Chapter Text
The first thing Wooyoung feels is pain. Excruciating, body-jerking pain. It blossoms from his abdomen, squeezes like a finger in a nutcracker. It’s slow, like whoever operated the trap wanted to hear every bone splinter, break off bit by bit.
Wooyoung doesn’t have the air left in him to gasp, a strangled groan slipping past his lips. He curls up into himself, clutching his stomach. His skin is clammy, enough for the tears to blend with the salt of sweat. His sheets cling to him like a glue trap. He whines out, trying to breathe through it. It does little, but it goes a long way.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been stuck here. He can’t make out where he is, either. The room is dark with no windows. Whether it’s day or night he can’t tell. Everything is coated in this haze, muffled voices echoing off the walls. He can’t make out their words, but they’re less than kind and bordering sneers. Ridicule.
Wooyoung’s body stiffens up again. He presses his teeth together with enough force to make them crack.
Then it tears. Something inside him feels like it’s been ripped to shreds, a blunt knife stabbing into it over and over again, before someone twists it in with grime-covered hands.
His body shakes at tension leaving him all at once. It’s wet. Hot, wet, sticky and uninvited. He pulls off the covers, staring between his legs. Red. Crimson iron, bleeding out of him. He screams.
But his eyes shoot open. His vision is blurry, but it’s well enough for him to make out the familiarity. The cracked wood is welcomed, light peeking through the cracks in his blinds. His body feels sticky, almost feverish and heavy with the weight of the dream. He wouldn’t call it a nightmare. He’s experienced worse than that, but it still lingers and leaves him exhausted.
Unconsciously, he reaches in between his thighs, checking for remnants that shouldn’t be there. At least, he hopes. The line between dreams and reality has been blurry to him these days. It comes out clean. Wooyoung slumps into the pillow, though the clenching of his stomach doesn’t dissipate.
He blinks, before pushing himself up. After all, the sweat could also be a result from the rising temperature, reaching into the early peaks of summer. Whatever the reason, Wooyoung desperately needs to clean himself off, scrub away anything that might be lingering on his skin.
Their home isn’t big, nor is it the cleanest or most structured. It’s always dark, somehow. The lightbulbs flicker. Wooyoung turns them off as he enters.
“Wooyoung-ah,” comes San’s soft voice from the kitchen. There’s a smile in his words. Likely he’d heard the shuffling.
He’s already awake. He always is before Wooyoung. San never really sleeps, always up before the sun rises and down after it sets. He tosses and turns a lot. Wooyoung can hear his groans even from across their house, rotten stench filling the air. He lays with San sometimes, though only when San comes to him. It’s rare, but when it does happen Wooyoung clings onto him with all his might. He hopes it makes up for the times they had both ignored it.
Wooyoung trudges forward. San is working at their stove, turning down the gas. In their early days this had been Wooyoung’s job, but as San started sleeping less and worrying more, he had taken it upon himself to kill time. Make the day move faster. He smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. It hasn’t in a while, not since the incident. Sometimes Wooyoung feels like a part of him died alongside him, like he faded out together with San’s real, genuine smile.
Wooyoung watches from a distance, the way the fabric of his nightshirt stretches over his back. It dips loosely under his arms, making it so that Wooyoung can peek into it. His eyes wander over the faded marks. They were once blisters. Wooyoung can never forget the way they had scorched San’s skin, and will never forgive the way they will never leave him.
San sets down two bowls filled with rice, and a plate filled with eggs and some vegetables. Meat was off limits these days, nothing easy to come across. Wooyoung sighs. He walks over to San, laying his head on his shoulder.
San isn’t as cuddly as he used to be, but he still relaxes under Wooyoung’s touch. His fingers run through Wooyoung’s hair, massaging his skull. “Good sleep?”
He can probably smell the opposite, but he’s trying to keep things bright. It’s only the beginning of the day after all.
Wooyoung buries his nose into San’s neck, breathing in his scent. Ginger, slightly burned, with undertones of honey. San has never returned to his full sweetness, but Wooyoung still finds comfort in the char. The spice is stronger; whenever Wooyoung catches a whiff of San, his insides warm up and his thoughts clear. He reminds Wooyoung of the teas he used to be fed when he was sick, nursing him back to health.
“It was alright,” Wooyoung murmurs.
“Just alright?”
“Yeah.” Wooyoung detaches himself from San. It almost feels like tearing himself open. He keeps his eyes down. “The heat made it hard to sleep, I think.”
“I suppose.” San looks at Wooyoung, gesturing at the table. “Take a seat. I think it’s pretty good today, if I do say so myself.”
Wooyoung drags himself to his seat, nearly bumping his head against the low-hanging light. It flickers in the wind. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You were dreaming last night.”
San halts his movements. His gaze sinks to his plate. “It was nothing. The temple must’ve left its aftershocks.”
He’s lying. Wooyoung has been with San long enough to know his patterns, but he only sighs. “Where did you get the eggs from?”
