Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Falling domino
Crossing, All or Never
The inevitable choice that is coming
Let’s go to the top; we’ll get there

When Jongho is ten years old, he wants to be a superhero.

Most children do. Magic users make up a small percentage of the world, about as rare as green eyes and orange hair, and the magic users that have an ability that can change the world become superheroes, inevitably.

Growing up in Seoul, where there are millions of people and a handful of superheroes, Jongho watches the skies with starry eyes like Whirlwind himself will blow through. Like one day, he’ll see those white ribbons flying behind the superhero, porcelain mask fixed to his face, eyes alight with determination to save the people of Seoul.

Jongho dreams of flying. He dreams of touching the stars and the clouds, and he dreams of being written into the comic books he always sees at the grocery store.

He wonders if he’ll be able to fly, or if he’ll be able to conjure fire in his hands, or if he’ll be able to grow flowers all around him with one touch. He wonders if he’ll be able to talk with the stray cats he sees after school, or if he’ll be able to teleport straight home to help Mom with Jaeho.

And Jaeho—precious, innocent Jaeho, with wide, sparkling eyes that always look at Jongho like he is his world—will he be able to see the future? Will he be able to break his high chair with one kick?

Jongho laughs when he thinks that. And Jaeho giggles, too, because he always laughs when Jongho laughs.

And when Jongho is ten years old, he believes in things like soulmates and shooting stars.

Mom tells him that shooting stars are little miracles in the sky, twinkling patiently, beautifully, little handfuls of magic that anyone can have.

Jaeho is four, still not talking past half-babbles, and Mom worries over it but Jongho doesn’t know why because he can still communicate with Jaeho fine; he just does it a little differently. 

After all, Jaeho understands shooting stars. When Jongho points to the few stars visible in the smog of Seoul, Jaeho claps his chubby hands and giggles, babbling and bouncing in place, pointing to Jongho.

“Me?” Jongho says with a laugh, pointing at himself. “Why?”

And Jaeho points back at the sky, looking proud of himself, like he made a great connection. And Jongho doesn’t get it, but the stars reflect in his brother’s eyes and his dimples peek out of his cheeks, and Jongho finds that he doesn’t care.

Jongho takes care of Jaeho often, dedicating his free time after school to cook with him and read him tales of famous superheroes to ease him into sleep.

Mom doesn’t come home until long after dark, when Jongho’s eyes can’t stay open anymore despite how stubbornly he’d stare at the front door of their apartment. He wakes up curled around his brother, though he always remembers putting him to bed in their room and not on the couch.

Usually, it’s just him and Jaeho. Mom either works or is too tired to give them anything more than gentle smiles that never reach her eyes. And Jongho is only ten, but he believes in shooting stars and he wants to be a superhero, because maybe then he’ll be able to keep the stars in his little brother’s eyes and put stars back into Mom’s.

It isn’t until he is eleven when the stars in his own eyes fade, too.

When he is eleven, his classmates start showing signs of their magic. There are only a couple, one in his class and another in a grade below.

“Jungmo has magic,” Jongho says one day, when Mom is home and is able to cobble together a humble serving of kimchi jjigae. “He can find anything he loses! And Sihyeon-ssi accidentally burned Ssaem! Will I really not get anything?”

“Jongho-yah,” Mom says with one of the smiles that Jongho doesn’t get, “you don’t need something like that. Magic is beautiful, but we have everything we need right here.”

“But Mom!” Jongho huffs, shoveling more rice into Jaeho’s mouth before looking at her again. “Wouldn’t it be cool if I did have magic? Then I could save a bunch of people and get money by using my magic and-”

Mom sighs and leans over the table to reach for his face, stroking his cheek with eyes that are always so unreadable.

“My Jongho, you are perfect. There is nothing I’d change.”

Jongho pouts and looks away, leaning away from her because she says things like that often and it’s gross. “But magic is so cool! C’mon, if you could choose, what do you think I’d have?”

And he looks at her with wide, sparkling eyes, full of wishes and wants and prayers, of dreams and wonderings and—

“Nothing, Jongho. Nothing.”

“What?” Jongho blinks.

“My sweet, you weren’t born with runes,” she says, still smiling softly, like she finds him funny. “If you don’t have runes, you don’t have magic.”

“Oh.”

“Jongho-yah.” She laughs and squeezes his cheeks, and it hurts but Jongho says nothing. “Did you not know? I suppose I never told you. On your shoulders, there will be runes that show what magic you have. And you don’t have them, baby.”

Mom pulls away from him, then, and spoons tofu into Jaeho’s mouth and smiles at him like she hadn’t plucked all of the shooting stars out of the sky.

Jongho never mentions the patch of skin that’s missing from his shoulders.

-

Jongho is athletic. He doesn’t need magic to break apples in half or win every arm wrestling match. He played soccer when he was younger and he thinks he has a pretty good throwing arm, but as he runs down the twists and turns of familiar alleys, he thinks that maybe he’s skipped one too many leg days.

He can still hear shouting behind him, hear the curses and whines of the heroes that decided to be more of a pain in the ass than usual.

It was meant to be a simple mission—give the other HALA branch the goods, whatever those goods are, and leave. Jongho had to sneak through the alleys of Seoul in the middle of a hot summer night in a fucking black hoodie and jacket for this shit. He had to walk all the way to a parking lot by the Han river, like it’s not already a conspicuous location, and count shipment after shipment until the numbers blurred together.

It’s probably reaching one in the morning now. And instead of sleeping in his bed after engulfing two cup ramyeons, he’s being chased by idiots, which means he’s killing his feet even more tonight.

“Do we really have to keep chasing them?”

It’s obviously Crow, because the voice is high and irritable and fucking annoying, in Jongho’s very humble opinion. Out of all the heroes under ATZ, he’s the one that Jongho would like to fight the most.

He and Black Cat, actually, now that he thinks about it. They’re both shapeshifters, and they always seem to inadvertently annoy Jongho on missions. He doesn’t think they know his face, much less his name, but after the hundreds of plans the two have foiled just by themselves, Jongho has gotten very familiar with them. Too familiar, really.

Crow is the more playful of the two; he doesn’t seem to take things as seriously as Black Cat does. But when the two are in the right mood, well, Jongho can confidently say his boss has sat on more whoopee cushions than he thought possible.

“Yes, idiot! The henchmen are our only lead!”

Henchmen? For fuck’s sake, really? Is there anything more insulting?

Jongho purses his lips under his mask, trying to quell the rush of rage that overtakes him. It is true to an extent, and that is what makes him angry. He doesn’t want to answer to a faceless boss, doesn’t want to risk his life for every mission he’s sent out on, but he needs the money.

His legs strain with every step, and he feels the blisters on his heels rubbing against his shoes, and his head is about to split from how hard it pounds behind his eyes, but he can’t afford to stop now.

Because, sure, he’s in cahoots with HALA, the leading organization of supervillains, and yeah, he’s been fighting in the underground ring since he was fourteen, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be killed, right?

When Crow and Black Cat first busted the “exchange of goods,” as Jongho’s boss put it, he was in an entire crowd of coworkers. They scattered once someone raised the alarm at the sight of heroes, and Jongho remembers running off with three other people. The alleys of Seoul are discreet, but they’re still public, so surely—

Suddenly, there’s a body careening into him, something cracking on impact. The world spins around him as the ground leaves his feet, and his vision blacks out when he slams against a wall, the breath shooting out of his lungs and making him see stars. His head pounds and he can’t seem to find his balance, and he can’t seem to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened, oh my god, holy shit—

Buzzing fills his ears as an ache ignites in his stomach and shoulder, burning red hot, and he has to bite his lip to stifle a whimper. Everything feels so heavy, and there’s a sharp pain in his stomach and the telltale twinge of broken ribs and something bruised, and he can still only see black, fuck, did he go blind—

He forces his eyes open, and as he fights through the dizziness and black spots that immediately bloom across his vision, he sees the back of a coworker running away, black outfit disappearing behind a corner.

Fuck. Fuck.

He tries to stand, but an abrupt wave of nausea and pain sends him right back down. He wheezes out a choked breath and reaches for his stomach on instinct. When he feels something warm coat his fingers, he suddenly feels cold.

He doesn’t remember getting stabbed. He thinks he’d remember something like that. He’d been running perfectly fine, and it was only a peaceful exchange of materials between branches. Did he somehow get stabbed by something when he fell? It had all happened so fast when- when his coworker—

Oh.

He sighs and it hurts. He tilts his head up, still putting all of his weight on the wall behind him. He hears the voices of the heroes coming closer, and he wonders if maybe he could pass as an innocent civilian. He doubts it.

HALA attire consists of a black hat and a full-coverage plastic mask that has an obnoxious neon face doodled onto it in paint pens. Jongho has always found it stupid, considering the point of a mask is to fade into the background, not call attention, but he digresses. He’s the one bleeding out in an alley, so maybe the higher-ups do know better.

“Damn, did you see how they fast they ran? It was kind of impressive, honestly.”

“Focus, dude. We need to bring back something.”

Despite how the world swims around him, Jongho grits his teeth and uses his good shoulder to inch up the wall, using it as a crutch to stand. He feels like a newborn fawn about to collapse, but it’s better than waiting for certain death.

It’s not uncommon for a scapegoat to be left behind, to bleed out and die to take heroes off of their tracks. Jongho just thought his years of experience, his reputation, might’ve counted for something.

As he sees his own blood spill out from him and splash onto the concrete, he supposes it doesn’t.

He still has a chance, though. He has to. He grew up in these alleys, after all, and he’s helped with mapping escape routes. There’s a dead end further up ahead, but if he’s able to scale the gate that’s on the right, then maybe—

“Oh, what the fuck? There’s someone right here!”

Jongho doesn’t know if he wants to scream or cry. Probably both.

Part of him wants to run, but the other part of him—the one that has kept him alive this long—says that the second he steps away from the wall, he’ll eat shit. Better to act casual.

“Shit, I think they’re bleeding!”

Can Jongho not have this one thing? Just this one before he dies? Is he seriously going to get killed by a coworker and die in front of the two fuckers he hates the most?

He wants to be angry. But he can feel the numbness creeping up his body, silencing the pain and dragging down his eyelids, and—

He just wants to see his brother. He wants to cup his cheeks one last time, wants to stare into his twinkling eyes and see how wide he smiles, see how deep his dimples are. He wants to tell him the puns he has no one else to tell. He wants to leave Seoul to see the stars better, and he wants to tell his brother about them.

“Hey, hey, are you awake? Hello?”

Jongho’s eyes flutter, the pounding in his head so loud that it almost overtakes the voice. He can’t figure out who it belongs to.

“I need to take off your mask, I’m really sorry, I just-”

He tells himself to raise his arms, to push away the hands that reach for him, but his body isn’t listening to him anymore. His eyes close right as he feels the night breeze kiss his cheeks, and he sees a glimpse of black hair and a mole under an eye before his brain stops working with him, too.

-

When Jongho’s eyes open, he’s met with an ache so terrible he shuts them again.

It’s all around his skull, pounding with its own sort of heartbeat and ringing in his ears. He feels trapped, his chest tight and abdomen compressed. He thinks his legs have gone numb. He’s warm, though, and decidedly not bleeding out.

“-not a good idea!”

“Well, what did you want us to do? Leave him out there to die?”

“It complicates things-”

“What kind of heroes would we be if we did that?”

“Smart ones!”

“Hyung, you’re being ridiculous!”

He recognizes one of the voices as Crow, though there isn’t anything lighthearted in the way he talks now. He speaks with conviction and frustration, like he’s begging the other person to understand him.

Jongho isn’t stupid. He knows who they’re talking about.

“Will you two be quiet?” A new voice says, and if it wasn’t so close, Jongho doubts he would’ve heard it. “He’s waking up.”

“Good! We can ask him some questions, then-”

“No. Absolutely not,” the soft voice says, resolute. “I’m not letting you yell at a boy that just came back from the dead.”

What?

“Why are you being so dramatic, Hwa? It’s just a few-”

“No. Leave.”

There’s the sound of shuffling and quiet grumblings before a door shuts.

“They’re gone,” the voice (Hwa?) says, more gentle now.

Jongho cracks his eyes open, wincing at the light that floods in from the ceiling. He huffs and blinks, trying to push through how his head only seems to pound more. He can only see white.

“Oh, is it too bright?”

There’s a click that turns the light off, and with a few blinks to adjust, Jongho finally looks around.

It’s a small room with medical equipment stuffed onto the shelves and a small window under the ceiling. The only light comes from the lamp on the desk perpendicular to the bed Jongho is lying in, and in the chair beside it sits a man.

He’s pretty, and he’s looking at Jongho so kindly that his skin crawls. He has dark eyes and even darker hair, an earring dangling from his ear, and he’s wearing a shiny pink bomber jacket that could easily be three sizes too big.

“Hi,” the man says with a smile, eyes curling with it as he bows.

Jongho dips his head back in an awkward greeting. It only serves to aggravate his head further.

“I’m Song,” the man says, folding his hands together over his crossed legs. “I’m with ATZ. Crow and Black Cat found you along Dongsan-ro and took you here so we could look over you. Are you feeling better?”

Dongsan? He ran further than he thought.

Jongho nods, because other than the migraine that makes him want to pull out his brain, he feels nothing.

Curious, he looks down to see his torso is wrapped in bandages. Whoever took his clothes off was nice enough to put his jacket back on, at least. And he thinks his pants are the same. Still, he has no mask and no hat, and that makes him compromised.

“Oh, I’m glad!” Song grins. “You came in with three broken ribs, a bruised shoulder, and a pretty serious stab wound. And a concussion, which I’m sure you’re still feeling. You weren’t asleep for long, thankfully.”

Jongho can only stare. He’s waiting for the ball to drop, for Song to announce his recovery will be in prison with the other supervillains and their henchmen. He’ll be locked up for the rest of his life, and he’ll have to prove his worth all over again, to both villains and guards, and his reputation underground will mean nothing.

It doesn’t matter that he’s the best non-magic underground fighter. It doesn’t matter that he’s had to pull himself up from nothing over and over again. It’s naïve to think anyone will care in a place like the Hongje Penitentiary, where all the guards have magic and the building has precautions built into it.

“What should we call you?” Song asks, voice still soft and still kind, and Jongho is still confused.

“Jongho.”

“Jongho,” Song repeats, like he’s trying out the sound of it, and something flips in Jongho’s stomach as he watches. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jongho-ssi. You’ll be staying here while you recover, if that’s all right with you.”

Jongho blinks cluelessly.

“Oh! Sorry, I forgot you don’t really know where you are.” Song covers his mouth with a hand, sheepish. “We’re in Anyang—Manan, if you’re familiar? Crow flew you here with Black Cat. It’s not really safe to bring you to headquarters.”

Jongho is not familiar. He’s never left Seoul.

“You haven’t killed me yet,” he says. An observation.

Song startles, blinking owlishly, smile dropping to be replaced by a frown.

“What? Why- no! Did the Captain say something to you? He’s just overprotective, sometimes just plain stupid-”

“Why haven’t you killed me?” Jongho asks, because he’s curious.

Jongho is expendable. He’s strong and he’s capable, but he is not a leader. At the end of the day, he is no different than a coworker, nothing more than blades of grass on a lawn in the eyes of their branch leaders. It’s why he was thrown by the wayside to act as a roadblock for the heroes.

He’s eager to climb to the top, to grasp the power that he needs to survive, and he’ll push himself up again like he’s done before. This ambition is what has kept him alive; it’s what puts him at the top of the underground leaderboards and what placed him in HALA’s ranks to begin with.

He is no hero. He’s cold, and ruthless, and dark, and- and-

Why is Song looking at him like that?

“Do you think you deserve that?”

Jongho stares. His heart trembles.

Deserve. Does he deserve death? Does he deserve being stabbed by a coworker? Do innocent civilians deserve to be treated as pawns in a game of heroes and villains?

