Chapter 1: The colors
Chapter Text
"Are you here?"
"Where else would I be?" Hao snorts. Hanbin had to search hard to find him. "These assholes are making everyone come here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they send us to the Tower of Silence next to beg forgiveness for our sins."
The sky looks the same as it does in his city: dark gray, with a slightly bitter taste. In the distance looms the Tower of Silence, separated by a tall iron fence. To the left of the Main Square stands a small temple. Hao keeps glancing at it.
"What sins are you talking about?" Hanbin asks.
"Plenty. Sodomy, for example." Hao shifts his gaze to Hanbin, the corners of his lips twisting into a mocking smirk. "That’s a big sin too, didn’t you know?"
Hanbin doesn't take his eyes away too, waiting until Hao looks away first. Talking to Hao is like playing with fire.
"At least, between the two of us, I'm not the only sinner," Hanbin shrugs. "If we’re burning in hell, we’ll burn together."
Hao actually dated a guy in the past, and now he never misses a chance to bring it up, including at the first dinner between Hanbin’s family and his.
"I’m used to it." Hao watches as people step forward, their faces hidden behind translucent mesh, black robe fabric draped over their bodies. "But one day, we’ll have to answer for our fuckups."
Suddenly, silence falls. The hum of voices—the deep male tones and higher feminine ones—fades all at once. Even the wind stills.
There’s something dark in it. Hanbin feels a faint unease, and it only grows worse as the bishops pass by. He has to lean against the railing just to keep from falling.
Hanbin can easily name the shades of colors that radiate from things, from people. It’s a little harder to fit into his usual worldview the things that don’t belong there at all.
***
Ricky says it’ll be useful—sneaking into the temple when no one’s looking. At least, that’s what he tells Gyuvin, quietly pleased when the latter agrees. Getting inside isn't hard.
By then, the entire city has gathered in the Main Square. They have about half an hour—thirty short minutes—before the loud music cuts off and the fiery speeches fall silent.
Ricky nimbly steps over the moss-covered stairs and slips inside through a window, reaching back to pull Gyuvin in.
"There's a passage to the second floor somewhere here," Ricky whispers. He knows this place too well.
In an instant, Gyuvin pins him against the wall, hand clamped over his mouth. Heavy footsteps echo through the hall. Only a wide column adorned with portraits of the Niners separates them from the bishops moving toward the temple's far end. The remaining walls stretch gray and unadorned.
Ricky hears nothing but the hammering of his own heart. There’s no way out.
Gyuvin presses closer, his body nearly enveloping Ricky’s as the footsteps grow louder. Someone’s coming their way. The heat of Gyuvin’s skin sears through Ricky’s clothes.
They could die right here.
"I have a plan," Gyuvin whispers into Ricky’s ear. In one motion, he shrugs off his jacket and flings it down the hallway. Glass shatters, figurines fall from a shelf.
Before Ricky can process it, Gyuvin drags him aside and, in complete darkness, pins him again, this time against a door.
"Be careful," Ricky hisses. Gyuvin is tense. His whole body wired, his jaw clenched, and something inside Ricky tells him to shut up. Gyuvin’s rarely like this.
"Hold the door like this," Gyuvin instructs. Ricky obeys. Gyuvin licks his lips, rummaging through his pockets until he finds the keys. The door clicks open a second later.
"Where’d you get those?" Ricky asks.
"I have my ways." Gyuvin stops in front of Ricky. None of his usual playfulness lingers in his voice. "Aren’t you gonna thank me? I just saved your ass."
"I didn’t ask you to do it."
Gyuvin doesn’t answer, stepping further into the office. He freezes, listening to the silence around them, before flipping on the overhead light. The place is spotless.
The light blinds Ricky, and it takes effort just to stay on his feet. He gropes for the desk and leans against it carefully. The realization of what could’ve happened dawns on him slowly.
"I know it, bambi." Gyuvin's tone softens. "Then why are we here? Are you seriously trying to dig up dirt on Madam Hwang?"
The mention of the headmistress brings back yesterday's events. She'd caught Ricky smoking and had made him mop the college toilets. Gyuvin had kept him company, perched on the windowsill, tossing wet rags at Ricky just to keep things interesting.
Hwang Yeji is always fair, but there's something… off about her. Ricky feels it; Gyuvin confirms his suspicions with pure intuition.
It takes Ricky a moment to realize they're standing in Yeji's office, among dozens of books and neatly organized folders. Awards and a university diploma bearing her name sit proudly on the shelves.
"If we find something, we can get rid of her."
A shadow of doubt flickers across Gyuvin's face. "We're fucking dead if anyone finds out."
But in complete contradiction to his own words, Gyuvin strides deeper into the office without hesitation, stopping at a filing cabinet. He starts rifling through identical stacks of documents.
Maybe recklessness is just another one of Gyuvin's qualities that Ricky likes. Sometimes, it even pays off.
"We need to open this." Gyuvin drops a small safe onto the desk. Ricky steps closer as the earlier fear slowly drains from him. "Find something we can use."
Ricky scans the room. His gaze skims over everything and nothing at once. He can't find any paperclips or bobby pins to pick the lock. Honestly, he doubts a safe like this could be opened with just a paperclip.
"Where am I supposed to find anything useful?" Ricky moves to the cabinet Gyuvin took the safe from, rummaging through drawers: blank notebooks, notes scribbled in some incomprehensible language. It's suspicious. He pulls open the last drawer and finds a key.
Meanwhile, Gyuvin jams a paperclip into the lock, one he must've grabbed from the desk. He's focused, the tip of his tongue peeking out; his fingers work the mechanism with practiced ease, like he's done this before. At any second now, the lock should give way.
"Good boy," Gyuvin says, still dead serious when Ricky hands him the key. Ricky swallows hard, a strange heat spreading through his body. It's definitely just… nerves. "See? You can be useful when you try."
It takes Gyuvin seconds to crack the safe open. Then he curses.
"What kind of fucking idiot locks an empty safe?" Ricky voices their shared thought, stepping back sharply, disappointment bitter in his throat.
"It’s not completely empty." Gyuvin pulls out an envelope. "There’s a letter inside."
He shoves the safe aside and hops onto the desk. Ricky reaches for the envelope but Gyuvin smacks his hand away, that infuriating smirk back on his face.
"Magic word?"
"Give it," Ricky repeats. Gyuvin shakes his head. Insufferable. "Please."
"Wrong magic word." Gyuvin tucks the envelope behind his back.
The silence between them says it all: Gyuvin won’t give in. He’ll wait, stubborn as always, until Ricky says it. They’ve played this game before.
"I love you, Gyuvin," Ricky mutters, rolling his eyes. It's too saccharine.
But apparently, it’s exactly what Gyuvin wanted to hear.
"I love you too, bambi." Gyuvin grins before handing over the envelope. "Now we’re square." His fingers brush Ricky’s cheek, lingering a second too long. Then he shakes his head, shoves Ricky lightly away and jumps off the desk.
They leave Yeji’s office separately. Gyuvin tosses Ricky the keys, claiming urgent business, but the flush on his cheeks is noticeable.
Ricky studies the letter for a long time, running a thumb over the photo of an unfamiliar girl—Shin Ryujin—before pocketing it.
And for the first time, he feels it: a dizzying mix of relief and the thrill of something bigger on the horizon.
***
The temple is cold. That’s the first thing Hao notices when he steps inside.
The dark walls are coated in cheap paint. Hao still remembers mixing that exact shade as punishment. He’s absolutely certain that if someone looks hard enough, they’ll find a skillfully brushed "fuck you all" hidden somewhere.
The idea to write something like that had been Hao’s. And he’d been the one to actually do it.
"Don’t get too close to those morons in robes," Hao mutters. "Don’t say a word around them. They practically forced me to lick a toilet last time I had an argument with them."
"They made you… lick a toilet?" Hanbin’s face stays as calm as ever. Even if a meteor crushed their shitty town, he’d just shrug.
"I’m exaggerating,” Hao explains. “But piss them off enough, and yeah, they’d absolutely make you do it."
Not that easygoing Hanbin had anything to worry about. Unlike Hao, he hadn’t spent his teenage years scrubbing toilets in his father’s mansion.
"I’ve gotta go."
Hao leaves Hanbin behind, melting into the crowd. The people ahead march in lockstep, perfectly ordered: first, second, third. Eyes fixed on the stranger’s back in front of them, ready to stay in this temple forever, even after death. They're marching blindly into the abyss.
Goddamn cultists.
Hao yanks Ricky out of the crowd only for Gyuvin to materialize beside him instantly. Not that it's surprising anymore. "Goddamn, do you two go everywhere together?”
"We’ve got nothing to hide from each other." Gyuvin slings an arm around Ricky, pulling him close.
"Gyuvin-ah is right." Ricky’s voice is light. "I have nothing to hide from my boyfriend."
Ricky stares intently at Hao, as if waiting for a reaction, but Hao brushes it off without a second thought. Other people’s personal lives only interest him when there’s something to gain — and these two? They're literally useless.
"No problem, Ricky," Hao sighs, rubbing his temple. "Then explain to me why you were in the temple while everyone was in the square? You were looking for something here, weren't you?"
Hao gestures vaguely at the temple walls. There’s definitely something worth finding; he’d raided a few archives himself when he was younger. There is nothing particularly interesting inside, just the tedious writings of Nico and Keons, revered members of the Niners.
Thanks to these two, Dema followed its unique path, one that would surely lead its citizens to true enlightenment, to a perfect world. But why does Hao always feel like he doesn't belong in it?
The pressure in his chest tightens again. Damn it.
"We weren't trying to get in here. What are you even talking about?" Ricky shoots a glance at Gyuvin, who nods instantly.
"Yeah. We’ve been in my dorm all day, doing homework. You have a problem with that?"
Hao smirks. Gyuvin rarely looks this serious; he hardly ever steps out of his carefully crafted lovable idiot persona he’s worked so hard to cultivate.
In that way, he’s nothing like Hao. At least Ricky had the sense to be in relationships someone less volatile this time — though no relationship in this godforsaken city could even be called safe .
"I have no problem at all." Hao’s voice drips with false sweetness. "It's just a friendly warning to stay out of places you don’t belong. My father mentioned they installed security cameras yesterday as protection for confidential information and other bullshit."
Just mentioning his father makes the pressure in Hao's chest spike. His vision blurs. Ricky’s face dissolves into a white smudge, Gyuvin vanishes entirely except for the pink of his shirt, and soon even that melts into meaningless static.
Hao needs to leave. Now.
"Thanks."
The word reaches him, but Hao can't tell which of the two said it. He doesn’t remember how he ended up in the bathroom. Suddenly, he’s there—hunched over, vomiting onto the tiles.
He should have at least made it to a stall, should have locked the door behind him. But does it even matter now?
Hao sinks to the floor, gasping for air. Heat floods his body, his skin slick with sweat. He wipes his face with his sleeve, but the walls keep closing in—tighter, smaller. Fuck .
He splashes water on his face, tries to focus on breathing. What was it Jiwoong used to say?
Breathe in. Breathe out. Repeat.
It’s not working. It’s not working.
Hao curses under his breath, scrubbing his face again. Maybe the water will keep him from dying. Maybe. The walls are shrinking faster… a little more, and they’ll crush him completely, and then—
A drop of blood hits the sink, then another. Pain flares through his hand and knuckles; shattered mirror fragments scatter into the basin. Hao clutches his hand to his chest, sliding down the wall until he hits the floor.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It doesn’t get easier.
