords. Does this satisfy your questions?"

"It does," Davos says, looking down at his hand.

"Wait," Clegane says, "he did that?"

"The alternative was Lord Tarly hanging me, Ser," Davos replies.

"I'm not one and good fucking riddance to me. Huh." He looks at Davos, and Davos holds the stare, wishing he knew what the man was thinking, and then -

"You want to go to that ball, don't you."

It's not posed as a question.

Davos swallows. "I mean," he says, "I - if he had been some knight or not a fucking lord I'd have... tried to talk to him, I guess. I just - he didn't seem stuck-up like the others. And he did save my life. But please, and how would I even get in there? I'm a fucking smuggler and I was born and bred in Flea Bottom of all places, certainly I am not invited."

"No," Sandor replies, "but - ah, fucking bugger it to the seven hells and back, I've been in his place."

"Lord Stannis's?"

"Yes," he says, "as in, I thought no one would ever look at me like that, except that it happened and you are sort of having that look while thinking about him, and I highly doubt he wants a fucking princess or whatever."

What in the Seven Hells - Davos thinks, but then Clegane half-smiles, the scarred side of his mouth curling up in what looks a damned genuine grin, and -

"You're a smuggler, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes?" Davos replies. "Even if I guess I shouldn't risk it anymore, should -"

"Think you can be at that small bay near the kitchens tomorrow at this hour?"

"I - I could?"

"Be there," Clegane says, "I absolutely want to see the fucking faces of all those arses after."

"After what?"

"You'll find out," the man says, and then stands up and leaves.

He looks cheerful.

What the fucking fuck, Davos thinks, and then decides that he has nothing to lose. He can be there tomorrow.

He expects Clegane to be there.

Instead -

"Davos Seaworth?" A tall, blonde woman with very pretty blue eyes, a nose that was broken twice and shoulders worthy of a knight tells him - she's dressed in good male garb, and she has a knife at her hip, but she doesn't sound hostile.

"Uh, yes," he says, "lady...?"

"Brienne of Tarth," she introduces herself and wait -

"Aren't you - Ser Jaime Lannister's -"

"Yes," she interrupts him, "and Sandor told me to come get you and believe me, I was much glad to because that ball is a stupid farce and I get why Stannis would hate it and I have my reasons to want to have a laugh at everyone else's antics. Do follow me," she says, and leads him through some tunnel going inside the castle from the small cave nearby.

Davos tries to remember how the hell she got married to Lannister - it was pretty talked about in the city, back in the day. He still was in the Kingsguard and she had been in Renly Baratheon's following and they ended up fighting in some tourney and they tied and two weeks later he had resigned from the Kingsguard somehow - his sister, the Queen regent, hadn't apparently been happy but Rhaegar Targaryen agreed to it, so Davos supposes he had some leverage - and they eloped on Tarth and he's halfway sure Tywin Lannister still has his son disowned for that, or half-disowned, but he still obviously is invited to courtly events. Davos has no fucking clue how nobles do this, but he follows Brienne thought a few more tunnels until she leads him out and into a corridor and into a small but richly furnished room.

"Right," she says, "just... wait a bit here. And - well. I, uh, didn't know your Lord Stannis much before we... ended up talking to each other a while ago, and - I get where he's been and no one wants to be the center of a feast where they know they're going to be laughed at. So, I'm pretty sure he will be relieved."

"Of what?"

"You'll know shortly," she half-smiles, and then closes the door.

What the fuck, Davos thinks for the umpteenth time, and a few moments later the door opens.

Now.

Davos has heard of Jaime Lannister enough to know on sight that the blonde man coming through the door is him, and the younger girl on the side with bright auburn hair and blue eyes - oh. She has a Stark sigil on her dress. Is she -

"Lady Sansa," Lannister says, "your husband wasn't lying, was he?"

"No," she smiles back, "but this is going to be good."

"My lord," Davos stammers, "my lady. Uh, what is this about?"

"Oh," Sansa replies, grinning, "it's about getting you to that ball. Ser," she tells Lannister, "mind instructing him while I find him the right clothing?"

"Absolutely," Lannister smiles wider.

Seven fucking hells, Davos thinks, I'm never going to survive this.

"See," Lannister goes on, "when Clegane told me that he thought you might want to go to the ball because you actually did like Stannis we about all fainted in our little corner of no one thoughts we should have married the way we did so we'll leave you alone, but honestly, the guy pretty much does his brother's job because Robert doesn't really give a damn about being a decent ruler, then he pretty much gave up everything he wanted for either of his brothers and they never said thanks and he was one of the few idiots who when I, uh, resigned, said I should be able to." He shrugs. "Also, he was nicer to Brienne than his actual brother that she wanted to swear herself to, so. I kind of owe him and his daughter is a nice girl. She doesn't deserve a shit stepmother."

"And you all decided that I am the solution to the problem?" Davos asks from behind a screen where he's trying on the clothes Sansa brought him after she got a bath brought over to the room and he had to hear Lannister giving him tips to get through the ball while he was washing.

"You're here and you're thanking the guy for having cut off your finger joints, please. And no one cares where you come from - at least the four of us - and he certainly won't. Come on, out of that screen."

Davos sighs and does, and Sansa does whistle a bit. "Told you," she says, "they'd fit."

"Oh, they do," Lannister replies, and tells Davos to go look at himself in the mirror near the window.

Davos does, and -

Well. He felt out of place dressed in fine dark green silks with golden embroideries and a velvet brown coat, but it does fit him, and the black new leather boots Sansa got him are the best shoes he's ever worn, and now that he could get a good cleaning - well. He's still himself, but he's pretty sure half of his friends wouldn't recognize him.

"Take this," Lannister says, handing him a sword. "Now, what could the story be - oh, he's some hedge knight I met while killing bandits with Brienne and we thought to invite him?"

"Sounds good," Sansa nods, "and you could invite him. He probably shouldn't say he's from King's Landing, though."

"Absolutely not," Lannister agrees. "Hm. How about Cape Wrath?"

"Better," she nods, "though I suppose his real name shouldn't come out."

"No," Lannister shakes his head. "Ser, choose one. Oh, should he be a bastard? Imagine their faces."

"I think we should absolutely go for that," she grins back. "So, a name?"

"Uh, Allard?" Davos blurts his father's name, may his soul rest in peace.

"Allard Storm, sounds good," Lannister grins. "Well, you're a hedge knight, you met me and my lady wife while chasing bandits and we invited you because why the hell not," he says. "I hope you can dance, Seaworth."

"... I don't think so," Davos replies. "I mean, I never did."

Maybe he should have lied.

Maybe he'd have spared himself those two actually teaching him on the spot.

When he's pushed out of the room a while later, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing here, but -

But he still doesn't want to run away.

Fuck, what did I get myself into? He asks himself, and then walks on anyway.

“I should have never agreed to this farce,” Stannis whispers as he sloshes wine he knows he won’t drink in his glass.

Good thing he’s telling Brienne of Tarth that and not anyone else, because he thinks no one else in this room would understand how it feels - she nods, and thankfully she doesn’t argue about it.

But what should she argue? Each single lady who came looked at him like her father forced her here, it’s a ball in his name and he’s technically not danced with anyone yet, not that he would want to, Renly and Loras meanwhile are doing it and everyone is looking at them anyway, which... is exactly what he knew was going to happen. Never mind his daughter who asked him fifteen times if they really had to participate and he thinks wasn’t openly laughed at yet just because anyone who might has been properly scolded by their lordly parents on that one topic, but the last time he saw her she was standing miserably to the side.

“I’ve been there,” she says, “and I wouldn’t want to be in your position ever again anyway. But -” She clears her throat, “I think that you might change your mind.”

“Oh, and how?”

“Jaime, uh, he made a friend the other day. While we were out checking the woods.”

“And?”

“And he invited him along. I think that you might... well. Like him. Or at least not be thoroughly bored.”

“At least,” Stannis sighs, and really, he doesn’t begrudge her for having found better than his damned brother, because she did deserve it as much as he’d have never bet a coin on Jaime Lannister of everyone being anyone’s ideal partner, but still, this entire exercise is just reminding him of how much no one actually would want him even for... companionship, if nothing else, and -

Why did he even agree to this bloody farce, he really wishes -

“Oh, here they are,” she says, and yes, Lannister is apparently arguing with - Lord Varys, seven hells, of course he was in charge of vetoing who was allowed in, and there’s a man next to him, indeed, but he has a hood over his head - a nice velvet coat without too many pretenses, so he can’t see his face, but then it seems like Lannister has his way and manages to get the man in, and then he whispers something his way and - comes over to the both of them?

“Stannis,” he smiles, entirely too gloating about it, “it’s your event and you let your brother steal the spotlight?”

“What do you think even happened?” Stannis sighs back - he’s not even going to antagonize him.

“I see I have to do everything tonight. Brienne, fancy making sure that people stop only having eyes for Renly while he mingles?”

“I fancy,” she grins, and of course she does, the room usually starts whispering the moment they dance together since she’s never not led and it’s apparently worth whispering about, and so when they’re off, Stannis sighs and walks to the side, figuring he will try to make an effort and talk to anyone who will -

And then he sees that Lannister’s mysterious friend is talking to his daughter and she’s smiling at him before running off somewhere - oh, where Tyrion Lannister is lounging, Stannis notices, and what -

“Ser,” he clears his throat, moving closer, “would it be too much if I asked you how you got my daughter to - do that?” He blurts, hating how awkward he sounds -

“I told her,” the man replies, and wait, isn’t the voice familiar, “that she looked very lonely, she explained me how she loathed this feast and I suggested her that she might want to talk to someone who likes what she does, and Ser Jaime has told me enough about his brother to know they might have something to discuss. But I am hardly a ser, my lord.”

Stannis glances down at the man’s left hand while the man pulls down the hood.

Oh.

He’s - he doesn’t have the finger joints on his left hand.

He’s -

“I see you understood,” the man - what was his name, Davos Seaworth - says.

“I might,” Stannis replies, “and may I inquire how you’re here?”

He’ll be thrice fucked if Davos didn’t... sort of flush under his beard. Which... looks a lot better now that it’s well-groomed, and then a pair of warm brown eyes meets his own, and -

“I asked around who you might be, since no one else in your place would have actually insisted to save the life of... well. A common criminal, let’s put it like that. And I met someone who decided that I sounded entirely too interested and I should attend the ball and they helped me sneak in, and I never felt like it was a mistake, so... sounds like I am here. But if you don’t wish me to -”

“Please,” Stannis shakes his head, feeling slightly dizzy, “no one until now made me feel like they actually weren’t forced to be here and... you went through all that effort to just... talk to me peer to peer? Or, well. The closest one might get to it.”

“I thought I’d just want to thank you in person,” Davos replies, “but now that I’m here, I think I’d like to stay a while, and not just for the good food. Fancy taking a stroll out, my lord? Unless you’d rather watch your brother seethe.”

“Renly is doing what,” Stannis replies, and turns to look at the scene -

Well.

Renly is seething because everyone is whispering about Brienne twirling Jaime Lannister around the floor like she was born to do that. He shouldn’t be smiling. But maybe he is, a tiny bit.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t, but - well.”

“I won’t judge people for being petty,” Davos replies, “but - is there a reason why?”

Stannis shrugs. “Well, he kind of hates that he hasn’t managed to... be officially with his intended because of me, and he never fails to remind me that everyone thinks me dull in comparison to him, and I never quite forgot that he once said it would be a miracle if I’d find anyone who’d take my daughter because of her face, so. Well. If Brienne is upstaging him, I’ll live with it.”

Davos looks at him, then at the rest of the room.

“I see,” he says, “and I can’t blame you. She was perfectly nice with me.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Stannis says, “but - maybe I would like that stroll.” What is he even saying -

“Then we should,” Davos replies, half-smiling, and he looks so damned kind -

What the hell is happening?

The hell, Stannis realizes, is that he actually does like this man.

They just - they just talked while music came faintly from the outside, and it’s probably sad that it’s novel experience to talk to someone who actually seems to give a damn about what he has to say and listens to him except Davos actually does, and when Davos talks about how he ended up becoming a criminal and almost hanged he kind of can’t help feeling guilty when he looks down at the man’s left hand.

Fucking Seven Hells, he might be a smuggler, but when someone tells you well where I came from it was a struggle to put any food on the table at all and with my first smuggling job when I was fourteen I could pay for it for a month can you even blame them for not having looked back and found an honest job?

He thinks about how he never had to worry about his next meal.

“I think I have to apologize to you,” he says quietly when Davos finishes telling him about how he couldn’t sleep at night hearing those starving children wail.

“... You don’t,” Davos replies, shaking his head.

“I do,” Stannis goes on. “I mean... I still think stealing is a crime and crimes should be punished or - or what else makes sense, but when one hears your circumstances... I feel like I should have just have you swear you wouldn’t live that life anymore. I could. And instead -”

“Oh, you made sure I didn’t lose an entire hand or hang, and we both know Lord Tarly wouldn’t have been happy with just letting me go. I can appreciate fair play, my lord, and I mean, I did commit crimes. I did keep the bones, anyway.”

“You - did?”

Davos nods towards... oh. A small pouch that he has hanging around his neck. Stannis hadn’t noticed it before, but -

“I decided I’d keep them in memory of the one time one lord was actually fair to me, but then - then I met Clegane and he told me to show up here. Also... shouldn’t someone have looked for us by now?”

It’s been a while. The music is still playing. No one did.

He shakes his head. “As if they’d care,” he says, “most likely they were just waiting for me to leave so they could stop pretending to be nice.”