San shrugs, spoon between his lips as he arranges the setup of the table just a tad bit neater. “Seonghwa had some connections at the market.”
Wooyoung hums. “Should we get chicken?”
“We don’t have the space.” San pulls up his nose. “Besides, it’s gonna smell really bad.”
“You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
Wooyoung’s face drops into a deadpan. He points a spoon at San. “No.”
San sticks out his tongue. Wooyoung likes it when mornings turn into this, when bad nights melt away into a brighter dusk.
“Did you know chickens are cannibals of sorts?” San then quips in.
Wooyoung halts his movements. “What?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is.” San shakes his head, miming it out with his hands. “But sometimes they just… poke at their own eggs. Instead of caring for them, they poke them open with their beaks and just kill their young. A lot of animals are that way.”
“Insane.” Wooyoung shudders.
“Is it?” San says. “They do it to each other, too, you know? They just peck each other. It happens in closed spaces.”
“Where…” Wooyoung huffs out a laugh. “Where did you even learn this?”
“Used to work at the market for a bit.” Because of course he has, Wooyoung chuckles to himself. San has been loitering around this city for much longer than Wooyoung has. “Lots of chicken at the stall across. You need to care for them a lot, or else they will go insane.”
“Don’t you think that’s just every other creature?” Wooyoung asks.
“Getting all philosophical already?” San teases. “Next thing you know you’re asking me what the point of everything is.”
Quite literally nothing, Wooyoung thinks to himself, but he won’t crack San’s skull open on that just yet. The morning has been too good. Besides, if Wooyoung still has the desire to get up every morning, then there must be something keeping him here. He looks over at San who has now distracted himself with some book he’d left laying around. It isn’t one he’s seen before, but the cover is chafing. It must be one of Seonghwa’s old ones.
Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “What’re you up to today?”
San flips the page. “Small talk? So early in the morning?”
“Just gauging if you’ll be home before me or not.”
“I’ve got some stuff to do over at the temple. There’s some…” San purses his lips, “unrest.”
Wooyoung straightens up. In a hushed tone he asks, “Unrest? Did anything happen?”
“It’s nothing for you to worry about, Young-ah. It’ll clear up soon,” San dismisses it. He squirms in his seat.
His words do nothing to soothe Wooyoung. He doesn’t believe in the gods San worships, but San devotes his life to them. However, unrest can never mean any good. He has been in this city long enough to know the grip the gods have on people, even tighter than the leaders. The divine is only called upon when the government is rumbling from inside out.
“What are you going to do?” Wooyoung presses on.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” San mumbles.
Wooyoung sighs. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” San holds up a finger, frowning. Wooyoung can tell he is trying to lift the mood. It’s written in the way his lips are pursed and his nostrils are flared. “No apologies. This is nothing you or I can control.”
Wooyoung pouts, shoving a spoonful into his mouth. San only laughs. He reaches out to flatten out some of the strands sticking up from Wooyoung’s head. He’d always giggle about Wooyoung’s particularly bad case of bedhead.
The peaceful mornings with San have to be Wooyoung’s favorite part of the day. There’s this state of tranquility. Both of them are still hopeful for the day, still hopeful there is good to come, even though Wooyoung is counting down his remaining days to doom. He hums, laying an extra piece of egg in San’s bowl.
“Wooyoung-ah…”
“Eat it. You need it more than me.” San is about to protest, but Wooyoung says, “Nope. Not hearing it. This is a thank you for cooking.”
“You’d burn this cot down.” San rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say more. He pokes at his meal, tossing it around.
Wooyoung kicks him under the table. “Exactly. Now, nom nom.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cared for.”
San looks down. Wooyoung knows that’s the end of it. He shouldn’t push San too much, especially not when the day has just begun. Still, he just wants to remind him he deserves more. He deserves everything, in Wooyoung’s opinion. He deserves more than this place can give and none of what it has subjected him to.
There isn’t much Wooyoung can do, but he’s doing his most. That’s all he can give in return.
As usual breakfast continues without words, both of them accustomed to each other’s silence. San’s scent has returned to its usual state, sweet ginger mixing with Wooyoung’s sea breeze. San reminds him of the bakeries they sometimes pass in the center of the town. When all events fall into the right places they can treat themselves there. It isn’t often, but Wooyoung clings on to the small things. He knows San does too.
San’s spoon clatters against the ceramic. Seonghwa was kind enough to gift it to them. San looks embarrassed sometimes when he runs into Seonghwa, though Seonghwa will always insist it’s nothing he needs. He should be clearing out, he says. There is no more space in his cupboards, which is a lot for just one person. Seonghwa has a heart too big for his body, especially when it involves San. A blessing, some would call it. Wooyoung thinks it’s dumb luck.
Wooyoung looks up. San has his hands folded under his chin, waiting for Wooyoung to finish. The glassy look has left his eyes, lips stretched into a grin.
“What time is Yunho expecting you?” he asks.