Hao disgusts himself all over again.
***
Half an hour later, Hao leans against the iron fence near the temple entrance, skillfully wrapping bandages around his hands. Yeah, he'd texted Jiwoong almost immediately. Yeah, he'd rinsed the wounds with water and even checked for glass shards—but was there any fucking point to it?
Jiwoong keeps insisting the pills will help. Hao keeps leaving them untouched on his nightstand.
"What happened to your hands?" Gyuvin appears silently. He's staring at Hao's bandages while clamping a cigarette between his teeth.
"Nothing. I fell."
Gyuvin's eyes narrow slightly. He doesn't buy it.
Waiting for Hanbin becomes even more unbearable when Ricky joins them exactly two minutes later. He plucks the cigarette from Gyuvin's mouth to take a drag himself, slinging an arm around Gyuvin's shoulders. His gaze also lingers on Hao's bandages, but he doesn't ask anything.
Ricky is one of the few who knows everything. In a way, Hao had been grateful to him. Without his support during that period, Hao wouldn't have made it. But they've grown up now, and all that's left are memories—and Hao has no desire to cling to them.
"There are no cameras in the office we broke into. We checked," Ricky finally says, exhaling smoke. "But thanks for the warning anyway."
Hao nods. The least he could do was warn them. If anyone found out about Ricky's reckless actions, they wouldn't let him live. Gyuvin would share the same fate.
"Yeah, thanks," Gyuvin adds, subdued. Hao almost wishes he hadn't spoken.
Silence settles between them. Hao scans the area for Hanbin; he needs to drive him home.
This wasn't Hao's idea. Rather, it was one of the rare suggestions from his father that he'd actually agreed with: ruining relations with a future business partner would be stupid. Something told him that keeping Hanbin close would pay off.
Hanbin wasn't as foolish as he seemed. During their first meeting, he'd rolled his eyes every time Hao's father opened his mouth. But he hadn't said a single word.
The only one who'd spoken was Hao, emboldened by wine. By the end of dinner, he'd begun to suspect he'd gone too far, especially when Hanbin's grandfather gave him that look mid-argument about the Niners. It was the same look his father gave him right before hurling something heavy at Hao's head.
But this time, luck was on Hao's side. No projectiles came flying, and he quickly lowered his gaze to his plate, feigning remorse. Apparently, calling Nico a "brainwashed cultist" in front of devotees wasn't the wisest move.
Hanbin didn’t disapprove. On the contrary, after that incident he started treating Hao more warmly. The gloomy, reclusive boy who had barely left his room during his first days here was gone without a trace.
"Sorry I’m late," Hanbin says, slightly out of breath. His hair is tousled, his black shirt sticking to his back. He glances at Ricky and Gyuvin, shoulders hunching slightly before he turns to Hao: "Are you going to introduce us?"
Earlier that morning, Hanbin had mentioned he wanted to meet his future classmates and professors today. He needed to build a good reputation.
"This is Ricky," Hao begins, unenthused. "He’s a future teacher."
Hanbin raises an eyebrow, as if surprised. Hao himself wouldn’t have believed Ricky would ever be allowed near children.
"And this is Gyuvin. I have no fucking clue what he’s studying, but he’s… decent, I guess."
Gyuvin grins and extends a hand. Hanbin hesitates but shakes it. "Nice to meet you. You’re a newbie, right? Sung Hanbin? I've heard a lot about you."
"Yeah." Hanbin relaxes slightly, Hao notices it in the way his shoulders drop. "I moved here from China recently and now I live with Hao’s family. Our families have been close for years. I’m here to get a good education and… a better life."
He says it earnestly, without a second’s hesitation. How many times has he repeated that today to sound so convincing? Just this morning, when Hanbin had rehearsed the line over breakfast, Hao had laughed and told him he was a terrible liar.
"It is interesting," Ricky says. Hao catches a flicker of skepticism on his face: maybe Hanbin’s already starting to grate on him. Ricky doesn’t need much reason to get irritated.
"Yeah, exactly," Hao cuts in. "It was fun meeting you, but we’ve gotta head home. If we’re late for lunch, my father will skin us alive."
He takes Hanbin's hand, already pulling him toward the car. At that exact moment, Ricky leaves a kiss on Gyuvin's lips—brief, just a peck. Hao barely registers it, but he does notice how completely dumbfounded Gyuvin looks.
***
"It seems not everyone in this city is friendly," Hanbin remarks. Hao waits for him to fasten his seatbelt before pulling the car out of the parking lot.
The roads are empty. Perhaps everyone was scared off by the bishops standing in the middle of the street, interrogating anyone who crosses their path; or maybe everyone is hiding indoors from the drizzle. Even nature seems to mourn the impending arrival of the Niners.
"No one’s going to be friendly toward you, Hanbin. Everyone in this city is out for themselves. And you’re being incredibly stupid, talking so much to random people."
"I know that," Hanbin replies calmly, watching Hao’s reflection in the mirror. Hao is the first to look away, focusing on the road.
"I don’t want this coming back on my family,” Hao says. “Everyone already knows you’re here because of my father. If those bastards find out the real reason, they’ll just kill you."
Hanbin remains composed in a way most people wouldn’t be able to. Walking through this city, worshipping people who would turn you in and kill you at the first opportunity is not easy. Pretending to be one of them is even harder.
Hao isn’t even sure he can help Hanbin with this. Someone who’s spent their entire life in Chin won’t be welcomed here—just like Hao wasn’t, at first.
"Everything will be fine," Hanbin insists. "I’m not stupid enough to tell anyone the truth. None of them will ever be my friends."
"What do you mean? You’re going to lie to them until the end?"
"Yes. They don’t need to know anything beyond my name," Hanbin laughs. "From now on, they’ll know me as a spoiled guy who just wants a good education. There are endless people like me in your college, right? So why would anyone suspect me?"
"Your accent," Hao sighs. "You have an accent, Hanbin. It’s easy to notice."
Hanbin’s shoulders slump slightly. He’s silent for a moment before answering with the same confidence. "I’ll get rid of it. I don’t think it’ll be that hard."
"If it weren’t hard, people wouldn’t be tortured for mispronouncing a single word. Even English is forbidden, remember? Chinese—even more so."
Hanbin nods. "I understand. I'll work on my pronunciation. Anyway, my grandmother and I always spoke Korean. It shouldn't be too hard now."
Hao turns the corner and sees their destination—a three-story house. Any hope that his father isn't home yet vanishes when Hao spots his car in the driveway.
"When father loses his influence, they'll kill us," Hao says. "They'll kill you because you grew up there. I'm not sure about the others."
He's not sure if Ricky would be considered a foreigner: Ricky once mentioned living in the U.S. for some time. He doesn't know if they'd even kill seventeen-year-old Woohyun, whom everyone calls Matthew.
Father always had his peculiarities. He could have easily avoided any risks by leaving Hao to grow up in China and recognizing Matthew as his only son. But he chose not to.
"If they kill us, then that's our fate. There's no way to escape it," Hanbin says, turning to Hao, who avoids his gaze. "But while there's still a chance to change something, I'll change it."
"Change what?"
But instead of explaining his plan, Hanbin just shrugs. "It doesn't matter for now. But I'll definitely come to you if I need help."
They spend the rest of the ride in silence. Hao watching the road, Hanbin occasionally mutters something under his breath that Hao can't make out.
"Your house gives off a blue," Hanbin remarks as he gets out of the car. He waits for Hao to exit and activate the alarm.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hao asks.
"I have no idea. I'm just telling what I see." Hanbin slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a small jar, handing it to Hao. "It's ointment. Use it for your wounds. It usually helps."
Hao hesitates but takes it. "Jiwoong told you everything, didn't he?"
Hanbin nods. Hao feels panic rising again. No one was supposed to know about it. "But I thought you wouldn't want to discuss it with me, so I didn't pry. Take care of yourself."
That's the last thing Hanbin does before heading inside. He claps Hao on the shoulder and disappears so fast Hao barely processes it.
All he can do is watch Hanbin walk away.
Chapter 2: Bloodstain
Notes:
tw: non-graphic description of self-harm
read with care <3
Chapter Text
The ticking of the clock echoes through the dining hall; the rooms stretch like snakes across the entire house. Above the entrance door hangs a boar’s head—a silent herald of the past, while inside every desk drawer lie pistols, tools for self-defense.
The meal proceeds in silence. The clink of a fork against a plate and the quiet sniffling of Mr. Seok are the only sounds. His nostrils flare repeatedly; his shoulders slump. His gaze darts from one person to another, never settling on anyone in particular.
"How long will our business partnership last?" he asks.
"I’d say at least a couple of months," Hanbin’s grandfather, Sung Kohee, says, smiling. "By then, we’ll have sold all the tech I brought."
Mr. Seok cuts another piece of meat and drags it across his plate, back and forth. Then he gathers a bit of fat onto the slice and pops it into his mouth, smacking his lips.
Hao feels nausea creeping up his throat.
"Using gadgets in Dema is illegal. Punishment ranges from severe to execution," Hanbin suddenly interjects.
He has been quiet the entire meal, sketching something in his thick daily notebook, which he carries everywhere. Solid blocks of text, scrawled in crooked letters, sprawl across the page, occasionally highlighted with bright markers. Hao notices this even from a slight distance.
Perhaps, for Hanbin, it truly is easier to navigate the world by relying on colors.
"That only applies to ordinary people, Hanbin-ah," Mr. Seok says as Hanbin scribbles something else in his notebook. "The bishops and other nobles don’t have to worry about such trivialities. And as long as you’re with us, neither do you. You’ll soon become part of a good family, my dear!"
At that very moment, Hanbin takes a sip of juice from his glass, then immediately chokes on it, coughing violently.
"What do you mean?” Hao demands. “What kind of family?"
Mr. Seok ignores Hao’s question, instead scooting closer to Hanbin and attempting to thump him on the back. Hanbin flinches at the last second, pulling away from the touch. He pushes back from the table and disappears into the hallway, still coughing
Kohee follows after Hanbin. "Easy there, grandson, easy! It’s unbecoming to choke in such a company!"
Their footsteps echo down the corridor, bouncing off the marble statues—replicas of Dema’s rulers, the Niners. Mr. Seok is fiercely devoted to them, but even more so to money.
Once Hanbin and his grandfather are gone, he returns to the table and resumes eating, shoving more and more pieces of meat into his mouth. A thin trail of grease drips down his chin.
"I have big plans for Hanbin." His voice grows rougher, his smile vanishing. "He’s not a screw-up like you. He doesn’t disappoint me."
Hao tightens his grip on the fork, trying not to imagine how good it would look buried in someone else’s throat.
"Just admit it—Hanbin’s your latest bastard son," he sneers. "My mother would’ve been so disappointed in you... though, really, how much worse could it get?"
Mr. Seok stops eating. Hao braces himself. If Mr. Seok doesn’t stop staring like that, if he doesn’t stay in his seat, all hell will break loose.
All Hao had to do was to keep his opinions to himself and keep his mouth shut—the bare minimum he was expected to follow. It was the first rule Hao taught Matthew when the latter came to this house; Hao had figured out the same rule on his own after growing tired of the constant bruises.