Davos just looks at him, and then he swallows, and -

“Beg your pardon if this is too forward,” he asks, “but maybe my lord fancies dancing somewhere not in front of all those people?”

“I - I don’t generally do that,” Stannis replies. Why is his heart beating faster?

“Oh, I don’t dance to that kind of music either, but who is going to see us?”

Stannis has slipped his hand into Davos’s before he can think on it.

What am I even doing, he thinks, noticing how the other man’s hands are roughened - he took away the gloves and he can feel how the right one is all clean but calloused skin and the left has fresh scarring on the joints, but they hold his own so very gently, and -

And neither of them is really good at this, because he hasn’t danced in years and Davos is obviously winging it based on what he saw in the hall, but it’s nice, and twirling around the garden without anyone staring at him feels nice, and when he looks at Davos’s kind, warm brown eyes his stomach flips over again, and -

“This - this is nice,” he finally admits.

“It... it is,” Davos says back, and he’s half-smiling and - “If this is the first and last time I get to be at a royal ball, I’m not going to think it wasted time at all.”

Gods, gods, why the idea that he wouldn’t see him again is making him feel like the ground will fall open under his feet and swallow him whole?

“What if I don’t want it to be?” He finds himself saying, and Davos gasps at it.

“... Really?”

“Really,” he says, feeling like his head is spinning and he can’t stop talking, “never mind that - no one I know managed to make my daughter happy like that talking to her once. And - that was one of the conditions I had for Robert. That I wouldn’t... be with anyone who’d treat her poorly.”

“Why would anyone? She’s a lovely girl,” Davos replies, and oh, if he knew.

“You saw her. And her mother wanted to burn her alive. Not many people agree with you.”

“Then most people are idiots,” Davos replies, “if I may be so bold.”

“You may,” Stannis replies, and they’re still swinging, and - “You may be as bold as you like.”

He doesn’t know how he said that. He doesn’t even know where that comes from.

What he knows is that Davos’s mouth is on his the moment after and -

And he’s fucking kissing back the moment it happens and had he been hoping for it? Gods maybe he had, and the few times he kissed Selyse were nothing like this, she never - it never felt like she wanted to actually do it and Davos does, there is no fucking way he doesn’t, and his tongue is slipping into Stannis’s mouth and he groaned into it, oh fuck -

“Stannis, where the fuck did you end up?”

Oh, damn it, that was Robert -

They break apart and Stannis is about to tell Davos to just stay and that he’ll deal with it, but then other people talk and -

“Damn,” Davos says, “that’s Lord Tarly, and he will recognize me.”

... He would, Stannis realizes, and -

“Oh, fuck,” Davos says, and then he takes the pouch with the bones from his neck and slams it into Stannis’s palm and -

“If you want me to come back,” Davos replies, half-smiling, “you just have to bring them back to me. You know where I live, my lord.”

“I - I do,” Stannis whispers.

“Then - then I hope to see you soon, my lord. If not... I’m not regretting that you’ll get to keep that.”

And then he’s gone and Robert and his fucking search group have shown up a moment later.

“What were you even doing out here?” Robert asks. “You know that you have to choose a wife before the feast is over?”

Oh, fuck him and fuck them all, Stannis thinks.

“About that,” he says, “I think I know. But I can tell you when we go back in.”

It’s going to be a goddamned problem, he knows, but -

But.

He’s almost never trusted his gut his entire life and it only ever brought him trouble, and now he wants to, and -

And.

And he knows.

“You’re not marrying a criminal!” Robert explodes later, when the hall has been emptied except for them, Renly, his daughter, Lord Tarly, the present Tyrells, Starks and Lannisters and of course Rhaegar Targaryen and the members of the small council, but he seems to be uninterested in how this ends one way or the other.

“I said I could choose whoever I wanted, didn’t you?” He stares back.

“I didn’t mean a damned criminal, Stannis! And how did a commoner even get in here? Lannister, what were you thinking?”

Jaime Lannister merely shrugs, half-grinning while his father looks at him like he’s a lost cause. His sister... Stannis isn’t even going to think about that. “That he looked and sounded like someone he’d like and so I invited him. Sure, we did tell him to not introduce himself with his real name, for obvious reasons, but -”

“A bloody commoner, Lannister!”

“Oh,” Lannister shrugs, “and so what? He stole some things. He never harmed anyone as far as we knew. You could have worse brothers in law.”

“Are you bloody serious - Stannis, please, no way -”

“And why?” He counteracts. “I am not interested in having any more children,” he goes on, “I do have an heir, and he would certainly not try to make sure she stops being that, and I wanted someone she’d like too, and I think she did, or -”

“I did,” she replies quietly, and Robert rolls his eyes.

“Shireen, this man is a smuggler, your father isn’t reasoning -”

“Well,” she says, “I have talked to him once and he was nicer than just about anyone else at the feast. Or - well. I don’t think I should say.”

“Shireen, you can.”

“I don’t think I can tell you. It wouldn’t be polite. And you would be sad.”

“Let’s say,” Lannister says, “that she can tell me in all confidence outside the room and I can come back with the answer if it’s something that could be shared?”

Stannis should be worried that Shireen seems fine with that, but then again he’s the brother of the guy who entertained her for half of the feast, right? And why would she think he would be sad?

Anyway. Lannister brings her out of the room, and then comes back and -

“I told her she could go find my brother,” he says, and oh, the youngest Lannister did flee the premises while they were arguing, “and - well. Renly,” he says, “honestly, she said that the criminal commoner was nicer to her in five minutes than you’ve ever been your entire life, maybe you should think about that sometimes.”

Of course -

At least Renly has the grace to look ashamed, and Robert groans again, and -

Ah, seven hells.

“Robert,” he says, “this entire farce was to make sure I would find anyone suitable so Renly could have his lavish wedding and whatnot. You said I could choose anyone. I happen to have chosen. If my daughter likes him, too, even better, and honestly, you are the king, Renly will have the Tyrell alliance and certainly my daughter won’t be your heir, so what do you care? People will talk and decide I lost my wits, and would that be any news? Just stop being unreasonable.”

Robert stares at him, and then -

“Seven hells,” he sighs, “you never stood up that much for anything in your life as much as - whatever this is. Fucking - ah, well, I suppose I can just find some way to make sure the three of you aren’t around court too much.”

“Believe me, both Shireen and I would be thoroughly pleased,” Stannis says, and then Robert raises his hands to the ceiling.

“Whatever. Go ahead, find this guy, as long as I can move forward with the other damned wedding.”

“Why, thank you, extremely kind of you, Your Grace,” he says, and then he turns on his heel and gets out of the room.

He’s not surprised when Lannister follows him. “Should I tell my brother to keep your daughter entertained for a while longer?”

“Please,” he says, “and I don’t know how much I have to thank you, but -”

“Just go get the guy and remember that Brienne’s father is only too glad to host her friends on Tarth. He’s exceedingly glad she has some,” he winks, and then goes to - find his brother and Shireen, he supposes, and -

“My lord,” Sandor Clegane says, appearing suddenly at his right as he gets out of the castle, “you need an escort to Flea Bottom, mayhaps?”

“I don’t even want to know how you knew,” he sighs, and stops asking himself why apparently is there some kind of conspiracy to help him out with - whatever this is.

He also doesn’t want to know how Clegane says he knows the way when Stannis asks him if he remembers how to get to the house he visited a few days ago.

Davos had half expected the knock on the door.

He hadn’t been sure it would happen, but -

He’s nowhere near surprised when he opens it and Stannis is there with Sandor Clegane in the background winking at him and then making himself scarce.

“This place is a lot fouler by night than by day, if possible,” Stannis says, walking into Davos’s one-room shack, not that he could afford any better.

“But you knew that already, my lord, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Stannis whispers, and his eyes look so blue in the candlelight, and then he’s handing Davos back the pouch with the bones -

“Is it.. I thought it was heavier,” Davos says, taking it.

Stannis shrugs, lifting up his cloak. He has a similar pouch tied to his waist.

What -

“I took the liberty to split it,” he whispers, “if - if it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not,” Davos says, “but does it mean that -”

“My brother has agreed to... my choice, if we lay low. But I think that it woudn’t be a problem. And - I never do things not overthinking them. But - my daughter likes you, and I like you, and honestly, no one would have gone through the effort you did just to... talk to me or whatever, and - this is, if -”

“Yes,” Davos interrupts.

“Wait, yes?”

“I can’t believe I actually am saying it myself, but of course. I do.. quite like you, my lord.”

“Well, if we are to be... to be, maybe you can do away with that?”

“I could be persuaded,” Davos says, and he leans in and they’re kissing again and this time is slower and Stannis’s hand is slightly trembling as he touches the back of his hair and he’s not even wearing his fine clothes now, he put them away before but Stannis doesn’t seem to care an inch and when he groans into Davos’s mouth again he grasps at the back of his head and -

Well.

He doesn’t know how he’s going to navigate things considering that he can’t even bloody damn well read, but who cares. He’ll learn. He just -

He likes Stannis, damn it, and he wants to see it through, and if it means they’ll have to lay low because other lords are damned stupid, who cares.

10.

“Well,” Jaime says, “we can expect a lot of gossip.”

“In what sense?” Brienne replies, wishing she didn’t have to reply to ravens when they’re on Tarth, but his father insists that she does because she’ll take his place one day.

“My brother writes me that Shireen Baratheon writes him that she’s never been happier now that they’re at that castle in Cape Wrath, that she’s taught Seaworth to read admirably well and she has a lot of fun with that and that she’s delighted because he is actually a thoroughly nice guy and her father is happy and she’s never seen him happy before, they didn’t go to Renly’s wedding and they didn’t miss it at all and apparently everyone in town is happy they’re there because they don’t have to go to Robert for inquiries or asking anything and Sannis is a lot fairer than Robert was anyway, and no one is actually dying of hunger in there anymore, so I guess that they’re doing well - oh, this is golden.”

“What is golden?”

“That Robert is of course not taking a wife until Lyanna Stark capitulates to his courting but he’s certainly having children here and there, so he’s sending some of them to their place and I think they have what, two of them there, and Shireen is delighted because she finally has some company, and imagine that, Sansa Stark came visiting there with her husband and sister once because I suppose she wanted to see how well her matchmaking had worked and her sister is smitten with one of said bastard sons. And they had to lay low, imagine that,” he laughs. “Well, when were they supposed to visit?”

“A month from now?”

“There’s going to be so much gossip,” he keeps on muttering, and she lets him - he has all the reasons to gloat about it.

She smiles to herself as she takes another raven and starts penning it - she might as well send them some more congratulations before they come visit.

After all, after they became friendly, she did hope that he’d find someone he would be happy with same as she did instead of always staying in Renly’s shadow, which she’d have been happy with herself... before realizing she deserved better.

She’s really glad he did.

And she can’t wait to host them too - if they got the happy ending, no point in not celebrating it, isn’t it?

#stavos #stannis baratheon #davos seaworth #jaime x brienne #sandor x sansa #my fic #ten years anniversary promptfest #anonymous #ask post #ANON THIS WAS A LABOR OF LOVE IDK HOW LONG IT WAS BUT #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #*drops*#FROM TOMORROW I'M TRYING TO ACTUALLY FILL MORE THAN ONE #this is so long #i hope it doesn't break your dashes #my stuff

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sundaysundaes · 4 years

Text

A Shatter in The Dark

Mark Lee X Lee Donghyuck/Haechan, ft. Taeyong | NC-17 | Smut, Fluff, Action, Angst | Zombie Apocalypse AU

Summary: A lethal virus has killed 90% of the world's population and turns 9.8% into zombie-like, cannibalistic mutants who are extremely vulnerable to the ultraviolet rays in sunlight. And yet, Mark Lee's number one problem is trying to stop himself from staring too long at the way Haechan's jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Warnings: Smut, Major Character Death, Slight Horror and Violence

Also available to read on AO3 here.

It’s strange, Mark thinks, for him to not be able to remember how it all started. Perhaps it’s a way for his mind to release himself from all the traumatic events he has gone through. Perhaps he’s just too scared to even begin to remember the details. Or perhaps he’s just no longer human—not like the way he used to.

“Just keep going,” he mutters to himself—a habit that begins to grow more with each day passing by. It doesn’t necessarily comfort him but it keeps him sane. He needs to hear a human’s voice in his ears, even if that comes from his own mouth.

He has stopped counting days, just like how he’s stopped taking three meals a day. Both for the same reason: to survive longer. His backpack feels heavy on his back and his untrimmed bangs stick uncomfortably to his temple, but he drags his feet along the pavement that’s scorching from the heat of the sun. His throat blazes just as hot, his lips chapped and he needs something to eat.

Back when he was fourteen and his imaginations ran wild from reading too many Stephen King’s horror novels before his bedtime, Mark once imagined how would his town look in a post-apocalyptic universe. He’d visualized the sky with no clouds and thunderbolts striking endlessly. He’d imagined the cracks on the roads with long, tall wild grass growing out of them, as they seek for the sunlight that is now shining bloody red. The air would be toxic, he’d figured, killing everyone who breathes it in without a filter mask and the seas would be dry, making water everyone’s priority and causing civil wars just to get it.

Now that he’s living in a post-apocalyptic world, he notices that it’s nothing like he’d fantasized.

The city of Seoul looks fairly the same, albeit slightly abandoned. Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few months since the outbreak, but the neighbourhood still seems familiar. The plants are unkempt, the bags of dust on the floors are thick in layers, and the pavements are covered with dry leaves. But if Mark closes his eyes for a few seconds, the wind still feels nice on his cheeks, the air still smells like how it does during the end of summer, and he can imagine kids running around down the street. He doesn’t though, because no one around him is alive. He hasn’t met anyone for God knows how long and it’s making him insane.

