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hongism · 1 year

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mists of celeste ➻ 50

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ word count: 17.1k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language ➻ summary: Months into your stay aboard The Horizon, it becomes apparent that things are not as cut and dry as you thought, and that you might have bitten off more than you could chew with this crew.

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──────────── act seven ➻ part two

The transport can barely hold the entirety of your crew as it stands now — your extra guests included — and it makes for a rather cramped setting. Part of that feeling could be due to how San stands close to you still, his hand overlapping yours on the handle hanging down from the ceiling of the vehicle as you stick to the edges where it gives you a clear view out the windows. Hongjoong’s figure lingers in your peripherals, seated not far from where you’ve parked yourself, but as the rest of the crew fidgets to make themselves comfortable, San shifts to block your line of sight with the captain. You turn to the right and look across the transport. Mirroring you on the opposite end stands both Berserkers, but it’s Mingi who you make direct eye contact with. In a movement that’s invisible to all but prying eyes, he shakes his head every so slightly left and right.

It’s a pointless gesture, as you had already settled to resign yourself to the fate Hongjoong laid out for you in this mission. Maybe he’s simply warning you against fighting back again. Maybe he’s answering some unknown question you haven’t even thought to ask yet. He knows more than he lets on, that much is true, and now you know it for certain given his presence at the pinnacle of your humiliation thus far.

You’ve been asking yourself what your defiance is for a great many times since sharing that conversation with him, however, for better or for worse. The answer is always the same anyway.

The transport lurches as it moves off the dock. Far below, the waters running through the gorge glisten with the sunshine reflecting off its surface. Though a vibrant bright green, the color appears more milky than it is clear even at this distance, and thick tendrils of fog paint the darker corners of the base of the gorge. A far cry from the beauty you saw waiting across the dock, what lies below doesn’t look at all inviting.

Beside you, San is picking at a loose thread on his form-fitting top, and you lightly swat his hand away from the spot before he pulls a hole in the fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs just quietly enough to avoid prying ears.

“Hey,” you echo back. Silently, you push your body closer to his until you’re close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“Nervous?”

“A bit.”

San presses his cheek against the side of your head.

“Just like any other mission. You’ve got this.”

“One without you. And Seonghwa.”

San tuts gently as he leans further down to your ear. “But with Jongho and Mingi.” He passes you as reassuring a smile as he can manage, and it does little to ease the bundle of nerves coiling in your gut. Your brief time in the open air on this planet was enough to make your skin crawl and itch. “I would go if I could,” he continues, and his gaze flits like he wants to look back over his shoulder at his captain but thinks better of it at the last second.

The barge lurches to a halt, and you lay a hand against San’s jacket to keep yourself steady when your body threatens to throw you backward. He covers your fingers with his own, remaining that way until everyone has filed out of the transport. A man stands beside the doors, though he isn’t much of a friendly face with the way a scowl seems to be permanently etched into his features. He shoves something into your hands and then into San’s before slapping the side of the transport to signal for the doors to shut.

“Remember protocol unless you’re looking to be outta your damn minds!” he yells across the small crowd that forms your crew. One glance down shows you that he’s handed you a gas mask, and everyone around you bears a matching one. He wears one similar, bound around his neck with a clasp that must be like the one attached to the back of yours. San silently takes it from your grasp and brings it up and around your neck — a crude echo of a romantic gesture one might do with a real necklace. “Masks up when the church bell rings three times at night, no later than that. Kid’ll need a smaller one from one of the stalls in the market, so be sure to get ‘im one before nightfall. As for where you stay at night, be sure to find some reputable spot with air filters. Otherwise, you’ll be wanting to wear them masks while you sleep too.”

“Gas masks and air filters…” you mutter as you thumb over the item now attached to your neck. “What’s up with this place?” San hums and steps to your side. He falls into step alongside you, and in that same moment, Yeosang deigns to turn where he stands and look you over.

“Natural hallucinogens in the air. They come up from the water below. When the sun is out, you will be unaffected because the heat from the sunlight prevents the toxins from spreading beyond the water so much, but once the sun sets, it becomes potent enough to enter your bloodstream and settle in your system. At that point, you wouldn’t be able to tell reality from whatever fantasy your mind conjures up for you.”

Your fingers tighten around the gas mask.

"What a lovely vacation spot for us then," San grumbles.

However, despite that inherent danger now looming over your head, the town ahead is quite visually stunning, and its intrigue only grows as you walk into the streets alongside the crew. Hongjoong, of course, hangs near the front as both your captain and the one who knows where you're all headed. Jongho and Yunho drift back to where you and San walk close enough to touch hands, but neither one of you makes the move to do so. It's sharply contrasted to how Wooyoung walks beside Yeosang a few steps away, with such little space between them that their shoulders overlap and Wooyoung's feet threaten to collide with Yeosang's at every step. Cute, in a sense, and a welcome sight given the falling out you had witnessed some time ago now, but it still lingers in your memory every time you look at them interacting. Off to your right, Mingi has found a place beside Luca, and on the other side stand the other three recent additions to your crew. It only leaves one unaccounted for, but the soft sounds of footsteps behind you give you a clear enough idea as to where Seonghwa is.

You've been refused the pleasure of sensing his emotions since your more explosive fight. Though you haven't done the same to him in return; if anything, you hope that he can feel the sharp edges of your anger each time you look at him.

You must be scowling now at the mere thought of the man because San’s fingers dance across your knuckles before securing his index finger around your pinky — a display of affection discreet enough to hide from prying eyes.

“I don’t like the vibes of this place,” Yunho mutters from a few steps ahead of you. He coughs as you pass by a pillared torch that burns purple flames and opaque smoke across the streets. Given their multitude on either side of the cobbled roads, you’d make the safe assumption that these are meant to be street lamps to light the streets, minus the electricity, and it would make a good amount of sense for the atmosphere to shift the color of the flames in some manner. Though there hardly seems any need for the lights when you were so adamantly warned against setting foot outside after dark, unless the natives ignore such warnings for themselves.

“This is where we’ll be staying for the duration of our stay here!” Hongjoong’s voice booms back across the group, and when he turns around to face his crew, your eyes glance across each other for a split second before they fall to the man behind you. “You’re welcome to go in and make yourselves comfortable, or you can explore the city as you see fit. Everyone stay connected over the comms channel and be indoors by dark.”

The group disperses for the most part, though you stay close to San’s side, content to follow him instead of deciding what to do yourself. The building is nice enough: simple in its design and very minimal in terms of windows, but you suppose that makes sense given what you’ve been told of this place thus far. It blends in with the other buildings on the street with its dark brown wood and ivory trim, and the lanterns that hang from the overhang of the roof bear the same purple-hued flames that the streetlamps do. It does make everything bear a sort of ominous atmosphere to a certain extent — it would be far more unsettling in the dark, as most things are — but a promised safe haven is simply that: a safe haven.

“You—” Hongjoong lunges for Yunho’s arm as the man tries to turn into the hostel “—keep close to me. Normies are particularly desired in places like these.”

As Seonghwa steps around you to head for the doors, his glare on the back of Yunho’s head is as apparent as it is heavy. Yunho himself is equally caught off guard as he is confused, but he receives no further explanation beyond that simple ominous statement.

“I’ll get everything sorted and take care of the payments,” he says to the captain, earning nothing more than a firm nod and a wave of Hongjoong’s free hand. His gaze sticks even when Hongjoong’s does not. While the only witnesses to the affront are you and San, it's still uncomfortable to a high degree. It doesn't continue for much longer at least, as the man finally steps through the door to the hostel and leaves the rest of you in silence. Your gaze drifts over to view San’s side profile. He glances down to look at you in return, eyes turning to pretty crescents, and you loop your hand around his elbow.

"I imagine this won't be a stress-free trip as we wish it to be," he whispers, pulling you closer to his body as you start to follow behind Hongjoong and Yunho. You can’t respond right away. The pair ahead of you pulls your focus for a moment, in a stance so similar to your own with San that it causes realization to dawn on you.

“We’re okay, right?” you ask out of the blue. For a moment you think San hasn’t heard you, but he very clearly has based on how stiff his expression becomes. Lie to me. I’m so desperate for your lies.

“Yeah,” he nods, “we are.” It tastes sweet and feels heavy on your skin.

“You know, Y/n, it was San who recommended that you have an important role in this mission.” Hongjoong’s voice slices through you at a diagonal, hunting the spot where it will hurt the most like it’s for sport, and his timing is so apt that you believe he’s heard the words exchanged behind him. You don’t give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. San lifts his free hand to lay it over the one you have secured around his elbow like he fears you letting go but your grip is still firm. Nails dig into his exposed skin. You know it will leave a mark.

San’s face is ripped to shreds with a mixture of regret and sympathy. His expression is too genuine for you to find any deception in it.

“I didn’t think he would take it seriously, I… in retrospect, I must look fucking stupid because I thought that he would take both of us on the mission.” San’s eyes drop to the ground. “I asked to go. I wasn’t expecting him to choose Yunho over me.”

Again, Hongjoong pushes himself into a conversation not meant for him.