But Hao was used to it. So why were his hands shaking now? Why did he feel like a child again—shivering outside in the winter, crying from sheer helplessness?
"If I were her, I’d have fucking killed you," Hao adds before downing the rest of his wine. He has ten seconds to make it to his room.
Within five seconds, he’s yanked up by the collar of his shirt. His heart hammers. Thud-thud, thud-thud. His throat constricts, and Hao can’t tell if it’s fear or his father’s hand wrapped around his neck.
The grip tightens. Hao starts to think he’s dying. Or maybe he already is, and that dark haze creeping into his vision… it’s so close now. But is any of this real? Is the pain real? Are his desperate struggles real?
A knee to the gut is the best he can manage. Icy water and gasping for air is all that’s left to him.
The crushing weight in his chest begins to fade, and the fear of death starts to feel foolish. Counting the objects around him becomes a manageable task. Hao flexes his fingers, bending and stretching them, the chill of the water against his skin—proof that it’s over.
Hanbin's reflection in the mirror grows clearer.
"How long have you had this?"
"Since I moved here," Hao replies, his voice oddly hoarse. He clears his throat. "Panic attacks are bullshit."
Again, Hanbin doesn’t ask unnecessary questions; he just nods and waits for Hao to sit on one of the bathroom cabinets. A few shampoo bottles clatter to the floor, making the cramped bathroom feel even smaller, as if the walls are closing in. Hao squeezes his eyes shut.
"What do you do when they happen? Is there a way I can help you?" Hanbin’s voice is steady.
"Only if you can kill me."
There’s no energy left for aggression. Under different circumstances, Hao would be threatening everyone, twirling a knife in his hands, casually mentioning how easy it’d be to slit his father’s throat. But right now, he can’t even muster that.
Apathy washes over him. His fingers claw into his thigh through the fabric, twisting the skin until it hurts.
"I want to kill him. I will kill him, Bin-ah," Hao exhales. When he opens his eyes, he finds Hanbin carefully pouring something foul-smelling over his hand. Hao jerks away.
"Stop moving. He cut you with a knife. If we don’t treat it, it’ll get infected."
"I don’t even remember him grabbing a knife." Hao finally yanks Hanbin’s hand back but doesn’t wipe off the antiseptic. It stings. Hanbin lets out a sharp breath but doesn’t push—just takes a small step back. "I’m insane, yeah?"
"It’ll get better. You just need to take care of yourself," Hanbin says, pausing as if choosing his words carefully. Hao watches in silence, noting how deliberately Hanbin avoids his gaze. "Your father really is cruel."
Hao smirks. "I know."
And it would cost Hao nothing to slit that bastard’s throat.
***
Blood drips in small droplets, staining the floor and the sheets. The smell of gasoline still lingers in the air. Hao can’t bring himself to move. He just stares at the red lines etched into the flesh of his inner thigh.
His fingers tremble. The urge to press harder rises.
"I could have him killed—make sure his head’s torn off right in front of you. Is that what you want, son? I won’t tolerate broken rules."
Thoughts leap chaotically from past to present, and Hao feels the nausea rise again. He drops to his knees, trying to steady his breathing.
"Do you even know, Mr. Sung, who Ricky is to me and why my father hates him so much? Ricky never did anything to him—hell, Ricky might be the purest guy I’ve ever met!"
Breathe in. Breathe out. The pills feel impossibly far away.
"You wouldn’t believe the kind of pure things we did in my room. Every man should sleep with another man at least once. That’s the real truth of things."
Another memory hits: his father’s blows, bright and brutal. Sweat slides down his spine.
A knock at the door snaps him out of it.
"If you don’t open it now, I’ll break it down," Jiwoong’s voice cuts through.
Hao shoves the blade under the bed and yanks his pants up, covering the cuts with fabric. By the time he reaches the door, his steps are unsteady.
"The fuck do you want?" Hao snarls.
"Don’t be an ass. Your father said you lost it again."
Jiwoong steps inside, scanning the room. His gaze lands on the small bloodstain near the bed.
"You reek of alcohol from a mile away." Hao locks the door behind him, the familiar stench hitting him again, the same one that clung to Jiwoong’s dorm room and, sometimes, his office. "Ever heard of a fucking shower, or are you that far gone?"
Jiwoong says nothing. Hao collapses onto the bed, hands pressed to his face.
Goddamn pills.
"What happened? Why is there blood again?"
"Once you said that I need to deal with the panic attacks.”
Jiwoong pauses again. He sits on the bed beside Hao, carefully running a hand over his leg—as if he knows exactly where Hao hurt himself. "But you shouldn’t deal with them by hurting yourself, Hao.”
Hao stays silent. It would be easier if Jiwoong just yelled at him, if he told Hao to stop this bullshit. Hao is used to aggression, not guilt.
"I felt like shit again, and I lost control," he exhales. The silence grows heavy. "Sorry."
"You should be apologizing to yourself." Jiwoong still doesn’t raise his voice. "I’ve given you plenty of ways to deal with this, but you don’t like any of them. I can’t keep getting antidepressants from Ryujin forever, you know."
Antidepressants.
"I’m not sick. I don’t need that shit shoved down my throat. I’ll handle it."
"Yeah, it’s really working out for you. You’re handling it so well, Hao. Should I ask Hanbin to keep an eye on you?"
"Don’t drag him into this. I don’t want to see him." Hao turns away from Jiwoong. "I don’t want to see anyone right now, honestly."
Jiwoong starts rubbing his back. The aggression fades again, replaced by that same gnawing, hollow feeling. Is this just... permanent?
Hao doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t understand why he deserves this kindness.
"You and Hanbin are alike," Jiwoong says suddenly. It comes out of nowhere. The last thing Hao wants is to think about how Mr. Seok treats him... so warmly. He hates it. "Seems like you two already get along, huh? Both stubborn, both trying to change something... Get to know him better. Maybe he’ll be your way out."
“Are you seriously trying to set me up with him? Have you lost your fucking mind?"
Jiwoong doesn’t react to the venom in his voice. "I’m just trying to find another solution, Hao. Shutting everyone out and hurting yourself won’t make it better."
"It does." Hao’s voice drops again. It’s still hard to let anyone in. "The physical pain... it’s the only thing that shuts everything else up."
And perhaps he hurts Jiwoong by saying that. Or maybe the only one hurting in this situation is Hao himself.
"Please try to take the pills." Jiwoong's fingers trail through Hao's hair. "Ryujin said they would help. Avoid stress, stay away from your father. We'll figure something out soon."
It feels a little easier to breathe.
"Why are you so kind to me?" Hao asks, turning to face Jiwoong. The steady rise and fall of Jiwoong's chest beneath his shirt is hypnotic.
"Because I love you," Jiwoong replies, just as calm, still carding his fingers through Hao's hair. "And believe me, more people love you than you could imagine. They just don’t all know how to show it."
Hao mumbles something incoherent in response, burying his face deeper into the pillow. "No one would even notice if I died."
The air grows heavier, thick with the weight of those words.
"I would notice," Jiwoong says after a beat. His foot taps nervously against the floor. "Matthew would. Ricky would, after all. You don’t want to hurt us, do you? You love us too, in your own way."
Jiwoong always knows exactly what to say.
The room feels unbearably empty when he leaves.
***
Jiwoong has to fight for every spare moment between enduring tedious college lectures and playing servant to some old bastard. Not that "servant" was entirely accurate—and Mr. Seok wasn’t that old—but... money doesn’t smell, right?
This time, Jiwoong doesn’t even have to hunt Hanbin down. Hanbin meets him in the hallway first, leading him through the mansion’s endless corridors toward the restricted wing.
The walls are white—the color of death, as Hanbin often says. Portraits of the Nine glare sternly from their frames.
Jiwoong exhales in relief when they finally reach Hanbin’s room. A plasma TV dominates the wall opposite the bed, while half-unpacked suitcases sprawl across armchairs; Hanbin, trapped in his chaos, clearly never found the time for cleaning up.
Jiwoong heads straight for the mini-fridge.
"You even have beer here. It’s surprising." He pulls out a can and frowns—Hanbin plucks it from his hands and walks to the window. Hanbin hates alcohol and drunk people.
In the distance, the stone city wall cuts across the horizon. Dim streetlights expose graffiti scrawled by residents; yellow flowers push through cracks near the ground.
"Are our people okay?" Jiwoong asks. His throat goes dry when Hanbin hesitates. It's never a good sign.
"I guess so. But I think they’re still pissed you left."
"I didn’t have a choice."
Hanbin nods. He always understands. Probably he is the only one from their old friend group who never wavered in having Jiwoong’s back. No matter how stupid shit got, Hanbin stayed. Even Sakura didn’t trust him unconditionally.
"Was your first day of classes rough? Were you nervous?" Jiwoong steps closer cautiously, like he’s afraid to startle Hanbin, and rests a hand on his shoulder. He feels Hanbin’s body tense for a split second before relaxing.
"I don’t know," Hanbin mutters. "They’ll all figure out something’s off with me. I’m shit at lying."
Dark circles bruise his under-eyes; exhaustion clings to every movement. Jiwoong hasn’t seen him like this since their first meeting when he a lost Hanbin on the streets. Those years scraping by together in Beijing’s outskirts taught them everything about each other.
“This is too risky,” Hanbin mutters, voice hardening slightly, but the unease stays. His fists clench, nails biting into palms. "They’ll kill us if we’re caught."
"But you want justice, don’t you, Hanbin? No one else will do this but us," Jiwoong says. "And step one is getting inside the Tower of Silence."
Jiwoong sees the Tower every day. The student rumors about it don’t horrify him like they did years ago. Hanbin’s just starting to grapple with it.
"What’s so important about that Tower?" Hanbin lifts his head. "I just found records of people dying there in the past."
"People didn’t just die there. They’re still dying. That Tower’s full of prisoners who never deserved it. The least we can do is try freeing them."
Hanbin stares at him—sharp, unflinching, not shying away like others would at his place.
"What's wrong with you, Jiwoong? You've changed. I never used to see this... hunger for justice in you before." Hanbin's gaze is razor-sharp, unwavering—where others would flinch, he holds steady. "Tell me. I'll find out anyway."
"There's someone I need to pull out of there. Don't read into it, just…" Jiwoong's tongue tangles like he's drunk, though he hasn't had a drink in twelve hours.
"Sakura, right? You still haven't told her—"
“Shut up,” Jiwoong cuts him off before the words can fully form. He starts pacing circles around the room, caught off guard. "Just shut up, Hanbin. There was never anything between us and couldn't be. We basically grew up together."
"But—"
"You're saying nonsense."
Hanbin sighs; a protest dies unspoken. "Whatever you say, hyung," he concedes, though his tone drips with unspoken skepticism. "But my offer stands: if you need advice..."
"I'm twenty-six, Hanbin. No amount of advice is gonna fix this." Jiwoong forces himself to stop pacing; avoiding Hanbin's stare is pointless. "Just help me get her out. She won't owe you either."
Hanbin openly snickers. Jiwoong, too flustered by his own plea, misses it. He needs to leave before he spills more than intended—Hanbin has a knack for extracting truths like splinters.
Once this twenty-year-old starts asking questions, there’s no way to shut him up..
"If something goes wrong, you'll cover me at college, right?" Hanbin pivots smoothly.
"Only if you stay out of trouble. No bad crowd this time."
"It's too harsh, hyung."
