There was a spring in Kyungsoo’s step as he skipped up the hill towards the village community center. Clouds hung dark and low in the sky as the wind gusted through the village in chilly bursts. The wind was so strong that the fishermen had all returned early from the sea, unwilling to risk their boats on the choppy waves. Kyungsoo had offered his help in tying down the boats, but he’d been shooed away from the docks to join the rest of village in preparing for their stormy weather tradition: barbecue party!

Kyungsoo picked up his pace, the wind at his back giving wings to his feet. It felt like years since he’d had proper food, meat to chew, the birthright handed down from his carnivorous ancestors. Panting as the hill grew steeper, he didn’t even begrudge the villagers their penchant for winding, impossible paths, because each deep lungful brought hints of spicy, juicy, sizzling meat. Once he reached the hill’s summit, he took a moment outside the door to rub the drool from the corners of his mouth with his sleeve. He couldn’t seem too eager or the ahjummas would mercilessly, and he had no patience when it came to food.

“Yeollie’s chingu!” The elderly woman stationed by the door whisked his coat away as soon as he entered, and he bobbed his head in greeting. He didn’t even feel slighted— ‘Yeollie chingu’, ‘Dock Boy’, ‘Tofu Belly’ —any name was fine with him as long as they fed him meat. He glanced around, quickly skimming over the baduk-playing older men scattered about the fringes of the large room. Of far more interest were the women were clustered in the center of the room, ringing a sea of glistening white plates piled with colorful banchan and leaves of all shades of green. In the place of honor, a quartet of indoor grills hissed merrily, their meshed tops laden with browning slices of glory. Children zipped around the perimeter like screeching satellites, trading haphazard slaps in a lawless game of tag. Kyungsoo frowned when he didn’t find Chanyeol stoking the knee-high chaos as he’d expected. Instead, he’d been absorbed into the ahjumma circle, firmly sandwiched between two of the younger women, a little boy curled up in his lap. Kyungsoo’s lips pursed in irritation as one the young moms tried to feed Chanyeol a lettuce wrap that was half the size of his face. Chanyeol leaned away from the ssam like it was made of radioactive waste, his lips zipped tightly together, shaking his head vehemently. His eyes landed on Kyungsoo and widened, transmitting a desperate plea for rescue. Without hesitation, Kyungsoo charged across the room and jammed his foot between their tightly pressed shoulders.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, stomping downward. The woman jerked away with a yelp just as Kyungsoo’s foot plowed into the space where her hand had been resting. Kyungsoo dropped to one knee and wedged himself into the narrow opening he’d created, granting the stunned woman a faceful of High Quality Rear View. She scooted backward, scandalized, her hands flying up in surprised reflex. Kyungsoo snagged her lettuce wrap as it arced through the air, and plopped onto his in his new seat, folding his legs in satisfaction. He stuffed the ssam into his mouth in one giant bite, nearly choking on the entire cow the woman managed to stuff into the crunchy lettuce leaves. The young mom straightened her blouse primly, dusting off her hands before firing off a look that could have melted granite. Kyungsoo returned the death-glare with a triumphant grin full of green.

Left to his own devices, Chanyeol began briskly tossing rice and kimchi into a leaf, adding a dab of red pepper paste before expertly rolling it all into a tight morsel. A neat, beautiful ssam by anyone’s standard, except, tragically, blasphemously— there had been no meat. As it disappeared into Chanyeol’s mouth, Kyungsoo couldn’t even protest; he was effectively gagged by a giant ball of food. Instead, he snatched the next wrap out of Chanyeol’s hand and held it as far away from him as he could, wagging a finger threateningly in his face to get his point across. With a glint in his eye, Chanyeol looped his own finger in Kyungsoo’s shirt collar and twirled it slowly, the fabric winding around his knuckle, reeling him in until their faces were inches away. Kyungsoo froze, his breath hitching in his throat, trapped like a fly in molasses. He was suddenly, acutely, aware of the pound of Chanyeol’s heartbeat, so much steadier than his own racing pulse, the measured rise and fall of his wide chest, his light touch of his fingers….