“San isn’t fully healed to the point of mission clearance. Both of our resident doctors said as much, for differing reasons.” You wish that the claws he’s dug deep beneath San’s skin to twist around his heart and make him do as he pleases were not so tightly wound. You wish you could know with certainty that removing them would not kill San in the process. You wish you could know that the blood seeping from San’s chest in the aftermath would not be on your hands.

None of those things are certain or doomed to change, however, and you must remain firmly in place where you are with San and hope for an outcome other than agony by his side.

The captain reaches down between his body and Yunho’s, and you watch the man lace his fingers through Yunho’s in a way that almost seems natural enough to believe that it’s a regular occurrence. Nothing more than an attempt to keep the man by his side, however, and you turn your chin away from the sight partly because you feel like you’re encroaching.

“Go on and pick out whatever you need,” Hongjoong’s voice sounds far sweeter than you know the man to be, with a sort of melodic lull to how he speaks that makes your skin itch. This sort of intimacy is unnatural for him. You cannot tell whether it’s genuine or not either. The tips of Yunho’s ears are stained red; you can see as much from where you stand despite the man’s efforts to keep his head firmly forward. “Do you want me to get you anything nice while we’re here?”

“It’s fine.” His tone is as stiff as he is, yet his hand clings to Hongjoong’s like the other man will let go at any second and he can’t bear the thought of such a thing happening. “We just need to restock some medicines, and I want to see what they have in the way of ingredients. I imagine they’ve got lots of local stuff I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else. It would be nice to try some new stuff. Do you think there’s an apothecary nearby? Having some options other than pills would be good… the locals ought to have some recipes I can’t get anywhere else. Oh, and painkillers! I’m running low, I could have sworn I had a few extra bottles in stock—”

“You mentioned you had forgotten to restock them last week.”

“Ah, did I?” Yunho finally dares to glance down at the man walking alongside him. Despite the clear question in his tone, what you can see of his expression from his side profile does not match that — because what do a sharp stare and taut frown have in common with confusion?

“You’ve been frazzled lately; it’s understandable.” Hongjoong turns to look up at him in return, and a smile that’s soft around the edges pulls at the corners of his lips. His free hand moves up to brush down the strays in Yunho’s bangs. “Let’s pick up some more just in case you're unsure, yeah?”

“Do you wanna sneak away on our own?” San’s voice comes from close to your ear, closer than you expect it to be, and you inhale sharply as your gaze tears off the discomforting scene unfolding feet ahead of you. He’s already pulling you away before you even offer up a few nods in response, and if Hongjoong or Yunho notices your departure, neither one comments on it. You quickly discover, however, that you are not alone in your discomfort as San speaks again under his breath. “They weren’t speaking at all days ago and now he acts all domestic like that with Yunho as though nothing happened… it’s infuriating to watch.”

“Not at all surprising though, is it?” your words come out through a mutter. You expect some level of retaliation from San given how staunchly he’s defended Hongjoong to you in the past, but now he’s quiet. “Love isn’t easy.”

“Love’s not, but what he does is.”

What he does to Yunho and Seonghwa both — those things should not be considered love to any degree, but you aren’t sure how a man such as Hongjoong shows love. If he feels it at all, that is.

"I'm not sure there's a single one of us who has done it perfectly, I suppose," San continues after a breath of hesitation. "But we can try. To mend the wounds we may cause by accident along the way, and to meet others halfway. Learn how best to love." He doesn't look at you directly but the words are spoken into your heart and soul. You cling to his arm tighter still.

Is this real or am I lying with a lion intent on devouring me for the sake of another?

San gives you his love, and you do not doubt that one bit — those around him have vouched for his fragile heart and kindness far too much for you to doubt him to that degree. There is simply a line in the sand you cannot decipher, where San’s love intersects with Hongjoong’s influence over him. You don't wish to think of these things as of now, however. This trip is meant to be a vacation to some degree, even though you're tasked with other things, and you want to take a vacation from thinking about your captain and his manipulative bullshit as well.

“Did you do this sort of thing often? Before I joined the crew, I mean.” San resituates your hand so that it now sits encased in his, and he pulls it down to dangle between your bodies. The action feels natural, coming with an inherent comfort that makes your heart pulse with emotion.

“From time to time here and there. I wouldn’t say we made a habit of it by any means, but it was a whole lot harder to take trips like this when the crew was more full.”

“Not even after the crew got smaller?”

“Oh, we had a few! But Hongjoong was—” San pauses and his face contorts a little before he continues “—working himself to an early grave at that point. Early on, we took a small trip when it was just Jongho and me on the crew. Hongjoong was doing business, of course, and Seonghwa was still in the phases of not letting him go off anywhere alone, so Jongho and I got to have something of a break.” The memory must be a rather fond one given how wide the smile that pulls at his lips is. “After Hongjoong discovered Jongho in the cargo bay, he changed course to Yuki and we stopped at Rohtah for a short while. Mostly for Captain to find some fresh faces for the crew, so I had to be at his beck and call when necessary. Jongho and I got to bond quite a bit during that trip though so it was… really nice. One of the most pleasant memories I have of being with the crew. At least until Yunho came along! He made the atmosphere so much livelier once he came along, and we started to do some recreational stuff on the ship instead of saving it for when we were planetside. Things we still do now like cards and games, and Jongho got a guitar at one of our stops so we started having music nights and — and everyone would be there, and Hongjoong was there and he would actually be there with us. Not in the corner of the room doing that thing he does where he just stares at us like we’re part of a different world that he can’t join in on.”

San’s rambling is endearing, complete with a sort of child-like excitement that makes his face light up, and you wish desperately that you could share in those happy memories of his with the same joy that he seems to be experiencing at present. Melancholy cuts through it with a jagged edge too, however, making the smile break before it reaches his eyes. The nights where the whole crew partakes in games and fun are so few and far between that they seem distant, and you’ve only seen Jongho pull the guitar from his room on a handful of occasions when you’ve occupied space in the ship for a decently long amount of time now.

“It was inevitable,” San continues just as you’re parting your lips to offer him some kind of comfort, “in many ways. The crew grew too large to keep that atmosphere. We didn’t even have rooms to ourselves at the height of the Scourge’s reign of terror over the starry skies; I shared with Jongho back then, and Yunho before that for a while. The ship was crowded as hell to the point where you couldn’t so much as walk outside the bathroom in your own room without seeing another person there, but it felt so lived in.” You’ve lost sight of Hongjoong and Yunho at this point, and as you continue to walk further into the city, the streets are filling out with the hustle and bustle of locals going about their days. “The Horizon was rarely quiet back then, and I can’t imagine how that impacted our Berserkers, even the several we had outside Jongho and Mingi. It was jarring going from that to… what was virtually silence in the halls.”

“Do you miss those days?” you ask. San’s eyes wander from stall to stall, occasionally searching the doors and signs hanging from buildings along the way.

“Yes and no. I so preferred it when the crew was small and close-knit the way it was before. And even though it’s small now…” Gaze becoming distant, San slows to a halt in the midst of the cobbled street. You don’t push him to keep moving and instead just pull yourself next to him without a word. “Someone ruined that peace we had before. There are still nights where I lie awake, incapable of even closing my eyes because I wish so badly that I had snapped his neck when I had the chance, even if it risked my captain’s hatred and punishment. I wish I hadn’t been a weapon then so that I could’ve acted on my own accord, to do what needed to be done and spared everyone the horror that followed. But that’s not how the universe wanted it to play out, I suppose.”

“Why did Hongjoong not kill that man?” you inquire under your breath, barely looking over at San out of the corner of your eye. He seems all too eager to kill me if I so much as breathe in his direction the wrong way. How could he not kill someone who truly betrayed him so deeply?

“That’s a question for him, not me.” San’s lips twitch in a sorry attempt at a smile. “I have wondered the very same myself for a long time though, so you aren’t alone in your wonder. Come on, I saw a stall over on this side that I wanted a closer look at.” You find some reassurance in the knowledge that San is as unaware as you are, for once, but that creeping thought makes you feel worse about yourself so you push it to the side and let San guide you over to one of the street vendors.

“Come to look at my wares, young ones?” An elderly woman greets you with creased eyes and a smile that brings wisened lines out of her face. “I have all sorts of honeymoon jewelry if that’s what you’re looking for!”

You glance over at San in a panic, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips and you can’t fight it nor can you pinpoint where it comes from to begin with. He’s biting back a grin himself, one that’s a tad more reserved than your own, though his gaze doesn’t fall away from the lady’s for a second.

“Please, show me your favorite pieces. We aren’t married but I would like to find something nice for my partner nonetheless.”

“Not married yet, I see, I see. There’s still time yet! Our little city here is quite the romantic getaway if you know the right places to look, and if you’re up for a little adventure.” You look up from the display of jewelry before you only to make direct eye contact with the woman from across the stand, and she passes you a more than a little obvious wink that makes you exhale what can only be described as a pained laugh. Without thinking too deeply about it, your hand drifts towards a set of earrings on the display case.

"Do you like those?" San asks, eyes flitting over to watch your movements closely. You lay your hand flat against the glass as you lean forward a hair and take a closer look at them. Simple, silver, no gems adorning them, and clearly hand-twisted metal that winds itself into the shape of a curved seven. One of the two has a chain attached to it, short but with a cylindrical shape dangling downwards.

