ave atque vale for aquilaprisca (1/3)
Title: Ave Atque Vale
Recipient: aquilaprisca
Pairing: Ken/Leo, N/Hyuk
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 22,186 words
Warnings: character death, violence
Summary: There’s a warlock that lives on the corner between the ramyun shop and the seamstress’s store; there’s a young man with dark, swirling tattoos that finds solace in him. (Mortal Instruments AU)
Notes: thanks to C and T for the vigorous hand-holding and being good listeners! fell in love with the prompt at first sight and it’s not just because you let me have two of my ultimate otps, and i’m very sorry if details aren’t as accurate as they should be. Happy Halloween~
Seoul; 2057
Thirteen times has Taekwoon woken up in cold water. His birth wasn’t planned; it wasn’t happy. He’s been nearly drowned thirteen times in his twenty-three years of life, and every time it happened, Taekwoon couldn’t say that he got a little more used to it. Because the water would run down his throat, his lungs would convulse, oxygen already fleeting -- Taekwoon wouldn’t ever get used to it.
The drownings all occurred in the first ten years of his life, one for almost every year. His father used to hold him under the water, waiting for the bubbles to stop coming to the surface, and when Taekwoon thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore, he would come up and taste fresh air.
His mother would be crying in the background, hands on her husband, and scream and sob at him, while Taekwoon sat in the cold bath water, unsure of how to react. His scales would shimmer in the yellow bathroom lighting, but it wasn’t until he was eight when he realized that his beautiful scales and his pretty eyes were why his father hated him.
Taekwoon ran away from home at fourteen.
“I’m asking for a friend,” the boy moans as he leans against the counter. His hair has grown long in the past few months, curling around his eyes, and his face is young, and the whole image seem younger than his seventeen years. Taekwoon leans over his counter to look the boy in the eye.
“No.”
The boy, Sanghyuk, scowls and turns in a complete circle before grabbing onto the counter again, intent and pleading. “Please,” he begs. “It’s not like I’m gonna- I’m gonna -- I don’t know -- set fire to the place.”
Taekwoon stares long and hard at the blond boy, his face full of want, and says, “No.”
“What’s this about?”
Taekwoon and Sanghyuk look to the side to see their friend walking down the stairs, clad in his silk robes, peaches and rich purples his colors of choice for today, and Taekwoon frowns. “He’s over-reaching again.” Hakyeon’s a rare sight around Seoul, and he has a habit of appearing at the oddest times.
Taekwoon doesn’t miss the blush on Sanghyuk’s face, and that’s how he knows he’s done his job. He sits back on the stool just behind the counter, the hole in his jeans exposing a large portion of his knee, and he fiddles with it.
“Over-reaching,” Hakyeon hums, still standing on the stairs with his long nails drilling against the wood. Taekwoon can see the webbing in-between his fingers. “What’s that about?”
Sanghyuk looks positively tongue-tied as he tries to formulate a good response. Taekwoon watches him flounder. “Well, I, uh, hmm, well--”
Hakyeon smiles, white pointed teeth counter-acting the look in his dark eyes, and Taekwoon has to look away. Ever since Hakyeon took the child under his wing he’s been a little painful to watch. The warlock’s become a little softer around his harsh edges, edges that Taekwoon’s come to know well in his seven years of knowing him.
Sanghyuk runs out shop, yelling a goodbye over his shoulder, and Hakyeon stands grinning on the steps. “Something about a friend?”
Taekwoon nods.
Hakyeon scoffs, combing his fringe with his thin fingers. “Wonder which one he means.”
Clearing his throat, Taekwoon gets up and turns to Hakyeon. “When did you get here?” He straightens up some of the things on his counter, but the mess is so dense that he doesn’t even know where to begin.
All along the counter he has knick-knack sorts of things -- a small display dedicated to the teeth of random beasts, jars of kidneys from an array of specimen, and small fliers for other local businesses. His counter has also collected many more things such as the glass display case in the counter that originally held weakly magicked jewelry that has now spilled out onto the rest of his counter space, and he hasn’t dusted in months.
Taekwoon doesn’t consider himself a slob; he just needs to regain some great force of motivation to reorganize.
Hakyeon curls his lip at his bird’s-eye view of the shop. “Ugh, don’t you ever throw things out?” Hakyeon descends the stairs, his robes whispering against the wood, and he walks over to the first shelf he comes to. “101 Cures for Un-Curable Curses -- Taekwoon, why do you keep so many of these? Most of these are written by mundanes asking for a bit of recognition.” Hakyeon shoves the book back in its spot like he’s offended at the book’s existence.
Taekwoon knows that Hakyeon knows why he keeps them. Hakyeon just likes to be difficult and dramatic, and altogether frustrating. Taekwoon ignores Hakyeon’s mockery of what he sells and retreats to the bookcase behind his counter, deciding to find something to busy himself while Hakyeon spouts out all the things he needs to.
“--and everyone knows that goat liver isn’t an actual ingredient in a locator spell--”
Taekwoon curls his lip, slipping some of his jars of questionable contents into a box to be taken to the back room. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Hakyeon stops mid-tirade and blinks. When Taekwoon’s head pops back over top the counter, the older warlock unfreezes and re-animates himself, taking long sweeping strides into the rest of the shop. He’s now right before the counter, and Taekwoon only asked for a simple answer, not for a speech.
Hakyeon places his elbows on the counter and wiggles his fingers as he says, “Well, I didn’t want to be gone for too long. Didn’t want to make Sanghyuk troubled.”
“So it’s about the boy?” Taekwoon turns his back to Hakyeon, and takes a good look at his floor. He is in dire need of a broom and dustpan.
“And if it is?”
Taekwoon straightens a little at Hakyeon’s tone -- defensive. “Nothing. No reason; I’m just wondering because--” Taekwoon doesn’t even know where to start cleaning-- “for someone like you, who used to disappear for months and months, three weeks is quite a change.”
Hakyeon fidgets on the spot, and Taekwoon rarely sees him so flustered. “Alright, well,” he straightens the front of his robes, readjusting them so the deep V in the front gives a slimmer view of Hakyeon’s tan chest, without looking Taekwoon in the eyes, “if you see Sanghyuk, please tell him that I’m at home.” Hakyeon walks to the door Sanghyuk left through, shop bell tinkling when he opens it, and vanishes without another word.
Taekwoon’s shop is dirty and very quiet.
He’s not even sure he owns a broom and dustpan. He’s sure those have been thrown out because of some or other accident that took place, something with bullfrogs, but the bottom line is that Taekwoon is unready to deal with the mess he has acquired. He sighs.
He has his back turned to the door when the bell tinkles again, and he thinks it’s just Hakyeon, back to ask for Sanghyuk, but the boy isn’t here. Sanghyuk does have friends of his own, Hakyeon needs to realize--
“Hello.”
Taekwoon lets his body catch up to his head as he turns in full, placing the box of who-knows-what in his arms on the floor. Standing just inside his door is a young man built broad through the shoulders and long through his legs. He stands alert, but his eyes keep wandering around the expanse of the shop, eyeing the banners hanging from the ceiling, the tops of the shelves that Taekwoon hasn’t looked at in a year, then finally back at Taekwoon.
Taekwoon feels like he’s frozen, but he forces himself to ask, “What can I help you with?”
The young man walks in a little further, examining the shelf of hexed mundane items -- umbrellas, plungers, and lamps being some of them -- and lets out an amused laugh. Taekwoon’s muscles tighten. “Just looking,” he answers, but he glances back at Taekwoon when he says it, and Taekwoon feels himself slide a little more on edge.
Taekwoon lets the young man wander around for a bit, occasional laughs punctuating the silence along with his questions that Taekwoon doesn’t bother answering. “What’s this?” he asks for the thousandth time, on this instance when he passed by a fish tank full of water but no recognizable creature in sight.
“Why are you here?” Taekwoon keeps his eyes trained on the so-called customer in case he tries anything. “What does a Shadowhunter need that they have business in my shop?”
“Me?” The young man points to himself like he’s dumbfounded, but his dramatics are lacking, and Taekwoon’s slowly growing more and more agitated. The stranger must realize it. “I’m sorry, I’m working on my acting, and I’m terrible.” He laughs at this.
Taekwoon unclenches his teeth and takes two breaths before replying, “You were in here a month and a half ago with some others. I’m not foolish.”
“’Foolish,’” the young man mimics. “I like that.” But as Taekwoon’s face darkens, he throws up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Alright, alright, yes, you guessed right. You remember me from then? Wow, impressive. But am I not allowed to look? Would you really refuse me business?” He raises his eyebrows and walks a little closer to the counter.
“What would a Shadowhunter have with my inventory?”
The Shadowhunter in question gives Taekwoon a long look before spluttering, “You think this is an inspection? Goodness, I’m here on my own accord, not official business.” He wiggles an eyebrow and inquires, “Should I run an inspection?”
Taekwoon relaxes slightly. He clarifies, “Just looking?”.
