#Kim Ga On

[hemaris]

“Kim Ga On! Don’t attack me ever again. Ever.”

[tortibomb]

The Devil Judge | Ep. 16 -> Ji Sung as Kang Yo Han -> Park Jin Young as Kim Ga On

[my-most-recent-hyperfixation]

The Devil Judge is so funny like it’s basically just two different shows running parallel. One is where Yo Han’s revenge plot and all the courtroom drama happens, and then the other is just Kim Ga On playing househusband and being disgustingly domestic with ”the enemy”.

[theworldisabrokenbonebutitishome]

Pied Piper - BTS (English translations from doolsetbangtan)

first Devil Judge gifset I make has to be for the bestie <3

check out mid-n0vember's TDJ playlist here

[lienwyn]

Look. I think we all knew this would happen eventually. And by "this" I mean both someone pulling on those suspenders AND Ga On getting railed on top of that desk.

You're welcome.

[dumblefork]

Rewatching The Devil Judge. You can see just how much Yohan was enjoying Gaon's attention XD

[amethystina]

Kang Yo Han is the little spoon

Like, at least 80% of the time. Probably close to 90%.

Because while Yo Han might be bold when he's awake, I'm pretty sure he's a lot more hesitant when it comes to soft, intimate cuddling in the dark. It requires a lot of courage to both offer and ask for that kind of affection. And he's just not used to doing it — too awkward and, in many ways, too scared. What does he know about gentleness? And what would happen if Ga On said no? Or stiffened when Yo Han tried to hold him?

Ga On, though? He's the opposite. He's the kind of man who's more affectionate and confident without an audience, when it's just him and the person he cares for. So he would have a much easier time initiating that kind of intimacy after he and Yo Han get together. And, let's face it, if Ga On wants to cuddle, it's easier for him to just wrap himself around Yo Han than try to manoeuvre that unit of a man into being the big spoon.

And, deep down, I think both of them would revel in it.

Because Ga On is such a caring and nurturing person and he'd treasure the opportunity to be the one to offer that kind of warmth and comfort. Especially in such a simple yet honest way, one that also gives him a chance to bury his face against Yo Han's neck and just hold him. To, for once, be the one to take charge and have the answers to what they both need.

And Yo Han? I mean, imagine the relief he'd feel to have Ga On mould himself against his back and instead of phantom pain from his scar, he feels Ga On's heartbeats. And how much sweeter it would feel, that Ga On is the one holding on to him — tightly, fearlessly, of his own choice, and with so much tenderness. That has got to make Yo Han pretty damn euphoric some nights.

In short: Ga On, please give that touch-starved disaster of a man some hugs — he needs it.

They would never actually talk about it, of course, because Yo Han is a very prideful (and silly) man, but they both know. For all his power, strength, and darkness, when it's time to sleep, Kang Yo Han is the itty bitty spoon.

And they both absolutely love it.

[prfct7act]

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t. 

Yo Han considered himself very good at analyzing evidence and arriving at possible motivations and solutions. But it was true that his home was not a courtroom. And emotions were not that simple.

Yo Han took refuge in what he did best. He spent hours in his office, reading documents while incessantly scribbling. His hand movements seemed to give voice to his conflicting thoughts. Reluctantly, his mind kept returning to Ga On.

He had already grown accustomed to taking forced breaks because Ga On demanded attention (something he would never admit). Ga On, in his own way, would eventually become absorbed in some particularly interesting case. And he was as addicted to work as Yo Han was. In that sense, he was a hypocrite.

Now, it had been three days since Ga On show up in the afternoon to call him—or simply to sit by his side with the cat, while pretending not to crave attention.

Three days during which Ga On seemed interested in nothing but dodging Yo Han at all costs. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it, while gently and discreetly trying to push Yo Han away.

 But after experiencing just how warm, gentle, and enthusiastic Ga On could be, there was no comparison and no doubt. What Yo Han had not yet deciphered was the reason for this abrupt distancing. 

They were fine. Great, even. 

Yo Han had settled into a new normal, marked by casual conversations, intertwined bodies, radiant faces, and transparent glances laden with something obvious.

Then, after Ga On had withdrawn and seemed to be slipping through his hands, Yo Han, for the first time in a long while, felt powerless.

The mental flow, the scribbled paper, and the rhythmic tapping of fingers all seemed like a prelude to the dragging sound that soon dominated the room, as Elijah pushed her chair with a ferocity that was nothing new to Yo Han. He had been wondering how long it would take for that moment to arrive. 

So when Elijah gestured exasperatedly and accusingly, he was neither surprised nor particularly roused.

“What did you do?”

The accusatory tone was stronger than the question itself. Yo Han constantly felt like the defendant before his own niece. 

And she was not only a judge but an entire jury. 

He figured he had it coming.

Then he lazily lifted his eyes as he waited for Elijah to explain her accusations. He knew exactly what she had come to do. Yet her first tactic was to feign innocence. 

At that moment, he hadn’t yet decided whether he was innocent or not. Yo Han opted for a petulant:

“What?” while widening his eyes and pursing his lips.

“What did you do to Ga On?” came the impatient reply. “He doesn’t seem like himself. What did you say to him?”

The girl appeared equally angry, impatient, and worried. Deep down, Yo Han couldn’t help but find it endearing—even though Elijah would probably sentence him to the electric chair for that.

“Elijah,” he decided to begin rationally, directing his gaze at her and at the other signs of agitation. “Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not responsible for Ga On’s feelings.” 

And if that could possibly irritate her even more, he continued,

“I did nothing.” Yo Han went on, not so deliberately leaving an i think implied in his statement as he mentally reviewed, once again, his own actions over the past few days. “He must be tired. He has the right to some time alone, you know?”