“I’m thinking of heading there earlier,” Wooyoung says through a mouthful. San gives him a distasteful look, but stays silent. Wooyoung smiles at him, cheeks full. “I thought I’d help him set up a bit. Gods know he has his hands full.”
San nods sleepily. His eyes are falling shut, shoulders slumping. He shakes his head, giving his cheeks a pat. “How’s your project getting along?”
Wooyoung already finds himself grinning. San may look cold to most people. He sets himself up to be strong and untouchable, keeping everyone an arm’s length away from him. His eyes are sharp as his features, and he rarely smiles the moment he steps outside. That’s the magic of their small cot; Wooyoung gets to see San with his walls down. He gets to see him unguarded.
Wooyoung slides down his seat, hands folded behind his head. “What even does the temple need all that shit for?”
“Don’t call it shit.” San gets up from the table, gathering both their empty bowls and the plate. He sets them away by the set up stove. He rumbles around to get a cloth, slapping it down on the table.
Though it’s light, there is a slight pointedness to San’s tone. He looks up through his bangs, finding Wooyoung’s eyes. Wooyoung shrugs. He doesn’t want to fight. The day is going so well. He shouldn’t ruin that in the name of pettiness. Instead he watches San shuffle around their home. It’s swift and knowing. He could find his way around even with all the lights out.
“It’s a lot of details,” Wooyoung says. “For whatever reason Yunho has trusted me with all the delicate stuff. I hope I’m getting the patterns right.” He raises a brow. “Is it gonna affect it if I fuck it up?”
San runs his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair without much thought. He presses a kiss to his temple. “You’ll do fine, Wooyoung.”
Somehow, when San says it, Wooyoung believes him. He knows that the moment he steps into the shop that feeling of euphoria will be gone, but Wooyoung is allowing himself to indulge in the smaller things. He can still feel the remnants of San’s presence, even after the other has already left through the door to clean their utensils.
Wooyoung sighs. He drags himself back to his room to ready himself for the day. The air turns bitter again, too salty for Wooyoung’s liking. He grabs the scarf off his nightstand, wrapping it around his neck with a double knot. Something tells him he’ll need it today.
Wooyoung arrives at the blacksmith’s too early, but he knows Yunho will always be there before him. It’s like he lives in the small stall. The fire already feels hot on his skin, even though the forge is only starting up for the day. He enters the shop with a short greeting, reaching for his gloves. He doesn’t forget to tie his scarf a little tighter around his neck.
“Wooyoung!” Yunho lifts up his mask, grinning. There is soot on his nose already, despite just opening up for the day.
The shop isn’t anything fancy. Far from, in fact. There isn’t much light, aside from all that manages to slip in through the cracks in the walls. Wooyoung’s skin feels clammy in the rising heat. Tools hang from the sides, though Yunho usually leaves them scattered around after using them. He likes to clean up at the end of the day, when every task has been completed. Some type of therapeutic closure so he can sleep at night. To each their own, Wooyoung supposes.
Yunho’s floral scent spikes up. The first time Wooyoung had stumbled upon the forge it had seemed out of place. Some days it still does, but it’s so Yunho, turned familiar.
“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung says.
“You’re looking rough,” Yunho says. “Smell like shit, too.”
Wooyoung tuts. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Yunho tilts his head in Wooyoung’s direction. “Are you going to tell me why? Oh, and could you hand me the cooling water? Kinda forgot about that.”
He points somewhere over in the corner. Wooyoung immediately drags his feet towards it, then shuffles back to Yunho with the bucket in his hands.
He drops it with a huff. “Didn’t sleep. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Yunho purses his lips. “Stay away from heavy duty today, then.”
“I can’t leave you to do it all on your own.”
“Wooyoung, I’ve been doing this alone for years before you came along. You’re good.” Yunho slaps his mask back down. “Work on the necklaces or something. The temple needs some for some upcoming ritual.”
“Oh. Another one?” Wooyoung frowns, though he nods. “Okay.”
“It needs to be one of those pendant things. You know, the ones that can carry crystals and stuff.” Yunho blows air into the fire, skin glistening. He is working on a blade, has been for a while now. “They left some type of stone behind, already polished and stuff. You can check it out for yourself.”
“Okay.”
Symbols carry a heavy weight in these parts. One line out of place could shift its meaning to something entirely different, for better or worse. Even their materials bring a great disparity. Yunho, too, is wearing a pendant of his own. A polished flint stone hangs around his neck, layered black and gray. The wires holding it are curled in intricate ways, overlapping into one another.
Wooyoung takes his seat behind one of the worktables. He ties his hair back, though the front strands still fall into his eyes. San has nagged him about them, saying it could be dangerous. Imagine if it caught fire, he would say. Wooyoung can deal with it, though. Besides, he has his mask for it. San would get pouty. All it takes is a peck to the cheek to placate him. San is so awfully easy sometimes. That’s the joy of him.
In all honesty, Wooyoung enjoys the heavy work more. There is less pressure on details, less precision and more freedom. Yunho likes the finer things. He likes carving patterns into his blade and clinking around with smaller ornaments, but Wooyoung understands. In his disoriented state, it is better for him to stay away from the dangers.