“Just looking. I’m really curious, that’s all.” He wanders a little closer to Taekwoon’s counter and says, “They teach us about Downworlders at the Institute, and I’ve met some, but I thought I should take a look for myself.” He grins, and Taekwoon is grossly unprepared.
It’s strange because most Shadowhunters that Taekwoon has come across have this holier-than-thou set to their eyes, sniffing along in places where they aren’t needed. Hakyeon despises them, and Taekwoon’s just thinking about the luck with which the warlock and Shadowhunter missed each other when the latter interrupts his thoughts. “Oh, what does this do?”
“No,” Taekwoon interjects, “don’t touch that--”
The young Shadowhunter pokes the glass orb hanging just above Taekwoon’s head, and yellow light bathes the room, blinding and harsh. He yelps, and Taekwoon spins his own yellow light between his hands as he curses under his breath. The orb emits a high-pitched wailing sound that goes in and out, in and out, and finally, when Taekwoon wraps his hands around it and speaks the words to quiet it, the orb falls silent.
“Well, that’s handy.”
Taekwoon looks away from the orb and opens his mouth to say something, but the Shadowhunter’s face is in such close proximity with his own that his first instinct is to fall back a few steps. The Shadowhunter chuckles when he does. “I have to go for today, but my name’s Jaehwan. I’ll be back.”
Taekwoon blinks. “Oh.”
Jaehwan the Shadowhunter winks and walks toward the shop doors, his coat collar upturned to the wind.
+++
Hakyeon waits on his balcony, overlooking the busy street below. It’s not often that he’s in Seoul, but in the past few months he’s been spending more and more time here, and the main reason for that, Hakyeon can see, is walking up the sidewalk to enter his building.
Hello, Han Sanghyuk.
The bell to his apartment rings in another three minutes, just long enough for Sanghyuk to take his time climbing the stairs, not taking the elevator, and Hakyeon vaguely wonders what that’s about. “It’s open,” he calls, undoing a few enchantments with the flick of his wrist. Sanghyuk opens the door and slides inside, walking through the messy apartment to Hakyeon’s balcony.
“Hi.”
“I’m back,” Hakyeon says, back still to the mundane. “Miss me?”
“Y-yeah. Hakyeon, I--”
“So what have you been up to?” Hakyeon can hear the cars on the streets below honk and emit their toxic smoke, and he breathes in more and more. “Trouble?” He wonders what exactly the boy wanted from Taekwoon, but it probably wasn’t anything important. There’s no way Taekwoon would allow him with anything that would spill their secrets to the mundane world no matter how careful Sanghyuk promises he’ll be. Taekwoon’s at least good for something.
Sanghyuk laughs, but it doesn’t sound natural, and that makes Hakyeon’s ears perk up. “You know me.” He comes up beside Hakyeon, and out of the corner of the warlock’s eye he can see Sanghyuk staring up at him. “Hakyeon, get down from there.”
Hakyeon’s balancing on the balcony’s railing, and at Sanghyuk’s words he smiles. “Worried?”
“Should I be?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Hakyeon falls silent, the glow of the fading sun warming the exposed portions of his skin. He hums a tune to a song he heard somewhere, probably from a mundane’s radio, and looks over Seoul’s smoke stacks to see the ruined parts of the city, gray and black scorches along the earth. He remembers when the Shadowhunters blew their own selves up; three square miles of ruin shows exactly what they did. Countless Downworlders and mundanes were lost; it’s only fair that over half of the participating Nephilim died with them that day.
Hakyeon hasn’t visited that part of the city, that wasteland, since.
He turns his chin so he can look straight at Sanghyuk and asks, “And should I be worried about you?”
Sanghyuk walks back inside.
“Alright, Sanghyuk.” Hakyeon stares back out over his city and lets his wounds fester. He always does. “What is it now?” In a swift motion, he climbs back to the safe side of his balcony to watch Sanghyuk find a nice spot for himself on Hakyeon’s couch.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Hakyeon leans against the doorframe, remembering the unfed mundane he found a year ago. The skin and bones thing that could see through Hakyeon's glamour. Sanghyuk is definitely a rarity these days; a mundane blessed with the Sight? Not common that one’s discovered.
But here Sanghyuk is. Lounging on Hakyeon’s couch fit and well, and finally resembling a proper mundane. Hakyeon feels a surge of affection rush through him and as dangerous as it is, he doesn’t push it back. Sanghyuk seems to notice.
“Why do you want to stand in the doorway? Come inside.” Hakyeon slides the glass shut behind him, whispering his enchantments back over it, and plops onto a spot he’s picked on the floor. Sanghyuk’s giving him an odd look. “Where do you go?”
“Hmm?”
“Where do you go, Hakyeon? When you leave the city, where do you go, and why can’t I go with you?”
“It’s not for my own enjoyment that I leave.” Hakyeon picks up the book at his knee and flips it open, mouth stinging with the lie. His colorful silk robes shift, revealing a lot more neck and shoulder than he would mind, but he can’t be bothered to fix it. He flicks his eyes upward to see Sanghyuk watching him, eyes darting to the warlock’s exposed collarbone. Hakyeon looks back down at his book.
“Yeah, but you go anyway.”
“Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon says in a warning tone. “Leave it alone.”
“Is this because I’m a human? A mundane? Are you afraid I’m…weak? I’m not weak Hakyeon.”
Hakyeon breaths in a deep breath, his good mood fleeing, and slowly lowers the book from his face. He offers Sanghyuk a steely glare. “You are a mundane, yes. You are under my watch, yes. My travels have something to do with you, no. Sanghyuk, it’s purely my business, warlock business; don’t worry the issue.”
Sanghyuk sits up on the couch, knees spread wide and elbows resting on them. He drags a hand through his hair, seeming to steam with mild frustration and a few other things, and it amazes Hakyeon how he can look so much older in just seconds; it’s not really fair. The wide collar of Hakyeon’s robe slips further over his shoulder.
They stare at each other for a long moment, a range of emotions burning behind Sanghyuk’s eyes, and the next thing Hakyeon knows, he’s standing in front of Sanghyuk, legs brushing against the younger’s. Hakyeon’s unseen wounds weep with infection, and he can hear the phantom screams in his ears, the large square of ash in the distance crying out for help.
He can hear it, and he hates Seoul.
Sanghyuk surges up to flutter a quick kiss to Hakyeon’s lips, then to the side of his mouth, on his cheek, then his ear, and asks, “Then why does Taekwoon never leave?”
Hakyeon grabs at Sanghyuk, falling into him, and the slick fabric of his robes flurries around Sanghyuk’s legs -- they’re that close. “Taekwoon lost…his sense of direction.” He doesn’t expect Sanghyuk to know what that means -- Hakyeon sucks in a breath as the boy squeezes at his waist -- and Sanghyuk doesn’t, emitting a sound that appears to be his confusion.
Ignorant, Taekwoon stays in his shop all day, and Hakyeon lives and breathes the world. It works in Hakyeon’s favor, Hakyeon can admit if he gets past his surface level irritation. With Taekwoon’s permanent residence in Seoul, that leaves him free to roam without the Institute hounding him down for services or breathing down his neck, under their surveillance.
Hakyeon hisses as Sanghyuk tackles him to the couch. “Careful,” he reminds him, feeling the twinges of old pain in his side.
“Sorry,” and a kiss to the top of Hakyeon’s head makes it all better.
They barely fit on the couch, and Hakyeon’s robes are barely on at all, more like a blanket to cover them both, but he dares not move, resting mostly on Sanghyuk’s front, ear pressed to the boy’s chest. His heart provides the bass to the screams of the dead, the ones that still ring in Hakyeon’s ears, and Hakyeon places a hand over Sanghyuk’s pectoral. “As long as you’re here,” he says, “I need nothing else.”
And, in Sanghyuk’s arms, Hakyeon finds respite.
+++
Wonsik springs out from behind the stairs and announces, “Well, look who’s back.” Jaehwan, with two fingers, nudges Wonsik’s brandished sword away from his face and wrinkles his nose. His common-place attitude toward being held at sword-point might have something to do with the fact that Wonsik does this once a week, but Wonsik could be wrong. Jaehwan’s never really been phased by much. Ever.
Jaehwan folds his coat collar down, revealing the swirling, faint silver lines on his skin. “Where’s Hongbin?”
“Fiddling with his gear. He got a nice slash in the shoulder bit from last night, but he didn’t realize until this morning.” Wonsik scowls. Hongbin’s pouting about it up in his room, and he had to bee-line out of there before Hongbin could start complaining about anything else on his mind. It’s always one thing or another with him. “But don’t try to change the subject, where were you?”
“Out. Around. Chatting up the locals.” Jaehwan tugs off his coat, and he smiles up at the ceiling. “It’s getting chilly out there.”
“Uh-huh.” Wonsik’s not entirely convinced, but maybe it’s just Hongbin whispering in his ear. Hongbin thinks he’s keeping secrets. Wonsik doesn’t know what to think. “So who’d you talk to?”