The familiar grin surfaces—suddenly, Jiwoong sees not the rebel, but the fifteen-year-old kid he once knew. Hanbin—just like Hao—feels like a little brother to Jiwoong
He probably would have sacrificed his life for these boys.
"Good." Jiwoong presses a kiss to the top of Hanbin's head before turning toward the door. His composure returns unnaturally fast as if he hadn't been ready to bolt like a coward moments ago. "Keep an eye on Hao. Tell me if he gets worse. He's too stubborn to ask for help himself. And make sure he takes his damn pills."
Jiwoong can’t haunt this mansion daily though work brings him here often enough. What Hao needed was someone dependable. He's glad it turned out to be Hanbin.
"He's not... suicidal, is he?" Hanbin asks carefully. Jiwoong freezes.
Claiming he'd never considered the possibility would be a lie but those thoughts vanished as quickly as they came. Jiwoong wouldn't let Hao do that.
"No. Probably not." Jiwoong's voice is rougher than intended. "I don't know what's happening with him actually. He should see a specialist, but we don't exactly have those here."
"What about Ryujin?"
He'd already weighed that option. His old friend had the expertise, could've helped—if she wasn't drowning in her own demons.
"She's on a bender for the next month." Jiwoong exhales. "I'll try finding other doctors. You gotta look after Hao. Got it?"
"Sure, hyung."
***
Jiwoong descends the stairs to the kitchen, gripping a folder.. There's nothing extraordinary inside, not even someone's death certificate. For now, he just needs to find Mr. Seok.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kim."
Matthew appears near the table as if materializing from thin air—quiet and composed as always. He is Mr. Seok’s shadow on business trips, never lingering home more than a week.
"Drop the formality. 'Hyung' is fine," Jiwoong says, suppressing a flinch. These days, anything could startle him—even the faintest rustle. "How old are you?"
"Almost seventeen."
Jiwoong studies him. Matthew truly couldn't pass for older: a lanky teen with poorly ironed trousers and perpetual wariness in his eyes. Hanbin had looked much the same at that age.
"Practically an adult," Jiwoong smirks. Matthew remains statue-still. "Where's your father?"
"What?"
"Where is Mr. Seok right now?" Jiwoong repeats evenly. "I need him to sign these urgently."
Delaying the contract signing would mean a smaller paycheck—he'd already pushed it to the deadline. The landlady wouldn't be pleased; securing her agreement had been hard enough. She'd looked ready to murder him during usual negotiations.
"He stepped outside," Matthew answers, voice wavering slightly. "I can deliver the papers, Mr…" He meets Jiwoong's gaze and corrects himself: "I mean, hyung. Sorry, I'm not used to addressing you that way."
"No problem. You'll get used to it."
Jiwoong hesitates before handing over the folder.
"Alright, give this to him then. No time to wait." He claps Matthew's shoulder while moving toward the exit: "Take care of yourself, Woohyun."
Only his footsteps can be heard.
Chapter 3: Jealousy
Notes:
CW: homophobia and use of homophobic slurs
Chapter Text
Gyuvin seems even crazier—though how could he possibly get any crazier?—when he drags Ricky out of the classroom in the middle of a lecture, pulling him by the hand through the empty college hallways. The corridors are deserted; no one dares to step out without good reason, afraid of breaking the rules.
The rules were printed in ink as red as blood on posters near the entrance. Gyuvin couldn’t care less about them, while Ricky had memorized every single line.
"We were summoned to the office by Mr. Kim Jiwoong."
He lies shamelessly, not even lowering his gaze—Gyuvin remains calm in moments when Ricky is paralyzed by fear. His ears burn; he feels the heat creeping up his body, intensifying when Gyuvin brushes a strand of hair from Ricky’s face.
"Are you sure?" Ricky clears his throat, ignoring the urge to lean into the touch.
"Do you want to get rid of Yeji or not?" Gyuvin asks.
Ricky doesn’t know. He just gives a short nod and counts the seconds until Gyuvin swings open the door to Jiwoong’s office, stepping inside first.
"Jiwoong-hyung!"
"I asked you to call me Mr. Kim," Jiwoong says without looking up, shuffling through papers as if they’ve already worn out their welcome. "Do you have any questions?"
Gyuvin, the mastermind behind this plan, stays silent. He drops into the chair across from Jiwoong, patting the seat beside him as if asking Ricky to come sit here. But Ricky can barely move.
He doesn’t want to kneel in this office again until bruises bloom on his skin; he doesn’t want to swallow anything but his own spit because there’s nothing left to drink. He hates how much he is afraid of it all.
Ricky wants to run.
"Yes, sorry, Mr. Kim," Gyuvin starts, leaning back in his chair. "I just received some concerning information."
"Be more specific."
Without hesitation, Gyuvin reaches into his jacket’s inner pocket. The letter he and Ricky had found not long ago twirls between his fingers.
"Hwang Yeji was involved in relationships with a student—Shin Ryujin. The proof is right here."
Ricky’s courage vanishes completely, just as the smirk fades from Jiwoong’s face. His usual cold detachment ("couldn’t-care-less attitude," as Hao often called it) shifts into something else as he reads the letter.
"Are you saying… Ms. Hwang did what?" Jiwoong asks, as if he can’t believe the words on the page. The edges of the letter crumple under his grip.
"She was dating a girl. We all know that same-sex relationships are unnatural," Gyuvin states without hesitation, though his fingers fidget with the hem of his shirt. Is he nervous? But wasn’t Gyuvin the one who proposed this cruel revenge? Wasn’t he the one willing to risk everything for justice?
For some reason, Ricky wants to take Gyuvin’s hand, but instead, he just clenches his fists.
Silence falls. Ricky hears Gyuvin’s breathing clearly, even thinking he can hear his thoughts. Should he agree to… this? What are the chances they won’t get expelled? What if Jiwoong tells bishops that—
"I heard you. Thank you for informing me." Jiwoong straightens up, setting papers aside, then turns to Ricky. His glasses slip down his nose, his lips pressed into a thin line. "A relationship between two people of the same sex is the gravest violation of the laws. Am I right, Ricky? I’m glad you managed to rid yourself of that… disgrace."
Ricky swallows hard. Jiwoong knows everything. He remembers being locked in this small office, the threats of sending him to the Tower of Silence for two weeks—just to beat the deviance out of him. Love is still forbidden. A lovestruck seventeen-year-old boy was a criminal in need of punishment.
"Is that all you have to say?" Gyuvin catches the strange exchange of glances between Jiwoong and Ricky but doesn’t comment. He’ll probably spend the next few days badgering Ricky for details. And Ricky, once again, will say nothing.
"I don’t understand what reaction you were expecting," Jiwoong says. "Ms. Hwang’s personal affairs are the least of your concerns. If this is your attempt at sabotaging her reputation, it’s the stupidest way you could come up with."
They’re screwed. They’re so screwed. How could Ricky forget that Jiwoong would never take their side, not after the disasters they created that probably gave the man gray hairs. They’ve caused enough trouble in the last two years. They’ll definitely get expelled. How is Ricky supposed to explain that to his parents?
His chest tightens.
"If you keep digging through her things, I assure you, she will find out. And Ms. Hwang won’t let it slide." Jiwoong pauses. "And that scandal about you and Hao, Shen Ricky… She’ll bring it up again. Do you really want that kind of trouble?"
Ricky shakes his head before he can even think. His father would personally kill him and Hao if their past disgrace was to tarnish the family name again.
"That’s what I thought." Satisfied, Jiwoong shifts his gaze to Gyuvin, who’s now fidgeting with his shirt more aggressively. "As for you, Gyuvin... you’ve got enough problems of your own, and your parents aren’t exactly rich. One wrong move, and you’re out. Is that what you want?"
Jiwoong knows their weak spots. His smirk deepens as Gyuvin falters—just for a second—before snatching the letter back from the desk.
"I got it, Mr. Kim. Negotiating with you is pointless. We’ll find someone else."
He stands. Jiwoong does the same, practically wrenching the envelope from Gyuvin’s grip.
"If I hear you spreading rumors like this again, I’ll expel you and Ricky myself and make your lives a living hell," Jiwoong warns, his voice firm.
Gyuvin hesitates, then nods. His nails dig into his palms.
"Understood."
A moment later, they’re out of the office. This time, Ricky takes Gyuvin’s hand in his own.
***
"You’re really worried about that? Come on, he won’t even remember it tomorrow."
Gyuvin is probably right again.
Ricky leans back against the couch, thinking about it. The anxiety doesn’t feel as heavy now, the consequences don’t seem as dire—not when Gyuvin is crouched on the living room floor, fiddling with the record player. In his hands is a film disc, borrowed from the shift manager in exchange for some money.
Nothing in their world comes for free.
Gyuvin sticks out his tongue, muttering curses under his breath. Ricky repeats his every movement in his head. It feels strange.
He often invites Gyuvin over when his parents are out of town. It’s become something of a tradition. After all, they’re good friends, and Gyuvin is anything but boring.
But there’s tension in the air since Ricky kissed Gyuvin in front of everyone, a split-second decision he still can’t explain. But he can’t control his feelings, right? And a kiss doesn’t ruin a friendship. Not when it’s done with good intentions.
"What do you wanna watch, bambi?" Gyuvin plops down on the couch beside him and, in one practiced motion, pulls Ricky’s head onto his lap, fingers threading through his hair. Ricky freezes.
There’s never been anything wrong with their touches. Gyuvin is tactile by nature, his hands always reaching for someone. Ricky sometimes thinks even his relationship with Hao wasn’t this physically close, nothing like whatever this friendship with Gyuvin has become.
Gyuvin casually drapes an arm around Ricky’s waist mid-conversation, ruffling his hair and poking his cheek at the worst possible moments. Ricky always complains although attention flatters him.
He could never fall for his best friend.
Any attempt at new romance is doomed when he’s around. Jumping into love without letting go of the old feelings first is just stupid.
And yet, Ricky thinks, he might be walking straight into that stupidity anyway.
He can’t help but watch the way Gyuvin’s Adam’s apple bobs, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He wants to run, to shake off this pull. But the ghost of Hao still lingers behind his eyelids.
"I don't care," Ricky answers, his own voice sounding hoarse. "And stop calling me bambi."
Gyuvin laughs and the sound reverberates in Ricky's chest. "You know what? You're right. You're nothing like bambi—you're more like a cat."
"Such a stupid comparison."
"Is it?" Gyuvin's fingers trail lightly along Ricky's cheekbone, stopping just under his chin, poised to retreat at the slightest hint of rejection. But Ricky gives none. "Cats, just like you, are fiercely independent."
The tension between them coils tighter when Gyuvin's gaze drops, just for a second, on Ricky's lips. Ricky tells himself it's just his imagination.
The movie on TV turns out to be a generic action flick: predictable plot, blood, curses, brawls. Ricky watches, unflinching, as some guy gets his head blown off. His thoughts are elsewhere. Gyuvin's breathing drowns out the gunfire on screen.
A strand of hair falls across Gyuvin's eyes. Ricky clenches his fists to keep from brushing it away. He suddenly wishes he could scrub his skin raw.
"You kissed me yesterday." Gyuvin's thumb strokes absent circles against Ricky's cheek, though his attention stays fixed on the TV. "You had a reason, right? Don't even think about lying."
There is something off about Gyuvin. The usual playful glint is gone, replaced by something sharper.