And that was not the answer Elijah wanted.

“Well, you should be. He only acts like that when you do something foolish.”

Elijah moved even closer to the table. Someone of that age shouldn’t be so intimidating. “But this time it seems worse. Not even my interventions worked.”

And Yo Han couldn’t help but smile.

“Yah!” came the incriminating reply - or scream.

“Elijah, he’ll be fine. Just give him a few days.” Yo Han was also trying to convince himself of that.

Elijah seemed to deflate, as if understanding that nothing could be achieved there. Speaking more to herself than to Yo Han, she murmured, 

“Why does he have to be like this? It’s annoying.” And, of course, his absence was glaring.

“I know.” The softness in his eyes indicated that Yo Han understood her. “He just needs time.”

That low-toned response was accompanied by a nod as Yo Han pretended to return to his documents.

He heard the sound of wheels turning, yet the scratch of metal on wood was not enough to silence Elijah’s mutterings as she left the room without the solutions she sought. He swore he heard a “why couldn't he just do that?” and something like “if he  leaves again, I swear—”

And once again, Yo Han was reminded of just how much he resembled his niece.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Yo Han discovered that age had not brought as much patience as he had imagined. He had told Elijah that Ga On needed time. He just didn’t say how much. 

On the fifth day, he hadn’t planned on finding out.

The room was shrouded in shadows, but small beams of light still filtered through the curtains when Yo Han abruptly found himself awake in the middle of the night. The moon was still high in the sky.

Still regaining consciousness, Yo Han mentally replayed what might have robbed him of sleep. 

It was nothing unusual for him—quite the opposite. With rapid mental flashbacks, he quickly recognized that this time it wasn’t nightmares or old memories that haunted him.

 Frowning, he unconsciously extended his arms to the far side of the bed. He turned his neck to confirm that his arm had rested on layers of warm sheets. 

The warmth of the fabric was the only indication that Ga On had been there.

In recent days, Ga On had seemed to join Yo Han in bed—only when the other man was already asleep.

Except that Yo Han wasn’t asleep. 

The older man waited patiently on the opposite side of Ga On, his back turned. That seemed to be the only way Ga On could come as close as possible to face him. It was ridiculous and made no sense. 

Exactly six days ago, Ga On had deliberately pushed him into bed, snuggled into his arms, and laid his face on Yo Han’s chest. 

Proximity never seemed enough. Yo Han was warmth, and Ga On lived in the cold.

So yes, Yo Han made a point of replaying every hour of that day, trying to figure out what had triggered this exorbitant distancing.

At what moment did Ga On shift from yearning to suffering with every touch?

Yo Han realized he was extremely tactile with Ga On. He rediscovered a longing for closeness, affection, and warmth that he hadn’t even known he needed. And now, the absence felt like the loss of a limb.

He seized every opportunity to touch the younger man’s back, caress his hips, rub his shoulders, trace his cheeks, mark his neck, and bring color to his lips. And Ga On was increasingly receptive to each of these gestures. 

Yo Han watched with immense satisfaction every time Ga On seemed to melt just a little more.

It took a while, but Ga On began to initiate these moments. Yo Han had always been very demanding in his “lessons” to ensure that Ga On absorbed exactly what he wanted. 

Unconditionally— with Yo Han. 

And the young judge showed considerable enthusiasm during those lessons.

Then, nothing. 

As if all the progress they’d made had never even existed to begin with. Whatever was troubling Ga On seemed directly linked to Yo Han. And as much as it fueled self-hatred in him, he believed he should be the only one capable of fixing it.

Ga On always made some excuse to pull away. More documents. More food. More work. More chores. More exhaustion. More disinterest.

His absence in the early morning hadn’t been unusual in recent days, but for some reason on the fifth day, it set off an alarm in Yo Han’s mind.

It was 3:27 when Yo Han wrapped his arms around his robe and decided to go after Ga On—from wherever (room, space, consciousness) he might be sinking.

It wasn’t hard to find him. Part of Yo Han felt relieved, but another part tightened upon seeing Ga On curled up, clutching his own knees at the kitchen table.

Ga On seemed trapped in another moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. A look Yo Han had recognized in himself many times—lost in memories, reliving memories.

He didn’t register his presence.

“Ga On-ah,” 

He tried in a whisper—a voice that surprised him with the fear and caution it carried.

Those words were enough for Ga On to lift his eyes toward him. His eyes stared, yet did not truly recognize him. His worry only deepened.

“Ga On-ah,” he tried again, keeping a safe distance—as if Ga On were a fawn he didn’t want to push away or hurt. “What happened?”

Ga On’s response did not come in words but rather in a wet flow that stained his cheeks. Yo Han saw the tears before Ga On felt them and tried to wipe them away with the backs of his hands.

Before he knew it, Yo Han found himself crouched beside Ga On, his eyes piercing into Ga On’s, searching for something there. Anything.

“And don’t tell me it’s nothing,” Yo Han whispered. “I didn’t believe it the first time, and I’m not going to believe it now.”

Ga On’s eyes seemed to swell even further. Yo Han continued,

“I don’t know what the problem is, Ga On.”

His tone was incisive, yet carried a gentleness not usually characteristic of the judge. “I can’t help you like this.”

Something seemed to break in Ga On—who until that moment had remained silent. A flash of recognition softened his eyes before he answered,

“I don’t want you to do anything.”

Those words should have struck Yo Han hard. But he wasn’t sure whether it was the hollow tone or the almost tender look that had formed an armor against them.

Once again, the evidence pointed directly at him.

Yo Han kept his eyes hard and didn’t move until Ga On once more put distance between them and stared out the window.