“Talked to the little, old lady selling ‘authentic’ faerie tears, conversed with a few stray dogs, and went to a mundane supermarket and bought myself candy.” He pulls the candy out of his coat pocket and waves it in Wonsik’s face.
Wonsik shakes his head. “Hongbin thinks you’re a liar.”
“Why would I lie?” Jaehwan laughs like it’s absurd, and Wonsik laughs, too. “Hongbin need not worry his pretty, little head. But -- wait -- I thought you two were going out?”
Wonsik shrugs. “Hongbin and his gear.” And Jaehwan nods like that’s a good enough explanation. Jaehwan walks further into the Institute, toward the upper levels where the bedrooms are, and Wonsik parts ways with him.
Hongbin’s too paranoid, too worried; it’s true that since he’s come back from Idris, Jaehwan’s been a little more quiet and reserved, but Wonsik doesn’t believe that means he’s hiding things. And, plus, people are allowed to keep thoughts to themselves. Wonsik misses the Jaehwan that would wander the streets with him at night and traipse through the dockyards, near the Shadowhunters’ Portal, but he also knows that time’s passed since then. People change.
In the time that Jaehwan was traveling, so much changed here at home, and Wonsik could see it was a little jarring for him upon the return. Jaehwan looked healthy, amazing -- six years around the world did him well -- but upon arrival he kept staring at Hongbin, who glared right back at him, and Wonsik didn’t (and doesn’t) know how to keep everyone sorted. It’s a nightmare.
Wonsik goes down to the kitchen and when he rounds the corner, his shoulder smacks into his best friend, his parabatai, Hongbin. “Thought you were stress-cleaning?”
Hongbin puckers his lips into a frown. “Shut up.” But he’s dressed in his gear, looking very put out, and Wonsik can’t imagine why.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I- Are we leaving soon?”
“Oh, yeah.” Wonsik glances down to his sweatpants and shirt. “Just give me a bit?”
Hongbin nods and sweeps away. Sometimes dealing with Hongbin is like poking a jungle cat with an attitude problem, and it’s only gotten worse over the course of this year. Granted, things have been shitty all around, but it’d be nice if Hongbin could separate Wonsik from the people he directs his anger toward.
Wonsik walks fully into the kitchen to see Minah staring at him from the counter. She sits there, eating an apple, and she looks apologetic. “Sorry.”
“Why?”
“He’s mad. At me.”
Wonsik waves a hand at her. “He’s mad at everyone. Just let him be.”
Apple juice runs down the side of Minah’s tiny mouth, and she uses the back of her hand to wipe it away. “He really won’t accept Sojin, though.”
“Yeah, he….” Wonsik takes a seat on the counter parallel to Minah. This is a topic they’ve fully worn out, and Wonsik doesn’t know if he wants to get into it right now, but here he sits. “He’s still trying to cope.”
Minah nods and leans forward. She’s wearing a huge sweatshirt and worn-out shorts which means she’s been down in the library. Minah’s more of a home-body, but she drags herself out of the Institute when she has to, assisting on missions and such. Other than that, she’s here. “I think Sojin understands,” the older girl shares. She’s been here since Hongbin’s parents ran the Institute, and as soon as Sojin arrived, the two females bonded in the blink of an eye.
“That’s good.”
“And he listens to her.”
Wonsik shrugs. “He’s not-- Hongbin wouldn’t not listen to her. He realizes that’s not even a choice.”
Minah crunches into her apple again, nearing the core. “Yeah. He’s a smart kid; I just hate to see him like this.”
Wonsik doesn’t have a response, or he does, but all this has been said before. It’s been gone over and over, all the little bits and pieces that could supplement this conversation, and Wonsik doesn’t want to run back over them today, analyzing Hongbin behind his back. Hongbin just needs time.
Voices filter through the hall outside the kitchen, and Minah and Wonsik lock eyes. The unspoken agreement is to stay quiet -- they’ve gotten good at communication through years of fighting together -- and as the voices come closer, they realize it’s Sojin and Jaehwan.
“--mundane boy here. He’s looking for you.” Sojin sounds confused, and Wonsik strains to listen closer. “Do you know anything about this?” she asks as the two are about to pass the kitchen.
Jaehwan doesn’t answer -- the only sound is their footsteps echoing on the stone floors. They pass the old kitchen, and in the brief passing Wonsik can see the dark circles under Sojin’s eyes. She’s focused on Jaehwan the whole time, but Jaehwan turns so he sees Wonsik and Minah in the kitchen. He smiles at them. The two older Shadowhunters keep walking, and soon it’s just Minah and Wonsik in the quiet left behind.
“What was that about?” Minah raises a brow, an apple core now pinched between her fingers. “A mundane, they said? What’s he want with a mundane? Must be a Sighted mundane-- but wait, how in the hell did Jaehwan manage to find one of those?”
Sighted mundanes are a lucky find and Jaehwan magically plucking one out of the air seems absurd. “We probably didn’t hear the whole conversation,” Wonsik decides. “Who knows what they’re talking about.” Minah looks skeptical, but Wonsik doesn’t have a doubt in him.
“Jaehwan’s a similar case.”
“What do you mean?”
“He changed.” Minah aims for trash can a few feet away and shoots the apple core inside. “You haven’t noticed? He’s so…I don’t know.”
If Wonsik was a bird, his feathers would be ruffled. “Well, Minah, he’s been gone for nearly six years. I’m sure we’ve all changed.”
“No, this is different.” She leans forward again, her big sleeves slipping from where they were pushed around her elbows. “He’s, like, strange?”
“He’s always been strange--”
“No, not that way. Like,” she heaves sigh out of frustration, “I can’t explain it.”
Wonsik, at this point, is getting annoyed. His jaw is working, a method to keep him from blowing his cool, and since Hongbin’s become the emotional one lately, he’s been working on keeping a lid on his anger. “Okay, well, whatever that means.” He hops down from the counter and moves to leave.
“Oh, man, not you, too. Wonsik, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves back at her. “I got it.” But when he leaves, the anger doesn’t, and Wonsik’s not sure why he feels so defensive, but it doesn’t feel good. The small memory that Hongbin wanted to go out tonight prods him, and he tries to work himself down. If they’re going out, he needs to be one-hundred percent okay.
And, in a few minutes, he is okay.
+++
The next day, Jaehwan is back.
Taekwoon watches as Jaehwan stands at the counter, this time wearing a thin white t-shirt and dark pants. He wears glasses; Taekwoon would have never figured him for glasses. And, unlike yesterday, Taekwoon can see the Shadowhunter Marks on him now that he’s not wearing full sleeves. Some are black -- the permanent ones -- and others are silver -- barely there. Those Marks have to be reapplied frequently, Taekwoon knows.
With the most recent demon war under the Shadow World’s belt, a lot of understanding between Downworlders and the Nephilim was lost. All the good steps forward that was made fifty years prior, has been lost in tumbling, tripping steps in the opposite direction. Heavy losses partnered with bad leadership on the Shadowhunters part made their numbers dwindle. Taekwoon’s not sure of all the details, but he knows that Nephilim are proud people, unable to accept some facts that stare them in the face. Downworlders and their kind have never been fully in-step with each other, but it’s even worse now.
Taekwoon knows it used to be better. It had to be better; he’s read books of how cooperation between Shadowhunters and Downworlders led to great gains against the demons, and that’s the common enemy, right? Demons?
Jaehwan grins at Taekwoon, breaking his thought process. “Open just about every day, are you?” He points at the door. “Your sign says so.”
Taekwoon needs a new sign. “I…close early in the middle of the week.”
The Shadowhunter nods like it’s an important thing to note, like he’s tucking that information away for later. And Taekwoon’s not even sure what that’s supposed to mean or how he’s supposed to feel about it. It’s not as if he has a personal grudge against Jaehwan’s kind, but he knows a bit of history -- their fumbles in the last five decades -- and he knows how Hakyeon feels about them. From the way Hakyeon talks, it would seem like the enemy isn’t the demons but the Nephilim.
One day, Jaehwan comes in and asks, “Do you know much about Idris?” When Taekwoon shakes his head, Jaehwan nods and lets the topic be for that time. But he can’t get past it because two more times back in and Jaehwan comments, “I miss it -- the city.” He puts the cheap bobble in his hands back on the shelf and says, “It’s a fantastic place.”
Taekwoon never responds much when Jaehwan visits (this is his fourth time), but this time he feels his mouth moving ahead of his brain. “What’s it like?” His curiosity is wide, his knowledge of things so small, and Taekwoon believes that’s his weakness.
Jaehwan turns fully toward Taekwoon, wearing his mundane clothes and looking very mundane. “In the capital, Alicante, the demon towers are made of glass,” he starts, a wistful look in his eyes. “When the sun shines on them, it’s so…beautiful. Like fire. And then outside the city, it’s green. Greener than you can imagine. The hills, the plains, the everything. And going there is like,” Jaehwan breaks eye contact, “going home.”
“You’ve been there?”
Jaehwan nods, walking over to the shelf by the stairs, pulling out 100 Cures for Un-Curable Curses. He flips through the book a bit before reading portions and flipping through again. “Is this actually for real?”
