Chapter Text
"How we need another soul to cling to, another body to keep us warm. To rest and trust; to give your soul in confidence: I need this, I need someone to pour myself into." ~ Sylvia Plath
Once upon a time there lived a fearsome witch whose specialty was songs and stories. To his misfortune he had managed to attract the attention of a horrifying demon who now would not let the young man alone. This witch, he lived alone in a lonely pine forest not too far away from the rest of the civilization. Far enough however that you wouldn’t just accidentally stumble upon his cottage by chance.
“Wasn’t it only on Friday that you last blocked my doorway? Has the road from Hell become this easy to traverse, you really shouldn’t have gone to all that effort for little old me.” Jisung said, putting on a show.
“Don’t think too much of yourself. I was just in the area,” Minho stretched lazily, the last rays of evening sun filtering through the tall pines, warming the worn boards of the porch where Jisung had been sitting and working.
“Anyways I’m not even inside, not even a toe over the line.”
“Mhh, yet. I do know you,” Jisung muttered, furiously grinding the dried hawthorn berries with his mortar and pestle, biting his lip to not crack a smile. You shouldn’t show any weakness in front of a demon after all. Minho rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, skin golden. Their dance was a familiar one, showing up unannounced, threats of banishment and eternal Hellfire, the usual banter for the two of them. Something deep in Jisung’s core woke up again, stretched its tendrils, a horrible yearning, now familiar company to him after all these years.
"I know your brothers just left, so you would be alone and helpless,"
Ah, so there lies the reason for the visit, not that Minho usually needed one anymore. They had long ago silently dropped the pretence of these visits being anything more than just out of the desire to spend time together. However, Chan and Changbin had been staying with him for the new moon and departed earlier in the day, and Jisung always felt kind of lonely after they left, his little cabin feeling more gloomy and hollow than usual. They were both Jisung’s family by sentiment, and by blood technically too as forming a coven had involved a ritual binding them to each other. They spoke a lot and texted each other throughout the day, but it wasn't the same as being in one room, getting to touch and tease and bother each other in person. Jisung glanced at the demon, knowing that his eyes must betray the fondness swelling up inside him, but it was fine just this once. Minho just stretched out on the porch, hiding a small smile in the crook of his elbow.
“Felix complains that this place stinks now, so thanks for that," Jisung remarked, pouring the now finely grounded dust into a small ziploc bag.
"I saw you first."
"That's not even true."
Felix was an angel, someone he had gotten to know through Chan originally, now one of his dearest friends. Angel of The-First-Rays-Of-Sun-After-Heavy-Rain was his official designation. Jisung kicked Minho as he stepped over the demon on his way inside, an insult that was met with an affronted hiss and a grab at his ankle that made Jisung stumble. He left the door open wide behind him.
"Wow, messier than usual."
"Thanks. There was a job and it was either go before sunrise or waste the whole evening on it." And he hadn’t wanted to do that, not today when he had suspected a certain demon might pay him a visit. Behind him the soft footsteps and a creak of the door closing signalled that Minho had come in, the sun must have finally set. Jisung spared a glance behind him, what a sight, a truly fearsome demon in his house, curled on his ratty sofa, a colourful blanket his grandmother had knit for him wrapped on his shoulders, making kissy faces at a cat. Dori had emerged from her nap in the bedroom and now claimed her rightful space in Minho’s lap. Oh his heart had been doomed from the beginning.
When Jisung came across Minho for the first time, he had first noticed, and been taken aback by, the other man’s good looks, sneaking a sideways glance as he walked past him. Then his nose had warned him that there might be more to the story, a faint and familiar smell of magic and brimstone lingering in the air. His hag stone had revealed the truth, where the man was lounging against the brick wall, stood a creature covered in inky black fur that seemed to devour all light. Long limbed and with a curling tail, the demon's mouth stretched in a wide grin, filled with sharp needle teeth. Eyes, just yellow slits, were trained right at him. Standing there and trying to surreptitiously stare at someone through a rock with a hole in it. That had not been his brightest moment, Jisung had had to admit. Not that he regretted it, even though the demon did trail after him as he ran off.
In the bus Jisung had refused to engage as the demon sat across the aisle, taunting him.
“Name’s Minho, if you’re interested. You can call me hyung though.” the man grinned, leaning closer. Jisung gripped his pencil tighter and continued writing on the back of a receipt he had found in his pocket. The amulet he carried and the scrap of a verse he had just finished should hold off any evil creatures in an emergency, and so far the demon had not tried anything, but he still really just wanted to get home and the safety of his wards.