“If not me,” he broke the silence slowly, “then tell me who can help you. Elijah is worried.” Yo Han knew it was a low blow. Yet he had never been good at following conventional rules. Part of him felt victorious when he saw Ga On tremble and clench his fists.

“And me too,” he decided to add.

With his back turned, Yo Han could only observe the slight tremors in Ga On’s shoulders. He knew him well enough to understand that Ga On was trying not to fall apart—reminding him of every moment he had, indeed, seen Ga On crumble.

Then, when Ga On’s reply came almost hesitantly, everything became incredibly obvious.

“Soo Hyun” the name whispered in a way that disarmed Yo Han and seemed to tread upon his very heart. “I had a dream about Soo Hyun.”

Yoon Soo Hyun.

Of course. He should have known sooner. It now seemed obvious that he already knew the answer. Two years ago, Yo Han had seen Ga On collapse over the death of his best friend, Soo Hyun. Back then, those were days of inconsolable, isolated, and irreparably shattered despair. The same pattern was repeating now. It was crystal clear. 

And Ga On was right. Yo Han was incapable of helping him—or of taking any action at all—regarding Soo Hyun’s absence.

Yo Han admitted that he had never had the best relationship with her, if it could even be called a relationship. He was indifferent to her most of the time, except when his motives were directly aimed at putting Ga On in a box and distancing him from Yo Han. And that was something Yo Han couldn’t handle well. 

So yes, in those moments he despised her. In a way, they were rivals, inextricably linked by a devastating love for Ga On. And for that, Yo Han couldn’t blame her.

In the end, at least for now, Yo Han got what he wanted.

Who he wanted. 

But it didn’t come for free. It came at the cost of a great burden on Ga On. 

Sometimes, deep down in his mind during those blinding moments, he wondered if he would still have Ga On if Yoon Soo Hyun were still alive. 

In the first year, he found himself constantly defeated by the piercing memory of her. And Yo Han wondered if Ga On still compared them—if he kissed him, still recalling her taste.

He had no right to think that; as quickly as the thought arose, he dismissed it. The truth is that certain “ifs” linger in the subconscious for a long time—even those you despise.

So no—the mention of that name, the cause of all this suffering and the only one capable of solving the problem, should not be a surprise.

 If Yo Han wasn’t surprised by the name, he was disturbed by the timing.

Yoon Soo Hyun’s death anniversary had been exactly seven days ago. Seven days was the period Ga On endured before finally breaking down. 

And yes, Yo Han remembered the date—it would have been even harder to forget. He recalled the terror in Ga On’s eyes, the desperation in his hands, and the agony coursing through his body as he could only watch Ga On experience something strikingly similar to what he himself had once endured. 

Ga On’s world had crumbled. 

Yet he carried on.

During the week of the anniversary, they were stuck with a case in court. Ga On was particularly focused on convincing witnesses. So when the day arrived, Yo Han only remembered halfway through the morning, and his eyes automatically fixed on Ga On.

It was Sunday. They were off. The day began with Ga On practically drowning in him and stealing Yo Han’s breath. Ga On was not a morning person—even if he never admitted it. He even pretended well. But the young man didn’t complain when Yo Han woke him with hands on his waist and a damp weight on his neck.

Hours later, Ga On was still in good spirits. He laughed openly while preparing something between breakfast and lunch with Elijah by his side. Then, as the awareness of the day settled on Yo Han, he froze, as if expecting the worst to happen again.

But the day went on. Ga On never left his side; the smile in his eyes never faded. And when the clock hands overlapped, Yo Han felt himself breathe again, with an arm around Ga On, who nestled even closer.

The next morning, Yo Han’s subconscious still seemed on high alert. But nothing happened; Ga On seduced him into a shower. They went to court. Ga On didn’t mention it. Yo Han didn’t mention it. A part of him wanted to believe that Ga On had decided to focus on the world that still remained for him. That was his mistake.

The rapid cascade of thoughts still ran as Ga On decided to break the silence once more.

“I forgot.”

And the silence of the night had never been so loud. Once again, Yo Han reassembled his conclusions.

The moment Yo Han had spent 24 hours waiting finally arrived some 144.58 hours later. And of course that Ga On was inconsolable. He was being consumed by grief and guilt.

His voice broke in the most painful and intense way that night. 

“So she had to come remind me,” he managed, swallowing hard as he turned to face Yo Han—indeed, for the first time that day.

Yo Han felt his own heart tighten before he tried,

“Ga On,” he began with more gentleness than he remembered possessing, “we had an open case. You were distracted by work, by—”

“By you,” came Ga On’s cutting tone.

It was the clearest he had sounded in days. “I was distracted by you.”

And for the first time in a long while, Yo Han didn’t know what to say.

It was no wonder Ga On wanted him away. Just the sight of him seemed to cause Ga On agony. His touch felt like it burned. Yo Han had become a walking reminder of what Ga On considered perhaps the second worst mistake he’d ever made. For once, Ga On was right—Yo Han simply couldn’t help him.

Something must have passed over Yo Han’s face, because Ga On felt compelled to continue. A new admission and awareness shaped his expression—a mixture of epiphany, recognition, guilt, and anger.

“You remembered.”

That realization lit up Ga On’s eyes. A new wave of pity washed over him. The pain was palpable. “Even you remembered.”

Even you. That struck a part of Yo Han that he had been trying to bury (or heal) for the past two years. The irrevocable and reproachful tone automatically slipped from his tongue.

“Ga On,” was all Yo Han said.

Because it was unfair. For both of them. But it was enough for the other man to understand.

“I’m sorry. I know. I'm sorry.”

