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Ryujin smells it before she sees it.
The scent of iron hangs low in the air, seeping through the sterile atmosphere of the dorms. It’s subtle, but enough to ring an alarm in her head. She’s no stranger to blood, not when violence runs through her veins, all beating hands and beating heart—but there’s a certain wrongness underneath this scent. It’s sickly, like something’s been bleeding out for hours, abandoned in a corner to rot. Almost sweet.
A noise: someone’s rattling breath. The sound of running water. Retching.
The bathroom door is left ajar. After the mission, she split off from the group to smoke and head back early to sleep, so there shouldn’t be anyone else in this part of the building. The fact that someone managed to slip by scares her, just a little.
Ryujin pushes the door open, half-expecting to see a dead body, but what awaits her is worse. “Sayeon Lee,” she says. “Sayeon Lee,” she says again, urgent. To her horror, her feet start rushing her towards the other girl. The door slams closed behind her. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Sayeon’s hunched over the sink, hand wrapped around her mouth, eyes wide. Blood flows down and into the cracks of her fingers, dripping into the water below. A bloodied bandage is wrapped loosely around her arm, already threatening to unravel. She wipes her mouth. “Ryujin,” she mutters. “It’s late. I thought you were already…” She coughs into her hand.
When Ryujin gets closer, she spies the first aid kit behind Sayeon, its contents scattered around the counter. The packaging for the gauze is torn apart, and the scissors lie nearby. But that’s not important. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing.” Sayeon’s shaking, leaning her entire weight against the sink. Her eyes are hazy, half-lidded. “I injured myself in the last fight and overexerted my essence while attempting to heal my wounds. The infirmary was also closed when I visited.” She coughs again, and her hand comes away stained with blood. “I’m… I’m fine, though, just a bit dizzy.” As if on cue, her nose starts bleeding, and her legs give out underneath her.
“Shit—” Ryujin catches Sayeon’s shoulder, jostling her forward so her head doesn’t hit the wall. She slumps into Ryujin, bloody nose and mouth and all, and Ryujin wishes she hadn’t chosen to wear a white shirt tonight.
The smell of iron is so much stronger now. For a heartbeat, they stay like that, listening to the sound of the water and Sayeon’s breathing.
Then, Sayeon wraps her uninjured arm around Ryujin’s neck and, with too much power for someone experiencing essence exhaustion, yanks them down onto the floor.
They land in a heap of limbs, knees knocking together and bodies pressed flush against each other. Ryujin bumps her head on the wall, wincing from the impact.
“Fucking hell, Sayeon, get a grip!”
Sayeon pushes Ryujin away—or, attempts to push her away, her earlier strength already gone. “I don’t need your help,” she breathes out, gaze still unfocused. “I can deal with this myself.”
Ryujin feels a vein pop. “You were the one who pulled me down!”
“It was… a mistake on my part. A moment of weakness.” Sayeon shifts in her spot, trying to shield her arm. “You should head back to bed. We have an early mission tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”
The bandage on her arm falls off, revealing a relatively shallow, yet long cut. Luckily, the bleeding’s stopped and it’s already starting to close up, no doubt thanks to her attempt at healing.
“Big talk for someone who can’t bandage a wound properly,” Ryujin says. “This is the sloppiest technique I’ve ever seen.”
“The theory’s simple enough. It was just a test bandage, and I was going to replace it before you barged in here.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. You really just wrapped the bandage on top without any dressing or taping it down? Did your textbooks not teach you about that?”
“Fortunately, we live in a world with technology, so I learned my first aid techniques through the Internet. Short-form videos are easier to remember.“
Ryujin has to physically restrain herself from choking Sayeon out. “Don’t try to act smart with me, Glasses. I shouldn’t even be arguing with you right now, so just—“ She channels her essence, just enough to make her eyes glow. “Shut the fuck up and trust me.”