"They're pretty," you murmur before withdrawing your hand and smiling at the woman.

"These are a special set, yes," she hums, "the chime here is a charm of protection." She opens the case and lifts one of the cuffs out, showing off the piece in its full glory with the chime tinkling as she moves it. The sound isn't obnoxious, more like a softer version of the windchimes you saw outside some of the buildings on your walk, and the metal is so polished that you can see your distorted reflection in it. "It is meant to ward off foul intentions and spirits if blessed by a loved one. A very charming piece indeed."

"Ah…" comes your quiet noise of acknowledgment, and the woman reaches out to lift your hand with her own, exposing your palm to the sky as she sets the piece there and nods towards you. You understand the implication of her action, and if you were a bit more bold in that area of things, you would ask San to give his blessing with no shame. It shouldn't be difficult for you either considering how the old woman has already clocked the two of you as a couple, but it feels far too intimate to ask San to do something like that in front of her. Hell, you don't even know if he believes in such acts or if you do yourself really. Would it be too much to ask from him or—

San's hand comes across your vision and covers your palm briefly, and when he pulls away the piece of jewelry is gone from your hand. He clasps his hands together in front of him and lifts them to his face, lips brushing against his thumb as he mouths unknown words against it. In a way, he seems like a man praying before an altar. When his eyes snap back open, he unfolds his hands and presses a kiss to the earring.

"There." San's focus turns to you in that moment, and your eyes meet, and there's a second in which your heart clenches so tightly in your chest that it burns. Your chest aches, eyes stinging from the sudden onset of emotion you see in San’s gaze, and you can do nothing but stand completely still. "Does it go this way?"

You get a moment to breathe again when he diverts his attention back to the shopkeeper so that she can show him which side to put the piece on. Yet when he comes back to you, his hand is reaching up to move the hair around your right ear out of the way, and you can't keep from clasping your fingers around his forearm just to secure yourself to the man in some way. His fingers are hot against your skin (or maybe your ears are flaming with embarrassment) but the metal is blessedly cool as he secures it in its proper place.

"Is it comfortable?" he inquires through the same cat-like grin you recall him wearing the first time you laid eyes on each other. The memory hits you out of nowhere, flashing before your eyes in a split second. Here you are all this time later, in a position and a place you never imagined you would find yourself in, and there's so much love in you as he moves your hands together so that you can cling to him better.

"Yes, it's perfect," you reply. Love blooms so beautifully before your eyes and in your chest as he tucks his chin to his chest and hides glowing cheeks and red-tinged ears.

Turning back to the elderly lady, you find her waiting with the other cuff in hand, and you take it from her with a quiet word of gratitude.

"I'd like these two pieces as well, please," San requests, though you can't see what he's pointing to clearly, and your heart won't calm down enough to let your thoughts return to normal coherence. So, you leave it be and busy yourself with tucking the second cuff around your other ear on your own while San collects his items and pays the woman with his credit chip. He tucks everything into his pocket once she hands them over, and she sends the two of you off with an excited wave.

“I hope all goes well for the two of you. May the spirits watch over you.”

“Thank you, may the spirits watch over you.” San bows his head at her before the two of you walk away. He tilts his head towards yours, whispering as close to your ear as he can get without knocking your heads together. “This city is very firm in spirituality and religion. When I looked at a map with all the buildings shown, I found at least six churches in a fairly small radius. But the spirit shops can be found practically on every street corner depending on what road you’re on. On our walk into the city, I heard almost every native say that phrase in farewell to those they were talking with, so it must be something customary regardless of belief.”

You reach up to toy with the chime hanging from your ear.

“Is that why you blessed this then?”

“Maybe I… an added layer of protection never hurts, especially in our line of work. Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

“San.”

He reaches around your side and pinches your waist between his fingers, a laugh on his lips that echoes against the soft tinkling of wind chimes in the air.

“Come, let’s keep wandering around before we’re called back to our captain’s side.”

────────────

Evening comes quickly, and with it something you dread. The slight consolation you have is that you’re less and less apprehensive with each meeting you have with the therapist-psychologist-psychiatrist medley that is Minho, but it doesn’t keep you from fidgeting in the seat you find yourself in now. Seated outside, the sun has yet to dip under the edge of the mountain range so you can still enjoy the outdoor air some without fear of insanity or whatever else night may bring. Said doctor sits near you, mulling over a mug of what seems to be coffee based on the aroma hanging about your small shared table, and he too watches the edge of the mountains.

“What’s been on your mind recently?”

Despite anticipating such a question, you let out a noise akin to a ‘hm’ and let silence pull back over you.

“A lot and nothing at all, at the same time. And you?”

Minho grins but it’s clear that he does not appreciate your attempt at a joke. “I’m enjoying fresh air and nature that is not confined to a rocky and putrid desert. Our last little planetside visit was far from pleasant vacationing scenery, no?”

“Unless one enjoys freezing winds and bland landscapes, but yes, I’ll agree with you on that.”

The doctor clears his throat around a mouthful of coffee, and you know it’s as subtle as he’s going to be about prompting you to shift the subject to other things. Minho is nothing if not a patient man, however, for better or for worse. You have no way out here, and he is not going to prompt you for a response so your only option here is to answer him.

“I have been having a hard time understanding some people on the crew. Their motives and intentions with me — that sort of thing,” you admit while squinting at the table. In your peripheral, you catch Minho’s glance and continue speaking before he can even begin to ask you to elaborate. “It’s hard to find the line between where they’re being genuine and where they’re trying to get something out of me. I did try to solve the problem on my own. I spoke to someone about it, and yet that led to a rabbit hole and now I find myself doubting much of what I thought to be true. That line of thought only makes me wonder further though. I didn’t doubt so much before. Now I can’t determine whether I was blissfully in the dark or if I’m being led to believe things that are untrue.”

You jerk your chin to the left and stare your companion down, hoping that he’ll understand you’re done venting for the time being. He raises his brows at you over the edge of his mug without ceasing his movements, and after what seems to be a purposefully drawn-out sip, he leans back in his chair and rests the mug on his thigh.

“Interpersonal relationships are difficult by nature. When there are two people close to you saying things that are at odds with each other, it becomes harder. How does one decide who is telling the truth? Are they perhaps both telling some portion of the truth? If you lean more towards one side then does that make you biased? Does it mean you care for one more than the other? Sometimes we fear how our reactions will affect relationships more than what the truth truly is.”

“I do trust one more than the other,” you add through a slight shake of your head. Minho jolts forward a little with an inhale as his lips part to speak again.

“I anticipate that you will not want to use actual names when discussing this, so how about we use hypothetical names in place of them?”

“I’m certain you already know,” you counter in the same breath.

He matches your tone as it drops to a whisper. “What I know or don’t know is not important. This is for your comfort. If bringing their names into this makes you feel uncomfortable or as though you are blaming them, then using fake names can mitigate those feelings. Call them anything — day, night, tree, rock, stone, fuckass and shithead even — whatever you please.” His words have their intended effect in making you let out a breathy laugh.

“I trust… Rock more than I trust Stone.” That goes without saying really because you have known San (or Rock rather) far longer than you’ve known Nightingale. “But Rock doesn’t always answer my questions and often speaks around my questions in such a way that it makes me have doubts. I don’t need him to tell me everything, of course, and I do trust him more than Stone by a landslide. It’s just that what Stone said threw me off.”

“Why are you so quick to take Stone for his word if you trust Rock more?”

“Because it was so eerily close to reality that I was frightened.”

“Did you ask if Stone knew about your reality? Or ask Rock if he spoke about it with Stone before your conversation?”

“I — I didn’t even think to.” Minho is watching your face very carefully, a wry smile planted on his lips. “I’ll do so though.”

“That might be worth a try,” he answers in the same kind tone as always. “Start there, and if the results are not enough to ease your concerns, then we can revisit the conversation at another time.”

“I like that idea.”

“Do you feel more comfortable speaking with me these days, Y/n?”

“I do,” you say, though Minho hardly looks convinced by your answer. “I really do. It’s far easier to have a second voice to offer an opinion. Even if the topics still do make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, that feeling is natural. Those who find it easy to disclose the deepest and darkest parts of themselves to others are often either unaware of their flaws or hiding some pain. We as humans tend to realize what things might be perceived as bad or ugly to others, and thus there is some extent of shame surrounding talking about those things. Even if the perceptions come from stigma.”

“I wouldn’t say I fear your judgment necessarily.”

“Then, shall we try something a bit different today?” Minho’s words are accompanied by the unwelcome noise of his chair scraping against cobbles, and you twist at the waist to follow him with your gaze as he moves away from the table. “Would you be open to laying down over here on your back?” He gestures down towards a bench not far away, one close to the tree that the whole courtyard is centered around, and without verbal response, you move to do as asked.

There’s no need to bother with asking what he wants you to do this for; that question would result in a snarky ‘you’ll see’ or a quick ‘is that a no then’. So, you seat yourself on the bench and lay flat against the cool stone until all you can see are the branches of the tree and bits of darkening sky over your head.