Another stream of tears broke out as Ga On brought both hands to his face, as if he wanted to hide or tear away his own thoughts.

“I didn’t remember the day until we were living it.” Yo Han then approached him differently, taking advantage of Ga On’s attempt to hide to draw closer. He had to try to lower the barriers before they held Ga On back any longer. “You seemed… happy.” There was no other word to describe it. “And I wanted you to stay that way.”

It wasn’t until he spoke the words aloud that Yo Han realized how selfish they sounded.

The words made Ga On slide his hands over his face, turning his gaze back to the kitchen floor. And then, back to Yo Han.

“And I was… happy,” Ga On said almost as a secret, as if struggling with a slight curl of his lips. “Happier than I have been in a long time.”

The admission led only to more admissions. A flood of confessions seemed to pour out from Ga On.

“Yo Han, I’ve never been happier.” 

And if that were true, why did he seem so devastated, so sad? The reply came next:

“And I’ve never felt more guilty.”

Yo Han noticed he was holding his breath.

“Because it’s so, so unfair. All of it. That I can be so happy when she isn’t here. That I can be happy when she can’t.”

With each sentence, his breath shortened, the urgency mounted, and the pain overflowed.

“Because I couldn’t love her—not in the way she wanted, when she deserved it. I wonder if I had loved her that way, if… if I had chosen her completely. If I had done what she begged me to do.” a suffocating pause. 

Yo Han recalled what Ga On didn’t have the courage to say. He hadn’t forgotten Yoon Soo Hyun running after him, pleading for him to leave Ga On in peace, safe, obedient. 

“Perhaps she would still be here. Happy.”

And the worst part of it, perhaps, was that Yo Han understood. Living on the basis of “ifs.” 

If only he had noticed the fire sooner.

If only he had gone into the church with Elijah. 

If only he had grabbed her hand when it was surrounded by candles and pulled her onto his lap. 

Kang Isak would be alive. Elijah would have a father. He would have a brother. And, quite probably, he wouldn’t have Ga On.

The scale always tips to one side. Certain decisions are better left to fate—to let the coin flip.

When Yo Han thought Ga On had finished confessing, all that had been pent up in recent days finally began to release. He didn’t seem hesitant—rather, he felt lighter. Yet he still couldn’t face Yo Han.

“I love you. More than I can handle,” came Ga On’s soft, deliberate voice—a final confession, it seemed. He couldn’t hide the lingering sorrow in his mouth.

 And for some reason, Yo Han’s body froze even as his inner self warmed.

And with exasperation and absolute indignation, Ga On continued,

“And it’s so unfair that I feel so guilty about it,” now looking directly at Yo Han, because he had never liked to show any sign of being intimidated. “Because you also deserve to be loved freely—without reservations, without guilt.” And another kind of emotion was undeniable in those laden eyes. A quiet “And I want to do that” was whispered. 

Yet Yo Han heard every word.

Yo Han spent a few moments delighting in Ga On’s face, swallowing his own emotions to respond just right.

“As long as it’s yours, Ga On, I’ll want it anyway.”

It wasn’t the response Ga On had expected—that was clear. He opened his mouth once, twice, before choosing which way to go. Ga On felt raw, exposed.

“I distanced myself. Or I distanced you—because I’m constantly reminded of it, time and time again.”

Of love, it wasn’t explicitly said, but it was understood.

“I woke up two days later from the dream about her, and being by your side was unbearable. It was like waves of guilt carrying me away and then bringing me back.”

Ga On didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until he finally let it out. 

“Because I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. Not even her.”

Ga On might never know that he had just shattered some “ifs” that would haunt Yo Han’s mind for years. That’s just how he was.

And Yo Han trembled. What else could he do? Waves of relief washed over him as Ga On seemed to confess something deeply painful.

How can something that makes one incandescent cast so many shadows on another?

“Every time you touch me, I feel as if I’m catching fire. It burns everything and leaves no room for anything else.”

The anything else was also understood.

It became clear once again, and Yo Han found his voice. 

“You were punishing yourself.” It was sad and soft.

Ga On hesitated for a moment. Sometimes, speaking it aloud makes it all the more obvious—especially when it comes from the love of your life.

“I think so. Yes,” Ga On nodded in acceptance; his actions hadn’t simply vanished as he had imagined. “I didn’t want to feel anything but guilt.”

Guilt and love struggled in turn to take control of him. Yet neither was enough to completely overcome the other. Ga On understood that now.

And it became even clearer that much of that confession wasn’t for Yo Han. He was merely a bystander—perhaps one who shouldn’t even be there. That was Ga On allowing himself to be vulnerable. One more stage in his transformation.

Yo Han had always been adept at using the tools he had to his advantage. Ga On had just shown him another tool—a tool he could very well use if Ga On allowed it. 

He didn’t know how to make things better for Ga On.

 It pained him that Ga On’s love was so bittersweet and melancholic, while his own was decisive, irrevocable, and absolute. There was no turning back, but there was a way forward—a long road ahead.

If Yo Han had so much power over Ga On, he might very well use it. If Ga On allowed him.

So he took deliberate steps toward Ga On at a painfully slow pace, trying to close the distance between them while the barriers were not yet insurmountable. Ga On’s breathing quickened, and he seemed apprehensive.

Yo Han reached out his hand, giving the other a chance to pull away if desired—if it was still too soon. Ga On didn’t move.

Yo Han took it as an invitation. 

His left hand grasped Ga On’s waist—a mere touch—while his right rested on his cheek. Ga On’s eyes filled with water once again. Then he closed his eyes and leaned into Yo Han’s touch. The older man studied every micro-expression playing across Ga On’s gaze. 