There is no point in questioning justice and fairness. Jongho learned that a long time ago. Justice is a pipe dream, in the same category as soulmates and shooting stars.

Did his brother deserve the life he was given? Did he deserve to be swept away from all that he’s known? Did he have to be taken from him? Did, did, did—

“It doesn’t matter,” Jongho says, because it doesn’t.

“I think it does.” Song’s brow furrows, lips taut. “You haven’t given us a reason to think you deserve something like that.”

“Is the mask not enough for you?”

Song’s eyes study him. He feels like he’s getting picked apart.

“No, it’s not.”

“Your Captain seems to think so.”

Song smiles, then, but it’s humorless and nothing about this is funny.

“The Captain thinks a lot of things,” he says. “But he agreed to have you stay here. They all did. Once you recover, we’ll talk.”

“And how long will that take?”

“We don’t have any healers,” Song says, glancing away before looking back. “So you’ll have to heal naturally. Your ribs and shoulder will only take about four to five weeks, but they’ll do that on their own. Your abdomen, however…”

Song leans forward. Jongho flinches back on instinct, but he can’t move far anyway. The hero doesn’t seem to mind, as he only points to a spot just above his ribs, where there’s already the beginnings of blood seeping into the bandage.

“It almost punctured an organ, but not quite. Still, it’s deep, and it will take a long time to heal fully. You- you were pretty lucky, to be honest.” Song can’t meet his eyes. “We had to resuscitate you, and we don’t have a machine for that, so it was risky. I’m glad it worked.”

“How did you resuscitate me without a machine? Did you use magic?”

“The Captain did,” Song says as he leans back, eyes on the clock on the wall. 4:44.

Right. The Captain of ATZ has electricity magic. And Song- well, Jongho doesn’t know much about him. He’s one of the ones that doesn’t go out on missions, which includes busting the plans of HALA. Jongho was under the impression that he was a healer, but maybe not. Or Song just lied about not having them.

“You didn’t say how long it’d take to recover,” Jongho says, unflinching.

Song fidgets with a flap on his jacket. “It could be anywhere from one to eight months.”

Jongho’s blood goes cold.

He’ll have to stay with heroes for half a year. He’ll have to be restricted to this house in Anyang, away from the underground ring and the smog and the familiar alleys and—

And he won’t be able to see Jaeho.

“You can’t get healers?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Song frowns, and he really does look apologetic. “We don’t have one on our team, so we have to call for one. And even though we don’t think you deserve to be thrown in jail or killed or whatever else, it’s hard to say for… others.”

Jongho looks down, feels the familiar burn at the back of his throat as he tries to will away the wetness behind his eyes. He can’t cry. Not here.

“It just wouldn’t be safe,” Song says. “My magic might help with cleaning wounds, and I have some medical experience, so I’ll help as much as I can, but that’s it. The others might try and get more supplies if you need it.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’”

“Why are you helping me?” Jongho asks, narrowing his eyes. He looks over Song like he’ll find the answer hidden in his eyelashes. “What do you want?”

“Jongho-ssi,” Song starts, voice even softer, “should there be something I want from you? I was training to be a nurse before I became a hero. What you wear and what you look like doesn’t matter. You’re hurt and we want to help you. It's as simple as that.”

Song says it like it’s a fundamental truth, like it’s as simple as the sky being blue or the sun being bright. Like there isn’t anything less or anything more to it. And yet, Jongho still doesn’t understand.

There’s the muffled sound of fumbling footsteps outside and a door opening and closing. There are voices yelling back and forth before—

“Hyung! Are you done yet?” Crow. Of course.

“We want to see him!” Black Cat adds, excited.

Jongho turns around, expecting to see them clad in their superhero outfits with their signature masks. Instead, he sees two men with sparkling eyes and dark hair, one of them peeking over the other’s shoulder to look into the room. No cat ears, no gaudy feathers. Just people.

“Aw! You look so cute when you’re not bleeding everywhere!” Crow coos, stepping inside. Black Cat follows close behind.

Jongho only frowns, unimpressed.

“You really scared us for a second there,” Black Cat says with an easy grin. “Of course our hyungs got you all better in no time!”

“I’m going to have to stay here for a few months,” Jongho says flatly. “And I am currently bleeding through this bandage.”

“Oh.” Black Cat pauses, and Crow’s smile fades. “That’s not very fun. Do you need help changing it?”

He’s moving towards Jongho before he finishes asking, and with a soft grunt, Jongho moves further back until he’s against the wall behind him, knees pulled towards his chest. His breaths stutter as his ribs shift.

“Hey, hey, don’t sit like that, Jongho-ssi!” Song is quick to say, rushing out of his chair. He reaches out to touch him, but he stops when he sees Jongho’s wide eyes. “Relax your stomach, okay? Your ribs are still broken. Try not to move them.”

Jongho nods and slowly lets his legs relax back onto the bed, feeling a sharp pain when he shifts into a more comfortable position. He bites his lip and doesn’t look at any of the heroes watching his every move, careful to preserve the dignity he still has.

“So your name is Jongho?” Crow asks when the silence stretches on.

Jongho hums in confirmation, glancing at him before meeting Song’s eyes to nod at the roll of bandages on the desk. The hero easily understands, moving it closer to him without touching his hand.

“That’s cool! I’m Wooyoung!” Crow says with a glowing smile, eyes curling into crescents. The way it pulls at his cheeks emphasizes the mole under his eye.

“And I’m San,” Black Cat says.

Jongho pauses his unwrapping to look at them. “Should you be telling me your actual names?”

“You told us yours, didn’t you?” Wooyoung says.

“Maybe I lied.” Jongho returns his focus to the bandages, deft fingers pulling and rolling as they have many times before. The sight of blood doesn’t disgust him like it used to.

“I don’t think you did, though! I’m a pretty good judge of character, you know,” Wooyoung says, and San nods very seriously beside him, arm slung over his shoulders.

“Your hyung didn’t tell me his,” Jongho says.

“Hyung!” Wooyoung gasps. “We’ve talked about this! Your name is very pretty, you need to get it out there-”

“The Captain has been wanting us to be more discreet, Wooyoung-ah,” Song says tiredly. “I didn’t want to hear his nagging for the sixth time today.”

“You should be glad you weren’t awake when we brought you in, Jongho-ssi,” San says, and on instinct, his name has Jongho raising his head to look at him. “Our Captain hyung was pissed! I think he was just worried about Youngie being covered in blood more than anything, but whew, the things he said-”

“He threatened my life like ten times in sixty seconds, it was incredible!” Wooyoung says, and he sounds starstruck as he laughs. “He called you a stray over and over, which is kind of funny since Sannie’s whole thing is being a cat, but-”

“I tried so hard not to laugh when he said that!”

“Mingi offered to throw you out, but then the Captain started calling him crazy for even thinking of doing that,” Song says, giggling with the others now. “And we all know Mingi-yah would never do that, but the panic on Hongjoongie’s face-”

“Right?” Wooyoung laughs harder, head digging into San’s neck but he doesn’t seem to care. Jongho realizes how he got his superhero name when his voice pitches higher with every laugh.

Despite himself, Jongho has to fight a smile as he wraps new bandages around his abdomen. It hurts to move his arms so awkwardly, but this isn’t the first time he’s broken a few ribs or wrapped bandages around his torso. The amount of blood he has to wipe away is concerning, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

“Jongho-ssi, here, let me help you,” Song suddenly says, and it’s almost inaudible through the others’ laughter.

Jongho is about to refuse, about to scoot back so he doesn’t get touched, but Song’s eyes light up a soft powder blue before he can. With a turn of his hand, droplets of water form on Jongho’s stomach.

Jongho shivers, goosebumps spreading over his skin as the water drips down over the wound. The droplets twist and rise back up as if put in reverse, gentle as they move. It doesn’t take long for them to be stained pink.

“Whoa! It’s not nearly as bad as before!” Wooyoung shouts, and when Jongho looks up, he’s surprised to see how closely he’s shoved his face towards him.

Hesitantly, Jongho raises his hand towards Wooyoung to push him back with his index finger, digging his fingertip into his forehead.

“Personal space, please,” Jongho says, smiling to himself when the hero whines and puts his hands to his head.

“Ow! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”

San snickers, pointing at Wooyoung as he laughs. Song smiles to himself as he finishes cleaning Jongho’s wound, leaning back and closing his fist with a flourish to dissipate the water. The blue in his eyes fades.

Jongho watches, blinking in amazement. He’s seen superheroes his entire life, of course, and he’d stopped getting starstruck years ago—superheroes mean trouble now; he never has time to ogle at their magic—but he’s never seen it up close. A small part of him is impressed, even though Song barely lifted a finger.

“It does look better than before,” Song says, studying the gash on Jongho’s abdomen. “It’s not bleeding as much now. Go ahead and wrap it, Jongho-ssi, and then rest. You only slept for three hours.”

Jongho nods and does as he’s told. He’s taken orders for the better part of four years; it’s easy to simply do. His concussion exhausts him, anyway, as he can feel his eyelids getting heavier.

“You two,” Song continues, turning to look at Wooyoung and San. “Sleep. You’ve been up for too long, and I don’t want you passing out later.”

“I passed out on a mission once—”

“Wooyoung,” Song says, his tone a warning.

“Fine, fine! We’re going!” Wooyoung pouts, pulling San with him to the door.

Before they leave, his eyes shift to Jongho and he brightens. “Good night, Jongho-ssi! We’ll see you later!”

“Hope you feel better!” San calls, waving like he’s known Jongho his entire life. He gives one last dimpled smile before the door shuts behind them.

Jongho stares. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone like the two of them.

“They can be a lot,” Song says, chuckling. “They mean well, though. Just enthusiastic.”

Jongho says nothing, instead finishing up wrapping the bandages. Song doesn’t seem to mind the silence as he organizes the things on his desk with practiced familiarity, like he’s done it millions of times before. By the time Jongho is done, Song is picking up a bag with an hourglass keychain fastened to the strap.

“I’ll give you some space now,” he says with a smile, standing by the door. “I’ll check in on you later, but I’ll knock, I promise. I’ll be in the room that’s at the end of the hall.”

Jongho nods. He’s not sure what to say.

“Have a nice sleep, Jongho-ssi. And…” Song pauses, halfway outside. He meets Jongho’s eyes. “You can call me Seonghwa, okay? Good night.”

The door shuts with a soft click.

Jongho stares at the door, something tight in his chest that refuses to unravel. His throat feels like it’s being squeezed, feels like there’s cotton stuffed down into his esophagus. He can still breathe, though with his broken ribs, there’s a sharp twinge with each breath.

Eventually, he looks down. The blanket he’s been given is soft, a patterned quilt with squares of yellow and blue. He runs his hands over it, feels the stitching, thinks it’s homemade. He wonders if one of the heroes made it.

He feels bad when a tear soaks one of the powder blue squares. It darkens as it spreads, and soon, more drops are darkening the quilt, and Jongho—

Jongho is overwhelmed. Because- because—

Somehow, every hero he met tonight has had stars in their eyes.

Heroes don’t get stars in their eyes. Heroes lose the stars when they realize the sky is deaf and blind, just like everyone else. Heroes believe they’re the shooting stars, that they are the ones that grant wishes and make miracles. But all they do is run along the rooftops and flit through the smog of Seoul, parading as miracle workers when all they use their magic for is public displays of power.

Jongho has seen Firebomb light up the sky with her own fireworks as a woman gets mugged right below her. He’s seen Journey run though the city at unfathomable speeds to race a teleporter in training when a bank was robbed the next street over. He’s seen Hop gather a crowd to show them how high he can jump, people trampling over each other to see him.

Heroes don’t care about people. Jongho learned that a long time ago.

And yet…

He looks at his bandages, ghosts his hand over where he was stabbed. If he thinks hard enough, he can still imagine the feeling of Seonghwa’s water. It wasn’t too cold and it wasn’t too hot, like he had intentionally made it more—

No.

Jongho digs his teeth into his bottom lip and tightens his jaw, fists clenching. He stares down at the quilt, wills away the useless thoughts about who might’ve made it. It doesn’t matter.

Despite how tightly he squeezes his eyes shut, sleep is difficult to find.

-

It’s a knock that pushes Jongho out of his dreams.

Immediately, he’s awake, sitting up so quickly that he chokes on a pained breath when his ribs move. His abdomen feels worse, too, a quiet ache that hurts more when he pays attention to it.

As he rubs at his eyes to get sleep out of them, mumbling something indecipherable that equates to permission to enter, the door opens to reveal Seonghwa and someone Jongho doesn’t recognize.

He’s a smaller man, with a shock of messy red hair that looks frizzy even though there’s no humidity in the room. His eyes, though, are dark and attentive, posture wide and proud, like he’ll fill the space with his presence alone. With how much sparkly jewelry he has and how one of his hands is wrapped in gauze, he just might.

Seonghwa, oddly enough, seems to fit next to him despite how differently he presents himself. He’s relaxed, with a single dainty earring and white blouse as opposed to the man’s baggy tee and bright yellow bucket hat.

“Hello, Jongho-ssi,” Seonghwa says with a gentle smile as he lets the stranger walk in first. “This is our Captain. He wanted to ask you some things.”

Ah. Jongho has been waiting for the niceties to drop.

Jongho turns his eyes to the Captain and bows his head awkwardly. He can feel his head pounding again, but everyone here is probably older than him, so it’s proper to bow regardless. And they are certainly higher in status in other ways.

The Captain, despite the frown on his face, bows back before saying, “I know you had a rough night, Jongho-ssi, but it’s important that you tell me anything you can, all right?”

He’s nicer than Jongho was expecting. Brusque, maybe, but he was expecting an interrogation with, like, intense lights and staring and shit, so this is much better.

“I’ll answer what I can,” Jongho says.

The Captain actually smiles at that, even if it doesn’t totally reach his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, sitting at the end of the bed with his legs crossed. Not very professional, but Jongho isn’t complaining.

“We found you in the Seocho district, by Dongsan-ro. Do you mind telling us how you got there?”

Jongho looks down, quilt in between his fingers as he fidgets.

“Boss texted me to meet by the Han river at midnight,” he says, trying not to mumble. “In the Apgujeong district. I think it was by a department store, I don’t know. We just had to count shipments and then leave. We do it once a week, and sometimes I get picked to help and sometimes I don’t.”

The Captain hums and nods along, trying to smile gently but it doesn’t work to calm Jongho’s nerves. “So you’re in contact with someone in HALA?”

“Yes, but I’m sure it’d be hard to track, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Jongho looks up to frown at him. “I’ve never seen anyone. I don’t know my coworkers’ faces, and they don’t know mine. Boss just knows bank accounts and numbers.”

“Do they know your name?” The Captain’s face has changed, his eyebrows furrowed, something like concern in his eyes, but Jongho isn’t sure.

“Boss probably does.” Jongho shrugs. “I don’t know about anyone else. We don’t really talk. At least, they don’t talk to me.”

“Why not?” Odd question.

“Don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I’ve been there the longest?” Jonho hums, considering his words. “I’m not very friendly, I guess. And they know me from the fighting ring, so they could just be afraid of me.”

“There’s a fighting ring?” The Captain’s eyebrows raise now, and he’s leaned forward a bit. He has stars in his eyes, too.

Jongho nods. “I’ve been going there for five years. HALA hired me to work for them after I got into the top thirty, which took me about a year to do. I’ve been working for them ever since.”

“Do you think you could tell us where the fighting ring is?”

Jongho frowns. “No, I’m sorry, Captain-ssi.”

He waits for the debilitating disappointment, the resulting anger that will burst through the air, the lightning strikes and the sparks and the crackling—

“Ah, that’s too bad.” The Captain shifts, pulling his knees to his chest to get more comfortable. He frowns a little but doesn’t look upset. “It’s okay. How about you tell us how you got nicked so badly that our Crow came in covered in your blood?”

Jongho has to fight looking down.