Sayeon’s eyes are hard, finally focused on Ryujin. Another retort is on her tongue, and Ryujin knows this. She’s seen it too many times by now. It’s the same look she gets when they’re on a mission, and her gift’s directing her somewhere else.
Except, this time, she stays too quiet. Her gaze roams around Ryujin’s face, searching for any hidden answers. It’s always unnerving being at the end of Sayeon’s scrutiny like this, like she’s staring a hole right through her. Ryujin should be used to this by now, but something about it still makes her want to look away.
Then, when Ryujin thinks Sayeon might give her one final shove, the fight leaves her all at once. She relaxes, head lightly bumping against the wall, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. No, it’s softer. It’s like she’s… offering herself.
Sayeon’s eyes flutter closed. “Okay,” she says. Her breathing’s evened out, void of the adrenaline from earlier. The bleeding from her nose has already stopped.
Ryujin doesn’t reply. Doesn’t know what to respond with, really, when all she’s got are the next steps in her head. She stands up to wash her hands and gather the necessary items from the first aid kit.
It’s only a second, but Sayeon’s already opened her eyes, reaching for her with her uninjured arm. “You’re leaving?”
“No, smartass.” Ryujin sits down with the items. She shifts closer to Sayeon, touching knee to knee again. “Give me your arm.”
Sayeon complies, extends her arm for Ryujin to hold.
Ryujin grabs it too roughly, causing Sayeon to suck in a breath. “Sorry,” she says, loosening her grip. Now that they’re not fighting, she can finally see that it’s not that bad. Even with Sayeon’s poor practical skills, she just needs to apply some ointment and wrap the bandage properly. It’ll be healed up by tomorrow, anyway.
She turns her arm over to check if there are any other scratches to take care of. Sayeon’s skin is softer than she expects. This isn’t the first time they’ve touched, of course. They’ve pushed and punched each other plenty of times. Sat together on the bleachers, thighs touching, watching Min and Iseul spar. Brushed hands when standing next to each other in mission debriefs. Most of it casual and accidental, never lasting for more than a second.
It was all meaningless, if not for how Sayeon’s gaze would linger on her, as if gauging her reaction. Ryujin always wondered what Sayeon was thinking in those moments. Did she want to apologize for getting too close? Or was she seeing something that even Ryujin wasn’t aware of?
Ryujin lets go to put on a glove and apply the ointment. “This might be uncomfortable,” she says, holding Sayeon’s arm with her other hand.
Sayeon nods through half-lidded eyes.
She listens well, Ryujin thinks, rubbing a light layer of ointment over the wound. This must be what the Corps thinks of her. Quiet and obedient. The perfect soldier for their plans, a trained dog ready to answer at their beck and call. Someone loved by the authorities, so pliable and willing under her touch now.
It makes her sick.
Ryujin presses too hard at the edge of the wound.
Sayeon lets out an unfamiliar noise, low and almost imperceptible, and Ryujin tears her gloved hand away like she’s been burned.
What the fuck was that?
“What…” Ryujin starts, half-dazed, still trying to process whatever the fuck that was. A groan of pain? “Shit, sorry, I didn’t…” She looks at Sayeon, ignoring the way her own heart beats out of her chest.
Sayeon’s cheeks are fever-flushed, but her eyes are clear and focused entirely on Ryujin. “It’s—it’s fine,” she breathes, voice tinged with something Ryujin can’t place. “I was just surprised.”
Ryujin’s throat feels dry. She swallows, watches how Sayeon’s gaze flickers to the movement. It’s only now that she realizes how close they are to each other, their faces inches away, knees pressed together. Skin on skin. Breaths shared in the same space. Intimate enough to feel Sayeon’s pulse on her fingertips if she wants to.
Her mind keeps replaying that sound over and over again, so she rips her gaze away, taking off her glove to grab the bandage. She starts wrapping the bandage around Sayeon’s arm without a single sound or glance, trying to still the shaking of her hands.