“What do you think?”
Jaehwan slaps the book shut. “I don’t think it is.”
Taekwoon feels a small bubble of laughter rise in him. He forces his lips firm. “Is it?”
“I don’t think so.” Jaehwan holds the book out with eyes squinted. “I don’t know all there is to know about warlocks, but some of the solutions in here sound like…mundane business. ‘A quick fix to a wobble-leg curse is to drink the bile of a bison for a full month until the new moon,’” Jaehwan reads aloud. “That can’t be true.”
Taekwoon doesn’t answer, watching from behind his counter.
Jaehwan shoves the book back into place. “Conclusion: I don’t believe it.” And he announces the next week when he comes in, “I still don’t believe it, and you are a liar. There is no such thing as a wobble-legs curse. I looked it up.”
Taekwoon comes out from the back room, peeling the thin curtains back so he can slip through. “Doing your homework now?” Taekwoon finds that he doesn’t mind Jaehwan’s visits, and he hasn’t seen Hakyeon or Sanghyuk since the last time both were in here, and business is slow these days, and Jaehwan is really the only one who takes an interest in what he can offer.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.” Jaehwan glances side-long at Taekwoon. “What’s a warlock like you do to keep himself busy? Every time I come in here, it’s empty.”
“It’s, uh,” Taekwoon swallows, “the fall season. I always get slow. Winter will get better. When people start dying.”
“Oh.”
“And getting cursed. It just…works out like that.”
Taekwoon’s afraid he might’ve said something wrong, because Jaehwan looks mildly uncomfortable, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing his weight form foot to foot. “But, yeah, what do you like, Taekwoon?”
Taekwoon gave away his name one or two visits ago, and he can’t say he regrets it. “I like to read.”
“Reading.”
“And friends.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere; let me be your friend?” Jaehwan asks so suddenly, and Taekwoon recoils, taking his hands off the counter, curling them at his sides. “Consider me to be a friend?”
“And,” Taekwoon begins, slow and unsure. “Why would you want to be considered as my friend?”
Jaehwan looks honest, clear eyes and a face bright, but it all overlays something not so bright, not so friendly. Taekwoon can tell. He wonders what exactly has Jaehwan’s faced, if it feels like drowning to him, but he doesn’t ask. Taekwoon has plenty of his own sunken memories that he’d rather not drag back to the surface.
“Because I want to be,” Jaehwan answers. It’s simple, of course. “You’re cool, anyway. I’ve never met a warlock -- not like this, not on my own -- and I find you funny.”
Taekwoon doesn’t think of himself as particularly humorous; Hakyeon has always said that he has a penchant for hilarity as a rodent has a penchant for flying.
“You find me funny?” His fingers, where they’re curled into his sweat-shirt sleeves, pick at the worn out cuffs, and he fidgets with Jaehwan’s praise on his mind.
The Shadowhunter smiles, eyes crinkling, and Taekwoon feels like his heart has sprouted a pair of wings. “Very much so.”
And that’s that.
+++
Hakyeon bursts into Taekwoon’s shop feeling breathless and put roughly back together. He feels dissected and burnt, infected. “Taekwoon.” He sucks in a breath and calls louder, “Taekwoon.”
The warlock in question peeks out from his back room, curtains parting around him, wide-eyed and looking unaware then very aware at Hakyeon’s sudden appearance. “What’s wrong?”
“Sanghyuk. Where is he?”
Taekwoon shrugs. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”
Hakyeon growls, and he can detect his magic pinging around inside his body, looking for an excuse to be used. He takes a deep breath. “He’s always hanging around here….”
The curtains swish as Taekwoon comes fully out. The sweatshirt he wears is big on him, sleeves hanging past his fingertips, the knees of his pants worn through with holes -- he always dresses so dumpy. “He’s not here, Hakyeon.”
Hakyeon lets Taekwoon’s words bounce around in his head and digests them slowly. “Okay.” He clamps down on his back teeth. “Okay.”
“Is everything alright?” Taekwoon walks a little toward the him, and the raven-haired, pale-skinned man is taller than Hakyeon, but right now, Hakyeon towers and Taekwoon’s just the fourteen-year old dripping wet child that begged him for a night’s stay. Hakyeon feels inflated.
He moves forward and grips Taekwoon by his shoulders. “No. Taekwoon, he’s been lying to me. He said he’s been coming here when he’s not with me, but you’re saying he hasn’t been here in how long?”
“W-weeks. It’s been weeks.” Taekwoon’s eyes flash, and Hakyeon also recognizes that. “Hakyeon, that hurts--”
With a grunt, Hakyeon lets Taekwoon go. “He’s lying to me, keeping things from me -- does he think I’m stupid?”
“Hakyeon, you need to talk to me.”
Hakyeon’s silken robes slip and fall around his shoulders, the hem whispering against the wooden floor planks. He grabs handfuls of his hair. “Sanghyuk, can’t just….”
“He’s fine,” Taekwoon assures. “He’s not a kid, Hakyeon. He can take care of himself.”
Hakyeon feels his sparks fly out of his fingers, and he knows they do because of Taekwoon’s expression. “I don’t care, Taekwoon,” he seethes. “I don’t care; the fact is that he has the Sight. Anyone can look at him and realize that. If something happens to him….” Hakyeon trails off, feeling his voice start to break, and tries to keep it in. Taekwoon just stares at him. “They’ll take him. Someone’ll take him, and he’s not ready for that, for any of this; Taekwoon, he’s not ready.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Hakyeon takes a deep breath in and tries to regain his fractured composure. It’s been a long time since that’s been intact, but day to day, he strives to keep up appearances. He takes another breath. “Let me know if you see him. I’m going into the city to look. I have no idea why he’s…he’s keeping secrets, but I haven’t seen him for two days, and so help me if something’s happened.”
Hakyeon strides to the shop door and doesn’t look back to see if Taekwoon’s watching. He grimaces. Taekwoon, for all he’s worth, is incapable of most things. He’s a shoddy replacement for the Shadowhunters to go through as the city’s resident warlock -- whatever will they do -- but that’s half the reason Hakyeon took him in and coddled him.
Sanghyuk, however…he’s different.
Sanghyuk has a gift; he’s mundane but can see Hakyeon and the Shadow World without much trouble at all. His eyes pierce through most glamours, and more than that his will is strong. Hakyeon’s never seen a brighter mundane, and he’s never felt his heart beat as it does around him.
But Sanghyuk is his. His Sight is rare in these days when warlocks and Nephilim are rare as well, and Hakyeon knows all about the dangers that Sighted mundanes wander into. And Sanghyuk’s so good, dammit; there’s no doubt he’s in some sort of trouble. Sanghyuk is Hakyeon’s special, little mundane.
Hakyeon searches through the city, going to all the places Sanghyuk may be -- down by the river, up on the bridge, his house -- but he’s nowhere. There’s a little tug in the back of his head that keeps telling him to go home, and it’s not until after dark that he finally listens to himself, tears flowing freely down his face at this point. Sanghyuk isn’t anywhere. He’s nowhere.
A small group of vampires pass by Hakyeon on the street, but he doesn’t care if they stare at him and speculate about his issues. They’ll run and tell Minhyuk, no doubt. He swipes at his eyes, making a mess of himself. It’s only when he’s outside his door that he feels a shift, and the spells that lace his doorway talk to him. He can feel a second presence in his apartment, and he wrenches open the door with a smothered sob.
He dodges the piles of books and mess of papers to fling himself into his small kitchen and stops short when he sees Sanghyuk sitting on his counter, eating a sandwich. Sanghyuk opens his mouth to say something, but when he notices Hakyeon’s eyes, he jumps off the counter. “Are you--?”
Hakyeon takes him into a crushing hug, and Hakyeon, over the wails of the dead, cries things into Sanghyuk’s shirt. He’s not sure what’s coming out of his mouth, but he’s desperate, has this clawing urge inside him, and Hakyeon hurts. He hears it all out there.
And Sanghyuk’s scared. Hakyeon can tell by Sanghyuk’s shaking hands as he grasps Hakyeon’s back, and asks, “Hakyeon, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”
Hakyeon feels a sensation similar to choking even though nothing’s blocking his airways. He just can’t get it together. “Where…where were you?”
“Me?” Sanghyuk sounds surprised. “I was at Taekwoon’s for a bit, but then I went home, and now I’m here. Why?”
Hakyeon stills in Sanghyuk’s arms, collecting his tears, and his anger comes back. There are these secrets that Sanghyuk keeps, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s Sanghyuk or Taekwoon who’s lying to him. When he looks up into Sanghyuk’s eyes, he doesn’t want to believe it, but it’s a little hard when Sanghyuk’s leaning in to press a comforting kiss to his forehead.
“It’s alright,” Sanghyuk assures him. “I’m alright; there’s nothing to be worried about.”
Hakyeon bites his lower lip and tries to lose himself in Sanghyuk’s arms. Of course. It’s alright.