“Close your eyes. I want you to envision your parents first.” Minho’s voice moves around your head, from ear to ear. You see nothing behind your eyelids though, not even a wisp of an idea of the people who are supposed to be so fundamental and crucial in a person’s memories. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions. There’s no need to answer them verbally to me but try to answer them to yourself to the best of your ability. Did you know your parents? What did they look like? What role did they have in your life? What were they like as parents? As people?”

The sole memory you have of them is nothing more than figments and knowledge that was passed onto you by another.

“Happy birthday, my darling. I can hardly believe you’re seven already!” The first voice to touch our ears is deep enough to be that of a man, and the second comes out more feminine and has a certain warmth to it that catches you off-guard.

“Dear, they’re waiting outside.”

“Just… give me but a moment with our child, Marina. They won’t die if I take a few minutes to celebrate our daughter’s day.”

Your father at the very least seemed to love you. Perhaps your mother did as well, in some odd and convoluted way.

“If you can’t recall them well, then a childhood friend? What of them?”

Wooyoung is the most obvious answer to that question, though only because you are aware that you should remember him from your childhood. That remains just as hazy, however, with nothing more than tiny fragments that you have been trying hard to piece together for some time now. He was your childhood friend. Bread boy. Tsukio. The boy with lavender hair who reached for your hand in unending waters time and time again before he could finally reach you.

“Now yourself? Who were you as a child, Y/n? What games did you play? What did you wish to be when you grew up and what did you become? What led you to join the military, pushed you to forget everything and start over?” Minho’s questions are coming too rapidly now for you to keep up with, and you let a noise of frustration slip from your lips as you try to find the answers to everything in your mind. “It’s okay to get frustrated and annoyed. That’s part of the process. But don’t give up quite yet.” His voice comes to a standstill somewhere behind your head, but it still sounds somewhat far and away. “Your identity changed at a certain point, did it not? When you were fourteen years old and decided to take that serum to forget everything that had happened to you before. Who were you in the military?” A killer. “What was your rank, your position, your duty, your unit — what was your purpose?” To kill. “Who were you and what did you become?”

“The Ghost of Eros,” you say aloud without thinking. Something touches your shoulder without warning and every muscle in your body tenses at the sudden breach of focus. Your eyes snap open in hopes of finding the offending touch, but instead, you make eye contact with Minho, who now crouches beside the bench near your head with a very firm and unnerving stare settled on you.

“Who were you before joining the Scourge’s crew?”

Frustration creeps in a second time because you don’t get it. Minho is trying to make a point with all of this, and you still don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to convey to you.

“The Ghost of Eros.”

“And who are you now?”

You sit up, forcing his hand to fall away from your shoulder, and all you can do for several seconds is stare at your lap while shaking your head.

“I’m… it hasn’t changed? I’m still as I was.” Your eyes seek to find Minho once again for answers. He smiles back at you.

“Exactly. You are still the Ghost of Eros, but you need to let yourself believe that again. Your strength didn’t go away, just as you told me that your skills are still with you. Your willpower, intelligence, the things that brought you out of that place you were in — those are skills just the same, and they have not gone away. So you need to stop believing that they have.”

“I-I don’t — what are you trying to get at?” His words seem so intentional and pointed that it makes your head spin somewhat. What does he know that you don’t?

“You are equipped to withstand any trial set before you. Yet when we have these discussions, I find a deep-rooted sense of self-doubt in you. Whether that comes from the confusion of not wholly knowing who you are or from the influence of external forces, it is a hard thing to uproot and remove. I cannot give you a shovel and tell you to dig it out, but I can give you the means to break it down so that it will not grow further. I can remind you that you already have the tools needed to do so if you remember where to look.” Minho sits down in the space behind your back, and you sling your legs to the side so that you can sit parallel to him before the tree ahead of you. “There was a time when your name was second only to the Scourge’s in bars and amongst pirate crews. Is that legacy meant to play second fiddle to his? Is that what you desire? Some parts of you must not want that because you resist authority so heavily. You have forgotten that name and in turn, let him forget it as well. I did not see you cave when faced with the ghosts of your past. You did not cave to a king you perceived to be a tyrant. You have pulled yourself away from so many things, wearing your name as a mantle that represents who you are and what you are capable of. Why do you hesitate to remind your sole competition of the same?”

Minho stares ahead at the tree yet you look to the ground with fingers clenched hard around the edge of the bench. You recall the first time you laid eyes on Hongjoong in the flesh, outside of wanted posters and scant dossiers that did nothing to fully encapsulate the man who is the Scourge of the Black Sea. Even back then, he had looked past you as though you were nothing to him, yet in return, you did not find yourself afraid of him at all. Have you become afraid of him now? Why?

“I wish to be acknowledged as that,” you state resolutely. “Someone strong and fearsome and on his level. He doesn’t treat me like I’m the Ghost of Eros still. I-I want him to.”

Minho hums. “It would be easier to fall in line, would it not?”

Ask yourself what your defiance is really for.

You realize the answer to that question now. Mingi laid down his mantle as the Brute of Kebos for a multitude of reasons, and you can understand now why he views defiance to be a shoddy decision. What he had before was nothing pretty or desirable. The same could be said of your past as well, but you have never desired to set your mantle aside and become something small and diminishable on the Scourge’s crew. A weapon is only as good as the one wielding it, and Hongjoong frankly does not wield you and your abilities as he should.

“It would…”

“With its feet tied and wings clipped, what hope does a caged bird have?” Minho pats your knee before standing up. From where you sit, you can just barely glimpse at the ugly brand sitting on the back of his neck, crude scars and all. “It can still carve its way out with its beak, no? Do not let yourself be buried by those with the intent to put you beneath them. Be strong.” He leaves you with that, alone on the bench in the courtyard before a blooming tree whose roots stretch and pull at the stone meant to cover it.

For the first time, someone is telling you to fight, and fight, you most certainly will.

There’s a good amount of time where you sit in the same place without moving because the conversation has left your head a bit fuzzy. The only reason you don’t linger any longer in the courtyard is because the sun is continuing to dip closer to the horizon and you are not eager to find out what the nightlife is like.

The air clings to your skin a bit when you step through the door, not too different from the humidity outside, but the warmth is welcome in a different way. Music hits your ears at the same time, and you find yourself drifting toward the source of the noise out of sheer curiosity. The sight you find unfolding before you brings pause to your step, though only briefly because your feet are once again compelled to move and push you forwards.

Jongho is the first one you see, sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar of some sort in his hands — one that must be local to Gorgon due to its foreign appearance. Yeosang sits nearby, close to the couch on some sort of box that he taps the flats of his hands against, and his rhythm matches Jongho’s so perfectly that you’d be hard-pressed to believe that they’ve never done this before. The table that had been set in front of the couch has been dragged to the side to make more space available, and right now Wooyoung occupies that space with Mingi, hands gently folded around Mingi’s forearms like he’s trying to both steady and guide the man at once. You only catch sight of a fifth and final person once you approach the back of a loveseat, and it’s San who sits just barely hidden from sight there. Your arrival brings his attention upwards to you, and you look at each other upside-down. Perhaps it’s the mood in the air, but you allow yourself to indulge a bit here and now, leaning over the back of the sofa to lay a kiss against San’s forehead as he reaches upwards for you. Hands slotting together, he clings to you while you round the loveseat fully and sink down onto the cushion beside him.

“Y/n, Y/n, you have to join in!” Wooyoung laughs as he pulls Mingi around in a circle, eyes not lingering on you for more than a second. Every bit of skin that’s visible on the man is flushed, and the balls of his cheeks are so bright and round that you can’t help but smile just seeing the evident joy on his features. He takes the gesture as an invitation. He’s giggling as he moves Mingi over to the couch where Jongho’s perched before flitting over to you in the blink of an eye. You barely have time to let go of San’s hand before Wooyoung is tugging you up from the loveseat.

“Wait—”

“Indulge me just a little tonight, please?”

Your protest dies in the back of your throat and falls on deaf ears. You wish you had put up more of a fight moments later when Wooyoung starts pulling you into a rather fast-paced and intricate set of footsteps that you can hardly keep up with without trampling his toes every beat or so. Yet — Wooyoung is laughing and happy and throwing his head back so far that the sound of his laughter resonates with the music Jongho and Yeosang are creating. This fragile peace hangs by the thinnest of threads, tied into small knots, and you’re mesmerized by the joy radiating off Wooyoung in waves. It’s not just you either: Yeosang’s eyes follow his lover with every slight shift in muscle, so rapt in his attention yet still not missing a beat as he continues to drum his hands against the box beneath him. Wooyoung spins you out in San’s direction, hand squeezing hard around yours so that you don’t tumble, and in that split second, you make eye contact with your own lover.

It startles you to see the expression on his face. He looks to be in utter awe of what’s unfolding before him, even though you’re certain it’s a mess on your end, yet there’s also a faraway gleam to his gaze that makes you realize he’s not wholly here in this moment with the rest of you. You want to ask what’s on his mind, to know what he’s seeing in his head right now, or what memories are replaying themselves to him if that’s what it is. It’s hardly the time or place for such things, however.

Wooyoung twirls you back into his arms, hands sliding down to secure at your waist. The metal hanging from his neck is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin and breath as he buries his face into the crook of your shoulder. You aren’t prepared to brace his weight and stumble back over your feet with Wooyoung still clinging tightly to you until you hit the edge of the loveseat. San’s hand juts out to catch you when the two of you tumble to the cushions. Wooyoung is laughing the whole time, hot on your neck, and he sits up on one knee as though nothing happened.