He knows Ricky better than he should. The pieces are coming together—but were they ever really that obvious?
"It's all about Hao, isn't it?" Gyuvin's voice is dangerously calm. "You're trying to make him jealous, using me."
Ricky feels caught in the dumbest way possible. "That sounds disgusting,” he says. Self-loathing coils thick and suffocating in Ricky's gut. The air between them crackles. When Gyuvin leans down, lips brushing the shell of Ricky's ear, nausea rises in Ricky's throat.
"Because it is, kitten. It's fucking disgusting." His thumb presses against Ricky's bottom lip, silencing him. "You'd really use me, my feelings, just to... what?"
Ricky is trapped, pinned under that knowing smirk, that weighted stare. He might be surrendering.
"You're definitely jealous of him." Gyuvin leans in, stopping just inches from Ricky's lips before pulling back sharply, teasingly. "How pathetic, kitten. It's eally pathetic. So... what movie are we watching next?"
Suddenly, the TV voices sharpen in Ricky's awareness. He's thrust back into a world that doesn't revolve entirely around Gyuvin, a world where something exists beyond this charged tension hanging between them.
Is this what people call... attraction? Ricky can physically feel his body responding to Gyuvin's every movement, and it feels... good. Unnervingly good.
The air grows thinner when Gyuvin pulls away completely, his hand vanishing from Ricky's face like it was never there.
"Movie?" Ricky echoes dumbly.
"Yeah, we were supposed to be watching a film, Ricky," Gyuvin laughs, the corner of his mouth rising. "Unless you had something else in mind."
Ricky wants to feel those lips on his skin, Gyuvin's breath hot against his neck. He wants to touch.
"No, the movie's fine," Ricky mutters, standing up abruptly. He needs to compose himself, desperately needs cold water. "You want coffee?" His voice comes out rough.
Gyuvin just nods, eyes following Ricky's every move. I'll take whatever you're offering me, kitten.”
***
Icy water refreshes. Ricky cups it in his hands. He's ready to dunk his entire face under the faucet, desperate to extinguish the heat burning through his body. His heart skips a beat at Gyuvin's reflection in the mirror, then stutters again when Gyuvin's fingers brush against his as he takes the coffee cup from Ricky's hands.
The tension doesn't ease; it coils tighter. Minutes later, Gyuvin casually rests his hand on Ricky's thigh. Ricky can't recall ever feeling like this before, not even with Hao, the boy he'd loved so desperately.
"Something wrong? You're wound up tight," Gyuvin asks.
Everything is wrong.
"You're imagining things."
"Don't think so, kitten," Gyuvin drawls, toeing that dangerous line between flirtation and friendly teasing. He knows Ricky won't take it seriously, knows Ricky can't look at him the way Gyuvin does. "If you want, we could hook up."
Ricky's breath stops.
"What?"
Gyuvin remains perfectly calm while Ricky completely unravels. His body betrays him—he doesn't even realize he's licking his lips, doesn't register the way his gaze snaps up to meet Gyuvin's.
No good friend would ever offer that.
Ricky feels utterly exposed, even though he knows he could stop this at any moment. Gyuvin wouldn't make Ricky do anything; he'd laugh it off as a bad joke, act like nothing happened.
"We could hook up, if you want," Gyuvin repeats, still staring at the TV. "It won't change anything. Just casual sex."
Ricky's hands tremble. The world narrows to Gyuvin alone, and he hates it. "That's not funny, you idiot.”
"I’m just putting it on the table. It's up to you." Gyuvin shrugs. "No pressure."
Ricky doesn't know when this started—when he turned Gyuvin's face toward his, when he let the boundaries blur. He hates how little space remains between them. He hates how badly he wants to close it. "Gyuvin."
Gyuvin burns Ricky to ashes with his casual confidence. His fingers trace Ricky's neck, brush along his jawline, never breaking eye contact. They sit facing each other, knees touching in the charged space between them.
"What do you want me to do?" Gyuvin murmurs, voice low.
"Kiss me," Ricky breathes out, immediately embarrassed by his own request. It's not enough.
Gyuvin doesn't move; his touch lingers on Ricky's skin like a brand. "You first."
"What?"
"If you want to kiss, then kiss me first. Take the initiative."
It feels wrong to give in so easily to Gyuvin's demands, contradictory even—the awkwardness of closing that last bit of distance between them.
Ricky finds himself caged between Gyuvin's legs, unbearably close yet unable to bridge that final gap himself. Gyuvin smirks and bridges that final gap himself, kissing Ricky hard as he pulls them both down onto the couch in one fluid motion.
Self-loathing mixes with euphoria as Ricky slowly loses control. His kisses remain careful, measured, even as Gyuvin drags him closer, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging lightly.
Ricky stops thinking entirely.
"Did Hao teach you to kiss like this?" Gyuvin laughs after what could've been seconds or hours. Ricky doesn't know.
"Shut up."
Gyuvin's body yields easily to touch. He arches into Ricky, lips brushing his neck, slow, deliberate. The marks will undoubtedly show later, but does that… even matter now?
Ricky's hands find Gyuvin's hips, pulling him closer.
"Be gentler, Ricky. We've got time," Gyuvin exhales against his skin. "This is what you want, right?"
Ricky loses any chance of coherent response, too busy slipping his hands under Gyuvin's shirt, tracing the lines of his spine.
"Answer me. I can stop anytime." Gyuvin pulls back slightly, and Ricky notices how flushed his face has become.
It's humiliating—voicing these desires, needing someone else's touch this badly. Ricky doesn't recognize himself.
"Yes. I want this."
Gyuvin leans in, pecks Ricky's lips once before moving lower. He leaves Ricky struggling to steady his breathing and clear his thoughts—and failing miserably at both.
"That's right. Good boy." Gyuvin's hand drifts lower, fingers pausing at the waistband of Ricky's jeans. He traces patterns on bare skin but goes no further.
"Do you always talk this much in bed?" Ricky grumbles, body arching shamelessly into the touch. Dignity be damned.
"Is something bothering you?" Gyuvin withdraws his hand abruptly. It takes all of Ricky's willpower not to guide that hand back himself. "I can stay quiet."
Ricky makes a frustrated noise. Gyuvin's palm presses firm against denim—just once—and Ricky's breath stutters to a halt.
It's humiliating. It's absolutely humiliating.
Gyuvin kisses along his jaw. Ricky tilts his head back, blood pounding in his temples as he grinds down shamelessly against Gyuvin's thigh. His hands roam with no direction.
"Can I...?" The words tumble out before he can stop them, hips stuttering forward. Gyuvin meets him halfway, mouth hot against his earlobe.
"Just do what you want, Ricky." That usually steady voice wavers. "It's fine as long as it's you."
It takes effort to flip their positions. Now straddling Gyuvin's lap, Ricky feels hands settle on his waist. He doesn't notice Gyuvin's flushed cheeks, his glazed eyes; the shaky breaths or that whispered 'I love you' against his skin—or was that just his imagination?
He starts moving, their clothed crotches brushing together, and Gyuvin's choked "fuck" goes straight to his gut. Tension coils tight, unbearable.
The disgust coils thick. It's more disgusting to feel no guilt.
Worst of all is the way he picks up pace, fucking his best friend like some hormone-drunk teenager.
"C'mon, Ricky-ya. Be a good boy."
He likes this. He'll hate himself later, but not now—not when his mind's gone blank and their fingers are laced together. It's good: Gyuvin's touch, the way his body yields—all of it.
Ricky feels himself coming apart, muscles tensing as pleasure coils tight in his gut. His exhale comes ragged.
Weakness floods his limbs, inexplicable and complete.
***
The water can't wash Gyuvin's scent away. Ricky scrubs himself raw under the icy shower, dumping half a bottle of shower gel on himself, rubbing until his skin stings. Yet Gyuvin's warmth still lingers on him, the marks on his neck serving as permanent reminders.
The smell won't fade.
Ricky steps out of the bathroom.
His bare feet slap against the wooden floorboards. The clock's ticking echoes through the silent house—louder, more oppressive than usual.
He reaches for the sedatives on the top shelf, dripping them into his tea just as noise erupts from the hallway. The tea swirls down the drain, his nerves pull taut.
"Is he staying over again?" His mother's voice cuts through the air the moment she spots familiar sneakers by the door. She never approved of Ricky's friendship with Gyuvin.
"Yeah," Ricky answers too quickly. "Thought you weren't coming back tonight."
Just the memory of what he and Gyuvin were doing earlier makes his throat dry. He forces himself to look away from the living room couch, focusing on his parents instead.
They would literally kill him if they knew.
But no one knows it yet. His father shuffles into the living room, shoes flying off before he collapses onto the couch. His mother heads straight for Ricky's bedroom. He follows, praying Gyuvin had the sense not to sleep naked.
The gods listen. Gyuvin lies there fully clothed; Ricky throws blankets over him regardless.
"I don't want to kick him out," Ricky whispers.
"Was the scandal with Hao not enough for you?" His mother's face twists. "One filthy boy already ruined your reputation, and now you've brought home another stray.”
Gyuvin stirs—must have woken up from her shouting. Ricky barely manages to usher his mother back to the living room, shutting the door firmly behind them.
"He disgraced our family, Ricky. I don't want to hear a single word in his defense!" she snaps before Ricky can even open his mouth.
His father nods from the couch, beer in one hand, remote in the other as he mindlessly flips channels. The movie disc Gyuvin brought lies forgotten on the floor.
"Are you talking about the faggot whose father's some big shot?" His father takes a swig. "Don't even mention his name. He's lucky I didn't strangle him myself!"
Ricky swallows hard. If they knew everything, would his father kill him too?
"Yes, we're talking about Zhang Hao. Oh, what a foolish boy with that whole rotten family!" His mother clutches her head dramatically.
"You're telling me their whole family is... like that?" Father's expression darkens further. Mother, seizing this rare moment of his attention, begins pacing frantic circles. Ricky's vision blurs.
"Obviously!" she crows triumphantly. "I heard they've already found Hao a groom! Can you imagine—a groom! Some man came all the way from China to marry him."
Father's fist slams into the couch cushions. The beer can leaps in his grip, froth spilling across the floorboards.
"Filthy. I always knew we should've exterminated them all," he spits through clenched teeth. Ricky presses flush against the doorframe, praying to dissolve into the grain, when his father's gaze lands on him. "This applies to you too, boy. I won't tolerate faggots under my roof."
"Don't be absurd! How could you even think that about our son?" Mother plants herself between father and the television, blocking his view. "He's not like that!"
"They all say that. Then they're spreading their legs for some other fag." Father shoves her aside, refocusing on the news broadcast. She stumbles back, rubbing her arm. "Mark my words. One more whisper about that bastard, and you're out on the street."
Ricky nods mechanically.
He's definitely going to die.
***
Ricky slams the trash bin shut, burying the tissues they'd used beneath crumpled papers and food wrappers, erasing the evidence. The panic surges through him at the sound of approaching footsteps.
"What the..?!" he hisses, finding Gyuvin leaning against the doorway. He’s wearing Ricky’s shorts—he never brings his own spare clothes in Ricky’s ouse.
"I just needed to piss. You're the one who's been sitting here with the door open for forty minutes." Gyuvin moves past him to the sink, splashing water on his face before catching Ricky's reflection in the mirror. "What's wrong now?"