The bus came to a stop and Jisung dashed out, the demon ducking away to avoid touching him, before following after. A lonely walk through the woods, even in the early afternoon with sun still shining brightly, was not where one wanted to be when pursued by a demon, but there was little choice. Jisung hurried his steps.
“It would be polite to introduce oneself, especially after spying on someone,” the demon sounded amused, easily keeping pace with him.
“I didn’t--! …It’s Han” his ears burned, he shouldn’t have said that. “Why do you follow me, I don’t want anything from you.”
“Well, you started it.”
“I was just curious!” Jisung chanced a glance behind him, the demon still looked unfairly handsome.
“And now I am too,” the demon grinned.
As soon as Jisung made it to the clearing that housed his little cabin he sighed in relief. The demon had stopped at the edge of the treeline, his hair rising up, a grimace on his face. The wards were working.
“You won’t make it through. Now tell me what do you want from me?” Jisung sat down at the front step of his porch, squinting his eyes. The demon had his hands up, and as he tried to take a step forward, a ripple ran over him, like a distortion on a hot summer day and the human shape wavered, flickered, and he quickly retreated back with a wince.
“I was being honest earlier, I was just bored!” he grumbled. “I’ve been up here almost the whole day, just, I don’t know, people watching.”
“Why?”
“Why not, it’s a nice day! I went to a cafe, got a drink!”
“You do that?” Jisung winced as soon as the words left his mouth, for heaven’s sake he knew an angel who liked ice cream and long walks on the beach, why not a demon. “...Sorry.”
The demon, Minho , shrugged, body turned away. Jisung hesitated, tilted his head and focused his hearing on the wards. They were alerting him of a demonic presence, obviously, but they gave him no words of warning about any ill intent. Ah what the hell, Changbin could yell at him later.
“I’m Jisung. Give me a sec,” he felt Minho’s eyes follow him as he turned to his front door and leaned in closer to whisper the wards away.
“Would you like a drink?”
Jisung had brought out sodas and snacks and they had sat at the front porch first, just talking. Minho turned out to be weird, and funny, and annoying when he laughed at Jisung about how unsubtle he had been earlier. When Jisung’s stomach growled he had invited Minho in, fed them both with pasta from yesterday’s leftovers. After, they had sprawled out in the living room, Minho draping himself over the ottoman, Jisung sitting up on the sofa. It was kind of intoxicating, having someone look at him so intensely, to give him undivided attention. Words bubbled out of jisung and he felt out of breath. Minho’s eyes glowed with mirth in the firelight, head thrown back in laughter, countering Jisung’s stories with tales of his own.
His hag stone had revealed the handsome man's true demonic nature, but spending an evening with him made it clear what kind of creature Jisung was actually dealing with - a big lazy cat.
That night, after the demon had departed, in the small hours before the morning finally took over Jisung glanced down to his wrist. He had felt it happen a few hours ago when trading insults with Minho, just in between one breath and another, the creeping heat on his arm. His heart had seized and he had quickly tugged down his sleeve to keep it covered, Minho none the wiser on his spot in front of the fireplace.
Soulmates were a human thing, a blessing and a curse. Black ink was now curling on his wrist where it had been bare and unmarked for the past two and a half decades; swooping letters formed a name, a set of syllables that already felt as familiar as his own, connecting his soul to someone else through cosmic forces beyond his understanding. It didn’t read Minho , the name the demon had offered him, it was worse than that. Jisung wanted to close his eyes, to wash the letters away and the knowledge with them. A demon’s true name was a secret guarded with their life… with just a name and few words, one could force Minho to do anything. His heart broke knowing what could be possible but would never come to be. Then he stood up and set to work.
As the first rays of sun began to filter through the branches Jisung braided together a bracelet. He plied the leather with oils, staining it with false indigo and yarrow for protection, whispering his fear and regret to it, words bound tightly together by the strips of leather. No one would ever see this name, he would not allow it, this was his responsibility now. Jisung’s fingers traced the letters for the first and final time, tasting the syllables on his lips. Soulbonds could be a million things, something different for everyone, but one thing was for sure; the one whose name was on your wrist could change your life forever, if you let it. His soul vibrated in his chest, ready to alight..