It’s a fucking ghost town and Mark wishes he could just disappear like everybody else. A few months ago, it was stated that the virus had killed 48% of the world's population. The outbreak had started in Korea as well but his government was trying their best to isolate the island. That was the last news he saw on TV before his mother took the remote control with a quivering hand and turned it off. She turned to her son, eyes trembling in fear, and said, “Let’s pray together. Our Lord will protect us if we pray.”

But Lord’s protection only lasted for two days before his usually calm neighbourhood began to turn into an uproar. The virus had infected one of them and it traveled fast.

Those who had weak bodies, Mark noticed, died within seconds and he witnessed with his own eyes how his father, who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks before, began to bleed from his mouth, nose and ears. It happened so fast, as if something invisible was choking the life out of him and he exploded from the inside. He could remember how his father was reaching out to him, his son’s name on his tongue and Mark stood there in horror, watching his loved one silently screaming in pain with bloody tears running down his eyes before he fell down his chair, smashing his face against the cold floor and gushing out more blood that seemed darker than the night.

Mark didn’t scream even though his mind was so loud; it felt like his brain was going to burst. He thought the virus was infecting him too and it probably was, but as he kept his eyes shut tightly, heart slamming against his ribcage as he counted to ten, he noticed he was fine. He counted again to one minute, then two, then five and he was still the same.

He was… immune. Or at least so he thought.

That was when he began to cry. And when he thought he would stop crying, he cried even harder with his hand pressed against his chest and his mouth desperately gasping for air. He glanced at the way his father’s lifeless body began to rot as if his corpse had been there for days and felt his stomach hurl.

Mark scrambled to his feet, ran upstairs to reach the room at the end of the corridor, praying frantically for his mother to be alive. And when he found her body lying on the bed, he wasn’t sure whether she was. Her body was still warm, her chest was still heaving up and down with the slow breaths she was taking, but no matter how much he tried to shake her awake, she wouldn’t budge. No matter how much he screamed her name, she wouldn’t reply. And no matter how much he cried, she wouldn’t hug him to soothe down his pain.

Hours passed by with Mark sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at his mother with lifeless eyes, and he realized that his surrounding was quiet. Eerily so. Even the dogs no longer barked. He took a look out of the window and shuddered at the sight. Most of the people he knew from when he was still a child, were lying on the streets with bloody faces, mirroring the way his father was on his kitchen’s floor. With shivering hands, he tried to call the police with his cellphone but he couldn’t get connected. The signal was down, both the tv and his radio no longer worked and it just really hit him that the world was ending.

It took him another hour to process everything, but only a minute for him to finally get up to his feet and walk downstairs. He had a shovel in his hand, and dried tears lining his cheeks.

He began to dig.

***

“Sorry for barging in,” Mark calls, but not hoping for an answer, after he kicked the front door open. The wooden floor creaks under his step, and it rings loudly in this empty neighbourhood that he’s not familiar with. But at this point, anywhere looks the same.

He knows he’s not the only person living in the world. If he’s immune to the virus, then there must be someone else—maybe even a colony—who survive as well. He just needs to find them. He always hopes that he gets to meet someone as he wanders from one house to another, but months have passed and he hasn’t seen a single soul except those who lurk in the night. Those with cloudy white eyes and rotten skin, snarling at the thought of consuming human’s flesh. Those he sees a lot, and he’s been trying his best to avoid them at all cost.

These creatures that wander after the sunsets are something that fourteen-year-old Mark would most likely call zombies. They used to be the monsters of his worst nightmares but after witnessing them with his own eyes, even standing up against one of them once in the battle of his life, Mark noticed that they were not as terrible as he’d guessed. Though they look human, they no longer have the sense of smell as they used to and they simply move based on instincts, triggered by the movements of their prey. But they’re freakishly strong and fast, and even though Mark’s pretty capable of handling his own fight during high school, these creatures can easily break his arm and leg at the same time before Mark can even begin. So he survives by keeping a safe distance, shooting them in the heads or right in their hearts—because those two are their only weaknesses—before they even notice him being there and just does his best to hide during night time.

Mark breathes in and curls his fingers tightly around his handgun. It’s really a blessing, he supposes, that he managed to find a handgun with enough amount of bullets in the drawer of his neighbour’s house. And he really does thank the Lord for giving him the chance to learn how to hunt birds back when he was young with his father during summer. He may lack physical strength, but he’s fast on his feet and good with his eyes. Combined with luck, it’s the very reason he’s survived all these months by himself.

Mark avoids dark places where the sunlight can’t reach at all cost, so he usually doesn’t barge into a house with wooden boards covering its windows and doors like this but he’s starving and this was the closest place available that he could get on foot. Maybe someone used to live here, hiding from them by making a temporary fortress of their own house.

He tries calling again, hoping that someone is still alive but he huffs in disappointment when nobody answers. “Better luck next time, Mark.”

He carefully looks around, making sure he’s safe and alone in the house as he steps toward the kitchen. When he’s certain that everything is under control, he places his gun on the kitchen’s counter and begins to check the drawers, taking every canned food and water bottle he can find into his backpack. He’s so happy to finally find something he’s been dying to drink—a canned watermelon juice—when an arm suddenly circles around his neck and a tip of a spear point knife pressed against his throat.

“Don’t move.”

It takes a few seconds for Mark’s brain to process that it’s a human voice and it’s already sending a relieved, almost joyful feeling all over his body before it finally sinks that this human is now about to slice his throat open with his knife.

“Don’t you think it’s impolite to barge into someone’s house and steal their food?” The human—a man with a voice sounding young enough to be around his age or perhaps younger—asks with a poisonous tone laced on his tongue. “Step away from the counter.”

But despite his snarky tone, Mark can tell he’s nervous from the way he breathes rather raggedly behind him. Mark has learned some basic hand-to-hand combat techniques during his scouting days and he figures he knows how to struggle himself free. He’s just lacking some practices, that’s all.

Well, there’s always a first for everything.

Elbowing the other man hard on the stomach, Mark dips his head down, freeing himself from the other man’s hold and lurches forward to snatch back his gun. Mark already has his gun in his hand but the man steps faster before he can point it to his face. He knees Mark on his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs and shoves him down to the floor, face first. He punches the gun out of his hand, turns Mark’s body around and straddles him by the waist. Grabbing him by the collar of his black shirt, he lifts Mark’s head high enough in the air so they’re face-to-face.

“Do you want to die, you little shit?!” He screams, knife pressing hard against Mark’s throat that it begins to draw blood. Mark winces from the pain but he takes a moment to see the other man’s face.

He’s young, probably is younger than he is, with a mop of messy ash grey with new brown strands growing at the roots. He has his bangs falling over his big, round chocolate dark eyes. His skin is sun-kissed, and though he sprouts expletives from his mouth, his voice is thin and a bit high-pitched. His features are a bit soft compared to his attitude, and it’s the way he stares at him that stops Mark from moving.

This young man looks terrified beyond belief.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, and he genuinely does feel so. “I wasn’t aware that someone was in the house.”

“I think I made that clear before when I told you to not fucking move.”

“You’re right. I guess my instincts just kicked in. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, though?”

He opens his mouth to retort but loses his words, and Mark smiles a little at him, earning a low growl and another shout from the other man. “Don’t you get all smart with me. Come here!”

Mark is being dragged down across the room by the back of his shirt, until the man finds himself a rope and ties Mark’s hands together behind his back. He pushes Mark down to the floor, tucks his knife safely to the back of his jeans and stares down at him with cautious eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Mark Lee.”

“You’re weak and skinny as fuck. How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess?”

“Lucky—“ He seems shocked at the nonchalant shrug Mark is showing him. “You’ve never met any of them, have you?”

“You mean other people?”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course Mark knows what he’s referring to. He just doesn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t go out at night,” he says, slightly shivering at the thought of doing so.

“No shit, Sherlock,” He mocks, squatting in front of him so they’re eye-to-eye. “Now if I haven’t made it clear before, this house is too small for both of us. I suggest you leave.”

That’s a generous offer considering Mark did barge in without permission to steal his things, but it’s been so long for Mark to finally see another human—one that does not bleed from their face or tries to eat him alive inch by inch—so he stays still and just gazes at him.

“What are you looking at, you little shit?”

“Are you alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to come together with me?” Mark asks, and before the other man looks disgusted with his generous offer, he adds, “Judging by the food you have left, you can only stay here for three days at most.”

“Longer than if I come with you, I’m sure.”

“Fair enough,” Mark chuckles and he’s surprised by his own voice. “But you never know, though. We’re stronger in numbers.”

“We’ll be targeted more in numbers.”

“I know how to hide,” Mark assures, and it sounds like a promise, which again, kind of surprises him. “I can keep you safe.”

“I literally just whooped your ass.”

“But I’ve survived this far. Trust me. It’s better if we stick together.”

It’s perhaps the certain, confident look in Mark’s eyes that makes the other man contemplates in silence, or maybe just something else entirely because he asks, “What kind of shit have you been through?”

Mark blinks. “Just like everybody else, I suppose.”

Mark can tell that he doesn’t agree with what he says, nor does he trust him, but Mark smiles again at him and asks, “Can you tell me your name? Or should I start calling you ‘little shit’ as well?”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. It looks kind of fluffy, Mark notices, like a furry dog’s coat, as if he washes his hair regularly. And maybe he does, judging by the honey-like scent that comes from him. That’s probably why he lost the battle. He was distracted. “Just call me Haechan.”

“That’s your real name?”

“That’s just how they call me.” He glooms a bit. “Used to, anyway.”

“Well, you can call me Mark.”

“Nah, I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘little shit’.”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” Mark throws back his words at him.

“I’ll grow on you,” he replies, smirking at him and Mark feels dazed for a second—maybe because he got his head slammed against the floor earlier. Maybe.

“All right, Haechannie. Can I call you that?” Haechan grimaces but Mark continues nonetheless. “Haechannie, if it’s okay with you, I’m starving.”

Haechan stands up, looking at him with a bewildered look on his face. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

***

It’s funny how different it is to make friends during the time when everything is okay compared to when it’s at the end of the world but Mark is enjoying Haechan’s company more than he thought he would. It’s true that he’s not the easiest person to be friends with but when you haven’t met someone alive for months, you’d take anyone you could get—even if that person is a devil in disguise who practically spits fire every time he talks.

Haechan, Mark learns after spending an entire week with him, is the type of person who says mean things but doesn’t really mean it. Who laughs when he’s hurting inside. Who bites back with venom when someone insults him in the slightest way. But also, who sees and cares deeply for others even when he, himself, is needing help.

Mark can tell with the way Haechan secretly throws a blanket over him whenever Mark falls deep asleep on the couch. Or with the way he casually glides a warm cup of coffee down the table for Mark to catch every morning. Or simply by saying, “Watch your steps,” or “Be careful, you idiot,” whenever Mark goes out of the house to find some food and supplies during the day.

After three more days have passed, Mark insists for both of them to move out and Haechan finally agrees, saying, “I hate this house anyway,” even though his eyes do a double-take before he closes the front door.

“Is this your house?” Mark finally asks and he feels sorry for dragging him along like this but it’s for the sake of their safety.

Haechan, to Mark’s surprise, shakes his head and only mumbles, “Just had some memory with it.”

Mark slings an arm around his shoulders. “Then let’s just make another one. A much more fun one.”

Haechan smiles, but it’s bitter.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve never even tried to drive a car,” Haechan says, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple as he tries to hotwire a car. His black sleeveless shirt is sticking to his skin, and his plump cheeks are painted with tints of red from the heat. Mark has to remind himself to look away before he stares too long at how the muscles on his upper arm flex whenever he hammers a flathead screwdriver into a keyhole.

They had to choose between an Audi and a Wrangler, and Mark loved the Audi and Haechan probably did too but he always picked the opposite of Mark’s choice to spite him so they ended up with an eight-year-old Wrangler with a lot of scratches on the side.

“Well, I love walking.”

“What a load of bullshit, Mark.”

“What—it’s true! And also, it’s expensive, okay? I don’t steal expensive things. It makes me feel guilty.” Mark tries to add some common sense which makes Haechan roll his eyes in return. “Besides, I don’t have a driving license yet.”

“Neither do I, wimp, but I still drive.” He chucks out his screwdriver with a proud smirk on his face. The car’s engine is running loud—too loud for Mark’s liking but as long as it’s daylight, they should be fine.

“Driving without a license is irresponsible.” Mark puts his seatbelt on as he sits next to him on the front seat with his backpack tucked between his legs. “And dangerous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I better stop before I get arrested by the nonexistent police officers around here.”

Mark sighs. There’s no winning an argument against this kid. They bicker more often than not, and just when they reach the end of their bickering, they will bicker again over a new topic and it really just goes endlessly but Mark is enjoying every second of it.

Haechan drives like a mad man to the point that Mark has to close his eyes and swallow the vomit that’s about to erupt from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Haechan-ah, shouldn’t you slow down a bit?!”

“Why, because there’s traffic ahead?” Haechan snickers, turning the car window next to him all the way down and smiling as the wind ruffles his hair. “Loosen up a little, Canada, you need to live and enjoy the moment.”

Mark wheezes and almost faints when Haechan suddenly makes a u-turn just for fun before he steps on the gas again, blasting through the empty road. They’re now crossing the Seongsu Bridge, which overlooks the infamous Han River and weirdly enough, the entire place is empty—not even one car in sight—and Mark remembers how the government tried to isolate the country and lock people in their own houses to contain the outbreak. That’s probably why.