“Change the song!” he requests, returning to his post at the center of the rug. San’s hand drifts towards yours but he only takes hold of your fingers rather than your whole hand as he usually does. You jolt upon looking over at him, solely because there’s another body behind the loveseat and a face pressed between yours and San’s that you were not expecting to see. It’s Yunho who fills the space between your face and your lover’s — mostly recognizable through his side profile and also his blond hair that’s beginning to grow in dark at the roots. He’s clearly fresh out of the shower if his damp hair is any indication of such along with the faint scent of something minty radiating off of him.

“What are we watching?” he asks, bringing his elbows up to rest on the back of the couch.

“Wooyoung is putting on a show for us,” San hums in response, and his fingers curl around your index finger. “You just barely missed Y/n’s ever-so-graceful dance moves too!”

“Oh, stop,” comes your whine as embarrassment washes over you with San’s confirmation that it was indeed a very messy ordeal. Yunho laughs, head pulling up to watch Wooyoung’s new performance. The music shifts, first with Jongho then with Yeosang changing his rhythm to follow along with the Berserker on the box drum. Wooyoung’s eyes flutter shut, and the music takes hold of him like a spell has been cast on his body. There’s a certain delicate nature to his movements now that is far different than how he danced with Mingi and in turn you. The collar around his neck drags up and down against his skin with each twist of his body, yet his happiness persists even with what must be an agonizing discomfort. If not for his upbringing and what you know of his youth, you would imagine he made a living out of this at some point in his life. He has both the grace and the appearance of a dancer, between his lithe figure and his pretty features, and it wouldn’t be impossible to believe that there are many people who would pay a great deal to see him perform. Here you sit, surrounded by crewmates and friends, watching the scene unfold without a credit spent. Luck comes to mind because it does feel something like a blessing to experience this in such a joyful atmosphere. Wooyoung’s voice rises into the mix alongside Jongho’s, though a tad more breathy than the latter’s due to the fluid movements he’s trying to maintain while singing.

“Pardon, but the master asked that I bring freshly brewed tea for our guests. Mushroom tea, a local specialty. Please enjoy your stay here with us.” You and San both take the teacups handed to you on a silver platter by the young woman who has approached the loveseat. Yunho is the only one to refuse it yet gratitude still pours from his lips nonetheless, and the lady bows her head. She moves over to Mingi next, careful not to disturb the rest who are bringing the merry festivities to the room.

The tea is close to scalding but just shy of it so you can sip comfortably from the top while watching Wooyoung’s performance continue to unfold. The words of the song are solemn in comparison to how upbeat the music itself sounds, even down to the smile pulling at Wooyoung’s lips while he sings along. You hardly need to be a genius to figure out the meaning of it — it’s a tried and true farewell song, one saying goodbye to times past and people no longer present, sung with a dissonant joy that makes the tea taste bitter on your tongue.

Yunho inches out of your peripherals, and you angle your head in his direction only to catch him walking towards the stairs without a word. At first, you wonder if the song is what compelled him to leave or perhaps he simply wishes to retire for the night and not disturb everyone on his way out. Content with that reasoning, you redirect your focus once again, only to catch sight of someone else at the other end of the room, tucked away a bit and somewhat hidden from sight. Not enough to be wholly hidden, obviously, but enough so that he will not disturb anything happening in the main area. It’s Hongjoong, of course, because any other member of the crew would have approached without care for being perceived. This is not the first time you have been witness to your captain’s insecurities surrounding his crew; however, seeing the man appear so small in his attempts to hide himself fills you with an odd sense of justified satisfaction. Has he earned a place at this table? Suffered the way these people have for his whims and desires? The answer is clear in your mind — no, he has absolutely not.

The song draws to a close, and you down the rest of your tea before ridding Hongjoong of your attention. San leads with a round of applause, one that both you and Mingi quickly echo. Wooyoung’s attention returns to you before anyone else.

“Jongho knows lots of traditional songs that we know,” he exhales through little gasps for air. “Yeosang and I, I mean. Songs we learned growing up on Aera.” He blows off the fumble of words so easily that you don’t even see a shift in emotion on his features.

“That one was rather sad.”

“It’s a funeral song! Or — a dirge, rather, for people who have departed. Either from life or gone off to new places in the universe, so that’s why the lyrics are so dismal. The song itself and the dance are for celebration though. Celebrating the life and time shared with those departed. I’ve done it a few times before just for fun like this!”

“Never for its true purpose?” you inquire out of sheer curiosity. Wooyoung’s smile turns into a close-lipped one that’s soft around the edges.

“Only once for that purpose.” He lets his words hang long enough for you to feel the weight of them, then he flits over to where Yeosang sits and drapes himself over the man like a blanket. Jongho’s fingers don’t rest on the guitar strings, and he continues to strum out another tune that Yeosang joins in once again, but Wooyoung rests his feet for now. Not his voice, it seems, as he continues singing quietly, words pushed into Yeosang’s shoulder rather than to the entire room.

“The tea made me a bit sleepy, so I think I’m gonna head upstairs,” you say to the man beside you. San nods a few times but refuses to let go of your hand even when you stand up from the loveseat. He comes along with you, in fact, setting his cup down beside yours on the nearby table. The energy of the night is beginning to wear off, and it’s draining fast from your body. San is humming beside you to the song Jongho plays, and you feel him tapping out the melody against your knuckles. You have felt this kind of peace more times than you can count while part of this crew, but it has seemed quite far away for a while now. You squeeze tighter at San’s hand like you’re waiting for the inevitable, like glass is about to shatter and the illusion of peace will become nothing but shards before you. Yet, none of that happens, and you revel in this moment you’re living in while climbing the stairs to the second floor of the hostel.

San pushes the door to your joint room open with one hand, tugging you in alongside him as a giggle tears from your lips. There’s a moment where you fall into his side, hand bracing on his hip when you collide into each other’s space. Then San is drifting away from you and letting your hands return to your sides. He steps over to the dresser with a song still on his lips.

“Hi,” you say to break the lull in conversation.

“Hello, star,” he replies with a fond little smile. You return the gesture as you slowly shut the door.

“Finally alone, hm?”

San’s focus pulls harder toward you. He gives up on his current task of pulling a change of clothes out to stare directly at you.

“Careful, my darling, a man could take such words to mean all sorts of things.”

You dip your chin to your chest and laugh, shaking your head as you push into the room. It’s not that you’re looking for anything in particular — sexual, you mean — and the two of you haven’t fucked around in several days, mostly out of joint avoidance and going straight to bed once you’ve gone about your days separately. You aren’t keen on anything now, either. There’s a knot in your gut that won’t unfurl, coupled with the recollection of what occurred last time. You thought of another man. San called you treasure. There was some degree of an argument which resulted in you asking for sex to feel better, and San, who is one to voice when something is not okay in the bedroom, complied eagerly. Maybe you both made mistakes that night, and all you could do to patch the wounds you left on each other was fuck it out of your systems.

San watches you carefully as you make your way to the bed and sit on the edge of it. He mirrors your movements by sitting on the dresser, hands clasped around the edge of it. The impending conversation must weigh on him too given how his usual teasing jokes don’t persist. Though your peace was far from an illusion and you do not wish to tarnish it, you do know that letting your thoughts fester any longer will cause monumental problems in the long run. As it is, you have already told yourself this can wait until tomorrow, let’s just enjoy tonight time and time again. If not now, then when because there will always be another excuse you can pull out of your back pocket to explain why it’s not a good time to speak.

“You called me your treasure the other night.”

“I— um, did you… when was this?” San fidgets in his seat, and you see him visibly nervous for the first time in a long time before you. “I’m not trying to play dumb, I just genuinely don’t recall th—”

“Why did you call me that? In that moment, what made you say that?” It isn’t your intention to interrupt him so harshly, but you fear losing your nerve or caving too soon when this conversation needs to happen desperately.

San exhales slowly and blinks at you several times.

“Y/n…?”

“It was when you went down on me while I was crying for fuck’s sake, San! Do you really not remember?”

“I… I do. Well, I remember that night, yes, but — Y/n, I truly don’t remember calling you that.” His mouth hangs slightly agape as he looks at the floor, searching for nothing in particular. “I went down on you because I wanted to make you feel good because you asked me to make you feel good. I wanted it too, I would have said something if I didn’t, and I would never push for something I didn’t think you wanted either. I wanted you to feel good and cherished because you weren’t feeling that way in that moment, I wanted to s-show you physically how much I want you. It wasn’t for any other reason, I promise. I don’t know how I can prove that to you but please say the word and I will do whatever to do so.”

Your jaw snaps shut, and you tighten your hold on yourself by pulling your arms tighter around your body.

“I wouldn’t… would never call you that, Y/n. That’s something that — Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that. I wouldn’t dare call you that too.” He frowns. “I know things are still shaky between us and that you don’t trust much of what I say in relation to him, but please believe that this is me being wholly honest with you. I would not call you such a thing because I do not want you to believe that I view you the way Hongjoong views Seonghwa.” He inhales and looks towards the door as though someone will be there to tell him off for what he wishes to say next. “That would be cruel.”

