The Midnight Season (I)

[bbyah]

Title: The Midnight Season
Rating: PG-13 (some medical gore)
Pairing: Homin
Genre: AU, Pseudo-Victorian Era
Summary: There's nothing pretty about this love story. A sickness is spreading through the city, in more ways than one. It's a bad season for growing.



Changmin smiles down at the woman. She looks content. He admires her smooth skin as he pushes a few strands of hair away from her face. The peaceful ones always stay with him a little longer, even more so than the ones with features distorted in shock or terror. It’s not hard to imagine they’ll wake up at any moment, their voices timid as they ask ‘I’m sorry, sir, but what are you doing?’

They never ask, though, never say one word, and that’s fine with Changmin. It’s one of the reasons he loves his job- no awkward small talk.

The slick of blood and fluids on the floor reaches the drain and starts trickling in. The sound it makes as it hits the pipes below is soothing. He grabs a water hose with a gloved hand, pulling the pin and sending a spray of water over the entire mess. It all rushes into the drain, filling the pipes. The politicians claim it will be sanitized and steamed down there. Changmin tries not to think about it, because he knows better.

All these people- maybe if they paid a little attention to what they ingested they wouldn’t find themselves plagued with hacking coughs and clogged arteries, and ultimately on his shiny, sterile table. Changmin wrinkles his nose at the thought. Although his job deals mostly with the dead, it doesn’t mean he cares for the living any less. He just prefers not to talk to them. People can be...exhausting.

The woman’s pale face shines up at him, and he pats her cheek before something gives him pause. Her lips are dark, with a bluish tinge- cyanosis, possibly. It's by no means an uncommon affliction, but the worsening of the condition post-mortem is enough to prompt him to investigate. He frowns, pulling a rubbery lip further back and examining the greyish gums.

Something’s wrong with this one. He doesn’t like the look of it. It’s interesting, because it was of unremarkable condition when it came into the mortuary. He goes to the head doctor’s sidebar and grabs a swab. After a few careful prods, he bites his lip. This one is rotten. Unsellable through his usual channels, and potentially dangerous to keep around.

It’s a shame, but he needs to get rid of it. Immediately.

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling in frustration. This is the fifth one this month.

He checks a tag near her foot. Cause of death: malnutrition. It doesn’t specify any next of kin, so it’s safe to slate the body for cremation.

‘Well that makes it easier,’ Changmin thinks, as he pulls the trolley along with him to the incinerator, and dumps the body into it.

Changmin pulls his gloves off with a snap. He throws his paper apron in the trash on the way outside to the fire escape. The stink of crematory smoke mixes with the delicate fragrance of the flower shop and the stench of the fish market, creating an acrid balm Changmin’s become accustomed to.

This evening’s sunset is gorgeous, breaking through the haze and gilding the city in gold as it sinks lower. He pulls a cigarette case out of his pocket, tapping one slim cigarette out. He lights it and considers the city laid before him.

It’s a blur of black smoke and coal dust, dirty smudges along the complicated tangle of roads. The economy is stacked- the poor dwell near the ground, in crowded tenements close to work if they’re lucky, in mountain huts miles out of the city limits if they aren’t. Or was it the other way around? The rich live in their towers and rented rooms, elevated above the wash of smog and desperation.

Changmin is somewhere in between, a student of medicine, unexceptional and happy that way. He pays his bills and appreciates the times when money is not stretched to cover his various monetary obligations. The job at the mortuary earns him an honest living and work experience between classes. The night job is...a necessity, however unpleasant.

Every cadaver is a lesson, and every lesson means one less cadaver. They’re difficult to procure legally nowadays, and no one wants their loved one dissected by medical students and doctors, even if it means a brighter future. It’s created a black market of sorts- Changmin sends a body out to neighboring cities, and he and a few of his colleagues receive one in return.

The day’s developments do not sit well in his stomach. It’s not the matter of a scientific loss or an unusable specimen, nor is it telling his contact there will be no body to smuggle to the docks tonight. It’s the fact that it's not the first time this has happened, and each instance shows almost an identical progression of symptoms.

The first sign is the dissolution of the mucosal tissue, most immediately evident in the gums. He’s aware of the myriad afflictions that might cause a similar condition, but his knowledge abandons him at specifics. He mentally pages through his old textbooks, names of diseases and illnesses flitting through his thoughts.