“I am trying to live,” Mark says as he clutches his seatbelt tightly with both hands. “Which is the more reason why you should be care—BRAKES, HIT THE BRAKES!”

And Haechan does, almost at the last moment before their jeep jumps into the river. The rest of the bridge has collapsed and Haechan was too busy looking at how clear and big the river was to notice the part where they’re about to fall off the edge.

Well, fuck, Mark thinks, so this is why there are no cars around.

Mark looks at Haechan with the most menacing, sadistic glare he’s ever made in his life. The younger man, in return, only grins mischievously and says, “Oops?”

They begin their search for a place to stay with Mark sitting behind the wheel this time. Haechan constantly whines and whines and whines about his driving not because he’s bad at it—he’s actually pretty good though Haechan won’t admit—but because he’s too fucking slow.

“Who the fuck drives twenty miles-per-hour on an empty street?!”

“People who nearly died from driving too fast, that’s who.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll grow on you.”

They take a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank and Haechan steals three bags of Cheetos, four bottles of beer for himself and one bottle of mineral water for Mark because you’re the designated driver and Mark punches him on the shoulder.

***

“This house is nice.” Haechan settles down on the leather-clad sofa, throwing his bag on the floor and propping his legs on the table. “I think we should just stay here and never move out. Ever.”

It is a nice house. It’s not particularly huge, and it doesn’t have a second floor or a balcony which is completely fine. It’s safer that way, and it also has a basement with a comfy couch, a pile of board games, and a wine cellar. They can really use that to hide during critical moments, but he better checks it thoroughly first because again, those… things really enjoy dark places.

“We’ll see about that,” Mark responses, exhaling in relief when he’s sure that the place is safe. No zombies in sight. No trace of blood or human flesh. Just a nice, warm house with ultra-wide flat-screen TV and the latest version of PlayStation. Yeah, they probably should just stay here forever.

“Haechannie,” Mark starts but finishes early when he sees the young man sleeping with his puffy lips slightly parted. Mark smiles, he must’ve been so tired. They have been wandering for hours after all, trying to look for the best place to stay. But the sun is setting, and they have to cover all the windows and the doors to make sure that the zombies won’t be able to hear their voices or see their movements during the night.

“Haechannie,” Mark says, softer this time as he leans closer. “Haechan-ah, wake up. We still have work to do.”

There’s this sound that Haechan makes, somewhere between a soft moan and a sultry whine, that makes Mark feel a bit weird but he pushes the thoughts to the back of his head when Haechan slowly opens his eyes.

“Ugh,” he says, yawning, “You again.”

And Mark chuckles a bit. “Sorry, were you expecting someone else?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Haechan freezes at his words. “Haechannie?”

“What?” He asks, trying to act as normal as possible but Mark catches on. “Stop calling my name like that, it’s gross.” He stands up before Mark can blurt anything else and immediately says, “Come on, start working. I wanna sleep early.”

They sleep in different rooms like always, only this time, Mark spends his night staring at the ceiling and wonders whether he said something wrong earlier. But no matter how much he visited his memory and replayed the conversation, he still couldn’t find his fault. He remembered the hurting look Haechan had on his face, though, and it bothered him so much that he began to lose sleep.

The next morning, Mark feels even worse not solely because he didn’t catch much rest but because Haechan looks like he’s been crying himself to sleep.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, staring at the other man’s face as if Haechan is about to turn into a zombie.

“Are you okay?” Haechan is clearly trying to distract Mark away from him. “You look like you haven’t slept for years.”

“I was…” Mark fumbles with his words. “Distracted, I guess.”

“With what?”

He doesn’t answer and Haechan spends a few seconds analyzing him before he finally sighs and grumbles, “I guess we both have secrets. I’m gonna make some pancakes. Want some?”

Mark lightly nods though his heart still lays heavy in his chest. But if there are things he can’t tell, then maybe Haechan does too. Maybe all they need is time.

But time is limited in this world, even more so than before.

***

“Have you taken a shower yet?” Haechan asks with a towel hanging around his neck. His hair is damp and he sniffles with his nose slightly red from the cold. “No, wait, let me rephrase that. Have you ever taken a shower?”

Mark begins to count the little holes on the wooden floor underneath his feet to avoid looking at the way Haechan’s jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips, or the droplets of water that drips from his chin to his bare chest.

“Get dressed, Haechan-ah, aren’t you cold?”

“No, the heater is on.” But he still sniffs as he picks up his hoodie. “Look, I know I’ve been calling you little shit but that doesn’t give you the authority to actually smell like one.”

“Huh,” Mark takes a hold of his shirt, sniffing against the fabric. “Wow, I do kind of smell.”

“Kind of? I’m shocked that these zombies haven’t found us already from how god awful you smell.”

“Don’t call them zombies, you’re being rude.”

“What the fuck do you call them?”

“Sick people?”

“Jesus Christ, I literally can’t with you.” He sits down next to him on the other side of the couch, pressing his back against the furniture and stares at the ceiling. “What are we having for breakfast today?”

“Canned food.”

“Dinner?”

“Canned food.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Wait, I think we can eat…” Mark doesn’t finish right away, making sure that Haechan has a hopeful look blossoming on his face. When he does, he finishes with, “Canned food.”

“Aaaaaah~” He whines in the way Haechan always whines which sounds kind of childish but endearing to Mark’s ears. “I’m so tired of having fucking canned foods every day!”

“Be grateful that we have food.”

“I’d be more grateful if we have real food. Can’t you make yourself useful for once and cook something?”

“We don’t really have the ingredients.”

“Then I guess, we’re going shopping.” Haechan huffs before he glances at the slightly taller man. “After you take a goddamn shower.”

Mark can no longer remember when was the last time he took a shower—and a nice, warm one at that—so he almost weeps in joy when the warm droplets rain down on him, washing all the dust and fatigue away from his body. He stands still, enjoying the warmth before he reaches out for some soap and lathers it down his skin. He notices he has some bruises along his arm from where he tripped down the stairs yesterday, trying to help Haechan carry a medium-sized cupboard to cover the front door. I can’t believe you couldn’t even keep yourself up even when I’m practically handling all the weight, Haechan scolded him with both hands on his hips and it makes him smile at the thought.

But the bruises remind him of the pain he felt and pain reminds him of his mother. Of the way she suddenly jolted her eyes awake after five days had passed. Of the way she bared her teeth, lurched herself toward him, and tried to bury her fangs and peel the skin off his body. Of the way he shook in horror, screaming in pain and the way he begged her to stop.

And of the way he sank the kitchen’s knife to her chest and kept it that way until she stopped moving.

“What took you so long?” Haechan asks when Mark finally steps outside the bathroom after half an hour has passed. He observes the look on his face before he adds, “How can you look even shittier after taking a shower? Your eyes are swollen.”

Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I kinda cried while in there.”

“Because the shower was so good?”

“Sure.”

And Haechan doesn’t contribute any further, perhaps because of the way Mark looks like it’s something private they should both leave out of the conversation. Or maybe Haechan simply doesn’t care, Mark can’t be sure.

Mark doesn’t recognize the neighbourhood they’re in, so he lets Haechan leads the way to the nearest supermarket. The morning sun is warm on his skin, the leaves on the trees are turning orange and Mark can finally smell autumn after so long. He has grown tired of summer. It’s about damn time.

“Oh, I actually know this place,” Mark mentions, as they park their car a few feet away from the building.

“Congratulations, you just won at life,” Haechan utters flatly, taking three sheathed knives from his backpack and places them around the belt of his jeans.

“Must you be so rude all the time?”

“Just messing with you, Canada. Chill.”

“Why don’t you take any guns with you?”

“Because guns run out of bullets pretty fast. And these,” he stops with a smirk on his face, twirling a pocket knife around his fingers, “don’t.”

“Can you teach me sometimes how to use that?”

“And what do you have to offer, may I ask?”

Mark contemplates in silence. He really doesn’t have anything that might interest him, so he decides to joke about it. “My body?”

To his surprise, Haechan’s eyes grow wide and he doesn’t speak a word and it’s so weird because it’s supposed to be a fucking joke.

“I… I was just—” Mark splutters, blushing at his own antic. “I was just kidding.”

“It’s not funny, Mark.”

“Sorry.”

And Haechan lets out the loudest sigh ever before he steps down the car, leaving Mark inside looking like a goddamn idiot that he is.

“Okay, so,” Haechan straightens his posture, standing in front of the entrance door with his machete lays firmly on his hand. “Do we need a plan?”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” Haechan whines. “Yes, I know we can barely get any sunlight inside the store but we’re not going to take long. We’ll just grab some things and run back here. Even if there are zombies in there, they’ll be burnt to a crisp the second we’re outside.”

“But—”

“Marrrrkkkkkk.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Mark pushes his hair back with one hand in defeat. “I’ll go first,” he says, cocking his handgun. “You watch my back.”

“Why do you have to go first?”

“Because I’m older.”

“But you’re shittier than me.”

“With a gun on my hand? Not as shitty as you’d think.” Mark smirks, and he thinks he sounds cool but by the way Haechan is staring at him, he realizes he’s not. A flashback of Haechan completely overpowering him even when he had his gun came back to his mind and he winces at the thought. “Okay, so, you wanna go first?”

Haechan sighs, taking a step forward. Mark trails after him soon after.

Mark remembers this place, knows every aisle like the back of his hand from how often he accompanied his mother to stock up their groceries every weekend. It doesn’t look like what he’d committed in his memory in the slightest, though. The lights are still on, but they’re flickering here and there and ceramic tiles are mostly covered with liquid stuff coming from bleachers, oils or something Mark can no longer tell. Most of the shelves are empty and a lot of goods are thrown all over the place, but fortunately, they’re not ruined.

Mark analyzes the place as best as he can with Haechan leading the way, doing the same. Everything seems fine and he can see Haechan’s shoulders relaxed a bit after a while. Swirling his knife around his fingers, he says, “I guess we’re alone.”

Mark nods. “All right,” he puts his gun on safety. “Let’s shop.”

Haechan says he wanted to eat some pasta for a change, and Mark follows with a hum. Anything other than canned foods sounds good these days. They stroll around the aisle, taking the necessary ingredients into their bags along with some toiletries and an abundance amount of water bottles.

Mark notices some board games when Haechan is busy flipping through pages of a Playboy magazine and he takes one that suits Haechan’s taste so they can spend more time together.

Mark freezes at the thought. Since when did he begin to want to spend time together with this pain in the ass?

“Yo, little shit,” Haechan calls, and Mark sighs. “Come here for a sec.”

Mark sneaks a glance over Haechan’s shoulders and feels his heart stops for a split second. “That’s—”

“Blood,” Haechan finishes, exchanging glances at him. “We’re not alone.”

Mark is still processing it down when a loud noise suddenly comes from two aisles behind them. With his heart jumping to his throat, Mark keeps his hands steady and points his gun forward. Haechan looms behind him, taking a long knife from the back of his shirt in another hand and stands alert.

“If it’s more than one, we run.”

“Don’t order me around, you little shit.”

But at this point, Mark knows how much Haechan depends on him and will follow his order in a heartbeat, which is kinda cute and reassuring, Mark thinks, as he swallows his breath. He’s prepared for the worst but what comes along is—

“It’s a dog!” Haechan claims, tucking both of his knives back around his belt and squats down on the floor next to Mark. “Come here, boy!”

It’s a Yellow Spitz, Mark notices, or a Nureongi people used to call. It has a short coat with patches of yellow and a melanistic mask on its face. By the sound of Haechan’s call, the dog comes running toward him with its mouth opened wide and its tongue lolling down.

“Ouch!” Haechan is laughing, enjoying the forceful tackle from the excited dog, and rubbing his hands along the fur. “Who’s a good boy?” He asks, rubbing the tip of his nose to the dog’s. “Yes, you are, you are a good boy—wait, no—“ Haechan grimaces when the dog licks his entire face, saliva blabbering over his skin but he laughs it off.

Mark stands on the side with a smile he secretly keeps to himself. He has never seen Haechan looking so young and open, like a child on his first trip, and it amuses him. “I didn’t know you could look like this,” he comments. “You should smile more often. It’s cute.”

Mark’s a bit taken by the look that fleets across Haechan’s face for a split second, and he swears that he just saw him blush but it’s too short to be sure about it.

“Maybe if you grow some fur, I will,” Haechan merely comments before he sticks his tongue out at him.

Mark only playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“Can we keep him?” Haechan’s asks as he cups the dog’s face and nuzzles their noses together. “You are so cute!”

“No. What happens if he barks?”

“But he doesn’t bark.” The dog suddenly barks two times and Haechan immediately wraps his fingers along its jaw to keep its mouth shut. “Or I can just do this whenever he does.” The dog growls, trying to wiggle itself away from Haechan’s grip. It suddenly looks nervous, almost terrified.

“Haechan,” Mark insists, “He’ll only attract attention. You know we can’t—”

“MARK, WATCH OUT—”

It happens so fast that by the time he realizes what’s happening, Mark is already on the ground, his back pressed against the ceramic floor with a zombie on top of him, baring his teeth and clawing at his skin. It’s in the form of a middle-aged man, in a cashier uniform with cloudy white eyes and dark veins covering his skin.

Luckily, Mark already has his hands in front of him, pushing that thing as far away as he could manage but it’s too strong. The zombie roars, spraying saliva mixed with blood onto his face and Mark immediately throws his head to the side. “Fuck!” He hisses, kicking it several times with his knee but it won’t budge, until suddenly a knife makes it way to its head, pushing through its brain and ending its life for good.