Having a gift like hers, she quickly learned that not everything could be solved through expending her essence. She’s patched herself up so many times that she could do this in her sleep, and even with lesser materials than this—pieces of cloth torn by her teeth, scraps of fabric that no one would miss, wads of cheap, thin toilet paper. Yet her hand slips at the last moment when she’s trying to tape it down. The easiest fucking step, and she’s stumbling like some kind of sheltered kid who’s never fought before.
A glance, more out of embarrassment than anything else: Sayeon is still looking at her wordlessly, not even at her bandaged arm or anything. Just Ryujin. Analyzing her like a fucking bug under a microscope.
“Done,” Ryujin says after successfully taping down the bandage. She shuffles backwards, getting up slowly after sitting for so long. “I’m gonna change and then head to bed.”
Sayeon examines her arm, turning it over under the light. Her eyes are brighter, and a smile tugs at her lips like she’s pleased. “Thank you, Ryujin.”
Ryujin can’t bear to look at her any longer. If she does, that lingering warmth on her hands might mean something. “Don’t mention it, Glasses.”
-
The days go on.
Sometimes, after a mission, Sayeon will stumble into the bathroom by herself, and Ryujin will find her hunched over the sink, trying to nurse her wounds. She’s never any good at it, and the sight of her like this pisses Ryujin off to no end. So, inevitably, she takes over.
Most nights, it’s harmless. A glancing cut that can easily be cleaned out, or debris still stuck in the bloody abscess. Sayeon would stretch the skin back around the wound for Ryujin, and she would go in with sanitized tweezers, then clean it for her afterwards. Sayeon never made a sound, but she would stiffen so hard that Ryujin had to tell her to relax at times.
You’re really good at this, Sayeon never said, but her obedient, watchful gaze expressed it all the same.
There’s no one else who will do this for you, Ryujin never said, but her actions said it anyway, with how carefully she’d wrap the gauze around the injury, or the way she’d stick just a bit closer to Sayeon during their patrols.
-
“I thought your gift would’ve told you to dodge that shit!” Ryujin says after landing a brutal hook to the criminal’s temple. He crumples to the ground, already knocked out before he can call for more backup. They’ve managed to slip away from the fighting while Min and Iseul went on ahead to scout, but in this part of the city, they’re not safe anywhere.
“I was backed up against the wall. Couldn’t dodge fast enough,” Sayeon mutters, bracing herself against the alleyway’s wall. Blood streams down her misaligned nose. Her eyes are glinting a dull teal, dangerously teetering on the edge of essence exhaustion. “I already called Juni over to help Min and Iseul when you were fighting that guy, but…” She falls to one knee, and Ryujin rushes to support her.
“Don’t fucking pass out on me,” Ryujin says, lowering Sayeon to the ground. She tightens her grip on Sayeon’s shoulder, trying to will some energy back into her. “But what, Glasses?”
Sayeon’s head is bowed, nose tipped down to let the blood flow freely. “She’s on the other side of the city. She won’t make it here in time if Min and Iseul need assistance.” They’re so close together that she only needs to whisper. She raises her gaze to meet Ryujin’s, that piercing teal in full view again. “We need to help them.”
Ryujin narrows her eyes. “You’re in no position to do that,” she says. “We’re on their turf, and there’s no telling just how many guys are in this area.”
“I can still fight. It’s just a minor injury. If we can support Min and Iseul, we’ll earn enough points to rank up.”
“Who the hell cares about the points right now? You literally can’t stand up straight from essence exhaustion. You’ll only be a punching bag.”
“I only needed a moment to rest, and that moment was now. I can keep going as long as I don’t expend my energy for healing. Even if Min and Iseul manage to trace the source of the drug trafficking, they’re already exhausted, and they’ll be outnumbered two to twenty.” Sayeon’s aura flares up in anger, but her face remains deathly impassive. “You need to set my nose.”