Kyungsoo squeaked, flailing as Chanyeol’s fingers inched up his forearm, but to no avail. The uselessly long-armed orangutan peeled the lettuce wrap from Kyungsoo’s fist with laughable ease. His collar still held hostage, he could only watch in dismay as Chanyeol’s magnificent jawline crunched down on abomination after meatless abomination. Chewing sadly, Kyungsoo mourned the loss of deliciousness that could have been.

“That’s already four kids the teacher had to send home,” one of the women complained, her raised voice wresting Kyungsoo’s attention from Chanyeol’s Adam’s apple. “Eungi’s mom said he had a fever of 102 when she picked him up. She took him straight to the hospital in the city.”

“What did the doctor say?” someone asked anxiously, and all of the women held their breath in anticipation.

“Probably the flu,” came the reply, and the gathered parents sighed in weary resignation.

“If four of the kids have it—” one mom lamented.

“Everybody has it,” another finished.

Kyungsoo’s head whipped down to the adorable plague carrier sleeping in Chanyeol’s lap, noticing for the first time the flush in the boy’s cherub cheeks and the feverish sheen of sweat across his forehead. With mounting horror, his gaze darted to the child’s mother, whose bare hands had so recently cocooned the wrap he’d been enjoying. She caught his eye, her glare sharpening into a victorious smirk. The beef turned to ash on his tongue, and Kyungsoo’s lips quivered, his mouth flooding with saliva as he fought down his gag reflex. He would show no weakness, even if it meant swallowing germ-infested paste.

Like a gift from above, the outer door of the community center slammed open, the percussive bang turning heads. Kyungsoo hastily spat the remnants of the tainted lettuce wrap into a napkin and shoved it under Chanyeol’s leg as two fishermen staggered into the common room. The younger was limping heavily, barely held upright by his partner, his pants leg ripped to shreds below the knee, the tattered fabric dark and dripping. A third man slunk in like a shadow behind them as the first droplets of rain pattered against the roof. His hunched shoulders screamed ‘guilty’ to Kyungsoo, but no-one else spared him a second glance.

The wounded fisherman was quickly surrounded by concerned villagers as his supporter lowered him carefully to the ground. The man’s wife sank to her knees, trembling and speechless, aghast at the blood oozing across the smooth floor. Her friends pestered the other fisherman with a frenzy of questions in her stead, but the grizzled older man ignored them. He pulled out a small pocketknife and quickly sliced away his companion’s bloodied pants leg, revealing a pulpy mess, jagged shards of white bone stark against the mangled flesh. The sight drew a gasp from the onlookers and Kyungsoo to his feet, his first responder training kicking in. He stepped towards the crowd, but something caught his ankle. Kyungsoo turned, surprised at the obstruction, to find Chanyeol holding him down, shaking his head desperately. The message was clear: don’t get involved. Hiding in plain sight only worked if they were unremarkable and easily forgotten, and that meant the drifter dock boy couldn’t suddenly start acting like a big-city cop.

“Bandages! Bring something so we can stop the bleeding!” the old man demanded hoarsely, and one of the older kids dashed past them clutching an armful of cleaning towels.

Kyungsoo twisted free of Chanyeol’s hold without a second thought, shouldering his way into the knot of people surrounding the injured man. He wasn’t going to let a man bleed to death if he could help, no matter how much unwanted attention it caused. They couldn’t stay in this village forever anyway. He relaxed slightly as the old fisherman began wrapping the offered towels around the crushed leg, creating a pressure dressing with sure, practiced motions.

“Damn boat snapped its mooring line when we tried to beach it.” The man paused in his ministrations to rap his partner on the forehead, leaving a bloody fingerprint. “Fool should’ve gotten out of the way.”

“I tried!” His eyes leaking tears from the pain, the wounded man pointed a weak, shaking finger toward their third companion, who was doing his best impression of wallpaper in the corner. “But he pushed me off the pier!”