"Nothing." Ricky shakes his head too quickly.
Gyuvin reaches for his toothbrush. It's been in Ricky's bathroom for six months now. Hao never brought his toothbrush with him; he never stayed in Ricky's home for night.
Gyuvin acts like nothing happened. Maybe nothing really happend and Ricky's overreacting now. Why does the air feel so... tense?
"Should I get out? Your parents aren't exactly thrilled I'm here."
"It's midnight now. Stay till morning," Ricky says. "It's fine as long as they don’t know about—"
"Got it." Gyuvin spits into the sink. "Homophobia is bullshit. Your family is so fucked up."
Ricky still avoids eye contact when Gyuvin turns to face him, tension coiling tighter as the bathroom door clicks locked behind them. Isn’t he going to..?
"This sex doesn't mean anything, kitten," Gyuvin murmurs, voice deliberately lowered—afraid they might be overheard. "And don't pretend you're not overthinking this."
Ricky flinches back when Gyuvin invades his personal space. Gyuvin can't suppress a quiet chuckle.
"Yeah, you're definitely overthinking. But relax—I won't tell anyone." He reaches to brush Ricky's cheek, but Ricky jerks back at the last second, retreating to the far wall. Gyuvin doesn't follow. "If you want to talk... you know where to find me."
Then he's gone. Ricky counts three heartbeats staring at the closed door before finally exhaling.
Chapter 4: First problems
Chapter Text
It often seems to Hanbin that he has stumbled into a madhouse. No one talks to him: Hao doesn't come out of his room, and his grandfather is busy solving business problems.
Matthew exchanges words only with Hao, who appears to be his older brother. Hanbin’s very existence is ignored: Matthew lowers his head every time they cross paths in the hallway. It's starting to get to him. Hanbin has never encountered anything like this before.
The rest of the city, along with its inhabitants, is full of contradictions. Hanbin is unprepared for them, even though he knew what to expect.
His backpack always contained a couple of books about Dema; in Beijing, it was often mentioned on the morning news. Hanbin hadn't thought everything would be so different.
Life in China was free from the giant, controlling authority that ruled Dema. Dema was a city that stood out among others in Korea with its restrictions and illusory opportunities. Yet, in both places, traditional values were largely upheld.
All of it weighs on him.
He loves the place where he was born and raised, loves the small neighborhood on the outskirts of Beijing that he could only reach on foot. It is always peaceful and smells wonderful—it smells of freedom, feels like soft grass underfoot and the bright sunlight in his eyes, making him squint.
His homeland has its flaws, which he knows all too well. But even the freest country in the world couldn't replace the place where he spent most of his life, let alone a city like Dema—a place that, despite surpassing Beijing in size and being Korea's capital, only aggravates his longing. Hanbin never thought he would miss home this much. It's just that now, over and over, he finds himself going through the things he brought with him from Beijing: old sweatshirts, albums, and notebooks.
Jiwoong scolds him and says he could get arrested over such things—even the most insignificant ones!—and that it's not worth the risk for such junk. But it was Jiwoong who helped smuggle it all across the border, even though he grumbled more than ever.
These things are a part of Hanbin's soul. Jiwoong understands that.
Jiwoong always understands Hanbin.
He can be annoying and seem arrogant. People often say Jiwoong is unfeeling, that his gaze is haughty, and his behavior… Well, it's utterly outrageous and doesn't meet any standards of propriety!
Jiwoong is just different. Even Hanbin can't always figure out his intentions.
"What do you need this for?"
"I just need to figure something out." Jiwoong doesn't explain anything now, just as he never has before.
He had no reason to become a teacher in Dema, to leave everyone close to him back home and act as if that's just how things were meant to be. He traded a life of comfort and a stable future for something else. A year and a half later, Sakura did the same.
Jiwoong never commented on her decision, only mentioned that they weren't that close anymore. Maybe nothing really connected them anymore—Hanbin had a few guesses, but he would never voice them aloud.
He promises to figure it out later.
***
The festive routine surrounding the arrival of the Niners is all-consuming: now Hanbin's weekdays are confined to studying and the mandatory events they are forced to attend after classes. He has to leave home early, at sunrise, often shuffling his boots on the wooden floor and glancing toward Hao's room. Hao spends his entire day within four walls, sleeping it away and only occasionally emerging
Jiwoong said he had excused him from college classes for a while, arguing that in such a state, Hao could be a danger to society. After all, the only thing that often hinders his studies is his emotionality.
Hao is smart. He has something Hanbin doesn't.
While Hanbin claws his way toward his future and seizes every opportunity, Hao complains about being forced to attend college. This very college is one of the most prestigious in all of Korea, and ordinary students, especially from other countries, couldn't get in. Hanbin was only accepted because of Jiwoong's connections.
Hanbin could have chosen a different institution and gotten into it without any difficulty. He could have avoided spending the last year processing endless paperwork just to be legally allowed in Dema.
If it weren't for Hao's father's help and his grandfather's desire to move here specifically, to escape the vicious cycle of poverty and get a real taste of wealth, Hanbin surely wouldn't have ended up here. Would he be upset about that? He doesn't know.
The new life only frightens him a little. The language barrier, the fear of being caught and sent to execution—none of it matters to Hanbin in the slightest when he has a goal. He wants to achieve justice. He's simply doing what Sakura did.
He really does want to see her at least once, but he hasn't the faintest idea where she might be.
"There's an archive in your house," Jiwoong begins one day, summoning Hanbin to his study. First, he has to kick Ricky and Gyuvin out. The latter is, once again, eager to know things that are none of his business, while Ricky is just standing there for company. "It's on the third floor, at the end of the hall. I can draw you a rough layout, but I think you'll find it anyway."
Jiwoong sketches lines on a scrap of paper, marks the third floor, and shoves it into Hanbin's hand. The archive is located very close to Hanbin's own room, which means there's a good chance he can sneak in unnoticed. And besides, is there anything illegal about walking around your new house? Definitely not.
"What am I supposed to look for there?"
"I brought some new documents there yesterday.” Jiwoong looks up at him. “Sort through them, organize them—maybe you'll find something interesting. In a few days, we'll need to get into the Tower of Silence."
"And I have to do that?"
"I'll help you. I can't risk my position but I need to find out if Sakura is there."
Jiwoong is serious when it comes to the people close to him. But he is even more devoted to his work.
"Just study the documents."
But in reality, nothing is ever that simple.
In the morning, Hanbin catches strange glances from his classmates, then he exchanges looks with Gyuvin. Right at five in the evening, he walks home. The buses are overcrowded again.
When he gets home, his grandfather asks him about all sorts of little things; Mr. Seok talks about the weather again and ruffles Hanbin's hair. Hanbin resists the touches as much as he can but forces a weak smile. His head starts to ache from his own hypocrisy and the thoughts swirling inside. There isn't a single person he can discuss this with.
Hanbin enters the archive cautiously, looking around. Nothing unusual. Just a dark room, shielded from direct sunlight. Stacks of new documents, recently delivered, are piled near the entrance. Hanbin crouches down.
A rough schematic of the Tower of Silence—that's all he finds. Yes, it was built last century and has always attracted attention, but it was never officially a place for execution or prolonged torture of the guilty. It's a truly holy place.
And would the authorities really dedicate an entire Tower and make it the center of the city, just to kill people? Hanbin doubts it—everything can't be that insane.
Probably, the only insane one was Hanbin, who traded his freedom for a desire to prove something to someone. He doesn't even regret it.
***
Jiwoong forces Hao to stay home all day, to rest—he even gets permission from Mr. Seok for it! And he just rolls his eyes and says: supposedly, Hao has no problems, so there's no point in even bringing it up.
Hao is convinced of the same thing. He has no problems.
"It's not exactly normal to harm yourself," Ryujin told Hao once, a year or so ago, when Jiwoong dragged him to an appointment.
Back then, he had an episode similar to the state he's in now—just as inexplicable and no less severe, except the cuts… they were probably a bit deeper, and Hao was likely on the verge of ending up in a hospital bed. But there's nothing strange about that, right?
Panic attacks are no big deal. He just has to accept them. He just can't seem to do it.
He paces around the house, dumps dirty dishes in the sink. His father will probably yell at him again for it, but who is Hao to get in his way? Little can affect his father; Hao just has to get used to Mr. Seok's fucking craziness.
The stairwells are wide, the wooden steps creak underfoot with every step until Hao makes his way to the top floor and peeks into the archive. He won't find anything interesting, but it's something to do. Jiwoong often brings documents there that the higher-up bishops wanted destroyed.
Jiwoong set up the archive himself when Mr. Seok first hired him. That was years ago. Back then, Jiwoong had graduated from a university in another city and came here to earn money. Hao never understood what motive drove him and never asked about it. It was inappropriate then, and it's absurd now.
Initially, Hao didn't take Jiwoong seriously: usually, such workers lasted a couple of months before they either quit his father or their bodies ended up eaten by vultures.
Jiwoong didn't join the ranks of the dead and likely isn't planning to anytime soon. He acts cautiously, adhering to the belief that he should take everything the system gives gim; Hao doesn't understand that. He doesn't want to go against his own principles, even though he plans to use the privileges as long as Dema's rules don't put him in a chokehold.
He would think differently if he held a different position in society, if his father didn't have such connections. Right now, none of that matters. Hao only does what he wants; he doesn't think about the moment when he'll have to pay for it.
In Dema's religion, Vialism, there is only one true purpose in life—to avoid a meaningless existence. The only way to avoid a meaningless existence is to die.
The archive door opens with difficulty. The shelves and low racks are overflowing with documents: Jiwoong promises to sort through them completely as soon as he has free time.
Hao flips through the inventory—a sheet of paper where Jiwoong records information about new documents. The text, written hastily in uneven letters, is hard to make out. The only lighting is a dim incandescent bulb. The windows are covered with heavy curtains.
Jiwoong meticulously monitors the storage conditions—temperature, humidity, and other nonsense—and scolds Hao every time he enters the archive without a good reason.
For some reason, Jiwoong doesn't scold Hanbin.
"You two are close," Hao says one day.
Jiwoong once again comes to his room after work—as if he has nothing better to do, honestly! Because of the upcoming arrival of the Niners, he's been burdened with many tasks that aren't his direct responsibilities. Jiwoong has endured it silently: he needs to secure a worthy place in society. Hao couldn't give a damn about that place.
"Yes. Hanbin and I lived together in Beijing, along with the others. I could say I raised him."
"Why you? Doesn't he have a family?"
Jiwoong stays silent, rummaging through his backpack. He pulls out a pack of pills and places it on the bedside table.
"He has a family, but he's not particularly close to them, not even with his grandfather," Jiwoong says. In response to Hao's questioning look demanding more, he adds, "Ask any other questions directly to him. I'm not going to divulge personal information."
At least Hao now knew who Hanbin took after.
"Did you learn to dodge questions like that from Jiwoong?" Hao asks after Hanbin responds to yet another inquiry with "I'm not going to divulge personal information."
The threat of locking him in the archive never works; even the threat of Hao slitting his throat without flinching only elicits a smirk from Hanbin. Since when did he realize that Hao couldn't do it even if he wanted to?
"More like he learned it from me," Hanbin replies, still sorting through papers. "Aren't you tired of sitting there?"
Hao scowls. As if it makes a difference to him where he sits, in his stuffy room or in the equally stuffy archive. Jiwoong said he'd only be allowed back to college classes next week—only if Hao takes his pills diligently now.