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” he starts with a dry half-laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was running away with the rest of my coworkers, and I guess Crow and Black Cat were getting too close, because-”

Jongho pauses, finds that it’s harder to say than he thought. He clears his throat.

“Someone needed to distract them so everyone else could get away,” he settles on, keeping his tone neutral. “So, yeah, I got stabbed by a coworker.”

“You-?” The Captain blinks. “You could’ve died, Jongho-ssi! You did die!”

“That’s the point, yes.”

The Captain’s face is dark, lips twisted into a scowl. From how much his jaw has tightened, he must be gritting his teeth, but Jongho doesn’t know why.

“Is that normal?” Seonghwa suddenly asks, and Jongho realizes the hero had taken a seat at his desk. He’s watching them with a frown, eyes unreadable.

“I’d say so,” Jongho says with a nod. “There’s a lot of… henchmen, as you guys put it, so we’re all expendable.”

Seonghwa gives the Captain a pointed look. Jongho doesn’t know what it means.

“So they don’t mind murdering the lot of you?” The Captain sounds incredulous, his words scathing.

“Of course not,” Jongho says, narrowing his eyes. He has to fight the annoyance bubbling in his chest. Heroes are heroes, after all. “Do you have any idea of what HALA does? Who works for them? We’re all vagrants in one way or another. It’s a job, and those are the risks.”

“If you died, then no one would’ve looked for you?” The Captain’s eyes are burning, electrified without magic. “Is that what you’re telling us, Jongho-ssi?”

Jongho falters, remembers twinkling eyes and giggling and—

“Yes,” he says, lifting his chin. “I’m by myself. There is no one.”

“No family?”

“No one,” Jongho says firmly. He doesn’t look away.

“It’s important that you stay here, then,” Seonghwa says. “I don’t know where you’re staying in Seoul, but you need consistent help to heal properly. At least until your wound closes.”

Jongho digs his teeth into his cheek, eyes sliding from the Captain to Seonghwa. He doesn’t want to leave Jaeho alone in Seoul. He visits him every other week, and he doesn’t want him to think Jongho abandoned him like their mother.

Seonghwa must see something in Jongho’s eyes because his eyes flash with an emotion Jongho doesn’t recognize.

“That’s enough interrogating, Hongjoong-ah,” he says to the Captain, who immediately balks at the name.

“Seong- Song! What is wrong with you? He’s right there-!”

“And he knows most of our names already.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up. “Calm down. What’s he going to do? Tell the press? You know no one actually cares about us or what we do.”

“For now,” Hongjoong says, scowling, but it turns into a pout when he meets Seonghwa’s eyes. He sighs. “Whatever. I’ll be back later.”

He unfolds his legs and leaves the bed, straightening his shirt and necklaces before he makes his way to the door.

“It was nice to meet you, Jongho-ssi,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought, before he shuts the door behind him.

Jongho frowns.

“He means well,” Seonghwa says, apologetic. “He’s just a bit… stressed.”

Jongho decides not to say that even though he’s been stressed for over half of his life, he doesn’t act like that.

“Here, let’s redress your wound.” Seonghwa pulls the chair over to the bed to sit closer, hands filled with a roll of bandages and a bottle of antibiotic ointment.

Jongho complies without a word, slowly sitting up straighter so he can unwrap his bandages. There’s a pang of hunger that makes him dig his teeth into his lip, but he says nothing. He’s gone without food before. He can do it again.

“So what family did you leave behind?” Seonghwa asks, simple and conversational like he has been, but the question sends a shot of adrenaline up Jongho’s spine.

“I’m not leaving him behind,” he bites back, defensive, before he realizes his mistake.

Seonghwa gives him a smile, the one he gave when they first met and said hello. It makes the features of his face soften.

“A brother, then?” he asks, taking the soiled bandages from Jongho. “What’s he like?”

His eyes shimmer blue again, and Jongho feels the droplets before he sees them this time.

“Why do you want to know?” Jongho eyes him, fists clenched, shoulders tense.

“I’m just curious.” Seonghwa shrugs, focuses on turning his hand so that the water flows just the right way. “I have a hyung back home. I was raised in a really small town, so we hung out a lot growing up. He’s a nurse.”

Jongho keeps quiet, studying him still, watching for any suspicious movements. It’s one thing for superheroes to know his name and his face, but his brother’s? No. Absolutely not.

“I wanted to be a nurse, too,” Seonghwa says. “Just like him. But then my magic unlocked when I was nineteen, and off to the Academy I went.”

He drops his hand and opens a drawer under the bed to take out a hand towel. He dabs at the wound, feather-light, but Jongho still has to stifle a wince.

“I didn’t really get a lot of medical training, to be honest,” Seonghwa says, smiling sheepishly, but it’s sad. “I learned most of it from my hyung. Usually when I scraped my knee or my hands, or something else, because I got hurt a lot back then. I’ve always been clumsy.”

He puts the roll of bandages and the antibiotic ointment on the bed, pushing it closer to Jongho to let him know he’s done.

Jongho hesitates, feels a weird tension in the air. Seonghwa seems a little spaced out now, but when he sees Jongho watching him, he gives a smile that only makes him look like he’s in pain.

“He’s my dongsaeng,” Jongho says, cautious with his words as he picks up the ointment. “I’ve always taken care of him. I practically raised him.”

Seonghwa hums, attentive but calm. “Is he alone now? Do you need to go to him?”

Jongho pauses, fingers wet with the antibiotic.

“He’s safe,” he says, continuing to apply the ointment despite how much it sends wave after wave of pain.

“Does he know you are?”

Jongho scoffs as he wipes the excess ointment onto the hand towel. “I never wasn’t safe.”

“So then-?”

“He knows nothing, Seonghwa-ssi,” Jongho says, meeting his eyes. “He’s thirteen.”

“And how old are you?”

Jongho eyes him warily as he finishes wrapping his torso. “I’m nineteen. Why?”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

“You’re younger than I thought,” he says, and his voice is even softer than it usually is. “Most of the team is twenty. You really were so prepared to die right there in the alley?”

“I didn’t choose to get stabbed,” Jongho says, huffing. “It just happened like that. I would’ve liked to see my little brother, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“No, you’re right.” Seonghwa nods, smiling that sad smile again. “Thank you for telling me about him, Jongho-ssi.”

“As much as I appreciate your help,” Jongho starts with a glare, “if anything happens to him because of any of you…”

“Of course, of course.” Seonghwa chuckles, eyes curling with something like fondness, and Jongho’s shoulders relax, heart warming for reasons he doesn’t understand. Seonghwa’s laugh reminds him of the Han river’s waves rising and falling, rippling under the moon, quiet and calm. He almost hears them, if he thinks hard enough.

He blames it on the recent memory of the river and not how when Seonghwa moves to tidy up his desk, he is as graceful as water.

“I’ll get you something to eat, all right? I’m sure Wooyoungie or Sannie will be here soon.”

As Jongho watches him leave, there’s a disappointment that twists his insides, though he doesn’t know why.

-

The next several days are consistent: Seonghwa comes in with Hongjoong to wash the gash on Jongho’s abdomen as the Captain asks him questions, and when he leaves, Wooyoung and San come in with a tray of food.

Jongho hasn’t met the others yet. He knows Fix, the superhero capable of producing barriers, but Jongho has heard nothing about him. The others talk about the rest of ATZ to fill the silence Jongho leaves, but they never use their superhero names, so Jongho isn’t sure who is who.

Regardless, Wooyoung and San are talkative enough that Jongho doesn’t think about how there are more superheroes in the house. They treat him like he’s just a person, a guest that they’ve welcomed with open arms. They smile easily, laugh even easier, and while Wooyoung has touched Jongho a few times, it’s clear it’s more instinctual than anything.

He apologizes each time with a bashful grin and wide eyes, bowing his head for good measure as he quickly leans away, and Jongho really, really appreciates it. More than he can say.

Touch is something Jongho has never liked. Growing up, he was given fleeting kisses and hugs from his mother, but those memories have gone cold now, buried in the back of his mind. He didn’t like it then, either, finding it more troublesome than it was worth. He’s always been energetic, constantly moving, constantly doing, and a hug only seemed to trap him in place.

Jaeho was different. As a baby, he’d clutch onto Jongho’s palm with tiny fingers and sparkly eyes, and Jongho could never shake his hold. Over time, Jongho has made his distaste for touch known, but Jaeho has always been the exception.

Jongho’s relationship with touch changed when he started fighting, though. After years of minimal touch, he grew familiar with punches and hits. He had to, or he never would’ve survived.

So no, Jongho doesn’t like touch. He never has. But his body seems to take it as a warning now, even if it’s a nudge or a pat on his shoulder.

All of the heroes take it in stride. They’re quick to move past Jongho’s flinches, only acknowledging them with alarmed blinks that fade to understanding before they continue to tell a story about how one of their teammates captured a frog (Mingi) only for someone to accidentally let it escape through the bathroom window (Yunho).

Jongho never smiles, even though Wooyoung’s crow laugh is extremely contagious and San’s storytelling skills are on another level. Jongho just watches them from the comfort of the bed, focused on every word.

And it’s funny, because Jongho isn’t listening for super secret intel for him to use later like he thought he would. He’s stopped paying attention to how they all move, like he’ll have to fight one of them and will need to know where a hit will hurt the most. He doesn’t know where their weak spots are, and he doesn’t want to.

He certainly doesn’t trust them, but he likes them to an extent. He likes watching them all smile and laugh and share silly stories. He likes seeing Wooyoung laugh until he snorts, and seeing San smile fondly at him and Seonghwa when they talk, and he likes seeing Seonghwa let go of his strong, mature persona to whine at Wooyoung or San when they exaggerate a story about him.

Hongjoong, however…

Jongho doesn’t know how to feel about him.

Despite how small he is and how he seems to try and smile at Jongho to appear more friendly, he is intimidating in almost every way. Each time he comes in, Jongho notices something else about him.

There are spindly scars that branch out from under his shirt up the side of his neck, long since faded but still noticeable. The rings on his fingers alternate between skulls and snakes and bulky crosses, and the amount of earrings he has in one ear is almost blinding. He wears a confusing mix of dark and bright clothes with handwritten phrases in English that Jongho can only half read, and he seems so assured of himself no matter what he does that Jongho just doesn’t know what to do about him.

The others stumble over themselves and are able to laugh and tease each other about it. Hongjoong seems so much more serious, like he knows more than anyone else and is confident in that fact. He is measured in every word, never anxious or unsure, and Jongho just doesn’t understand.

The Hongjoong the others talk about is weird and dorky and caring, full of love just like the rest of them. Jongho has to guess that Hongjoong just doesn’t like him, which would make sense.

After all, Hongjoong is the Captain, the leader of ATZ, the one who calls all the shots and is the ultimate power. When Wooyoung and San dropped off a dying HALA henchman on their leader’s doorstep without his permission, Jongho can’t blame Hongjoong for being curt with him.

Jongho gets it. He really does. It’s just—

It’s just so obvious. Everyone else is so kind and understanding, and Jongho doesn’t really get that, either, and he understands Hongjoong’s feelings towards him more than he understands the others’, but it is glaring when the smiles Hongjoong gives him are only out of courtesy. They never reach his eyes, only pull at his cheeks with practiced ease.

Jongho doesn’t know why he’s so bothered by it. The thoughts plague him in the dark of night when he can’t sleep, when his head is pounding more than usual as the painkillers wear off. It’s the same tonight, but this time his abdomen burns a bit, too, probably from how often he had to hold back laughter.

He sighs and sits up to readjust his pillows, ignoring the familiar twinge of his ribs. When he goes to lay back down, he jumps at the sound of thunder, rubbing at his eyes when lightning flashes through the window.

He frowns, hoping Jaeho has the teddy bear Jongho gave him a few years ago. His brother still prefers having him there during thunderstorms, but Jongho told him the bear would fill in for him while he was away.

As Jongho shifts to try and get comfortable, the door suddenly bursts open. Immediately, he springs to his feet, but the quick movement sends a wave of pain through his body that nearly knocks him over, and he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan.

Hongjoong, of all people, has stumbled into the room, smaller than Jongho has ever seen him.

He’s huddled on the floor, the door slamming closed behind him as if he had thrown it open. He doesn’t seem to be fully aware of Jongho, or anything else really, as he’s curled into himself in nothing but a pink hoodie and sweatpants, sparkly jewelry gone save for a couple of simple earrings. He’s shoved his face into his knees, but it’s a small room and Jongho can see him shaking. His hair seems even frizzier than usual.

“Um,” Jongho says, unsure as he stares, “Hongjoong-ssi?”

Hongjoong’s head shoots up, eyes wide and brow furrowed, face pallid. He opens his mouth, but a boom of thunder rattles the house, and immediately, his eyes flicker a bright, burning red. Sparks of the same color spit from his fingers, but he stamps them down by clenching his fists and hiding them in his hoodie pocket.

“Jongho-ssi,” he says, voice strained as he tries for a smile, “hello.”

Jongho bows his head awkwardly, blinking.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I? Sorry, I- I was in a bit of a rush.” Hongjoong stands, but it makes it even more obvious how much he’s shaking because of how he stumbles. “I kind of forgot you use this room now. It’s been empty for a long time, you know?” He forces a laugh. “Sorry. I’ll- I’ll be going now-”

As soon as he takes a step towards the door, thunder crashes, lightning flashing almost instantly. It’s even louder than before, and with it there comes a torrent of rain slashing against the window and the roof.

Hongjoong trips over seemingly nothing, sense of balance compromised, and before Jongho realizes what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Hongjoong’s arms to keep him from falling to the floor again.

Jongho is just as surprised as Hongjoong is, a beat of awkward silence passing between them before Jongho quickly brings his hands back to himself, folding them together and looking away. There’s an odd thrumming under his skin, and the hair on his arms is sticking up.

“The- the floors are- they’re hardwood,” he mumbles, ears turning pink. “It would’ve hurt.”

What the fuck is he even saying?

“Right,” Hongjoong says with a laugh, and it still sounds terribly strained, but it’s somehow more genuine than any other laugh he’s given Jongho. “I- me and thunderstorms don’t get along, if you couldn’t tell.”

Jongho looks back at him, surprised at the admission.

Hongjoong is smiling sheepishly now, looking down at his hands. His eyes keep flashing red, lasting longer with every distant rumble of thunder.

“Oh.” Jongho frowns. “Does it- does the electricity hurt?”

Curiously, he stares at Hongjoong’s hands, watching for a spark to pop out from his fingers.

“Not usually, just when it gets really bad. Do you want to see?”

Jongho looks up at Hongjoong to see him watching with an amused smile, and it makes him realize just how much he’s leaned in to get a closer look at Hongjoong’s magic. Quickly, he moves away, ears burning red.

“Oh- um, no, it’s all right.” Jongho twists his hands together.

“Are you sure? Here, look.”

Hongjoong brings his hands closer to Jongho, letting them uncurl. As soon as they do, red sparks zap across his fingertips like tiny embers. They jump and hop sporadically, and when another burst of thunder shakes the house, Hongjoong’s fingers seem to spark more, one of them jumping far enough to shock the side of Jongho’s wrist.

Jongho flinches, blinking with wide eyes as he clutches his hand. It didn’t really hurt, but it was a feeling he’s never felt before, one that sent a sharp tingle down his arm in less than a second.

“Sorry,” Hongjoong says with a laugh, stuffing his hands into his pocket again. “Storms make it harder to control. More shit in the air, I guess.”

“Didn’t you go to the Academy?” Jongho asks. “The one place that’s meant to teach you how to control it?”

“Sure I did.” Hongjoong smiles, but it’s bitter. “I went for seven years and graduated.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Jongho takes the hint.

“Right, well…” He clears his throat and looks away towards the bed and back. “What do you usually do during storms?”

“I just have to wait it out ‘cause there’s nothing I can do about it. I just use gauze, but I couldn’t find it, and then it got really bad for a second, so I ran here and-”

Hongjoong pauses, probably realizing he was rambling. He scratches the side of his nose, embarrassed.