He’s checked the medical papers and morgue logs for any other mentions of similar findings. He’s even approached the head doctor, formerly his dear mentor and professor, receiving nothing more than a pat on the shoulder and empty assurances. Changmin watched the doctor place a copy of his notes in a leather folio, but he’s quite certain they’ll languish there for the rest of their existence if he doesn’t find a more convincing sign of trouble.

Something is different here. To consider it 'coincidence' is ignorance at this point.

The uncomfortable acknowledgement settles in his heart like a pound of lead. If no one else will take care of a sickness, it falls to a doctor. He exhales, tendrils of smoke shooting from his lips and dissipating into the cool air.

The sun finally sinks behind the mountains, a full grey moon rising up against it.

Changmin goes to the rendezvous point at midnight, ready to break the bad news to his contact.  Instead, he’s greeted with something slamming into the back of his head. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on when your cheek is pressed into the damp wooden planks of the docks, and a knee is grinding against your spine.

“Not now,” he grunts.

“Sorry, Changmin,” he hears Junsu say from somewhere behind him. It's sincere, at least.

The men- police- haul Changmin up and he can see Junsu on the edge of the dock, looking down at him.

“It was either you or me,” Junsu says quietly, an bitter twist to his mouth that could mean a number of things. They all make Changmin feel fairly sick, so he just hangs his head and lets the policemen manhandle him into a car.

It was either you or the rest of us. I picked you.

It’s a surprisingly quick process, being thrown from a police car to a small holding cell to a prison transport vehicle. He gets his very own prison jumpsuit.  A guard tugs him out and leads him through dented double doors, then down a long hall flanked with prison cells. Changmin feels his heart tighten with every step, but keeps his face calm.

The general reception is enough to spark some urgency, muttered offers and threats from rough men hungry to hurt and dominate. He’s tired, overwhelmed, and, above all, terrified of the vicious whispers, but he swallows it and sets his jaw. There will be time later, he tells himself. Later, he can call Kyuhyun and make bail.

He’ll wait until he’s in the comfort of his own home to fall apart and reflect on things like betrayal and capture. For now, though, he needs to focus his faculties on taking control of the situation.

It’s surprising how quickly he changes plans when he sees the ring of keys hanging out of the guard’s pocket.

Changmin is not a criminal. He’s not. He just has something to do, and he’s always been good with his hands. His only talent, really.

They stop in front of an empty cell. Two men are in the cell next to it. One is much older than the other, and both of them are rougher than Changmin, from the looks of it. The men are frozen, staring at him. It’s enough to make him incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t waver.

“You all treat this one nice, now. He’s an academic type. A body-snatcher,” the guard says in a mocking tone.

A grimace crosses the face of the younger man, and Changmin ducks his head despite himself. There’s such a clear telegraphing of thought coming from the man, written all over his face and recoiling body language. It’s nothing Changmin hasn’t seen before, but it’s the first time he’s been at the receiving end of it.

Now, pinned under the judging eyes of a stranger, it bothers Changmin in a new way. The decision makes itself.

He pushes back into the guard, letting a tiny noise of fear escape his lips. The guard snorts, and it’s all the time Changmin needs as he tugs the ring of keys right out of the guard’s pocket and into his own.  He’s shoved inside the empty cell, the door slamming shut with a click behind him.

He gives himself a moment to gather his bearings. There’s a tiny cot against the wall, and a sink and toilet tucked into a dark corner. He beelines to the sink and washes his hands. The scrubbing is frantic as his mind races, the motion comforting in his familiarity. This is okay.

If he uses the keys, he forfeits any hope of regaining his innocence. He could wait. It might take weeks to have his privileges reinstated- if he got them back at all.

The city might not have those weeks to spare.

It’s not like Changmin’s some master of escape- he’s never escaped cleaning duty, much less a prison. All he’s got on his side is the gnawing sense of adrenaline, the certainty that he cannot stay here, and above all, the something more important he needs to be doing.

The way he sees it, it’s a matter of timing. Tonight seems too obvious, a good way to get caught and locked up worse, but he likes banking on that audacity. At the very least, he’s learned from books and newspapers how most jailbreaks are of the smart, slow, meticulous sort.

Changmin’s smart, yes. Meticulous, absolutely. Slow?

There’s no time for that.

Changmin’s curled on his side on the bumpy, hard mattress. The springs dig into his ribs and hips no matter how he lays.