“What?” Ryujin wants to punch her in the face so badly, but she’s already injured enough. “Are you stupid? I’m not setting your fucking nose.”
“Ryujin,” Sayeon hisses, curling her grip around Ryujin’s collar. “I’m Cell 4’s leader. I make the decisions, and you are supposed to listen to me.” She clenches her jaw, and her aura grows more stifling. “You either need to leave me and help them, or set my nose.”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Ryujin spits. “Let go of my collar before I break your damn glasses next.”
Sayeon lets go, but her expression stays dark. “Are you doing it or not?”
“Just shut the fuck up already.” Ryujin wipes her hands on her pants and straightens her collar. “Don’t go crying to Juni if it hurts like a bitch.” She hates admitting it, but Sayeon does have a point. It’s faster if she attempts this stupidly amateur medical procedure, and if anything goes wrong, she can always heal with the little amount of essence in her tank. If they go back to the headquarters now or Ryujin leaves her, they’ll risk getting jumped by another criminal.
Sayeon’s face relaxes a bit, and the glint in her eyes is dimmer. She bites her lip. Luckily, her nose is only fractured at the bridge, which is a simple enough fix, but something that definitely shouldn’t be done in some alleyway in the shadiest part of town.
Ryujin reaches up to touch her face, but Sayeon tenses, wincing like she’s already made contact. Her hand hovers in the air, and she frowns. “If you’re this scared, you might as well heal with your essence.”
“Just do it,” Sayeon whispers, the venom in her tone replaced by something softer, more nervous. “We don’t have much time.”
Ryujin clicks her teeth. “I’ll do this quickly then. You won’t even know it happened,” she says. She holds Sayeon’s cheek with her other hand, gripping firmly to keep her head in place. The pads of her fingers are rough against Sayeon’s skin.
Sayeon’s chest rises up and down with rapid breathing, eyes fixed on Ryujin’s still hovering hand. She inhales shakily when Ryujin starts moving.
One, two. Ryujin breathes out slowly, holds her breath, trying to steady herself. Then, she grabs the base of Sayeon’s nose and tugs.
A familiar noise tears out from Sayeon’s throat, the same low, guttural sound from the first time around, and Ryujin barely has time to process it before Sayeon jerks into her, back arching off the wall. Ryujin tightens her hold to keep her steady, bracing against the sudden heat of Sayeon’s body against hers, which elicits another, louder, unmistakable moan from Sayeon.
Ryujin stumbles back immediately, hands flying off of Sayeon’s face.
Sayeon sags into the wall, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused. She blinks, mouth slack, and her gaze focuses on Ryujin.
For a moment, Ryujin is just staring back at her, still trying to process what happened. Her head is spinning, heart racing so fast that it almost drowns out the memory of Sayeon moaning. “Say something,” she murmurs. Say something so I can hear anything else over that moment.
Somehow, Sayeon’s face grows redder than before, and she closes her mouth, looking away. She clears her throat. “I’m…”
Several seconds pass before Ryujin realizes Sayeon’s not going to finish that sentence. She moves to stand up and leave. “I’m never treating your fucking wounds again,” she says, like she’ll stop tracking how long Sayeon’s been in the bathroom after a rough mission, or checking if she’s taken off the bandages the day after. Like she won’t think about Sayeon when she’s trying to sleep, and how she looked that first night, trying to cover up her whimper.
“Wait,” Sayeon says, tugging at her sleeve, eyes wide with fear. “Please don’t leave.” Her voice sounds weird and shaky, turned inside-out like she’s on the verge of tears.
Ryujin’s heart flip-flops in her chest. She doesn’t shove Sayeon’s hand off. She can’t. “What do you want from me?” she asks, softer than she wants. Stupid.
Sayeon lets out a deep sigh, or maybe a breath of relief. “Do you trust me?” she asks slowly, as if testing the words in her mouth.
Ryujin furrows her eyebrows. “Yeah.”