NEXT
Recipient: aquilaprisca
Pairing: Ken/Leo, N/Hyuk
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 22,186 words
Warnings: character death, violence
Summary: There’s a warlock that lives on the corner between the ramyun shop and the seamstress’s store; there’s a young man with dark, swirling tattoos that finds solace in him. (Mortal Instruments AU)
Notes: thanks to C and T for the vigorous hand-holding and being good listeners! fell in love with the prompt at first sight and it’s not just because you let me have two of my ultimate otps, and i’m very sorry if details aren’t as accurate as they should be. Happy Halloween~
Seoul; 2057
Thirteen times has Taekwoon woken up in cold water. His birth wasn’t planned; it wasn’t happy. He’s been nearly drowned thirteen times in his twenty-three years of life, and every time it happened, Taekwoon couldn’t say that he got a little more used to it. Because the water would run down his throat, his lungs would convulse, oxygen already fleeting -- Taekwoon wouldn’t ever get used to it.
The drownings all occurred in the first ten years of his life, one for almost every year. His father used to hold him under the water, waiting for the bubbles to stop coming to the surface, and when Taekwoon thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore, he would come up and taste fresh air.
His mother would be crying in the background, hands on her husband, and scream and sob at him, while Taekwoon sat in the cold bath water, unsure of how to react. His scales would shimmer in the yellow bathroom lighting, but it wasn’t until he was eight when he realized that his beautiful scales and his pretty eyes were why his father hated him.
Taekwoon ran away from home at fourteen.
“I’m asking for a friend,” the boy moans as he leans against the counter. His hair has grown long in the past few months, curling around his eyes, and his face is young, and the whole image seem younger than his seventeen years. Taekwoon leans over his counter to look the boy in the eye.
“No.”
The boy, Sanghyuk, scowls and turns in a complete circle before grabbing onto the counter again, intent and pleading. “Please,” he begs. “It’s not like I’m gonna- I’m gonna -- I don’t know -- set fire to the place.”
Taekwoon stares long and hard at the blond boy, his face full of want, and says, “No.”
“What’s this about?”
Taekwoon and Sanghyuk look to the side to see their friend walking down the stairs, clad in his silk robes, peaches and rich purples his colors of choice for today, and Taekwoon frowns. “He’s over-reaching again.” Hakyeon’s a rare sight around Seoul, and he has a habit of appearing at the oddest times.
Taekwoon doesn’t miss the blush on Sanghyuk’s face, and that’s how he knows he’s done his job. He sits back on the stool just behind the counter, the hole in his jeans exposing a large portion of his knee, and he fiddles with it.
“Over-reaching,” Hakyeon hums, still standing on the stairs with his long nails drilling against the wood. Taekwoon can see the webbing in-between his fingers. “What’s that about?”
Sanghyuk looks positively tongue-tied as he tries to formulate a good response. Taekwoon watches him flounder. “Well, I, uh, hmm, well--”
Hakyeon smiles, white pointed teeth counter-acting the look in his dark eyes, and Taekwoon has to look away. Ever since Hakyeon took the child under his wing he’s been a little painful to watch. The warlock’s become a little softer around his harsh edges, edges that Taekwoon’s come to know well in his seven years of knowing him.
Sanghyuk runs out shop, yelling a goodbye over his shoulder, and Hakyeon stands grinning on the steps. “Something about a friend?”
Taekwoon nods.
Hakyeon scoffs, combing his fringe with his thin fingers. “Wonder which one he means.”
Clearing his throat, Taekwoon gets up and turns to Hakyeon. “When did you get here?” He straightens up some of the things on his counter, but the mess is so dense that he doesn’t even know where to begin.
All along the counter he has knick-knack sorts of things -- a small display dedicated to the teeth of random beasts, jars of kidneys from an array of specimen, and small fliers for other local businesses. His counter has also collected many more things such as the glass display case in the counter that originally held weakly magicked jewelry that has now spilled out onto the rest of his counter space, and he hasn’t dusted in months.
Taekwoon doesn’t consider himself a slob; he just needs to regain some great force of motivation to reorganize.
Hakyeon curls his lip at his bird’s-eye view of the shop. “Ugh, don’t you ever throw things out?” Hakyeon descends the stairs, his robes whispering against the wood, and he walks over to the first shelf he comes to. “101 Cures for Un-Curable Curses -- Taekwoon, why do you keep so many of these? Most of these are written by mundanes asking for a bit of recognition.” Hakyeon shoves the book back in its spot like he’s offended at the book’s existence.
Taekwoon knows that Hakyeon knows why he keeps them. Hakyeon just likes to be difficult and dramatic, and altogether frustrating. Taekwoon ignores Hakyeon’s mockery of what he sells and retreats to the bookcase behind his counter, deciding to find something to busy himself while Hakyeon spouts out all the things he needs to.
“--and everyone knows that goat liver isn’t an actual ingredient in a locator spell--”
Taekwoon curls his lip, slipping some of his jars of questionable contents into a box to be taken to the back room. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Hakyeon stops mid-tirade and blinks. When Taekwoon’s head pops back over top the counter, the older warlock unfreezes and re-animates himself, taking long sweeping strides into the rest of the shop. He’s now right before the counter, and Taekwoon only asked for a simple answer, not for a speech.
Hakyeon places his elbows on the counter and wiggles his fingers as he says, “Well, I didn’t want to be gone for too long. Didn’t want to make Sanghyuk troubled.”
“So it’s about the boy?” Taekwoon turns his back to Hakyeon, and takes a good look at his floor. He is in dire need of a broom and dustpan.
“And if it is?”
Taekwoon straightens a little at Hakyeon’s tone -- defensive. “Nothing. No reason; I’m just wondering because--” Taekwoon doesn’t even know where to start cleaning-- “for someone like you, who used to disappear for months and months, three weeks is quite a change.”
Hakyeon fidgets on the spot, and Taekwoon rarely sees him so flustered. “Alright, well,” he straightens the front of his robes, readjusting them so the deep V in the front gives a slimmer view of Hakyeon’s tan chest, without looking Taekwoon in the eyes, “if you see Sanghyuk, please tell him that I’m at home.” Hakyeon walks to the door Sanghyuk left through, shop bell tinkling when he opens it, and vanishes without another word.
Taekwoon’s shop is dirty and very quiet.
He’s not even sure he owns a broom and dustpan. He’s sure those have been thrown out because of some or other accident that took place, something with bullfrogs, but the bottom line is that Taekwoon is unready to deal with the mess he has acquired. He sighs.
He has his back turned to the door when the bell tinkles again, and he thinks it’s just Hakyeon, back to ask for Sanghyuk, but the boy isn’t here. Sanghyuk does have friends of his own, Hakyeon needs to realize--
“Hello.”
Taekwoon lets his body catch up to his head as he turns in full, placing the box of who-knows-what in his arms on the floor. Standing just inside his door is a young man built broad through the shoulders and long through his legs. He stands alert, but his eyes keep wandering around the expanse of the shop, eyeing the banners hanging from the ceiling, the tops of the shelves that Taekwoon hasn’t looked at in a year, then finally back at Taekwoon.
Taekwoon feels like he’s frozen, but he forces himself to ask, “What can I help you with?”
The young man walks in a little further, examining the shelf of hexed mundane items -- umbrellas, plungers, and lamps being some of them -- and lets out an amused laugh. Taekwoon’s muscles tighten. “Just looking,” he answers, but he glances back at Taekwoon when he says it, and Taekwoon feels himself slide a little more on edge.
Taekwoon lets the young man wander around for a bit, occasional laughs punctuating the silence along with his questions that Taekwoon doesn’t bother answering. “What’s this?” he asks for the thousandth time, on this instance when he passed by a fish tank full of water but no recognizable creature in sight.
“Why are you here?” Taekwoon keeps his eyes trained on the so-called customer in case he tries anything. “What does a Shadowhunter need that they have business in my shop?”
“Me?” The young man points to himself like he’s dumbfounded, but his dramatics are lacking, and Taekwoon’s slowly growing more and more agitated. The stranger must realize it. “I’m sorry, I’m working on my acting, and I’m terrible.” He laughs at this.
Taekwoon unclenches his teeth and takes two breaths before replying, “You were in here a month and a half ago with some others. I’m not foolish.”
“’Foolish,’” the young man mimics. “I like that.” But as Taekwoon’s face darkens, he throws up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Alright, alright, yes, you guessed right. You remember me from then? Wow, impressive. But am I not allowed to look? Would you really refuse me business?” He raises his eyebrows and walks a little closer to the counter.
“What would a Shadowhunter have with my inventory?”
The Shadowhunter in question gives Taekwoon a long look before spluttering, “You think this is an inspection? Goodness, I’m here on my own accord, not official business.” He wiggles an eyebrow and inquires, “Should I run an inspection?”
Taekwoon relaxes slightly. He clarifies, “Just looking?”.
“Just looking. I’m really curious, that’s all.” He wanders a little closer to Taekwoon’s counter and says, “They teach us about Downworlders at the Institute, and I’ve met some, but I thought I should take a look for myself.” He grins, and Taekwoon is grossly unprepared.