The guard knocks a baton against the cell door and pass him a plate of something brown and a bowl of rice, which he ignores. They mutter about how he’ll learn to enjoy it, in the night when he’s hungry and breakfast is hours away.

Changmin disagrees. If he survives the escape, he’s immediately heading to the nearest food cart before there’s a bounty put on his head.

He waits until the other prisoners are settling down to waste more time humming, writing, or praying they’re magically found innocent and released.

There’s no use rushing this. Changmin dozes.

The overhead lights turn off and the auxiliaries switch on, dimming the jailhouse. Changmin pushes himself up onto his elbows slowly, playing up his disorientation. He glances to the adjacent cell. The older man is drawing shapes with his finger on the wall. The younger man who grimaced at him earlier is doing some sort of exercise, lying on the floor and curling up and down.

Changmin lets his eyes linger. The man is in fantastic shape, and has an air of earnestness about him. Changmin wonders what he did to end up in jail. Grand theft, larceny, assault, maybe? He seems like a car thief type to Changmin.

The guards shuffle around down the hall, and Changmin snaps back to the present moment.

The key will be fluidity, to move so confidently and smoothly that no one will even notice his escape until he’s already gone. The layout of the building is simple. The prison gates are strangely similar to the gates at school- something he has plenty of experience sneaking through past curfew.

Changmin sits up, and swings his feet to the floor.

It’s imperative he doesn’t draw the attention of the other prisoners too soon. They can’t be trusted not to clamor and rat him out for the chance of a good deal for themselves. The danger zone is the long hallway, lined with their cells. Most are sleeping or otherwise occupied, but it won’t take much to disturb them.

He heads to the cell door and leans against the bars. They’re cool as he fits his face against them, straining to check out the guards. They aren’t even paying attention to the cells, crowded around something another guard has in his hands.

It’s time to go.

Changmin slips a hand into his shirt and pulls out the ring of keys. He holds it so it doesn’t jangle, and laces his arm out through the bars, key positioned at the outside lock.

Then there’s a hand grabbing his arm, hard.

He looks up, startled, and the car thief man is ridiculously close, up against the bars between the cells. He presses his finger to his lips, and his eyes are narrowed.

“Excuse me-” Changmin begins, keeping his voice low, but the man shakes his head furiously.

“What are you doing, boy,” he whispers, voice harsh. His hand is still tight around Changmin’s arm, and it hurts a little.

Changmin tugs his arm back.

“Escaping,” Changmin says, leaning close so he’s face to face with the man. “Problem, sir?”

“What? What are you going to do, just saunter down the hall?” The man hisses. Changmin feels a strange exuberance, and he takes a deep breath. This is taking too long.

“Yes,” he breathes, then unlocks his own cell door and is jamming the key into the man’s cell lock before either of them realize what’s happening.

“Come with me,” Changmin says, pulling the man out of the cell. They hurry down the hall, far less inconspicuously than Changmin had planned. Changmin’s heart is fluttering a million miles per minute but he keeps calm and doesn’t let go of the man’s arm.

They’re around the corner when several things happen.

A guard must notice their cell doors hanging open.

The other man in the cell must run towards the open door when he realizes what the commotion is about.

The prisoners must all collectively realize what's happened.

It’s an explosion of screaming and yelling.

Changmin keeps going, holding the man’s hand tight. Blood is rushing in his ears like a river.

Car thief man is stunned-stupid, and Changmin takes it upon himself to lug him down the next hall. He picks a room at random and slips in, slamming the door shut behind them. It’s dark inside, and Changmin fumbles to lock the door. He manages to flip the lock right as he’s grabbed and comes face to face with Car Thief.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Car Thief says, voice frantic. His speech is twisted with a country-boy accent that would, under normal circumstances, be rather charming. “We’re trapped and now there’ll be guards crawling all over the damned place!”

Changmin almost laughs. The river in his ears is calming down, and he grabs onto the lifeline of clarity that emerges.

“I’m breaking out. What are you doing?” he asks.

“You’re...you’re a criminal. Bodysnatcher! You belong in jail!”

“Makes me wonder what you did, fellow criminal. Now please, be quiet.”

Car Thief doesn’t release him, and opens his mouth to protest. Changmin interrupts him, shoving a hand over his mouth.