“Anyway, there should be gauze in here that I can use to wrap my hands, stop the sparks from going all crazy. I just need to grab it and then I’ll let you sleep.”

No. Stay.

Jongho pushes the thoughts away as soon as they come. They are useless, pointless, and they make no sense at all, he doesn’t know why he even thought of them—

“Will you-” -be okay? stay? “-be able to wrap it?” Jongho asks, because that makes more sense, is a much more valid question, even if Hongjoong has probably done this a million times.

“What? Did you want to help?” Hongjoong laughs, his smile teasing.

“No, I just-” Jongho stutters. “Don’t the sparks hurt when they touch your skin?”

“Sorta.” Hongjoong hums as he goes through the drawers under the bed. “Not that bad, though, not usually. And I’ve gotten pretty used to it by now.” He turns his head to glance at Jongho with a smirk. “Are you worried about me, Jongho-ssi? Should I tell your boss?”

The thought of his boss has Jongho scowling. He crosses his arms with a huff.

“Yes, please do. I’d like to have a firm chat with him about how much money he owes me for a stab wound, and by a coworker no less. Do you think it’d be covered with workplace compensation?”

Hongjoong snorts. “You tell me. You’re the one working for HALA.”

And- yeah. Jongho does. Still is, technically. It feels like a stone sinks into his chest when he remembers; he doesn’t know how he forgot.

He still needs the money. He still needs to pay for Jaeho’s therapy. He still needs to pay his apartment bills and his phone bill and—

Fuck. When was the last time he checked his phone? Does he even have it here? No, definitely not—it’s a liability and not worth the risk to bring it on missions. It’s probably sitting on his bed, dead, with texts from Jaeho and his boss. Maybe he was laid off, pronounced dead to HALA, so he actually doesn’t work for them anymore.

But then, how will he pay for everything? How will he get Jaeho the help he needs? Jongho isn’t a therapist; he can’t sign to Jaeho every day and try to give him advice. Jongho has never been very good at that, or comfort for that matter, so how—

“Jongho-ssi?”

He looks up. He’d slumped to the floor at one point, but he doesn’t remember it. His heart is beating faster now, and he can’t tell if his concussion is acting up or if it’s just the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He might be shaking.

Hongjoong is looking at him in alarm, eyes still flickering, but he seems to have wrapped one of his hands in gauze now. That’s good. That means he’ll leave Jongho to his panic attack in peace soon, then, and Jongho can ride this out and it will be like nothing ever happened.

Stay. Please stay.

His throat feels like it’s closing up, feels like he’ll sob, because fuck, why are these thoughts appearing now? When a man he knows hates him is staring at him having a panic attack?

He expects Hongjoong to leave, expects him to offer a polite excuse before rushing out the door, because this is very clearly a Jongho problem—a(n ex-)HALA henchman problem, not a Hongjoong problem, a.k.a not a superhero problem, so it’s not a superhero’s concern.

But Hongjoong hasn’t left yet. In fact, he’s crouching down in front of Jongho now, hands flitting about like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His brow is furrowed with what might be worry, and his mouth is moving, but Jongho can’t hear him, can only hear his heart beating, beating, beating—

Jongho has had panic attacks since he was fifteen. He knows how they work, knows that he just needs to teach himself to calm down, but it’s even harder to control his breathing when he has shattered ribs reminding him how quickly his chest is moving. Everything hurts and aches and fuck, he just wants his little brother, he just wants his Jaeho, and he wants a hug, maybe, and he wants someone to stay, he wants Hongjoong to stay—

A sharp tingle startles him out of his daze, seems to clear his head enough for him to yelp embarrassingly high, and immediately, Hongjoong’s apologies fill his ears.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry, Jongho, holy shit-” Hongjoong rambles, and Jongho realizes he’s holding his hand. “You wouldn’t respond and I didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t too bad, right? Just a sting? It was just supposed to be a little sting, to get you out of your head.”

“Not bad,” Jongho whispers, nodding. He squeezes Hongjoong’s hand, doesn’t care that he feels the faint tingles of sparks against his palm. It’s warm.

Part of him is yelling at himself to move away, to hide, because this is the easiest way to get killed. But the other part of him—the one that adores the feeling of having his hand held—can only focus on how this is the first time anyone has been there during a panic attack.

“I triggered it, didn’t I?” Hongjoong says, sounding guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t-” a sigh, “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hwa always tells me to talk a little softer, that I can come across rude sometimes, but I don’t mean to, seriously! Like, sure, I hate HALA and what they stand for, but I don’t hate you.”

And, oh, that’s nice to hear, actually.

Slowly, Jongho raises his eyes from Hongjoong’s chin to his eyes.

“I hate HALA, too,” he mumbles, like he’s afraid his boss will hear him.

“Oh.” Hongjoong blinks, taken aback. “The whole organization? Not just your boss?”

“Everything.”

“But you risked your life for them? You died for them?” Hongjoong frowns, eyes searching.

Jongho smiles, a bitter thing that pulls on his cheeks and lips. “Funny, right?” He sighs and looks down at their joined hands. His ribs hurt.

“So why do you do it?”

It’s a valid question. Jongho has found himself asking the same thing over and over again, a mantra that has kept him staring at the ceiling as the moon falls through the sky.

“Sometimes, you have to do things you don’t want to. Especially when those things pay well.”

He doesn’t expect a superhero to understand it. He hardly expects anyone to understand his thought process behind working for Korea’s biggest supervillain organization. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand it, either, doesn’t get how he got here at all.

Hongjoong settles next to him, squeezing Jongho’s hand as he crosses his legs.

“Can I ask you a question, Jongho-ssi?”

Jongho furrows his brow as he turns to look at him. “That’s what you’ve been doing, but sure, go ahead.”

“Seonghwa said you’re nineteen. Is that right?”

Jongho hums and nods.

“Then you have time,” Hongjoong says, eyes boring into Jongho’s own. “We all do. We’re young, you know? You can make mistakes, and you can let yourself have things, even if you think it’ll come back to bite you in the ass.” He looks down at his lap where his unwrapped hand is still shooting sparks. “I know I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but I don’t see you as an enemy.”

Jongho stares, heart beating in his ears.

Hongjoong looks back up and smiles, soft in the corners. “I just see you as a boy named Jongho. And I’m just a boy named Hongjoong. We just happened to meet each other like this.”

“Like what?” Jongho asks with a laugh, but it sounds choked even to him. “Me getting stabbed or me having a panic attack?”

“Both?” Hongjoong laughs, too, eyes forming into crescent moons as he gently nudges Jongho’s side. “Hey, none of us are perfect. I still can’t control my magic sometimes, and some days you won’t hear from any of the kids because it’s just… one of those days, where being alone feels safer.”

“But you’re superheroes?” Jongho’s voice comes out small, makes him feel like a kid again, watching Whirlwind jump from roof to roof.

“Well, yeah,” Hongjoong says with a nod, “but we’re still people. The Academy might try and take that from you, make you more of a machine than a person, but my team?” Hongjoong smile turns toothy, face glowing with pride. “We’re trying our best. And sometimes we fail, but sometimes we succeed, and we save a little boy from dying in an alley.”

Jongho pouts, but he can’t fight a shy smile when Hongjoong ruffles his hair, making it frizz and pop with electricity.

“I’m not even little,” Jongho says, rolling his eyes. His gums peek through his lips as he smiles wider. “Not as little as you, at least.”

Hongjoong gasps dramatically, leaning away with an open mouth and too-wide eyes.

“After my whole speech, that’s what you say? To the Captain of ATZ?” He shakes his head in faux disappointment as he crosses his arms, pulling his hand away from Jongho’s grip. “I’m older by two years, brat!”

“Did you just admit to being old?”

“Hey!”

-

The superheroes are nice.

As the days pass, and as one week turns into two, Jongho struggles to understand this. After living his life seeing only selfish bastards in superhero costumes, the sight of not just one nice superhero, but a whole team of them is jarring.

Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and San have always been kind, always accommodating. Hongjoong has taken to teasing Jongho more, and he’s more relaxed when he comes in with Seonghwa every morning. Sometimes he stays with the others as they talk to Jongho, but usually, he leaves, blaming his “really busy superhero schedule.”

Jongho has seen Yeosang, a pretty man with platinum blond hair and warm eyes, though it was brief as he was headed back from the bathroom in the hallway. It was only a quick exchange of names—Jongho-ssi, right? I’m Yeosang—before the hero had slipped into his room with a polite bow of his head.

Based on what the others have said about him, Yeosang is quiet. The most introverted of the team, even. They told Jongho that they’ve been keeping all of the other members up to date on Jongho’s condition, and that even though he still has only met Mingi a handful of times, Yeosang and Yunho keeping their distance is not strange.

Hongjoong, surprisingly, was the one to tell him that Mingi and Yunho are close, that they met before attending the Academy, and that they graduated together. And while the others have painted them as bright extroverts, Jongho still hasn’t properly met them. He wants to ask why, but he knows that if they don’t automatically tell him, it’s not his business to know.

He hears Mingi’s laugh sometimes—he knows because of how raspy it is—and Mingi has peeked into Jongho’s room to wave with a grin as he tells them that dinner has been delivered, because if Wooyoung doesn’t cook, no one does.

According to Seonghwa, Jongho’s ribs are almost healed, his shoulder practically brand new. The hero was surprised, and he kept asking Jongho if he really was feeling better, because he couldn’t believe how quickly his ribs had fused back together. It worried Jongho for a second, but Seonghwa had assured him that some people just heal faster than others.

“Rest is the best thing you can do,” Seonghwa tells him one day, smiling that same gentle smile. “Your body is resilient, Jongho-ssi. Just give it time to recuperate and you’ll be fine. Maybe even in two months, you’ll be good to go.”

And although the thought of leaving puts a sour taste in his mouth, he knows he needs to. He has no place in a house of superheroes, regardless of if he works for HALA or not. He needs to get to Jaeho as soon as possible, so he tries to sleep earlier.

It’s easier said than done, though. Jongho has never had a good relationship with sleeping. He’s always had to wake up early to take care of Jaeho, and over the years, HALA work has him out until the early hours of the morning.

Some nights he falls asleep quickly; other nights he can’t sleep at all. Tonight, though…

Tonight, Jongho finds himself forced awake.

The night is silent. The ceiling stares back at him, unrelenting, and when he blinks, he sees his mother’s face. He feels the sweat cooling on his forehead. 

“Jongho-yah, sweetie, what are you doing? Jongho-yah?”

He turns over.

“Look at me, honey, please, just- don’t you love me? Your own mother? Jongho-yah, Jongho-yah, the window-”

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Jongho-yah, please, I- I shouldn’t have kept your magic from you. Please, let’s just calm down, okay? We can-”

He puts his hands to his ears.

“I know, I know, honey, Jaeho-yah didn’t- he didn’t deserve what I did, I know. Mommy’s sorry, she’s so sorry. Just don’t- don’t- Jongho!”

There’s glass shattering, screaming, honking of traffic, a nauseating thump as he watches—

He forces his eyes to open, forces himself to remember he’s not in the Jung district anymore, not even in Seoul. He’s not stuck in a tense, ever-silent apartment, staring at the door for his mom to come home as Jaeho sleeps on the floor.

But tears are still rolling down his cheeks, and he’s still clutching onto the yellow and blue quilt like it will stop the memory of his mother screaming, of her dying on impact by his hand.

Just a few nights ago, Hongjoong told him he could make mistakes. But Jongho feels sick every time he remembers his mother, every time he remembers that apartment in Seoul, every time he doesn’t feel regret. It wasn’t a mistake then, and it still isn’t now, even if he feels like he should’ve fallen with her.

She wasn’t who he thought she was, and she never really cared about them—not in the way she should’ve—but she was still his mother.

And Jongho killed her.

He stares at his hands, feels like they’re heavy with blood that only he can see. The tears won’t stop, and he has to swallow sobs that tear up his throat, and his head is throbbing, and his nose is stuffed with snot, and he wishes Jaeho were here so he can remind himself what it was all for.

Jongho doesn’t like crying. He doesn’t like admitting that he’s not very strong at all. He’s still that fifteen-year-old boy planting his mother’s supervillain mask on her dead body, still that boy who collected his little brother and their combined belongings and found their father, hidden away in the furthest district he could get from them.

Jongho would like to say that boy died that day. But he still finds himself weeping like a kid on nights like these, when his subconscious reminds him of what he’s done, and that despite everything, he’s still alive.

And he doesn’t want to die. He really doesn’t. He wants to live. For Jaeho, his world, his everything. For himself, too, to prove to his mother that he can be whatever he wants to be.

It’s just hard, sometimes, to remind himself.

“Hey, Jongho-ssi, do you mind if I come in? Sannie said he-”

Wooyoung is already shutting the door by the time he meets Jongho’s eyes, words trailing off as his eyes widen, mouth hanging open in shock.

Shit.

Jongho turns on his side to try and save himself some sense of dignity, but he knows it’s too late.

“Jongho-ssi?” Wooyoung’s voice is softer than Jongho’s ever heard it, unsure and light.

Jongho doesn’t answer. His voice will break if he tries, and there are still tears dripping down his face, and he really doesn’t want to face Wooyoung like this. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

Despite how well Hongjoong had taken his panic attack, and despite how receptive the heroes have been to his general presence, Jongho has never shown this side of himself to anyone, not even Jaeho. He has to stay strong, and he has to stay solid. He can never afford to break even a little in front of people, because he knows that vulnerability equals opportunity. 

He keeps his eyes on the wall, biting his lips, praying Wooyoung will forget what he saw. Jongho doesn’t think he’ll attack him—he’s accepted that if these superheroes wanted to do that, they would’ve done it a long time ago, or they would’ve let him die instead of resuscitating him—but he isn’t sure what Wooyoung will do.

Wooyoung isn’t like Hongjoong; he doesn’t speak coldly and he doesn’t keep a healthy distance between them. If anything, Wooyoung is warm with his words and his movements, always touching the others with nudges and teasing slaps and pinches. He’s loud and a little careless with his words, but Jongho knows he means well. He thinks so, at least.

When Jongho feels a dip in the bed by his legs, he can’t feel surprised. He can only sigh soundlessly, hoping that if Wooyoung teases him, it will be quick.

But there’s only silence for a few long seconds. There’s no giggling or overenthusiastic jabs at Jongho.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

Oh, how simple that would be.

“They’re not real, you know, no matter how vivid they might seem. It’s okay.”

The tears fall faster. Jongho can’t fight the sob that spills from his lips, can’t fight how it feels like he’s being torn in two. He doesn’t know why such words intensify all of his feelings, like they ripped off a cork and now Jongho can’t hold back how much everything hurts, how much one memory makes him feel like all of his progress has been for nothing.

“Jongho-yah, can I touch you?”

Jongho-yah, Jongho-yah—

Jongho sobs, a heavy, choked sound that is pulled from the left of his chest, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the honorific or if it’s because of the thought of being hugged. He doesn’t feel like himself, barely realizes what he’s doing as he sits up just enough to bury his head into Wooyoung’s thigh, curling up, doesn't even feel the twinge of his ribs.

“Oh, Jongho-yah,” Wooyoung says, soft still, sweet like honey, like a balm, or- or something, Jongho doesn’t know what to compare it to anymore—

His mind is hazy, like rogue waves smacking against each other, loud and messy and fuck, he wants to move back, wants to hide under the yellow and blue quilt, but he also doesn’t, because Wooyoung is so warm, and he’s so soft, and, and—

He feels hands in his hair, gently moving through the tangles, and Jongho jumps but doesn’t pull away, lets himself have this. If he can’t have this, then he will crumble, he will dissolve into nothing—

“It must’ve been bad, huh?” Wooyoung says. “I saw you bleeding out and you didn’t panic like this. What did your mean brain show you, hm? Tell hyung and he’ll fight it for you.”