It’s strange because most Shadowhunters that Taekwoon has come across have this holier-than-thou set to their eyes, sniffing along in places where they aren’t needed. Hakyeon despises them, and Taekwoon’s just thinking about the luck with which the warlock and Shadowhunter missed each other when the latter interrupts his thoughts. “Oh, what does this do?”
“No,” Taekwoon interjects, “don’t touch that--”
The young Shadowhunter pokes the glass orb hanging just above Taekwoon’s head, and yellow light bathes the room, blinding and harsh. He yelps, and Taekwoon spins his own yellow light between his hands as he curses under his breath. The orb emits a high-pitched wailing sound that goes in and out, in and out, and finally, when Taekwoon wraps his hands around it and speaks the words to quiet it, the orb falls silent.
“Well, that’s handy.”
Taekwoon looks away from the orb and opens his mouth to say something, but the Shadowhunter’s face is in such close proximity with his own that his first instinct is to fall back a few steps. The Shadowhunter chuckles when he does. “I have to go for today, but my name’s Jaehwan. I’ll be back.”
Taekwoon blinks. “Oh.”
Jaehwan the Shadowhunter winks and walks toward the shop doors, his coat collar upturned to the wind.
+++
Hakyeon waits on his balcony, overlooking the busy street below. It’s not often that he’s in Seoul, but in the past few months he’s been spending more and more time here, and the main reason for that, Hakyeon can see, is walking up the sidewalk to enter his building.
Hello, Han Sanghyuk.
The bell to his apartment rings in another three minutes, just long enough for Sanghyuk to take his time climbing the stairs, not taking the elevator, and Hakyeon vaguely wonders what that’s about. “It’s open,” he calls, undoing a few enchantments with the flick of his wrist. Sanghyuk opens the door and slides inside, walking through the messy apartment to Hakyeon’s balcony.
“Hi.”
“I’m back,” Hakyeon says, back still to the mundane. “Miss me?”
“Y-yeah. Hakyeon, I--”
“So what have you been up to?” Hakyeon can hear the cars on the streets below honk and emit their toxic smoke, and he breathes in more and more. “Trouble?” He wonders what exactly the boy wanted from Taekwoon, but it probably wasn’t anything important. There’s no way Taekwoon would allow him with anything that would spill their secrets to the mundane world no matter how careful Sanghyuk promises he’ll be. Taekwoon’s at least good for something.
Sanghyuk laughs, but it doesn’t sound natural, and that makes Hakyeon’s ears perk up. “You know me.” He comes up beside Hakyeon, and out of the corner of the warlock’s eye he can see Sanghyuk staring up at him. “Hakyeon, get down from there.”
Hakyeon’s balancing on the balcony’s railing, and at Sanghyuk’s words he smiles. “Worried?”
“Should I be?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Hakyeon falls silent, the glow of the fading sun warming the exposed portions of his skin. He hums a tune to a song he heard somewhere, probably from a mundane’s radio, and looks over Seoul’s smoke stacks to see the ruined parts of the city, gray and black scorches along the earth. He remembers when the Shadowhunters blew their own selves up; three square miles of ruin shows exactly what they did. Countless Downworlders and mundanes were lost; it’s only fair that over half of the participating Nephilim died with them that day.
Hakyeon hasn’t visited that part of the city, that wasteland, since.
He turns his chin so he can look straight at Sanghyuk and asks, “And should I be worried about you?”
Sanghyuk walks back inside.
“Alright, Sanghyuk.” Hakyeon stares back out over his city and lets his wounds fester. He always does. “What is it now?” In a swift motion, he climbs back to the safe side of his balcony to watch Sanghyuk find a nice spot for himself on Hakyeon’s couch.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
Hakyeon leans against the doorframe, remembering the unfed mundane he found a year ago. The skin and bones thing that could see through Hakyeon's glamour. Sanghyuk is definitely a rarity these days; a mundane blessed with the Sight? Not common that one’s discovered.
But here Sanghyuk is. Lounging on Hakyeon’s couch fit and well, and finally resembling a proper mundane. Hakyeon feels a surge of affection rush through him and as dangerous as it is, he doesn’t push it back. Sanghyuk seems to notice.
“Why do you want to stand in the doorway? Come inside.” Hakyeon slides the glass shut behind him, whispering his enchantments back over it, and plops onto a spot he’s picked on the floor. Sanghyuk’s giving him an odd look. “Where do you go?”
“Hmm?”
“Where do you go, Hakyeon? When you leave the city, where do you go, and why can’t I go with you?”
“It’s not for my own enjoyment that I leave.” Hakyeon picks up the book at his knee and flips it open, mouth stinging with the lie. His colorful silk robes shift, revealing a lot more neck and shoulder than he would mind, but he can’t be bothered to fix it. He flicks his eyes upward to see Sanghyuk watching him, eyes darting to the warlock’s exposed collarbone. Hakyeon looks back down at his book.
“Yeah, but you go anyway.”
“Sanghyuk,” Hakyeon says in a warning tone. “Leave it alone.”
“Is this because I’m a human? A mundane? Are you afraid I’m…weak? I’m not weak Hakyeon.”
Hakyeon breaths in a deep breath, his good mood fleeing, and slowly lowers the book from his face. He offers Sanghyuk a steely glare. “You are a mundane, yes. You are under my watch, yes. My travels have something to do with you, no. Sanghyuk, it’s purely my business, warlock business; don’t worry the issue.”
Sanghyuk sits up on the couch, knees spread wide and elbows resting on them. He drags a hand through his hair, seeming to steam with mild frustration and a few other things, and it amazes Hakyeon how he can look so much older in just seconds; it’s not really fair. The wide collar of Hakyeon’s robe slips further over his shoulder.
They stare at each other for a long moment, a range of emotions burning behind Sanghyuk’s eyes, and the next thing Hakyeon knows, he’s standing in front of Sanghyuk, legs brushing against the younger’s. Hakyeon’s unseen wounds weep with infection, and he can hear the phantom screams in his ears, the large square of ash in the distance crying out for help.
He can hear it, and he hates Seoul.
Sanghyuk surges up to flutter a quick kiss to Hakyeon’s lips, then to the side of his mouth, on his cheek, then his ear, and asks, “Then why does Taekwoon never leave?”
Hakyeon grabs at Sanghyuk, falling into him, and the slick fabric of his robes flurries around Sanghyuk’s legs -- they’re that close. “Taekwoon lost…his sense of direction.” He doesn’t expect Sanghyuk to know what that means -- Hakyeon sucks in a breath as the boy squeezes at his waist -- and Sanghyuk doesn’t, emitting a sound that appears to be his confusion.
Ignorant, Taekwoon stays in his shop all day, and Hakyeon lives and breathes the world. It works in Hakyeon’s favor, Hakyeon can admit if he gets past his surface level irritation. With Taekwoon’s permanent residence in Seoul, that leaves him free to roam without the Institute hounding him down for services or breathing down his neck, under their surveillance.
Hakyeon hisses as Sanghyuk tackles him to the couch. “Careful,” he reminds him, feeling the twinges of old pain in his side.
“Sorry,” and a kiss to the top of Hakyeon’s head makes it all better.
They barely fit on the couch, and Hakyeon’s robes are barely on at all, more like a blanket to cover them both, but he dares not move, resting mostly on Sanghyuk’s front, ear pressed to the boy’s chest. His heart provides the bass to the screams of the dead, the ones that still ring in Hakyeon’s ears, and Hakyeon places a hand over Sanghyuk’s pectoral. “As long as you’re here,” he says, “I need nothing else.”
And, in Sanghyuk’s arms, Hakyeon finds respite.
+++
Wonsik springs out from behind the stairs and announces, “Well, look who’s back.” Jaehwan, with two fingers, nudges Wonsik’s brandished sword away from his face and wrinkles his nose. His common-place attitude toward being held at sword-point might have something to do with the fact that Wonsik does this once a week, but Wonsik could be wrong. Jaehwan’s never really been phased by much. Ever.
Jaehwan folds his coat collar down, revealing the swirling, faint silver lines on his skin. “Where’s Hongbin?”
“Fiddling with his gear. He got a nice slash in the shoulder bit from last night, but he didn’t realize until this morning.” Wonsik scowls. Hongbin’s pouting about it up in his room, and he had to bee-line out of there before Hongbin could start complaining about anything else on his mind. It’s always one thing or another with him. “But don’t try to change the subject, where were you?”
“Out. Around. Chatting up the locals.” Jaehwan tugs off his coat, and he smiles up at the ceiling. “It’s getting chilly out there.”
“Uh-huh.” Wonsik’s not entirely convinced, but maybe it’s just Hongbin whispering in his ear. Hongbin thinks he’s keeping secrets. Wonsik doesn’t know what to think. “So who’d you talk to?”
“Talked to the little, old lady selling ‘authentic’ faerie tears, conversed with a few stray dogs, and went to a mundane supermarket and bought myself candy.” He pulls the candy out of his coat pocket and waves it in Wonsik’s face.