The tug on his chest made it clear just how much power Ga On held over him. Simple as that.

Yo Han felt his breath mingle with Ga On’s as they brought their foreheads together, resting them there for a while. Ga On’s chest rose and fell—up and down—until a calm rhythm set in, his shoulders slumped, his defenses crumbled. And Yo Han caught a glimpse of the Ga On from seven days ago.

In that small space, Yo Han felt that words still mattered. He exhaled and allowed himself to confess as well.

“Yoon Soo Hyun.” 

It was a name that would always leave a lingering taste in his mouth—and he understood why. “I can understand her more than you imagine.”

That seemed to pull Ga On out of his trance, as he opened his eyes again—as if he couldn’t hide his curiosity. 

“All of her actions were out of love for you. And for that, I will always respect her.”

A flash of recognition passed through Ga On’s eyes. Yo Han let him absorb those words before adding,

“That’s why I’m asking you to believe me when I say that nothing would be more important to her than your happiness. Even if the object of that happiness isn’t her.”

Unspoken, Ga On clearly heard “me”.

Here, Yo Han was using Soo Hyun as a means to confess—allowing her to carry a few more words for Ga On. It’s true that you will never fully understand another human being unless you love them deeply.

Ga On couldn’t have been more grateful. So even as he burned, he closed the distance between them and allowed himself to be bathed in this confusion of feelings—a confusion of certainties.

As their lips intertwine, Ga On’s mind goes blank. As it always has. As it always will—part of him knows that.

Guilt—or any other lingering feeling—will only come when he opens his eyes. Most of the time, for long stretches, there is only love. 

Devotional, undeniable, overwhelming. 

Ga On decides to hold onto that for as long as he can. Because Yo Han deserves it—perhaps more than anyone. And so does he.

Yo Han’s eyes continue to trace his face, moving back and forth. 

Like waves. And he knows.

In a way, there, they found religion. There is no turning back after this.

[do-you-ship-it-polls]

Do you ship it?

[qpjianghu]

Yes yes you’re all irredeemable and unhinged and sociopathic but what if Mr. Sunshine Boy Kim Ga On cooked everyone dinner. What then

[clawbehavior]

what i truly appreciate about TDJ is that gaon grows to love yohan -- platonically for sure, romantically given the subtext -- because yohan allows gaon to show him his ugly. he encourages it! and vice versa. there's no intimacy like the intimacy that comes from unconditional acceptance.

it's such a wholesome message considering the number of love stories which feature a fundamentally changed character who through that sacrifice becomes worthy of that love and partnership. meanwhile yohan is smiling goofily at his injured hand and pressing it for blood like that's going to bring his health bar up to 100% before he smacks down enemies in the prison courtyard while gaon searches for his former mentor with only murder on his mind. love it

[tortibomb]

Ga-On is going to destroy the world with kindness! I am crying right now. This mother fucker could have been a murder kitten but he took the better road. Ga-On giving back to the fraud victims pulled on my heart strings. That had to be healing. I am sure it didn’t fix everything on the inside, but it definitely had to help. His little smile. 🥹

Ugh!!!!! He is so precious. He has such a good heart. ❤️

[lienwyn]

@sofapup17 and I were talking and decided that it would be very interesting to see Ga On wear this sweater (which was originally worn by Woo Do Hwan's character in the drama Mad Dog). And, being the responsible artist that I am, I of course had to draw it.

And, I mean, with Ga On looking like that?

Yo Han won't stand a chance.

[dumblefork]

Google why u lying

What about Gahan

Google

[prfct7act]

He sees the heat.

Vivid red. Steaming. Suffocating.

He recognizes the pattern. Sees it more than he feels it. What is more fire when you're already burning? It's an out-of-body experience. An entity that operates above everything else.

A thud.

It's the sound of something falling.

Desperate screams. Rhythmic sounds. His skin is on fire, but his insides are frozen. Down to the bone.

A dripping.

And then he's no longer surrounded by heat. Yet, he sees the flames reflected in the pupils of the one beneath him. Eyes bulging from the pressure around that neck.

His arms are locked around that body. Semi-flexed and unmoving. He couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. But he knows he doesn’t want to.

His eyes break away from those wide pupils to trace the face of the one who stirs so much rage in him. Bubbling. Seething. A candle with an eternal wick. The wick that wraps around the very throat.

Then it comes into focus.

Jeong Seon-a still bears the ghost of a smile, even with her crushed trachea. Static. Disfigured. The vision sharpens again. And then it’s a sequence.

Jeong Seon-a

Cha Kyung Hee

Jeong Seon-a

Heo Joong-Se

Jeong Seon-a

Min Jeong-Ho

His father

The faces blur. Form other personas. Yo Han can feel them choke, but presses harder. How long does it take for breath to be severed forever?

The mutations continue. Yo Han catches glimpses of familiarity. But he's too blind to notice until it becomes clearer.

And then—

Kang Isak.

His brother's face appears. And Yo Han falters. His hands loosen slightly. It must be some trick. Because Isak doesn’t deserve to be there. There's no damage, no collateral, tied to him. Because Yo Han doesn’t want there to be.

His hands loosen just enough for the figure to utter a whisper. A single name.

"Yo Han."

It’s unsettlingly familiar. He hears it like a broken sound, begging. It’s strange—none of them deserve to beg. He shifts to regain control. The pressure lessens for just a few seconds.

And it’s Ga On gasping for air.

It’s Ga On’s wide red eyes staring at him. He looks on the verge of fainting, weakly trying to release Yo Han’s hands from his trachea.

Yo Han lets go. As if burned. Strange.

His vision clears. And he's back in their room. With Ga On beneath him.

Sweat drips down his neck. He feels breathless.