You go so still that even your breathing halts for a few seconds. San presses his lips into a thin line and swallows around nothing. He appears more determined when he speaks again.

“Implying that I view you as a mere treasure to be had and used would be cruel. In my eyes, you could hang the very stars in the sky if you so wished, you are the stars themselves, and in my next life, I hope to be a galaxy so that I can hold you in my heart for as long as I live. I love you. I truly do. I would not wish for us to ever be like them or have a relationship like theirs and I do not want you to believe that my love is conditional on your being useful to me because it's not.”

It speaks volumes to both his character and how he views his captain. And yet, it also shows you how deeply roots the seeds Hongjoong has planted are, and you fear for your sanity for creating such a thing out of thin air like that. Silence hangs. San is smart. You’re more than well aware of that. He’s perceptive and intelligent in many ways, which means that if what he’s saying is what he perceives to be truth then he can put two and two together. You thought he called you his treasure, Hongjoong calls Seonghwa that, you were thinking of Hongjoong while having sex with San.

"Is that true?" Your voice comes out meek. Shame creeps in alongside embarrassment and humiliation because in retrospect (and when you look past your muddled feelings of anger and confusion) San’s explanation does truly make more sense. Why would he call you that? He has not been cruel to you when it comes to Hongjoong. Even if he were toying with you, he has not been heartless.

"I swear on my life, Y/n. If that's not enough then I will gladly set myself before Minho or Yunho or Mingi and have any of them interrogate me in front of you. They’ll know whether I’m lying or not without fault." San steps away from the dresser, yet your gaze is still firmly set on the ground when he comes to sit beside you. A laugh escapes from your lips as the mattress dips next to you.

“Is this what Seonghwa feels like? Going fucking insane and it’s all because of that… that man.” You don’t need to look San in the face to know what expression he wears, because he reaches for one of your hands and takes it between both of his. “Before I went to see Hongjoong that night, I had fought with Seonghwa. About a lot of things but it’s all left me with a lot to think about. Much of what he said hurt me deeply, especially hearing him tell me that I was a substitute for someone else in his mind.” The admission that you did the same lies on the tip of your tongue, and it’s already partly out in the open, but there’s not enough bravery in you to tell San that now, or that you thought of Hongjoong more recently either. “He also told me there are many ways in which Hongjoong has been orchestrating my destruction from the very start. Going from that fight to an argument with Hongjoong too was very damaging to my confidence and my psyche say the least.”

“What happened with Hongjoong?” San inquires, still careful in how he broaches the subject. “I was told that you were forced in line, but is that true?”

“He made me kneel. Or rather he ordered Mingi to make me kneel, and he did. I did.” Pressure hits your shoulder, the full weight of San’s head as he pushes his cheek to your arm and leans into you. “Seonghwa is suffering some sort of mental breakdown of an insane degree and has no one to help him out of the grave he and Hongjoong both have dug beneath his feet.”

“I’ve been trying to help,” San interjects quietly, though it’s staggered by wetness in his tone that’s hard to ignore, “to no avail whatsoever.”

The thought of running away from it all crops up in your mind again. To take San and Wooyoung and Yunho and Seonghwa and everyone — taking them all away and running without looking back. Yet, if you were to do that, everything would so quickly fall apart that the ends would not be worth what it took to bring you there. Hongjoong is many terrible, awful things, but in the very least he contains in him the inherent ability to unite people under his command. You couldn’t do such a thing, nor could you in good conscience be harsh when the time came. What’s running rampant through your mind correlates with real life, and you squeeze San’s hand over yours harder.

“Hongjoong purposefully isn’t letting Seonghwa on this mission because he’s worried too. That’s why Yunho is going instead. Seonghwa is hardly happy about it but he needs the break.” San exhales a quivering sigh. “He needs a break from his duties as lieutenant, at least for now, and Hongjoong is trying to let him have that. There are things only he can do of course — like the dealings with the cargo and having that all settled but those are easier in comparison. Seonghwa doesn’t usually let anything slip when things are awry in his head, he keeps his mask up, and he tries his best to put on a front for the crew. Though it’s never been explicitly stated before the whole crew, everyone pretty much knows that he is not an Elitist. We just… know our boundaries and respect that we should not expect to be told. I was told, as the captain’s left hand. I respect secrets, and I respect privacy. Anything told to me in confidence will be taken to my grave unless I am told it is information safe to be shared. I do not hide things out of malicious intent. That being said, I will do my best to be more open and honest with you moving forward. Would you please do the same in return?”

“I am honest with you already,” you cut in almost in an instant. San’s hand flexes around yours. “But I will… I’ll continue to do so.”

His frown is felt against your shoulder.

“If that were true then you would not be revealing truths to me now.”

“I’m sorry.” The tension that rises in your muscles forces his head off your arm. “I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not chastising you, beloved, breathe.” You’re already turning to look at his face when he reaches up with a hand to cup your cheek. “I love you. So deeply and so dearly.”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s do this without having sex. Right now, let’s just talk… without it turning into sex.” You nod against his hand. San is gnawing hard at his lower lip, and it’s already swollen from what must be continued abuse in an attempt to keep tears at bay considering how red the corners of his eyes are. “Do you wanna go out on the balcony?”

Your hands do not separate when he stands, and you stay as close to him as possible when following him to the door like he’s the one thing keeping you tethered to reality at the moment.

Outside, night has fallen, but the small balcony before you sits covered and enclosed by panes of glass. Below you can see the courtyard where you and Minho were earlier, exposed to the night air and the toxins it brings, but up here it’s like another world. The torches continue to bloom with their purple flames along the buildings, fluorescent green lights accent places where the streets are too dark to be lit by flame alone, and silver chimes glint every so often when the wind nudges them in the right direction.

“The town looks pretty at night,” you note as San leads you to a seat near the glass.

“Quite beautiful indeed.” He squeezes your hand one last time before pulling away at last and sitting down in the chair beside yours. When you glance his way, you find him picking at the skin under his nails and watching the skin peel back to reveal something raw and tender beneath. “I am going to tell you some truths that are hard for me to admit, let alone process still. Despite thinking about it and practicing what I want to say in my head time and time again, I may struggle with how to say things. After you went to the bathroom to wash up that night with Seonghwa, he told me that Hongjoong was the sole person on his mind. That hurt me to hear, so I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to pass that pain onto you as well. I overheard a bit of the commotion in the kitchen when the two of you fought, and Seonghwa had told me that he would be honest with you eventually. I wouldn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it wouldn’t go over well. Foolishly, I had thought that I could be someone to help mend the hurt both of you were feeling — your hurt from how things between you and Seonghwa ended, and Seonghwa’s hurt from once again being tossed away by his love. Seonghwa’s eagerness made me believe that it was more okay than it turned out to be, or perhaps he went into it from the start with one thing — or person, rather — on his mind.”

You remain quiet in the face of San’s admissions, even when he takes a moment to breathe and stare out at the city. His hands still in his lap and finally let his fingers have a break from the harm he was doing to them just seconds ago. He grips the armrests of his chair hard and uses his momentum to turn it more toward you. You’re faced with his rapt attention now, as his elbows come to rest on his knees and he clasps his hands between them.

“It’s true that I once had a physical relationship with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Never just one of them alone; I was always asked to be the third for when they desired it, and I was more than happy to be that for them. We’ve discussed my views on relationships and romantic versus sexual partnerships before, and I’ve had those beliefs for a long time. However, I haven’t fully learned that it’s not so easy for everyone to fall into those roles and that the act of being a third is not always cut and dry. It’s suited for some people like myself, and not for others, which is understandable and completely fine. I thought as well that the two of you having experience with each other sexually would provide comfort and ease. What I did not do was take into consideration the hurt left between you or how sensitive the situation was for everyone involved. I take full responsibility for that night, regardless of who was thinking about what during, and I am so deeply apologetic for being the one to facilitate that. I wanted to speak and apologize to you first, but I do want to offer the same apology to Seonghwa as well.” He waits then with teeth sunk into his lower lip so hard that it disappears from the pressure. It’s your time to speak, to offer an explanation or an acknowledgment of all that he’s poured out to you, but your mind is so full of a clusterfuck of thoughts that all that comes out in the end is —

“I feel like a whore.”

It stuns the both of you in the same way, and San’s expression freezes as he simply stares at you unsure of what to say to that. The shock is almost comical if not for the severity of your conversation at present.

“Would you please tell me why you feel that way?” he asks once the initial shock of your comment passes.

“I was not very present that night. I didn’t feel like I was in my right mind, but know that I did not feel pressure to do anything out of my comfort zone. I was the one who misread my own signals and sought something in physical comfort to ease my thoughts. Seonghwa was clearly not wholly there either, as we know, and the two of us took it out on each other. Since then, I’ve been feeling the way I did that night during sex and it’s driving me mad. I don’t wish to have those thoughts or constantly be reminded of that night but it comes on of its own volition.”

“Okay then full stop, we slow down. Sex isn’t a must.”

“Well, it’s difficult because we depend so heavily on being physical to show affection for one another.”

