#fever profile test

[dlpl]

What is Fever?

Monsoon season brings an increased risk of infections due to high moisture levels in the air, creating an ideal breeding ground for mosquitoes, bacteria, and viruses.

The prevalence of stagnant water and high humidity create favorable conditions for mosquitoes, which are carriers of numerous diseases. As a result, infections and mosquito-borne diseases such as malaria, typhoid, dengue, and chikungunya become more common. At the start of an infection or during the incubation phase, the person may feel lethargic or have a fever. It is at this point that it is recommended to visit a doctor and get tested to determine the exact cause.

Some of these infections may lead to serious complications if untreated; with expert doctor intervention and tests.

The comprehensive Fever Panel Test from Dr Lal PathLabs covers all relevant tests and hence plays a crucial role in diagnosing the exact cause of an infection, enabling timely and appropriate treatment.

The specific tests included in a fever panel may vary based on the patient's symptoms/as suggested by the physician.

Online booking or home collection of Fever Tests is covered across all consumer touchpoints.

[maxlab]

Everything You Need to Know About Fever Profile Test

A fever profile test is a group of urine tests and a complete blood count test. This test can help diagnose unexplained fever or give comprehensive information regarding the medical condition caused by a fever. A fever profile test is useful for identifying a wide range of infections and other conditions that can cause fever so it can be treated on time.

[asto-labs]

What Type of Tests are Included in a Fever Profile Test?

Several specialized tests may be included in a fever profile exam to offer a thorough assessment. The following are some typical blood tests that are usually included in a fever panel:

Full hemogram (ESR, CBC) Dengue IgG & IgM, dengue Antigen NS1, IgM typhoid Malaria peripheral smear regular testing of the urine SGPT Blood Culture (Aerobic)

Using a needle inserted into the vein, approximately 4 ml of blood sample and 3 ml of blood serum are needed for the test. Furthermore, ten milliliters or so of spot urine are collected in a container for analysis.

[aaditiganguli]

The Most Common Fever Types: Understanding Symptoms and Fever Profile Tests

Fever is a common symptom that indicates the body's response to an underlying illness or infection. It is important to identify the specific type of fever to determine the appropriate course of treatment. 

Viral Fever:

Viral fever is a common type of fever caused by viral infections such as the flu, common cold, or dengue fever. Symptoms may include high body temperature, fatigue, headache, body aches, and respiratory symptoms. Viral fever profile tests are designed to identify specific viral pathogens responsible for the fever. These tests may include viral antigen or antibody detection, molecular tests like PCR, or serological tests. Fever profile tests provide valuable information for accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment.

Bacterial Fever:

Bacterial infections can cause bacterial fever, which may manifest as localized or systemic infections. Common examples include urinary tract infections, pneumonia, and streptococcal infections. Bacterial fever profile tests aim to identify the specific bacteria causing the infection. Blood cultures, urine cultures, and specific antibody tests are some of the tests included in a fever profile blood test. Prompt identification of the causative bacteria helps guide targeted antibiotic therapy.

Malaria:

Malaria is a parasitic infection transmitted by mosquitoes in certain regions. It causes periodic fever episodes, along with symptoms like chills, headache, muscle pain, and fatigue. Diagnosis of malaria involves fever blood testing, such as a blood smear or rapid diagnostic tests, which detect the presence of the malaria parasite. Early detection and treatment are crucial to prevent complications associated with malaria.

Typhoid Fever:

Typhoid fever is caused by the bacterium Salmonella typhi and is commonly transmitted through contaminated food and water. Symptoms include high fever, abdominal pain, headache, and gastrointestinal disturbances. A fever panel test can help diagnose typhoid fever by detecting specific antibodies or antigens related to Salmonella typhi. Timely identification of typhoid fever aids in appropriate treatment with antibiotics.

Dengue Fever:

Dengue fever is a viral infection transmitted by mosquitoes. It presents with high fever, severe headache, joint and muscle pain, rash, and other flu-like symptoms. Fever panel tests for dengue fever can detect specific antibodies or viral antigens. Early diagnosis is crucial as dengue fever can progress to severe forms, requiring immediate medical intervention.

Respiratory Infections:

Respiratory infections, such as pneumonia or bronchitis, can cause fever along with respiratory symptoms like coughing, chest congestion, and difficulty breathing. Fever investigation tests for respiratory infections may include respiratory pathogen panels, which detect viral or bacterial pathogens responsible for the infection. These tests aid in accurate diagnosis and appropriate treatment of respiratory-related fevers.

Urinary Tract Infections (UTIs):

UTIs are common bacterial infections affecting the urinary system and can cause fever along with symptoms like frequent urination, burning sensation, and abdominal pain. Fever profile tests for UTIs typically involve urine culture and sensitivity testing. Identifying the specific bacteria causing the UTI helps determine the most effective antibiotics for treatment.

The Significance of Fever Profile Tests:

Fever profile tests encompass a range of diagnostic tests designed to identify the underlying cause of fever. These tests include blood tests, urine tests, and other specific investigations based on the suspected infection. A fever profile test list may include complete blood count (CBC), blood cultures, antibody tests, antigen tests, PCR tests, and culture tests for various body fluids. Fever profile tests aid in accurate diagnosis, guiding appropriate treatment decisions, and monitoring the effectiveness of therapy.

Convenience of At-Home Blood Testing and Full Body Health Checkups:

In today's digital age, convenience plays a crucial role in healthcare. At-home blood testing allows individuals to get their fever investigations done in the comfort of their homes. With full body health checkups, comprehensive assessments can be performed, including fever profile tests, along with other important health parameters. Lab test packages provide a convenient and cost-effective way to bundle multiple tests together, ensuring a comprehensive evaluation of overall health.

Booking Lab Tests Online:

Booking lab tests online simplifies the process of scheduling appointments and accessing a wide range of diagnostic services. Online platforms provide a seamless experience, allowing individuals to select the desired tests, choose a preferred lab or diagnostic center, and book appointments at their convenience.

Conclusion:

Understanding the different types of fevers and the associated symptoms is essential for prompt diagnosis and appropriate treatment. Fever profile tests play a vital role in identifying the underlying cause of fever, guiding targeted therapies, and monitoring treatment effectiveness. With the convenience of at-home blood testing, full body health checkups, lab test packages, and online lab test booking, individuals can ensure timely and accurate fever investigations. Remember, consulting with healthcare professionals is crucial for proper diagnosis, interpretation of test results, and personalized treatment plans based on individual needs.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Alarm bells ring in Japan as experts warn of fast-spreading new Covid variant KP. 3 - Published July 19, 2024

Paywalled at the South China Morning Post: Unpaywalled by Covidsafehotties.

The country reported a 39 per cent week-on-week surge in infections from July 1 to 7, with Okinawa the hardest hit

Japan is grappling with a new and highly contagious coronavirus variant that is fuelling the country’s 11th wave of Covid-19 infections, health experts warn. The KP. 3 variant is spreading rapidly, even among those who are vaccinated or have recovered from previous infections, according to Kazuhiro Tateda, president of the Japan Association of Infectious Diseases.

“It is, unfortunately, the nature of the virus to become more resilient and resistant each time it changes into a different form,” Tateda told This Week in Asia. “People lose their immunity quite quickly after being vaccinated, so they have little or no resistance.”

Tateda, who sits on Japan’s advisory panel formed at the start of the pandemic, said the coming weeks will be critical as authorities monitor the variant’s spread and impact.

While hospitals have reported a sharp uptick in Covid-19 admissions, Tateda said he is “relieved that not many of these cases are severe”. Typical symptoms of the KP. 3 variant include high fever, sore throat, loss of smell and taste, headaches, and fatigue.

According to the health ministry, medical facilities across Japan logged a 1.39-fold – or 39 per cent – increase in infections from July 1 to 7, compared to the previous week.

Okinawa prefecture has been the hardest hit by the new strain of the virus, with hospitals reporting an average of nearly 30 infections per days. The KP. 3 variant has accounted for more than 90 per cent of Covid-19 cases nationwide, the Fuji News Network reported, leading to renewed concerns about bed shortages at medical facilities.

Since Japan’s first detected Covid-19 case in early 2020 involving a man who returned from the Chinese city of Wuhan, East Asian nation has recorded a total of 34 million infections and around 75,000 related deaths. The country’s Covid-19 caseload peaked on August 5, 2022, when more than 253,000 people were receiving treatment.

Japan’s uptick in cases coincides with similar increases being observed globally. In the US, the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention reported a 23.5 per cent week-over-week rise in the number of people visiting hospitals with Covid-19 symptoms during the week ending July 6.

High-profile US.figures such as President Joe Biden and Doug Emhoff, husband of Vice-President Kamala Harris, have recently tested positive and gone into isolation. Meanwhile, several riders in the ongoing Tour de France cycling race have also returned positive test results.

Experts say it is too early to determine the full impact of the new variant on Japanese businesses or cross-border activities like travel. Precautionary measures are already in place at the country’s air and seaports to monitor the health of incoming arrivals. However, the global spike in cases may deter some Japanese from venturing abroad this summer.

A recent survey by Nippon Life insurance found that just 3.2 per cent of Japanese plan to travel abroad in the coming months, which is likely to depress annual travel figures once again. In 2023, Japan saw 9.62 million outbound travellers, a recovery after three years of extremely low pandemic-era numbers, but still far below the 20.01 million outbound travellers recorded in 2019.

Despite the latest surge, infectious disease expert Tateda insists there is no need for panic in Japan. However, he emphasised the importance of following precautions implemented during the pandemic’s peak, such as mask-wearing in public, handwashing, and social distancing.

Tateda also stressed that anyone testing positive should immediately isolate themselves.

[pedge-stuff]

102 degrees (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug. (:

summary: maybe it's the fever talking, but Pedro might finally be ready to go public with your relationship.

————————————————————————

It’s not a whine, per se— more like a thin, whistle-y exhale as the press tents come into view. A noise of quiet resignation; Pedro is exhausted, and the night hasn’t even started. 

There is little comfort you can offer. You’ve been careful not to touch his face or hair throughout the ride, per the explicit instructions of Mira. This has left you no option but the back of his neck, between the high collar of his overcoat and the lowest hang of his curls. You thumb rhythmically over the overly-warm, slightly damp skin. Small comforts. 

Of course he’d wake up with the flu on the day of the biggest premiere of his career thus far. “Fucking shit-ass karma,” he’d groaned between dry heaves over the toilet that morning. Three negative covid tests and a house-call IV drip later (celebrity medical care is, you’ve come to realize, very fucking weird), he was semi-functional. But fucking miserable.

This once, you’ll give your grown ass boyfriend a pass for whining. 

Though the windows are tinted, you are quick to remove your hand as the car pulls up. He is anxious enough about the evening, without having to worry about people seeing. You know the drill— low profile has basically become your middle name. The only thing worse than having the flu on premiere night, you muse, would probably be Pedro getting outed to the world. 

“It’s going to be fine,” you insist softly, squeezing his knee. “Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception. Easy.” 

He straightens out of his slump against you, taking a deep breath. “Easy,” Pedro repeated, unconvincingly. He sighs.

“Then a full cap of NyQuil and no alarm tomorrow morning.” 

You dare to grip his hand, one last time, as the car slows to a stop. He brings yours to his lips, and presses a (noticeably fever-warm) kiss to the exposed skin of your wrist.

"Only thing getting me through this is the prospect of going back to bed with you tonight."

"Mr. Pascal, are you coming on to me?"

He offers a weak chuckle. "Ask me again when I'm not about to barf in the back of an Uber."

The car slows to a stop. Another deep breath, as Pedro slips an easy mask back into place. "Carpet, premiere, talkback, reception."

— — — 

There are layers to the whole thing. You don’t begrudge his hesitancy, to publicly reveal your relationship. The few times a pap has caught you out together, the TMZ byline is something along the lines of “Pedro Pascal Seen Strolling Sunset with SNL Sidekick.” Perks of heteronormativity, you suppose. 

It’s all him. You’ve been out for a long, long ass time— frankly, never thought you’d go back in, til suddenly you’re signing an NDA and attaching yourself at the hip to a man whose hand you can’t hold in public. 

It’s not that he’s ashamed. (He reassures you of this often.) He’s just private, and unwilling to pop a bubble he’s lived comfortably in for the better part of five decades; sometimes, his perspective on (and fear of) public homophobia speaks volumes to the age gap between you. 

So you stand back, under the cover of the press tents, watching Pedro walk the carpet. You’re in good company— Mira and Coco track him beside you with narrowed eyes, vigilantly monitoring him for accidental hair touches or makeup smudges. 

He sways on his feet between interviews. Your heart clenches.

The carpet is short, much less elaborate than the ones at awards ceremonies. After a few interviews and a series of photographs, everyone starts slowly making their way into the theater.

You hang back in the lobby, a little unsure of how to proceed. There is guest seating in the mezzanine, mostly for the press reporters and various network reps in attendance. It's not a big venue. The main seating is reserved, obviously, for the people actually associated with the show. And their guests. Which is, technically, you, but... Well.

You maybe should have ironed this out prior to arrival. The whole flu thing kinda took priority.

"Yo!" There is a light shove on your shoulder. Bella, flush with excitement and fresh off the carpet, pulls you in for a quick hug. "Your man is so unwell."

They are laughing, though your heart clenches. Poor baby. "This would only happen to him," you agree. "He come in already?" You'd been scanning the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Like a fan. (A fan that spent the better part of the morning pressing a cold washcloth to his neck, sitting on the bathroom floor.)

Bella cocked an eyebrow. "You guys are so fucking weird about this shit." They are privy to the details, courtesy of Pedro. Apparently it was a hot topic of conversation while killing time on set. You'd received many a FaceTime during long stop-downs between takes; calls you'd assume were your boyfriend, but had Bella cackling on the line after you picked up.

As if on cue, a mass of black fabric appears in your periphery.

"Are you conspiring to put me out of my misery?" Pedro is still wearing his 'everything is fine and I'm doing great' press smile.

"Duh." Bella smooths down the front of their blazer. "I think it's gonna start soon? I gotta find my mom."

They wade back into the dwindling crowd, leaving you and your germy boyfriend in the corner. Pedro's eyes are closed, as he takes measured breaths through his nose.

"Oh babe," you whisper quietly. "I'm sorry this is happening to you."

He softens. "It's okay. I'm okay. Gonna be honest, I'm relieved we're about to sit down for a couple hours."

"Just a few more hours left, that's all. I'll see you at the reception?" Your eyes drift to the door upstairs, behind the velvet rope separating press and attendees.

“Are we not—“ He clears his throat, voice breaking weakly. “Are we not sitting together?”

His eyes are glassy, but lack the same fever-bright quality he’d woken up with. The crease between his eyes deepens as he frowns. This feels like the start of a larger conversation that most definitely will not be happening in the lobby of the Regency Village Theater. 

“We can,” you offer cautiously. “If that is what you want.” 

A large, slightly trembly hand grasps your shoulder. “Of course that’s what I want, love. ‘M sorry. It’s dark, it’s safe, I just… I’m so tired.” The last part is admitted in a pained whisper. Your heart aches. It takes a concerted effort to not reach out and touch him. (It usually does, in public. He is a tactile aficionado– preens over little touches, forehead kisses, the brush of your hand over his hair. You offer these so frequently in private, that in public, your hand twitches regularly against the impulses.)

Pedro's manager waves from the other side of the room. He musters a small smile, releasing the grip on your shoulder. "Premiere, talkback, reception. Bed."

In the stiff theater seats, he leans so far over the armrest, you know his back will be sore later. But he tucks himself into your side the moment the lights dim, head on your shoulder. The frame of his glasses digs into your neck, and you couldn't care less. Your focus is on the lines he is tracing into your palm, large hand cupping yours in your lap.

The show is fantastic. Of course. The talkback is short, courtesy of Craig, and the reception is informal enough that you are in-and-out. Pedro makes the rounds while you make awkward small talk with Bella's mom (whose name you always forget, dammit, but she's lovely nonetheless). Take two sips of some cocktail called "Look for the Light" and wait for your cue to leave. Though you remain blissfully flu-free, you have been anticipating the conclusion of this evening as strongly as Pedro.

The Uber home has to make an emergency stop, so the star of the evening can puke water and crackers on the side of Mulholland Drive. You tip well.

And then, hours after he stepped onto the carpet, the prophecy is fulfilled. Pedro is tucked into bed, dogs at his feet, empty but blue-tinged medicine cap discarded on the nightstand beside a mug of water and his glasses.

His face is smushed into the pillow. Eyelids at half-mast, as he watches you change out of your simple suit and into a pair of well-loved flannel bottoms.

You don't need a shirt. On cue, your boyfriend octopus-latches as you slide under the covers, head resting on your bare collarbone.

"You did good tonight," you say, through a yawn. Reach up to tug the chain on the bedside lamp. Your other hand cards through Pedro's hair, detangling little clumps of hair spray he was too tired to brush out. "'M so proud of you."

"I mean it," he whispers back. "It's time. I'm sick of not being able to hold your hand."

Your lips brush his temple. 'We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Plenty of time for it," he mumbles, right on the cusp of sleep. "Since we're not leaving this bed."

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Professor Milo

Achilles Milo was an unscrupulous scientist from Gotham City who specialized in the biological tampering of animal subjects. He had long been engaging in these illegal practices when he raised the ire of Catwoman, whose cat Isis he had had captured. At the time, Milo was working for Roland Daggett to infect stray animals with a special derivative of the rabies virus, as well as an antidote which Daggett could market, netting them fortune and acclaim. This drew the attention of Batman who teamed up with Catwoman to bring the operation down and save Isis.  

Although his plans were dashed, Milo managed to escape.  He was later sought out by the athlete Anthony Romulus.  Romulus had Milo create for him a performance enhancing drug that could not be detected by standard dope-screening tests.  Milo created such a serum utilizing the genetic material of a timber wolf.  This proved highly effective and Romulus went on to become a celebrated winner of multiple Olympic Gold Medals.  

Continued use of the serum caused Romulus to transform, becoming more and more wolf-like.  Milo stated he could cure the condition, yet he instead hastened it so that Romulus transformed into a werewolf.  Milo then blackmailed Romulus, stating that he would only reverse the lycanthropy if Romulus used his abilities to take out Batman.   This effort failed and Milo again went into hiding.  

He was later recruited by Amanda Waller to work in research and development at the shadowy Cadmus Project.  Milo’s lack of success led to his being fired from the project.  In a fit of anger, Milo released the creature known as Doomsday who was being held in confinement at Cadmus.  Doomsday’s first act of freedom was to kill Professor Milo.

Actor Treat Williams voiced Achilles Milo with the villain first appearing in the thirty-third episode of the first season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘Cat Scratch Fever.’  

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

— SERENA —

( Il Dottore X Fem! Reader )

SUMMARY

After backing out from The Doctor’s major experiment whose goal was to instill archon-like abilities within you, he decides to come up with a malicious plan forcing you to thank him for his efforts.

Little did you know, Collei, a fellow participant in Dottore’s experiment, felt curious as to watch along.