Sayeon pauses. Screws her eyes shut. “You touch me, whenever you tend to my injuries.”
“What?” Ryujin says, distantly, wondering if she was the one who got the lights knocked out of her.
“You only touch me when we’re fighting,” Sayeon continues, looking at Ryujin this time. “I thought that meant you hated me, but then you found me in the bathroom that night and continued patching me up afterwards. And I…” She grips Ryujin’s sleeve harder. Their hands brush, and it sends a jolt of electricity up Ryujin’s arm. “I realized I wanted something more. This was the only way I knew how to ask.”
There’s a lurch in Ryujin’s stomach, like she’s falling after someone swept her off her feet, the world turned upside-down in the motion. In this dingy alleyway with her team leader and an audience of dead men, she should be thinking about their mission and their other teammates, still out there fighting for their lives. Except, it reveals itself to her then, like the stinging clarity of an alcohol pad wiped across a wound: all those times Sayeon would steal glances at her—Ryujin looked back at her with the same intensity, and wondered what would happen if she took her hand, or ran her fingers through her hair. And at night, she imagined what Sayeon’s mouth would feel like on her neck or her own mouth, how terrifying it would be to confront it, and now understands why Sayeon takes the blows instead of admitting she wants something else entirely.
What a fucking freak. Ryujin barks out a short laugh and says, “You’re so stupid.” She watches the way Sayeon’s gaze follows her hand as she cups her cheek again, only this time, to lean in and kiss her.
Sayeon gasps, but instantly opens her mouth to receive her, like her body’s already one step ahead. She fists at the fabric of Ryujin’s suit, bunching up the material, anchoring herself. Her lips are clumsy against Ryujin’s, kissing her back so desperately that it makes Ryujin dizzy with want and something more. She bites down hard enough to draw blood; an act of petty revenge, and an injury she doesn’t need to tend to. An unashamed whimper draws from Sayeon’s throat, and Ryujin takes this as her cue to pull away.
“Weren’t you the one who said we needed to hurry?” Ryujin says, licking her lips. It tastes like iron and Sayeon. She stands up, offering a hand to her.
Sayeon clears her throat. “Yes,” she says, already schooling her expression back to professionalism. She wipes her mouth. “There’s only one way Min and Iseul could have gone, so we can catch up to them if we’re fast enough.” She takes Ryujin’s hand, standing up on shaky legs.
“Woah, careful.” Ryujin has to grab both of Sayeon’s hands to prevent her from falling, but with their height difference, she ends up stumbling a few steps back, too. “Are you sure you’ll be fine?”
“I’ve already said this so many…” Sayeon pauses, suddenly looking down at their connected hands. She stares at them for a while, face perfectly blank. Then, she looks at Ryujin. “You’re holding my hand.”
“I kissed you,” Ryujin deadpans.
“We shouldn’t do that while we’re on a mission,” Sayeon says very seriously. “If anyone finds out we’re fooling around, there’ll be consequences.”
“We’ve already broken protocol at least like, five times, and no one’s given a shit. Juni said that, didn’t she? As long as no one died and we’ve achieved something in one way or another, then it’s fine.”
Sayeon doesn’t respond at first. She only looks at her with that creepy, piercing stare that Ryujin’s quickly becoming fond of (to her horror).
Then, for the first time today, Sayeon smiles, and it’s so soft that it takes Ryujin’s breath away. The setting sun illuminates Sayeon’s figure in golden hues, melting away the scenery before them. Silently, she wonders if she should commit this to memory. A beautiful girl against the backdrop of the sunset, her hands in Ryujin’s own, hair mussed and her lips kiss-swollen and bitten. A rare moment of peace in a city that doesn’t care for them.
“I’m glad you’ve been paying attention to Juni,” Sayeon says.
“You piss me off,” Ryujin says, but makes no move to let go of Sayeon’s hands. She thinks she can live with this feeling.