Jongho pushes his face into Wooyoung’s shirt, lets himself hide away, because he can’t face anyone, can’t face Wooyoung, his- his- did he say his hyung?

“It’s all right, Jongho-yah, you’re okay,” Wooyoung repeats, and Jongho can feel his arm settle on his back, a grounding weight that assures him he won’t float away.

“I’m sorry,” Jongho whispers, because he is, he is so sorry, he doesn’t know why he’s acting like this—

“Hey, hey, don’t apologize,” Wooyoung says, tsking in disapproval. He lightly flicks Jongho’s ear. “We all get nightmares. You know how often Sannie wakes me up because of them? All the time! We share a room, so it makes sense, I guess, but sometimes he’ll straight up kick me! I know I’m a heavy sleeper, but he could totally wake up Yeosangie instead!”

Jongho sniffles, almost smiles.

“And Hwa hyung always sleeps after Hongjoong hyung goes to bed. I asked him about it and he said Hongjoong hyung doesn’t sleep well sometimes.” Wooyoung keeps filling the silence like he always does, arm tight around Jongho’s back as he runs his hand through his hair. “And I have a dongsaeng back home in Ilsan. Kyungminnie used to struggle with insomnia a lot, and I refused to go to the Academy until he was able to sleep on his own.”

Wooyoung hums for a second, considering, before he laughs. “Well, my mom will tell you it’s because I’d rather live as a wild crow than be locked up in a school, which was partly true, but that wasn’t the reason I waited.” A pause. “The others get nightmares about the Academy sometimes, too.”

Wooyoung goes quiet then, long enough for Jongho to peek out from where he’d hidden in Wooyoung’s stomach.

The hero smiles, but it’s not as bright as they usually are. “I do, too, but not as much as Yunho-yah or the hyungs. It just wasn’t a very happy place, you know? The more potential you had, the more they made you practice and test the limits of your magic. And they didn’t really care if it hurt.”

Jongho frowns.

“Ey, don’t look at me like that,” Wooyoung says with a laugh, ruffling Jongho’s bangs. “Nightmares suck, especially when they’re not made up.” His smile fades as he studies Jongho’s eyes.

Jongho looks away and sits up, cheeks flushing as he becomes aware of himself.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hey! I told you not to apologize!” Wooyoung flicks his forehead this time, and it’s hard enough for Jongho to scowl and glare at him. “Your hair is soft, anyway, not as frizzy as Hongjoong hyung’s. You should cuddle with us more, but maybe not when you’re crying your eyes out.”

“I don’t like cuddling,” Jongho says, crossing his arms. “I just happened to in that very specific moment.”

“Aw, really?” Wooyoung pouts but doesn’t make a move to pull Jongho towards him. “You’re so squishy, though! Can you come to me if you’re feeling cuddly, at least? I won’t say a word to the others, promise!”

“Squishy?” Jongho blinks, confused, unsure if he should feel flattered. “What does that even mean? You say so many weird things.”

“Like- I don’t know.” Wooyoung reaches forward but is careful not to touch him, only points at his cheeks. “Your cheeks look soft! But, like, bouncy? And you have a soft tummy! It’s weirder the more I talk about it, actually-”

“It was weird the first time you talked about it, hyung!” Jongho says with a laugh, gums peeking through his lips as he grins. The tips of his ears bloom pink. “I’m a top fighter, you know! I could pick you up so easily!”

“Seonghwa hyung would kill me if I let you do that,” Wooyoung says, his smile so wide it curls his eyes. “Did you just call me hyung?”

Jongho pauses, smile falling off of his face as the pink from his ears spreads to his cheeks.

“What? I- well, you said it first, and-”

“Oh, my god, my Jongho-yah called me his hyung!” Wooyoung coos, leaning forward and giggling. “Am I the first one? Am I the first hyung?”

“Yes,” Jongho mumbles. “Don’t let it get to your head. It’s already big enough.”

“Too late!” Wooyoung’s face is practically glowing, grin wide and toothy. “Jongho-yah, can hyung give you a hug? Please?”

Jongho sighs. “Fine.”

Immediately, Wooyoung throws himself at Jongho, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into his hair. Jongho jolts, but he finds that it’s not as uncomfortable as he was expecting. He awkwardly pats Wooyoung on the back, unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Did you use my shampoo?” Wooyoung suddenly asks, not even an inch away from Jongho’s ear.

Jongho tilts his head away with a grumble. “Is it the pink bottle? Tea tree or something?”

“Yes! I was wondering why-”

A knock on the door interrupts him. As Wooyoung pulls away from the hug, a head of platinum hair peeks into the room.

“Yeosangie!” Wooyoung cheers, uncaring for the hour.

“Wooyoungie,” Yeosang returns with a smile, much quieter. He bows his head towards Jongho before looking at Wooyoung. “Did you get Piki-yah for Sannie? Why are you cuddling Jongho-ssi?” His brow furrows. “Why aren’t either of you sleeping? It’s almost five in the morning.”

“You aren’t sleeping, either!”

“Because Choi San woke me up to tell me you still hadn’t come back with Piki.” Yeosang yawns as his eyes turn steel gray. “‘Youngie said he’d get my Piki-yah back from Jongho’s room! It’s been almost forty minutes, Sang-ah! Go get him!’”

Jongho blinks, surprised at how San’s voice comes through Yeosang’s lips.

Wooyoung huffs, totally unfazed. “I forgot about it, all right? Piki is right here, anyway.”

He reaches across the bed to rescue a small stuffed elephant that had been squished between the wall and the bedframe. He throws it to Yeosang.

“Why’d he wake you up anyway? Couldn’t he have come to get it?” Wooyoung asks as Yeosang catches it.

Yeosang glances at Jongho. “He probably wanted me to say hi to Jongho-ssi.”

Jongho frowns, confused.

“Oh, you two haven’t really met, right?” Wooyoung moves back on the bed to give Jongho more space. “Go on, then. Introduce yourself to our maknae.”

Our maknae. Jongho’s chest feels warm. He ignores it, blames it on the quilt he’s still tangled in.

Yeosang blinks a couple of times and scratches the back of his head, obviously flustered.

“Um, hi. I’m Kang Yeosang, or Mouthpiece, I guess, officially.” He folds his hands together. “I was born in 1999. My magic is mimicry. I enrolled at the Academy when I was fifteen. I graduated with San-ah and Wooyoung-ah a year ago. My MBTI is ISFP. My noona’s name is Kang Seoyeon. My national ID is-”

“Hey, hey! You don’t need to tell him all of that!” Wooyoung says, laughing. “He’s crazy, Jongho-yah,” he says to him.

Jongho has to press his lips together to stop from smiling.

“I’m Choi Jongho,” he says slowly. “I was born in 2000.” He pauses, considers. “I don’t have magic. My dongsaeng’s name is Choi Jaeho. And I will not be telling you my national ID, sorry.”

“Wait, are you an oldest child?” Wooyoung asks, eyes wide. “That makes so much sense, holy shit.”

“Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” Jongho glares and pushes Wooyoung’s leg with his foot.

Wooyoung grins, but before he can answer, Yeosang says, “C’mon, Young-ah, let the maknae sleep. He got stabbed less than a month ago, in case you forgot.”

“I’m coming!” Wooyoung groans. Once he gets to his feet, Yeosang leaves.

Jongho expects Wooyoung to smile at him and wave, tell him to have sweet dreams like he always does, but when he turns to look at him, his smile is softer, and his eyes are full of worry.

“Will you be okay to sleep, Jongho-yah? I can stay if you want.”

Jongho lets himself smile. “I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy.”

“Of course you are,” Wooyoung says, fondness replacing the worry in his eyes. He leans down to ruffle Jongho’s hair one last time. “Sleep well, then, okay? Dream of me cuddling you, or dream of me flying you around as a crow, or-”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Jongho laughs, pushing Wooyoung’s hand away. “Good night, hyung.”

“‘Night, maknae-yah.”

Usually, Jongho counts dreamless sleeps a success. He never gets the happy dreams or the sweet dreams Wooyoung or San wish him, but as long as he gets nothing at all, he is happy. 

Tonight, though, when Jongho falls asleep, he hears the cawing of laughter, feels a hand in his hair, and he smells tea tree shampoo. He feels warm.

-

The third week passes quickly.

The fourth week starts on a Friday, when June turns into July, and with it, there comes more rain.

It’s another night where Jongho can’t sleep, head heavy with the last effects of his concussion and abdomen still sore. The rain is loud enough to keep him from dozing too long, thunder waking him up every time he thinks he’ll fall asleep.

The clock says it’s almost eleven. It’s odd for the house to be so silent, only ever quieting after midnight, but Hongjoong told him he’d be taking the team out on a scouting and intel mission, separating into groups of four and three to cover more ground in the city. It’s the first time Jongho has been left alone in the house.

He stares at the window, lets his eyes follow a raindrop as it slides down the glass.

He could leave right now if he wanted to. He can stand on his own, and he only feels the ache of his ribs when he turns a certain way. Seonghwa and San have helped him with exercising while Wooyoung cheered him on from the bed, so he doesn’t feel like he’ll collapse every time he uses his legs.

There’s no one here to stop him. He could leave through the front door and find his way to a subway station or a bus stop. He knows Anyang is right by Seoul, knows there’s a couple of subway lines that connect them. It wouldn’t be difficult.

He could see Jaeho, then. And he can get to his apartment, pay off the rent he knows is coming up, respond to his texts, ask his boss for his money, get right back to the fighting ring like nothing ever happened.

But does he want to?

He leans his head back, tries to burrow it even further into the pillow, as he realizes that the obvious answer—yes, of course!—doesn’t come to his brain immediately.

Of course I do?

Jongho has already accepted that he likes these dumb, loud, annoying superheroes. He knows that. But there have always been people that he’s liked: Daehwi from across the street, Dojin and Eunjo from his freshman year, Sooah from soccer, CB, Spear, and Wyatt from the fighting ring. He liked hanging out with them, and he liked listening to them and seeing them. But he doesn’t think he ever really trusted them.

Trust is a weird thing. He trusts his friends enough to tell them a few things he likes, stuff he used to do when he was little, but he has never invited someone over, both before and after his mother’s death. He likes having his own bubble, his own space, and maybe that’s why he’s felt comfortable staying here for as long as he has.

He doesn’t have to share a room with a stranger, a superhero, and that automatically makes him feel a little safer. But that doesn’t explain why he’s hesitant to leave.

He turns over, brow furrowed as he thinks. He knows he’s given Hongjoong and Wooyoung glimpses of who he is—a boy who panics easily and cries in the dead of night—but is that all he needs to do to want to stay? Despite all of their kindness, they are still superheroes, and Jongho… is Jongho.

Suddenly, he hears a loud bang outside of his door further down the hall followed by rushed footsteps and poorly muffled curses. It must’ve been the front door opening because the sound of falling rain and thunder is much louder.

Jongho sits up, frowning, not sure if he should be concerned. Before he can decide whether or not it’s worth it to investigate, the door to his room is being forced open with a pliant body in Mingi’s arms. Jongho can only see brown hair and—

And a lot of red. He freezes.

The others are right behind Mingi, crowding the doorway as he rushes in. He doesn’t need to tell Jongho to move, as he instantly jumps up from the bed to make room for who must be Yunho.

It’s the first time Jongho has seen him. His hair is sticking to his forehead, clothes soaked with rainwater and way too much blood. He’s shivering, lips blue and eyes lidded, but Jongho can see that he’s smiling as Mingi puts him down on the bed. His eyes manage to sparkle with a sort of light that Jongho has never seen.

“I’m sorry, Jongho,” Seonghwa says as he rushes inside, not even sparing him a look as his eyes light up blue. He uses both of his hands this time, one raising the water out of Yunho’s clothes as the other desperately tries to push down on the wound with a stream of water. “We couldn’t contact you beforehand. And everything happened quickly, and-”

“He’ll be fine, right, hyung?” Wooyoung interrupts, voice small. The water from his hair drips into his eyes and falls down his flushed cheeks. “It- it’s not even as bad as Jongho-yah, so- so-”

He’s clutching onto San’s arm, but he doesn’t look much better, either, eyes wide and focused on Yunho. Yeosang is behind them, eyes shaking, biting his lip as he fidgets with his hands, and Hongjoong is standing in front of them frowning. They’re all soaked, hair and clothes dripping, and Jongho knows that Seonghwa would usually scold them for tracking water everywhere, but—

Seonghwa’s lips press together. He says nothing, only forces a smile and a quick glance towards them as he continues to put pressure on the wound.

“Let him work, Young-ah, come on,” Hongjoong says, tugging Wooyoung out of the doorway, pulling San and Yeosang with him on the way out.

Jongho doesn’t know what to do. He can only watch as Mingi, who Jongho has only ever seen beaming, frowns with lips bitten raw. There are still raindrops that fall down his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice, eyes only on Yunho, hands gripping onto one another so tightly that Jongho almost doesn’t see how they tremble.

“Can I- can I do something?” Jongho asks, and he doesn’t know why his voice comes out so shaky. It’s not the first time he’s seen blood.

Seonghwa glances at him. “Get me the gauze, Jongho-yah, and some scissors.”

Jongho is quick to move, sliding the drawer out from under the bed to gather the roll of gauze and the pair of scissors shoved into a cup on Seonghwa’s desk.

“Mingi-yah,” Seonghwa says, soft and gentle, almost inaudible, “he’ll be okay. Can you get me some clothes for him from your room? And some towels? He’ll be here when you come back.”

Mingi doesn’t answer for a few seconds. “I should’ve-”

“Mingi,” Seonghwa says, more insistent, the same way he forces Wooyoung to sleep at a decent time. “No. It’s not your fault. Go get the clothes and the towels.”

“Go,” Yunho says, voice weak. He’s still smiling, eyes still twinkling. “Get me- get me my-” a cough, “nice blanket, too. The- the one with-”

“You’re an idiot,” Mingi mumbles, shaking his head as he stands. “I know what blanket you’re talking about, dumbass. Just- just don’t talk.”

“He’s right, Yuyu-yah,” Seonghwa says as Mingi leaves. “You shouldn’t talk. Focus on keeping the blood inside of you instead.”

Jongho thinks it’s meant to be a half-joke, but Seonghwa’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes so it doesn’t quite land. Still, Yunho’s smile widens, teeth peeking through his lips.

As Seonghwa cuts away the clothes to get to Yunho’s chest, Jongho looks away, unsure of what to do. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, restless as his eyes scan the room. He feels anxious, feels a buzzing under his skin that he knows isn’t because of Hongjoong’s magic. When his gaze lands back on Yunho, his stomach drops.

Seonghwa’s water washes away the blood that had dripped down from a hole in Yunho’s shoulder, a hole that Jongho recognizes as a gunshot wound, which is rare in itself. And on opposite sides of the hole, there are two smaller ones leaking blood, though not as heavily. They’re tiny, similar to the few moles spread along his clavicle.

It’s a very specific wound. Guns are largely illegal in Korea, with extensive background checks and storage at police stations. But Jongho knows when guns come in; he’s counted the shipments of them and confirmed their condition before sending them to the higher-ups.

When Jongho is sent out on HALA missions to count shipments or look them over, he’s not just a henchman looking over the numbers. He’s also security.

It’s dangerous to take in illegal imports, but that’s what HALA does. Beyond its dozens of supervillains, there is the nitty-gritty, the drugs and the weapons and the alcohol. Jongho’s job isn’t to confirm or deny entry; it’s to ensure it gets moved further up the chain. He knows weapons, knows drugs and poisons, and he knows a HALA gunshot wound when he sees it.

Mingi comes in with Yunho’s clothes and blanket, towels thrown to Seonghwa to lay underneath Yunho. They talk, but there’s a ringing in Jongho’s ears that mutes them. He knows what gun caused this and he desperately wants it not to be true.