WARNINGS

RAPE/NON-CON. Unethical Experimentation. Aphrodisiacs. Sex Toys. Collei being a voyeur.

NOTES

Your name in this chapter will be Serena, hence the title.

This chapter has a fem! reader.

Before I see people complaining about underaged characters being involved in this fic, I would like to point out that Collei isn’t going to be subject to sexual matters here.

She’s just going to be a voyeur, in some way.

Don’t like, don’t read applies here! I’ve seen comments saying Collei is going to be involved with Dottore when she isn’t!

To those idiots who have given hate comments, first of all, fuck you. I’ve stated in my profile several times that I won’t be writing NSFW posts for underaged characters or entities present in my fics.

NSFW under the cut!

The Fatui hideout was akin to a black, gothic medieval castle in the harsh, angry winters of Sneznhaya—with its pointed triangular shaped rooftops and asymmetrical windows, the place was deemed highly unconventional to visit especially when the cold prevailed. But there existed at least eleven Harbingers and Fatui Agents who monitored the site for any possible intruders or attackers.

In the hideout’s interior lied a highly organized laboratory which had all sorts of equipment, weapons, artifacts, and tools needed for undergoing experiments.

And there you were, knocking on Dottore’s office for further assistance.

The door let out a slight creak as it opened, revealing his tall frame before you.

“What seems to be the matter, Serena?” Dottore inquired as he poured a cylinder of slime concentrate into a beaker.

“I….I don’t feel so good, Doctor. Ever since you injected me with those slime secretions mixed with liquified crystal chunks, I’ve been having a bad fever for a whole day up to now.” you said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? Aw. Hmmm…..I guess I can find a perfect remedy for that, but it would probably take a while.” Dottore said, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “Here, try this.”

“What is this, Doctor?” you inquired.

“A solution I developed from preserved slime concentrate without the liquified crystal chunks. Scientifically speaking, I made a minor mistake in my research thinking crystal chunks would actually grant someone powerful Electro-Charged abilities. Unfortunately, they caused the exact fever you have now.” Dottore replied.

“B-but Doctor….”

“I want you to drink this solution as it will be beneficial for your fever.” Dottore said.

You gently took the test tube and took a sip.

“Go on.” Dottore simply nodded.

You slowly drank the contents of the solution, feeling it’s thick, gooey texture as it filled your throat. It tasted quite sour. “Thank you.”

“Was it too sour for your taste?” Dottore asked.

“Quite so.” you replied, gulping one more time.

“Very well then, all you have to do is get some much awaited bed rest.” instructed Dottore in a professional manner.

You nodded. “Okay, Doctor.”

Leaving the lab, you found your way into the guest rooms right around the corner. Things made you wonder how they would make guests sleep in the basement, knowing residential homes would put those rooms on the top floor. But this is a hideout after all, so it would be obvious that they put every bedroom in the basement to establish a sense of secrecy from the public eye.

An hour passed. You suddenly felt hot, your cheeks feeling flustered as sweat began to grow more apparent. You didn’t know what to expect of the situation that befell you, but you can only hope that this isn’t anything fatal. The Doctor toying with you is the last thing you ever wanted, considering you placed great trust in him as your savior.

Being a sufferer of Eleazar, things haven’t been quite the easy way for you since you had to deal with its symptoms. From numbness in the skin to the formation of dark, hardened scales in your body, things have been quite rough for you as your clumsiness made it risky to just do whatever you deemed necessary. Cooking, for example, is something you dared not do, for accidents may happen when your Eleazar attacks.

Little did you know, you could see black scales appear on your wrists signifying that your condition worsened. You felt your feet grow numb, and it could feel as if you were about to fall down any moment. You didn’t know what to do, your state suddenly changing into that of panic. While you didn’t want to blame the Doctor for his continuous experiments on you, you just had to. You didn’t know why you chose to place full trust in him knowing he made a mistake in his research.

“Serena!” Dottore called out from the upper floor. “Would you mind entering the lab, please?”

You were reluctant to pursue Dottore once again, but this time it could be another treatment he came up with. Getting up from the bed, you had to make your presence known.

“Coming!” you replied, shouting.

Rushing back into the lab, you caught Dottore forming a smirk on his face while staring at the test tube, seemingly impressed with his new creation. That being said, he turned to you and beckoned a finger signaling you to come closer, so as to inject you with the substance.

“May I inquire what that is for, Doctor?”

“Think of this as some sort of follow-up injection….you drank the syrup I gave you earlier, but that alone isn’t enough.” Dottore said. “I’d like to think of its chemicals being that of a god’s remains. This will be crucial in making you an archon’s equal.”

Dottore continued speaking as he pierced the needle onto your skin, cooing. “Now, now…. Relax, my dear. You know I won’t be leaving….not when I fully get what I wanted from you.”

“Huh? Ow! Argh! It hurts! Doctor! It hurts!”

Dottore chuckled, earning a look of suspicion from you.

“It’s just fun seeing you react to even the slightest tinge of pain an injection could give you. I wonder how you’d react if…….”

You had to butt in and alert Dottore about his sudden change of subject—from curing your fever to actually making you a prototype of a god.

“But Doctor….We’re talking about my fever here..I want to know if this solution would cure it! Please…..The heat is unbearable…..”

“Worry not, my dear. When you become a god, it shall render you immune to all diseases, including Eleazar.” Dottore told you.

“Really, Doctor?” you asked in retaliation.

“I promise you so, my dear. You don’t have to suffer from your illness, or any other anomaly, for that matter. There’s only one last thing we need to perform on you to ensure your body is indeed fit for the other experiments done for you.”

“So, Doctor, this isn’t over? There’s still plenty of experiments to be performed on me?” you asked.

“I’m afraid so.” Dottore replied.

“T-then….I’ll just refuse to be a part of those experiments! I-I don’t want to be experimented on any further…..sorry…”

A change in Dottore’s face made itself clear before you. You were FUCKED. You immediately got up from the chair, only to be stopped by Dottore’s heavy hand on your shoulder.

“What did you say?” Dottore said softly.

You froze in confusion at the sudden change in the Doctor’s facial expression. “….Did I say something wrong? I just said……”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Dottore scoffed. “You know what? You’re being incredibly ungrateful, Serena. Backing out from my research just like that? I just can’t believe your utter lack of faith in me. Here I am trying to cure you from your said fever as caused by your Eleazar, and this is how you repay me?”

“B-but it wasn’t my intention to-“

Dottore leaned closer to murmur in your ear.

“You agreed to be a part of this experiment for a reason. And you’re planning to take yourself away? That I cannot allow, especially for my favorite little subject….”

Dottore began to fondle your breasts with one hand, sliding his other hand below until he reached your intimate area, ‘squishing’ it with all his might.

You moaned involuntarily, covering your mouth in retaliation.

“Hmmmm….as I thought.” Dottore purred. “It doesn’t matter how much one tries to resist the physical pleasures given to them, no matter what, they just always seem to like it.”

“L-let go!!!” you protested as you took a step backward.

“What’s the matter, doll? Scared? Aw….poor baby can’t take what’s been given to them.” Dottore cooed.

“I only partook in your experiment to cure my Eleazar! Not feeling these symptoms of being in heat!” you replied, backing away. You rushed your way out of the lab by finding an exit, and there it was. Upon touching the doorknob, you could feel the power of Electro course through your veins, earning a slight sensation of electrocution to occur. You winced in pain and took a step backward, protesting once again.

“It won’t open!! Why???!!!” you exclaimed.

“Because I made it that way. So no one would be able to intrude on us.” Dottore sneered.

“Nooooo!!!!!” you continued to unlock the door, only for it to cause another type of short circuit that shocked your body once more. In an attempt to get away, you could feel Dottore’s arms wrap around your breasts from behind, circling his fingers around your nipples.

As a last resort, you elbowed him with all your might, causing him to wince in pain.

“You brat…!!!!” Dottore exclaimed. You tried to run elsewhere, but you were grabbed once more as he carried you to a metallic table. He let you lie down on your back, letting you feel the cold of the metal upon your skin.

In retaliation, you got up, only to be stopped by Dottore as he injected another substance that would render you unable to speak. “There, there. I don't want to make things harder for us both, hm? I like you. Not only are you fit enough to become a god that could rival the archons in terms of power, but you…you’re perfect for me, Serena.”

“But-but you promised!!!” you said, feeling your tongue fall slowly numb from the anesthetic given to you.

“Promised what? I never gave any promises to save you fully from the beginning, dear. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“You promised to cure me….my….myyyy…mmmm….” you said as your tongue fully grew numb, rendering you unable to say anything that came into mind.

Dottore chuckled. “Promised a cure? For what, dear? You have to be more specific. Oh wait, you can’t speak…..Aw. What a pity.”

Dottore brought out a remote control, enabling Electro-powered chains to secure your hands and prevent you from leaving. “Stay still, dear. I’m about to bring something special to test out.”

“Arghhh!!!!! Hah!!!!!” you protested.

“Tsk. So stubborn. Worry not, dear. When this is all over, I’ll send you back to Fontaine, okay?”

Your face was angry in disbelief, your body wanting to escape the cold laboratory. Sounds of the chains echoed across the area as you protested for your life, even though you were already rendered helpless.

It was at that moment when Dottore pulled out a knife, cutting past the fabric of your clothes to reveal your swollen breasts, belly, and lower body. He took out every single cloth out of the table, earning another angry scream escaping your mouth.

“Hush, doll. I’ll be taking care of you. And you’re going to be a good girl for me, yes?”

You shook your head.

“Tsk.”

Dottore walked to the cabinet to bring out a classic rechargeable clitoral stimulator.

Returning to you, he leaned closer to murmur something inaudible, yet filthy. “I’m going to ruin you so bad you’ll even forget this is all a part of our little experiment.”

“Arghhhh! Hghhhhh!” you wailed.

Placing the hole of the stimulator over your clitoris, Dottore activated the toy, earning an involuntary moan from you. Dottore has studied enough about female anatomy to know where the right places were, and knew how to prepare you before getting over to the main course—to have him inside you.

The toy ‘pulled’ and ‘sucked’ similarly to when someone goes down on you. With each thrust inward, you let out a slight “ah!” here and there. That was only the first level, which meant that the intensity wasn’t at an all time high. Dottore was extremely satisfied with the way you were reacting, so far as to rub his crotch in arousal with his other hand.

“You’re taking this toy so well, dear Serena.” Dottore purred. “I’m sure that if you’ll have me inside you, there’ll be some way to have this dick in you with less effort.”

Dottore set the toy’s intensity level to a max, earning a loud moan from you. Your clit felt like it was going to twitch from the overwhelming stimulation dealt upon it. Your crotch felt wet, and that you were going to cum very soon. You slightly moved your cunt back and forth to the hole that ‘suctioned’ your clit, fighting back the urge to thrust your cunt in and out of the suctioning hole with full force.

“Humping the toy right back, are we, hm? Naughty girl.” Dottore murmured closer into your ear.

“Ah! Ah!”

“Filthy slut.” Dottore sneered once more. “Give into it. Feel its power.”

“Ah, hah!!!!” you screamed as you rocked your hips into the toy, grinding against it not because you wanted it, but because you needed it. You needed to get off.

You felt yourself coming close, gasping for air as Dottore held the toy closer to your clit.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

You let out an “Agh!!!”, signifying the climax has overtook your senses. Feeling your newfound orgasm, you continued to rock your hips onto the suctioning hole in hopes of feeling the after-effects of your high. You sighed in relief after getting what you wanted.

“Seems that my dearest subject has been very sensitive to external stimulators, let me write that down on my medical observations.” Dottore said as he grabbed a notebook with a pen attached to it from beside the table.

“Doctor!!!” Collei called out, rushing to the lab only to discover it had been locked and enclosed with an Electro barrier. She can’t get in, yet can see what was going on inside. She saw a small sneak peek of your naked form with Dottore scribbling down his observations in a notebook. “Doctor?”

Collei froze, watching you by the door’s small glass window. Dottore ensured the walls of the Fatui hideout were soundproof, which means that he couldn’t hear anything outside of the lab.

Upon returning the notebook to the table, he faced you to the front and pulled your legs forward. Without warning, he unzipped his pants, taking out his half-hard cock in the process. This made your eyes widen in surprise as you continued to protest even more despite your ability to speak rendered impossible.

“There, there, my dear, now it’s time for the main course.” Dottore sneered. “I promise this won’t take too long, I just wanted to…..test how many gods we can create with our children given your ability to bear a child.”

“Urghhhhh!!!! Arghhhhh!!!”

“Aw. Poor baby not consenting to becoming a part of my research? Well…..” Dottore laughed. “It’s not like you could do anything as of the moment, huh, Serena?”

“Arghhhhh!!!!”

Dottore ignored your pleas as he spread your legs wider, rubbing the tip of his cock across your clit with an intention to tease it. Before you knew it, he pushed his cock into your vagina with one quick thrust, causing you to yelp in pain.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Dottore mocked. “You’re really this inexperienced, are you? Mmmm…..you’re perfect for me.”

You had no defense against Dottore this time. All you had to do was feel his dick stretch past every inhibition your body had, feeling every burn and ache. Sliding his dick in inch by inch, it took two minutes before he could finally be completely inside you. The pain suddenly developed into pleasure, Dottore letting out a hum in satisfaction with your body’s compliance.

It wasn’t long until Dottore started bucking his hips, thrusting back and forth with a slow, practiced motion. Dottore was standing up in front of the table, which meant that he needed to have more control over his balance so as to not have his legs shake in the middle of the do.

Collei from outside the lab could see a sight of Dottore rocking you from outside, a look of concern taking over her face.

“If only I could get into the ear of yours to whisper such filthy secrets I have in store for you,” Dottore spoke. “….I would have done it sooner.”

Sounds of skin slapping filled the air as he took his sweet time enjoying those beautiful whimpers of yours. Your tits bounced up and down which just fueled Dottore to moan in reaction to seeing your body give into his own needs.

“Such pretty tits my little test subject has.” Dottore said as he gasped for air, “Had this place not been a lab, I surely would have taken you in and pounced on you right there and then.”

“Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Hm? Surrendering yourself too soon? Aw….but we’re just getting started.” Dottore cooed as he sped up the pace of his hips.

“Mmmmmmhhhh!!!!!”

“Mmmm…..seems like we’re getting closer, my dear.”

He was right. You were close, he was close. For a quickie, he need not waste his time any longer. He grabbed your hips hard, pulling them closer, so far as to leave red marks on them. You moaned in return, bucking your hips right back subconsciously. You’ve been feeling quite frisky lately, perhaps as a side effect of the drug that has been injected into you.

“My, my…..” Dottore chuckled, gasping for more air as he sped up the pace of rocking his hips in and out of you. “Eager for a little challenge, are we?” The two of you were thrusting into each other at this point as Dottore was getting close.

“Mmmmmhhh…..looks like I’m gonna……” Dottore moaned. He slightly slowed down, awaiting his release as you groaned in pleasure. With one sudden rush, he moaned once more along with you, his seed filling you to the brim.

After Dottore finished inside you, he grabbed a handkerchief, wiping his dick. He stared down at you while he reached for the remote control, deactivating the Electro-powered chains that stopped you from running away.

You could feel your tongue reverting to its normal state again, the numbness disappearing. With that, you were able to speak again.

“Treatment….Doctor. How’s…..the treatment….” you said as you panted hard post-orgasm.

“Your Eleazar symptoms have already subsided.” Dottore said. “You just needed to get off to cope with the side effects of the cure, since it contains chemicals similar to an aphrodisiac.”

“I see…..thank you….Doctor.” you said as your naked frame fell asleep on the metallic table.

Dottore unlocked the door with a simple remote control that deactivated the power of Electro. Leaving the lab, he stumbled upon Collei who happened to have watched the whole thing. Looking down at her, she attempted to run away only to be stopped by Dottore.

[idialover]

I have a fever, so have some more twst as Community (and iasip) (ooc)

---------------------------------------------------- Idia: Leona, I think you should play the role of my father Leona: I don't want to be your father. Idia: That's perfect, you already know your lines. :) ---------------------------------------------------- Ruggie: You know we have an astronomy test tomorrow... Leona: Class blows. What I need to know about the universe is that I'm at the center of it. :D Leona: Ohhh, bing bong sing along, your team's Al Gore 'cause your views are wrong. ---------------------------------------------------- Azul: Knock knock. Who's there?. Cancer. Oh good, come on in, I thought if was Azul. ---------------------------------------------------- Vil: Access, and share with us, a profoundly deep and painful memory. Idia: I'm on the playground. Stop taunting me. I just want to go on the swings. Vil: Good. Early childhood is a treasure-trove of pain. Idia: That happend this morning... ---------------------------------------------------- Jade: I actually withdraw my candidacy, I fear a political career might shine a negative light on my drug dealing. ---------------------------------------------------- Azul: LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO ME!! Truck horn: *honk honk* Azul: Oh shit, the stakes are here. ---------------------------------------------------- Lilia(trying to help set up a dating profile): What's your favorite hobby? Malleus: Magnets. ---------------------------------------------------- Jade: Mc,I swear, you would be of more use to me if I skinned you, and turned that skinf into a lampshade. Or fashioned you into a piece of high end luggage. I could even add you to my collection. Mc: Are you saying you have a collection of skin luggage? Jade: Of course I'm not Mc, don't be ridiculous. Think of the smell. You haven't thoughtof the smell, you BITCH! Jade: Now you say another word and I swear to the Seven, I will dice you to a million little pieces, and put those pieces in a box, a glass box, that I wil display on my mantel. Mc: *gasp* Jade: Alright, now that that's settled, we can have a normal conversation :D. ---------------------------------------------------- Rook(to Neige): Whoa whoops oh, I dropped my monster condom, that I use for my magnum dong Vil: *Eyeroll* Neige: O//.//O ---------------------------------------------------- Epel: Okay. I'm gonna rise up, gonna kick a little ass, gonna kick some ass in the USA, gonna climb a mountain, gonna sew a flag, gonna fly on an eagle, I'm gonna kick some butt, I'm gonna drive a big truck, I'm gonna rule this world, gonna kick some ass, I'm gonna rise up, and kick a little ass. ROCK, FLAG AND EAGLE! ---------------------------------------------------- Mc: Guys?! Why aren't the breaks working?! Floyd:Because I cut the breaks! Wild card bitches! YEE-HAW!! *jumps out of the van* ---------------------------------------------------- Rollo (when NRC students came to NBC): First the queers, then sorcery?!! ---------------------------------------------------- Idia (during Camp Vargas): Trees?! EVERYWERE TREES?!! ---------------------------------------------------- Lilia (if the theory that Crowley is Malleus' dad is true): My life is a lie! MY LIFE IS A LIE!! Somebody's gonna get stabbed! ----------------------------------------------------

[gavinisqueer]

I've posted a new fic! (Finally!)