Haechan stares at Mark with horrified eyes, before he kneels down in front of him and immediately checks his face.

“Did you get his blood in your mouth?!” He asks frantically, worried to death by the look of it, almost like it was him who just got sprayed with zombie’s blood.

“I don’t think I did,” Mark says, still feeling quite dizzy.

“Spit it out!” Haechan shakes him desperately by the shoulders. “Spit everything out! Now!”

Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so afraid—because aren’t they both supposed to be immune to the virus?—but spits out a few times just in case. He rubs the back of his hand against his mouth before he turns toward the other man. “Thanks for saving me.”

And Mark thought that Haechan was going to sigh loudly at him and call him an idiot little shit for a few times on their way home, but what he does is lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around Mark’s shoulders.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs almost in a whisper, before he pulls back, clears his throat and adds, “You little shit. You’re lucky you have me saving your ass.”

Well, Mark supposes, he’s partially right about his thought. “I am.”

Haechan blushes again, but he doesn’t let Mark see.

“Come on, we should get under the sun,” Haechan says, offering a hand which Mark gladly takes. “If there are more of them, we should be safe as long we’re outside.”

“Still want to take that dog with you?”

“Shut up, little shit.”

***

“Come on, you have to pick truth,” Mark says, with a guitar on his lap, playing random chord that matches Haechan’s hums. It’s still two hours away before the sun sets and they have been spending the entire day just lounging around watching old movies and playing stupid board games. “It’s called Truth or Dare for a reason, Haechannie, and I’m already out of ideas of what kind of dare you should do because apparently, you have no fear—or shame for that matter—when it comes to it.”

“You’re just not creative enough,” Haechan says, smirking to himself because he’s undefeated when it comes to taking a dare. Whenever Mark tries to humiliate him, it ends up with Haechan humiliating him instead. “Okay, fine, truth it is. Give it to me, you little shit.”

“You do realize that I’m your hyung, right?”

“Well, then, give it to me, Little Shit-hyung.” Haechan snickers and Mark throws his shoe at him.

“When’s your birthday?” Mark asks, munching a chocolate cookie.

“That’s your question?” Haechan exclaims. “Shit, Mark, I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I just want to know you better!” Mark laughs when Haechan starts throwing Cheetos at him. “What is so wrong with that? You know you’d never tell me these things if I didn’t force you to do it.”

“Fine, geez,” Haechan succumbs, “Sixth of June.”

“Wait, let me put that in real quick.” Mark takes out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. It can no longer make calls or surf the internet, but it can come in handy to keep himself on track with dates and times. “Sixth of June,” he mutters to himself as he taps his thumb on his phone screen.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m adding your birthday to my calendar.”

“Yes, I know, Mark.” Haechan rolls his eyes impatiently. “I mean, why?”

“Why?” Mark laughs a bit, looking at him bewilderedly. “‘Cause we’re friends, you idiot.”

“We are?” Haechan dramatically gasps, which earns him a kick on the knee and he whines loudly about it.

“I just think we should celebrate it together,” Mark continues without a care. “Well, starting next year anyway, since we’ve both passed our birthdays by now. One sec.” He holds up a finger, running his thumb on his screen again. “Sixth of June. Little Shit’s birthday. And save.”

Haechan glares but doesn’t make any remark on it. “What’s there to celebrate about?” He questions flatly. “The world is ending, if you haven’t noticed.”

“And that’s your reason to not celebrate birthdays?” Mark snorts. “I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Mark kicks him playfully on the knee again and they begin to wrestle until they become hungry. After quickly heating up some leftovers from the night before, they head toward their bedrooms.

“Stay quiet, little shit,” Haechan says, as he leans against his doorframe. “And if you’re gonna jack off—“

Mark throws a pillow on his face. “Just go to bed!”

“Okay, okay,” Haechan chuckles. “See you soon, Mark.”

“See you soon, Haechannie.”

Before Mark knows it, those words they say to each other become some kind of habit that they do every night. And the more they say them, the more they become like a promise for one another. It’s something that Mark needs, he realizes, because now he has someone to look forward to see in the morning. Someone with smiles as warm as the sun. And Mark can forget, at least for now, the fact that he’d lost everything and try to stay alive for another day.

***

Autumn is about to end and the weather is terrible for Mark during the night, as he can barely stand cold. He can turn on the heater, of course, but it will probably make too much noise so both he and Haechan agree to just slip under the duvet, and wrap as many blankets as they can find around their bodies.

Mark jolts awake when he hears his bedroom door being opened with a soft creak. His ears are now trained to keep himself alert at night, even with the slightest sound. He has one leg down the bed, ready to do whatever it takes to survive if a zombie comes barging in. His handgun lays safely under his pillow and it will only take a second for him to grab it. He had tampered his window with wood boards on the first day they’d settled here, but the moonlight still somehow sneaks in between the tiny spaces, giving very little light into the room but it’s enough for Mark to notice that it’s only Haechan, standing with his pillow pressed against his chest, a blanket around his body, and a pale look on his face.

What happened? Mark asks, moving his hands and fingers in a sign language they have both learned to survive. Is something wrong?

I can’t sleep. Haechan says, and Mark can’t really tell within the darkness of the room whether it’s a blush appearing on his cheeks or it’s just the moonlight playing tricks on him. Can I stay here with you?

Mark nods, and Haechan walks close, settling himself down on the carpeted floor next to the bed. Mark taps his shoulder and when Haechan looks over, he nudges his head toward the bed.

Come up. It’s cold.

Haechan nibbles on his bottom lip, hesitation in his eyes, but he finally stands up and wiggles himself under the blanket. Mark scoots over to give him as much space as he can, and they both end up staring at the ceiling, awkwardness and silence filling the air.

It seems like a minute has passed by but it feels like forever and Mark is about to throw up from how fast his heart is beating and he’s asking himself why the fuck am I feeling like this when Haechan suddenly turns over to his side and whispers his name.

Mark can feel his own body stiffen but he tries his best to relax. He turns to his side as well, facing him. “Hmm?”

“Can I move closer?” He asks and Mark’s stomach does a flip. “So I can hear you better, I mean.”

“S-sure.”

And Haechan moves close—close enough for Mark to breath in his scent, to know that he uses the same shampoo as he does even though there are three different kinds of bottles in the bathroom, and it somehow smells way better on him and Mark doesn’t know what to do with it but it distracts him so much.

“You okay?” Haechan’s voice is soft and lacks the usual snarky tone he usually laces his sentence with. Mark nods, a bit shakily and the younger man giggles quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable sharing a bed with another dude but bear with me this time, will ya?”

“It’s…” Somehow, Mark’s throat feels like burning. “It’s not uncomfortable.”

Something gleams in Haechan’s eyes and Mark has to look somewhere else so he doesn’t fall deeper into that pair of chocolate brown eyes more than he already does.

“So, uhh,” Mark clears his throat. It’s weird that even when he’s whispering, his voice still breaks from how nervous he is. “Is there a particular reason why you can’t sleep?”

“Why so formal, Mark Lee.” Haechan snorts. “Must there be a particular reason for us to sleep together?”

Mark almost chokes at Haechan’s poor choice of words. Almost.

“How many hours left till dawn?”

“Umm,” Mark checks his phone, making sure he covers the light with his pillow. “It’s actually around two hours from now.”

“Well then, you’ve slept enough,” Haechan says, propping his chin on the pillow as he stares at him. “Accompany me till morning?”

“Sure, why not.”

And so he does, exchanging whispers in the dark and changing topics from one nonsense to another. Talking with Haechan is relaxing, Mark notices, though more often than not, it ends with an argument but he enjoys arguing with him. It feels like he’s learning more about him, more about the real Haechan—the one who is acting almost as young as a child—and not whatever it is he’s trying his best to be. And Mark is always happy to learn something new because he’s been studying Haechan’s figure over and over for the last few days and it’s tiring to be distracted by the shape of his pretty lips, or the cute tiny mole he has on his neck, or the sway of his hips when he walks.

“Are you sleepy?” Haechan asks after silence starts to grow within them and Mark curses inwardly. How the hell can I sleep when I’m so distracted with the way I can feel your breath on my neck is what he has in mind but on the outside, he just gives a nonchalant shrug and says, “Not really.”

“Good then.” Mark swears he can feel Haechan’s smile in his words and he can also feel the way he snuggles a tad closer, seeking his warmth. “Hey, Mark?” Mark hums in response. “How come you’re alone? I mean, someone as nice and frail as you can only live so long in a world like this without company.”

“I’m not sure whether you want to compliment me or insult me.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

It’s sincere and genuine, the way Haechan says it, and Mark raises an eyebrow, finally looking into his eyes again. “That’s a first. I thought you didn’t care about me.”

It’s Haechan’s turn to break off their gazes. “Believe me, I don’t. It’s just out of curiosity. Wha—is it so wrong? Stop looking at me like that!”

Mark bites his bottom lip to contain his laughter. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up!”

“Well, if you’re so curious about it,” Mark teases and Haechan pushes his palm against his face to wipe off his grin. Mark wraps his fingers around Haechan’s wrist to keep him away but he holds it a little bit longer than he’s supposed to before he lets go.

“I was staying with my parents when the outbreak happened,” Mark begins, locking his eyes at the ceiling and he can feel Haechan’s gaze scanning his face but he doesn’t dare to look. “Someone near my house got infected, and it traveled so fast that by the time I realized that the virus was airborne, people were already dying. And I—” Mark stops to take a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as the flashback hits him like a wave.

Haechan doesn’t say a word, but he reaches out to tangle his fingers around his under the blanket and Mark blinks at the touch before he smiles to himself.

“I watched my dad died,” Mark finally says, and it’s easier than he expected to be, probably because Haechan’s warmth is seeping into his skin. “It happened so fast. He was sitting on the dining table, already looking pale because of cancer that took him apart day by day, but the second he got infected, it was like something was exploding within him. And I watched him crumble, watched him reaching out to me for help and I just stood there. Watching him.”

Haechan holds his hand tighter. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Mark smiles weakly at him. “Thanks. I just wish I did something for him, you know? Like, hold his hand and tell him I love him, or something.”

“You were stunned.”

“I was just weak and afraid.” Mark unconsciously curls his fingers a bit harder that Haechan begins to wince but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I was so afraid that I’d die, just like him. It was until I found out I was immune that I began to cry and regret the whole thing. I’m the worst, aren’t I?”

Haechan shakes his head, whispering, “I would’ve done the same. Maybe even worse,” he adds a chuckle and it’s so genuine that Mark begins to feel like the heavy pain in his chest is being lifted little by little. “And your mom? What happened to her?”

It’s the question he’s been dreading the most but Haechan’s voice is silky smooth in his ears, and his touch is scorching against his skin, and as Mark breathes in his scent, everything becomes clear.

There’s a first for everything.

“My mom—” It still feels like he’s suffocating, so he intertwines his fingers with Haechan’s a little better to distract him from the pain. “When she got infected, she fell into a deep sleep. Like she went into a coma or something. And I was relieved because I thought she was going to wake up and smile at me again. I thought that her body was healing. I didn’t realize that she was… turning.”

Haechan’s breathing is steady while Mark’s is catching fire. “Mark, look at me.” And when Mark is too lost in his own thoughts, Haechan cups his cheek and forces him to look at him. “You’re okay. You’re with me now.”

Mark’s eyes are shaking but he gradually finds back his pace, finally able to catch his own breath. “I’m with you now,” he whispers back and Haechan smiles.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Haechan says, rubbing comforting circles on the side of Mark’s face with his thumb. “And I kinda have a hunch on where this story is going.”

“You—“ Mark wets his lips. “You do?”

Haechan’s gaze is intense but gentle enough to wash Mark’s anxiety away. “All I have to say is,” Haechan starts, “We all have our sins. What you did was based on instinct. You were trying to protect yourself. Anyone would’ve done the same thing so stop blaming yourself.”

Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until Haechan wipes a tear away from his cheek. “You’re innocent, Mark Lee,” he assures, smiling at him. “You’re just living in a shitty world, that’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark says, smiling a little to himself as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, washing all of his tears away. “Who are you and what have you done to my snarky-ass Haechan?”

“Your Haechan?”

Mark blushes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Haechan’s eyes gleam in a teasing manner. “What way then?”

Mark clears his throat. Hopefully, the night can cover how nervous he looks right now. “So, what about you?” He begins, putting his best effort to change topics. “What kind of sins have you committed that you start getting nightmares at night?”

The easy-going, reassuring facade Haechan tries to put on all night falters within an instant and this time, in the darkness and the silence of this room, he chooses to be honest.

“No,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “Nightmares happen only when you’re asleep. What I have happens when I’m awake.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s not something I want,” he murmurs quietly. “But I guess, it’s something I need. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy. I am going crazy.” He locks their gazes together, smiling like he’s on the verge of crying. “Would you mind hearing me out?”

Mark will listen as if his life depends on it and he promises him that in his heart. He nods.

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

Another nod.

“Promise you won’t leave me behind?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Haechan still looks unsure, but the more he takes in Mark’s feature and every detail of his expression, the more he wants to let go—to finally succumb to his sin, to hear someone say, “It’s okay, I forgive you. We all have our sins. We are not different.”

So in shaky whispers, he begins to tell the story and Mark listens.

Haechan was not alone before he met Mark. He had a family. He had a sister, only younger than he was by two years, and he’d loved her. He’d loved her so much that when his parents started to collapse, he took a hold of her hand and drag her to run without looking back even when his mother was still screaming his name, asking him for help. He knew it was too late to save them, but saving his sister was not.