Changbin had yelled at him, then demanded to see Minho and judge him with his own two eyes. A week later Jisung had run into Minho in town again, got lunch with him and invited both of his brothers over to join them. Then they met again, once, twice, Minho popping up while Jisung was doing his groceries and trailing him home after or waiting for him at his cabin when he got back from a job. Then a few more times, as he invited Minho out to meet the rest of his friends. Jisung felt filled to bursting with magic. Never before had he been so full of inspiration, there were fantastical stories forming in his mind, bickering verses of back and forth, whispers of silly crushes curling on his tongue.
In his kitchen Jisung busied himself, stowing away the mortar and pestle and throwing the ziploc bag into one of the drawers.
"So, what should we order?"
"I was thinking I might cook. I brought the ingredients with me," Minho answered, digging into his bag, producing some fresh vegetables, a pack of meat. Jisung smiled.
"Leave the blanket there, I don't want it dirty. Take your hoodie if you're cold," Jisung grumbled, tossing his old school hoodie at Minho's head. Catlike reflexes were unfair however, and the demon easily caught it.
"I am feeding you, you ungrateful witch."
Jisung leaned against the counter watching Minho get set up, their elbows bumping together as Minho began to prepare the ingredients. His cabin wasn't anything grand or expansive. It was old and crooked, made from the same pines that were cut down to make the space for it, just one open room with furniture clustered around the fireplace on one side, cramped kitchen in the other corner and a short hallway off to the side with doors to the bedroom and bathroom. Wooden beams ran across the room on the ceiling, low enough to touch. It could be draughty during winter and the doors creaked, but Jisung told the walls stories of the mighty old trees they once were, of the effort and dedication that was poured into them when the cabin was built, and so they held strong for him and kept him comfortable. He absolutely loved this house. His aunt had bestowed it under his care after she left to search for her soulmate, leaving all her books and spells behind, something Jisung was still working on sorting and cataloguing. There was a small garden out back, mostly left to grow wild and free, and the evergreen forest around them could provide many things useful for his craft.
As Minho reached past Jisung for a knife he could see the demon’s nose scrunch up as he paused, then leaned closer for a second sniff.
"Curses? Really Jisung-ah, you've said time and time again you're gonna stop, and this smells powerful.." Minho frowned. Jisung grimaced, he didn’t like it either, but…
"Oh! I need to send the money to Hyunjin," Curses always pay significantly better than any other jobs out there.
"...Anything to worry about?" Minho paused his chopping, leaning closer with concern.
"Yes.. No- well, same as always, some creep not understanding what's real and what's just a show. He needed to get away for a while and I said I could help," Jisung frowned as he dug out his phone. Their friend Hyunjin was a dancer, a performer, and while his nature helped to charm and captivate the audiences, it had its drawbacks. Minho nodded, the frown still lingering, but he resumed his cooking after placing a brief hand on Jisung’s shoulder.
"Tell me about the job, are they gonna come calling soon?"
And so Jisung did. Curses were harmful, malicious, but the main thing about them that put most witches off, despite how well they paid, was that only the caster could break a curse. So, any witch casting one was aware that sooner or later the target would have to seek them out, and would not be too pleased about it. That is why a common practice was to leave behind a calling card, a magical signature that would make it easy to do so, in hopes of placating the victim, dissuading any hostility. Curses were for the rich, powerful and petty, a professional fuck you to your competitor.
“So yeah, the client wanted some real fucked up stuff but you know, I’m not really down for that. The curse will give the company bad luck, the magic is really jammed up in there now,” Jisung sighed, it had been a messy, last minute job and it had drained him out more than a ritual like that normally would.
“It will take a while to build up enough for them to notice.” A month at least, Jisung estimated, he should get everything prepared for the breaking before that.
A hand on his back made Jisung open his eyes, there was a troubled look in Minho’s eyes as the other stared into him.
“Would you call, if something happens. You know I’ll always answer.”
“I know,” Jisung leaned closer, knocking their shoulders together, trying to lighten the mood. It was something Minho had given him last year, a yellow cat’s eye gem, held in a silver chain. Break that and I will be there , had been the promise. Jisung didn’t like the thought, it made sense but it… it wasn’t right. Minho didn’t know of the power Jisung already held over him.
As the meat started to sizzle on the pan, chopped vegetables waiting their turn on the counter, Jisung began clearing out the table of the evidence of his earlier hurry. The cauldron was tucked under a side table, powders and crystals went into the first drawer on the left. Dried herbs were hung on their marked spots on the wall.