Summary: Gavin has a secret - he wasn't born an alpha. For years he's kept it under wraps, but when his suppressants start to fail and he goes into heat, he has no choice but to tell Nines the truth. However, the two of them learn that Gavin's body has changed in the years he's been living as an alpha…

-

The very first thing Nines learned when he joined the DPD was to watch out for Detective Reed. This was a warning given to him first by Connor, his predecessor, who had already had several poor encounters with the alpha in just his first week there, and then by Hank, who backed up his partner’s sentiment. A third warning came a few minutes later from Captain Fowler himself, just before calling said human into his office and assigning the two of them as partners.

That was seven months ago, and while they’d had their differences, especially in the beginning, Nines and Gavin had grown to tolerate and then to like each other. They worked well together, Nines speeding up investigations with his advanced analysis abilities while Gavin handled talking to the witnesses and victims. Occasionally he cracked a difficult case with a ‘gut feeling’ an android had no hope of replicating - Nines couldn’t comprehend it, but more often than not the detective ended up being right.

Today, the detective wasn’t offering any such insights. They’d arrived at the scene and Nines had immediately gotten to work scanning the environment and piecing together the clues he found, but Gavin lagged in joining him. Usually Gavin would be right behind him, almost making it a game to figure things out before the android, but this time he was distracted.

“Is everything alright, Detective?” Nines asked as he rose from a crouch, red painting two of his fingers. He placed them in his mouth as he waited for an answer, getting the DNA profile of the victim in his HUD. Gerald Huntings, alpha, 38, with a long arrest history of red ice distribution. It wasn’t hard to imagine what might have done him in; an exchange gone wrong or a rivalry taken to the extreme, most likely.

“Huh?” Gavin looked over, Nines’ question taking a moment to sink in. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just this damn heat getting to me.” He pulled at his collar, regretting not leaving his leather jacket in the car. Like hell was he going to take it off in a place like this unless he wanted to be taking home the whole crime scene on his clothes.

“…Detective, the temperature has not changed since we left the station.” Nines frowned. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Seriously?” It had been mildly warm that morning, nowhere near as hot as Gavin was feeling right now. “Fuck, maybe I’m getting sick, then.” Concerned, Nines offered to test him for a fever, but Gavin shook his head. “Let’s just finish up here first, if I’m not feeling better then I’ll call off the rest of the day.”

Nines wasn’t sure that was the best plan, but he knew how stubborn the alpha could be when it came to their work. He’d get Gavin’s cooperation much more easily if he wasn’t simultaneously trying to pull him away from the case. “I should have all the evidence logged within ten minutes. If you want to get some air, I can meet you outside when I’m done.”

The human looked like he was going to argue, but then something came over his face, and he mumbled, “Y-Yeah, I think I will.” He turned to leave, only to run smack into someone else coming in.

“Watch it, kid.” Hank stood in the doorway, Connor visible over his shoulder in the hall. Gavin bristled at being called ‘kid’, but he didn’t get a chance to snap back. The lieutenant’s nose curled as he looked down at the younger alpha, catching a familiar scent coming off him. “Christ, Reed, what the hell are you doing here smelling like that?”

Gavin’s face reddened. “It’s just sweat, old man, I’ve smelled worse on you,” he defended himself. He could feel his shirt clinging to his back, and he knew when he got home he was going to strip himself of his clothes and immediately hop into a cold shower.

“No, it’s not that.” Connor stepped around Hank, but stayed near him and the door. “You smell like rut, Gavin.” Designed after omegas, Connor had the strongest sense of smell out of anyone in the room. If he smelled rut, then there was no doubt that’s what it was. “And it’s strong. You shouldn’t have even come in today if you’re this close.”

“What? No.” Gavin shook his head. There was no way. “I’m on suppressants. I haven’t had a cycle in years.”

“Suppressants have been known to fail after prolonged use.” After hearing Connor say that Gavin was in rut, Nines abandoned his investigation and joined the group standing by the exit. His own sense of smell was dulled in comparison to his predecessor, stronger than a human beta but not approaching that of an alpha. Only now that the others had pointed it out could he detect a hint of something in Gavin’s scent that wasn’t usually there. “I think Connor’s assessment is most likely correct. We should get you home.”

Gavin knew he was right, but he still weakly protested, “But the case-”

“Connor and I can wrap things up,” Hank interrupted him. “Go home, Reed, before you stink up the whole house.”

A hand pressed into Gavin’s back, Nines giving him a gentle push forward. Gavin reluctantly gave in, letting the android guide him out of the room. Hank and Connor moved out of their way, but as they passed, a whiff of the omega’s scent hit him like a smack to the face. He’d never liked Connor, and that extended to his scent - he smelled artificial and too sweet for Gavin’s tastes. But this time, those things didn’t bother him at all. The sweetness was enticing, and the faint plastic that underlay every android’s scent faded into the background.

Gavin didn’t realise that he had stopped walking, or that he was staring at Connor, until a deep growl filled the room and shook him out of his stupor. Hank glared at him, bringing a protective arm in front of the omega to put himself between Connor and the rut-addled alpha. Gavin was a good man even if he was a pain in the ass, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted to control himself when he was like this.

For the same reason, Nines grabbed onto the hood of Gavin’s jacket in case he needed to hold the man back. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary. The shock of realising he’d been ready to jump Connor, of all people, had Gavin eager to get out as soon as possible. As he rushed out the door, Nines at his heels, Hank called after them, “Make sure he doesn’t drive himself home!”

There was no argument from Gavin about that. As stubborn as he could be, even he recognized that he shouldn’t be in control of a vehicle right now. He let Nines guide him out of the house and to his car, getting into the passenger side and immediately yanking off his jacket and throwing it into the back seat. Nines got in beside him, taking the keys and starting the car.

It was usually Gavin who started up the conversations they had when driving, but today he was quiet, sitting with his forehead pressed to the window, the coolness of it providing him with only slight relief to the fire raging in his body.

How long had it been since he’d last felt like this? It must have been ten years ago at least that he’d started the suppressants. Sure, he knew they wouldn’t last forever, but the thought of what would happen if he took a break like the directions recommended made him feel sick. He’d pushed it, more than he should have, and now he was going to be hit with the consequences of his actions - the story of his life, basically.

If he had been any normal alpha, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. A week of dealing with his rampant hormones and he’d be good as new and back to work. But Gavin wasn’t a normal alpha, despite what he projected to everyone around him. Few people at work knew that before he’d ever joined the DPD, Gavin Reed had once been an omega. He was more open about being a trans man, sharing the fact with a few people he was close to, but being trans-secondary wasn’t nearly as accepted by society yet, so he’d kept that part of himself a secret ever since leaving home all those years ago.

That meant Gavin was the only one who knew that what was happening to his body wasn’t a rut - it was a heat.

- Read the rest on AO3!

[dlpl]

Understanding the DLPL Fever Profile Test

The DLPL (Dr Lal Pathology Lab) fever profile test is a comprehensive diagnostic tool designed to identify the root causes of fever, one of the most common symptoms of a wide range of medical conditions. This profile includes a series of tests that examine various bodily fluids and functions to provide a detailed overview of the potential infectious or inflammatory processes at work.

What is Included in the DLPL Fever Profile Test?

The specific tests included in a fever panel may vary based on the patient's symptoms or as suggested by the physician. Typically, it encompasses:

Complete Blood Count (CBC): This test measures different components of the blood, including red and white blood cells and platelets. It helps detect infections, inflammation, and other hematological conditions.

Erythrocyte Sedimentation Rate (ESR): ESR measures how quickly red blood cells settle at the bottom of a test tube. A faster-than-normal rate may indicate inflammation in the body.

C-Reactive Protein (CRP): CRP levels rise in response to inflammation. High levels can suggest an acute inflammatory process or infection.

Liver Function Tests (LFTs): These tests assess the health of the liver by measuring levels of enzymes, proteins, and substances produced or cleared by the liver.

Renal Function Tests (RFTs): These tests evaluate kidney performance by measuring levels of waste products like urea and creatinine in the blood.

Blood Cultures: To detect the presence of bacteria or fungi in the blood, indicating a bloodstream infection.

Urinalysis: This test checks for signs of infection, kidney disease, and other medical conditions by examining the appearance, concentration, and content of urine.

When Should You Consider the DLPL Fever Profile Test?

At the start of an infection or during the incubation phase, a person may feel lethargic or have a fever. It is recommended to visit a doctor and get tested at this point to determine the exact cause. Persistent or unexplained fever warrants a detailed investigation to rule out serious underlying conditions.

Benefits of the DLPL Fever Profile Test

Comprehensive Diagnosis: The test covers a wide range of potential causes of fever, providing a holistic view of the patient's health.

Early Detection: Identifies infections and inflammations early, allowing for prompt treatment.

Guided Treatment: Helps physicians tailor treatments based on specific findings, improving patient outcomes.

Conclusion

The DLPL fever profile test is an essential tool in the diagnostic arsenal for managing fevers. By providing a thorough analysis of various biomarkers and organ functions, it aids in identifying the precise cause of fever, ensuring that patients receive appropriate and timely treatment. For anyone experiencing persistent or severe fever symptoms, consulting a healthcare provider and considering a DLPL fever profile test could be a crucial step toward recovery.

[maxlab]

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[lynnt1ny]

You're Magic To Me: Ch. 8

Chapter Directory | Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Woosan (Multichaptered; Prince!Wooyoung and Servant!San)

Full WC: 91.3k Ch. 8 WC: 11k

Note: This chapter contains a dub-con kiss that is not between the main pairing.

Fic Blurb:

Wooyoung didn’t know what he did to deserve such a horrible manservant. With the weight of the kingdom over his head and the constant demands of his father, he couldn’t afford to deal with this every day. But why did San have to be so bloody endearing? After a series of coincidences, San found himself stuck at the Prince’s side, day in and day out. Of course he’d accidentally fall in love along the way. San didn’t know what to expect when he moved into the castle, but it certainly wasn’t this.   --- Aka, my Merlin-obsessed ass decided to write a Merlin-inspired fic.

The Poisoned Chalice

San’s ears were still burning. 

He, Sena, and Wooyoung were climbing back up to the training grounds. The sun peeked through dark clouds overhead as they went, and it seemed they were going to get another round of snowfall soon. San couldn’t focus on that, though. Wooyoung’s hand lay heavy on the back of his neck, and his eyes never left San’s side profile. 

San wasn’t going to make it to the castle alive. 

“Wooyoung, if you keep staring at him, he’s going to self combust,” Sena snickered. She had her two books tucked under an arm.

They stopped walking, and San buried his face in his hands with a groan, shoulders slightly hunched. “Woo, get it over with,” he said. His voice muffled by the palms of his hands. “I know you want to do it.” 

San didn’t look up, but he heard a hitch of breath, and Wooyoung’s hand wasn’t on his neck anymore. It was in his hair. Wooyoung’s fingers scratched against his scalp, and San forced himself to hold still as Wooyoung took in the pink hair.

 And then Wooyoung’s hands were wrapped around his wrists, pulling San’s palms away from his face. “Let me see you!” 

Bright brown eyes greeted him, and San gulped, his insides turning in somersaults. 

Wooyoung didn’t stop at his hair. After running his fingers through it a few more times, Wooyoung cupped San’s face again, except this time, his thumbs dug against the corners of San’s mouth, and he tapped the pads of his fingers against San’s cheekbones. 

“You did this?” Wooyoung asked, bewildered, and San nodded. 

Sena was right. San was seconds away from self combusting, and with his current streak of nonverbal magic, that was a very real possibility.  

“I can’t wait to see how people will react,” Wooyoung said, and San’s stomach dropped. So many people were going to stare. Wooyoung must have seen it in his eyes because he took a hand away and pinched San’s cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. They’ll love it.” 

San thought Wooyoung was loving this a little bit too much. 

“Are you done yet?” Sena piped up, and San took a step away from Wooyoung’s grabby hands. The way his face was burning, he felt like he was running a fever.  

“You two are weird,” she grimaced. “And dumb.” 

Wooyoung gaped at her, and his face screwed up in disgust. “I am not.” 

“Are you sure about that?” San giggled, and Wooyoung spluttered. 

“I will throw you in the stocks.” 

“And I’ll magic my way out!” 

Wooyoung glared at him. “Do you want to test that theory? Do you even know how to do that?” 

San opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. 

How the hell had he been doing magic? 

“I’ll.. I’ll think really hard, and it’ll happen,” San said. 

Silence met him, an incredulous look on Wooyoung’s face. 

“Is that really how it works?” 

San shrugged. 

“I can clarify that isn’t how it works,” Sena said. “I have no idea how he’s doing this without incantations.” 

“I swear, all I have to do is think really hard, or.. or want something to happen.” 

“Alright then,” she said. “Turn your hair back to black if that’s it.” 

“No.” Wooyoung butt in. “I like it like this.” 

San looked back and forth between the two royals and shrugged again. “I… I really don’t want to accidentally behead myself.” 

It didn’t look like Wooyoung found that funny. San poked him. 

Sena sighed and started walking back to the castle again. Wooyoung hurried to stroll by her side, and San trailed behind them. 

He looked over the training grounds, a small memory nudging at the back of his brain, and then it hit him: He’d done magic before. His mouth fell open as the image of Wooyoung flashed in his mind, flat on his back and staring at a knight above him, sword in hand. 

How long ago was that? Did San have magic all this time? Was it… getting stronger? 

How many times had San accidentally done magic without realizing it? His first day with the knights— that had to be months ago. 

He shook his head and sped to catch up to the royals. 

.

They officially called off the marriage. 

San was in a good mood. 

He didn’t know what happened, only that Sena apparently talked to King Sungho, and they mutually agreed to break it off. It didn’t look like Beomseok had a say in the matter, which made San wonder who was really pulling the strings in this situation. 

But all was well, because Wooyoung was free from the marriage, and while another one will pop up eventually, this gave them a little more time. 

Three days had passed, and all was well. Everything was wonderful. Wooyoung was smiling more, and San spent more time with Sena. Even in such a short time, she had quickly become a close friend, and they were experimenting with San’s magic. 

But while Wooyoung was obviously… happier, he also grew more… physical with San. 

San blamed the hair. 

Wooyoung wouldn’t stop touching it. The asshole always had a hand in it, or on San’s waist, or rubbing against his neck. He even tried to bite the top of San’s head, and that ended with a lot of shouting and accusations of cannibalism. 

It was just… the type of highly unusual ‘Wooyoung’ behavior that San never questioned, but it was getting to the point where he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was confusing. Wooyoung was constantly taking San’s heart and throwing it against a wall just to watch it go splat. San kept having to remind himself it was only Wooyoung’s touch-starved demon manifesting itself and saying hello. 

Wooyoung also stared at him more. It made San’s skin crawl. It made him want to cross the distance between them, no matter the size, and tug Wooyoung closer until their foreheads knocked together again, like they did in the field- until San could tilt Wooyoung’s chin closer with a finger hooked under his chin to feel his lips. 

These thoughts plagued him, and he found himself with a lot of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what would this feel likes.’ It was unhealthy, and Hongjoong wouldn’t stop scolding him for spacing out because of it. 

Hongjoong had been keeping him busy lately. More often than not, San would walk into the physician’s chambers and find it empty, both Hongjoong and his carry-on supplies gone. 

But on another topic, everyone got used to the hair surprisingly fast, San himself included. Now, although he had a pretty good idea on how to change it back, he didn’t because Wooyoung ordered him not to. 

That had been an interesting conversation. 

Now, he was getting ready for a magic session with Sena. Two days ago, he had successfully (accidentally) turned half the field pink, and by yesterday, the flowers had died away, and all was mostly blue again. It was weird, but it was magic, so what did San expect? 

He set out in the late morning, after the early chill disappeared and his first set of duties were complete (Wooyoung was a wreck today, but what was new?). The days were growing warmer, but the warmth of the sun had yet to break through the winter chill. A thin layer of frost dimpled the grass under San’s feet as he set off to the field, and overhead, a small bird sang its song. It was nice. He could get used to lazy days like this. 

He passed the pavilion by the hill, letting his fingers trail against its side. Wooyoung had complained endlessly about the cold. It made him stiff in training, and sessions had to be limited. San had a sneaking suspicion Wooyoung’s favorite season was spring. He liked flowers, of course, and he always had the smallest smile when it rained instead of snowed. 

Wooyoung liked the rain. San had no idea why. 

Sena was standing by the edge of the field, scowling down at her feet. It was familiar- she was always frowning when San walked over, only perking up when he spoke up. 

Today, she wore a light blue dress with a dark cloak over her shoulders. Half of her hair was pulled back away from her face, pinned in the back. They made an odd pair- a lanky boy with flamingo hair next to a princess- as regal and elegant as they get. 

“You’re always upset when I come by,” San said, and just like every other magic lesson, she smiled at the sound of his voice. 

She chuckled, all honey-voiced and petite. “It’s nothing. Just the flowers, that’s all.” 

“You.. don’t like them?” 

She bent and plucked a flower from the field, twirling it between the pads of two fingers. “They’re all over the place in Essetir,” she said. “And no, I don’t. My people equate them to unrequited love.”

San stared at her. “What are you talking about?” 

Sena sighed, a sad smile on her lips. “They bloom, and they die, never acknowledged.” She let go, watching the petals flutter back to the ground. “Love is beautiful, but fleeting, just like these flowers.” 

He had been putting those flowers in Wooyoung’s rooms since he first arrived. 

Funny. 

Sena laughed. “Don’t get all mopey, San. It’s just a saying,” she said. “And besides, these flowers are supposed to be seasonal. I’m surprised this field still blossoms.” 

She was right. The flowers had been untouched by winter, frozen in time, yet still dying and crawling back in an endless cycle. Even if it was just a saying, that fact made him feel a little bit better. 

“Well..” he began, scraping his brain for a new idea. “We’ve spent a few magic lessons here already. We could go somewhere else?” 

She nodded. “That sounds great.” 

“Oh!” San perked up. “You've only been in the castle, right? I can show you a bit more of Sinsu! And try some magic along the way, of course.” 

“Perfect.” 

San smiled, and they headed back, a new bounce in his step. He hadn’t been to the marketplace in a really long time, and he thought it would be fun to show Sena around. She walked beside him, and San turned them in the direction of the courtyard. It should be a clear path from there to the bustling streets. 

For a second, he considered getting a knight to come with them, or maybe even someone from Sena’s delegation. Sena was a princess, after all. The only time Wooyoung went out alone was when he snuck out. Is that what they were doing now? Sneaking out? He glanced to his side, but nothing seemed amiss on Sena’s face. 

San didn’t have anything to worry about. 

Sena pulled the hood over her head as they passed the front gates, though, so maybe she was technically sneaking out. The guards were more concerned with who came in to the castle, not who was coming out. It was smooth. It was easy. San wondered what would happen if they were caught. 

“Where are we going, San?” she asked, and a touch of pride bloomed in his chest, knowing she trusted him enough to do this. 

“Sinsu’s marketplace! It’s amazing, but if you ever want to go back, just say the word. I know you may not be used to all the people.” 

She shook her head. “Go ahead; lead the way.” 

San grinned, and they began weaving around the path. He took her hand at one point, to keep her from pulling away. Losing the princess in the crowd sounded like a horror story. 

There wasn’t anything that particularly stood out in the lower villages, but something about it reminded San of Balor. It was homey. Familiar. It made him both happy and homesick at the same time. 