“That just means we can find new ways to share our affection,” San says through a smile, “and we can still cuddle and hug and kiss even. Being physical and offering comfort is not inherently sexual. I have to learn that too. I’m such a physical person in every way. I adore giving in every way I can physically to show my feelings, but that clouds and muddies things a lot. A healthy relationship with sex doesn’t mean always having sex though. There are other ways we can do things together or other ways to connect and be with each other intimately. But—” he leans back and squares his shoulders, still smiling ever so softly at you “—while I’m thinking clearly, I’m going to say that I know continuing to have sex while you are struggling with your thoughts during it and we’re both in need of healing our relationship towards it is not the best thing to do. I’m not at all willing to ask it of you until you definitively tell me otherwise.”

“I love you so much,” you murmur, and San’s nose scrunches at the sudden confession. He blows a kiss your way as he leans back in his chair once more, settling into it more comfortably now that his thoughts are out in the open.

“You know, I’ve been reading some of the books you keep on your shelves lately. The Siren ones, I mean. Since you told me of your identity, I’ve been curious to learn more about what it means to be one. I didn’t know you were so cool.” Your laughs echo in the enclosed area of the balcony, mixing together.

“Sorry, but I can’t show off or anything. I don’t know how to do much at all.”

San reaches an arm over to your chair and you seek his hand with your own like it's second nature to do so.

“Even the little things about you impress me. You don’t need to do much.” His thumb rubs methodical little lines against the base of your index finger. “The music and the dancing were lovely, weren’t they?”

“It was all very nice. Lively too, and happy.”

“I’ve always loved performances like that,” San says with a smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. “When I was younger, growing up with the Taskmaster and Father — my captain at the time, I mean — I got to have one tablet. At the orphanage, I wasn’t allowed any personal belongings, and though I spent most of my time confined to one small cell, it still had a few things here and there to make the space mine. Besides the collar on my neck and chain keeping me to the wall, of course.” The crude attempt at a joke doesn’t make you laugh as much as it makes you terribly sad. The times when San openly discusses the grim details of his youth are few and far between. The more you learn of how he was forced to grow up, the more your heart aches inside your check, and the desire to close yourself around the icy stake in his chest spikes exponentially. “It had all sorts of training videos on it to help me learn to be more effective in my role on the crew. Part of the combat training videos were dances, meant to teach how to move in a way that could conserve the body’s energy. Since my abilities are so dependent on stamina, that sort of training was beyond crucial. But instead of using them for that purpose, I used to hide under the covers on my bed and watch those dances in secret though, just for fun rather than learning. And I got caught once by my father.”

“Did he punish you for it?”

“Rather than punishing me, he instead took me to a performance. Taskmaster Cara disagreed with the choice vehemently but Father didn’t pay her any mind. He simply wanted to bring me to the show. It was a night circus, traveled across the stars with the act, but we ended up seeing the show on Kebos of all places. It was a different city from where Mingi and Yunho grew up, so the coincidences stop there, though that would have been pretty special if it had been. Um… if I remember right, it was winter and snowing at the time, which was a first for me too. In the tent they had set up for the circus, there was this enormous rink of ice. Father got us seats right up by the railings and—” San cuts himself off with a laugh as he pushes his free hand out in front of him like he’s reliving the memory “—two automatons were dancing on the ice with wheels in place of feet to help them move. I remember it was the most fascinating and beautiful thing I had seen in my life. That memory — it was my happiest as a child. So seeing Wooyoung dance… it always reminds me of that experience and that feeling I had then. But seeing the two of you dance together tonight made me especially sentimental. Even though it wasn’t the same… I felt like I was seeing it all over again. Thank you for taking me back to that place.”

You squeeze your fingers around San’s.

“I hope we can share a lot more of those kinds of memories too.”

San’s response comes in a rounded smile, then he settles back in his chair with his eyes shut and a hum in his throat. Though you don’t recognize the tune, you can only imagine it’s that song from the dance he witnessed all those years ago. In the descending night, you think that maybe the two of you will be okay after all.

────────────

The blissful peace that hangs in the air remains undisturbed until you and San are getting ready for bed. It’s then that a knock comes at your door, and with San in the bathroom washing his face, you take it upon yourself to be the one to answer it. You could have thrown at several guesses as to who would be waiting on the other side, and even the idea that it might be someone who works at the hostel would have come to mind before the man who is actually waiting there.

“Mingi…” you exhale in partial shock.

“Would you please come on a walk with me, Ghost?” His gas mask hangs loose around his neck, and he reaches up to point at it when your gaze flits downwards. “Bring yours if you’d like to come along.”

“Why not here?”

“There are too many eyes and ears here. The walls are thin. I would rather not talk about this in front of San. I do not want it to go back to the wr—to other people.” Every bit of his reasoning comes across as very matter-of-fact, but it all makes sense and you can’t argue with it.

“Okay,” you say through a nod, “okay, hold on.”

Mingi remains at the door as you move back to the bathroom, leaning through the doorframe to catch San’s attention while he’s brushing his teeth.

“I’m going out for a little bit with Mingi.”

San hums before leaning over the sink and spitting what’s left in his mouth out. “Be safe and bring your mask. Don’t worry about waking me when you get back if I’m asleep, just come in comfortably. I’ll try to stay up until you return though.”

“You don’t have to do that.” The way he’s smiling at you implies that he won’t listen to your words. “Sleep well, I love you.”

“I love you too. Dearly. Let me know if there are any pretty sights out there at night!”

You retrieve your mask from the top of the dresser on your way back to where Mingi is patiently waiting.

“I apologize for bringing you out so late,” the Berserker says once you shut your bedroom door behind you.

“No, it’s alright. You’ll be awfully busy with the cargo tomorrow as well, so this is fine. Besides, part of me is curious about what’s so special about nighttime here.” Mingi doesn’t laugh when you do, but he does plaster on something semi-adjacent to a smile. The two of you both secure your masks around your faces before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, although you have to fiddle with the straps a lot more than he does to make it sit comfortably over your nose. Mingi presses the door open with one hand, and you brace yourself for something dramatic or violent to happen yet that never comes. Air filters in and out of your gas mask, not even leaving a scent to pass through.

“Please, follow me. I found a spot while I was making cargo trips today that looked quite nice. I think it’ll be a good spot to talk.” He walks slow enough for you to keep up without a struggle, even if you are somewhat distracted by examining every inch of your surroundings as you go. It’s fascinating to a certain extent because, despite all the warnings and concerns about nighttime, you still find an inordinate amount of people milling about the cobbled streets freely. No masks in sight on many, and some have them on their being but only hung about their necks like the masks are nothing but a statement piece and nothing functional to be used. The sight makes your skin itch and burn, a certain level of discomfort washing over you as you urge yourself to keep pace with Mingi. The chime hanging down from your right ear jingles with every step you take, and it sounds so awfully loud against the thick material of the mask.

The Berserker brings you over to the edge of the gorge, somewhere along the very place you initially arrived at, where there is nothing but braided rope stretched taut between lampposts to keep people from tumbling to an unsightly doom. Those same lampposts bear purple flames just as the others you saw in the city, but to see them against the night skin makes their glow seem all the more ominous. Down below lies that foggy ravine, although you can’t bear to look at it for long.

Mingi pauses by the ropes and grips the topmost one with both hands. You join in alongside him, squeezing the material tight as you look over across the gorge. In the night, you can just hardly make out the outline of The Horizon in the distance, yet it looks so terribly foreign and desolate with it’s lights fully shut off.

“May I ask you something about Sirens?”

“Oh! Yes, absolutely, though I may not be ab—”

“Is Jongho a Siren?”

“—what?” You blink at your companion several times before his words sink in. “What?!”

“Is Jongho a Siren?” he repeats like nothing he said was out of the ordinary in the slightest.

“He’s — he’s a Berserker. He’s got the red eyes, and the strength of at least twenty men combined, and he can do things the rest of us can’t.”

“Yes, but he can influence emotions, no?” Mingi lets one hand fall to his side in favor of turning more toward you.

“Well, yes.”

“Can you? As a Siren?”

“Not like that, I can only—” you’re forced to bite your words back when the risk of exposing the others presents itself. Mingi will know if you’re lying, he’ll feel the increase in your heart rate surely like a shark smelling blood in the water. You must do your best to choose your next words so carefully that he won’t even suspect there are others amongst the crew. “Sirens can only sense other Sirens’ emotions. I cannot feel what you are feeling at this moment. The best I can do for anyone who is not a Siren is sympathize or empathize with them from person to person, but I cannot genuinely and truly know what they’re feeling. Nor can I feel those feelings myself. What Jongho does is different. He feels everyone’s emotions as though theirs are his own, like you do I’m sure, but he’s no Siren.”

“He draws emotions out of others like a siphon and takes them onto himself. Sirens are not capable of anything like that?”

Again you bite your tongue. What Mingi knows of Sirens must be very cut and dry — anything that could be drawn out of a book or fed to him through people such as Hongjoong or Yunho. If Seonghwa spoke to him, there’s no way of knowing what extent of the truth the man shared with Mingi. For the best, you would be wise not to mention the existence of Sirens such as Wooyoung and yourself.