Between one breath and the next, the wounded man’s wife was on her feet, barrelling toward the accused with a metal chopstick glinting in her raised fist. Kyungsoo chased after her and grabbed her raised wrist from behind, deftly slipping the chopstick from her grip. With a frustrated scream, she wrenched her wrist from his grip, and he let her go. She was unarmed now and justifiably angry, holding her back would only escalate the situation.

“Shame on you, Park Minha! ” The woman ripped her slipper off and slapped the cowering man across the face with the sole. He ducked into a crouch, protecting his head from the rain of stinging blows as she vented her wrath. “With a spineless excuse for a father like you, no wonder your son is sick.”

“I could hear the line failing,” the man tried to explain, ducking another slap. “I was just trying to get out of the way! He would’ve done the same thing!”

The furious wife aimed a kick, but Kyungsoo stepped between them, blocking her target. “I think you’ve made your point,” he murmured, putting a little steel in his voice to make his own position clear. Her lip curled in thwarted rage, her slipper crumpling in her pale-knuckled grip. Kyungsoo eyed her carefully, ready for another attack, but she simply spat at the cowering man’s feet, and walked away. The accused man uncovered his head, his eyes questing hesitantly around the room for support. One by one, the other villagers turned their backs on him pointedly, until only Kyungsoo was left.

“Everything happened so fast,” the fisherman whimpered, his hands clasping together in an unconscious bid for sympathy. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

In the past, Kyungsoo would’ve helped the guy to his feet, given him a ride to the police station, and offered him a cup of coffee. Jongdae was best at chasing down criminals, but Kyungsoo was the one who listened. The forsaken, the wronged, the unhinged, the innocent, he gave them all a fair chance to be heard. But, as he met the fisherman’s pleading gaze, Kyungsoo didn’t feel the usual twinge of empathy. Instead, there was just…indifference. With surprisingly little effort, he took a step away, and the fisherman sagged miserably, the life draining out of him. Like a switch had been flipped, the atmosphere of the room lightened. Spirited chatter washed over Kyungsoo as he threaded his way to the edge the small crowd— speculation about the severity of the wounded man’s injury, worry about the fishermen still outdoors, arrangements for the looming flu outbreak. Words flooded the room, but there wasn’t a single mention of the ostracized man. Kyungsoo threw a quick look over his shoulder, but the fisherman was slumped against the wall, staring blankly into space, ignored.

As he broke free of the crowd, Kyungsoo spotted Chanyeol, still sitting cross-legged in the center of the room, attempting to tend to the forgotten barbecue. As Kyungsoo wandered closer, he noticed the plates within a neat semi-circle had been picked bare, a glistening ceramic moat separating Chanyeol from the abundance of side dishes and meat sitting untouched. The tall boy would extend an arm just far enough to reach a piece of food, constantly glancing down to check that the motion hadn’t woken the child still curled in his lap. After a moment of bemused observation, Kyungsoo realized he was effectively pinned in place, trapped by his own compassion.

“I just stopped a guy from getting stabbed in the eye with a chopstick.” Kyungsoo dropped into a sitting position beside Chanyeol, purposefully jostling his knee for a reaction. He knew it was petty, but the earlier confrontation had left him feeling restless and annoyed.

Chanyeol stilled, his chopsticks hovering above a nearly empty plate of cubed radish. “Congratulations,” he said through his teeth, his gaze flickering down to his sleeping charge. “Now go away.”

“I didn’t save him for any particular reason,” Kyungsoo rambled. Airing out his thoughts was helping him settle his prickly feelings. “Sharp weapon, unarmed person, stop!” He mimed the wrist-grab in midair. “It was just instinct.”

Chanyeol bristled slightly as his chopsticks lowering to delicately pincer a radish. “Fascinating.”

“I thought I’d feel guilty about leaving him behind,” Kyungsoo rambled, heedless of the warning signs. “But, he kinda deserved it. He made his choice, now he has to live with the consequences. Justice, minus the law and order.”

Chanyeol slapped his chopsticks down with a exasperated huff. “Was he just supposed to let himself be crushed?” he demanded.