It was more crowded in Sinsu, though, especially as they drew closer to the marketplace. They began drawing stares as they walked by. People openly gawked at them, and San glanced back to make sure Sena was unrecognizable. And then it hit him. 

Oh. His hair. 

Damn, he should have found a cloak or a hat before coming here. 

He stumbled to an awkward stop, still holding her hand. “Do you think we could magic a hat out of thin air?” he mumbled. 

She giggled. “I don’t think so, but you did this to yourself.” 

He did do this to himself. 

“I hate that you’re right.” 

She shrugged. 

“Can’t we buy one? We’re in a marketplace.”  

San scanned their surrounds, looking for anything that could hide his hair. Ahead, the stalls and vendors stretched out, people walking back and forth in a cycle of activity.  His eyes zeroed in on a textile vendor. It was close, and probably their safest bet to not draw anymore attention. 

“Over there,” he pulled Sena in the general direction. A few people stopped and stared in his direction, and god why was San so impulsive? He should have thought this out more. He hurried his steps, Sena dragging slightly behind him. 

“Here we are, then,” he smiled at the man behind the table, who gawped at him. Of course he did. San sighed. “I’m looking for anything to hide this.” He pointed at his head. 

Eventually, he and Sena were back in the streets, a dark headscarf wrapped around San’s hair. The back was still exposed, and a touch of pink crept out around his face, but it’ll have to do.

They wandered around, taking in all of the people and vendors. Sena bought a silver necklace and a ring, and while they probably couldn’t compare to the jewelry she already owned, the gesture made San smile. It quickly became obvious this would not be a productive outing. With all the people around, the opportunity to do magic was rare, and the pink hair already drew enough attention. 

They bought some fresh fruit for a snack and ducked into a secluded corner behind a building. It wasn’t warm out, but the constant walking took a toll on them, and they took a much needed break. 

Sena laughed. “It’s nice here, San. Thanks for taking me.” 

“Of course!” He took a quick bite out of an apple. “I love spending time down here. It’s great to get away from Wooyoung once in a while.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s just… hard to be around him lately.” 

She hummed. “You two are an interesting pair.”

You could say that. Yes, they were… a pair. It was him and Wooyoung against the world. It was San watching Wooyoung become a king from the shadows, a place for Wooyoung to come to after long days. 

Unrequited love. 

His eyes cast down to the floor. “Yeah, I guess we are.” He wasn’t hungry anymore. 

She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” 

She didn’t reply, and he tensed up. 

Did Sena know?

“Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung,” she said. “If you’re looking to be.. more than friends, I mean. No matter how hard you try, you’ll always be a servant, and he’ll always be a prince. And I’m truly, very sorry.” 

He didn’t need her to say that. He already knew. 

“Sinsu really is fucked up for that,” she said. “In Essetir, it’s different. We have different morals, different priorities. People are so… stuck up here.” She shook her head. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” 

“I-” San didn’t know what to say. 

‘Things won’t end well for you and Wooyoung.’

His feet were lead, his mind numb to the faint chatter of the marketplace. He knew this, but hearing it from someone else.. 

He needed to change the topic, to just.. forget. “There’s, uh, someone I wanted to find today,” he said. “She sold wooden carvings. I guess it was foolish of me to think she would still be here after all this time.” 

“You wanted me to meet her?” 

“I wanted to do magic for her.” 

A crease formed between Sena’s brows. “You’re too kind, San.” 

“You make kindness sound like a bad thing.” 

Sena smiled. “Sometimes it is.” She patted his shoulder. “Come on, we should start heading back.” She took his hand and led him away, pulling him back to the castle- back to washing floors and polishing armor. 

Back to Wooyoung. 

A pair of eyes caught them on their way out, trailing after the princess and the boy with the pretty pink hair.  

(。-`ω´-)

Wooyoung bit his lip as he pushed the door open. There was no reason to be nervous, but he couldn’t help it. He was finally going to spill his guts.  

“Yeosang?” he called out into the room. “Are you in here?” 

The King’s Ward lay stomach down on his bed. The quarters weren’t as extravagant as Wooyoung’s but it was nothing to scoff at. The room was spotless, unlike Wooyoung’s organized chaos, and the furniture was touched with silver instead of gold. Wooyoung scanned the room, looking for Seonghwa, but it didn’t seem like he was there.

“What do you want?” Yeosang groaned into his pillows. “I’m trying to sleep.” 

Wooyoung scrunched his nose. “I don’t understand how you can breath like that, let alone sleep.” 

“Magic, dipshit.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Wooyoung walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He picked at the covers and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling fire in the corner of the room. 

“Yeosang, I want to talk to you,” he said. “It’s serious.”

“You? Serious?” Yeosang rolled over onto his back. His hair stuck out in unnatural angles, and Wooyoung would have laughed if not for the pit of anxiety brewing in his gut. “Alright, go ahead.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip again. Bad habits never die. He looked away, throat tight as the words formed in his head. 

“I-” he swallowed. “I think I’m in love.” 

Yeosang didn’t say anything, and when Wooyoung turned back to look at him, he realized Yeosang was holding back a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

“What’s so funny?” Wooyoung hit the side of Yeosang’s leg. “Stop it! I’m having a crisis.” 

Yeosang gave in, his laugh bright despite the lower tones in his voice. “I think you’re the last person to know, except San, of course.” 

“What?” Wooyoung stared at him. 

“I mean, that’s who it is, right? Unless this is some kind of half-baked confession,” Yeosang said. “And in that case, I must decline, because you’re obviously obsessed with San.” 

Wooyoung hit him again. 

“I am not.” 

Yeosang raised his eyebrows, and Wooyoung sighed. “Maybe just a little bit.” 

“That’s right.” 

Wooyoung fell sideways and groaned into Yeosang’s sheets. “I can’t take this anymore!” he bemoaned. “He’s driving me insane.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mphm. Guess where I saw him today?” 

“You see him every day, Wooyoung,” he answered with a shrug. 

“Yeah, but not like, this,” Wooyoung said. “He was in the marketplace. With Sena. They snuck out.” 

“Why were you in th-”

“Unimportant.” Wooyoung cut him off. “But they were holding hands.” 

Wooyoung heard Yeosang snicker, and he buried himself further into Yeosang’s covers. “Jung Wooyoung, are you jealous?” 

A pout formed on his lips. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was. Why didn’t San hold his hand when they walked together? Actually, no, that was a stupid question. But sometimes, he could swear he felt San’s palm against his, and every time he closed his fist around open air, it was a shock back to reality. It felt like San was falling through his fingers. 

“He… He’s getting really close with Sena,” he said. “I’m worried he’s going to hurt when she goes back to Essetir.” 

There was a small moment of silence as Yeosang thought over his answer. “I mean, he’ll probably miss her,” he said. “But if they are becoming friends, there’s no reason why she can’t just visit again in the future.” 

And then it came to him- the sudden realization that sucked the breath from his lungs, and he jerked back up. “You don’t.. You don’t think San will want to go with her, right?”  

Yeosang stared at him. “Are you really that insecure?”

“Yes. He’s.. he’s been off lately.” 

Yeosang blinked. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine. Just let things play out.” 

“I don’t want to let things play out,” Wooyoung groaned. “She’s had an eye on him ever since she showed up! And… and she’s really pretty, and nice, and probably exactly San’s type. Letting things play out will only stab me in the foot!” he seethed. “And… she’s planting ideas in his head. The other day he threatened to turn me into a toad.” 

Yeosang cackled. “Wooyoung, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” 

When he walked into the room, for some, odd reason, Wooyoung was under the impression Yeosang would have all the answers for him. 

Apparently not. 

“Sangie?” 

“Yes?” 

“How do you know when you fell in love?” Wooyoung asked. “I.. I can’t figure out when it happened.” 

Yeosang answered with a sigh. “It’s different for everyone, Wooyoung,” he said. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure you’ve been whipped since you first met.” 

That did not make him feel better. 

“Thanks,” he drawled, sarcasm in his voice. 

“You’re welcome!” Yeosang chirped. “Now, can I get my nap in? We can talk about this more later.” 

Wooyoung groaned. “But I need to rant about San.” He swung over and crawled across Yeosang to grab a pillow before whacking it against his friend. “Stop sleeping, and listen to me!”

Yeosang flipped back onto his stomach and ignored him. 

Well, this was going great. 

“At least help me figure out what to do,” Wooyoung said. “I don’t think I can stop loving him. He’s too… He’s San.” 

Yeosang’s voice was muffled again. “Seonghwa’s good with this stuff. Go talk to him instead.” 

“What do you mean, ‘this stuff?’” Wooyoung wrinkled his nose.

“Being a sap.” 

“I’m not a sap.” 

“Do you hear yourself right now?” 

Wooyoung hit him with the pillow again. 

“Better yet, why don’t you— I don’t know— talk to San about this? I’m sure you’ll find you have a lot in common.” Yeosang said. 

“I hate you.” 

“Good.” 

Wooyoung smiled. 

.

Yes, Wooyoung had visited the marketplace. 

Was it a good idea? 

No.

Did he buy something nice for San? 

…Yes. 

Wooyoung found him in the library. That alone was quite strange; San was never the scholarly type (although, he did write one or two of Wooyoung’s speeches). His pink hair stood out among the dull colors of the room. Wooyoung must admit: the library was grand. It was beautiful. But he wished it was more than browns and varying shades of other murky colors. Even the lanterns above were pretty drab.  

San’s nose was buried in a book, a piece of parchment to his side and a quill scratching mercilessly as he wrote. He didn’t even look up when Wooyoung drew close. Wooyoung must really be going insane. San hated reading.

He leaned over San’s shoulder, holding his breath. 

“Boo.” 

San wrenched back with a yelp, and the back of his head knocked hard against Wooyoung’s forehead. 

Ouch. 

That hurt. He reached up and rubbed against the pain with a pout. 

“Wooyoung!” On the parchment, there was a dark line of ink across San’s chaotic handwriting. Wooyoung would feel guilty if not for his throbbing forehead. 

“Scared of ghosts?” 

San scoffed. “When they sneak up on me like that, yes.” 

A grin spread on Wooyoung’s face, and he ruffled San’s hair, who began sulking.. 

“You’re cute,” Wooyoung said. 

“And you’re an ass.” 

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “How long are you going to keep saying that?” 

“Until you stop being one.” 

God, I love you. 

“Okay… what are you doing, then?” Wooyoung asked. 

“Sena is letting me borrow one of her magic books for a day,” San shrugged. “We didn’t get much done in the lesson, so here I am.” 

Wooyoung bit back a sharp retort. He didn’t want San to know he saw them in the marketplace, but they definitely did not have a ‘magic lesson’ today. 

He peeked over at the book. It had a navy cover, and the bindings were falling apart. The pages were so fragile that Wooyoung wondered how they weren’t disintegrating under San’s fingers. It looked ancient. Wooyoung vaguely remembered it tucked under Sena’s arm at the field. 

“She really let you borrow that? It looks valuable,” Wooyoung said. “Be careful with it.” 

San rolled his eyes. “It’s perfectly safe with me. Plus, it’s only for a day.”

“Alright then.” Wooyoung pulled a chair back and sat next to San at the table. “Find anything interesting?” 

“Not yet. I’m still looking through the simpler spells,” San said. “I need to learn the incantations. When I try to do non-verbal magic, things go crazy about half of the time.” 

“That sounds like fun.” 

San hummed in response. He looked away, a hand scratching idly at the back of his head. “So… why are you here? I can’t imagine it’s just to break my concentration.” 

Wooyoung leaned back and stretched his arms up with a yawn. “I don’t know, I guess you could say I missed your company,” he said. “And I got you something from the market.” 

That got his attention. Wide eyes bored into him, mouth forming a small ‘o.’ 

“You bought me something?” San grinned. “Is this bribery? What do you want from me?” 

Wooyoung wanted a lot of things from San. 

“Nothing! I was.. I was just passing through and saw it.” 

San raised a brow, a smile playing on his lips. “Okay then, what did the crown prince of Sinsu decide to buy me?” 

Here goes nothing. Wooyoung had this planned since he got back. Years of studying battlefield strategy did nothing to help. But god dammit, seeing Sena hold San’s hand made Wooyoung want to hold his hand, and now here he was. 

“Close your eyes,” he said, and San followed suit. 

San still held the quill between his fingers, so Wooyoung gently pulled it away and took the back of his hand, pulling it a little closer. 

“No peeking.” 

San’s cheeks went pink as Wooyoung took out a bracelet and hooked it around his wrist. It was simple, but it reminded him of San. Wooyoung let his fingers lace through his, and thankfully, San didn’t question it. 

“Done,” Wooyoung said. “You can open now.” 

He smiled as San blinked his eyes open, tightening his grip ever so slightly. A leather band circled San’s wrist, held together by a small charm— a blue flower. He didn’t lie: he did see the bracelet as he was passing by. He immediately knew it was perfect. 

San didn’t have many material items, but Wooyoung hoped he would keep this one close. 

He waited with bated breath for a reaction. San was staring down, eyes flicking back and forth between the bracelet and their intertwined fingers. His lips parted, and a new idea crept into Wooyoung’s head- a terrible, terrible idea. 

“It’s nice,” San said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Thank you.” 

Wooyoung beamed, and that bad idea stewed in his head until it was impossible to ignore. San had given him the perfect opportunity, and-  

Fuck it. 

He let go of San’s hand, momentarily mourning the loss before grabbing it from below. Wooyoung met San’s gaze then, heart stopping as he gently pulled San’s hand to his lips.

“It was my pleasure.” 

Hopefully, San wouldn’t know the gravity of what Wooyoung had just done.

. 

That night, San didn’t come to Wooyoung’s chambers. 

Instead, Wooyoung found Seonghwa at his door, and he immediately started spiraling. 

He crossed a line. The line. That’s why San wasn’t there. Oh god. Did he make San uncomfortable? Is that why he didn’t come tonight, of all nights to take off? Wooyoung had to be overthinking this, right? 

He didn’t regret it. 

No, San’s bashful state was enough to fuel Wooyoung’s happiness for the next week at least. Not only that, but he realized he needed to get his priorities straight. Their banter was fun, but nothing could compare to a flustered San. Wooyoung was already thinking of ways to replace insults with thinly veiled compliments. 

Yeosang had advised him to talk about his feelings (ew) with Seonghwa, but Wooyoung decided not to say anything. He had himself figured out already: He was in love with San; San and Sena may or may not have a thing going on; Wooyoung constantly wanted to throw her out of the castle, but then she’d turn around and be so nice. 

She was too nice. Suspiciously nice. 

Wooyoung couldn’t hate her the way he wanted to. They even had a nice conversation about the properties of armor the other day, of which she was strangely knowledgeable about. He may have learned a thing or two. 

Sena would look so badass in armor. Great- another thing to be jealous of. 

“What a surprise,” Seonghwa said. “I’m doing San’s job again.” 

Wooyoung sighed. “Where is he?” 

“With Sena. They’re testing if the time of day has any effect on magic.” 

Why wasn’t he surprised? 

“Let’s get this over with, then.” 

Wooyoung could tell this would be a long night, and his thoughts were going to keep him restless through the early morning hours. Seonghwa worked through his room quickly, unlike San, who would usually linger to talk or meander aimlessly as en excuse to stay. Wooyoung didn’t know if he wanted Seonghwa to stay longer or not, but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. 

Before he knew it, he was stuck in his head, alone in his room, and lying on his back. San was probably still out with Sena making things fly or exploding something in the castle. 

Magic was weird to him. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. It was like one day, you think you know how the universe works, and the next, magic comes along and flips everything on its head. It was a scary thing to think about. Not only did they know almost nothing about it, but the possibilities were endless. Once it becomes more widespread, Beomseok will need to rewrite some laws and figure out how to keep it contained. 

Could you even contain magic? Was that the right thing to do? Wooyoung thought so— after all, magic was going to fall into the wrong hands eventually. It could be used as a weapon just as easily as a sword could. It may even be more practical. 

Wooyoung’s head hurt. 

At least San had something to defend himself with now. Wooyoung didn’t think he could use a sword or a crossbow, but magic could do the job. That extra security was worth letting him spend so much time with Sena. It gave Wooyoung a little peace of mind. 

Maybe he could try magic. Wooyoung didn’t think he had it in himself, but he could try. It’d be a good excuse to keep San closer, or to watch how he and the princess acted around each other. 

He was thinking too much again. He needed to slip away, to forget all of this for a few hours and let himself rest. 

He tried, but he was right— it was a sleepless night. 

Wooyoung woke up to bright pink and a sunny smile. He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You didn’t show up last night,” Wooyoung said. 

San was leaning over him, dimples peeking through. Wooyoung blinked up at him with a slow swallow and shifted the covers higher. 

“Ah, sorry, I was with Sena,” San said. “She finally showed me how to do her fire trick. It’s fun.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

San pulled Wooyoung up to his feet, and he shivered against the cool air, skin prickling at San’s touch. No matter how many times San woke him up like this, Wooyoung would never get used to it. 

His servant walked to the wardrobe and shuffled through the clothes. Wooyoung could barely register all the words coming out of San’s mouth. It was all Sena this, Sena that. If Wooyoung had to hear her name one more time, he was going to tear his ears off.  

“San..” Wooyoung started. He walked up and tapped San’s shoulder. “I was thinking maybe.. you should spend a little less time with the princess.” 

“What? Why?” San whipped around to face him.

Wooyoung shifted on his feet. “There’s something off about her, San, and I can’t put my finger on it,” he said. “She’s either fancies you or she’s using you for her own gain. I just know it.” 

“Wooyoung, she’s a friend, just like you are too. We’re fine. You don’t have to worry.” 

He did not want San to lump him in with Sena. Wasn’t their friendship stronger than that? She had only been here for a little over a week. 

“Well,” Wooyoung scoffed. “She obviously doesn’t want to be your friend.”

“What?”

“Do you know what she said before she healed you?” he asked. “She said you were pretty. She had ulterior motives before you even opened your eyes!” 

San’s eyes narrowed, and Wooyoung could feel his gaze burning against his skin. “Wooyoung, you’ve called me pretty before.” 

He did? Wooyoung didn’t remember. The voices in his head and the things he actually said out loud blurred together in one big, pining mess. But right now, he could feel anger, the resentment building up, and some twisted, dark feeling buried itself into him.  

“I’m different. I don’t.. I actually know you. And as your friend, I-” Wooyoung seethed. “Are you always this clueless when someone wants to get into your pants?”

San furrowed his brow. “Wooyoung, I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You and Sena!”

San stared at him, his eyes picking him apart piece by piece. The room was quiet. Wooyoung could almost see the gears turning in San’s head.

“Wait, are you..  jealous?” San asked. Mortification slowly painted across his face, and Wooyoung froze. 

He knew. 

Wooyoung saw the look on San’s face, and he wished he could rewind time. He wished he kept his stupid mouth shut because now San knew. 

“Jealous? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung mumbled. He didn’t trust his voice right now. “I’m not.” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” San laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I could ask Sena to spend more time with you if you want.” 