But nothing compares to seeing Ga On choking for air, sinking deeper into the pillow, coughing.

"Ga On." A breathless plea, but Yo Han stays frozen, stuck above the younger man. Like a prisoner. Locked as in the dream seconds ago.

"I... I’m okay." Ga On can barely get it out. It’s a weak, ragged sound, more painful than Yo Han remembers.

Ga On had only ever felt Yo Han’s restrained strength. At least until today. His lungs were on fire. It hadn't been like this before.

Half-curled, Ga On is more worried about the aftermath.

"You... you had—" he tries to say through gasps of air, "a nightmare."

Different images flicker in Yo Han’s mind. For the first time in a long while, he can’t decipher what they mean.

"You could have died." A statement. Senseless and unnecessary in the moment. But true.

"You stopped." It comes low from Ga On’s sore throat. He already feels it scrape. It’ll take a few days to fully heal.

Finally, Ga On catches a glimpse of something he understands. There’s anger and disbelief in Yo Han’s face. A look he usually receives in response to impulsive actions. Disapproving.

Ga On doesn’t fully understand why he’s getting that look now. Well, not until he feels hands on his neck. The same from moments ago.

They slide, rough and firm, completely encircling. Instinctively, he feels himself following the hands’ movements, as if to avoid being crushed.

But now it’s different—the pressure is lighter, deliberate. It feels like a reminder, not an attempt on his life. Like before.

His body betrays him when Ga On gasps and his heartbeat speeds up. This time the concern isn’t for himself, but for Yo Han.

The hands tighten slightly more around his neck. Just enough pressure to bring color to Ga On’s face. Yo Han’s eyes scan him. That look that would rather hurt than be hurt. Pointless. Because Ga On knows.

"I’m not afraid of you." Ga On tries to say, weakly but determined, in response to that look. Because he understands what Yo Han is doing. It’s a poor attempt to reclaim control.

"Are you sure?" Yo Han’s half-lidded eyes fix on him and the grip tightens.

Ga On’s long past that stage.

It doesn’t hurt, but it irritates. Restricts just a bit of Ga On’s breathing. He feels marked. But he never was one to retreat—especially not in front of Yo Han.

"If you wanted me dead," comes out small, shaky, and broken. The word seems to provoke Yo Han further. Ga On forces himself to finish, "I’d already be."

Ga On’s heartbeat echoes in his ears. He sees himself reflected in Yo Han’s black eyes.

One

Two

A pressure pushes him deeper into the pillow. And then—relief.

He draws in a huge gulp of air, as wetness runs down his temples. He becomes aware of the ache in his head. He feels hot.

Yo Han releases his hands and crawls off of Ga On. He seems to choose to leave the trance. Moves to the edge of the bed, ready to leave the room. But an even more dangerous look clouds his vision. And Ga On is afraid.

"No!" The sharp sound breaks the silence. He turns toward Yo Han, still hunched over, clutching his own throat. It’s enough to make Yo Han falter. Just enough.

"Please." Ga On’s eyes stay wide, though now for a different reason. He sounds on the verge of panic. Tries to steady himself before continuing. He attempts to swallow. "I need you."

It’s a low blow, and he knows it. But he doesn’t care—not now. He feels like if he lets Yo Han out of his sight, something will shatter. And it’ll never be put back together.

And Ga On is tired. Tired of ultimatums. Of irreversibility.

That’s why, when facing the scarred fabric of the other man, whose fists clench and unclench, and shoulders tremble ever so slightly, Ga On continues—because he never knew when to stop. And doesn’t want to.

"Yo Han. Please." He repeats, his voice steadier now. Once he finally stops coughing.

It takes another five heartbeats for Yo Han to show defeat. Ga On realizes his heart is racing. With unnamed urgency, no longer familiar.

Yo Han turns to him. Hair falling over his forehead. A sheen runs over his body. He looks exhausted. Ga On feels a pang in his chest. It’s unfair.

The older man stays still. Unsteady on his feet. Well, as unsteady as someone like Kang Yo Han could look. His gaze doesn’t meet Ga On’s, but falls slightly lower.

Ga On realizes he hasn’t moved for a while. Frozen in the other’s presence. He releases his own throat, but still feels it—he knows it must be a deep red. And not in the way Yo Han would like.

It’s a lingering pain. The ghost of Yo Han’s hands still there. But he ignores it. Tries to sit upright again on the edge of the bed. Everything still burns.

They sit there, crushed by their own silence. A void Ga On hasn’t yet decided how to break. So much already feels broken tonight.

And it’s Yo Han who does.

"I’ll be right back." Comes in a soft sound, just enough for Ga On to hear. He says it while finally locking eyes with Ga On for the first time since pulling away.

Ga On remembers—he loves those hands.

His instinct is to protest, to say Yo Han needs to stay, that there’s no reason to leave. But those eyes fixed on his lead him to nod. It feels like a promise.

Ga On sighs with relief that he can still read that expression.

Yo Han leaves. The blood cools. Ga On becomes hyper-aware of everything, even with his eyes closed. Of himself. His body. The situation. He doesn’t have the strength to hate anything.

He makes a mental count. A safety measure.

He reopens his eyes when he feels Yo Han return to the room. A glass of water is offered to him. He stares. He’s not thirsty. But he accepts anyway.

He knows it won’t help. But drinks it anyway.

"I hurt you." Of course, it’s Yo Han who breaks the silence. A statement. True for what it is. But still, wrong. Ridiculous. And insufficient.

Ga On knows there won’t be a real discussion tonight. Not the kind that matters.

"It was an accident." A logical reply. Another statement. True. Insufficient. And wrong, to Yo Han.