Her sister, just like him, was also immune to the virus and Haechan thought everything was fine. They could still live and be happy together. So they began to wander during the day, and hugged each other to sleep during the night at an abandoned house, sharing headphones to mute down the snarling sounds of the creatures lurking around under the moonlight. They were okay. They were alive.

Until one day, when Haechan was too busy getting supplies from the kitchen, her sister wandered by herself toward the basement of a new house they found. Haechan didn’t know about it, wasn’t careful enough to check, and when he heard her scream, he realized it was too late.

There was a zombie, trapped inside the basement that crawled out when she opened the door. It was so fast, jumping on top of her and ripping the skin on her arm with its teeth. Haechan was so frantic that he began to stab it multiple times on the face, tearing its face apart again and again and again until his sister embraced him from behind and begged him to stop. Haechan held her in his arms like he’d never held anyone before and he thanked God for letting her stay alive, though badly injured.

Because he thought her injury would heal.

He thought she wouldn’t get infected because she was immune.

But when she became paler and paler with more days passing by, Haechan began to worry. Her skin began to rot little by little, and her stench was so strong that Haechan began to hold his breath whenever she was close. Black veins were creeping up her skin and she lost her beautiful brown eyes soon after, having them changed into a pair of cloudy white eyes.

Haechan was so afraid by the look of her that he began to apologize. Sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me, he said again and again as he wrapped a scarf around her mouth, stopping her from calling his name. She was begging for him to spare her life and yet he held his knife firmly with both of his shaking hands, and he plunged it toward her chest.

She died in his hands, along with a part of him.

“She was still human when I killed her,” Haechan confesses, his voice quivering. “She kept asking me why, why are you doing this but I kept going. I can still remember how warm her blood was on my hands. I was so afraid. I was so afraid of her.”

Mark does not speak during his story and he finds himself lost for words when Haechan grows quiet. The silence is deafening and he knows he should say something, anything, but he’s busy trying to understand the look on Haechan’s face.

Their breathing matches each other’s and Haechan quietly laughs, “You know, it’s weird. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry but—”

And he breaks apart in the way Mark never sees anyone does.

Haechan’s whole body shakes as he gives his best effort to muffle his scream by biting his lower lip hard enough to the point it almost draws blood. He covers his face with both hands, sobbing furiously to his palms and even if he tries his best to be quiet, Haechan is still making noise.

And Mark wonders whether it’s because of that very reason of survival or it’s just really something he’s been wanting to do every time Haechan beams at him with that blazing smile of his, but he finds himself reaching forward, tangling his fingers around the strands of Haechan’s hair and pulls the other boy forward until their lips meet in a frantic kiss.

Haechan’s eyes grow wide for a good couple of seconds and Mark finally comes back to his senses when he notices the way the other boy stiffens in his arms. Haechan has momentarily stopped crying due to the sudden surprise, though the tremor of his previous sobs is still there and he’s looking at Mark with these huge, mesmerizing round eyes, with nothing but confusion and shock on his face, and Mark begins to ask himself what the fuck did I just do.

“Fuck, I—” Mark has never struggled this hard to find the right word in his entire life. “I didn’t know why—”

But he probably doesn’t need to say anything, because Haechan is taking the rest of his sentence into his own mouth, and tasting Mark’s feelings directly with his tongue. He’s being forceful, pulling Mark close with all his strength until the other man stumbles upon him and they’re pressed together chest-to-chest. Haechan has his hands circling around the collar of Mark’s shirt, smashing their lips together and they kiss hard and fast, tasting each other’s—owning each other’s—mouth until Mark is breathing his breath and Haechan is breathing his.

“More,” Haechan gasps, teeth nibbling against Mark’s bottom lip. “More, Mark, please.” And Mark just crumbles, moaning against his mouth and takes every soft whine that comes from Haechan into his memory.

None of them care at this point if they’re being too loud, so it’s really their luck that the sun has risen outside, its light seeping through the window, basking them with warmth but none of them need it. Not with the way Mark is hovering above him, his hands slipping under Haechan’s sweater, running his fingertips along the golden skin and emitting more moans from the other man.

“Haechannie.” Mark has his earlobe between his teeth and he sucks at the soft skin, before peppering kisses down the column of his neck. Haechan arches his back, grinding their hips together and begs him to, “Take my fucking clothes off, Mark.”

Clothes are scattered on the floor within an instant, and as Mark sits on his lap just for a few seconds as he pulls his own shirt over his head, Haechan is already latching his mouth on his stomach, licking a stripe up his chest before he pulls Mark down on top of him again.

“I want to feel you,” Haechan breathes out between gasps, “I want to feel all of you.”

“Calm down,” Mark says, softly smiling against his forehead “I’m not going anywhere.”

And they stop just to take a thorough glance at each other’s face now that the light is bright enough for them to see properly. Haechan traces his fingers on the side of Mark’s face, as if he’s a sculpture waiting to be adored, and it takes all the control of his body not to kiss him again right then.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he whispers as he brings his lips to Mark’s, pausing momentarily, just to add, “You little shit.”

And Mark laughs into his mouth but only for a moment before passion starts to take control of him again and he’s moaning, “Haechannie, Haechannie,” directly to his ear as they rock their hips together.

***

It’s already midday when Mark opens his eyes, sitting on his bed with a blank stare as if his soul just left his body. He thinks he just had the most pleasant dream he’s ever witnessed in his twenty-one years of living, but when he notices how his pillow smells like honey, realization hits him like a wave.

It’s not a dream. Haechan was really here.

So he jumps down his bed, trips over his own clothes and swears under his breath as he tries to dress as fast as he can. He stumbles out of his room, running toward the kitchen where he finds Haechan sitting on the kitchen’s counter with his legs dangling in the air.

Haechan’s eyes slightly grow wide at the sight of Mark standing gawkily in front of him with his terrible bed hair, but he quickly gains control of himself. “Morning,” he casually says, raising the red colored mug he always uses, “Coffee?”

Mark curls his fingers around the fabric of his sweat pants. “Okay.”

It’s awkward. It feels so, terribly awkward that they begin to tense every time one of them breathe a little too hard, or sip their coffee a little too loud. Mark is sitting on the opposite of Haechan on the dining table, like how they usually do, but it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole.

“Haechannie!” Mark begins, a little bit too loud that they both flinch at the sound of his voice. “About last night—I-I mean, this morning—when we—”

“Do you regret it?” Haechan’s voice, unlike Mark, is much steadier, almost too formal, even. But after spending months with him, Mark can tell that he’s about as nervous as he is.

“Reg—no, of course not!” Mark has his eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you?”

Haechan looks away, taking a sip of his coffee as he murmurs quietly. “No.”

And silence comes in again like an old friend and Mark despises it so much because it’s making him insane. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Haechan sighs, scratching the back of his head and Mark finally notices that oh, he’s just embarrassed about it.

“I don’t really know how to face you,” he admits, blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I didn’t think we’d end up that way.”

Mark opens his mouth but unsure of his words. “Then…” he whispers, uncertainly, with throat feels like blazing in flames. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Haechan seems taken aback. Shocked, even, to hear Mark proposing something like that. Scowling a bit, he places his mug on the table with a loud thud and walks closer.

“Haechan—”

His kiss is more teeth than anything else and Mark freezes, not knowing what to do as Haechan climbs into his lap, twisting his hair around his fingers. It’s suffocating, the way Haechan kisses, but Mark likes it so much that he doesn’t mind if Haechan takes all his breath away with his.

After a good minute has passed, with a string of saliva connecting their parting lips, Haechan asks between heavy breaths, “Do you want to pretend this never happened?”

“Fuck no,” Mark replies in an instant and this time, he’s the one who takes Haechan’s breath out of his lungs.

They sleep on the same bed every night but only embrace each other during the day because Mark is getting exceptionally good at it and Haechan is having trouble keeping his moans to himself. They still share kisses in the dark but Mark always places his palm over Haechan’s face and pushes him away whenever it gets too much.

They haven’t moved out of the house even after the season has changed and Mark is getting an eerie feeling of being followed. “They’re triggered by movements and sound,” Haechan comforts him as he sits crossed-legs on the couch with a game controller in his hand, “So as long as we’re dead quiet during the night and stay out of sight, we’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” Mark agrees, though his heart still feels heavy in his chest. “I don’t know, I just… I can’t help but worry, that’s all.”

“Yes, because that’s you. All you do is worry.”

“I have been doing something else in the last few days, actually,” Mark says, suddenly leaning forward from behind the couch and whispering close to his ear, “Or rather, someone.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan says but his lips are turning into a cheeky grin. “Keep doing that, and I’ll attack you again.”

And Mark teases again because they both know that’s what they want. It’s funny how the world is ending and yet Mark feels like he’s complete. As if everything just fell into places. And seeing Haechan writhe underneath him, as he thrusts in and out, is something he could never even dream to have in his previous life.

Haechan is quite possessive, Mark learns, by the way he nips at the juncture of his neck until purplish bruises bloom along his skin. Mark knows how much Haechan likes to sink his teeth on his shoulder when Mark hits that spot deep inside him, and he loves it when he can make Mark groan at the pain, muttering, “Fuck, that’s so hot—you’re so hot—” before he takes Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth again. It’s as if he wants to make it known to the world that he belongs to him, even when they’re the only two people in the world.

“Donghyuck,” Haechan suddenly says, out of the blue as they share French toasts for breakfast.

“It’s Mark, actually.”

“No,” Haechan laughs, almost spilling his coffee. “My name, you idiot. Lee Donghyuck is my real name.”

“What?!” Mark complains, feeling utterly betrayed. “After all this time, you’re just telling me now?”

“Well, I like the way you say Haechan,” he explains. “So I don’t mind if you call me that. I just thought you should know.”

But Mark is still kind of upset about it and he still does for the rest of the day, until Haechan sits on his lap that afternoon, attempting to wash the pout off his face with something exciting and Mark leaves no time to waste. He calls Haechan’s name—his real name—whenever their hips meet together and Haechan blushes and begs him to stop, telling him it’s weird, but Mark still continues because somehow he can feel Haechan tightening around him when he does and Mark likes to see him crumble into a moaning mess that he is now.

***

“You’re shit at cooking, Mark,” Haechan grumbles with his eyes still bleary from sleep. He stabs his fork not too gracefully to something that Mark called as a decent-looking sunny side up. “Look at this.” He glares at the burnt white egg. “I mean, seriously, what the heck is this?”

“It’s food. Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Okay, Mom.” Haechan rolls his eyes, grimacing dramatically at the man who sits opposite him when the piece of food enters his mouth. “Yuuuuuummmm.”

“Shut up,” Mark shouts but he can’t stop himself from laughing. Haechan is so annoyingly hilarious and he whines about Mark’s cooking every single day but never even tries to offer any help or take charge of the cooking duty for him. Mark never gets upset about it, though, because Haechan looks cute when he pouts and if it takes one plate of his bad cooking to see that adorable pout on his face then Mark will serve his decent-looking sunny side up every day.

They eventually stop conversing to be able to chew on their foods properly and Haechan has his eyes busy scanning the PlayBoy magazine he stole from the supermarket the other day. Mark has his gaze on his plate as he plays with his egg’s yolk using his fork, but his mind is somewhere else.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I love you.”

Haechan’s fork flies out of his hand and ends with a clatter on the floor. Mark’s terrible fried egg is still half-chewed on his now half-opened mouth and it’s not an attractive sight in the slightest but Mark looks at him as if he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I—Y-you—” Haechan, the sharp tongue Haechan, never stutters in his twenty years of living and Mark is somehow proud of himself for being able to drive him to this point. “What the hell are you talking about—why—”

“Because I do.” Mark’s tone is so serious that it feels like he’s reading the news or reading the result of the latest presidential election. “I have been for quite some time. I just wasn’t sure you felt the same so I kind of keep quiet about it.”

And Haechan can only stare, and stare, and stare until he realizes that it’s better to just stay silent and do what his body tells him to do.

Mark is forced to stand on his feet before a pair of plump lips attack his own in a mind-numbing kiss. It’s a bit messy and Haechan tastes like the breakfast he just ate but Mark sighs against his mouth and lets him pull his shirt over his head.

Mark pushes his plate away from the table so Haechan can sit on the edge and tangle his legs around his waist and when it slips down to the floor, porcelain breaking into smaller pieces, he pays no mind because Haechan is now laying down on the dining table with his shirt going up to his chest. He pulls Mark down by the neck, and forcing him to grind his hips against him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Haechan gasps into his mouth, running his teeth along Mark’s lower lip. “Couldn’t you have picked a better moment to say that?”

“Sorry.” Mark’s lips part in a silent moan when Haechan slips a hand underneath his sweat pants and teases him over his underwear. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I woke up and it started driving me insane so I just had to say it.”

“Fuck, Mark, you’re so unfair.” Haechan takes a hold of Mark’s hand, leading him to where he wants to be touched and softly whines when Mark indulges him. “Tell me more,” he gasps, clawing against Mark’s skin as they rub their lengths together. “I want to, ah fuck, hear more, Mark, please.”

And Mark doesn’t hesitate one bit when he praises him, complimenting every little part, every little detail. I love you. I love your honey-like scent. I love your smile, and this mole you have on your neck. I love the way you say my name.

Haechan is powerless under Mark’s words, begging and writhing for Mark to pound into him until he sees stars and Mark is more than eager to comply. I love the way you moan. I love the way you arch your back. I love you, I love seeing you like this. You’re so pretty, Haechannie. So fucking beautiful.

And Haechan comes hard on his stomach with his teeth sinking at the crook of Mark’s neck, muffling his moan and he pushes Mark back to his chair, crawling between his legs and taking Mark deep into his mouth.