“No, they are not.” You look down at where your hands cling to the rope barrier, finding your knuckles white with the effort of gripping it. “The most I can do is try to soothe another Siren by projecting my feelings towards them like some sort of projection, but that does nothing to force any certain emotion onto them. They will still feel the same as they did but simply be made aware of what I am feeling too. And that ability does not work on people who aren’t Sirens.” Except for the fact that I have forced thoughts into Hongjoong’s head somehow.

Mingi redirects his gaze to the gorge.

“Part of me desired a different answer honestly.”

“I… don’t understand?”

“I wished to hear that Jongho’s abilities were that of some strange cross between a Siren and a Berserker that muddled the genetic pool of his abilities. For years, he has been the one to assist me in coming down from episodes. While Captain and Healer have made attempts to do so themselves, they consistently require Jongho’s help. He is always the one called to do so. I know for certain that there are times when I feel myself fighting back urges, when I am strong enough to win back control from the voices without Jongho using his little ability… I still cannot help but doubt how much of it comes from my own efforts and how much is his influence with that trick.” The Berserker’s voice remains void of any clue as to what he’s feeling, but the stare he casts over the gorge seems so forlorn that it makes your chest ache. “I know why he does it, but I also know why he does it without telling those he’s taking from most times. Because he knows they would not approve and that, in his mind, there is something morally grey about it.” It draws a sigh out of Mingi’s lips, and he turns around, leaning against the railing with his elbows propped up on the rope. “Do you not find it selfish?”

“I understand Jongho is trying to help so it’s hard to say that there is something inherently bad in what he’s doing,” you say as quietly as you can manage while still being audible. “I caught him doing it to me one time, and that enraged me beyond belief because it was against my will. I was robbed of the choice to feel my emotions. Is that selfish?”

“Yes.” You expected as much. “Doing something that robs another of a choice is always selfish and self-serving, even if there is good to be had in doing it. I do not wish to think of him as selfish because I’m aware that he has very particular reasons for doing what he does — as an act of self-preservation and to try to even out the moral scales that he believes are tipped against him.”

“What would truly be different if he were a Siren?”

“Ah. Well then, I could at least assume that Captain was the one pulling the strings behind Jongho in an attempt to keep me on my leash. Not that that would be needed for me in particular. My loyalty has never wavered regardless of what Captain has done in the past, but then again, he has never tried to do anything to me directly.” Mingi’s gaze slips down to you, torn from the scene ahead of him that consists of watching natives move above the streets. “Sorry.” The single word is flat and void of any semblance of emotion.

“Why’re you saying that?”

“Because that’s what people do when they desire to console others.”

“Do you feel that I need to be consoled?” His words hadn’t made you feel any type of way — positive or negative — so it’s a wonder why Mingi would think you need to be comforted by an apology right now. The Berserker tilts his chin back, and it forces his gaze to the night sky overhead.

“No,” he starts, “you feel oddly neutral tonight with me.” Though you cannot see a smile thanks to his gas mask, you are the recipient of a rare laugh from the man. You have no clue what caused him to laugh, but it’s nice to hear the sound nonetheless.

“You don’t need to say sorry. I understand why my loyalty needs to be twisted into place in Hongjoong’s eyes.”

“You killed a king before, didn’t you?”

“…Yes.”

“Why?”

The question stumps you not because you cannot think of a reason but rather because many immediate answers fight to be at the forefront of your mind.

“He was a bad person.”

“Yet you view Captain as such too.” Mingi once again redirects focus to you. this time you make direct eye contact with the man, and the deadpan expression across his face combined with his next words makes your gut twist with anxiety. “Were you to try to kill him then I would kill you.”

“He would kill me himself long before I got the chance to even dream up the thought of doing such a thing.” Mingi does not appear wholly convinced. “Oddly enough, I do not want him dead so I suppose we’re all safe.”

Mingi clenches and unclenches his fists, easing his elbows further back on the railing. You can see the ship in the distance still, far across the gorge and still settled on the landing pad. It looks strangely lifeless in this light, with the knowledge that no one is aboard, yet you think that it is a long overdue rest for all her hard work and flights of late.

“Do you view yourself as a good person, Y/n?” Mingi angles his body towards you as he poses the question. Rather than giving you an opening to respond, he continues on speaking, “In the books I read, good and evil exist, and good always tries to end the evil. So do you view yourself as the good trying to kill the evil in this universe?”

“No.” You clear your throat before beginning again with more confidence in your tone. “No, I do not. What’s bad in my eyes very well may be good in others. There were many who were happy with the king, who thought him good, and he did do good at times. He was not all bad, but I perceived him as such for a short time. All it takes is that short time to want to do something bad to someone you think deserves it.”

“I fail to understand it that way,” your companion retorts. “My father told me before every match in the arena that the opponent was nobody of worth or value in the universe. They were neither good nor evil by his standards. Just a life that did not need to be lived, and it was my job to make way for other lives in place of theirs.”

“Then your father was trying to teach you that you were doing something good?”

“To an extent, sure, but I never understood it that way because I never had an understanding of emotion or good versus evil back then. And maybe good and evil don’t exist at all, maybe it’s all perception that’s in the eye of the beholder.” He angles his head further down but looks off over your shoulder with a sort of faraway gleam in his dark red eyes. “Perhaps at the end of the day… all we do are things that are based on a perception that we try to convince ourselves is a universal truth.” He sees something behind you, yet there is nothing but air and a freefall there. A ghost, perhaps, that has come to haunt him for merely breathing the faintest mention of his father.

All of a sudden, he shoves away from the railing and steps off like he’s going to head back the way you came.

“We should head back now before it gets too late.”

“You go on ahead, I want to stay out a bit longer.” In the blink of an eye, Mingi is back at your side, head drawn so close to your ear that his mask bumps against yours.

“It would be best to leave now and save the sightseeing for later.” His hushed tone urges you to glance back at your surroundings, and what reads as concern to you is fortified by the lingering stares sent your way by those on the streets.

“I understand.” Yet still when Mingi tries to leave again, you remain rooted to the spot. Something else crosses your mind suddenly, something San had said to you in regard to his honesty. “Mingi. Have you ever seen San be cruel?”

Silence.

The Berserker turns his body until it’s perpendicular to yours and finds you still lingering at the railing.

“What does it look like?” you continue upon deciphering his silence as affirmation.

“…Like nothing you have ever seen.” He extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

How would you know that, how could you know such things, when doors are shut and I’m in his arms? Who could possibly know?

Your heart soars with his words nonetheless. Despite it all, here Mingi stands still trying to reassure you.

Your gaze lingers on the foggy waters below, with their odd glow and minty green hue. Something rattles you, another thing beckons you.

“There’s something down there,” you utter once you release your grip on the railing and take Mingi’s hand.

“I know,” he says quietly, “I hear it too.”

Mingi delivers you to your door safely and in one piece. He bids you goodnight with a small bow of his head but not a single comment concerning all that the two of you discussed on your excursion outside. Just as you’re turning the door handle to go inside, he pauses in the hallway and thanks you for your time. The conversation plays on repeat in your mind as you change into nightclothes and wash your face. When you join San in bed at long last, he has already fallen asleep with a book folding over his bare chest. It seems he really did try to stay awake waiting for you to return. You turn the light beside the bed off. Your mind is still far too busy to let you shut your eyes right away, so you spend some time facing San and staring at his profile through the darkness.

Mingi had seemed so sure of what he said. You rest a hand on San’s cheek and turn his face towards you just to see his features better. He barely shifts at the touch.

“Even if something small, even if the words and prayers of a nonbeliever are not enough to be a suitable blessing, it at least has my heart behind it. I wish for your safety every night and your happiness every morning anyway, so what’s the harm in hoping this will do the same?”

The trinkets on your ears feel so heavy under the weight of that blessing.

“Missed you,” San mumbles suddenly, clearly less asleep than you initially thought. He adjusts to drape an arm around your body and brings your head up to lay flat against his chest. No more words are exchanged as he goes right back to sleep, but you lay there with your ear atop his heart listening to the steady and rhythmic thumping like it’s a lullaby to put you to bed.

Good people can do bad things just as bad ones can do good. Those are the words you wished you had shared with Mingi earlier. But in his perspective, that is entirely incorrect.

Maybe people are simply that — people. Good and bad are things normal, regular, plain people do, but not definitive of what they are at the end of the day. It’s a rather beautiful outlook on the universe, you must admit.

──────────── a/n: yoohoo big summer (delayed delayed delayed) blowout! moc style! aheem aheem. i apologize every chapter for delayed updates so im certain lots of yall are like yeah yeah caly okay... okay... but! here we are. i wrestled a lot with many parts of this chapter and was super unhappy when i finished (beyond just being relieved it was over) but after my besties read it and gave me feedback i feel so much better about it and my writing so i am very happy with this <3

so! from this chapter on (i will be mentioning this again in the next chapter and the subsequent ones) i ask that you very much pay attention to details... this act is a dicey one and there will be much interchanging between things that are real and things that are not. there are cues to clue you in on when it is real versus when it's not!! of course i will happily help show those clues where i can bc i don't want anyone to be in the dark or clueless but do not that i do not want the writing to suffer bec im attempting to overexplain it in the text! that being said i hope this chapter was well worth the wait and thank you always for being patient and kind with me 🙇‍♀️