Wonsik shakes his head. “Hongbin thinks you’re a liar.”
“Why would I lie?” Jaehwan laughs like it’s absurd, and Wonsik laughs, too. “Hongbin need not worry his pretty, little head. But -- wait -- I thought you two were going out?”
Wonsik shrugs. “Hongbin and his gear.” And Jaehwan nods like that’s a good enough explanation. Jaehwan walks further into the Institute, toward the upper levels where the bedrooms are, and Wonsik parts ways with him.
Hongbin’s too paranoid, too worried; it’s true that since he’s come back from Idris, Jaehwan’s been a little more quiet and reserved, but Wonsik doesn’t believe that means he’s hiding things. And, plus, people are allowed to keep thoughts to themselves. Wonsik misses the Jaehwan that would wander the streets with him at night and traipse through the dockyards, near the Shadowhunters’ Portal, but he also knows that time’s passed since then. People change.
In the time that Jaehwan was traveling, so much changed here at home, and Wonsik could see it was a little jarring for him upon the return. Jaehwan looked healthy, amazing -- six years around the world did him well -- but upon arrival he kept staring at Hongbin, who glared right back at him, and Wonsik didn’t (and doesn’t) know how to keep everyone sorted. It’s a nightmare.
Wonsik goes down to the kitchen and when he rounds the corner, his shoulder smacks into his best friend, his parabatai, Hongbin. “Thought you were stress-cleaning?”
Hongbin puckers his lips into a frown. “Shut up.” But he’s dressed in his gear, looking very put out, and Wonsik can’t imagine why.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I- Are we leaving soon?”
“Oh, yeah.” Wonsik glances down to his sweatpants and shirt. “Just give me a bit?”
Hongbin nods and sweeps away. Sometimes dealing with Hongbin is like poking a jungle cat with an attitude problem, and it’s only gotten worse over the course of this year. Granted, things have been shitty all around, but it’d be nice if Hongbin could separate Wonsik from the people he directs his anger toward.
Wonsik walks fully into the kitchen to see Minah staring at him from the counter. She sits there, eating an apple, and she looks apologetic. “Sorry.”
“Why?”
“He’s mad. At me.”
Wonsik waves a hand at her. “He’s mad at everyone. Just let him be.”
Apple juice runs down the side of Minah’s tiny mouth, and she uses the back of her hand to wipe it away. “He really won’t accept Sojin, though.”
“Yeah, he….” Wonsik takes a seat on the counter parallel to Minah. This is a topic they’ve fully worn out, and Wonsik doesn’t know if he wants to get into it right now, but here he sits. “He’s still trying to cope.”
Minah nods and leans forward. She’s wearing a huge sweatshirt and worn-out shorts which means she’s been down in the library. Minah’s more of a home-body, but she drags herself out of the Institute when she has to, assisting on missions and such. Other than that, she’s here. “I think Sojin understands,” the older girl shares. She’s been here since Hongbin’s parents ran the Institute, and as soon as Sojin arrived, the two females bonded in the blink of an eye.
“That’s good.”
“And he listens to her.”
Wonsik shrugs. “He’s not-- Hongbin wouldn’t not listen to her. He realizes that’s not even a choice.”
Minah crunches into her apple again, nearing the core. “Yeah. He’s a smart kid; I just hate to see him like this.”
Wonsik doesn’t have a response, or he does, but all this has been said before. It’s been gone over and over, all the little bits and pieces that could supplement this conversation, and Wonsik doesn’t want to run back over them today, analyzing Hongbin behind his back. Hongbin just needs time.
Voices filter through the hall outside the kitchen, and Minah and Wonsik lock eyes. The unspoken agreement is to stay quiet -- they’ve gotten good at communication through years of fighting together -- and as the voices come closer, they realize it’s Sojin and Jaehwan.
“--mundane boy here. He’s looking for you.” Sojin sounds confused, and Wonsik strains to listen closer. “Do you know anything about this?” she asks as the two are about to pass the kitchen.
Jaehwan doesn’t answer -- the only sound is their footsteps echoing on the stone floors. They pass the old kitchen, and in the brief passing Wonsik can see the dark circles under Sojin’s eyes. She’s focused on Jaehwan the whole time, but Jaehwan turns so he sees Wonsik and Minah in the kitchen. He smiles at them. The two older Shadowhunters keep walking, and soon it’s just Minah and Wonsik in the quiet left behind.
“What was that about?” Minah raises a brow, an apple core now pinched between her fingers. “A mundane, they said? What’s he want with a mundane? Must be a Sighted mundane-- but wait, how in the hell did Jaehwan manage to find one of those?”
Sighted mundanes are a lucky find and Jaehwan magically plucking one out of the air seems absurd. “We probably didn’t hear the whole conversation,” Wonsik decides. “Who knows what they’re talking about.” Minah looks skeptical, but Wonsik doesn’t have a doubt in him.
“Jaehwan’s a similar case.”
“What do you mean?”
“He changed.” Minah aims for trash can a few feet away and shoots the apple core inside. “You haven’t noticed? He’s so…I don’t know.”
If Wonsik was a bird, his feathers would be ruffled. “Well, Minah, he’s been gone for nearly six years. I’m sure we’ve all changed.”
“No, this is different.” She leans forward again, her big sleeves slipping from where they were pushed around her elbows. “He’s, like, strange?”
“He’s always been strange--”
“No, not that way. Like,” she heaves sigh out of frustration, “I can’t explain it.”
Wonsik, at this point, is getting annoyed. His jaw is working, a method to keep him from blowing his cool, and since Hongbin’s become the emotional one lately, he’s been working on keeping a lid on his anger. “Okay, well, whatever that means.” He hops down from the counter and moves to leave.
“Oh, man, not you, too. Wonsik, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves back at her. “I got it.” But when he leaves, the anger doesn’t, and Wonsik’s not sure why he feels so defensive, but it doesn’t feel good. The small memory that Hongbin wanted to go out tonight prods him, and he tries to work himself down. If they’re going out, he needs to be one-hundred percent okay.
And, in a few minutes, he is okay.
+++
The next day, Jaehwan is back.
Taekwoon watches as Jaehwan stands at the counter, this time wearing a thin white t-shirt and dark pants. He wears glasses; Taekwoon would have never figured him for glasses. And, unlike yesterday, Taekwoon can see the Shadowhunter Marks on him now that he’s not wearing full sleeves. Some are black -- the permanent ones -- and others are silver -- barely there. Those Marks have to be reapplied frequently, Taekwoon knows.
With the most recent demon war under the Shadow World’s belt, a lot of understanding between Downworlders and the Nephilim was lost. All the good steps forward that was made fifty years prior, has been lost in tumbling, tripping steps in the opposite direction. Heavy losses partnered with bad leadership on the Shadowhunters part made their numbers dwindle. Taekwoon’s not sure of all the details, but he knows that Nephilim are proud people, unable to accept some facts that stare them in the face. Downworlders and their kind have never been fully in-step with each other, but it’s even worse now.
Taekwoon knows it used to be better. It had to be better; he’s read books of how cooperation between Shadowhunters and Downworlders led to great gains against the demons, and that’s the common enemy, right? Demons?
Jaehwan grins at Taekwoon, breaking his thought process. “Open just about every day, are you?” He points at the door. “Your sign says so.”
Taekwoon needs a new sign. “I…close early in the middle of the week.”
The Shadowhunter nods like it’s an important thing to note, like he’s tucking that information away for later. And Taekwoon’s not even sure what that’s supposed to mean or how he’s supposed to feel about it. It’s not as if he has a personal grudge against Jaehwan’s kind, but he knows a bit of history -- their fumbles in the last five decades -- and he knows how Hakyeon feels about them. From the way Hakyeon talks, it would seem like the enemy isn’t the demons but the Nephilim.
One day, Jaehwan comes in and asks, “Do you know much about Idris?” When Taekwoon shakes his head, Jaehwan nods and lets the topic be for that time. But he can’t get past it because two more times back in and Jaehwan comments, “I miss it -- the city.” He puts the cheap bobble in his hands back on the shelf and says, “It’s a fantastic place.”
Taekwoon never responds much when Jaehwan visits (this is his fourth time), but this time he feels his mouth moving ahead of his brain. “What’s it like?” His curiosity is wide, his knowledge of things so small, and Taekwoon believes that’s his weakness.
Jaehwan turns fully toward Taekwoon, wearing his mundane clothes and looking very mundane. “In the capital, Alicante, the demon towers are made of glass,” he starts, a wistful look in his eyes. “When the sun shines on them, it’s so…beautiful. Like fire. And then outside the city, it’s green. Greener than you can imagine. The hills, the plains, the everything. And going there is like,” Jaehwan breaks eye contact, “going home.”
“You’ve been there?”
Jaehwan nods, walking over to the shelf by the stairs, pulling out 100 Cures for Un-Curable Curses. He flips through the book a bit before reading portions and flipping through again. “Is this actually for real?”