He sighs, taking out some metal wires. It’s honestly a miracle Yunho agreed to take Wooyoung in. It’s not easy for omegas to find jobs, let alone in this sector. Wooyoung didn’t have any qualifications, let alone been stable enough to handle a job this intense. Yunho didn’t mind. He was hesitant, of course, but more in a way that he thought he couldn’t do much for Wooyoung.
Wooyoung was desperate back then. He still is, but for other things. He doesn’t know what compelled Yunho–an alpha, of all things–to take Wooyoung under his wings under the guise of an apprenticeship. He thinks it’s because he could use company after the passing of his parents.
Wooyoung sighs again, this time searching for his tools.
“So,” Yunho grunts, letting the hammer fall onto the blade, “are you gonna keep sighing, or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Did you know chickens are cannibals?”
“The hell?”
“Yeah. When they’re in small coops, they peck each other to the point of bleeding.” Wooyoung wipes his forehead with his scarf. “They’ve got these ranks. The ones at the bottom get pecked the most. Isn’t that insane?”
Yunho snorts. “Where did you even hear this?”
Wooyoung shrugs. “San told me this morning. He got some really good eggs.”
“Right…” Yunho trails off. “But that’s not what’s got you twisted like this, now is it? How is San doing, by the way?”
“Same as always,” Wooyoung sighs.
“And?”
“What more is there to it?”
Yunho sighs, laying his tools down. “Listen, Wooyoung, you’re going to have to tell him one day. You two live together, for fuck’s sake! How long do you think you can keep it hidden?”
Wooyoung doesn’t answer. He digs around the drawer, even though he already has all he needs laid out in front of him. The tools clash against each other, adding even more noise to the room. It’s not like it’s ever quiet around them, with the forge being close to the main street, fires always crackling and metal always clinking. It helps empty his mind, though. That’s the most he can ask for right now.
He knows Yunho is watching him. He’s gotten used to deciphering stares, but Yunho’s is only slightly narrowed, lips pressed together. Frustration building up. Wooyoung already knows what he wants to say. He’s only holding back for the sake of his sanity.
Wooyoung knows he’s a hard person to reason with. Yunho has told him plenty of times it’s going to bite him in the ass one day. One day, he will piss off the wrong person, someone who isn’t as tolerant as everyone he has gotten to know. Frankly speaking, Wooyoung doesn’t really care. Soon he’s going to lose it all anyway.
“I dreamed of it again last night,” Wooyoung admits. He can barely be heard over the white noise. “I don’t know why. It hasn’t even happened yet, but it’s so vivid and so real.”
“You should tell him about it, Wooyoung,” Yunho says. “The sooner, the better.
“You know how he gets around these subjects. I can’t do that to him.”
But more selfishly, Wooyoung doesn’t want to break the illusion. He wants to live in bliss and pretend it’s all fine. He likes to live in ignorance; what you don’t know won’t hurt you. What you ignore can disappear, if only for a moment. He likes the routine he’s gotten accustomed to. He likes waking up to San shuffling around and talking about trivial things. He likes clocking in at the forge and working until his body is sore.
Yunho shakes his head. “You can’t shield him from everything, Wooyoung. This is a big deal.”
“And it will still be a big deal later, so why should I make him worry about it now?” Wooyoung snaps. “It’s not going to do any good.”
“Woo–”
“I’m done talking about this. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Yunho scoffs. “Fine. If you say so.”
Wooyoung huffs. He lowers his head, bitterness spreading through his mouth. He shouldn’t have yelled at Yunho. He doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment, especially not after all he has done for Wooyoung. Wooyoung had nothing to offer in return and still Yunho helped him. He helped him with no expectations in return and has treated him with nothing but kindness.
Wooyoung’s fingers play with the wires, braiding them, undoing it. Everything about this morning has been terrible. The dream has left him with this gnarly feeling inside. He feels disgusting, like he wants to tear out his insides and claw his skin open, clean himself from inside out. He knows it’s not real, but he also knows it could be.
Yunho sighs. “Okay, Wooyoung. Let me tell you one last thing. Don’t keep it in. Don’t keep it to yourself. You’re not alone anymore.”
Wooyoung only nods. He picks up a piece of sandpaper, running the tips of his fingers over it. “When do these need to be done?”
Yunho presses his lips together. “Before spring.”
Spring is such a wretched season. Wooyoung sighs and starts carving. Yunho continues working like nothing happened. He talks to him like everything is fine. A marbled blade, he’s making. The technique is hard to master, but he learned it when he was traveling some years back. He tells Wooyoung the story again. Wooyoung already knows and he is certain Yunho knows it too, but he’s glad the awkward silence is filled. It’s almost like everything is going to be okay.