“Listen- I have more important things to do than rot in a cell, and I'm not going to let you get in my way with your...ethical reservations. Don’t you want to get out of here? I wouldn’t have had to bring you if you had behaved. If you feel like serving your time, by all means, go out there. I will be forever grateful for the distraction.” Changmin’s not used to speaking quite this much, or in such a sharp tone. It’s sort of exhilarating.

Car Thief doesn’t have anything to say to that. Changmin slaps his hands off and squints into the darkness, forcing his eyes to adjust. It appears they’re in a storeroom for hygienic products, rolls of tissue and buckets stacked on shelves. It also appears to be a dead-end. Then Changmin sees the ticket he had been gambling with.

A laundry chute is built into the corner, a large square hole in the wall. It’s pitch black inside, and when Changmin looks down it, he can’t see where it leads besides a small square of light from what he ascertains is the basement. He glances back at Car Thief, who is staring nervously at the door.

“Hey. You, come here,” Changmin says. “I need you to jump down this.”

Car Thief is silent, staring angrily at him, but it’s less effective when they can just barely see each other.

“Why should I?” he asks, jutting his chin out.

Changmin works his jaw. He hates the ‘alpha-dog’ act. Luckily, he’s used to dealing with it. He tilts his head and tries his best to be unintimidating.

“To see if it’s clear. If they’re down there, tell them I’m mad, I’ve taken you as a hostage, tell them I’m ranting and raving up here. At least then I’ll be transferred to a mental hospital. I can handle getting out of those.”

Car Thief looks at him like he really is mad.

“You...how do you...what?”

Changmin takes a deep breath.

“You. Down there. Now.”

Car Thief shakes his head.

“Why the hell would I do that,” he says.

“Because we both have better things to do?” Changmin says, shrugging. He climbs over and sits on the lip of the chute. His feet dangle over the black, and he tucks his fear away before shoving off. Car Thief’s burst of curses gets lost in the fall.

Fate is smiling upon Changmin, and he jumps into a not entirely comfortable giant churner, filled with sopping prison laundry. He makes the landing on his feet but falls in a heap immediately, unbalanced from the squishy surface. He lies dazed for a split second, before regaining his wits and rolling to his side. Car Thief lands where he rolled from, and manages to stay upright. ‘The athletic sort,’ Changmin notes with a curl of his lip.

Car Thief drags him upright and they lock gazes, before scrambling to climb out of the tin churner. It’s wet and steamy, and Changmin tries not to think of what filth he’s been sloshing around in. Finally, they both manage to clamber over the sides and get to solid ground.

“What now,” Car Thief pants out, shooting a glare at Changmin.

Changmin scans the room as he catches his breath. The laundry room is empty, probably due to the commotion upstairs. His eyes light upon a heavy loading bay near the back of the room.

“We take our leave,” he says, hurrying over to the large door.

“Where is everyone?” Car Thief asks. “This is way too easy.”

“In this case, count on confusion and confidence as our main accomplices,” Changmin says, heaving at the handles on the bottom of the door. Car Thief watches him struggle, before grabbing a lever and pulling it. The door shoots up, and the night air wisps in around them. Changmin reconsiders his initial judgement of Car Thief’s intelligence.

There’s some laundry trucks parked in a row outside, but Changmin has his doubts about their ability to commandeer one.

“I don’t suppose you’re actually a car thief, hm?” he asks.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

They hide in the shadow of a truck, watching for any chances. Security is up-in-arms, crowding at the gated entrance to the service lot.

“I’m not sure how to best proceed,” Changmin admits, and he glances at the truck next to them.

“Now you tell me!” Car Thief says, throwing his hands up. “You stole keys from a guard, broke out of your cell, sidled down the hallway, jumped into a vat of wet drawers, and now you say ‘I’m not sure how to best proceed.’ That’s swell.”

Changmin ignores him. He watches the gate, searching for an opening in the confusion. He hears Car Thief sigh and crouch next to him. They spend a few seconds in silence, before Car Thief speaks up.

“Best bet is the trucks. Now I can hotwire a farm truck, but I don’t know about these-”

Changmin turns to him.

“You are a car thief?”

Car Thief rolls his eyes.

“I’m no thief. I just grew up in the countryside. You learn a thing or two, not wasting time being audacious and self-entitled city folk.”

Changmin feels Car Thief might be insulting him, but lets it go.

“Okay, Mr. Country boy, get us out of here then.”

“Might take a minute or ten.”

“You have five,” Changmin says, glancing back at security. “They’re spreading out. We probably only have one chance to get this right and not end up with heads full of lead.”