Sena? Wooyoung spluttered, “You think.. You think I’m jealous of you?” He caught himself, carefully setting his expression back to a stony mask.

“I mean…” San’s gaze shifted to the small vase in the corner of the room, eyes slightly glazed over. “You ended up wanting to marry her, didn’t you?” 

Wooyoung almost laughed. “I couldn’t care less what she does. All I asked was for you to keep your distance,” he said. “You’re going to get too.. attached.” 

“Wooyoung, for fuck’s sake,” San shut his mouth and tilted his head to the ceiling, closing his eyes. His whole body moved with his heavy breaths, fists clenched. Wooyoung didn’t think he had ever seen San this.. held back. Angry, almost. “I can’t.. I can’t like her.. like that,” San seethed. “God, how long have you known me? I prefer men, you dumbass.” 

Oh.

Wooyoung’s world was falling apart again

Water slowly dampened his clothes, and a peasant with a pretty face sprawled across his feet. Snow whipped past his face on a trip to a fake life, where cuddles soothed the sting of unwanted obligations. And then there was a face in front of him, twisted in pain and shock, red blooming on his clothes. Pink hair fanned against blue flowers, lips only centimeters away. It all flashed by in an instant. 

‘I prefer men.’ 

Could he-? 

“S-San-” Wooyoung stepped forward and reached a hand out. 

“No. Young-ah... don’t touch me.”  There were tears pooling in San’s eyes, his pretty, pretty eyes, and his lips were trembling. Wooyoung was empty, cold. He wanted to pull the boy into his arms. And then the tears trickled past San’s eyes, lining his cheeks, and Wooyoung would do anything to make it stop. 

San dropped his gaze down to the floor. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m… I’m so tired, and you-” he choked on his words, fighting to take deep breaths. “Wooyoung, you- you’re a prince, and-” San shook his head. “You may like Sena now, but one day, you’re going to fall in love.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and his heart shot to his throat. He was drowning, air long gone and water pooling in his lungs. 

I already am. 

San’s breath caught in his throat, and the words were in his mouth, spilling into the space between them. “You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize you can’t get everything you want,” he gasped out. 

...Oh. 

His own tears dropped then. Wooyoung didn’t even notice they were there. 

As cliche as it felt, his heart broke. It creaked open little by little as the words sunk in, San’s voice echoing in his ears. 

Because it was true.

And from the way San was acting, someone must have broken his too. 

That hurt the most. 

“I already know that.” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “San, are you in love with someone? Is that why..?” 

Is that why you’re crying now? Is it someone from Balor? Is that why you came to Sinsu? To run away? 

Wooyoung searched his memory of Balor for a recurring face: Someone handsome. Someone kind, or caring. Someone San deserved. Someone better than Wooyoung. But no matter how hard he thought, no face or name came to mind. That didn’t mean this mystery man didn’t exist. San was proof of that, in front of him. 

San hid his face in the crook of his elbow, only the top of his head visible now. “I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I really don’t know why I.. I swear I was fine a few minutes ago, but I suddenly..” He sobbed into his arm. “I didn’t mean to say that.” 

He didn’t deny it. 

No… 

Plea-

He choked up because of course San was in love with someone. Wooyoung’s muddy world had only grown brighter since meeting him, but San had always been that way. He tried to smile, but it wavered, suspended in a grief Wooyoung didn’t know existed inside him until now. 

He gently put a hand on San’s forearm, pulling him closer.  

And then San was in his arms, his nose against Wooyoung’s neck. Damp cheeks pressed into his skin, and Wooyoung held on tighter. He pushed his own feelings away. He needed to focus on San right now. “It’s okay, I should be the one saying sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know you were hurting this much.” 

“Me neither.” 

Wooyoung closed his eyes, his face tensing up. “Who… Who is it?” Even that simple question hurt like a stab to the side.

San didn’t answer. 

“I’m not going to pressure you to tell me, but.. you can if you want to,” Wooyoung sniffed. “I’ll put him in the stocks for you.” 

And I’ll get a few throws in myself. 

San laughed, broken and wet. “Thanks for that mental image. I’m sure he’d love getting pelted with fruit.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

San hiccuped. “I’ll.. I’ll hold you to that.” 

Wooyoung let himself cave in, pressing his head closer to San’s shoulder. He was indulging himself, he knew, and guilt gnawed at him as he pulled San closer, tighter. He felt San’s hands flat against his back, and he sighed. 

It would be so easy to give in, to lean close to San’s ear and mumble a quick ‘I love you,’ but then San’s shoulders were shaking and Wooyoung’s heart hurt again. 

“I really am sorry,” San said. “I guess it’s been building up for a while, but… but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. You have… more important things to worry about.” 

Wooyoung let a hand creep up and bury itself in San’s hair, lightly pulling in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “Think of it like this,” he said. “A prince should listen and care for his people. You’re always doing that for me, so let me do my job for once.” He walked them back to the bed, sitting at the edge, and San pulled away to sit next to him, shoulders hunched. San leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped at the back of his neck, head tucked down. “Tell me about him,” Wooyoung said.

San was silent for a moment, and for a second, Wooyoung thought he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t know if he wanted San to answer. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear about the man who could have had everything Wooyoung longed for. 

“He..” San spoke up. “He doesn’t love me back.”

Wooyoung closed his eyes, and if his own tears silently fell, then San didn’t have to know. How could anyone not love San? He was… he was San. As much as he hated it, Wooyoung knew the words coming out of San’s mouth had to be bullshit. 

“How can you be sure?” Wooyoung asked, proud of how steady his voice came out.. 

“I don’t think he’s interested in.. men,” San said. “And he.. he can’t, and I-” He paused for a second. “I just love him so much, and it hurts.” 

Wooyoung knew exactly how San felt, except now it was worse because San liked men, and Wooyoung still wasn’t good enough. Even now, he could feel his heart twist, and San was right. It hurt. 

“Is he in Balor? Sinsu?” 

“I’m not telling you that.” 

“Okay,” Wooyoung whispered. “That’s okay.” They settled into silence, 

San suddenly stood up, and Wooyoung jumped a little. “Can you… Can I send Seonghwa up for the rest of my duties this morning? I don’t… I don’t think I can...” San hiccupped through the words. 

Wait. 

“Are you leaving now? I can help.” 

“No, you can’t.” 

There was no way Wooyoung was letting San leave in this state. He grabbed San’s arm and pulled him back to the bed. It was easy, like there was no fight left in him to struggle.

 “Lie down,” Wooyoung ordered.

“W-what?” 

“I know it’s early, but take a nap. You’ll feel better.” 

Teary eyes met his, and Wooyoung’s heart broke for the hundredth time. 

“You want me to sleep here?” San asked, and Wooyoung nodded. 

“Lie down.” 

He pulled back the top of the covers, and San hesitated before crawling over and collapsing, head falling back against Wooyoung’s pillows. San curled into himself, and Wooyoung let himself indulge in the sight before wrapping the blankets around his servant. 

“Stay as long as you want,” he said. 

San nodded.

Wooyoung went to the door and asked the guards to fetch Seonghwa.  

.

Seonghwa was a lifesaver. 

Not too long after he showed up, the King requested Wooyoung’s presence in the throne room, like Wooyoung didn’t already have enough going through his head. 

Seonghwa had walked into Wooyoung’s rooms with a irritated huff, but after seeing the top of San’s head peeking out from under the covers, he only raised a curious brow. Wooyoung shook his head, and the matter was closed. Seonghwa didn’t ask questions, and Wooyoung was grateful for his silence. 

Which brought him to the throne room.

Wooyoung remembered the last time he walked through those doors, and he internally cringed. At least, courtesy of Seonghwa, he looked decent this time, and he wasn’t tracking dirt on the floor. 

The guards had doubled over the past few weeks, and Wooyoung had to walk past more than a dozen pairs of eyes on the way there. 

Just like last time, they announced his name, and the doors pushed forward only to slam shut once he walked in. 

Wooyoung prepared himself for the worst. 

His father was looking out the window, leaning his side against the wall. There was a contemplative gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem stiff or hostile, even, like the last time. Just from walking in, Beomseok already felt more like the man Wooyoung grew up under than the one he knew now. 

Besides him, the room was already empty. 

The King turned his head. “Wooyoung.”  

Wooyoung knelt down on a knee, glancing up. “You asked for me, father?” 

His nerves settled then, looking up at Beomseok. He had only spoken a word, but the King felt so different from before. He almost seemed grave, or no, a better word would be peaceful. The aggressive lines on his face were gone. 

Wooyoung stood and waited. 

The King turned fully towards him and leaned back against the wall, the throne sitting empty in front of him. “I’ve had some time to think,” he said. “About our kingdom, and about you.” 

Our?

“It’s rare for a king to utter these words, but as your father, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry this arrangement didn’t work out. I do believe you two would have been phenomenal together.” 

Oh. He was talking about the marriage. Wooyoung stared at him. “Father, with all do respect, I don’t think that’s true. Sena and I aren’t very.. compatible.” 

The King sighed. “I met your mother on the steps of this castle, as you did with Sena,” he said, a small smile on his face as he looked back out the window. “I was just as stubborn as you are, but our marriage was the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Wooyoung didn’t know much about his mother. Beomseok never talked about her, and there wasn’t a lot of information written about her. All he knew was that she died in childbirth, and a few people in the castle spoke fondly of her. They never went into detail, though. 

“She gave me you, and she gave me much needed companionship through… difficult times,” Beomseok didn’t wait for Wooyoung’s thoughts to catch up before continuing. “You will need someone, Wooyoung. It’s not easy to rule alone. Impossible, even.” 

The question was on the tip of his tongue. He had asked it before, when he was little, but the only reply he got was silence and a cold shoulder. 

“What was she like?” he asked, gulping down his expectations. 

But this time, it seemed like Beomseok was ready for it. “She was fierce. Smart. I lost many games of chess to her,” he said. “And she was kind. You have her heart.” 

Wooyoung dropped his gaze, feeling a small loss for someone he never met. 

The room was silent now, but Wooyoung didn’t find it uncomfortable as he gathered his thoughts. This conversation didn’t feel… real. He had walked in expecting a verbal beating, and instead he was getting information he knew he would hold close with him forever. 

When he was little, he liked to think his mother would be kind, that she would smile and take care of him if she were alive, or maybe she was taking care of him from wherever death takes you in the end. Beomseok’s simple words felt oddly like a confirmation of that. 

“It’s the serving boy, isn’t it?” Beomseok’s mouth was a thin line. “The one who walks around my castle with pink hair.” 

What? 

Wooyoung stared at him again, and he could feel the blood roaring in his ears.  “What do you mean?” he asked. Because, yes, he needed Beomseok to clarifying what exactly he was asking. 

The King stumbled forward and sat on the throne, eyes narrowed in thought. Wooyoung waited with baited breath for his reply. 

“I’d order you to cut him out of your life, but I know you won’t listen to me,” Beomseok said. “So instead… I’ll tell you something else.” He paused, chest heaving with a harsh breath. “Cherish him while he’s still in your life, Wooyoung. People don’t stay forever.” 

Wooyoung’s mouth fell open. He took a second to process the words, to fully understand what his father had just said. That was the closest thing he’ll ever get to a blessing, but it was enough. San was a man. San was a servant. And still, his father said… 

This had to be a dream. 

“You’re a good son, Wooyoung,” Beomseok said. “My greatest pride, even when you make childish mistakes.” 

Wooyoung swallowed back a noise of surprise, a small smile touching his lips. “Thank you.” It came out in a whisper. 

“When you grow older, you’ll make a fine king,” Beomseok said, and Wooyoung’s heart swelled. “Sometimes, I wish I could tell you that more often.” 

When you cry in the morning, the tears carry with you through the rest of the day. They sit there, right behind your eyes with the smallest hint of pressure, and Wooyoung could feel them gathering still, threatening to spill. 

Wooyoung never cried this easily. He had gone entire years without a single tear touching his cheek. It was like San unlocked something in him. Something about him made the dam break, and hearing those words had the same effect on him. 

He blinked and kept it in. 

Beomseok visibly swallowed. “The Essetirians are planning something within our walls, Wooyoung,” he said. “Without the marriage, these peace talks are going to end in war.” 

Wooyoung took a deep breath. “Do you want me to ready the knights?” 

“No, it hasn’t come to that yet,” he said. “Sungho’s delegation is leaving Sinsu in two days now, Wooyoung. However, Sena has requested to stay and work with our scholars.” 

“Is that a problem?” 

Beomseok paused. “It depends. Do you think one person can topple a kingdom?” 

“If used correctly,” Wooyoung said, thinking over each word. “But Sena is fine. She’s smart, but she’s warm-hearted. She’s… a friend.” 

Beomseok shook his head. “She’s the enemy now, Wooyoung. Don’t forget.” 

Sena… an enemy.

“Do you really believe we’re going to war?” 

“If they don’t want the marriage, then why are they in my castle?” Beomseok thundered. “They came for information. They came to see if we had magic too, and now they’re leaving behind their trump card to deal some damage on their way out.” He grit his teeth. “It’s what I would do in their position.”

“Oh.” 

“They played me like a fool, all because I wanted to find you a good wife,” he said. “I made a mistake, Wooyoung.” He leaned to the side and coughed into his arm. “Sixty years ago, the Essetirians ordered the assassination of my uncle. I had hoped it would stop there, but it seems they’ve developed a taste for Sinsu blood.” 

“It could be worse,” Wooyoung said. “They’re leaving Sena behind. That means,—if it comes to it—we could hold her in the castle and keep her magic away from the battlefield.” 

Beomseok considered this, jaw tensing up until he gave in and nodded. “Keep guards around her chambers,” he said. “And I want either you or a knight to have an eye on her at all times when she’s walking free. At the first sign she’s up to something, secure her in the dungeons until we figure out their plan.” 

Wooyoung nodded. He felt a new kind of adrenaline then. 

Did the Essetirians really use peace talks as a guise to brew war? Is that why Sena was never too concerned about the marriage? All of this made Wooyoung’s head spin. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about managing this on his own for another decade or two.. or three. He’ll hopefully be well versed in all things political by then. He still had time. 

San wasn’t in Wooyoung’s rooms when he walked back in. That was okay. Wooyoung had enough to think about. 

The day passed quickly, and eventually, the sky began to darken with no sight of San. Wooyoung expected Seonghwa to knock on his door again when he heard footsteps shuffling outside, but it pushed open instead, silent. 

Well, fuck. 

Wooyoung was at his desk, looking over old reports.  San stood awkwardly in the doorway, a hand on the back of his neck.

 “I’m sorry for earlier,” he mumbled. “And… thank you. I guess I was a little overwhelmed.” San chuckled. 

Wooyoung smiled. “It’s okay. How was you nap?” 

San shifted on his feet, glancing to the side. “It was… nice,” he said. “I think that’s the softest bed I’ve ever slept in.” 

“I’m the prince. Of course it’s nice.” Wooyoung felt their usual dynamic already slowly returning, and he slumped back a little. “How do you feel?” 

“Better.” 

That’s good. Wooyoung didn’t think he could ever stand seeing San cry like that again. It fucking hurt. 

He smiled, or, he tried to. San could probably see right through it. “Thank god.” At least the relief was genuine. 

San walked over to the desk, glancing over the papers. “What are you working on?” 

It was nothing, really. Wooyoung just needed to take his mind off things, to make himself feel productive. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I wanted to... to do something.” 

San hummed. He looked over at the dining table and the empty plates on top. “Did you already eat?” 

“Yeah.” San didn’t bring his meal in that evening. It was one of the servants that never smiled. Wooyoung tried cracking a joke, but it seemed his sense of humor needed some work. “Just need to go to bed now,” he said with a yawn. San nodded and crept around him, pulling at the hem of Wooyoung’s shirt. 

“Do you want me to stick around?” 

Over the months, that had become code for ‘do you want me to stay in the room until you fall asleep?’ 

No. Wooyoung had a better idea. 

And so far, his plans had been going great. 

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to stay the night. To sleep,” Wooyoung raised a brow and tilted his head back to look up at San. “I mean, since you liked the bed..” 

He could see San’s brain malfunction at his words, fingers stilling at his shirt. “I thought we already said it’s a bad idea,” he spoke slowly. 

“You said it was a bad idea. I didn’t get a say.” 

San chewed on the inside of his mouth. “But your dad-”

“Already knows we’re close friends. As does the entire castle at this point,” Wooyoung said. “Are you really going to make me say it?” 

“Say what?” 

He sighed. “I miss the cuddles.” He brought his chin down, not wanting to see San’s reaction. He was sulking now, a pout on his lips.

San finally pulled up on Wooyoung’s shirt. He lifted his arms to let it come off smoothly. And then there was a heavy hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, warmth bleeding into his skin. “Is this an order?” San asked. 

“More like an invitation.” 

They settled into silence, and Wooyoung’s eyes slipped shut when it became apparent San wasn’t going to take him up on the offer. It was a stupid plan, really. The hand holding thing may have worked, but tempting San with a soft bed was a little too far fetched. He’ll have to think of something new.

“Okay.” 

Wooyoung’s eyes whipped open. 

Here lies Jung Wooyoung: death by his own scheming. 

San pat his back. “Go lie down. I’ll be there in a second.” 

Shit. 

Wooyoung stumbled to his feet and didn’t dare looking behind him until he was on the bed. San was puttering around the room, collecting things off the floor and extinguishing candles as he went. Soon, the room was bathed in darkness and Wooyoung’s thudding heartbeat. 

San slipped in beside him, and Wooyoung contemplated why he was doing this to himself. San made it very clear he was interested, if not in love with some mystery person, so why the hell had Wooyoung just coaxed him to cuddle? 

He stared at the ceiling, hyper aware of San’s movement next to him. Wooyoung had planned for this to happen, yes, but he didn’t actually think it would. 

“Why do you keep your room so fucking warm?” San sat up, startling Wooyoung for a moment, and shrugged his own shirt off, letting it fall to the ground. Wooyoung turned away, on his side, and gulped. That was a lot of skin to process right now.

“You’re the one who keeps the fireplace lit all the time,” Wooyoung said. He felt a sharp jab against his back, and he winced. San’s hand smoothed over it before turning Wooyoung back around to face him. 

“I thought you wanted to cuddle?” 

Whew. Hearing it in San’s voice did things to him.

San pulled him a little closer, and Wooyoung was going to die. Right then and there. 

It was an entirely new experience when you know you’re in love.  

San was his safe place, legs tangled together and arms wrapped tentatively around his waist. He was back in Balor, the aroma of warmth and security enveloping him.

Dammit, he wanted to cry again. 

Wooyoung was getting used to the dark, so he indulged himself. He stared straight ahead, eyes lingering on the discolored patch of skin on San’s chest- a reminder of how close he had been to loosing him. He splayed a hand against it, hiding it from view. 

San brought an arm between them and cupped the bottom of Wooyoung’s chin. His attention shot up at the touch. San’s features were blurred by the dark, but his eyes were bright. They were always bright. 

Soft lips pressed against his cheek, and Wooyoung held his breath. 