“What do you think?”
Jaehwan slaps the book shut. “I don’t think it is.”
Taekwoon feels a small bubble of laughter rise in him. He forces his lips firm. “Is it?”
“I don’t think so.” Jaehwan holds the book out with eyes squinted. “I don’t know all there is to know about warlocks, but some of the solutions in here sound like…mundane business. ‘A quick fix to a wobble-leg curse is to drink the bile of a bison for a full month until the new moon,’” Jaehwan reads aloud. “That can’t be true.”
Taekwoon doesn’t answer, watching from behind his counter.
Jaehwan shoves the book back into place. “Conclusion: I don’t believe it.” And he announces the next week when he comes in, “I still don’t believe it, and you are a liar. There is no such thing as a wobble-legs curse. I looked it up.”
Taekwoon comes out from the back room, peeling the thin curtains back so he can slip through. “Doing your homework now?” Taekwoon finds that he doesn’t mind Jaehwan’s visits, and he hasn’t seen Hakyeon or Sanghyuk since the last time both were in here, and business is slow these days, and Jaehwan is really the only one who takes an interest in what he can offer.
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.” Jaehwan glances side-long at Taekwoon. “What’s a warlock like you do to keep himself busy? Every time I come in here, it’s empty.”
“It’s, uh,” Taekwoon swallows, “the fall season. I always get slow. Winter will get better. When people start dying.”
“Oh.”
“And getting cursed. It just…works out like that.”
Taekwoon’s afraid he might’ve said something wrong, because Jaehwan looks mildly uncomfortable, shoving his hands in his pockets and bouncing his weight form foot to foot. “But, yeah, what do you like, Taekwoon?”
Taekwoon gave away his name one or two visits ago, and he can’t say he regrets it. “I like to read.”
“Reading.”
“And friends.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere; let me be your friend?” Jaehwan asks so suddenly, and Taekwoon recoils, taking his hands off the counter, curling them at his sides. “Consider me to be a friend?”
“And,” Taekwoon begins, slow and unsure. “Why would you want to be considered as my friend?”
Jaehwan looks honest, clear eyes and a face bright, but it all overlays something not so bright, not so friendly. Taekwoon can tell. He wonders what exactly has Jaehwan’s faced, if it feels like drowning to him, but he doesn’t ask. Taekwoon has plenty of his own sunken memories that he’d rather not drag back to the surface.
“Because I want to be,” Jaehwan answers. It’s simple, of course. “You’re cool, anyway. I’ve never met a warlock -- not like this, not on my own -- and I find you funny.”
Taekwoon doesn’t think of himself as particularly humorous; Hakyeon has always said that he has a penchant for hilarity as a rodent has a penchant for flying.
“You find me funny?” His fingers, where they’re curled into his sweat-shirt sleeves, pick at the worn out cuffs, and he fidgets with Jaehwan’s praise on his mind.
The Shadowhunter smiles, eyes crinkling, and Taekwoon feels like his heart has sprouted a pair of wings. “Very much so.”
And that’s that.
+++
Hakyeon bursts into Taekwoon’s shop feeling breathless and put roughly back together. He feels dissected and burnt, infected. “Taekwoon.” He sucks in a breath and calls louder, “Taekwoon.”
The warlock in question peeks out from his back room, curtains parting around him, wide-eyed and looking unaware then very aware at Hakyeon’s sudden appearance. “What’s wrong?”
“Sanghyuk. Where is he?”
Taekwoon shrugs. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”
Hakyeon growls, and he can detect his magic pinging around inside his body, looking for an excuse to be used. He takes a deep breath. “He’s always hanging around here….”
The curtains swish as Taekwoon comes fully out. The sweatshirt he wears is big on him, sleeves hanging past his fingertips, the knees of his pants worn through with holes -- he always dresses so dumpy. “He’s not here, Hakyeon.”
Hakyeon lets Taekwoon’s words bounce around in his head and digests them slowly. “Okay.” He clamps down on his back teeth. “Okay.”
“Is everything alright?” Taekwoon walks a little toward the him, and the raven-haired, pale-skinned man is taller than Hakyeon, but right now, Hakyeon towers and Taekwoon’s just the fourteen-year old dripping wet child that begged him for a night’s stay. Hakyeon feels inflated.
He moves forward and grips Taekwoon by his shoulders. “No. Taekwoon, he’s been lying to me. He said he’s been coming here when he’s not with me, but you’re saying he hasn’t been here in how long?”
“W-weeks. It’s been weeks.” Taekwoon’s eyes flash, and Hakyeon also recognizes that. “Hakyeon, that hurts--”
With a grunt, Hakyeon lets Taekwoon go. “He’s lying to me, keeping things from me -- does he think I’m stupid?”
“Hakyeon, you need to talk to me.”
Hakyeon’s silken robes slip and fall around his shoulders, the hem whispering against the wooden floor planks. He grabs handfuls of his hair. “Sanghyuk, can’t just….”
“He’s fine,” Taekwoon assures. “He’s not a kid, Hakyeon. He can take care of himself.”
Hakyeon feels his sparks fly out of his fingers, and he knows they do because of Taekwoon’s expression. “I don’t care, Taekwoon,” he seethes. “I don’t care; the fact is that he has the Sight. Anyone can look at him and realize that. If something happens to him….” Hakyeon trails off, feeling his voice start to break, and tries to keep it in. Taekwoon just stares at him. “They’ll take him. Someone’ll take him, and he’s not ready for that, for any of this; Taekwoon, he’s not ready.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Hakyeon takes a deep breath in and tries to regain his fractured composure. It’s been a long time since that’s been intact, but day to day, he strives to keep up appearances. He takes another breath. “Let me know if you see him. I’m going into the city to look. I have no idea why he’s…he’s keeping secrets, but I haven’t seen him for two days, and so help me if something’s happened.”
Hakyeon strides to the shop door and doesn’t look back to see if Taekwoon’s watching. He grimaces. Taekwoon, for all he’s worth, is incapable of most things. He’s a shoddy replacement for the Shadowhunters to go through as the city’s resident warlock -- whatever will they do -- but that’s half the reason Hakyeon took him in and coddled him.
Sanghyuk, however…he’s different.
Sanghyuk has a gift; he’s mundane but can see Hakyeon and the Shadow World without much trouble at all. His eyes pierce through most glamours, and more than that his will is strong. Hakyeon’s never seen a brighter mundane, and he’s never felt his heart beat as it does around him.
But Sanghyuk is his. His Sight is rare in these days when warlocks and Nephilim are rare as well, and Hakyeon knows all about the dangers that Sighted mundanes wander into. And Sanghyuk’s so good, dammit; there’s no doubt he’s in some sort of trouble. Sanghyuk is Hakyeon’s special, little mundane.
Hakyeon searches through the city, going to all the places Sanghyuk may be -- down by the river, up on the bridge, his house -- but he’s nowhere. There’s a little tug in the back of his head that keeps telling him to go home, and it’s not until after dark that he finally listens to himself, tears flowing freely down his face at this point. Sanghyuk isn’t anywhere. He’s nowhere.
A small group of vampires pass by Hakyeon on the street, but he doesn’t care if they stare at him and speculate about his issues. They’ll run and tell Minhyuk, no doubt. He swipes at his eyes, making a mess of himself. It’s only when he’s outside his door that he feels a shift, and the spells that lace his doorway talk to him. He can feel a second presence in his apartment, and he wrenches open the door with a smothered sob.
He dodges the piles of books and mess of papers to fling himself into his small kitchen and stops short when he sees Sanghyuk sitting on his counter, eating a sandwich. Sanghyuk opens his mouth to say something, but when he notices Hakyeon’s eyes, he jumps off the counter. “Are you--?”
Hakyeon takes him into a crushing hug, and Hakyeon, over the wails of the dead, cries things into Sanghyuk’s shirt. He’s not sure what’s coming out of his mouth, but he’s desperate, has this clawing urge inside him, and Hakyeon hurts. He hears it all out there.
And Sanghyuk’s scared. Hakyeon can tell by Sanghyuk’s shaking hands as he grasps Hakyeon’s back, and asks, “Hakyeon, what’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?”
Hakyeon feels a sensation similar to choking even though nothing’s blocking his airways. He just can’t get it together. “Where…where were you?”
“Me?” Sanghyuk sounds surprised. “I was at Taekwoon’s for a bit, but then I went home, and now I’m here. Why?”
Hakyeon stills in Sanghyuk’s arms, collecting his tears, and his anger comes back. There are these secrets that Sanghyuk keeps, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s Sanghyuk or Taekwoon who’s lying to him. When he looks up into Sanghyuk’s eyes, he doesn’t want to believe it, but it’s a little hard when Sanghyuk’s leaning in to press a comforting kiss to his forehead.
“It’s alright,” Sanghyuk assures him. “I’m alright; there’s nothing to be worried about.”
Hakyeon bites his lower lip and tries to lose himself in Sanghyuk’s arms. Of course. It’s alright.
NEXT