The entry wound is small, probably from a nine millimeter pistol, but Jongho would have to see the exit wound to confirm. It’s practically impossible to guess what kind of pistol if not for the two holes that indicate something worse, something that has Jongho stuck in place, eyes studying the wound for—

There it is.

It’s barely visible, just under the skin around the bullet wound, a speckling of violet that fades and blooms like a pulse. Jongho wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t watching it so closely. He wonders if Seonghwa has noticed it, wonders if any of them know what it means.

He should tell them. But how does he say that their teammate has an alchemical poison spreading into his bloodstream? How does he say that Yunho will die in a matter of minutes?

Jongho feels dizzy. His chest hurts. He keeps watching the blood pour out all over the bed, seeping into the sheets and splattering onto the hardwood floors. Seonghwa’s water isn’t enough.

“Yu- Yunho-yah! Hey, hey, hey, come back, please-” Mingi’s voice sounds too loud in Jongho’s ears, his sobs harsh and raspy as he kneels down by the bed, blood staining his pants and his hands as he holds Yunho’s face.

“They met before the Academy. They’ve known each other for four years now, the longest out of all of us. Where Mingi-yah goes, Yunho-yah follows.”

Yunho’s eyes are closed, smile gone, lips still so blue, face still so pale. There’s blood that drips from his mouth, stark against his skin, and with a shaky finger Mingi tries to wipe it away, sobbing as it only smears across his chin.

“Hwa- Hwa hyung, please, he-”

“I’m not a healer, Mingi-yah,” Seonghwa says, barely a whisper, eyes burning blue. His hands are still working despite how much he trembles, water pushing down on a wound that just keeps gushing.

Jongho shouldn’t be here. He feels locked in place, though, and his head hurts, and his chest hurts, and his eyes are burning, and he doesn’t know why.

“Tell- tell Hongjoong-ah to call for one,” Seonghwa says.

“They already did,” Mingi murmurs into Yunho’s head, cradling him against his chest. “Hwa hyung, he- he won’t go, right? He’ll stay right here? He promised he would! And- and I know he failed those stupid tests at the Academy to stay with me, I know he’s always been more powerful-”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Seonghwa says, but his voice shakes.

“Yu-ah,” Mingi whispers, so soft that Jongho can barely hear it, “did you hear hyung? You can’t go, okay? You- you have to-” He breaks into sobs before he can finish, hugging onto Yunho even tighter, rocking back and forth.

Jongho can see the poison spreading, see that the violet speckling is further down his chest. He feels numb.

“Guys!” San calls, rushing to the doorway with heavy breaths. “We need you, like, right now! There’s-”

“Can you not handle it yourselves?” Seonghwa asks, surprisingly snappy. There’s sweat forming on his brow and his eyes keep flickering back to brown before staying blue.

“Just- just have Jongho stabilize Yunho-yah or something, okay?” San says, looking back down the hall with a frown.

There’s yelling outside, muffled screams of anger and the familiar sound of punches being thrown. There are various thumps and bangs, and something shatters right against the house. Jongho stiffens when he hears gunshots.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

“Stupid fucking HALA assholes must’ve followed us,” San says, rubbing his forehead. “There’s a lot of them. Captain hyung said to come right now, immediately, before someone else gets shot in the shoulder.”

Seonghwa, for the first time since Jongho has met him, looks scared. “San-ah, you can’t expect me to-”

“You have to, hyung,” San says. “I’m sorry, but you need to fight. You and I both know it will be more helpful than what you’re doing now.”

Jongho blinks, confused and offended on Seonghwa’s behalf, but the hero only purses his lips and lets his hands fall. His eyes fade to brown.

“I’m not leaving him,” Mingi says, curling his body as much as he can around Yunho’s head. “You can’t make me.”

A crow-like shriek has San running out, but Seonghwa stays to lean down next to Mingi, trying to pull him away.

“Mingi-yah,” he says like a plea, “we need to go. Jongho-yah will take good care of our Yunho-yah, okay? He’ll tell the healer where Yunho is, and he’ll be right here when we get back.”

“No, hyung.”

“Mingi-yah, please.” Seonghwa’s voice breaks on a sob. “Please, let’s- let’s protect someone tonight, okay?”

Oh, Jongho realizes. They do know he’s dying.

Mingi stares at Seonghwa, fingers still intertwined with Yunho’s and still shaking horribly. He looks down at Yunho, tears running down his face in rivulets, and kisses the side of his head. He heaves a shuddering breath before he lays Yunho against the pillows, not minding the blood that gets on his arms. He covers his legs with the bright blue blanket he asked for.

Seonghwa’s jaw clenches as he watches, but he forces his eyes away to look at Jongho.

“I’m sorry,” the hero says, pretty face marred by dirt, eyebrow cut and leaking a thin trail of blood down his temple. “I’m so sorry, Jongho-yah.”

He leaves, then, pulling Mingi with him, whose eyes stay on Yunho until they disappear behind the door.

Jongho’s heart beats in his ears, thundering over the storm and the yelling outside. He can’t look away from Yunho, unblinking as the poison creeps closer and closer to his heart.

He is so pale. His body is limp, totally unconscious, blood still pouring out from the bullet holes, clothes tattered from where Seonghwa had cut them away. The sheets are stained crimson, yellow and blue quilt ruined, pillows still a pristine white by his head.

The clock ticks loudly in the quiet. 11:11.

Slowly, Jongho approaches him. He kneels down by the bed, feels the blood soak into his pants and wet his knees. Yunho’s face is even paler up close, his scattered moles and eyelashes darker than dark. His eyelids are still.

Jongho’s heart burns and his head throbs. He feels like he should cry, but he doesn’t know Yunho at all. The others have told him he’s unbelievably kind, unbelievably loyal, a man who has stuck by his friend’s side through thick and thin.

San whispered to him that he doesn’t think Yunho letting the frog escape was an accident, that he thinks Yunho let the frog free like he does with all the other wild animals that Mingi tries to shelter.

Wooyoung praised Yunho’s hugs and claimed he’s the best to sleep with because of how tall he is, that he’s probably the warmest out of everyone.

Jongho stares, throat tight, lips trembling. He wonders what he would’ve noticed if he could’ve spent time with him. He wonders if Yunho’s eyes always sparkle like they did when they were open, if he always smiles like the world is filled with too much joy for him not to.

Could we have been friends?

Jongho’s fingers twitch. He’s never had such a thought before. He hasn’t thought about friends in a long time, not until he met ATZ. He was only ever concerned about Jaeho, about getting his money and staying alive. He doesn’t give strangers a second glance, never smiles or laughs at what his coworkers say.

Yunho’s breaths are shallow. It takes twenty-three seconds for him to inhale again.

If he was awake and talking and smiling, would Jongho want to laugh at what he says? Would he want to pick up on the names he drops and his favorite things? Would he want to be closer than distant housemates?

And Jongho knows he’s a superhero, knows he’s far more powerful than Jongho could ever be, but he looks so small, so fragile, with ghostly white skin and blood all over him. He doesn’t look much different from the people he sees leaving the fighting ring.

Jongho feels a weight in his waterline, a blurriness that blocks half of his vision. It doesn’t really matter that he doesn’t know him, does it?

When he blinks, the tears fall, and it feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. He chokes on a gasp, hands fisting his hoodie as his head pounds, pounds, pounds until it feels like his brain is splitting. He curls into himself, coughs and whines at the pain that overtakes him, a burn spreading through his insides and setting his organs on fire.

His vision blacks out. Blindly, he reaches for Yunho, trembling fingers gripping onto the hero’s arm, still gasping and crying, and his heart is still beating but he can feel every pulse ripple throughout his body like shockwaves.

I want to know you.

The thought is loud, ringing in his ears, and he wants it, fuck, he wants it so badly and he doesn’t even know why. He wants to know Yunho, he wants to give Mingi his best friend back, wants ATZ to be whole—

His heart beats, and with it the burning spreads to his fingertips and to his toes and to the top of his head, electric and tingling and hot, so overwhelming he nearly passes out.

His vision returns, blurry and dizzying. He blinks over and over, but his eyes still burn, and he’s still crying, and- and why do his hands feel so hot?

Everything is swirling around him and it only gets worse when he looks down, but he catches a glimpse of something purple, more vibrant than the poison under Yunho’s skin. He struggles to focus his eyes on it, but when he does, he realizes it’s coming from a glow- a glow under—

His hands are glowing?

His hands are glowing. What the fuck.

Gradually, his vision sharpens until he can see properly again. He watches in amazement at how both of his palms emit a dark purple glow, fingers blocking it from where they’re gripping onto Yunho. It’s still hot, but it’s a comfortable warmth. He watches it seep into Yunho’s skin like mist evaporating.

The speckling disappears, the blood slowing until it stops completely. Exhaustion gnaws at the back of his head, but Jongho frowns and pushes a little more, glaring at the bullet holes until they close up. The purple glides under the skin of Yunho’s shoulder until Jongho calls it back, fascinated by how it returns to his hands.

He stares at them, bringing them away from Yunho so he can turn them over. The glow has dimmed, but it shivers underneath his skin, blocked by capillaries and veins. He rubs his thumb over his palm, expecting it to fade, but it stays.

Yunho shifts, the blankets and towels moving with him. A soft huff has Jongho looking up, eyes wide.

Yunho’s eyes are open, still twinkling despite everything. He blinks, his furrowed brow giving away his confusion when he registers Jongho.

“Why are your eyes purple?” His voice is low, rough, like he just woke up from a long nap.

“I- they-” Jongho stutters, clenching his fists and dropping them in a vain attempt to hide them from Yunho.

The hero’s eyes follow the movement before widening. He quickly looks back at Jongho.

“You- they said you didn’t have magic?”

“I didn’t think I did,” Jongho whispers, looking down. His head hurts, but it doesn’t feel like he’s being torn apart anymore.

“Wait,” Yunho says, quickly sitting up. “I’m alive.” He looks around, lips twisting at all of the dried blood and the dirty sheets. He pats himself down before his head shoots up, eyes zeroing in on Jongho. “Did you-?”

“I guess?” Jongho’s voice comes out weak. He’s confused. He’s relieved, of course, that Yunho is alive now, but… well, he really shouldn’t be.

Yunho opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, there’s a knock on the door. It’s too polite to be one of the heroes.

Jongho and Yunho share a look before Jongho goes to the door, hesitantly turning the knob. He cracks it open and tilts his head to see a woman with long hair and sharp eyes. She smiles, but it’s tight in the corners and her shoulders are tense. She clearly does not want to be here.

“I’m Lee Nari, the healer that was called,” she says. “May I take a look at Jeong Yunho-ssi?”

Jongho blinks.

Her smile falls. “It is an emergency, right?”

It certainly was. If he tells an Academy official that his magic unlocked—which he didn’t know he had in the first place—and that her client is suddenly all better, he doesn’t think he’d have a choice on whether or not he’d go to the Academy.

Because while most magic users have minor abilities that don’t call for lessons on how to control or hone them, there are some that do. And even then, there’s an even smaller percentage of those that can heal, and the ones who have those runes are immediately sent off to the Academy, expected to be on call for superheroes at all times. And Jongho does not have any particular interest in being a superhero’s helper for the rest of his life.

“It was, but we got it under control now,” Jongho tells Nari, trying to smile.

“Do you still need me to come in?” She raises an eyebrow, eyes narrowing. “Did I spend an hour on the subway for nothing?” She pauses, leans in. “Wait a minute. I don’t recognize you. Are you a new hero?”

Jongho’s blood goes cold.

He tries to save his expression by clearing his throat and pursing his lips, but he’s sure he can't hide his surprise. She only looks at him closer.

“Nari-yah! So good to see you here!” Yunho suddenly says, staggering to the door to sling his arm around Jongho’s shoulders. Jongho flinches but forces a smile at Nari.

“I was called here to look at you,” she says, unimpressed. She crosses her arms and leans back. “And you seem fine, just bloody. Also—just because we’re the same age doesn’t mean we’re friends, Yunho-ssi.”

“Ah, you’re always so cold,” Yunho says with a smile, shaking his head. Jongho would think he’d just had a nap if he didn’t just watch the life bleed out of him. The only tell is how much he’s leaning against him.

“Is he new?” Nari asks, jutting her chin towards Jongho.

“Oh, Jo-” Jongho pinches Yunho’s arm. “John-ssi?” Yunho fumbles, smile still wide, eyes still on Nari. “No, no, um- he just helps sometimes. With research. He and Hongjoong hyung go way back.”

What? Jongho resists the urge to glance at him, trying to keep up his polite smile.

“Right,” Nari says, looking between them. “Tell Hongjoong-ssi not to call me like his teammate is dying next time. I was actually worried for a second.”

“Aw, really?” Yunho brightens.

“No.” Nari frowns and turns to leave. “Good night, Yunho-ssi, John-ssi.”

“Bye!” Yunho calls, maintaining his smile until Jongho shuts the door.

“John?” Jongho says, glaring at him. “Really? John?”

“I panicked!” Yunho says, but he laughs. “That was close, though, huh?”

There’s still dried blood on his lips and chin, cheeks smudged from where Mingi had held him. But he’s smiling, more genuine now that Nari is gone, eyes shining with that same peculiar light.

“I didn’t expect you to cover for me,” Jongho says. He rubs at his shoulder, feeling a sting by his collarbone. “I didn’t even expect you to stand. Do you actually feel fine?”

“It still hurts a little, but-” Yunho looks down at his chest, which is very much bare and very much bloody. There are only circular scars where the bullet holes used to be. He grins sheepishly, his ears red. “Sorry, I should probably put on some clothes, and-” He pauses, brow furrowing as he frowns. “Where are the others?”

Now that he mentions it, Jongho realizes there isn’t any yelling anymore. It’s completely silent.

“Oh, uh- I don’t- I don’t really know,” Jongho says, lightheaded. “They dropped you off here, and then- and San hyung told Seonghwa hyung and Mingi-ssi that there were more HALA people outside, which is weird, because they never ambush or anything, not that I know of, not just- not just random HALA workers, I don’t-” Jongho tries to keep his breaths in check, digs his nails into his palms to calm down. “I don’t know where they went. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know why he’s freaking out so much. He’s safe, Yunho is safe; everything is fine. ATZ are fucking superheroes! They can take care of themselves. They’ve fought HALA before and have come out victorious every time. There’s nothing to worry about.

Yunho’s face softens. “It’s all right. Do you know how long ago they left?”

He finds the bundle of clothes Mingi left him and tugs them on, like he didn’t just die, like the biggest organization of supervillains wasn’t just sent after his team.

Jongho glances at the clock. “Ten minutes, maybe? Not long.”

The pain in his shoulder suddenly flares up, burning and tingling, and he can’t fight his wince as he puts his hand to it. He doesn’t feel any sort of laceration, and when he peeks under his hoodie, there isn’t a burn or any marking at all. He frowns.

“Are you okay?” Yunho asks, eyebrows raised.

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Jongho says, probably too fast. He lets his hoodie fall back down. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the one that got shot and poisoned.”

“I was poisoned?” Yunho frowns, confused. He points to himself. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Jongho says with a scoff, crossing his arms. “Who else? The pistol looked all fancy, right? Had a weird trigger?”

Yunho blinks. “I- I don’t know? We didn’t see it. It was just- all of a sudden, boom, bleeding everywhere.”

“Yeah, that’s how they usually do it,” Jongho mumbles. Another flare-up has him gritting his teeth. “What exactly happened?”

“I don’t know how much I can tell you,” Yunho starts, scratching the back of his head, “but- well, to make a long story short, I was with Seonghwa hyung and Wooyoung-ah in the Songpa district and we got ambushed. It was dark and we were caught off guard.” He frowns with a sigh, slumping in Seonghwa’s chair. “It was stupid, but Wooyoungie wanted to show us this really good sushi place, and he swore it was still open, but hyung was telling him no, definitely not, because we were on a mission, and it was a whole thing, but-”

Yunho’s eyes are far away, clicking a pen as he twirls it between his fingers. “Basically, I was shot out of nowhere. I don’t remember much else, but I know they contacted the others at some point and there were a couple of guys in masks, but they didn’t look like HALA masks.”