“Payback for what you pulled in the library,” San mumbled, his eyes slipping closed. He pulled Wooyoung tighter against him, tucking his chin over Wooyoung’s hair. 

If Wooyoung died earlier, he was ascending now. 

“Goodnight, Young-ah,” San said, and Wooyoung’s heart twisted. 

Lately, Wooyoung wondered what it would be like—what it would feel like—to be loved by San, to be his. And now, he thought, it would feel a lot like this. 

. 

Everything happened as Beomseok said it would. King Sungho and the Essetirian delegation left Sinsu, leaving behind Sena to study with the scholars. Wooyoung doubled her guard. 

Other than that, the days passed without incident. 

The only significant change was with San. 

He still went off with Sena doing god knows what every day, but now, he had practically moved in. After the first cuddle night, there was no way Wooyoung was going to let San pretend it never happened. Nope. He wanted it to become a daily thing- part of the routine. 

And it did. 

Mornings were different now. San woke him with hands pressed against his cheek or wrapped around his torso. Once, Wooyoung had woken first, and he was blessed with the task of waking San up first. It was disgustingly cheesy, but Wooyoung couldn’t control the way his stomach flipped over that. 

Wooyoung began to question the existence of ‘Mystery Man™.’ After all, San never said it wasn’t Wooyoung, right? A small hope began growing, and paired along with the conversation he had with his father, things were beginning to look up for him. 

Could it really be Wooyoung? If it was, then he was the reason San broke down earlier. That knowledge would haunt him for a very long time if it was true. 

But the benefits. Oh, the sweet benefits. 

Sena had requested for them to dine together, San included. It didn’t seem.. suspicious,  but Wooyoung dreaded it. They were a strange trio, and Wooyoung imagined it would be full of tense silence and stilted conversations. 

But to his surprise, the dinner was going well. It wasn’t as awkward as Wooyoung thought it’d be, and he found himself actually enjoying it. He got to spend more time with San, and they had never dined together outside of Balor. It was nice. Sena and San were sitting side by side and across from Wooyoung. 

Sena wasn’t talking. Maybe that’s why Wooyoung felt so relaxed. 

Wooyoung found himself on his second glass of wine, laughing at something San had just said. He knew he was beaming across the table, but it’s not like he had anything to hide. Sena already knew he and San were close. Even his father knew, and the King only really lived in his chambers, the throne room, the council rooms, and occasionally the great hall. 

Someday, Wooyoung will have to adopt that lifestyle too. It’s funny, how the more power you have, the smaller your world becomes. 

He pushed his empty plate away, replacing it with his elbows on the table. He wouldn’t call himself a lightweight, but the wine felt especially potent tonight. He rested his chin on his hands and let himself get lost. 

San’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair stuck up in odd angles. His glass was almost empty, hands fidgeting against the table. Sena had barely touched her drink, Wooyoung noticed. She probably thought they were idiots. She was definitely sober while he and San teetered on the edge of drunk. 

It was very tempting to ask her to leave. Drunk cuddling sounded fun. Maybe San would kiss his cheek again. 

He felt warm and slightly fuzzy, the slight buzz of the alcohol taking away the negative thoughts. In hindsight, he probably should have noticed the way Sena was acting and the regret she didn’t even try to hide on her face. 

They were having a nice conversation about Seonghwa’s obsession with cats when San suddenly froze. Beside him, Sena flinched and closed her eyes. 

Wooyoung watched with curiosity as San’s pupils blew wide and his mouth dropped open, a small whimper falling from his lips.  If his mind wasn’t so clouded, Wooyoung would probably be up on his feet and panicking at the sound he just made. How could such a small noise sound so pained? 

“I’m sorry, I just.. I realized how pretty your eyes are,” he heard San say. 

Wooyoung blinked. San wasn’t looking at him anymore. No.. He was turned towards Sena. 

What? 

Sena wasn’t meeting either of their eyes, a weak grimace on her face. And finally the alarm went off in Wooyoung’s head.

Something’s wrong. 

“Can I…?” San gently took her chin in his hand with a smile. Time slowed down, and Wooyoung’s breath caught in his throat. 

His world stopped turning when San leaned forward.  

San was kissing her. 

Wooyoung looked down, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he jerked away.

He swallowed, biting his lip and pushing down what suspiciously felt like a sob building in his throat. If he broke down crying now, San would never let him hear the end of it, but Wooyoung was going to be sick. 

Why?

His chest tightened, and he let out a slow breath. . 

He thought… after the past few days, he thought he had a chance. There was a small part of him that really believed…

‘I prefer men.’

Well, so much for that, now. 

San muttered something onto her lips, and Wooyoung felt something dark twist in him, an iron grip on his heart. He wanted to pour acid over his ears, over his eyes, like that would rid the image from his head and force the sound from his memory. 

‘You’ll fall in love, and for once in your life, you’ll realize you can’t get everything you want.’

God, if only he knew. If only he fucking knew. 

They weren’t stopping. Wooyoung needed them to stop. He needed San to stop. He needed— 

“San,” Wooyoung managed to choke out. His voice was hoarse, just as strangled as he felt inside. 

San’s head snapped up, as if breaking out of a trance. He stared at Wooyoung, brows slowly drawing forward in confusion. Wooyoung could do nothing but stare back. He fought back the tears that still threatened to fall and mentally begged San to say something, to explain what the hell he was doing. 

Wooyoung opened his mouth, but nothing would come, the corners of this lips stuck in a frown and his bottom lip quivering. 

Sena placed a hand on San’s upper arm, eyes on Wooyoung with a sad smile. “Sannie, let’s take this somewhere else, okay?” 

Sannie? 

Even Wooyoung didn’t call him that.. That nickname was Nala’s. It seemed special to them, and hearing it from Sena’s lips was.. It was wrong. 

Surely San could tell Wooyoung was upset. He wouldn’t leave him there at the table alone, right? San always knew when something was wrong, like some strange, sixth sense. When Wooyoung started spiraling, he was always there with a hug, a smile, and soft words pressed into his ear. 

But at her voice, San’s expression grew harder to read. He gave Wooyoung a syrupy smile, his lips red. It didn’t reach his eyes, and Wooyoung wanted to throw up. This was wrong. 

“Okay,” San said, his voice making Wooyoung want to hide from the world, to hide from whatever this was. 

San broke his gaze away from Wooyoung, and his confused eyes grew soft when he looked at her, his smile growing more genuine, more familiar. It was the way San usually looked at him. 

If that didn’t hurt enough, San did stand, Sena at his hip, and Wooyoung watched them leave with fists clenched so tight he knew there would be crescents marring his palms when he woke from this nightmare.  

Maybe San will see them in the morning. Maybe he’ll take Wooyoung’s hands in his own and know. He’ll know the effect this had on him. Maybe then he’ll take Wooyoung into his arms and tell him it’s alright, that this really was just a dream. 

But instead, he stared at the empty table. Wooyoung wanted to scream, but he should’ve known. 

He should have known that San was too good to be true, that there was no way someone as good as San would love an arrogant, prattish, stupid prince. 

So he stared blankly at the table. He stared, and it could have been minutes, hours, before he moved again, his whole body numb. At some point, he found himself on his bed, curled into himself. He didn’t know how he got there, only that it was cold. 

It was empty.

[shion-yu]

Day 3 - Isolation

It's lonely to fall apart. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Shu - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23743470.shumei-tw 

CW/TW: Medical abuse!!

Shu didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He’d been sick for two weeks now with a fever that would not go down no matter what medications he took. Distracting himself with any kind of media simply wasn’t possible, because everything made him nauseous. Reading, watching TV, even the screen on his cell phone - anything that required focus made his eyes feel like they were trembling and caused him to get dizzy. So he was stuck just lying in bed with nothing to distract him from the abject state of misery he was in.

Julian had mostly been doing consultations from home in order to keep an eye on him. Shu didn’t want his condition to affect his boyfriend’s job, but it was also true that he was scared to be alone. He felt so sick that he could barely make it to the bathroom on his own. Julian often had to help him take the short walk there and back, supporting Shu easily with strong arms around Shu’s torso. 

He hated that it was like this. He’d never been so sick in his life. If it had just been these two weeks of illness, then he could’ve put it down to any number of short-lived infections. But it’d been a year. One whole year of falling ill every single month with barely any healthy breaks in between. Julian had examined him a hundred times and run every test imaginable, but said there was technically nothing wrong with him. Sometimes, he said, people just developed a weak immune system over time. The flu he’d had last year could have triggered it and there was nothing they could do. 

Shu trusted his boyfriend, given that he was a world-renowned doctor. He certainly was getting the best care imaginable, given Julian could treat him at home when the average person would probably be confined to the hospital, or at the least be occupied with constant visits to a doctor’s office. Prescriptions, blood draws, even IV fluids - Julian could do it all from the comfort of their own bedroom. But Shu couldn’t help but feel like something else had to be wrong. He’d always been healthy, catching only one or two minor illnesses a year. In all honesty, he was scared that he was dying from some unknown disease.

Julian told him it was stress that made him feel so much anxiety. He had been trying to convince Shu to quit his job for months, insisting that he could take care of both Shu and his mother even if Shu didn't work anymore. It could even be the baseline level of stress causing Shu’s weakened immune system in general, Julian suggested; they never knew, maybe if he quit he'd miraculously stop getting sick so frequently. But Shu didn't want to quit his job. He was proud of his career and he valued himself as being a hard worker. It felt wrong to burden someone else financially, even if it was his boyfriend who made at least twice the amount he did. He hadn't worked so hard all these years just let someone else work for him. 

It was getting to a point where Shu didn't have much of a choice, though. The absurd amount of leave he’d amassed after ten years with the same company (taking almost no time off over this decade) was now dwindling at an alarming pace. At first his boss had doubted Shu was really ill this frequently. He didn't doubt it for long - every time Shu came into work he looked more haggard than the last time. Everybody knew he was a mess, dragging himself through each work day looking like he might collapse at any time. They’d taken a few of his usual responsibilities away from him, which Shu saw as a warning sign that he wasn’t competent enough. He tried so hard to make up for his shortcomings, but it just wasn’t possible. 

His friends were worried. Mathias and Miki texted him frequently asking after his health, but Shu had stopped answering them most of the time now. It was tiresome when they often said, “Are you feeling any better?” Because the answer was always no. He didn't feel any better. He felt worse, almost always worse and he was scared he was never going to feel good again.

He’d lost over twenty pounds just this year alone, and he was not a very hefty person to begin with. His hair was thinner and had lost the deep, black shine it'd always had. Dull was a good word for him - he looked faded, like he'd disappear if he lost any more weight or color.

“Aiya, Shumei, my son, what is happening to you?” His mom scolded often, her tone brisk as usual but lacking its normal edge. Shu knew she was worried. Before he started getting sick, he used to visit her every Friday afternoon after work, if not more frequently. He’d bring her to plays and events on the weekends and take her out to dinners they hadn’t been able to afford when he was growing up. Now he barely ever saw her - in part because he was often too ill to leave the house, but mostly because he hated the look of concern on her face each time he appeared worse off than the last time he'd seen her.

He felt so alone, so ashamed and useless... Julian was the only reason he didn't completely fall apart. His boyfriend, the only person who really knew the true extent of it all. He clung to Julian like a lifeline. Julian was always there to take care of him and never seemed to tire of all of this, even if Shu was at his wits end. He made sure Shu stayed hydrated and as comfortable as possible despite his constant body and headaches. He would mop Shu’s hot brow, shushing him gently as Shu whimpered in pain. He would carry Shu to the chair next to their bed and change the sheets when Shu sweat through them, which was often. Julian even bathed him, washing off the thick layer of sickness that clung to Shu’s skin. Shu didn't think he deserved it, but Julian never complained. 

Shu didn't realize he was crying until Julian came in and rested a cool hand on Shu’s damp face. “What's the matter, darling? Please don't cry.”

Shu sniffled, tears running down his hot cheeks. “You're too good to me,” he whimpered. “I don't want to be sick anymore. How can you stand being around me?”

“Shh, don't talk like that,” Julian said. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss Shu on the forehead. “I love you. I’ll always take care of you.”

“Aren’t you tired of this? I am,” Shu said, voice wavering. “I’m different now... I’m...”

“No,” Julian said, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I’ll never get tired of taking care of you. You're exactly who I fell in love with, and the most important person to me. I’ll do anything to help you.” 

Shu still didn't think he deserved it, but he leaned in to Julian’s touch anyways. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You're the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“It’s easy because it's you,” Julian said. “And I've loved you my whole life. That'll never change.”Shu closed his eyes, too tired to keep talking. Julian really must love him more than Shu could understand to be so endlessly patient, even though he was so sick all the time. He didn't want to be sick anymore, but if he had to be... He was the luckiest man in the world to have Julian, he thought to himself.

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 7 >> Chapter 8>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: oral sex, kidnapping, daddy kink

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: ~8k+

Someone is dying. Painfully. They wail and thrash as a hacksaw dismembers the body.

Your body slides to the left and then right.

Fighting a film of crud from your eyes, you blink awake. There is a moment of disorientation as your hindbrain understands what your conscious brain does not. This is not your apartment, not your bed, you are in danger.

Familiarity arrives fast. You recognize the sensation of driving in a car, the glide around turns. A heavy metal song blares on the radio. Nothing is dying except your faith in the value of music. To your right is Hanma, quiet and focused in the driver’s seat.

Like he is the last clue to a puzzle, the events of a few hours earlier click into place.

Streetlamps illuminated your balcony, so it must have been before dawn, but after 6 AM as your bed was empty of Takashi when Hanma shook you awake. You almost cried at the sight of him when all you craved was a few extra moments of sleep. After a day and a half of chores and forays into the world, your body was rebelling, the fever rising once again and bringing with it a headache to decimate rational thought. You needed rest but Hanma insisted you follow him out of your apartment and into a waiting car. Your memory pitters to nothing then as you must have fallen asleep in the passenger seat on impact.

Now, the sky is gloomy and grey, but unmistakably early afternoon. Tall, dignified trees sail by as the car drives ever forward. They cluster together, thick like a forest. This can’t be Tokyo.

“Where are we?” you croak out.

“Good morning,” Hanma sings, turning the radio down a notch. “Glad to see you up and moving.”

“Where are we? Where are we going?”

“Akita, and we’re almost there.”

“Akita!” you fly upright but the drastic shift in elevation makes your blood pressure skyrocket, grey fuzz crowding your vision. Grappling around, you find a bottle of water and chug it gratefully to relieve your dry throat. “We can’t be in Akita!”

The furthest north you ever travelled was Miyagi for a school trip. You try to remember the distance to Akita and estimate it must be nearly six hours outside the city.

Terrible, yawning suspicion opens up inside you as you pat around and realize your phone is missing. Dragged from your house in nothing but your pajamas and autumn jacket with no phone, no one knows where you are. It is the ideal scenario for a hit.

“This is kidnapping,” you say, half reproach and half testing the truth of the words and hoping they ring hollow.

“Not legally,” Hanma says. “You did follow me out the door willingly.”

Only three days ago, this man bathed you like a newborn. Only two days ago, you entertained selling him out to an enemy.

Your fingers graze the handle of the car door. You wonder whether you might roll out before Hanma stops you, but what then? Wounded and cut up on the side of the road, you would be easier to hunt than livestock. The road signs signal that Akita is another ten miles out. No help is in sight.

“I need to text Takashi, let him know where I am. He’ll worry when I don’t answer the phone,” you try.

“You want to call the boyfriend and tell him you’re on a romantic vacation with your lover? Bold move, Doc. I like it. Feel free,” Hanma laughs.

“And that’s what this is? A romantic getaway?”

“Just wait.”

“Does this have something to do with your business last week? When we went to that strip club?” you venture, and the words summon a flash of memory: neon lights, Hanma’s cock, and the obscuring smile of Haitani Ran.

“You really don’t like surprises, do you?” Hanma snorts.

You look out the window at the passing landscape. A stark cliff face careens down to a black blue sea on your left, still almost like it’s yet to awaken from slumber. A train rattles over a red suspension bridge. Its whistle doesn’t break the peace but somehow adds to it, the rare human noise blending into nature. Behind it all, you have a spectacular view of the mountains, wooded and green as far as the eye can see. Not bad as far as last views go, and you can now say you have been to Akita. A final cross off the bucket list before Hanma offs you.

Funnily, fear for your life is secondary to the needs of the body. Your stomach rumbles loudly and your bladder screams for relief.

“When will we stop? I need to freshen up,” you say.

“Soon. We’re almost there. When was the last time you ate anyway?”

Try as you might, you can’t remember consuming anything but tea and water. “I had some okayu I think? When was that?”

Hanma slants his eyes in your direction. “I cooked that for you, Doc. That was three days ago.”

“Oh, I guess I’ve been preoccupied.”

“I’d say,” Hanma hisses, and his fingernails dig into the steering wheel, leaving a testament to his irritation in supple leather. “Sick as a dog, and you still found time to wander all over Tokyo. I swear you checked more miles than a tour guide. You just had to swing by your office, and the notary, and the post office, and did you seriously go to the gym yesterday, too?”

“Did you have me followed? That breaks one of our rules, Hanma-san! We can’t…you can’t…”

“Oh, give it a rest. We’re past all that now.”

Actually, you are very much not past the rules instituted a mere week prior, but panic sticks in your throat. The invasion of privacy is a small concern compared to the likelihood that he or one of his men witnessed your rendezvous with Haitani. From what you can gather, both men were having you followed. Twin stakeouts outside your apartment, maybe sharing snacks and shooting the breeze to pass the boring hours until you go outside? You can only hope Hanma gifts you the opportunity to explain, some chance to spin a redeeming tale.

“I can –”

“Explain? Oh, I bet you can. But save it. We’re here anyway.”

The care idles to a stop, and you spin in your seat, expecting to see an isolated grove or a mining shaft perfect for unwanted corpse removal. Instead, a traditional building with a sloping roof and walls of pine greets you. A boundary of pruned trees surrounds the courtyard driveway before yielding to untamed forest. There, by the entrance, stands two smiling figures, a man and a woman.

“You are going to get some damn rest today if I have to tie you to the chair and drug you to sit still,” Hanma swears.

Your hysterical laugh echoes into the lip of the almost empty water bottle. Today is not the day you die. Today is the day you relax in what looks like luxury. This is hot springs country. Hanma was not joking when he dubbed this a romantic vacation.

Led by a proprietary hand at the small of your back, you and Hanma approach the greeters. One glance is enough to confirm they are in Hanma’s line of work. With the adrenaline still racing in your veins, you can’t help but catalogue every detail like it might be a matter of life or death.

The woman is young and beautiful with thick blonde hair and arched eyebrows that draw her otherwise lovely face into a mask of vigilance. She is dressed tastefully, perfect for the sticky hot season and yet revealing nothing of her figure. The man dwarfs her and everyone else – including Hanma – though he wears his height awkwardly. The long neck cranes down and a touch of scoliosis curves his back into the start of a comma. His blue hair is buzzed close to his scalp, some strange curling shape shaved to the pale skin beneath, and he is dressed in a slouchy white suit better suited for shaking down debtors behind a pachinko parlor. When he yawns widely, a gold tooth glints and a vertical scar bisecting his lips stretches obscenely.