Hao still hasn't touched either the old pills or the new ones Jiwoong brought him recently. He doubts they can cure panic attacks.
He is supposed to take them when he feels an episode coming on. But Hao feels absolutely nothing. He doesn't have time for that.
But now he has time to pester Hanbin, who's sorting through documents at Jiwoong's request. Matthew, the prime candidate for pestering, wasn't home—he'd gone out on business with their father again.
With Hanbin's arrival in his house, Hao had to be cautious: a stranger wandering through rooms no one else is allowed to enter, a stranger becoming his father's favorite for some inexplicable reason. Probably, he should have scared him off, like Hao would have done at sixteen. Now he's twenty-one, and he doesn't feel like it.
"I'm not tired, don't worry" Hao replies in a tone that suggests it's no big deal. The likelihood of both of them being caught here is slim. "Stop rummaging through the archives."
Hanbin doesn't hear him or maybe he doesn't want to. He keeps sitting in the archive in the evenings, and Hao comes to him every time—just for ten minutes, to watch.
Hao lets it slide: otherwise, Jiwoong would finish him off himself.
"Keep an eye on Hanbin, help him adapt to the new society," Jiwoong says a couple of days later when he comes into Hao's room again. He's only there for a few minutes, but even in that time, he manages to annoy Hao with his excessive control.
Hao chalks it up to concern—just ordinary friendly concern!—and tries not to resist it. There's nothing unusual about it. It's high time he got used to Jiwoong's character.
But every time Jiwoong examines Hao's wrists and removes all sharp objects from his room, it starts to feel like Hao is some potential suicide just looking for an excuse to slit his veins. It's bullshit.
"You think I have nothing better to do?" Hao asks. Babysitting Hanbin... really, does he have nothing better to do? Yes, maybe Hao has no hobbies, maybe Hao needs to find an activity to fill his free time, but spending it on Hanbin? Even Hao's goodwill has its limits.
"You don't," Jiwoong says calmly. He checks under the bed one more time, scans the entire room—looking for anything suspicious. As if he doesn't know that before he arrives, Hao will hide anything suspicious and act like nothing's wrong. "If you don't help him, I won't let you skip your classes anymore. You'll study diligently, like the other students."
Hao scowls—he knows, damn him, exactly what buttons to push! Jiwoong just keeps looking around until he finds a pack of cigarettes by the bed. He pockets it, giving Hao a reproachful look. Hao sighs.
"What do you need from me?"
"Nothing special. Enlighten him on the little things, protect him if needed," Jiwoong says, as if he prepared this speech in advance—knew Hao would agree. Hao has no choice. “He'll have problems soon anyway. The students here hate outsiders.”
"You're exaggerating."
Jiwoong lets out a short laugh. His arguments are wrong—yes, Dema's authorities are somewhat skeptical of people of other nationalities, but that doesn't mean that...
"You deserve this, faggot."
...something like that would happen now. Definitely not.
Jiwoong doesn't argue—he just ruffles Hao's hair and leaves his room.
***
"Aren't you tired of this shit yet?"
"What the hell am I supposed to do about it?"
Hanbin spits on the ground, right at his feet. Thick saliva, mixed with blood, drips down his chin and onto his clothes. He takes the tissues Gyuvin hands him and blows his nose.
It's a bit unpleasant when someone throws a ball in your face during gym class. Just a bit.
"Want me to show you what to do?" Gyuvin waits a couple of seconds. They're still standing on the soccer field behind the college—at least, that's what Hanbin calls it. It has short-cut grass and two soccer goals overgrown with moss.
Gyuvin is the only one who approached Hanbin after someone dumped a bucket of water on him a couple of days ago. Back then, Gyuvin handed him his dry blazer—“Put this on, or you'll catch a cold."
His classmates can't find better entertainment than mocking the new student. Hanbin keeps letting it slide, even though he has no problem standing up for himself. He did it back in his hometown. But he can't do that here.
"Letting them wipe their feet on you won't make things better." Gyuvin snatches Hanbin's backpack from his hands. Hanbin raises an eyebrow. "Just try it," Gyuvin shoves Hanbin's shoulder, "standing up for yourself."
Hanbin looks at him, then at his backpack lying on the ground. Back at Gyuvin.
"What do you want me to do? Fight you?"
Gyuvin shrugs, smirking slyly, and Hanbin begins to understand: he has no idea what's going on in this guy's head, not the slightest clue.
"We can fight if you want," Gyuvin laughs, but Hanbin gets the feeling he isn't joking: the next second, he grabs Hanbin by the collar and pulls him close. Hanbin freezes. "Just do what I do. Tell them you'll kick their asses if they take one step toward you. Make their lives hell if they call you a worthless bastard again."
He stays calm, his voice doesn't even tremble—he stares intently at Hanbin. Hanbin holds his gaze and exhales in relief when Gyuvin releases him.
"Why do you care so much about me? We're not even friends."
"I just don't want them to get too full of themselves."
Gyuvin whispers this. Maybe there's something in Hanbin that reminds Gyuvin of himself. But are they really alike?
Gyuvin often skips classes, while Hanbin attends every single one out of fear of being expelled. Gyuvin is always chatting with someone and clearly has a lot of influence over others; Hanbin spends most of his time alone—unless Gyuvin sits next to him. But most of the time, Gyuvin hangs out with Ricky.
It's becoming impossible not to notice how caring Gyuvin is toward him. But Hanbin successfully forgets about it too when he one day finds white paint on his chair in the classroom and a strange mess of notebooks and sticky liquid in his backpack. Laughter echoes behind him, but no one says a word.
Hanbin doesn't even know who specifically did it. He walks out of class.
The field feels empty again, and the jacket is too cold. Apparently, there's really something wrong with Hanbin in this city if he can't live like other people. Clouds gather in the sky again—a sign of coming rain.
"Are they still messing with you?" Gyuvin half-asks, half-states. His ears are red, and his gaze is hazy.
They meet on the field almost every day. It's become their place, free from all problems.
"They poured something into my backpack." Hanbin nods at the backpack, now completely ruined. It reeks sharply of glue.
"They'll keep doing it," Gyuvin drawls. "When I first got here, those bastards used to lock me in bathroom stalls or storage closets. It even came to fights. I only didn't get expelled back then because of Ricky."
He starts smoking again, rolling the cigarette between his teeth. He looks thoughtful or maybe sad—maybe something happened? He seems... downcast.
"Don't just tolerate their crap because you're afraid of causing trouble," Gyuvin continues. "If you won't talk to them, I'll tell your friend about it. I'm not getting into this shit myself."
Another pause stretches between them. Smoke rings rise toward the sky, still dotted with clouds. It's gray, slimy to the taste—the scent of spring chill seeps into the nostrils and seems to cling to the wooden bleacher seats.
"Who are you talking about?"
"Hao. You two live in the same house, don't you?"
Right. Like the other students, Gyuvin knows about it but doesn't bring it up often.
"Yeah. We even talk sometimes," Hanbin laughs.
Their constant meetings in the archive haven't changed their relationship. Hao habitually ignores Hanbin, only speaking to him during those ten minutes they sit in the cramped, dusty archive. He still hasn't shown up at college. Jiwoong doesn't say anything about him.
Lately, Jiwoong has been disappearing out of town with Hao's father. He omits any details—maybe he doesn't trust Hanbin that much. Only occasionally does he send a message saying he's fine and asking Hanbin to be careful.
Jiwoong trusts no one; he knows how to take care of himself and those he loves the most.
***
"Jiwoong told me to keep an eye on you," Hao says a couple of days later, once again driving Hanbin to college. He was finally allowed to go back to classes, as his emotional state had improved a bit.
"You don't need to keep an eye on me," Hanbin frowns, looking out the window. Damp, gray, bitter on the tongue—does it ever feel different in this city?
He doesn't need help. Yes, he finds glue in his locker daily and insects in his lunch. He just has to endure it.
"Suit yourself." Hao glances at him—brief, quick, meaning absolutely nothing. He looks at everyone without much emotion. He doesn't meddle in others' affairs. Hanbin will never be an exception.
The monotonous landscapes outside the window don't change, flowing one into another. Low, fenced-off panel houses line up in rows and seem endless.
It doesn't compare to the streets of China, where everything was so bright. Or maybe Hanbin just imagines it?
"Gyuvin hasn't told you anything, has he?" Hanbin asks cautiously. Hao grips the steering wheel a little tighter.
"What is he supposed to tell me?"
They have about a minute until they arrive—Hanbin prepares to plunge back into harsh reality. There's no escaping it.
Hanbin turns away from the car window and closes his eyes. Maybe it'll feel a little better then? "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
The car stops.
Chapter 5: Just friends
Chapter Text
“You can stop staring, I already have a boyfriend.”
“You think I give a damn about you?”
Hao doesn't know what offends him more:the fact that Gyuvin thought Hao might find him attractive, or the fact that Gyuvin has resumed ignoring his existence entirely.
They hadn't had any disagreements, absolutely none! One time, they even worked on a joint project at Hao’s place. After that, Mr. Seok screamed for hours, his voice tearing raw; the memory makes Hao reach into his pocket again, his fingers finding the familiar little bottle.
He thinks he might be going insane from these pills. He promises to deal with it later—just not now, not when he’s trying to torture answers out of Gyuvin near the college doors, breathing in cigarette smoke again.
“Who the fuck are those assholes messing with Hanbin? Do you know anything about them?”
Hao is ignored once again. He leans against the wall, tracking Gyuvin’s every move—a clear message that he won’t be shaken off so easily. Gyuvin doesn’t even pay him attention.
The smoking area is small, brick-walled; it’s always crowded during breaks, but empty before lectures. Cigarettes are always within Gyuvin’s reach; he smokes them by the pack, whether from stress or some other reason. He smells of tobacco, a nasty grin plastered on his face.
"Yeah. I even know exactly who they are.” Gyuvin blows smoke directly into Hao's face. “But I’m not gonna tell you.”
“Do that again and I’ll shove that cigarette up your ass.” Hao snatches the cigarette from his hand only to crush it under the toe of his boot. “What do you want in return?”
Instead of a detailed answer, instead of asking for money or an invite to one of those parties the rich college kids always throw, all he gets is silence. The same Gyuvin, who always knows what he wants, is hesitating now.
“Ignore Ricky’s existence. I think it’ll do both you and him some good.”
“Fine. Just remember, this won’t solve your problems.”
“You’re not even jealous of him?” Gyuvin swallows, watching Hao’s calm expression.
“Jealousy is for people who are insecure.” Hao pauses for a moment. “Ricky and I broke up. I would have gotten him back already if I wanted to.”
He is too arrogant. Hao smirks quite derisively once again, and Gyuvin pulls another cigarette from the pack, taking a drag.
"Ricky wouldn't look at you again.” Gyuvin's voice drops to a whisper, and the cigarette spins between his fingers. He's nervous.
"Is that why you're asking me to stay away from him? I don't need him right now, you can relax, Casanova," Hao laughs, his gaze stopping on the college building. Gyuvin turns around—there's nothing special, just bishops passing by and crowds of students. "So what about Hanbin?"
"Sooho didn't like him. That bastard is impossible to fight, you know that yourself," Gyuvin spits out. "He's tormenting Hanbin the same way he tormented me once."