"Does that matter?" A rhetorical question. Ga On reaches out to place the empty glass on the nightstand. It doesn’t matter to Yo Han. But it matters to Ga On. Of course it does.

It’s carelessness, more than anything else, that makes the glass wobble on the edge. Ga On hears the sound before seeing the glass shatter.

The shards scatter alarmingly close to Yo Han’s bare feet.

"I’m sorry." Ga On says instinctively. Automatically, as he starts to reach down to pick up the pieces.

Yo Han breaks his stillness to push Ga On’s hands away. Bending to the floor.

"Leave it." A minimal sound.

Ga On sits upright again. Watches as Yo Han, head lowered, picks up piece by piece of that transparency, gathering them in his own hand.

Ga On feels his eyes burn. He loves those hands.

"It matters to me." Ga On swallows and answers the question. A question is a question if the listener treats it as such.

Yo Han pauses, hands midair, just long enough for Ga On to know he heard. Before continuing to gather the glass in his left hand. He finishes collecting and throws the pieces in the nearest bin.

He no longer has an excuse—except to face Ga On again. Who urgently searches for his eyes.

Ga On pulls Yo Han’s hands back to his neck. Tilts his head to offer even more space.

"Then end it." Wrapping his hands over Yo Han’s, urging him to take his breath away. Ga On had already grown used to it.

Yo Han knows Ga On is trying to prove a stupid point.

He pulls away easily. Anti-climactic. Empty.

"You never knew when to stop." It comes robotic and dulled. Because Yo Han swears Ga On has no sense of self-preservation.

He feels anger vibrate beneath his skin. It’s old. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have felt it. It would’ve just existed, constant, already part of him. Now, it seems to echo through the room. He hears it buzz in his ears.

But he’s achieved his goals, in a way. Fulfilled his vows. Avenged, in direct faces. He doesn’t know what—or who—to direct it to. The dead don’t flinch before his rage.

He feels himself floating through the room. Only knows he’s moving, slowly, but restlessly, because he feels Ga On’s eyes following him. He doesn’t know how to fix it.

What do you do when the bitter taste lingers?

It’s dawn. A bluish light hits his face. That’s when he realizes he’s by the window. Five steps until he feels it.

A hand wraps around his. Slides down his arms. Down to his waist. Arms enfold him. Ga On’s cheek rests and rubs against his shoulder.

He feels the soft sweater fabric brush his bare back. It’s comforting in a way it shouldn’t be. Like it says everything’s okay. He can’t help but close his eyes.

"We keep going, Yo Han." It comes like a breeze—low, yet louder than anything else. In the silence. An answer to an unasked question. But one felt under the skin. Yo Han doesn’t know when it became so easy to read him. He hates it.

But again—you have to care enough to hate.

"That’s what we do." A final murmur. He feels his skin being soothed in slow circles. Everything about Ga On is comforting. He used to hate that. Never Ga On himself. Nor the effects. Just how susceptible he’d become. Undetectable until it was undeniable.

They don’t count time. No markers. They ignore the beats. Or any other percussion. They have nowhere to go. Yet they still echo.

Yo Han was never susceptible to the cold. He was always warm. Burning. Blue. Yellow. Red. Scorching, to the brink of unbearable. Maybe beyond.

But now, here, he sees a purplish hue. Feels a cold current swirl through the room. Feels the alarming chill of the hands that hold him. He inhales.

"It’s cold." Just barely audible, coated in casualness. Then, irresolute: "Go to bed."

Yo Han feels Ga On shift, just enough to sink deeper into him. Almost trapped.

"I’m fine." Comes as a vibration against his back. The smallest of expressions lift the corners of his eyes.

Finally, he touches Ga On’s arms, just to peel himself away for the third time tonight. Those deep eyes lock on him. Along with that red mark. Ga On always looks like he’s about to protest. When he’s not already protesting. It’s endearing.

The younger man threatens to speak, but Yo Han is faster—he pushes him toward the bed. Ga On is not some fragile thing, he remembers. Not a thin glass that shatters and can never be put back together. Never the same again.

Ga On sits on the bed, grabs the sheets, and doesn’t look at all pleased when Yo Han forces him to lie down. A scowl covers his face.

The protest dies when he sees Yo Han kneel on the bed. Arms wrap around him, and he’s pulled into an embrace. His face pressed to Yo Han’s chest.

He exhales and lets himself be enveloped in the warmth. There’s a rhythm to their heartbeats. They slow as Ga On feels his eyes grow heavy and lets sleep take him.

Comfortable. Floating. He doesn’t feel cold.

Yo Han has no defenses against the cold.

---

It’s bright.

Yo Han feels his eyes open. At some point, he must’ve drifted off. But he didn’t really sleep. Morning came as the specters faded. He has a vague memory of the flashes that danced behind his eyes. He feels exhausted. Numb.

His arms are empty—Ga On is no longer there. It’s rare for the younger man to wake up before him. But the sound of running water proves Ga On hasn’t gone far.

He remains there, blinking at the ceiling. Until he hears the thump of a door closing. Ga On emerges, rubbing his hair with a towel.

Droplets of water slide down his neck, chest. Some of it left to imagination.

Yo Han doesn’t really see any of it—except the band of color wrapped around his neck. The scarlet has deepened into a darker tone. It contrasts more starkly with his pale skin.

Ga On must notice he’s being watched, because instinctively, his hand goes to his throat. He looks unsettled.

"It’s not as bad as it looks." And his eyes flick away.

Yo Han steps closer—two paces from Ga On. But he doesn’t close the distance.

"Sit." A command Ga On doesn’t feel compelled to obey. But he does anyway. On a surface near the bed.