“Welcome! We’re so glad you could just us. How was the drive? My name is Shiba Yuzuha,” the woman greets. Her tone is the perfect balance of warmth and impersonality that much be rehearsed a hundreds to be achieved such that you know she must work in customer service.

You bow slightly and introduce yourself in turn. The man doesn’t introduce himself until Shiba elbows him in the ribs at which point he says, “We’ve already met. Shiba Hakkai.”

“Oh, yes. Over the phone,” you say.

Hakkai’s disembodied voice left a particular impression on you. He struck you as too goofy, too affable for the yakuza. Here in his unkempt, oversize suit, he proves you wrong.

“It doesn’t count as meeting someone if it’s over the phone. You still have to introduce yourself. I swear I taught you better manners,” Shiba Yuzuha chides. “Hanma told us you haven’t been feeling well, which is just perfect. There is no better place to rest up and recover. We closed the inn for repairs a few weeks ago and don’t officially reopen for another three days, which means the inn is all yours to enjoy. There won’t be any staff on sight unfortunately, but the repairs are complete, so you needn’t worry about any disruptions.”

“Is this your establishment, Shiba-san?” you ask.

The ryokan is a multi-story behemoth with a winding front porch. Once autumn comes and the trees that drape it on all sides turn orange and yellow, it will make a perfect postcard, the kind used to lure tourists to cross sky and sea. It is not a typical starter business for a woman who hasn’t seen thirty yet.

“Please call me Yuzuha. It’s too confusing otherwise,” Yuzuha offers, and if your eyes widen at the forced familiarity and you don’t offer the same courtesy in turn, Yuzuha doesn’t comment on it. “My little brother bought me this place – what? – three years ago now? It’s been a learning experience for sure, but you can’t beat the fresh air here. It’s like nowhere else in the country.”

A yakuza-run onsen? You think there is a joke buried in there. Your brain helpfully supplies a mental image of fat forty-somethings bedecked in full-body tattoos enjoying the facilities as traditionalism shakes her fist at their backs.

“Which brings me back to how glad I am that Hanma asked to bring you. Did he not tell you we would be here?” Yuzuha continues.

“Hanma kind of kidnapped me out of bed this morning. I had no idea where we were going,” you admit.

“Dude…” Hakkai grumbles.

You peek at Hanma from the corner of your eye, but he is in his own world far from these niceties. His hand lingers on your back, a boyfriend’s solid and marking grip. Your fever felt like a long dream, and now you wake up to find the world has fundamentally shifted with you none the wiser. Hanma is playing a new game with you now, and you slept right through the rules.

“If you follow me, I’ll take you to your room and then the spa. There’s no staff today, but we have everything we need for DIY facials. If I know the boys, they can find something to keep them busy without us. We can meet up again closer to dinner,” Yuzuha suggests.

She takes command so easily you feel helpless but to nod along. Unthinking, you might follow this competent woman straight off a bluff and to your death.

Hanma has other ideas, interrupting to say, “She needs to eat now. She hasn’t eaten yet.”

“Oh, of course! Hakkai can whip something up for lunch. Just bring it to the west garden rooms,” Yuzuha instructs.

“Why me?” Hakkai whines. Literally whines. A yakuza crying as his sister barks orders at him!

“Don’t be embarrassing! Because I said so,” Yuzuha snaps, and then more gently to you, “The cook is off today, too. But please, don’t worry. Hakkai knows his way around the kitchen.”

An insistent hand sporting long, even nails slicked in gold polish tugs you towards the entrance and away from the men. You cast a look back at Hanma as Yuzuha ushers you inside. He doesn’t watch you go, listening to Hakkai tell a story about his own drive down with an unreadable expression.

Yuzuha shows you to your room, offering amiable commentary about the history and amenities, as if she has given this tour a hundred times. The sliding door shuts definitively and Yuzuha all but jumps you. There is no remainder of the customer service smile as she grips your shoulders.

“Just say the word, and I will find a way to get you out of here,” she says.

“Wha-what?” you stutter.

“If he’s holding you against your will, hurting you, anything, just tell me! It won’t be easy, but Hakkai would protect me even if I dropped a bomb on Toman’s headquarters. Seriously, I can find a way to help you.”

“He’s not. I’m fine,” you say.

“You said he kidnapped you out of bed.”

Defending Hanma to an outsider is strange. Other than your initial intake with Kisaki, you have never discussed Hanma with anyone. It’s impossible to say you feel safe with him when you don’t. He breaks your trust constantly, stealing into your apartment, firing a gun at your head, poking a man’s eyeball out in front of you. Hanma is too erratic, and you should feel decidedly unsafe in his company and yet…

“Thank you,” you say as sincerely as you know how, holding eye contact until Yuzuha looks away. “I am looking forward to today though. I think he’s right that it will be good to unwind and take the fresh air.”

“So long as he’s not hurting you…” Yuzuha says.

“He’s not.”

As you follow Yuzuha out the room, you honestly don’t know whether your should add this to your long list of lies and deceptions.

--

Earlier that year, the UN released updated population estimates for every major urban center in the world. You scanned the article on your phone, the picture of the Tokyo Skytree proudly announcing your city’s dominance, the number one.

Somedays it’s hard to believe that many souls live so closely together. Tokyo is sprawling, its population spread out, so that you can walk down a street in the early morning with the illusion of complete aloneness. You know that behind every closed curtain is one, two, who knows how many bodies, but out of sight, out of mind. You mistake that for freedom.

Never again.

Lunch is hearty and lively, the kind of event where every word is a joke, and where the creases of your mouth hurt from smiling. In another life, Hanma and Hakkai might have embraced their callings as a manzai comedic duo. Between Hanma’s cold antagonism and Hakkai’s affable front as a tough guy, the jokes write themselves. It is surreal to watch Hanma like this: funny, which you already knew, but without the innuendo, the lurking bite. This is Hanma in repose, not pacing and wild as he searches for his next surge of adrenaline.

You worry to Yuzuha when they leave again about how Hanma will pass the time, but she dismisses your barely concealed fears.

“Oh, they’ll be fine. We own the whole property, and Hakkai installed a track for dirt bike riding. I’m sure we’ll see them scraped and bruised come dinner.”

She leaves to run errands in town with the promise to return for facials, surrendering you to the whims and histories of the empty inn. You can almost hear the building sigh to be alone with you.

Uninhibited, you investigate the rooms, searching for their hidden secrets. Each room is largely the same, rich finished wood paneling, warm orange tatami, cabinets discretely built into the walls, low tables, unlit lamps, and enough space to spin about with your arms spread, air whipping up through your fingers, without ever bumping into an obstacle. What differentiates one room from another are the views. The balconies cheat out on the surrounding greenery. The trees blend deceptively together, but as you study one after another, you come to know their character. From some rooms, you can see the hot springs bubbling merrily beneath. Others stare into the depths of the forest.

Having the run of the ryokan is something out of a child’s fantasy, like waking up to find all the adults gone and the candy unguarded. There is no one to watch or judge. You can shout into the wilderness, and no one will shout back. You can pick your nose. You can cry.

So, you do. All of it and more. With each expansive act, you feel as if you take a piece of this place for yourself, feel it slowly reshaping to fit into your pocket.

By the time Yuzuha returns from town, you are hypnotized by your own powers of individuality. You stretch out without a care on the zaisu, legs akimbo and decorum abandoned. A green clay mask dries on your face, marking you like some kind of wicked witch, and red polish glistens like blood on your fingernails and toes.

More delicately positioned on a legless chair, Yuzuha keeps you company while her own mask sets. Rather than disrupt your carefree adventure, Yuzuha seamlessly slots into the magic. She fills the hours with her light chatter. Not once do you grow bored of her sly observations or easy oversharing. She insists on an immediate intimacy with you, which would feel embarrassing if you weren’t so lonely from the last several days trapped in your illness. It feels natural for Yuzuha to detail the minutiae of her life, her struggles with staff retention, her vacation plans, her kidney stones.

You have known women who talk the hours hoarse before, but Yuzuha defies their type even as she does just that. She is not a wide-eyed innocent, the bubbly kind that men fawn over, who chitter with the confidence of someone never before scolded. Nor is she the calculating socialite, like Miyasato, who tries to force a faux closeness on everyone.

As you listen to Yuzuha’s smoky voice, she strikes you as simply comfortable with herself and, by proxy, you.

After twenty minutes, you wash away your face mask. Twisting this way and that, you marvel at how bright and clean your skin looks in the mirror you hold. You smell like a eucalyptus tree, a memory of sick beds, yet you look fresh as a summer’s day, healed.

“You really are beautiful. I wish my bare face looked half as good,” Yuzuha sighs. You rush to reassure her that she is just as beautiful, more so, but she waves you off. “I know I’m gorgeous. The Shiba skin is just a curse. I’ve been at war with my genetics since I was thirteen. I’m winning the battle for now, but…”

“I think your skin is lovely,” you repeat. You can’t remember the last time you complimented another woman this way. This ritual of female friendship is one you have observed from the outside, but rarely directly, so the genuine compliment tastes like rust on your tongue as you try it out.

“You met my brother today. How old do you think he is?”

“Umm, maybe a bit older than me…mid-30s?” you guess.

“See, that’s my point!” Yuzuha cries. “He’s only twenty-seven. Twenty-seven and wrinkling like a prune!”

“Is that why you opened this place? You wanted to run a spa? It’s unusual to have one in a place like this.”

“Kind of. I mean, it’s not like it was my dream to move out here and run an onsen, but Hakkai bought it for me, and well, I’m kind of suited for it. If I had to move out of the city, I knew at the bare minimum I deserved to get a pedicure every once in a while.”

“Why did you move out of the city?” you pry.

“Oh, Hakkai loves to spoil me to make up for how hard things were growing up. He’s very protective. He said it was just a present, a way to clear some money, but I think he mostly wanted to get me out of Tokyo and away from his enemies. I just about threw a fit when he first suggested it. I didn’t want to leave, but I came around on it. I mean, this is paradise, isn’t it?”

A few meters away, the window steams from the heat rising off candy blue waters. Through the steam, you can still see how nature thrives here. Cedars shoot up tall and noble from the pliant earth; Japanese Maples grow closer to the ground, vibrant and so green, you almost can’t believe their leaves are born to wither and die. How lucky to share in this bit of paradise that surely belongs just as much to the wagtail stirring on a nearby tree, then streaking by as it hunts for prey or freedom. No doubt thousands of birds, sables, and tanuki call this forest home. For a city girl, it’s like staring out into the land of fairytales.

The air is crisper here, and you savor each draw of breath. The rotten scent of sulfur somehow doesn’t offend you. Not here. Here, it is something to desire and embrace.

“Paradise, huh? I could get used to it,” you agree.

“Yeah, I really do love it. The only downside is it’s hard to maintain real friendships here. Obviously, I get to meet all the customers, and it’s a lot of fun to entertain them and learn their stories, but they’re transient connections. They all leave in a few days,” Yuzuha says wistfully, and then she turns to you, face startling behind a grey-green mask. “That’s why I was so happy when Hanma asked to bring you. I hoped we could be friends, and I can already tell we will be. Fast friends.”

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, when facing an overture of friendship, or even just interest, you clam up. All the composure and self-respect you gained in adulthood disappears, and you become that lonely child again. The specter of your mother lurking behind your shoulder, the reminder of those lonely, empty rooms, where you were told not to make a sound. You were always so cold then, and you turn cold once more whenever someone tries to truly see you.

But this, this is the one out of a hundred times, when you don’t seize up. Maybe it is the undisrupted peace of your surroundings, the easy confidence of Yuzuha. Or maybe your brain is still addled by days of fever? Who can say? All you know is that for once, you don’t feel ice slip through your veins, don’t squirm at the kindness. Instead, you say the right thing.

“I could come back and visit sometime. I would love to see you again.”

“I can come visit you in Tokyo, too!” Yuzuha offers eagerly. “Or we could sometimes meet in the middle if the drive is too much.”

“I don’t have a car, but I can figure something out,” you agree.

“Nah, I’m not worried about that. Hanma can drive you,” Yuzuha says.

“Maybe.”

“Or better yet, why don’t we start working on him now. Between the two of us, I bet we could get him to buy you your own inn. We could be neighboring competitors!” Yuzuha jokes.

“Stop, I might start salivating,” you say. You’ve read that property is a great investment for security.

“Not at the ostentatious gifts stage yet? Just wait and know your worth. He’ll be showering you in jewels before the year is out.”

You flinch from a panic you can’t quite place. Then, like you so often advise your clients, you follow that emotion, tracing your own thoughts backwards until you can find its origins, and realize with a start, that you are scared to hear someone associate you with Hanma. She isn’t supposed to know. No one is.

Since this strange, out-of-character dalliance with Hanma began, your only confidante in the matter has been Hanma himself. The atmosphere of secrecy has a reinforcing effect. When Hanma hurts or scares you, you sit with that pain or fear, until he returns, helps you process what happened, and then offers you some new feeling to nourish instead: lust, companionship, comfort. Always, there thrums the low buzz of anxiety as you let him guide you closer and closer to the precipice, but you have no one else to strip back the curtain and show you the game. Just Hanma.

But here sits Yuzuha, who offers you friendship, who knows Hanma. It is an opportunity you can’t pass up.

“Earlier, when you were worried about me and Hanma, why was that? Has he done something before that made you worried?” you ask.

“I’m sorry about that. Total overreaction,” Yuzuha grimaces. “I don’t have any real reason to be so suspicious of Hanma, I swear. He’s never even introduced Hakkai to a woman before. I just know how powerful men can be, and I don’t wish that upon anyone. When you said he kidnapped you, I misinterpreted. But now that I’ve seen you two together, I’m sure you have a great relationship.”

“We’re not really…in a relationship,” you say.

Yuzuha’s eyebrows are far too expressive, containing the power of a thousand smirks with one knowing arch. She subjects you to one such eyebrow quirk and says, “I’m not trying to be all high school, ‘oooh is he your boyfriend’ or anything, but from the outside looking in…I’d call whatever you two have a relationship.”

“I don’t know if we’re anything to each other to be honest. I mean, he’s playing some sort of game with me, but I don’t know what he wants from it. Just to pass the time, maybe? All this, him being sweet and doting on me, that’s brand new.”

“I don’t know what game Hanma may be playing, but what do you want?” Yuzuha asks.

She poses the question like nothing could be simpler. Spending time with Hanma is like dancing on a sinkhole, the ground constantly shifting underfoot and always you feel the risk of the collapse. Every minute with him the risk grows. How can you want anything but survival?

And yet, you don’t run away from the danger. If anything, you dance closer.

“I want to make obscene amounts of money, fuck you money, so I never have to worry another day in my life,” you answer.

“Oh, I can cheers to that. I think that calls for a toast,” Yuzuha agrees. Opening a wood-paneled cabinet, she reveals a mini-fridge and a sweating bottle of champaign for just such an occasion.

“What do you want?” you challenge her.

“I want to meet a tender, soft man or woman, who’s always laughing, who loves animals and dotes on their family. Someone who doesn’t hold me, but rather, we hold each other. That’s what I want.”

“That’s your ideal type, huh? Have you met anyone like that yet?” you smile.

“No! But I know I will,” Yuzuha says. “It’s the power of positive thinking.”

She laughs as she uncorks the champagne. It jolts her whole body, and a small trickle rains down onto the tatami. The mess is left for another time. The afternoon glows with pleasure and excess. By the end of the night, maybe you’ll be licking champagne up from the floors.

“Your turn. What else do you want?” Yuzuha says, making a game of it.

“Um…” you hesitate as long as you can before the strain grows ridiculous and you blurt out the first thing you can think of. “I’d like to live by the beach. I think it’d be nice for the first thing I hear every morning to be the waves.”

“Oh, totally. I grew up in the city, and I had no idea just how damn loud it was until I moved out here. You won’t believe it when you go to sleep tonight,” Yuzuha says, and then, “I guess it’s my turn again. I want to ring in my thirtieth birthday with a huge party here with every person I love, and I want to have made a dozen new close friends by then, too. A whole week of partying and relaxation in the hot springs that no one will ever forget.”

“Cheers to that,” you say.

There are no glasses and Yuzuha doesn’t want to hunt them down from the kitchens, so you chug straight from the bottle. The lip is cold, the champagne colder as it glides down your throat. A shiver of pleasure follows it. You’ve barely parted from the bottle before Yuzuha is grabbing it for her own swig, spilling more champagne down her chin. You both laugh like much younger girls.

You settle back into the chair cushion, passing the bottle back and forth as Yuzuha continues to detail the things she wants out of life, from the minute to the grand. You didn’t know it was possible to want so many things. The easy way she summons these desires is even stranger to you, but you find yourself hoping that she gets everything she wants and more.

“Going back to the beginning though, what is it you want with our Hanma?” Yuzuha teases.

At a loss, you sigh, “It’s just not that easy. I don’t know what I want. All I know is what I don’t want. I don’t want him to hurt me, or blow up my life, or put me in danger. I guess that means I don’t want him at all, huh?”

“Why does that mean you don’t want him?”

“Because he’s incapable of caring about another person. He’s like a sadistic butterfly collector. He may admire me for months and still, one day, pluck my wings off because he got bored,” you explain.

“So you decide to clip your own wings before he can?” Yuzuha says, her eyebrows arching down somehow more severely than ever before. “Ya know, I’ve known Hanma for ten years, since we were practically kids. And, I don’t think you’re being fair to him.”

“You said it first. You know dangerous men, and he’s one of them.”

“Oh, he’s definitely dangerous, but…” and here Yuzuha takes on the look of a haunting, eyeline somewhere above your head, peering out of this room, this paradise, and into a past she would rather but could never forget. “I’ve known men who are like a black hole. They are hungry, so very hungry, and nothing will ever fill them. So, they suck up everything around them, and once they have you, they crush you into nothing.”

“That sounds like Hanma,” you interrupt.

Yuzuha shakes her head. “No, no it doesn’t. I don’t know if he can ever be satisfied either, but Hanma doesn’t need to destroy everything around him. He cares about people in his own way.”

“The only reason he’s not destroying everything around him is because he has ulterior motives. Trust me. He doesn’t have it in him to care,” you disagree.

“Sorry, but I can’t. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I know he’s gotten a bit harder in the last couple years, but you didn’t know him when he was young. He used to be so happy all the time. Maybe life has disappointed him, made him harder, but…here let me tell you a story,” Yuzuha says.

A part of you wants to beg her to keep her peace. Whatever humanizing tale she spins will only confuse you. But another part says this is homework. Painful but necessary. Whatever she shares could be applied to your treatment strategy.

Still, you stare out the window rather than meet Yuzuha’s eyes, let her voice wash over you like a child hearing a bedtime story. No one has to take a bedtime story to heart.