Kyungsoo blinked at him, his brain scrambling to fill in the blanks. “Who?”

“He was just trying to survive, so he deserves to get stabbed?”

Kyungsoo straightened, recognizing the defensiveness in Chanyeol’s tone. “Maybe deserve was the wrong word,” he allowed, and a feeling of deja vu settled over the conversation. “He hurt someone, so it’s only natural that the victim’s family would retaliate.”

“So he was just supposed to lay down and die?”

Chanyeol’s face melted in disappointment, and Kyungsoo’s heart squirmed as he tried to explain himself for what felt like the hundredth time. “You can’t trade someone else’s life for your own.”

“Why not?” Chanyeol protested, his face darkening. “What makes their life so much more important than mine?”

“That’s what sociopaths say!” The words blurted out before Kyungsoo’s brain even processed the thought. “Why can’t you understand how wrong you are?!”

Chanyeol’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, orange sparks glinting in their depths. “You think you’re different?”

Kyungsoo’s throat went dry. It wasn’t deja vu— they’d had this conversation before. Different words had been used, countless variations on a common theme, but one thing had always been the same. Chanyeol had been in leg irons, and Kyungsoo had been on the law-abiding side of bulletproof glass, high on his moral horse. ‘Life is precious.’ ‘Everyone’s life is worth the same.’ ‘There’s no justification for murder.’ He’d spent years parroting those words, trying to convince the unrepentant convict of his errant ways. Then fate had dropped Chanyeol’s life into his hands, like a test. Save him or let him die? The prison thugs, the burning building, the shadowy assassins, the kill squad, the hordes of police— they were all the same question, just rephrased and repackaged. Even when innocents had been caught in the crossfire, the decision had always felt obvious. For the first time, Kyungsoo wondered if maybe fate kept asking him the same question because he kept getting the answer wrong.

He broke eye contact first, a thorny knot of hypocrisy twisting painfully in his chest as he scrambled to his feet. He made a beeline toward the crowd of people, elbowing his way into the center as he tried to outrun his thoughts. He needed a task, something to focus on while his mind sorted itself out.

“Can I help?” Kyungsoo asked, an edge of desperation leaking into his voice.

“I was sewing soldiers back together before you were born,” the elderly fisherman replied, his gnarled fingers flying as he tied a tourniquet around the wounded man’s thigh. His task completed, he leaned back, surveying Kyungsoo from head to toe. “The men at the docks are short three pairs of hands.”

“I’ll go,” Kyungsoo said hurriedly, relief rushing through him as he jumped to his feet. Anything to quiet the chorus of judgemental voices in his head.

The older man glanced up at him, his eyebrows angling in skepticism. “The wind might carry you away.”

Kyungsoo’s nostrils flared as he squared his shoulders, joints crackling as he rolled his neck from side to side. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Equipped with the injured man’s rain gear, Kyungsoo stepped out into the frigid, blasting wind and immediately lost his footing. The wind caught his raincoat like a parachute, dragging him backwards several lengths before he whisked the coat inwards, hugging it close to his body. Without the billowing fabric to fight against, he leaned into the wind, regaining his lost ground, step by step. The worst of the wind died down once Kyungsoo left the hilltop for the relative shelter of the village, the walls of the houses breaking the powerful currents into the occasional gust and whirlwind eddies. Rainwater sluiced down the streets in miniature rivers, and he sloshed through them, heedless of the cold soaking through his boots.