Witching wasn’t like wizardry at all, it was old fashioned, as Seugmin always liked to point out, much of the power came from nature, being present in the situation; it didn’t really translate well over to the digital world. Everyone did it in their own way, there were no rules or universally agreed conventions, you just found what worked and felt right, then made it into your thing. For Jisung, he rarely worked with physical ingredients, some powdered herbs mixed into inks or as a part of a ritual, but in general, with him it was words: spoken, written, it didn’t really matter - his magic was a story and a conversation. Chan was the one who worked with plants and potions, he had a huge tome full of recipes and scribbles for things to try out in the future. Changbin, well, Changbin argued things to existence. The will of that man to just force the world into shape was a marvel to behold, as long as you weren’t facing the onslaught of all that power.
In his day to day, charms were Jisung’s specialty. He had a site online, where people could let him know of their situation: their needs, what ailed them, what they wished for. Then he would write - some people got a story, some a short note or a poem written with herb infused inks and sent in the mail along with instructions: sleep with this under your pillow, hand this to your sweetheart, read this out loud until your voice is gone . In some cases he had to travel over to meet his client, whisper to them health, or sing for their good fortune.
“You have too much crap,” Minho said as Jisung dove to rescue a pile of receipts sliding off the table.
“It’s important, I might need it for something!”
“Uh-huh.”
"Hey, those movie tickets I saved? They were exactly what I needed for that guy I told you about, he sent me a message the other day saying that the proposal had gone off without any interruptions!" A good memory could bring a spell a lot of power if used correctly.
They shared a smile, it had been a crap movie but the theatre had been empty save for the two of them so they had been free to talk and hold their own commentary over it.
Finally, with the table cleared enough for them to claim a corner and the cat sated with prime bits of cooked meat, they settled down to eat. It wasn’t the first time Minho had cooked for them, not even close. Jisung himself wasn’t much of a cook, paprika and garlic had to fight dried leeches and ground birch bark for space on his spice rack, the other cupboards similarly in disarray. One time he had been making ramen as Minho had shown up, the demon full of questions about the culinary arts that Jisung had no idea how to answer. He had ended up calling his mom, first relaying the questions from the demon and eventually just handing her over to Minho with a resigned sigh. On video call she had patiently instructed them both, equally amused and disappointed by their lack of knowledge. The finished dish had felt like such an accomplishment to them both.
At the end of Jisung’s next call with her a few days later, his mother had asked about Minho, the handsome young man , and invited them both over for dinner with a voice that left no space for disagreements. They had gone, eventually, and it had been fun, even if his family had become insufferable afterwards, with their knowing looks and teasing words. Since then Minho had often taken over his kitchen for his experiments, often calling up his mother for advice. Hell wasn’t very well equipped and Jisung was more than happy to relinquish his ownership, especially when it led to Minho humming to himself while puzzling over a recipe, dancing between the island and the oven, and meant that Jisung would get a home cooked meal to eat on top of that.
“Ahhhh,” Jisung groaned with a satisfied sigh, leaning back against the wall. Their plates were empty and seconds had been gotten as the night had fallen around them. He could see Minho’s small smile, compliments on his cooking were always well received.
“If you get the show ready, I should have some chocolate left. I can make us drinks for dessert,” Jisung said.
Together they piled the dishes into the sink before Minho scooped Dori up on his way to the sofa, a move that would have earned Jisung bloody claw marks if he had ever tried it. The little hellion was more Minho’s than anyone else’s, it was him who had brought her here to begin with.
Two years ago Jisung had woken up in the dark of the night to scratching at his front door. Sound of claws scraping against the wood, barely audible over the beating rain. Quick look at the wards warned him of something monstrous, of rage and pain but not of any immediate danger, so Jisung had proceeded to the door with caution. Minho had stood there in the dark, dripping wet. The demon was in his true form, a tall stringy figure, fur on his head brushing against the ceiling, claws long and sharp, one hand covered in blood. The other cradling a shaking kitten to his chest. Jisung had pulled them both in and rushed off to find a healing draught, the poor little body was broken and only barely holding on.
“This is the best place for her,” had come a hiss from the inky darkness, safe .
“Who did this to her?”
Not anyone who would see the sunrise promised the fiery glow of Minho’s eyes. He had departed then, leaving the kitten behind, securely bundled into blankets. Jisung had kept vigil over the sleeping animal for the rest of the night, waiting for Minho to return. He hadn’t, not for days after, not until Jisung had reached out, coaxed the demon with gentle words, whispered how he wasn’t scared, how he should come to see how well Dori was already doing.
It had been the first glimpse Jisung got of the demon Minho was. He had known before of course, right from the start, but had never really understood what it meant.