“Mmhm.” Car Thief plucks the key ring from Changmin’s shirt pocket and gets to work on the truck door.

Changmin keeps an eye on the situation at the gate. If he was alone, he could find a crack to slip through, but now there’s a sense of obligation that doesn’t sit well with him. He hadn’t planned on having a companion for his escape, but at least Car Thief seems capable of pulling his own weight.

“Name’s Yunho,” Car Thief says abruptly.

Changmin looks up. “Pardon?”

“My name. Jung Yunho. Guilty.” The door pops open, and Yunho smiles down at Changmin. It’s the first time Changmin’s seen him smile, and he’s momentarily thrown for a loop, dazzled by the pearly grin.

“Uh, Shim Changmin,” he says, feeling slow. “I’m...definitely guilty.”

“Good to know I’m riding with a heathen. Well, Changmin, get in. We’ll need to move fast once I get this baby going.”

Yunho holds out his hand and Changmin grabs it and hoists himself into the cabin. Yunho slides over on the leather seats and crouches under the steering wheel, fiddling with something.

Changmin checks the gate. The thrumming river in his skull is back. He feels uneasy, relying on someone else in a situation like this. The guards seem to have started their search system, walking in different directions and manning search spotlights.

Then fortune outright leers upon Changmin.

A car pulls up to the gate. Its headlights flash, and several guards rush over to open the gate and talk to the driver.

There’s a rumble from the truck. Changmin looks to Yunho, who runs a hand through his hair as he straightens up.

“Are we ready?” Changmin asks. “It might be wise of us to leave now, while the gate is open.”

Yunho leans forward and takes in the gate, hands gripping the steering wheel. The car pulls in, and there’s a bit of a lag in closing the gate as the guards try to direct the car.

“You’re right. Hang on to your butt,” Yunho says, and slams on the gas.

The truck jerks forward, and Yunho guns it. Changmin turns away, unable to bear the front row seat to their imminent death slamming into the gate and exploding.

The explosion never comes, though, and Changmin peeks out to see only dark, open roads. He twists in his seat to see the prison growing smaller in the distance, sirens beginning to wail.

“We...we did it,” he says, turning to Yunho with wide eyes.

Yunho smiles. “Yup- wait, no,” he says, immediately frowning. “No! We just broke out of a federal prison! We’re on the run now! They’ll be looking for us in every state, if we even make it to a highway. Shit, I can see them. They’ll be chasing us. What the hell are we supposed to do now? ”

“Zip up and drive, Mr. Jung. Do you think you can lose them? We have quite a long drive back to the city.” Changmin watches the flashing lights in the distance. They’re far away, but they’re close enough to worry about.

“I guess I have no choice now, do I,” Yunho mutters. “And why do you want to go to the city? Quickest way to get caught, hands down.”

Yunho jerks the wheel to the right, heading down a bumpy back road overgrown with trees and shrubs. Changmin holds on to the door handle.

“I need my notes. And my tools,” he says. It’s not ideal, but he needs to go back to the mortuary. The notes about the strange corpses are with his belongings, hopefully undisturbed.

Yunho glances sidelong at him.

“Why do you need those?”

Changmin rubs a hand over his chin. He needs to shave.

“I have a bad feeling,” he says.

“A ‘bad feeling’. About what,” Yunho asks, turning down another, smaller road. Changmin finds himself again hoping Yunho was not incarcerated for serial murder, or he’d be in a mess, alone with him in a dark forest.

“I was in the middle of something when I was sent to jail. Something very big. I need to get to the bottom of it, or the consequences could be... unpleasant. My notes have the information I need.”

“Where are they,” Yunho asks, unease tinging his words. “A boneyard or something?”

“I’m not a complete creep,” Changmin says. “I’m a legitimate student of medicine and anatomy, you know. Or, I was.”

“Uh...sorry about that. It’s a real shame when you lose it all. But, I reckon you kind of had it coming, what with the whole corpse-stealing business.”

There’s some silence, their pursuants apparently lost. Yunho scratches his arm, then ruffles his hair. He’s fidgeting.

“Well we have some time,” he says with some hesitance. “If you don’t mind my ignorance, mind letting me in on your bad feelings?”

Changmin leans back against the seat and rolls his head to stare at the ceiling.

“A few weeks ago, I examined a cadaver. Legally, as part of my job in a morgue. I had finished my initial observations, when I noticed something strange. The gums were...” He thinks back to the colorless, soft gums in the corpse’s mouth.