“Fuck.” He takes a handful of Haechan’s ash grey hair, slightly thrusting into his warm mouth and whimpers at how sexy Haechan looks on his knees, cheeks hollowing as he sucks him hard and fast. He has surprisingly long eyelashes, Mark admires, with small tears trapped between them from how hard Mark is hitting the back of his throat.

Mark’s about to come undone, low groans appearing at the back of his throat when Haechan suddenly stops and takes him out entirely, only giving kitten licks at the tip. Mark mewls with his eyebrows knitted together, begging Haechan to stop being a fucking tease and Haechan just grins against his skin because that’s simply what he is—a tease—and Mark is conflicted between loving and hating that trait of him at the same time.

Haechan eventually stops torturing him and sucks deep and slow the way he knows Mark would like it until Mark is spouting nonsense from his mouth, pushes himself forward abruptly and comes into his mouth. Haechan exhales heavily as he waits for Mark to finish, enjoying the low grunt he’s emitting before he swallows everything down. A little bit of his essence drips down his chin and Mark immediately apologizes with a stutter, pulling Haechan carefully into his lap and wipes his mouth with gentle strokes of his fingers. “You all right?”

Haechan looks up at him from under his bangs, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he takes two of Mark’s tainted fingers and places them between his lips, licking every bit of him with his tongue. Mark is looking at him with unblinking eyes and jaw hanging slack on his face.

Haechan leans close to embrace him, wrapping his arms around his neck and he sighs, kissing one of Mark’s shoulders. “I love you too,” he whispers and even though Mark can’t see, he dares to bet on his life that Haechan is now blushing mad at his own words. “But don’t get too cocky about it, you little shit.”

Mark chuckles because this is so Haechan. He pulls back so he can look at him in the eyes and Haechan is indeed blushing—even to the tip of his ears. “I won’t,” Mark says, letting his lips linger on his forehead. “I won’t, so stay with me, Haechannie. As long as we’re alive, don’t ever leave me.”

Haechan smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

***

“Okay, ready?” Haechan asks, a knife sits firm on his hand. “On three. One, two, three!”

Mark kicks the front door open, inviting himself to a new house he’s not familiar with. They both run out of food so it’s about time to search around again. It’s the only house in the closest neighbourhood that they haven’t ransacked yet, and it’s because the windows are covered with cardboard, and the sunlight cannot penetrate in. And the number one rule of living in this world is that you have to be in places where the sunlight can reach.

It’s dark inside the house—so, so dark, in fact, that Mark has to place a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “See anything weird?” He asks, as he observes as much as he could himself.

“Nope, they would come out by that ruckus we just made if they were here so I think we’re safe.” Haechan points his finger toward the kitchen. “Jackpot.”

“Stay close to me,” Mark reminds him and they both walk side by side with their weapons still aimed. There’s a window above the kitchen counter that Mark immediately tries to punch and kick through but to no avail. It won’t budge.

Turning to Haechan, who’s in charge of bringing weapons, “Do you have something to use to break that open? We need sunlight.”

“Okay, wait, I’ll—”

It’s faster for Mark’s eyes to process what is happening compared to his ears and what he sees is Haechan being tackled to the ground by a woman with cloudy white eyes and rotten flesh. And before Mark can even shout his name, he can feel his own body slammed against the wall, and a pair of large hands trying to rip his stomach open.

There are two of them and they’re both stronger than he could ever be.

Mark can hear Haechan shouting his name, but whether it’s because he’s trying to save him or screaming for help, he’s not sure and he doesn’t have time to think so. Mark lands a kick to the living corpse’s chest and it stumbles a little but enough for Mark to aim for his chest. He takes a shot, the sound of his gun thundering in the air, and pulls his trigger again to lands a bullet on its head. Mark quickly aims his gun at the female corpse next, missing his target by a few inches but enough to distract her enough so Haechan can slice her throat open with his knife.

“Haechan!” Mark immediately runs over to his place, pulling him up by the waist and drags both of their bodies until they’re outside the house, where the sun is blazing over their heads. Both of them are lying down on the empty street, breathing hard and feeling adrenaline slowly rushes out of their veins.

“Fuck, we almost died,” Mark says, turning over to see the younger man who’s wincing from the pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan hisses, “But I think my hand is—” The rest of his words hang in the air. “Mark.”

Mark follows his gaze and shudders at what he sees. There’s a bite mark just a few inches away from his wrist, and it’s deep enough to draw blood and nearly rips his skin apart. And if Haechan’s story was true, then—

“Stay away from me!” Haechan nearly trips over his own feet from how fast he tries to get away from him. He’s standing on his feet with his arms reaching out to keep their distance apart. “Don’t you dare get close to me, Mark.”

“What—” Mark jumps to his feet as well, stepping forward and Haechan points a knife to his face. “Haechan, calm down.” He raises both arms in the air, trying his best to stay sane for both of their sakes. “Let’s think this through.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “You need to stay away from me—”

“Haechan, we’re immune—calm down—”

“Not if we’re bitten, Mark! Fuck, didn’t you hear what I said back then—”

“Yes, but we’re not sure whether you’re going to. Maybe it’s different for everyone—”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not taking any chances,” Haechan hastily insists. “Go back to the house, Mark.”

“No.”

“Just go back to the fucking house!”

“And where are you going then?!” He’s shouting back at him at this point, his voice sounds thick with desperation. “Huh?! Just where are you going to go?”

Haechan grits his teeth, desperately looking for an answer himself. “It’s none of your business—”

“No fucking way, I’m coming with you.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me—”

“Because you’re not making any sense, why would I listen to you?! Just get back here, Donghyuck, and we’ll think about it when we get home!”

It’s tempting, especially after he hears his real name coming from Mark’s mouth but it’s not right. Haechan knows it’s not right. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mark.”

“Nobody is going to get hurt, so please…” Mark lowers his voice, taking a careful step toward him. “Please, Donghyuck. Come back to me. I don’t want to be alone, not again.”

Haechan has tears forming in his eyes as he brings his head up to face the clouds, and he stands still when Mark wraps his arms gently around him, pulling him close. “I’m scared, Mark,” he whispers, emitting soft sobs from his mouth and Mark nods, saying the same thing and they both just stand there in each other’s arms with Mark running his fingers up and down his spine to soothe him down.

“Let’s go home,” Mark says, cupping Haechan’s cheeks with his palms and forces him to meet his eyes. “Okay?”

Haechan nods, sobbing quietly. “Okay.”

***

Two days have passed and Mark doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do.

Haechan is dying, and he dies little by little with every second passing by. It’s so apparent and fast, the transformation process, that when Mark fell asleep on Haechan’s shoulder just for a few minutes, he woke up with a jolt, noticing how paler Haechan has gotten and how rotten the smell that came from his skin.

His golden skin is now blotchy, black veins appearing underneath it and he looks ghastly.

“Mark…”

Mark can no longer recognize his voice. It’s more like a croak, as if his vocal cords are thinning into a small string that’s about to snap. Every time Mark holds his hand, and winces at how freezing cold it is, Haechan tries to pull it away with the little strength he has left and whispers for him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you,” Mark always whispers back, and they both know it’s a promise. Haechan just wishes Mark would break it, because keeping it will only mean death for both of them.

The house that used to be so lively during the day and silent during the night, feels like a tombstone for every second that passes by. Mark hasn’t gone out of the house for a while, and he’s only eating one meal per day and drinks as little as he can to save every little food they have left. He forces Haechan to eat as much as he can, though, but the latter usually denies, telling him that he’s about to vomit when he has food on his tongue.

Mark carries him to his bed every night like usual but he no longer wraps his arms around him, otherwise he’d be shivering to death. Haechan’s skin is ice cold, and although he’s breathing very, very slowly, the puffs of air that flows out from his mouth do not feel warm in the slightest.

“Mark…” Haechan whispers into the night and Mark can’t contain the sadness that blooms in his heart when he hears how broken his voice is. “There are so many things… I wish I could say to you…”

“Mean things, I suppose?” Mark tries to keep it normal but the air still feels tense. “Donghyuck?”

Haechan’s chocolate brown eyes are gradually turning into silver and in the darkness of the room, they almost glow. “Thank you… for staying with me…” he murmurs and Mark can tell that Haechan is on the verge of crying, but he doesn’t. He’s no longer able to.

“It’s an honor, Haechannie.”

***

Mark hasn’t slept properly for three days and it’s taking its toll on him. He’s either staring at the ceiling, trying his best to count Haechan’s breathing and making sure that it doesn’t stop or waking up every few minutes with cold sweat, thinking that Haechan is leaving him for good.

So at one point, his body can no longer take it and he falls asleep with his head on Haechan’s shoulder. They’re sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall, facing the front door. Mark has his handgun ready on his side, along with some of Haechan’s knife, but they haven’t been touched for a while. And Mark is not planning to touch it in the near future.

He wakes up with a heart attack when the front door is opened with a bang, and with bleary eyes, Mark sees several figures entering the house at once. He reaches for his handgun by instinct and aims it toward the crowd, but—

“Wait!” A man’s voice booms through the air. “Don’t shoot!”

It finally sinks in that it’s daylight and Mark is seeing people—actual breathing people who look just as weary as he is though not sleep-deprived—coming into his house. They have weapons in their hands, from crossbows to shotguns, but a man, who looks like he’s in charge, steps forward with both arms raised and sends him a reassuring smile.

“Calm down,” he says, “I’m human, just like you.”

Mark, who stands in front of Haechan by instinct to protect him, can’t believe what he’s seeing and he’s calculating whether it’s really just a dream but another man, a taller one with sharp jaws, points his gun at Haechan and Mark snaps back to reality.

“Taeyong-hyung,” the man says, “That one is turning. We should kill him.”

“NO!” Mark has his gun raised again, ready to pull the trigger. “Put your gun down or I’ll shoot, I swear to God, if you touch him—”

“Jeno,” the leader—the one who’s called Taeyong—waves a hand, suggesting him to drop his weapon down. “It’s okay. Let’s talk about this first.”

Mark drifts his eyes from one man to another, carefully reading their faces. “Who are you?”

“A survivor,” Taeyong smiles and it seems genuine but Mark doesn’t trust him in the slightest. “Like you.”

His heart is beating like crazy and he’s so amazed that there are, in fact, others like him who appear to be in much better condition too. “How many are you there?”

“Hundreds. We’re looking for more people to join our colony. We believe there are more survivors out there, and we can fight back if we grow in numbers.”

“Fight how? There’s no cure.”

“We’re immune as long as we’re not bitten.” Taeyong spares a glance at Haechan and Mark almost growls at him. “We’re harvesting our own foods, as well. You should come with us.”

“Can he come?” Mark nudges his head toward Haechan.

Taeyong has the audacity to look sympathetic, unlike his friend Jeno, who is still glowering at Haechan as if he’s a prey to be eaten when it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I wish I could say yes,” Taeyong says, “But I don’t think he can.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Taeyong sighs, but he keeps a gentle smile plastered on his face. “Can I, at least, know your name?”

Mark hesitates and he knows he’s being too cautious about everything, probably because Haechan is being targeted. Under different circumstances, he would’ve taken Taeyong’s hand in a heartbeat. “It’s Mark.”

“It’s nice to see you alive, Mark,” Taeyong says, offering his hand and Mark deliberately takes it for a handshake. “Is that your friend over there?”

Mark turns around, glancing at the man and he sees Haechan staring at him with soft eyes, his breathing slow and maybe he tries to smile but all he does is breaking Mark’s heart. “He’s—” Mark’s breath gets hitched on his throat. “He’s my family.”

Haechan closes his eyes, lips turning slightly upward.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I really wish I could help, but there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing you can do. It’s already too late.”

Mark knows that, he’s been telling himself that, but having it told directly to his face still hurts like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “I know that.”

“I think he wants you to come with us too.” Taeyong walks closer to Haechan but still maintaining safe distance so Mark won’t aim his gun toward him again. He kneels in front of him, gently asking, “Isn’t that right?”

Haechan’s eyes are moving slow, searching Taeyong’s face and maybe his vision has already become blurry from the way his lenses are turning silver, but his gaze is firm when he nods.

“Please,” Haechan says, softly, quietly, and heartbreakingly, “Take him with you…”

Mark can hear his own heart shattering. “Haechan—”

“You sure?” Taeyong confirms and Haechan gives the slightest nod of his head. Mark’s not sure whether it’s because he’s too weak to move or he just doesn’t want Mark to go. Mark wishes for the latter, but Taeyong is waving one hand and the next thing he knows, he is being dragged across the room.

“No! Wait—don’t touch me—” Mark struggles, kicking all over the place as he is being held down by two guys who are way more muscular than he is. “Don’t you fucking touch me—”

“Mark.”

Mark freezes, his stomach flips at the sound of Haechan’s voice. It’s louder this time—loud enough for everyone to hear and for Mark to have his heart crushed to pieces. “Just go.”

“It’s better to live than to die, Mark, even in a world like this.” Taeyong says, wrapping a hand around Mark’s wrist and this time, Mark follows. It’s as if all the strength of his body is leaving him and he’s not able to stand on his own feet if Taeyong doesn’t pull him up.

And as he walks away, Mark keeps his eyes on Haechan, still asking him why are you doing this? But Haechan only smiles and mouths something that makes his eyes widen. He’s saying the words—the promise—they usually share with one another, but this time, Haechan doesn’t have the power to make it come true. But he still says them, because that’s his final wishes before everything turns dark.

See you soon, Mark.

***

Mark’s first day in the colony feels like the world is ending, which is saying something because the world is ending but he just really feels like it is the second Haechan is out of his grasp.