A chill goes up Jongho’s spine.

“What did they look like?” he asks.

“They were more like…” Yunho waves his hand in front of his face. “Like veils, sort of? With intersecting chains over black face masks. It was spooky, honestly,” he says with a laugh, but it sounds forced.

Jongho stares, jaw clenched. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

Yunho nods. “I’m pretty sure, yeah.” He studies Jongho’s face. “Why? Does that sound familiar?”

“Yeah, it does,” Jongho says, and he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. “Those were the HALA branch leaders.”

“The-” Yunho’s eyes go wide. “The leaders? All of them? There were only, like, three-”

“I don’t know how many there are,” Jongho says, pulling the sheets and towels and blankets off of the bed to keep his hands busy. He tries to ignore how much they shake. “I just know that if you got their attention, they want you dead.”

“I kinda got that from the gunshot-”

“Yunho-ssi,” Jongho interrupts, turning around to meet Yunho’s eyes. “You should be dead right now. Your teammates should be dead, too.”

He remembers that they still don’t know where the others are. They could be outside, bleeding out. Or they could be a couple of blocks away, poison stopping their hearts with bullets too deep—

Just as panic seizes his chest again, his shoulder burns, so sudden that he flinches, pillows dropping from his hands.

“Fuck,” he whispers, trying not to cry as he crouches down and puts his head in his hands. He tries to remember how to breathe, tries to stop how every part of him is trembling. Everything is just so fucking overwhelming, and he wants to sleep, god, he is so tired—

“Jongho-yah,” Yunho says gently, voice closer than Jongho was expecting.

He looks up to see the hero crouching beside him, a whole head taller than he is, and it only serves to make him feel smaller.

“What hurts?” Yunho asks, smiling softly, eyes glittering. The wrinkle in his brow gives away his worry.

“Nothing hurts,” Jongho mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut when a wave of pain radiates from his shoulder.

“Oh? You just thought the pillows belonged on the floor, then?” Yunho’s tone is light, teasing.

“Maybe,” Jongho says, blinking his eyes open to see Yunho smiling wider.

The hero hums for a second, contemplative, before his eyes light up. “Oh, wait, that was the first time you’ve used your magic, right?”

Jongho blinks. “I- yeah? I didn’t think I had it, but-”

“Your magic unlocked?” Yunho leans in, arms curled around his legs as he beams brighter than the sun. “Wow! To save me? Really?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Jongho says, looking away. He can feel his cheeks reddening. “What does this have to do with my shoulder hurting?”

“When a healer heals a really traumatic wound, there are some temporary effects afterwards,” Yunho says, like he’s discussing the weather. “Both on the healer and the client. Usually, the healer will feel a faint pain similar to what their client felt. And the client,” he points to himself with a smile, “which is me, will get, like, headaches or itching or something.”

“Awesome,” Jongho says dryly, sighing as he rubs his eyes. He feels nauseous.

“Oh! By the way,” Yunho says, making Jongho look at him, “you can call me hyung. I’ve already heard the others calling you our maknae-yah, and…” He grins. “You did save my life, so.”

“I mean, I guess,” Jongho says, ears pink. “But I’m not going to hold it against you. That’d just be shitty of me. Just-” He sighs. “Just tell the others Nari-ssi did it, okay? Please.”

Yunho’s brow furrows, smile fading. “What? Why?”

“I’m not-” Jongho’s voice breaks. He huffs and wipes at his eyes that are suddenly feeling very wet. “I’m not like you. I live my own life, running away from you and-” he looks down, “and all the other superheroes. I fight and I live and that’s it. Magic has nothing to do with it, it has no place in it, I don’t have any place here, in this- this superhero shit-”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Yunho says, hovering a hand over Jongho’s knee. He frowns, brow drawn. “It’s all right, Jongho-yah, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to go to the Academy, hyung,” Jongho murmurs into his legs, trying to make himself even smaller.

“Then you won’t,” Yunho says. Slowly, he lets his hand fall. Jongho flinches, but it’s slight, and with a glance to make sure Jongho is okay with it, Yunho pats him and smiles. “No one will force you to. If someone does, I’ll beat them up, and I’m sure the others will do the same.”

Jongho can’t help but scoff, hiding his smile behind his arm. “I really don’t understand you. We just met.”

“So?” Yunho shrugs. “You wanted to save me so badly that your magic unlocked, and we hadn’t even talked at that point.” His smile softens. “Seriously, thank you, Jongho-yah. I know you don’t see yourself as hero material, and you probably don’t like heroes very much, but that was pretty heroic.”

“I don’t even-” Jongho huffs. “I don’t even know why I did that.”

“I don’t, either,” Yunho says, chuckling. “I thought you were gonna be an asshole, to be honest, despite what the others were saying.”

“What did they tell you?” Jongho’s eyes narrow. “I told Hongjoong hyung to keep the panic attack thing just between us-”

“Panic attack thing? What?” Yunho looks concerned before he shakes his head. “No, they said nice things. Like you listen really well, and you never seem bored with them.” He smiles. “They said you’re good company.”

“Oh.”

Yunho snorts. “Yeah, nothing bad. But, well, you did come in with a HALA mask, so I was a little… hesitant.”

Jongho laughs, a little bitter, a little delirious. “Yeah, I wasn’t very happy to be here, either.”

“Was?” Yunho tilts his head, smiling. “Are you happy to be here now? After watching a superhero bleed out?”

Jongho pauses to consider it. He thinks of Seonghwa’s soft voice teasing one of the others, Wooyoung’s laughter as he smacks the person beside him, San’s fond eyes as he watches the others talk, Hongjoong’s subconscious smile as everyone laughs around him—and he thinks of the light in Yunho’s eyes, and he thinks of Yeosang and Mingi, and he wonders what they’re like.

I want to know you.

That was what he thought before his magic unlocked. And as he stares at Yunho, watches his eyes fill with curiosity the longer Jongho looks at him, he finds that he wants to know the others, too.

“I’m not a huge fan of blood, no,” Jongho says and rolls his eyes, trying to act like he doesn’t feel oddly comfortable right here on the bloodstained floor. “Maybe refrain from doing that.”

There’s a lot Jongho doesn’t say, but there’s a lot that he implies. When Yunho smiles and his eyes soften, Jongho knows he understands.

-

It takes less than an hour for the heroes to return.

Usually, Jongho knows when they enter the house. They’re loud, they’re talkative, and they have no reason to sneak into their own home. But this time, there’s a single knock on the door before it creaks open, Seonghwa’s head popping in with anguish already in his eyes. When he sees Yunho, though, they widen.

“Yuyu,” he whispers like a prayer, running in and sliding across the floor in his haste to envelop him in a hug.

The others file in quickly, eyes wide and teary, hair and skin and clothes still wet with rain. Wooyoung already has tears running down his cheeks, eyes cloudy and face screwed up in a sob as he joins Seonghwa’s side, pressing kisses to Yunho’s hair over and over as if to make up for lost time.

Hongjoong and Yeosang watch from the doorway, mouths open in shock. There’s a new cut across Yeosang’s cheek and Hongjoong’s lip is split, both slowly bleeding, but they don’t seem to notice.

Mingi stands frozen, unblinking, eyes shining with unshed tears. The blood on his arms and hands must have been washed off in the rain. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe.

San nudges him, whispers something to him that Jongho can’t catch over the sound of Wooyoung’s sobs. Whatever it was, it seems to remind him to inhale, because he breathes shakily and blinks, letting the tears fall as he slowly walks towards Yunho.

Wooyoung sees him coming and shifts to give him room, wrapping an arm around him when Mingi drops to the floor and buries his head in Yunho’s neck. Seonghwa accommodates him, too, brings him in under his arm and squeezes tighter around Yunho until their limbs become indistinguishable.

Jongho slides over to the desk to give them space. He curls up with his knees pulled to his chest as he watches them cry together.

Yunho is laughing, teasing his teammates for being so dramatic, but he whispers reassurances in between that Jongho can only half hear. His eyes are shining more than ever; Jongho has never seen someone so obviously full of love.

Jongho glances away, but as he does, Yunho catches his eye. He smiles, soft, grateful, eyes twinkling with a million shooting stars.

Jongho’s heart thumps.

“Thank fuck the healer got here in time,” Hongjoong says after Wooyoung’s sobs have quieted to sniffles. “That was- that was really close, Yunho-yah.”

Jongho ignores Yunho’s glance.

“No way am I going out like that,” Yunho says with a grin. “Not without that sushi Wooyoungie-yah was talking about.”

“Oh, my god, shut up,” Wooyoung says, yanking Yunho’s ear. “That was so stupid! What was I thinking? I should’ve been a crow the entire mission. Maybe then I-”

“No,” Seonghwa says, pulling away from Yunho to glare at Wooyoung. “We’re not doing that. It was no one’s fault. We couldn’t have expected something like that.”

“If I had a thousand won for every time one of you blamed yourself for a mission, I think I’d actually be able to buy us an apartment,” Hongjoong says, arms crossed.

“That includes you, Captain-ah,” Seonghwa says, turning his glare to Hongjoong.

San oooh’s with a snicker, but presses his lips together and quiets when Hongjoong stares at him.

“Are you feeling okay, Yunho-yah?” Hongjoong asks, turning his attention back to Yunho. “I know the healers can only really stop bleeding, but you seem to be doing all right.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine! I just have some itching right now,” Yunho says. He pulls down the collar of his shirt to show the scars by his clavicle. “See? Just scars. And Jo- and Nari-ssi took care of the poison.”

Jongho’s pulse jumps at the slip-up.

“Poison?” Seonghwa asks, brow drawn in confusion. “I didn’t see any.”

“Jongho-yah pointed it out,” Yunho says. “At least, that’s what Nari-ssi said. I was knocked out, so.”

Jongho can’t tell if Yunho is good at lying or if the rest of ATZ is just gullible, but either way, they seem to buy it.

“You recognized it?” Hongjoong looks at Jongho, eyes narrowed. “What was it?”

“Aconitum ferox strand number five-zero-seven,” Jongho says, reciting the definition before he processes the words. He feels tired. “Alchemical poison with an aconitum ferox base, a type of monkshood plant, which causes slowed heart rate and low blood pressure, and death within the hour.” He holds Yunho’s eyes for a second. “It’s ground up and then mixed with gunpowder. When the bullet enters your body, the poison will get into your bloodstream, and it will stop your heart.”

He leans back against the wall and sighs silently before he looks back at Hongjoong. “Strand number five-zero-seven is a newer strand, faster acting. But you can still see the purple dots under the skin. That’s how I recognized it.”

“Do you just happen to know poisons?” San asks.

“Any and all that HALA takes in,” Jongho says with a shrug, stifling a yawn. “That one I’ve seen a lot. It’s hard to forget it.”

“So HALA was definitely involved.” Hongjoong frowns. “Why would they attack like this? We were on an Academy intel mission.”

“I don’t know, but they want you out of the way,” Jongho says. “Yunho hyung is supposed to be dead right now.” He looks over all of the heroes. “Who were you fighting out there?”

“It was just HALA henchmen, dressed the same as you were when we found you,” San says. “But Wooyoungie and Seonghwa hyung said they got ambushed by guys in different masks. Were those different HALA people?”

“They were the branch leaders.”

“You’re joking,” Hongjoong says, sighing as his shoulders slump. “Seriously? The big guns themselves?”

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Jongho says with a scoff, rubbing his eyes.

“We must’ve really fucked something up if they’re coming after us,” Wooyoung says, still draped over Yunho’s back.

Jongho tries to listen as they continue to talk, but the exhaustion at the back of his head has come to the forefront, dragging down his eyelids. He leans his head against the footboard of the bed, blinking slowly. His shoulder still hurts, but it’s dulled down to an ache, and now his abdomen is starting to ache, too, and all he wants is to sleep.

“-to find a new safehouse,” Hongjoong says, the first half foggy and unintelligible in Jongho’s ears. “We need to leave by daybreak. If the branch leaders want us dead like Jongho-yah says, then- Jongho-yah?”

Jongho hums to show he heard him, but his thoughts are too slow, too quiet for him to hold onto any of them. His eyelids flutter and his head falls.

“It’s the maknae’s bedtime,” Wooyoung whispers.

“It’s not even one yet, though,” San says.

“We did barge in and leave him with Yunho-yah,” Seonghwa points out. “I really thought he was just going to- going to die here, fuck, now I feel-”

“No, no, Jongho-yah is fully capable,” Hongjoong says. “We all know that. He’s strong.”

“He shouldn’t have to be,” Seonghwa mumbles.

“Is he asleep?” Yeosang asks. “What are you doing?”

There’s the sound of shuffling coming closer before Jongho is jostled. He grumbles and flinches but doesn’t pull away, letting himself be situated in warmth. He smells rain, tea tree shampoo, and something like honey as he settles against a calmly beating chest.

“Long day for maknae-yah,” he hears Yunho say above him, his tone teasing, but his hold around Jongho is gentle, assuring. “The floor isn’t very comfortable.”

“I’ll allow it, I guess,” Mingi says, voice stuffy. “He does look kinda cute.”

“He’d punch you if he was awake,” San says with a giggle. “You’re right, though.”

“I’m only letting you cuddle him because you almost died, Yuyu-yah,” Wooyoung says from beside Jongho. He feels a hand running through his hair. “Next time, it’s my turn.”

“I didn’t think he liked touching,” Yeosang says as Yunho laughs. “Are you sure he’ll be okay with this?”

“He does sometimes,” Wooyoung says. He adds something else, but by then the words are twisting together and Jongho can’t decipher them.

His dreams are blissfully absent.

-

The new safehouse is in Seoul, nestled in the quiet streets of the Gangbuk district. The houses are close together with alleys connecting to supermarkets, and there’s a fried chicken joint across the street that Wooyoung has already convinced Yeosang to try.

San was going to join them, but seeing that Jongho only had his clothes to his name—What? Oh, my god, Jongho-yah! It’s been almost a month and you don’t even have your phone?—he agreed to take Jongho back to his apartment to get his things the following morning.

Jongho was apprehensive about the idea of someone coming into his space, knowing where he lives. He’s not sure HALA does, but Hongjoong urged them to go when San asked him, saying that if Jongho was able to be in contact with HALA, they probably know.

They only have to take Line 4 to get to the Jung district. Jongho is grateful they don’t have to walk two hours, but before he can pay the fare, San is already ushering him onto the subway, giving the last seat to an elderly woman who thanks him profusely.

Jongho almost wants to roll his eyes at how superhero-esque it all is, but then San grins at him from across the traincar and side-eyes the man drooling in his sleep beside him, and Jongho remembers that’s just how San is.

It takes an hour and seven stops for them to get to Myeongdong, doors sliding open for what feels like the millionth time, and Jongho has to nudge San awake and drag him by the wrist before they close again.

San isn’t as talkative as some of the other members, and it is only a little past seven in the morning, so Jongho can’t blame him for how silent the walk to his neighborhood is. It’s nice, though, to pass through the emptier streets as the sun rises.

“So you’re from Seoul?” San asks, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Jongho glances at him. “Yeah. I was born in the Jung district.”

San hums and nods. “I’m from Namhae.” He grins. “I’m the first superhero from there, you know.”

“Oh?” Jongho says with a small smile. “Didn’t a supervillain come from there? Laser or something?”

San groans, grin falling to be replaced by a scowl. “That’s what everyone says! I’m trying to redefine my hometown’s history, but how can I when everyone says that?”

Jongho shrugs. “Kinda hard to do when a villain murders, like, twenty people.”

“I’ve probably saved more than that!” San huffs. “I haven’t been counting, but in the year ATZ has been a team, I can guarantee there were twenty lives saved.”

“Really? I haven’t heard anything about you guys in the news.”