Wooyoung passes by the temple before he heads home. The necklaces are far from done, but he made a good start. Once opening hours had officially hit, Yunho had laid his passion project aside to assist Wooyoung with picking the stones and patterns. He’d taken the polishing and carving upon himself–thankfully. Wooyoung doesn’t have enough knowledge on such things to know what to do–nor does he care enough about it–but Yunho had sketched out references if they would run out of time.
Wooyoung finds the process tedious. They could be taking on better projects. He is yet to learn how to make a well-balanced blade before he can even dream of making them pleasing to the eye. He could be working on bigger things rather than making rocks look pretty.
He isn’t quite sure what power such things can have. If he can make it himself, then it can’t be all that special. To call upon the gods? Utter bullshit.
He doesn’t believe. Not in a god in particular. He doesn’t honor anyone other than himself and those close to him. He does, however, believe in the power of faith. The way they can move a soul. He’s been hanging around the city long enough to know the grip the gods have on the people, so much so that not even the state leaders can really lay a finger upon the Crescent Clan. It’s amazing, honestly.
Wooyoung has been around long enough to know the shit status omegas have in these parts, yet no one can lay a finger on the Crescent omegas. They are treated as some apparition of gods, the other half to complete the Moon Goddess.
They have been around for centuries, generations upon generations. They were the first settlers of the place, if Wooyoung remembers correctly. Before, all the clans in the area used to be nomads of sorts. They never stuck around one place too long, leaving as soon as the resources started thinning out. It was an awful thing, to drain something from its livelihood, but it was the way it was.
However, this place is said to run on magic. Wooyoung doesn’t think he has ever witnessed a miracle, but it is said the Moon Goddess appeared to the clan for the first time once they’d set up camp here. Old people talk, everyone believes them. That’s all Wooyoung has to say about it.
He trudges around the temple for a bit, kicking at the gravel beneath his shoes. It leaves white residue on the leather. Every time he scrapes his foot, a cloud of dust emerges. The place makes him feel uneasy. He doesn’t want to admit it, especially because it means so much to San, but whenever he comes here he wants to crawl out of his skin.
He feels out of place, looks the part too. He is covered in grime and soot, sweat clinging to him. He can’t smell pleasant. His clothes are torn and smeared with remnants of the forge, sticking to his back in nasty patches. He’s an eyesore against the pristine white.
Wooyoung is already sighing again before he can stop himself. He’s been doing that a lot today. It’s like his body can’t seem to hold onto the amount of oxygen he needs. There’s a heavy weight on his chest and a twisting in his gut. Gods, he hoped it would’ve been over by now.
It’s ridiculous how much dreams affect him, but he can’t help it. It’s the connotation they have gotten in this world. This small universe within the city walls and all its rules and beliefs. Back home Wooyoung had never batted an eye at dreams. He rarely got them to begin with and when he did they were easy to brush off. He doesn’t know what would have ruined him more; leaving or staying.
Eventually Wooyoung decides it’s time to suck it up. He pushes open the wooden door with a creak. It looks just as out of place as he does, polish scraping off and metal bars painted black. The moment he enters is like stepping into a new world. The slums he usually hangs around are nothing. The roads are made of dirt and the buildings of cracking wood.
The temple is different. It is coated in marble, reaching up to the sky. There is gold plating shining in the flickering of candles, greenery down the center where the ceiling has a slit. It’s to let the sun come through, but mostly to create a pathway between the servants and the gods.
Wooyoung tries to walk in the shade. It’s bustling with people clad in white linen. The place is coated in this sweet stench, not an alpha to be detected. It does little to ease Wooyoung, but he won’t let it beat him down.
The sun is still too high in the sky which means San won’t be out for much longer. Wooyoung will have to kill some time. He’s seen the place enough, but perhaps they’ve brought some changes to the pavilion. Maybe he’ll run into someone he knows. Wooyoung skips some tiles. Might as well make it fun for himself, so he can pretend he isn’t bored out of his skull or feeling his skin itch.
The pavilion is sectioned, organized in a way only the government would think of. Every piece of grass is trimmed to perfection, and every weed has been removed from between the cracks. There are no flowers, just greenery. It’s almost comical, the way the greenery stands out against the dirt roads running by it on the other side of the short hedge. Wooyoung huffs out a laugh, hiding it with a sniffle as some temple servants pass him.
No one bats an eye. Everyone is too busy to even acknowledge him. Wooyoung wants to scoff. He doesn’t understand what an ever-present deity might need, let alone multiple ones. If they are so powerful, he doesn’t see a reason to honor them at all hours of the day or to complete measly, mundane tasks for them.
Wooyoung had only come to this city a year or two ago. It was like being thrusted into a whole new existence. Their deities were nothing he had ever heard of, all foreign names with needs to be met. Over at his old town they honored the Sea, begged it for mercy and prosperity. It didn’t have a face or a name, but they all trusted and feared it. It was an entity, but not one they could humanize.
The longer Wooyoung stays trapped within these walls, the more odd he comes to find it. He doesn’t know when the list of gods, responsible for every little thing mankind can imagine, had grown, or what they needed it for. Wooyoung can’t recall a single name or role. It’s always been him and the sea, and now its memory.