Taeyong has offered him more variety of food than he has seen for the past two months and he still stares at his plate like it’s empty and he doesn’t know what to do with it. The place is safe, guarded with tall gates and watchmen, and there’s a campfire near the tent he’s staying. Mark knows how Haechan would’ve loved that. He would probably be dancing around it, telling Mark to play another Michael Jackson song with his guitar—Billy Jean, maybe—as he busts a move. And Mark would most likely have a hard time pressing the chords because when Mark dances more with his hands, Haechan dances more with his hips and he’s so naturally good at it that it makes Mark suffer from his longing to touch him. To wrap his arms around his waist, to mold his lips against his full ones, to peel every piece of clothing off his body so he can rake his fingers along the smoothness of his spine.

There are so many survivors around him, and people like Jungwoo and Lucas do smile brighter than the sun but Mark just wants to lurk in the dark. He already has his sun once, and that sun is dying.

“Mark,” Taeyong calls, sitting next to him in front of the campfire that dances in Mark’s eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Mark doesn’t answer, and it’s probably unfair because Taeyong has been nothing but good to him but he no longer cares.

“Look,” Taeyong exhales, placing a hand on Mark’s back. “I know how you feel but—”

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” Mark snaps, slapping his hand away. “Don’t tell me you know how I feel. You don’t.”

And Taeyong gives him a minute to catch his breath because it’s true. He’s breathless. He’s been feeling like he’s suffocating from the first time he took a step out of his house and into Taeyong’s van. But no matter how many hours have passed, he still couldn’t breathe.

“We need every survivor we can get,” Taeyong softly explains. “We can survive longer if we cooperate. Protect each other. And I really think it’s the best choice for both of us, but if you feel like this is not for you, then I won’t hold you back. That’s your decision to make.”

Mark looks up at the sky, which is painted in orange as the sun’s about to set. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Sorry for being such an asshole and taking all of this out on you.”

“Most people act the same when they first got here, so I kind of get used to it by now.” Taeyong chuckles. “We all have our stories, Mark, but whether we end it and start over with another page or dwell with the ending too long is our choice. And as you can see here, we’ve all made our choices. We chose to flip a new page.”

Mark takes a look at his surroundings, really observing every detail and he knows that the happiness around him is real. These people appreciate life more than they did and they find comfort in each other. Even if the world is ending, it feels just like another day of a new world for them. Another day to start over. Another day to appreciate joy if you give it a chance and look close enough.

“Have you lost someone close to you?” Mark asks, almost in a whisper and Taeyong spares him a glance.

“More than I can count,” he answers and if Mark listens very closely, he would notice the shiver in his voice. “I had someone before. Someone that I really loved. Almost like what you two had.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Taeyong exhales into the evening sky. “Like everybody else, I suppose. He died.”

“From what?”

“From a bullet to the head.” Taeyong breathes heavily. “My bullet.”

The silence hangs in the air and it just dawns on him that of course Taeyong has lost someone to the virus. Of course he knows how Mark feels. He’s been through a lot more than Mark ever did.

Taeyong told him that his name was Jaehyun but he always told them to call him Jay because it felt cooler that way. Mark witnesses how a longing smile appears on Taeyong’s face every time his mouth forms Jaehyun’s name but it doesn’t stay long. “He was bitten when he tried to save me,” Taeyong mentions, fiddling with his own fingers. “I thought he would heal, but—”

“He didn’t.”

Taeyong glances at him, at how Mark is fighting back the tears that form in his eyes and he exhales, puffs of air flowing from his thin lips. “He didn’t,” Taeyong finishes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mark has to say after a while and that’s enough, it seems, by the gentle smile on Taeyong’s face. The older man lands a hand on Mark’s dark locks, patting his head like a father to his son, before he stands up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Talking from experience,” Taeyong says, walking away. “He still has at least a day.”

Mark knows he’s talking about Haechan, just like how he’s been thinking about him himself even during Taeyong’s story, and he notices something slips out of the pocket of his jeans. “Taeyong-hyung, you dropped something.”

“No, I didn’t.” He throws a mischievous smile over the shoulder. “Good night, Mark.”

It’s a key. Taeyong’s car key, Mark remembers, as it had jiggled around his hand when he took him in before. And Mark knows that it’s all up to him now, whether he stays or he leaves. Whether he chooses to stay with the living or vanish with the dead. Whether he chooses a few splitting moments with Haechan, or live properly for years with Taeyong.

And the answer is clear.

It’s only been a day. A whole fucking day. But Mark steals Taeyong’s car as expected and rides out the first thing in the morning as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does, because Haechan is his life and he’s losing his light like a dying star.

And if Haechan turns into a black hole, Mark doesn’t mind being sucked out of his life to join him in an eternity of darkness. There’s no light without his sun anyway.

It takes four hours for Mark to drive back to the house he’s grown to love, and he’s already driving as fast as Haechan usually was. The sun shines rather warm on his skin, but he still shivers from the autumn breeze. His heart is thumping so loud in his own ears that everything else feels like a whisper.

“Haechan-ah!” Mark shouts the second he barges into the house—the place they both call home. Please still be here. Please be alive. And he runs from one corner to another, looking for the man who owns his heart, and he can feel his feet crumbling under his own weight when he notices the sight of him.

Haechan is standing in front of the stairs that lead to the basement, and there’s a little part of Mark that wonders perhaps he had been staying there to avoid the sun but he ignores it. He doesn’t care. Mark doesn’t give a fuck if his transformation is nearly complete because when Haechan looks at him, his mouth shaping his name, Mark is already running towards him before his entire mind can process.

Haechan lays still in Mark’s arms as he embraces him with all his strength. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” Mark says, slipping his fingers around Haechan’s ash grey strands that are browner than the first time he met him.

Haechan can hear Mark whispering his name over and over and he notices he’s crying, clutching to him as if he’s the rope that’s saving his life. “Mark…” Haechan buries his face in the crook of Mark’s neck which feels both familiar and distinct at the same time because Mark can no longer smell that honey-like scent Haechan usually has, he can no longer feel his warmth seeping through his clothes, he can no longer hear the playful whiny complains he usually makes.

But he’s still Haechan and that’s what matters.

“Why… did you come back…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mark answers, shaking his head frantically. “I couldn’t, Haechannie, I can’t leave you. I don’t care if all we have left is just minutes or even seconds, I just want to be with you.”

Haechan grabs the back of Mark’s shirt, making a sound between a sob and a choke and he probably wants to cry, but he can’t. His skin is rotting, his bodily function has stopped working, and he knows he looks unbearably disgusting but the way Mark holds on to him still makes him feel wanted. Makes him feel loved.

“Mark,” Haechan croaks, pulling away and Mark nearly breaks into tears again when he notices how much paler Haechan gets, even if they’re only separated for a day. The black veins are more prominent, painting his face and his skin like a horrifying tattoo and the lens of his eyes are completely white now,. “Mark, you have to kill me.”

“What—no—”

Haechan pushes the machete he’s been holding in one hand to Mark’s chest. “I’ve tried but I’m…” His cloudy eyes seem to scream in agony. “I’m too afraid… Please, Mark…”

“No, there’s no way—”

“Mark!” Haechan’s paper-thin voice suddenly booms through the air, sending shivers down Mark’s spine. “I can feel it. I’m losing myself and…” There’s this glow in his eyes that forces Mark to take a step back, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “I’m so hungry.”

And it’s not human food he craves, Mark knows that for sure.

It’s frightening, the way Haechan slightly bares his teeth at him, and every inch of his body screams for him to run but Mark plays deaf. “I’ll wait until it’s really over,” Mark promises him. “I’ll wait until you’re really gone. I’ll kill you when there’s no trace of you left.”

But Mark’s not sure whether he can keep his promise even at that point.

Haechan eventually agrees with a tired nod because they both know Mark is much more stubborn than he looks, and he begs him to tie him up so he wouldn’t be able to attack the second he loses control and Mark follows. Haechan sits on the floor with his back pressed against a huge pillar that supports the house and waits as Mark circles a rope around his waist a few times before he ends it with a knot.

“Is it too tight?” Mark asks, worriedly, and it’s so Mark to ask a half-transformed zombie that question so Haechan smiles weakly at him and answers, “Not tight enough, you idiot.”

Mark falls weak at the sight of Haechan’s smile that he loves so much and he leans in to kiss him but Haechan immediately brings his face away.

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, though he’s about to be consumed by the same desire, “You’ll get infected.”

But Mark cups both of his cheeks firmly with his hands, whispering, “I don’t care,” directly against his mouth, not caring about his icy cold skin, or the awful smell of his rotting flesh because underneath all of that, he’s still Haechan and he loves him. So painfully and earnestly so.

“I love you,” Mark whispers between kisses, “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you. Haechannie…”

And Haechan closes his eyes, he can no longer breathe in Mark’s scent like he used to a few days ago and it’s depressing, because Mark always smells like summer and Haechan loves summer. But within a few hours from now, there will only be the darkness that welcomes him like an old friend. And if he’s lucky, if Mark really has the heart to kill him, then he’ll be swallowed by that darkness and it’s okay, as long as he doesn’t bring Mark with him.

Because Mark deserves the light, even if that means taking his own.

And so they wait. They wait with their bodies seated side-by-side, with their fingers intertwined, with Haechan’s head falling on Mark’s shoulder. “Tell me more,” Haechan begs, his eyes heavy and the pain in the pit of his stomach—this craving of blood and human flesh—is maddening, growing and consuming him from the inside. “Tell me why you love me…”

And Mark does it with no hesitation because what he feels never changes. He still loves Haechan’s hair, loves his eyes, loves his voice, loves his touch, no matter how different they are now.

“And I love how you always say I’m a bad cook,” Mark chuckles softly, “but you always eat like it’s your last meal.”

“Because it… could’ve been…,” Haechan’s voice is weak and sore but there’s a tint of humor in his tone. “Your cooking was so bad… it could’ve killed me…”

And Mark laughs, airily and young, the way he always does and Haechan wants to cry because he most likely won’t be able to hear it soon.

“I love how we fight from time to time, with you pouting every time I win an argument,” Mark continues as he gently smiles to himself, “I love how brave you are, how you tend to not overthink stuff and just go with the moment. I wish I could live like you.”

Mark’s voice begins to break the more he speaks, hot tears forming in his eyes. “And I really,” he breathes out between soft sobs, “I really love hearing you sing. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard and I wish I could…” His entire shoulders begin to shake. “I wish I could hear you sing again, Haechannie…”

Haechan’s breathing becomes slower as his vision starts to fade away. Mark sounds like he’s talking from a distance, as if he’s murmuring underwater. And Haechan feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit, a monster waiting underneath and suddenly he’s just…

Gone.

“Hae… chan…?”

Mark’s eyes grow wide as he feels Haechan’s teeth sinking into the skin of his neck, gnawing against his flesh before he peels it away with his fangs. Mark’s entire body jolts in pain, sending electricity down to his fingertips. He crawls away from Haechan by instinct, his blood splattering down his shirt and to the wooden floor below him.

Haechan’s eyes are entirely clouded in white, saliva mixed with Mark’s blood dripping from his mouth and he snarls, baring his teeth like a hungry wolf.

Mark tries to call his name but it’s no use. Haechan is something else. Something entirely different. And although the transformation process progresses little by little, once it’s complete, it still takes the air out of Mark’s lungs.

Haechan is struggling to break himself free, his fingers clawing the air, reaching for Mark with such desperation of a starving lion. Mark’s gun feels heavy on the back of his jeans, he knows what to do. He just doesn’t have the will to do it.

“Haechannie—it’s me—please, it’s Mark—”

Haechan roars, dark blood splattering from his mouth as he claws and claws with his legs kicking all over the place. The rope around his waist is the only thing holding him still, keeping them in a safe distance but Mark knows it won’t hold long.

Haechan is frighteningly strong.

Mark’s blood is gushing out of his wound, painting his arm red and warm and it’s starting to make him feel lightheaded. At this point, he realizes he’s going to die by Haechan’s hands or going to turn into the exact creature snarling in front of him now.

Mark hooks his finger around the trigger, aiming the gun at Haechan’s head and he feels like he’s on the verge of vomiting his entire organs.

How can I shoot him—

But he tries. He tries because he has promised the man he loved he would do it. He tries because the world does not deserve seeing Haechan like this. He does not want anyone to look at him and think about him simply as a mindless, flesh-eating zombie when Haechan was so, so much more than that. Haechan was sweet, he was kind though he did have his own mischievousness from time to time and he shone so bright, almost blinding every time Mark looked at him.

So he takes aim and he misses because his hand trembles at the last second. The bullet that sinks to the pillar behind him only makes the creature growls at him louder, and the rope begins to tear apart.

Mark still can’t shake the memory of Haechan’s face when he told him he loved him too, or simply the memory of him—of how he used to. But the monster that he is now is not him. Mark just has to convince himself that.

He’s running out of time.

He takes a closer step, close enough that he won’t be able to miss, and he takes in a deep breath, aiming at Haechan’s temple. He steadies his hand as best as he can before he closes his eyes, feeling hot tears running down his cheek and he whispers, “See you soon, Haechannie.” And he pulls the trigger.

The room quiets down in an instant where Mark can only hear his own frantic breathing, but he doesn’t stay still for long. Not looking at Haechan’s body, he quickly loads his gun with another bullet—his last one—and presses the tip against the side of his head. It feels hot, almost scalding his skin but he doesn’t let himself think. He doesn’t let himself breathe. He doesn’t let himself feel.

And with the click of his gun, he finally smiles.

We’re together now, Haechannie.

***

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