“I’ll spare you the jargon, but they were...abnormal. I was careless, and didn’t think enough of it at the time to take a sample. I cremated the body, thinking it would stem any spreading. Given a week, though, there’s four more. I destroyed all of them, of course. I reported the cases to my supervisor. No reaction. I even looked through other morticians’ notes- nothing.”

Yunho taps a finger on the steering wheel. “‘Abnormal’. You think it’s some kind of sickness?”

“Yes. Something like that. At the rate it’s showing up...” Changmin pauses to choose his words. “There's too much that I don't know. It's got disaster written all over it. Yet there’s been not one mention in the news or journals.”

“Wait,” Yunho says.

Changmin pauses.

“Isn’t this all, well, a dream come true for you? Mountains of dead you can sink your claws into?” Yunho is grimacing as he speaks.

Changmin shakes his head.

“If I can’t examine them, I can’t learn. I don’t steal bodies for money, I steal them to advance the understanding of the bodies. I may not be too good at dealing with people, but I truly want to help them. Why shouldn’t we ask the dead for their service to help the living?”

“But- But you don’t ask,” Yunho insists, stammering angrily. “Y’all violate the dead without anyone’s permissions and...and...I’m sure some people will offer on their own. Why don’t y’just ask?”

Changmin sighs and smiles, staring out into the night.

“You’d think they would, wouldn’t you. But people are very protective of their dead.”

Yunho doesn’t respond for a bit, then he clears his throat.

“Okay, I get your point. You actually do it for a good reason. But that doesn’t make it right. Not really. That’s why they put you in jail, kid,” he says. Changmin can hear the struggle of rationalization in his tone. He pushes back.

“And what did they put you in jail for, Yunho?” he asks quietly.

Yunho visibly tenses, before exhaling and relaxing his shoulders.

“Killed a man.”

Changmin stares at Yunho, before bursting out into laughter.

Yunho looks at him like he’s lost it.

“Why in the world are you laughing?” he asks. “I’m serious!”

Changmin takes a gasping breath, holding his stomach.

“This entire time, I’ve been thinking...I’ve been thinking, ha ha, ‘I hope he’s not a murderer’, and...and then you go and...oh, that was perfect.”

Yunho laughs too, but his heart isn’t in it.

“Yeah. It’s...not all that funny though. I didn’t mean to. I’m not...I’m not a bad man.”

Changmin sobers and nods.

“Obviously. You almost called the guards on me yourself. But you did do it? You said you were guilty.”

“I just...I was protecting my sister. This scum of the town- this liar, the pastor, went after her. Told her if she didn’t put up with it, he’d tell the entire town she enticed him. She’s a good kid, she’d never do that. So when he came to my house, tried to put his hands on her and hurt her...I couldn’t just stand back and watch."

Changmin watches Yunho, the edge of light on his profile. He’s not a bad looking man, sharp features tempered with a sort of inherent kindness. Strong lines and full lips. Not the face of someone criminal.

"Afterwards.... I couldn’t say a damned thing. I had his blood on my hands anyways. And it was my word against his status. The people that matter knew the truth, but...”

“That’s quite a story,” Changmin murmurs.

“I’ll say. As long as she’s safe though...I don’t mind. I’d do a hundred years in jail for her. I did what I had to. Or I was doing it, before you came along. Should still be there, to be honest.”

“My pleasure,” Changmin says. He picks at the seam on his jumpsuit. He doesn’t like the accusatory tone of Yunho’s voice. Like Changmin’s stolen something from him. “Your sister is very lucky she has someone who will do that for her. You were right. You’re not a bad man.”

“Forgive me if that doesn’t mean all that much coming from you,” Yunho says with a chuckle.

They keep driving in relative silence, opening the windows and letting the cool night air breeze over their faces.

next

…I can't believe I'm actually posting this, but I figure I need to get it out before I come to my senses hahahah
it's taken up 7 months of my life and 50k of my words and I sort of hate it but IT'S DONE and I'm posting it because I have other stories I want to write .__.
I've been dragging it around since nano like some awful corpse (ahahah, intended), and I'm finally letting myself post it despite not being quite as satisfied with it as I'd like.
it's my first fic of this length, so please forgive me my extreme learning curve hahahah;;
Next chapter will be posted in a timely manner, since it's all written and (mostly) edited.