“I prey on those who harm the weak and innocent” Minho had said, eyes downcast to where Dori was purring in his lap, not meeting Jisung’s eyes. “In Hell there is a place where they become the hunted, it’s.. It’s not a very nice place to be.” Minho had looked up then, Jisung couldn’t see regret in his eyes, just trepidation, worry.
“Good.” he had muttered, reaching over to pet Dori as well. And that had been that.
Now, on the other side of the room there was a laptop perched on top of a pile of books on the coffee table, mostly just ever used for this purpose, with a show paused and ready to go, and a handsome man and a sleepy cat waiting for him on the sofa. It was dark inside, only lights coming from the fireplace, glow of the screen, and the kitchen behind him.
It’s a good evening , Jisung thought, depositing the drinks on the table before plopping down on his side of the sofa. They wrestled over the quilt for a moment before settling in, legs tangling together in the middle, occasionally kicking at each other when the situation called for it. The logs in the fireplace were crackling and the cabin around them creaked and groaned as it settled down for the night.
Minho lingered as long as the crawling let him, but eventually he had to disappear out into the night. In his absence the room felt colder, the shadows of the ceiling darker as he laid down on the sofa alone - even as Dori mewed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Two mugs laid abandoned on the table.
“I could stay a little longer,” Minho had started saying of late. Jisung knew what he meant, it made his chest swell with warmth and it hurt to know. Because the only way for Minho to stay on this plane longer than the fires permit him was to find an anchor. To be properly bound to something, or someone . Jisung couldn’t bear it.
“Maybe next time.” He had murmured, burying his sad smile on Minho’s neck as they hugged, he didn’t know what else to say. They lingered there at the doorway as long as they could afford to, until Minho had to go. Jisung watched him walk away until he left the sliver of light pouring from the doorway and disappeared into the forest. The demon had stayed too long once and the ring of hellfire was still stained to the wood in the middle of the room despite how much he had scrubbed. On the worst nights Jisung could still see and hear the anguish as Minho was forcibly dragged back to Hell, hands stinging from the phantom burns. They had never allowed that to happen again.
Jisung wasn't jealous, not really - of Binnie who had had his sister from the day he was born, or of Chan and Felix. Felix had felt so lonely and alone on earth before finding family in Chan, and by extension their whole group. He already knew who his soul reached out for and it was fine, better than many got. And he truly loved what they had, the banter, ease and comfort of having the other here. Jisung was just afraid. Afraid Minho would run away once he realised the danger he was in. A demon's true name? People dreamed of such power, it would give even a less magically capable wielder complete control, could take away their free will. He could feel the syllables pushing against his teeth some nights when they laid in bed together, fighting to get out; his wrist would ache when Minho visited, laughed and lingered, eyes soft and dark. And Jisung would swallow the words back in, smile and push the feeling down; a little itch was a cheap price to pay for the teasing words and sly smiles. Jisung knew he could not keep the secret forever, it wasn’t fair, but for now he would enjoy every second they spent together without regret and hoped Minho felt the same.
A morning dawned, crisp and bright, still carrying a little of the winter’s chill that was quickly forgotten as the sun started making its way up in the sky. Jisung had woken up early today, with vague memories of a pleasant dream and a good idea for how to finish off Minho’s present. He had been working on a charm to help the demon stay on the surface longer without having to bind himself to anyone, a bedtime story of sorts. Something that would hopefully convince time to take mercy on Minho, ignore him for a little while. Jisung would have to tell it to him tonight, trace the words into Minho’s skin.
There were still a few things to puzzle through however, rough sentences where the magic snagged, times where the pacing could be improved. Jisung hummed as he scribbled words down on his notebook, letting the words find their cadence and settle into order. Knock at the door made him jump and he quickly stuffed the book underneath a pile of papers. There had been a handful of times when Minho had surprised him and almost ruined the surprise. Another knock, more insistent this time. Jisung hurried to the door, shrugging a hoodie over his pyjamas on the way.
Distracted by the thought of Minho coming over later, pondering a clever turn of phrase that had just made itself known in his head, still warm and drowsy from sleep - all these led Jisung to miss the angry hiss from underneath the sofa, the vibrato of the wards waking up as he opened the door to the fresh morning air.
Two men stand in front of him. Both in nondescript suits, polite disinterest on their faces as they look down on Jisung, there in his shorts and Minho’s bunny slippers. One pulls out a familiar looking dried aster, cut from the garden out back, his signature. Jisung gulps, his hands clammy. The shrill violin of the wards almost drowns out what the men say and he has time for nothing else than to grab his supplies and leave.