“This would have been maybe eight years ago? Somewhere around then, we were all hanging out at one of Toman’s warehouses. They’d finished up business, and we decided to play hide and seek in the rows. I know, silly right? But back then, we still had a lot of fun. There was money and danger and all the bad stuff, too, but we were kids and acted like it. Sometime while we were playing, Hakkai realized he had lost the chain he wears around his neck. On it, he hangs our mom’s wedding ring. She died when we were little, and it is the only thing he has to remember her. He loves that ring. So, he’s looking all over for it, and it’s not turning up, and Hakkai is so panicked he’s almost crying. It gets awkward, so the game is over, and everyone just starts leaving, telling Hakkai they’re sorry and they’re sure it’ll turn up. But not Hanma. He stayed. He stayed, and he helped us tear that warehouse apart for the next three hours. I mean, we looked everywhere for that thing. And Hanma never complained, didn’t try to beg off, he just stayed and helped.”

“Where did you find it?”

“Pfft, it was in the idiot’s pocket the whole time. I could have strangled him when he realized,” Yuzuha laughs. “But I never looked at Hanma the same after that. I mean, he had nothing to gain out of looking with us. He didn’t demand a favor or bully Hakkai over it. He just wanted to help because…well, I don’t think he liked seeing Hakkai so upset, and it’s not the only time I’ve seen something like that. When it comes to Hakkai or Kisaki, I’ve seen him go out of his way to help them, and I think he does it because he just…cares. He cares.”

Chugging straight from the bottle, you swallow so much champagne it feels like drowning. Nothing about Yuzuha’s story matches with your understanding of Hanma’s capacity to empathize with others. You know him to be intuitive, insightful, deep in his connection to his own feelings, but you have never met this generous, caring man.

Except, of course, you have. You hardly remember him because you were delirious with fever, but once Hanma stroked you so tenderly, held you so securely, chastised you so lovingly.

Your head spins.

“Anyway, maybe he is dangerous, and maybe only a crazy person would pursue a relationship with him, but what’s wrong with being a little crazy? I mean, you can’t live life playing it safe. You’ll be safe in the grave and not a minute sooner,” Yuzuha continues, oblivious to your inner chaos.

“I think I drank too much too fast,” you mutter. “I should eat something to settle my stomach.”

“Sure thing, we can go to the kitchens,” Yuzuha says.

Her hand supports you as you stand. The irony of being steadied by the very woman who knocked you off balance doesn’t escape you.

“I’ll stop butting into your business now,” Yuzuha says, that pretty smile that made you immediately warm to her on her lips. “I just couldn’t help myself. I haven’t seen him smile like he did this afternoon since we were young. It reminded me of good times.”

Good times, huh? You’ve never known them.

(You want to.)

--

Since you were too small to reach the stove dials, you have loved going to the market, peering up at fresh veggies, the colors changing along with the season, scenting the hot peppers preserved with vinegar and the fermented kimchi. The fish heads didn’t frighten you. Their eyes didn’t seem dead, didn’t seem like eyes at all, but shiny buttons sewed onto a doll.

Your mother would move quickly through the market, while you lost yourself among the rows. Sometimes you lost her. You learned to keep one eye on the vendors’ delights and another on your mother’s retreating perm. Market days always ended too soon.

Years later, you learned about the tea ceremony and kaiseki dining in elementary school. You salivated at the prospect of all those fresh ingredients plucked straight from earth, sea, and sky.

When Yuzuha regretfully informs you that, without a chef, you’ll have to settle for some atypical ryokan fare, you beg her to reconsider. There is a freezer stocked with ingredients, a dog-eared cookbook, and years of knowledge rattling around in your brain.

The hours wile by while you acquaint yourself with the kitchen and its contents. Yuzuha sits on the countertop, constantly scooting out of your way as your dishes stack higher and higher, sipping glass after glass of plum wine, and regaling you with stories about the early days of Toman, when these feared gangsters were mere boys with acne scars and cracking voices.

By the time the table is set, the sun is only a distant memory. Candle-lit lanterns glow, casting the overflowing table and its dishes in ambient orange. The table is so aesthetically pleasing it steals your breath. Foods of every variety – sizzled, steamed, and grilled, sweet, bitter, and savory – representing the delights of Akita’s countryside line the table.

Hanma doesn’t join you for dinner, but Hakkai troops up from the woods, face scratched up from collisions with branches and a belly rumbling from the exertion.

He and Yuzuha eat heartily, tasting every dish in order and singing your praises. You can barely take a few bites from each plate, drinking copiously instead and watching the way the Shibas devour your meal. You catch it all, the way their jaws work around a piece of sashimi, the grimace of pleasure at a rich bite, the deep sigh as soup warms them from the inside out.

For years you have cooked all kinds of delicacies in your apartment kitchen, sampling and experimenting to hone your skills. But you almost always eat the final meal alone with the news as your only company since Takashi never eats dinner in the house. To share a meal with someone who appreciates it feels unreal.

You think if either of the Shibas ask you to bury a body tonight you might ask how deep.

Sleep blurs behind your eyes after the meal. It should be impossible after you slept the morning away, and the day before that, but whenever your brain tries to focus on any one thing, it vibrates, and you are lost.

Yuzuha points out that you haven’t enjoyed the onsen yet. She yawns through directions to the women’s baths. Red as an apple, she can barely keep her head off the table, and Hakkai promises to deliver her safely to bed.

There is no need for her directions. You follow the lead of your own instincts, nose sniffing out the open air. The trees bow to you as you walk. Their leaves, plump and wet, the green of erotic love, beguile you. They beg you to enter their foliage, to trust in the safety of the forest. As you rinse off at a shower station, a gauzy haze settles over your brain. Your tongue remembers the taste of plum wine and good food.

In this sensualist’s mood, you enter the women’s baths.

It feels inevitable to find Hanma there, lounging against smooth stone.

Unaware, or perhaps unbothered by your arrival, you drink in the uninhibited view of him: the virginal flush of his skin, the pronounced Adam’s apple as his throat tips back, the colored strands sticking wet and limp to his neck. The water rises only to his rib cage, and you enjoy the voluptuous strength of him, the unexpected curve of his chest and blue blood veins on his arms. His glasses lie folded on his equally folded towel a few meters away.

“Are you just going to stand there or join me?” Hanma purrs without so much as twitching an eyelid. He maintains his stillness like he knows his body is a statue to be admired and enjoyed.

“You just want me to come closer because you’re too blind to see me from here,” you hazard. It’s meant to sound dry, accusing, but your voice lilts in playful tease, revealing your true feelings.

Hanma peeks one eye open, sees through the rising steam, and trains onto your body. “I can see just fine.”

“Liar.”

The hot spring scalds as you lower one calf and then another into the shallow pool. That is the secret to its powers, you think. You have to burn away the rot to be truly clean.

Each muscle greets the sulfuric water gaily, unlocking and relaxing until you are pliant and yielding. Fully immersed, the water rises to your shoulders.

You settle opposite Hanma on the other side of the pool, where you maintain the illusion of being out of reach. Two simple strides would eliminate the distance, but you are fast and sharp and confident that he will not touch you unless you will it. That’s part of the magic of the night.

“Did you rest up? You look better,” Hanma says. Despite his earlier claim, you know he can only now see the details of you, and he inspects your exposed flesh with a doctor’s intensity.

“Yeah, Yuzuha’s great. I feel like a whole new woman,” you answer, quiet even though no one is there to disturb because you feel the onsen itself demands this respect.

“Good. You need to take care of yourself, or I’ll have to do it for you,” Hanma says.

“Sounds good to me,” you say because it’s honest and true, and right now, you can’t remember why you would ever bother being anything else. “I haven’t been on a vacation in forever. It’s nice to get away. I should thank you.”

Hanma grunts a laugh. “You should.”

“I should,” you agree.

There can be no quiet on a night like this when the cicadas sing the song of summer, and the hot spring gurgles in harmony. The world is in commune with itself. You are content to merely listen and feel as it sings.

After fifteen minutes, Hanma joins the choir and asks, “What do you want, Doc?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that.”

“Maybe if you answered, they’d stop.”

“Am I really that hard to figure out?” you counter.

“Don’t challenge me, Doc. You know I can’t resist a challenge,” Hanma smiles.

You do know, and maybe that is what keeps you both guessing. You say you want security, yet you make your home with your head in the mouth of a lion, trusting in its continued mercy and the postponement of the chomp.

“Well, you and me both,” you admit. “I don’t know the first thing about what I want. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d know how to ask for it.”

“Hmmm, I can almost commiserate,” Hanma says. “I didn’t understand it before, but the more we’ve talked, the more it’s made sense. I just don’t experience the world like other people, do I? So when I try to explain myself, what I want, how I think, most people look at me like I’m speaking gibberish. They misunderstand me on purpose, pretend I’m joking because my perspective is too scary. That’s what makes you different, isn’t it? You always understand.”

Sliding deeper into the pool, your chin burns raw in the hot waters. There is nowhere to escape except down, into the water’s depths and you aren’t ready to die.

“Since I always understand, tell me. What do you want?”

Hanma prowls forward. The water ripples and redirects to make room for him as he crosses the pool and crowds you deeper into hard stone. A pointed rock digs into your shoulder blade when you take a breath, so you stop breathing altogether.

“I want to spread your thighs and drink you dry,” Hanma says.

Thighs, arms, brain, all loosen and float in the water, waiting for his embrace. He lifts your pliant body from the hot springs and lays you down on the stony ground, legs dangling so your ankles dance in the pool. Sudden cold makes your nipples tighten and teeth clamp shut. Anticipation makes your blood warm and clit twitch.

There is nothing but stars above you as Hanma forces your legs wider and wider apart until they house the breadth of his shoulders. He licks the wet from your thighs, groaning at the metallic taste. Chapped lips follow in his tongue’s wake, abrading smooth skin. His breath is as hot as the volcanic water.

Blowing cool air directly onto your pussy, Hanma wakes you to a world just to the left of the one you’ve always occupied. A world where every synapse fires and chases pleasure with singular purpose, a world that once tasted forever poisons you to the other world of the mundane.

The teasing touches that worship your thighs build you into a nervous frenzy, which somehow possesses Hanma too. He seizes your hips and thighs to roll you back and into the cradle of his arms. The red mouth descends on your cunt, tongue pushing your thighs open and digging into the ripe center of you. You wither and cry as he enjoys the taste of you. His chin drips with your cum.

“How do I taste?” you ask, your voice coming from far away, somewhere outside yourself.

“Sharp,” Hanma groans, a long slurp follows as if the word magnifies the flavor. “It’s just like you. Almost sweet, but there’s a bite.”

Hanma doesn’t use his fingers except to part your folds like a flower. Holding you open, he paints the entirety of your cunt with wet strips of his own tongue as if he wants to replace the taste of you with his own. He likes to rink from the center of you but, as he speeds up, your juices flow messier and messier until there is virtually no difference to where he tongues, all of it a wet and tangy river for his pleasure.

Your sensitive clit pulses temptingly in his face. It draws him back with the hypnotic power of a bullseye. Hanma controls his tongue as dexterously as he controls any weapon, and he nudges your clit in every direction, always perfectly timed and with the exact right pressure. The stars above you are as white as obliteration.

There is no warning before Hanma slaps your clit. Your cunt vibrates with it, the imagined sound louder than your yelp. He does it again to watch you squirm. You try to meet his eye, to question the turn, but Hanma is speaking directly to your cunt, in his own universe.

“There we go, jumpy little pussy. Just keep squeezing out more juice for Daddy.” A couple more spanks, each one sparking and cruel, and then his fingers dip inside you, and they are longer than you imagined possible. “Look at you tightening up around my fingers at the sound of my voice. Too tight and you’re going to hurt yourself. And so messy too. Messy little bitch dripping all over Daddy’s hand. Making him crazy for a taste, huh?”

Shame at potentially dirtying the crystalline waters can’t compete with the pleasure as Hanma’s fingers bully the weakest spots inside you. In answer to his degrading words, you moan and cry into the symphony of the night.

“Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum on my hand? Give it all to me, slut. Come on,” Hanma orders.

Fiercely, you deny him, glaring up from a craned neck. “Not without your mouth.”

Hanma smiles, wicked, like your defiance tastes better than your obedience ever could.

“Whatever baby wants.”

Then, his mouth dives back into your cunt. While one hand spreads you wide and the other pumps two fingers into your slickness, his taunting lips seal over your clit and suck like he wants to draw the soul from your body. Again, you collapse back into the ground, and find the starry sky looming like a promise above you. Your hands cling to his hair and hold him in place.

Right there.

You may cum screaing. You may cum with a breathy sigh that disappears into the night. You may cum with a laugh, a groan, a bark, a song.

Whichever way, you wouldn’t know because your ears blow open as blood roars through your head and pounds through your cunt.

Robbed of half your senses, no hearing, vision blurred and uncomprehending, you can only feel as your body tightens and floods, as it breaks itself apart again and again at Hanma’s command. You – the doctor, the girlfriend, the woman – don’t exist in this moment. Just the body, and it is hungry and grieving.

It is an annihilation.

You come back to yourself slowly. Pleasure still sparks in your lower body, little electric zings darting straight to your clit. You know who you are again, can make out the individual outlines of the stars, no longer a blotted mass in the sky.

Fingers still inside you, gripped tight with the strength of your body, Hanma watches your every reaction. He is steady and calm. There is the hint of sated ego in the curve of his lips, but his eyes are mild like your orgasm exhausted him too.

Jelly elbows shouldn’t be able to hold you up, but somehow they do, and you rise back to a sitting position. You tower over Hanma. He is beautiful as he stands there all dripping chest and gold eyes, but also somehow silly with his erection peeking through the waters.

“Let me return the favor,” you say hoarsely, lowering yourself toward the water and the shape of his cock. Before you can, Hanma’s hands knock you aside.

“You’ll get Daddy’s cock soon, baby. But only when you know it’s what you really want.”

All around you, the cicadas scream.

[gnsaein]

[ origins / profile / plots / muse ]

🤸 —— ! happy opening day everyone, i'm so excited to be here. i'm sol (they/xe) and this is my manic pixie failgirl moon saein --- ran from the bad clutches of his family six years ago, only to end up in the arguably worse clutches of a nefarious circus troupe ( as one does ) , then finally came limping back to gaenari a week ago.

leave a like if you'd like me to reach out for plots! alternatively, we can just start a thread and see where chemistry takes us.

THEN:

moon saein, born in 1999, single child of moon seonhee and moon bomin. they're descended from one of the first families to build houses in gaenari, so they go a long ways back if anyone else is old blood !

his father's a big stickler for tradition and legacy. rumor has it that his marriage to seonhee was arranged and bomin, who was feral for a successor to carry on his torch, saw her as nothing more than a way to extend his bloodline. i'm taking inspiration from carrie for his childhood, so if you know the vibes...then u know.

formerly a chronic runaway. his parents were already disappointed that he turned out to be incompetent when it came to the construction family legacy, but the runaway antics were when they really gave up on him.

it was a typical cry for attention. they could've gotten angry, they could've punished him, he would've taken anything if it meant that, idk, they actually gave a shit about him? but it was like he was invisible if he wasn't serving them a purpose.

would run away intermittently between 13-17yrs old, culminating to 6 years ago when he finally, properly ran --- a very abrupt and fevered decision, and the first time that he actually gets out of gaenari. he ends up in daehan, where he spends a year just surviving. if anyone has a muse who was also on a bender in daehan around 5-6 years ago, hmu, they could've gotten fucked up and self destructive together : )

after daehan, he ended up joining a circus, for a lack of a better word. it was a traveling troupe of performers and they performed on makeshift stages in glitzy masks, and at that point it was the most magical thing saein had ever seen in his little sheltered life.

saein meets his mentor eunha there and she helps him become one of their most reliable performers --- showy, impressive acrobatics leaping through the air, twisting up hanging silk ribbons. to the audience, it's all shows and gimmicks, but eunha insists that there's something more at the heart of their shows. that there's magic. saein, prone to fantasy and romance, completely buys it.

the catch: there's a test that all performers go through before they're considered a permanent part of the troupe. eunha says that if he does, the magic will be pleased with him too. and saein would do just about anything to make somebody proud; he agrees without a second thought.

the test involved him helping out with a vanishing act. you can read more about it in his background, but basically it ended with him falling into a small, dark, locked box for over 12 hours, screaming for help and terrified that no one would remember to come looking for him.

when the test "ends" and he's "rescued," he can't talk or sleep properly for a full week. eunha wants him to try again. she says she knows he can do it, he just needs to be stronger.

saein can't deal with the pressure of disappointing her 🤘 he sneaks out a few nights later, quiet and inevitable, and runs right back home.

NOW:

his parents aren't happy he's back, borderline pissed about it. they tell him to find his own place to stay. he's therefore now eun street's latest resident at apt. #403 (and looking for a roommate!)

a receptionist at the gym. he plans to befriend security to let him stay a little longer after hours, bc the acrobatics were actually therapeutic and he needs someplace to keep practicing.

i'm thinking it has only been a week or so since he came back? he's been quiet.

in general, he's quieter than before. still animated if you get him going, but he's jumpy and prone to spacing out these days. to anyone who knew him before, it's a notable difference from the bright eyed, bushy tailed kid he used to be.

he came back bc he convinced himself that there was something calling him back to gaenari. is it magic here too? is it some cosmic entity that lives inside of the mountain and wants him carnally? or was he just so terrified of disappointing eunha that he had to make up a fantasy excuse to leave them too? who knows! 🔮

when he's not working, he's wandering around claiming to be listening to the ghosts of the mines or laying out somewhere on a field, head full of tumbleweeds.

PLOTS:

here are his established plots!

people who knew him before. his parents tried really hard to downplay his existence when they couldn't control him but that probably came off as them trying to sweep the ""bad seeds"" under the rug.

people who didn't know him before. he's marveling at all of the little ways town has changed and the new faces around.

people he met while he was in daehan 5-6 yrs ago. this could have been anywhere from a quick meeting to a months long spiral into codependency (jk! unless)

it would take more plotting, but i'd also love a connection with someone who knew of/once watched/was also part of the troupe that he was in? maybe someone else he helped out of that circus and brought back to gaenari or someone who followed him here?

ever since his “test” he’s been terrified of sleeping in locked rooms, and just small, closed spaces in general. maybe someone runs into him freaking out while they’re someplace confined and has to be like Hey .. Calm down?…

he likes to ride the bus/trains out to daehan sometimes just to feel like he's going somewhere. give me someone who's on those late night rides too, who maybe also knows a thing about the dark.

any old friends he left behind; except for the muse involved in his one established plot, he didn't tell anyone he was leaving

for anyone looking to stay a little later at the gym too, they'll start to constantly find him there, so he could sneak them in absolutely with no questions asked.

any fellow people out there with family issues lol. they can commiserate and give each other advice that they can't follow for themselves.

healthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy coping mechanisms. i-don't-know-you-but-you've-got-the-same-fucked-up-look-in-your-eye isms. we-just-need-to-take-our-minds-off-the-grisly-act-of-surviving isms. i-will-not-ask-where-you-came-from-and-neither-should-you isms [hozier outro plays us out]

i'm very sorry that this is so long. if you got here, ily, let's write together 🙏.