The scandal about Gyuvin's fight with Jeon Sooho became as loud as the scandal about Hao and Ricky's relationship once was. Most teachers prefer to keep quiet about this conflict; the student newspaper still sometimes publishes ridiculous headlines.
A poor student attacked another student out of envy. No one bothered to check how true that was. Outsiders are never accepted; Gyuvin remains a cruel and narcissistic villain in the eyes of everyone else.
He was publicly humiliated, forced to attend meetings where he was pressured to admit his guilt. Gyuvin didn't have rich relatives or a wallet stuffed with green bills; he only had Ricky—the person who treated him well for no reason.
Gyuvin hates the fact that he trusted Ricky so easily back then. He hates the calmness he feels now in Ricky's presence and how often he thinks about him. Gyuvin hates Shen Ricky just as much as he loves him.
In their first weeks of knowing each other, Ricky was waiting for him after classes and asked if those bullies had bothered Gyuvin and if he could help somehow. Back then, Ricky seemed naive and clueless, exactly like a little kitten. Gyuvin found it cute and only answered that he was perfectly fine, and in the evenings he would cover the fresh bruises on his ribs with foundation.
Now, in the evenings, when they are alone in his dorm room, Ricky obediently licks the marks from those very bruises and the scars from old abrasions. The same Ricky that Gyuvin had a crush on years ago now arches in his hands. It's still not enough for Gyuvin, but he will never say it out loud.
He stays silent when Ricky calls him by someone else's name again. He tunes it out when Ricky starts talking about Hao again.
Ricky is still in love with another guy. Gyuvin doesn't know what to do about it.
"You must like him a lot," Hanbin says one day when they're sitting in the cafeteria again. A crowd of people surrounds them, but Gyuvin keeps his eyes only on Ricky, poking his fork at the unidentifiable, congealed mess on his own plate. It is tasteless, sticky; Gyuvin pushes it away with a heavy sigh. His appetite is gone.
"It's... complicated between us," Gyuvin answers. "Relationships can't be easy in general."
Hanbin just frowns. "Why should relationships be complicated?"
Gyuvin digs his fork into the plate and looks at Ricky again. There are many complications, a huge number of them. The main complication right now is Hao, who is standing next to Ricky, talking to him about something. Then he heads over to Hanbin and Gyuvin
Gyuvin feels ready to take the fork he's holding, plunge it into his own stomach and give it a good twist. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so used—but he agreed to this himself, right?
Hanbin scoots over when Hao sits down next to him, their shoulders brushing. Hao ends up directly across from Gyuvin.
"Your father said you wouldn't be back at college for another couple of weeks," Gyuvin begins.
"I never care what he says." Hao picks a few vegetables from Hanbin's plate and transfers them to his own; Hanbin doesn't even react. "So what about Sooho? Hasn't he been kicked out of college yet?"
"Well, try to kick him out. I'd like to see that." Gyuvin wipes his suddenly sweaty palms with a napkin, then turns to look for Sooho. He's standing on the other side of the cafeteria. Ricky is there, too. "Sooho's been quiet lately. I think he's planning his next move."
"Who are you talking about?" Hanbin asks.
"The genius who poured glue into your backpack," Hao answers calmly. "Of course, he didn't pour it himself, but he facilitated it. He's trying to play judge and jury."
"And what can we do about him?"
"We can dip his head in the toilet a couple of times," Hao says breezily, a foolish smirk appears on his face. "What? Don't tell me you wouldn't want to do it yourself."
"It'll cause a scandal," Gyuvin says. "Picking a fight with rich kids, even if you're rich yourself, is stupid. Sooho's family has enough money to buy all of Dema and still have a couple million left to spare."
Hao nods and falls silent. He waits until Hanbin finishes his lunch, then leaves the cafeteria with him. Gyuvin smirks at that.
Ricky will definitely be unhappy about their newfound closeness.
***
"Jiwoong said I'm not handling this project well."
"Tell him to fuck off."
Gyuvin lived by one simple motto: tell people to fuck off or send them to hell. Ricky's glad he hasn't been sent to hell yet.
They're still sitting in a store where Gyuvin works; his coworker is sick again, so he has to cover her shift for her, stuck breathing stale air and wasting his time. There are no customers. Only Ricky is there, hanging out with Gyuvin out of boredom.
"Yeah, and then Jiwoong will tell my parents all about everything," Ricky says, sitting down at the counter. "My father already looks at me with suspicion after that incident."
It's a difficult task—telling his parents he would never kiss boys, only to make out with Gyuvin a few hours later. Ricky is a bad liar and even worse at making excuses.
"You should tell him to fuck off too. Move into the dorms. Start living your own life."
"I'm scared."
"Well, then I can't help you." Gyuvin restocks the shelves, unpacking cardboard boxes and arranging the merchandise. He's tired of getting constant fines from his boss and risking losing his job.
Gyuvin started living independently four years ago. Ricky still can't bring himself to do it.
"Weren't you scared to move away from your family? How did you deal with that fear?"
Gyuvin pauses for a second, searching for the right words. "You can't fight fear—you just have to push through it before it eats you alive."
"It's hard," Ricky says. "I get this feeling, you know… like everything inside me is knotting up when I think about my future. It's scary."
“Everything inside me knots up when I see you, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing." Gyuvin throws a quick glance at Ricky, making Ricky falter mid-motion and drop the coins. "If you don't like something in your life, just change it. It'll be hard, but I promise you, it's worth it."
It'll be hard.
That's all Ricky can think about for the next few days. He thinks about it later that same evening as they do their homework, an action movie playing in the background, and when Gyuvin falls asleep on his shoulder.
Ricky leaves the dorm early in the morning, earning a suspicious glance from the dorm supervisor. The man didn't say a word; Gyuvin had bribed him a couple of days ago by slipping a few bills into his pocket. Now Ricky can come and go from the dorm at any time without a problem.
***
Clouds gather in the sky, promising a cold day. Raindrops fall on Ricky's nose; one hits harder than the others as he steps over the threshold. Silence weighs heavily on him.
He pulls off his sneakers and notices his mother standing in the hallway. Fear tightens his throat; Ricky scratches the skin on his wrists. Red marks from his nails are left behind.
"Where have you been?"
"I stayed over at Gyuvin's home."
"What's that mark on your neck?"
"I hit the nightstand accidentally."
Ricky doesn't tell the truth—he quickly cycles through options in his head, picks the most plausible one, and sticks to it. Lying isn't as hard as it seems; he just has to screw up his courage.
His parents will probably yell at him now and make him do all the housework. Maybe his father will take away all his personal belongings again and say that from now on, Ricky will live by strict military rules, learn to be the best version of himself. Not that it matters; his father, who constantly points out Ricky's flaws, probably isn't even home right now.
Ricky is used to it. He and his efforts are never enough. He can stand on the honor podium with a brilliant future prophesied for him, but there's always someone better. It hurts.
"You think too much."
Gyuvin says this as he exits Jiwoong's office. Lately, Gyuvin's been going there often without explanation. He has found common ground with him even after the incident with Yeji.
Apparently, Jiwoong never remembers such trifles—or simply doesn't show it. His experience teaching and working with teenagers has taught him worse; he knows too many of the students' fuck-ups.
He knows that Gyuvin, right after moving to Dema, resorted to stealing. Back then, Jiwoong himself called him in for a serious talk and helped him get a job at the grocery store so he could support himself.
Gyuvin would rather work than be idle; he is still grateful for that gesture. But gratitude has its limits. None of this, however, means he isn't ready to go against Jiwoong if necessary.
He isn't bound by any moral norms, his past even less so. Gyuvin is no longer the eighteen-year-old kid who'd just arrived in a strange city, far from his fucked-up family.
Now, Gyuvin has no limitations and no weaknesses he wants to indulge. He only has certainty about tomorrow and a firm belief: "you can do anything for your own happiness."
And he has Ricky, whose well-being matters more to him than his own.
"Anxiety again, yeah?" Gyuvin asks softly. He and Ricky have been friends long enough for Gyuvin to notice these moments; they still aren't close enough for Ricky to bring it up himself.
Once, Ricky mentioned that walks help him with his anxiety, so Gyuvin started dragging him outside almost every evening.
Now, as April approaches, Gyuvin pulls Ricky by the hand through the endless streets of Dema, laughing every time Ricky flinches at the slightest noise.
"Jiwoong-hyung said there's another soirée in a couple of weeks. Like the one a couple of years back, remember?"
Ricky nods in response. Of course he remembers—he was supposed to go to that soirée, usually organized by the Niners, with Hao. They had just started dating back then, and…
Ricky shakes his head, returning to reality—right now, he's walking on the side of the road, trailing behind Gyuvin, trespassing in places they're not supposed to be. Gyuvin scoffs at these rules: no one can tell him what to do or not do. Ricky just trusts Gyuvin and is getting used to his antics.
"I remember," Ricky says. "Do you want us to go together?"
"Only if you're okay with it," Gyuvin replies. In the distance, the familiar temple they're heading toward comes into view. "I'll never force you to do anything."
Gyuvin repeats this constantly—when he suggests another crazy idea, when he reaches for Ricky's face but turns away at the last moment instead of kissing him. In the end, Gyuvin always gives in; Ricky would never kiss him first.
Nothing ever changes in their dynamic.
Ricky still asks Gyuvin to turn away when he changes clothes; Gyuvin giggles, cracks a few jokes, but obeys. He would never make Ricky uncomfortable.
Now, Ricky habitually runs his fingers through Gyuvin's hair as the latter lies with his head in his lap: the same temple steps, worn down by time, the familiar dampness and muted lighting. A curtain of trees hides them from the rest of the city; their breathing gradually evens out.
Evening falls. Ricky holds a book in his other hand; his eyes dart across the letters, reading the same sentence over and over without grasping its meaning, but he can't concentrate.
“You're distracting me," Ricky says to Gyuvin, trying to sound stern. But Gyuvin just laughs and settles more comfortably on his lap; his face is only half-illuminated, his disheveled hair sticking to his forehead. Gyuvin's fingers wander across Ricky's chest, slipping under his shirt to stroke his skin—teasing him, as usual.
He teases the same way when they're alone in the dorm; he squeezes Ricky's thigh under the desk during class, pinches his sides. It's something Ricky is supposed to get used to.
"You have to do something else than just studying," Gyuvin says again. Ricky already doesn't really think about studying—especially not now, as Gyuvin shifts slightly. They are suddenly very close again; Ricky feels his breath, his scent.
Gyuvin quickly kisses him, pulling him in by the nape. Ricky freezes for a moment before responding. The philosophy book is tossed aside on the steps, and his heart starts beating fast-fast-fast again.
Ricky will never get used to this. He will never understand what guides them both.
Sitting with Gyuvin on the steps of the temple where he used to hang out with Hao, is wrong. Bringing Gyuvin here and trying to see another's features in Gyuvin's face, noticing someone else's habits in his behavior, is doubly wrong.
Ricky can't do anything about it. He pours the shower gel over his body, rubbing it into skin that still feels the ghost of another's touch; words are scrawled in his personal diary at night. His parents still give him strange looks but say nothing.
Ricky reminds himself every day that they are just friends. Ricky is the first one to forget.
zb1svt on Chapter 1 Sat 09 Aug 2025 06:27PM UTC
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adfjk on Chapter 1 Wed 13 Aug 2025 07:58PM UTC
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