The car ride is awkward, the two men sitting at the front, Jisung left alone on the back seat, hands twisting the tag of his backpack nervously. It’s nearing lunchtime and his stomach growls, but Jisung feels nauseous. The drive to the city feels like a small forever, but eventually they pull up to a side entrance of a building he has been in once before. The men guide him in and then Jisung is escorted to an empty office by a cheery assistant who tells him Mr. Kim will be by in just a minute .
This wasn’t the same room he had been smuggled into when he had cast the curse originally, that had been in accounting, on the floor below. The walls here were white and barren, Jisung thought he could make out a few lighter spots where paintings had used to be, could imagine the layout the room had once carried. There wasn’t even a clock on the wall to break the echoey silence. Jisung started to pace just to keep himself occupied.
Just as he was beginning to consider going back out to look for someone, the door opened, and a man stepped in. He didn’t seem like anything special, if not for the two security guards flanking him, old, balding, a polite smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. He stopped in front of Jisung.
“Hey, Mr. Kim, right? I know things aren’t ideal, but I am happy to answer any questions and I am under no legal requirements to keep quiet about my employer,” Jisung barreled into his normal speech, words pouring out with his nerves. There was something heavy in the air making his skin crawl.
The door closed with a snap, Jisung’s words petered out, eyes glancing around.
“Han Jisung. A witch-for-hire…” The man mused, voice calm and commanding.
“Uh, yes sir.”
“I know who paid you, I’ve already spoken with Ms. Cheng. We have come to an agreement.”
“Great, well.. I can get the curse lifted in just a few minutes, won’t take long! I’ve got everything I need with me.” The man made no movement to step aside, just kept inspecting Jisung’s face.
“Look, I am sure you know how it is, this was nothing personal, this--” Jisung’s mouth snapped shut as the man raised his hand.
“I think I’ve had quite enough with your kind .”
Jisung was about to protest, apologise, whatever got him out of this building and safely back home as the man gestured for something from one of the bodyguards.
Witching wasn’t like wizardry. It was old fashioned , as Seugmin kept saying. There were no fireballs, no force fields he could summon, he could not turn men into frogs with a flick of a wrist. His spellcasting was a conversation, a slow persuasion.
This was fast.
Jisung, his eyes wide with surprise, watches the man in front of him take a step back. He looks satisfied, his wrinkled and age spotted face for the first time showing any emotion, like this is a job well done. There is no hair out of place, no sweat on his brow. Jisung’s eyes fall down, to the knife in the man’s hand, now almost cartoonishly red. Something crawls up his throat and he coughs, blood. Jisung keeps staring, his hands now red too, splatters on the floor. His knees give up. There is a shuffle of feet, a stained handkerchief is dropped on the floor, then a bark of laughter and some words his brain cannot comprehend, still ringing with the shock of it.
As Jisung lays there bleeding, the light of the early afternoon sun shines through the large skylight, he can see spots of dust dancing in the air. How wrong that something like this can happen under blue skies, how stupid. He can feel his heart beating, with every thump his body grows colder. Is he dying ? That can’t be true.
Something glints at the edges of his vision where the world is beginning to fade away to a beautiful blackness. Jisung lets his head fall to the side, there is a brilliant yellow piercing through his haze, as if competing with the sun itself. It takes too long for it to register in his mind.
With what little he has left, Jisung rolls over, eyes squeezing shut from the pain, it’s like being stabbed again. Memories flash in front of his eyes, good times, bad times, times so fucking mundane he would trade anything to get them back. In his mind a scene loops. The last time he saw Minho, the flash of hurt and disappointment on his face that Minho had been too slow to cover, too tired to continue hiding. Jisung knew it hurt him, to be denied, pushed away when he offered that which was the most precious to him. To be turned away when he asked to stay. But Jisung couldn't bear it. Couldn't stomach the idea of taking while hiding his secret, still too scared to tell the truth.
I love you.
His lips find only blood, pooling on the floor, seeping into the floorboards, the iron overwhelming. He keeps searching. It’s in his nose, on his tongue, even the inside of his eyelids is deep and dangerous red. Then he feels it, small and smooth and there , within his grasp. Jisung feels tears escape his eyes, squeezed shut tightly to ward off the world, and imagines how they carve paths through the red on his face. There is blood in his nose. He chokes, sobs and feels the last of his energy abandon him.
I loveyou, Iloveyou IloveyouIlov.-.-----..-...-..---...-.-.-----..-