Kyungsoo was so focused on navigating the storm-flooded streets that he didn’t realize he’d left the village until his boots scuffed against wet sand. The docks weren’t visible yet, hidden by the curve of the coastline, but the shouts of the struggling fishermen carried clearly on the wind. He trudged down the beach, passing by smaller fishing boats that had already been dragged ashore and strapped down. As he approached the dock, he could see the largest boat, an 85-foot trawler, still bucking wildly on the windswept waves. Only a single mooring line connected it to the pier, the other lines dangled freely, their frayed ends whipping through the air. Men leapt for the torn ropes whenever a swell brought the boat close enough, only to have the sea wrench the vessel from their control each time they tried to tow it to land. They were fighting a losing battle— anyone who tried to fight the waves and hold on to the boat would find themselves dragged into the churning tide or crushed against the unyielding pier. But if they left the boat unrestrained, it would destroy itself against the pier or snap its final line and become another storm-tossed shipwreck. Kyungsoo flinched as the ship slammed into the dock again, the impact from its steel hull ringing hollowly through the air. As the waves pulled the boat away once more, a fresh set of dents glintingalong its exterior, Kyungsoo firmed his resolve. He couldn’t change his past mistakes, but he could try to make up for them, starting with saving that boat and the families that depended on it.

He hoisted himself onto the pier’s raised deck, and snagged the flapping edge of first raincoat he encountered. The deck hand whirled toward the sudden tug, almost losing his balance on the slippery planks. Kyungsoo steadied him before he could fall, and the young man, still wearing a school uniform under his coat, acknowledged him with a grateful nod.

“How do I help?!” Kyungsoo shouted over the wind, shielding his eyes against the driving, sand-gritty rain. “Tell me what to do!”

The young man flung an arm towards the boat as it reached the end of its line, first rolling, then sliding sideways, picking up speed as it rode the wave back toward the pier. “Grab something and hold on!”

The whole group dropped into a crouch wherever they were standing, bracing themselves for the impact. Kyungsoo spun in circles, hurriedly searching for a safe point before giving up and wrapping his arms around the closest mooring pillar. The boat rammed into the dock with a deep, anguished chime that thrummed through Kyungsoo’s skull. All around him, torn mooring lines slithered across the pier like thick kraken tentacles. The dock swam beneath his feet as he lunged for the closest one, that disorienting chime still ringing in his ears. He’d barely gotten a grip on the slick, heavy rope when it began sliding through his hands, the waves threatening to steal the boat away.

Kyungsoo tightened his grasp, his fingers clamping down, nails digging into the rope fibers. The line snapped taut with a sudden, breathtaking force that yanking him, stumbling, towards the edge of the pier. He dug in his heels and skidded to a stop, hauling in the slack on his rope before the boat could travel further. Time slowed to a honey-like crawl as the surrounding fishermen pulled with all of their might, trying to reclaim their livelihood from the sea. An involuntary growl rumbled from Kyungsoo’s throat as the sea-softened wood beneath his feet began to splinter, and he dug deeper. The boat rolled dangerously, the masts and rigging drooping low above their heads as the keel was dragged outward by the undertow. A high-pitched squeal tore through the air, the boat’s hull stressed to its limits by loads it wasn’t designed to support.

Kyungsoo felt the other fishermen lose their holds as a sudden jolt, the shock of the lost support wrenching through his shoulders and lancing, white hot, through his lower back. The rope rasped through his hands, scraping the flesh raw, but the prospect of defeat surged adrenaline through his veins, reducing the pain to a dull irritant. He bore down harder, wringing the rope so tightly water welled up between his fingers. Tension hummed down the line as the boat strained against him, buzzing against his gritted teeth and rattling his vision. Kyungsoo replanted his feet, a roar of defiance ripping from his lungs as he hauled the boat toward the pier, hand over hand. The boat reared rebelliously against his efforts, the hull wailing, caught between his unwavering line and the relentless undertow. Then the tide returned.

The boat slammed into the pier, tossing Kyungsoo on his back to the deck. He wheezed for air, but managed to stagger upright, the rope gripped tightly in his hands. Dizziness swirled the sky into the horizon as the rush of adrenaline wore off just as quickly as it had taken hold. The waves swelled again, but he held his rope taut, securing the boat against the pier as the other fishermen raced to claim their lines. The other men began backing off of the pier, fighting the strong tide to drag the boat towards the beach. Kyungsoo moved with them as best he could, pouring his entire being into each excruciating slow step, his muscles beginning to quiver with the exertion, his breath harsh and ragged in his chest as sweat and saltwater stung in his eyes. The beach was only a feet away, but it may as well have been miles.