Yet, the people attend to the flame, never once letting it waver. The blue flame rests in a hearth. There are no walls, only pillars built around it. It almost resembles a small temple of its own, circular so it can be seen from all angles.
Legend has it that it was gifted to mankind the moment they settled in this city as the, followed by the entirety of the world. The gods will abandon them, unleash their wrath. Or so they say. Wooyoung wouldn’t know; he’s never seen the goddamned thing off, after all, but it’s nothing a little rain cannot fix, or a bucket of water. But Wooyoung won’t push his luck today. Keeping it on is one task, hanging onto a deity is another thing.
Despite the importance laid upon it, the eternal flame is hidden away in a corner outside of the temple. Seonghwa has never seemed quite too fond of it, anyway, even though he smiles when he meets the officials. There are a bunch of people shuffling around the fire. Their scents mix into one with the burning embers, charcoal and wilted fields.
Wooyoung lets his eyes linger on it for a second too long. He already can feel himself zoning in on it, letting himself fixate on it, letting it consume him. He shakes his head. He won’t bend. Not like San has. Not when it has ruined him this much. He can almost find himself falling for it, trying to justify their reasoning. He shouldn’t believe in it; believing in its divinity makes him fear its power.
His vision is still tainted when he finally steps away. He feels disoriented, like he isn’t quite in his body anymore. Instead he is floating around, weightless. The wind could carry him over the clouds and he wouldn’t notice it.
A hand grabs his shoulder. Wooyoung jolts out of his daze.
“Wooyoung, hi. How are you doing?”
Wooyoung spins around at the call of his name. The motion leaves him dizzy. It takes a moment for Wooyoung to place the high cheekbones and sharp nose. However once everything settles it all falls into the familiar. Soft eyes and full lips and strong brows. The lavender scent engulfs him. Could lull him to sleep. Wooyoung feels the tension leave his muscles.
“Seongwha.” Wooyoung bows shortly. “I’ve been alright. How are the preparations getting along?”
Seongwha’s robes sway in the wind. He looks like a gust of wind, always flowing and dancing. He’s draped in sunshine, gold hanging off his body. It rests against his chest, dangles from his ears. His eyes are a striking blue, an attribute from his pack. Deep, glowing omegan blue.
“Come with me, Wooyoung-ah. You shouldn’t be wandering around outside.” Seonghwa spins on his heel, hands folded behind his back. He walks with grace and poise.
Wooyoung always feels unsure of how he’s carrying himself around him, hyper aware of how they contrast each other when put side by side. He straightens his back a bit; that’s the most he will do. Seongwha leads him through the maze of halls. Wooyoung knows he isn’t supposed to be here, but no one can speak up against Seonghwa.
“Where are we going?” he eventually asks.
“You’re here for San, aren’t you?” Seonghwa says. “You certainly wouldn’t be here for me.”
“You’re making it sound like I hate you,” Wooyoung groans.
“You’re not as fond of me as you are of San, though,” Seonghwa says, his tone dancing.
“Of course I am. He’s San. Who wouldn’t be fond of him?”
“What a great question that is.”
Wooyoung huffs, blowing his hair out of his eyes. He grabs onto Seonghwa’s shoulder, then crosses his arms. “Oh, quit it. Why did you take me here?”
“I thought you would want to speak comfortably. Away from the prying eyes.” Seonghwa tilts his head, rolling his eyes. “Also, that hearth is quite the eyesore.”
Wooyoung raises his brow. “Are you going to spill confidential information?”
“When do I not, Wooyoung?”
Seonghwa starts walking. Wooyoung rushes to catch up with him. Seonghwa’s face doesn’t betray anything on his mind. He has always been a blank slate with nothing out of place. If anyone were to see him from a distance, they wouldn’t suspect a thing. Seonghwa, the perfect image of clarity and calm.
“San told me there were issues,” Wooyoung says.
Seonghwa hums. “Did he?”
“He didn’t need to.” Wooyoung crosses his arms. “What’s going on?”
Wooyoung grimaces. That did not sound half as stern as he had hoped it would. He wouldn’t take himself seriously either. The truth is, he doesn’t know how else to approach it other than straight on. There is never a way to ease into things, not when there is this sense of urgency building up inside him, ready to rip him apart at the seams.
Seonghwa looks him up and down, the expression on his face unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t turn his gaze away either. He brushes his hair out of his face.
“Seonghwa?” Wooyoung calls him again, voice smaller this time. “Please, tell me.”
“You know how the officials are, Wooyoung.” Seonghwa speaks slowly, laying emphasis on every word. “They’ve been trying to infiltrate my clan for the longest time. What’s different now?”
“It’s bad enough for you all to call upon the gods. I thought the state and religion were never to be mingled.”
“It’s easier said than done.”
“So what’s going on?” Wooyoung has to bite his tongue to keep his tone in check, but his patience is wearing thin. Seonghwa is beating around the bush, talking in pretty ways but never telling him anything. “You can’t keep me in the dark forever, Hwa. You’re just as scared as me.”