“Of course not!” San suddenly shouts, making Jongho jump. “They only care about the heroes the Academy actually likes, like Firebomb and Ash and shit! Heroes who don’t give a fuck about people but can do cool tricks! I know who Firebomb is, and let me tell you, she thinks she’s hot shit just because she can melt metal and because the Academy told her so.”

Jongho blinks.

“We got letters from our family on the same day every week, but I swear to you, I always found her letters in the trash.” San’s face is flushed red, eyes narrowed. Jongho has never seen him so angry. “It’s a small school. We all knew she did that. Like, how fucked up do you have to be? Some of us don’t even have family anymore.”

Jongho’s mouth opens, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just closes it again. He can only stop and stare, unsure how to respond.

“Sorry, Jongho-yah,” San says, sighing. “It’s just- it’s really frustrating. A lot of superheroes end up like her because they’re always told their magic could save the world. It gets to their heads, I guess, and they forget everything else.”

He pushes his hair back with a frown. “It just sucks that that’s what the Academy wants. They don’t really care about us, about ATZ. They only graduated us because they wanted to get rid of us, and they put us together because Hongjoong hyung wouldn’t leave them alone.”

Jongho snorts. “Really? I always knew he was stubborn.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen the worst of it,” San says. “Seonghwa hyung was the first one to join ATZ. And…” San’s expression darkens. “We all know it’s because he stopped manipulating his magic, so the Academy didn’t care about him anymore. Did you know he can make steam and ice? It’s the first time an elemental magic user as strong as him has appeared in Korea. But he stopped doing it. He just does normal water now.”

“Can he still do it?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t like to.” San frowns. “He had to do it the other day, when those HALA guys showed up at the old house. I know I kind of forced him to do it, and I really do feel bad about that, but he’s really powerful, Jongho-yah, you should’ve seen him!”

“Aren’t all of you pretty powerful, though?” Jongho’s brow furrows. “Why would the Academy want to get rid of you?”

“We just don’t see our magic as everything we are,” San says with a shrug. “The Academy wants you to prioritize your magic above everything else, above your family, your friends, and your health. They want you to be powerful, but more than that, they want you to be willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of it.”

“That’s fucked up,” Jongho mumbles, frowning.

“Right?” San says with a laugh, kicking at a rock as they walk. “It’s pretty bad. Hongjoongie hyung has always had a reputation of being ‘rebellious,’” he says, using air quotes, “but that’s just because he’s more outspoken about it. Yunho-yah intentionally failed his tests to not graduate before Mingi-yah, and when Yeosang-ah got a little too good at mimicking other people’s mannerisms, other students were spooked, so he stopped.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously! I guess it got uncanny for them, or something? I don’t know.” San sighs. “And Wooyoungie… he was never cut out for the Academy. He loves making friends and he likes to just connect, you know? But at the Academy, you’re there to improve your magic, not make friends. And I’m sure he knew that, but he didn’t care.” San looks up at the sky.

“Our Wooyoung-ah is very smart. He always complained to me and Yeosang-ah about how the other students only ever cared about how he could shapeshift, since it’s a rarer ability. And it was like that for me, too, but I don’t think I was as upset about it as he was,” he says. “I liked Yeosangie and Wooyoungie and that was enough for me. But he likes people, like a crow does.” San chuckles.

“And Yunho…” he pauses. “He has the rarest elemental ability. There were rumors that he would be the top of his class if he actually tried. But everyone loved him, because he only ever used his magic to make people laugh.” San looks at Jongho and smiles sadly. “Mingi-yah, though—he has an environmental ability, which everyone sees as lame. So it was- it was kind of messy, because Yunho stayed with him through it all, so after the first year, Yunho wasn’t as cool anymore.”

“It just sounds like a shitty high school,” Jongho says as they approach his apartment complex, climbing up the fire escape.

“Yeah, it really- why aren’t you going inside?” San glances at the entrance.

“Easier this way,” Jongho says, because he doesn’t want to admit it’s by habit. “You can go in if you want, but I’m on the eighth floor.”

“I didn’t even know there were fire escapes like these anymore,” San says, following Jongho instead. “Isn’t this a safety hazard?”

“Probably. Just don’t scrape anything or you’ll get tetanus.”

“What? Didn’t you say this was meant to be an easier way in?”

Jongho doesn’t answer, only keeps climbing, rust crumbling under his fingers, metal bars shaking with the weight of two men.

San whines the whole way, nearly sobs every time the escape creaks and groans, and Jongho has to stifle a laugh. By the time they reach his window, San is mumbling curses and Jongho is grinning as he slides the window open.

His apartment is the same as he left it: white and bare. His bed is little more than a mattress and blanket. While not abnormal, he thinks it’d be more comfortable in the houses that have heated floors, but he is not made of money. Stuffed animals that Jaeho has given him sit unperturbed.

There are magazines covered in dust on the table in the center of the room, a notepad with scribbled dates left beside it. Jongho ignores the pile of clothes next to his bed and jumps through the window with practiced ease, snorting when San can’t come in as gracefully.

“Aren’t you a cat, hyung?”

“Not at this moment,” San says, almost pouting as he sits up from where he’d sprawled across the floor.

Quickly, Jongho grabs his phone from where he must’ve hid it before he left all those weeks ago, laying face down in his pillowcase. When he clicks it on, he’s surprised to see there’s still three percent left.

Boss

[06/05 2:01] Choi Jongho, place your report immediately.

[06/05 9:24] Choi Jongho, state your status.

[06/06 9:19] Choi Jongho, state your status.

[06/07 9:22] Choi Jongho, state your status.

[06/08 9:20] Choi Jongho, you have been pronounced M.I.A.

Jae-yah ⭑˖་

[06/10 20:34] hyuungggieee !!

[06/10 20:34] dad used sign language today! can you believe it?

[06/10 20:35] it was kind of bad kkkkk

[06/10 20:35] but it was nice! he said he’s trying to learn more so he can help me

[06/10 20:35] i told him you could help him with it

[06/10 20:35] but

[06/10 20:35] you know how he is……

[06/14 15:56] are you coming this week hyung?

[06/15 11:17] i hope you’re okay

[06/20 17:11] we had to pick an animal for our science project so i decided to do a bear! i bet you can guess why k

[06/20 17:11] we had to draw it but … you know how bad i am at that hh

[06/20 17:11] Jae-yah sent you an image.

[06/20 17:12] doesn’t it look like you?? kkkkk

[06/29 3:05] dad is taking me to the park next sunday! the one with the horse statue! remember when you used to take me all the time?? i must’ve been .. what .. nine .. ? heol .. hyung is this what it feels like to be old ?

[06/29 3:07] i told dad where the best spots are. i’m going to show him

[06/29 3:07] he seems too excited kk

[06/29 3:08] you don’t mind right hyung?

Jongho stands frozen, fingers gripping his phone so hard they cramp, but he can only stare at Jaeho’s messages. His heart hurts, and there are already tears falling before he’s even processed the words.

He scrolls back up to the picture Jaeho sent. It’s a shitty drawing, but it does look like a bear, with fluffy ears and a big nose and chubby cheeks. Jaeho drew stars in its eyes.

“Jongho-yah?” San asks, reminding him he’s not alone. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“My Jae-yah…” Jongho murmurs, sniffing as he reads over the texts again. He covers his mouth, eyes blurry with tears, because fuck, he missed his Jaeho so much, his little brother, his world.

San hums questioningly and rises from his seat on the floor to get to Jongho’s side.

“Jae-yah? Who’s that?” He peers over Jongho’s shoulder to look at the screen.

Jongho doesn’t care, too relieved to know that Jaeho is safe, that he’s happy, that their dad is finally trying.

“Oh. You have a dongsaeng?” San only sounds curious. “He seems fine? Why are you crying?”

“San hyung,” Jongho murmurs, not looking away from his phone. “Do you know what it is that you fight for?”

There’s a pause. “I do.”

Jongho looks at him. “This. This is what I’m fighting for. This is why I’m alive.” He shakes his phone. “When you and Wooyoungie hyung found me, I died with one last thought.” He looks back at the texts. “It was that I wanted to show Jae-yah the stars. Out in the country, away from Seoul, away from everything here.”

And Jongho knows he’s acting weird. He knows San probably has no idea what he’s saying, why he’s crying so much over mundane texts, but- but to see a confirmation that Jaeho is okay, that he’s doing well—there is nothing Jongho loves more.

But there’s a part of him that shakes, that curls into itself anxiously. Because if their dad is able to sign, is able to take him to all the places Jongho took him, then does Jaeho still need him?

Jongho has grown used to Seoul, has learned to thrive in it so he knows how to survive in it. Jaeho, though—he doesn’t need to survive. He just needs to live. He just needs to see all the pretty places, eat all the good food, draw all the silly bears, keep the stars in his eyes.

To know that he is… Jongho can’t help but cry. For the fact that what he’s always wanted is a reality, and for the fact that he doesn’t need to be there for it to happen.

“Hongjoongie hyung said you only worked for HALA for the money,” San says. “Is- is this why? Your brother?”

Jongho nods, allows himself to smile with his gums, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t he amazing? He did a bear for his project just for me.” He saves the picture and makes it his phone wallpaper, replacing the other drawing Jaeho did. “I don’t see the resemblance, but whatever makes him happy, I guess.”

“Mm, you’re more of a gummy bear,” San says with a smile, poking the corner of Jongho’s mouth. “I do see it, though.”

Before his phone dies, Jongho quickly sends a response.

[07/03 7:18] jae-yah did the project go well? the drawing is… interesting … kk but i love it a lot

[07/03 7:19] remember to tell dad to take you earlier in the morning. not as many people. have fun

[07/03 7:19] sorry for no texts. your hyung has been busy!

[07/03 7:19] stay safe

He doesn’t have many belongings, so it doesn’t take long for him to stuff it all in a duffel bag. San is quiet until Jongho crams the last stuffed bear into it, just barely able to zip it all up.

“Hongjoong hyung said you told him you don’t have any family.”

Jongho pauses before he continues to stuff chargers into the pockets of the bag. “I lied.”

San snorts.

“I was stabbed by a coworker and then I woke up in a house of superheroes, hyung,” Jongho says. “I wasn’t going to tell you my life story or what I would die for as soon as I woke up.”

“Fair enough,” San says, passing a pen to Jongho for him to pack. “Do you just have your brother and your dad?”

“I’m not close with my dad,” Jongho says, stuffing the pen next to the cords. “Just Jaeho-yah.”

“Mommy’s sorry, she’s so sorry. Just don’t- don’t- Jongho!”

Jongho bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He breaks one of the zippers when he pulls too hard.

“What about you?” Jongho asks, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “You have any family?”

San’s eyes widen before they drop to the floor. “I- well, no. They died five years ago, back when my magic unlocked.”

“Ah…” Jongho says, because what else do you say when someone says their parents died? “Uh- I’m sorry, hyung.”

“It was a long time ago,” San says, but his smile is sad.

Jongho says nothing. He knows five years isn’t very long at all, but he recognizes the look in San’s eyes enough to not ask anything else. He only crawls through the window and helps San over the ledge, snorting when he whines at how the fire escape shakes.

“I don’t understand why we can’t just walk downstairs like normal people,” San mumbles.

Jongho is about to reply when a familiar mask in the corner of his eye catches his attention.

He ducks down, pulling San with him, trying to hide behind the feeble bars of the escape. San complains but sobers when Jongho puts a finger to his lips and tilts his head towards the pair of masked people approaching the apartment complex on the opposite side.

They’re wearing full-coverage plastic masks with obnoxious paint pen doodles. Jongho could recognize them anywhere.

“Is this really where Bear lives?”

“Yeah, Boss said so. We just need to see if he’s in hiding or if he’s really dead.”

“Of course he’s fucking dead! He hasn’t been to the fighting ring! I bet you it was Hoshi that stabbed him, back at the first shipment check in June. He looked guilty as hell, kept fidgeting.”

“If it was, Boss is gonna kill him himself. You know Bear is Domino’s son.”

“What? I thought it was just a rumor.”

Jongho’s breath catches in his throat at the name, hand covering his mouth to hide how much he can’t breathe. His heart pounds in his chest, echoing in his ears.

“Boss wouldn’t be going through all this trouble if it was just a rumor.”

The other person replies as they pass through the entrance to the complex, words too far away for Jongho to hear. He’s not sure he’d be able to understand them anyway, brain in overdrive.

“You’re Domino’s son?”

Jongho whips his head towards San, fear making his eyes go wide and making his fingers shake. He backs away, digs his back into the bars of the fire escape. He can’t find the words to excuse himself.

“Jongho-yah,” San says gently, putting up his hands to show he’s not going to reach for him. “I’m not going to hurt you. Is it true, then? That you go by Bear and that you’re Domino’s son?”

“I’m sorry,” Jongho whispers, knees curled to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.

It’s one thing to lie about his brother. He did that to protect him, just in case the superheroes had ulterior motives, or in case they were going to use him to manipulate Jongho. It was only a safety precaution.

But his mother? Jongho knows the second he told the superheroes he’s the son of one of the most infamous supervillains the nation has ever seen, they would’ve tossed him out, would’ve thrown him behind bars, into solitary confinement where he never would’ve seen another human again.

It’s selfish. Jongho knows he is. He wants so desperately not to be her, but beyond that, he wants so desperately for Jaeho to have a better chance, so he accepted HALA work, accepted the benefits of being a supervillain’s son.

And now he’s staring a superhero in the eyes, and his heart aches.

“Does Jaeho know?”

It’s the last question Jongho expects. San is staring at him, eyes unreadable, but he doesn’t look angry.

“No, never,” Jongho says, shaking his head. “I- I got him out as soon as- as soon as I found-”

“Stop it! Leave Jae-yah alone, Mom! What are you- what- why are your eyes-?”

Jongho sobs, digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, rocks back and forth. “No, she never fucking touched him. No, no, no, never- never-”

“You’re- you’re her! You were trying to control him with- with your magic! What the fuck is wrong with you! Why would-?”

“Jongho, listen to me.” San’s voice breaks through the memory, shatters it into tiny pieces so that Jongho can see his face.

“Those HALA henchmen are going to break into your room when you don’t answer,” he says, frowning, eyes boring into Jongho’s. “We don’t have time to leave.”

“What? What are you-?”

“I’ll distract them, okay?” San says, trying to smile, but it falls flat.

“No! No, definitely not! Hyung, are you crazy?” Jongho springs to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. “They’re coming for me, taking me back to- to where I belong, all right? You’re a superhero, so go back to your other superheroes and I’ll-”

“You don’t belong there, Jongho-yah.” San grips Jongho’s shoulders, ignoring his flinch, voice solid as steel, eyes sharp as glass. “You act nothing like them.”

“You- you don’t even know me!” Jongho snaps. “What is the point of you distracting them if they’re just going to find me again? You should’ve just turned me in, or left me to die, I don’t-”

“Don’t fucking say that,” San says, eyes narrowing, grip tightening on his shoulders. “What happened to fighting, Jongho? Did you forget what this is all for?”

Jongho stills, mouth opening with nothing to say. Jaeho.

There’s a knock on the front door of his apartment. San won’t look away.

“You fight for your Jae-yah,” he says. “I fight every day to make my parents proud, to make sure their son doesn’t become a supervillain like Laser Beam.” He slowly lets go of Jongho. “I couldn’t save them that night. But I can save you right now.”

Jongho blanches. “Hyung, I’m not going to die-”

“I’m sure you know there are worse fates, maknae-yah.” San smiles, fixing Jongho’s bangs with a light touch before he pulls away completely to duck into the apartment.

The knocking is more insistent now, yelling on the other side of the door.

Jongho can only stare, shock gluing his feet to the ground.

“You deserve to live,” San says.

He slides the window shut and gives a wave like he’s known Jongho his entire life, eyes turning black as his form shifts, and Jongho chokes on his own breath when he sees himself staring back at him.

The black-out curtains fall over the window. The yelling from inside is what reminds Jongho to run.