When Yo Han returns, he takes the spot in front of Ga On. The younger man keeps a wary expression. He feels Yo Han’s fingers touch his neck, followed by a thick, pasty substance.

The silence is more painful than anything else.

"It doesn’t hurt," Ga On says, feeling the need to fill the quiet, as the fingers stroke gently, almost reluctantly.

Yo Han lets a small smile show. Almost amused.

"Liar," he replies. Ga On hadn’t flinched—not even once. It's impressive. Yo Han continues applying the ointment.

Then he stops. His fingers still. His gaze travels across Ga On’s face and finally locks onto his eyes. Ga On doesn’t know why he feels so bare.

"I’m sorry."

"It wasn’t your fault."

Yo Han closes the jar and stands.

"Still." And disappears into the bathroom.

Ga On chooses a high-collared shirt.

—--------------------

They don’t talk about it anymore. Because what else is left to say? Yo Han’s nightmares haunt him. That much is known. Ga On has more ghosts than he’d like, too.

Still, the tension is suffocating. There’s no sign it’ll lift. Or dissipate.

That night, Ga On takes his side of the bed. Yo Han sticks to his. The lights are still half-on. Yo Han reads a book. He looks calm.

But Ga On still feels the air buzzing.

So he cuts through the silence.

"Shouldn’t we talk about it?" The first words of the night come out uneasy and anxious. Almost bubbling.

Yo Han flips another page.

"What do you want me to say?" His eyes don’t leave the paper.

Ga On ignores the question. Turns, positioning himself partially in front of Yo Han. In case he lifts his eyes from the page.

He’s never been known for his patience.

"Something’s bothering you." A statement, not a guess. Obvious. He tries to catch Yo Han’s gaze.

"Is it?" Yo Han murmurs with disinterest. Another page turns. Then a sigh—and the book is tossed aside.

He finally looks at him. And Ga On knows that look. Equal parts restraint and rage. Simmering.

"Nothing you don’t already know." Yo Han gestures vaguely—his voice tight, clenched between his teeth.

"Yeah. A mutual agreement. Already settled," Ga On agrees. And concludes, "But you’re still distant."

Yo Han blinks. Ga On almost misses the faintest twitch of his lips.

"I’m right here next to you." It’s a blank, detached tone. Almost bored. But Ga On knows better.

"No. Don’t treat me like that." Because they’ve long passed that stage. "I’m not some disposable pawn," he finishes, drowning in his own frustration.

"No, you’re not," comes the reply. Instantly.

Yo Han stares at him. That hollow mask starts to crack. Almost imperceptibly. Almost.

He exhales.

"It’ll pass. Eventually, I’ll miss you," he says, disturbingly casual. "I already do." That last line comes a beat later. The rhythm shifts as he adds, "And I’ll hold onto you. Tighter each time. Hoping I don’t break you."

Ga On likes to think he knows Yo Han. And he does. More than he knows himself. But sometimes, the things that come out of that man’s mouth are unexpected.

"And you already know that," Yo Han adds, almost like a belated thought.

And it’s true. He had warned Ga On. Yo Han had made it clear—if Ga On chose him, there’d be no turning back. Because Yo Han would have him, in every possible way. A stupid clause, if you asked him. One that only mattered if Ga On ever wanted to go back. He never did.

But Ga On also knew Yo Han’s love was unconditional. Unconditional so that Ga On’s choices could remain his own. Above everything. Even this.

And of course, it’s not about the mark on his neck. It became a mere reminder of all the other ways a person can break. Of how many forms of influence someone can be bent by.

"I’m not that fragile." After what feels like hours, Ga On finally responds. Because that says it all.

"I know." It comes instantly. Because it’s not about that either. "But you’re still capable of falling apart. I’ve seen it happen. More times than I’d like."

It’s not about how much he can bend—but about how much force can be applied.

"And despite all that, I’m still here," Ga On adds. "I understood and accepted your terms. I don’t know what we’re arguing about here."

"You have no sense of self-preservation, Ga On. You give everything," Yo Han shoots back, more urgent now, the rhythm quickening, though his voice remains measured. "There’s no room left for anything else."

Ga On is overwhelmed by exhaustion. Because they’ll never meet in the middle.

"Stop acting like there’s even a threat to begin with." His voice rises, frustration bleeding through. Because he knows what Yo Han is going to say. His words nearly prove Yo Han’s point. So he keeps going—determined to cut him off. "You forget that I understand you. More than anyone in this world. Maybe not completely, like I’d like to. But more than enough."

Yo Han watches him for a few seconds. Looks ready to argue again.

"Do you trust me?" It cuts the air. Absolute silence.

A long breath.

"Yes." Yo Han answers. And adds, "Irredeemably."

And that only proves Ga On’s point. Because everything about Yo Han is deep. Absolute. Never half-measures. Total surrender.

He accuses Ga On of it—but can’t see it in himself.

They are alike.

"Then trust me when I say there’s no threat here." It hits like a final blow. No room for argument. A truth born from lived experience.

He watches Yo Han’s expression shift into a side-smile. His eyes flick to something beyond Ga On. He looks proud.

"You’re a good judge." A light remark, but true. It sounds like a confirmation—and an acceptance of Ga On’s argument. He wants to feel more victorious.

Ga On mirrors the smile. Then feels his hand being taken and pulled closer. In part, he’s already won.

Yo Han stares at him deeply.

"Okay." A small word, but in this context, it carries weight. "As you wish."

Once again, Yo Han pledges to keep respecting Ga On’s choices. In the absolute way only he knows how. Sacrificial, like he learned in childhood. But selfless, like he learned later.

Still, Yo Han hopes he doesn't shatter him.

.

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