Seonghwa stops walking. He turns to the side, blue eyes staring holes into his skin. “Wooyoung, what will change if I tell you?”
“I’ve been having dreams again.”
Seonghwa stiffens up. Wooyoung didn’t know that was even possible. He presses his lips together, though he doesn’t speak. He examines Wooyoung up and down, blue eyes sending chills down his spine. Wooyoung lowers his head. Seonghwa’s gaze is burning. It’s unlike him, uncertain. He shakes his head, pulling his shoulders back. “Dreams could just be dreams. They rarely mean something.”
“You of all people should know that is bullshit.” Wooyoung bites his tongue, the words already sending a bitterness through his mouth. Logically, he shouldn’t be getting upset at Seonghwa. No matter how much power he may have, no matter how untouchable he seems, there isn’t much he can do. He may be untouchable, but he also cannot lay his fingers on the law.
“I’m sorry,” Wooyoung mutters. “Today has just been shit.”
Seonghwa’s eyes soften. “Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight? San, too.”
“Only if you make it very, very fancy.”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Go get San. It’s about time he comes out of that cave.”
Wooyoung snaps his fingers with a wink. “See ya outside!”
He hears Seonghwa chuckle in the background. He is probably shaking his head, too. Seonghwa always tries to keep his cool, collected face on. There are eyes on him at all times, from every corner. He needs to keep himself composed, his chin raised. He cannot afford to crack. He doesn’t quite remember how to, anymore. Seonghwa has been molded into the person he is today, the weight of his clan on his shoulders. Still, Wooyoung is glad he can get a smile out of him. It’s the least he can do in return.
Wooyoung whistles a tune under his breath. It’s one of the few things he could take along from his old life. His bags had been empty, but they could never take his heart along. Just a simple shanty, one he’d heard countless times when the sellers came over the seas to their small island, loading their goods into the docks.
Wooyoung stops whistling, his movements coming to a slow halt. He frowns, though he isn’t sure at what. Reminiscing the past always leaves him sour. The future doesn’t look too bright, either. He shakes his head. He can only hope the worries fall off with it. This is why he doesn’t like thinking. Another shake of his head. It’s up to the sky to deal with his worries, if anyone up there is even listening to them.
Nearing the cave, Wooyoung can hear the drums tremor through the brick walls. He shuts his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He hates how spiritual this place can get, and he especially hates how much it’s rubbing off on him.
He slaps both his cheeks. “Pull yourself together, Jung Wooyoung. Pull yourself together.”
San dances in the name of the gods. He summons them throughout his body, uses it as a method, lets them speak through him. Wooyoung isn’t sure if it is delusion, or if it is true, but when San dances it’s like his soul leaves his body. In a way Wooyoung thinks it does. When San dances, every ounce of worry, of sense is up in the air. He is no longer himself; he becomes a tool. He doesn’t have to think. That’s the most he can ask for.
Wooyoung will have to wait for him. He leans back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He keeps his head down. He knows they can’t kick him out, but he’d rather not deal with any snide looks.
The beat speeds up. It sounds feral, almost. This wild thumping, a heart on the brink of madness. Wooyoung doesn’t know what exactly goes on inside there. He has never seen San dance, either. He has seen the strain it leaves on his body, though. The exhaustion settles in his limbs, so much so that he can barely keep himself standing, oftentimes crashing in their living room. He looks happy, though. Happier. That’s all Wooyoung can ask.
Eventually the chattering of voices grows. The shadows grow against the limestone. They look menacing, like they could bring Wooyoung down, cowering in fear. They are large enough to swallow him whole. Wooyoung watches the figures drip out one by one, like the liquid dripping from the cave ceiling.
It’s a mixture of scents, ranging from deep forest groves to open wild flowers. Wooyoung’s eyes jump over every single one of them. He doesn’t want to fill up his mind with the faces of strangers that he will remember, but never be able to stick a name to. It’s a waste of energy, and especially emotional capacity. He doesn’t have much to spare, so he won’t be generous with it.
After minutes stretched into an eternity he sees familiarity.
Wooyoung kicks himself off the wall, grinning widely. “Sannie! Did you miss me?”
“Wooyoung?” San’s mouth falls open. He excuses himself from the rest with a curt nod before he jogs off. His smile stretches full. He greets Wooyoung with a tight hug. “What are you doing here?”
Wooyoung runs his hands up San’s back, then gives his shoulder a light squeeze. He lets himself drown in San’s warm spices. Finally he can step away from the edge he had been stuck on. His eyes flutter shut as he buries his nose in San’s neck.
San doesn’t push him away, even as his arms around Wooyoung start wavering a bit. He lets Wooyoung hang onto him as long as he needs. He keeps a hand on Wooyoung’s back. His scent is tangy, invading Wooyoung from every angle. Wooyoung takes one final whiff before he finally lets go.
“I came to see Seonghwa,” Wooyoung says. He links his arm with San. “He invited us for dinner.”
“He did? What’s the occasion?”
“Just because. What an angel, isn’t he?”
San rolls his eyes. “You didn’t mean a word you just said.”
“Eh,” Wooyoung shrugs. “But I gotta give credit where it’s due.”
San is dripping, his white robes clinging to his body like a second skin. It leaves little to the imagination. San’s body is the result of diligent practice and dedication, carved to its abilities. San shrinks into himself, free arm covering his chest. Wooyoung tears his eyes away and turns them to the ground. He wants to slap himself across the face. Stupid, Wooyoung. You absolute, blithering idiot.
San’s robes leave a wet trail after them as they walk. On top of that he is barefoot. His skin is littered with goosebumps, lips tinged a subtle purple. Through the white Wooyoung can see the faint outlines of the patterns on San’s back.
“Hey, we need to dry you up.” Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate to untie the scarf around his neck. He drapes it around San’s shoulders.
“Wooyoung!” San gasps. “You’re gonna get it all wet!”
“It’s hot outside anyway.” Wooyoung rubs his throat. He feels awfully bare like this, unprotected. He smiles at San. “You wear it for now. I’ll steal it back the moment I can! Don’t think you get to keep it.”
San rolls his eyes. Still he wraps the fabric around his shoulders, bunching it up in his fists. He presses his nose to it. “That’s so much better than the incense.”
Wooyoung grins, running his fingers through San’s hair. He lets his hand rest at the base of his neck, playing with the hair at the end of it. San had chopped it all short only a while ago. Wooyoung still hasn’t gotten used to it. It feels a bit empty, like he’s grasping at nothing. He instead slings his arm over San’s shoulder, pressing his cheek to the side of his head.
San’s hand goes to grab Wooyoung’s hand. His fingers are freezing.
“They should take better care of you,” Wooyoung mutters. “You’re gonna catch a cold at this rate. How are they gonna channel the gods without you?”
“It’s alright. I can get changed quickly. Don’t wander too far!” San twirls out of Wooyoung’s hold.
The scarf falls from his shoulders, already resting around Wooyoung’s neck. San ties it up, sitting tight over his scent glands. He gives Wooyoung a close-lipped smile before he grabs a fresh change of clothes and slips behind the door.
The remainder of his presence is still burned in Wooyoung’s skin. A perfect glow pressed into his side.
It makes something inside him stir, a sick feeling rising up his throat. His hands ball into fists. He rests one against his forehead, mouth stretched into a thin line. He spins on his heel, hoping to make the time move faster. Hands clasped behind his back, he starts strolling. He tries to balance on the cracks in the tiles. One foot before the other, careful movements.
He had been too eager to prove nothing was wrong. He should’ve taken Yunho’s offer to stick around for a bit longer. Chat it up, talk about nothing. A looming feeling sinks upon his shoulder. Wooyoung curses under his breath. His mind had really waited the entire day before the bomb finally dropped. He shuts his eyes and starts counting. Ten to one, keep breathing. His fingers curl into the front of his shirt. He rests his body against the doorpost. Ten to one, ten to one.
Wooyoung hates it when he gets like this. He hates it when he shuts down. It’s like he has lost all control of his body. His mind can think, knows what to do. He knows he should get out of this, knows it isn’t a big deal, yet his body can’t comply. His breathing stays shallow, his throat scratchy and dry. Keep counting, is all he can remind himself. Keep counting, keep breathing.
It usually doesn’t happen in public. It hasn’t happened in a while. He’s turned numb to the looming anxiety. It has become all he knows. So why the fuck is he losing his composure like a complete fool like this? He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, skull throbbing. His stomach churns.
He sinks down further, curling into himself. Slowly his breathing comes down and the clenching in his chest settles. Ten to one, one last time. His hands tingle, legs reduced to nothing. He drops to the tiles, eyes fluttering open. He expects to adjust to the light, except it’s dark. The temple is collared a dulled orange as the sun sinks in the horizon. It must be late. The sun sets long after the night has started. The candles flicker in the distance.
It’s now when he can make out just where he had dragged himself to. He turns his head around. It’s at one of the edges of the temple, abandoned by most. He pushes himself up from the floor. He feels sticky and his mouth is dry. When he looks forward all he sees is blue. Flickering, cursed blue.
His blood runs cold. So that was it. He keeps running in circles, always ending up where it all started.
“Young-ah? Wooyoung?” Wooyoung can feel San’s presence nearing, but he doesn’t move. San’s feet pad against the tiles, a dull thumping against the high walls and pillars. He slows. “Wooyoung…”
Wooyoung stays silent, even as his vision starts spotting with blind spots and his ears start ringing with distant screams. They are voices he doesn’t know, yet still recognizes.
San follows Wooyoung’s gaze. His eyes glow blue in the fire, chest eerily still. His nostrils, however, are trembling. He grabs Wooyoung’s hand. His palm is clammy. “Come on. Let’s go.”