Fairy lights danced around the edges of his vision, and Kyungsoo’s knees hit the dock before he realized he was falling. The rope whistled through his slack fingers, and the men ashore yelled in alarm as the escaping vessel dragged them into the waves. Shaking off the overwhelming fatigue, Kyungsoo drove his foot against one of the pier’s steel columns, fighting his line rigid once more. He tried to regain his feet to resume his journey to shore, but his mutinous limbs wouldn’t obey. He braced himself against the support, every fiber of his being concentrating on keeping his rope from slipping.

Panic niggled at the back of his mind as the burning fatigue in his legs and arms began yielding to jelly-like numbness. Help, he wanted to call out, but there was no-one else who could hold this line. More than anything, he wanted to let go of the rope, but he couldn’t unsee the fishermen that had the lines wrapped around their limbs or coiled around their waists. They were risking their lives to save this boat, and trusting him to do his part. If he let go now, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Chanyeol had asked him if he was different, and he felt like he knew the right answer now. He would never sacrifice other people just to save himself. Even without a badge, he would protect people who couldn’t protect themselves - that was his job.

Kyungsoo closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. The rain slackened as he focused, searching for a last reserve, an untapped reservoir of last ditch effort. His hands twitched with cramps, the strain of latching onto the rope taking its toll. Just a one step at a time, he told himself. I can do this. I have to. The cold and wet had settled into his limbs, and numbness tingled in his fingertips, conspiring with the muscle cramps to weaken his hold. The rope was beginning to slip. I can’t do this.

A familiar warmth enveloped him, and his eyes popped open in surprise to find a pair of long, muscular arms overlapping his own, sharing the load on the rope. A bubbly heat bloomed in the pit of his stomach, spilling steadiness into his legs as it spread, banishing the aches and numbness, even relaxing the cramps in his hands,. Energy fizzed eagerly through him, tightening his joints, winding him to his feet like a clockwork soldier. Belatedly, Kyungsoo remembered he was holding a sixty-ton boat, and he wrapped the rope dazedly around his arm and forearm. The pull of the boat felt no stronger than a helium balloon. He’d never smoked before, but if this was what it was like to be high, Kyungsoo could understand the appeal.

“How are you doing this?” Kyungsoo picked up his feet experimentally, marvelling at the floaty effortlessness of it. Chanyeol let go of the rope, moving from behind him and into Kyungsoo’s field of view. His irises smoldered red as rain steamed off of him in hissing curliques.

“I thought you could use some help,” Chanyeol told him.

Kyungsoo’s knees evaporated, and his shoulder thumped against the side of the ship. He coughed awkardly, trying to make the swoon seem like a casual lean, but one hand ended up behind his head and the other somewhere between his ribcage and his hip. Weariness and over-exertion, he commanded himself to believe.

“So you came all this way?” He tried for breezy nonchalance, but it came off as punch-drunk and winded. Pull yourself together, Soo.

Chanyeol smiled crookedly, one cheek dimpling. “I can’t win an argument if you die in the middle.”

Kyungsoo was not emotional about this. He was not. He let out a chirpy squeak of air that was supposed to be laugh, then he shut his mouth and leaned into the rope. His feet grated against the decking, wood shaving off under the force of each step as the boat scraped forward, bit by bit. Chanyeol hovered beside him, his hands ghosting across Kyungsoo’s shoulder or down his spine whenever he paused to take a breath. Each featherlight touch brought a new jolt of toasty energy and sent his heartbeat singing in his ears. Kyungsoo lost all track of time, only realizing his task was done when the ship’s keel scraped against the rocky shore, sand piling around its edges as it ground to a halt.

Lightning crackled in the sky above them, the weary cheers of the fishermen surrounding him drowned out by the sudden return of the freezing rain. Kyungsoo stripped off his coat, letting the rain soak into his skin because he was roasting. Someone pulled the rope from his hands, and Kyungsoo let it go without argument, staggering away from the pier. He stood with his face upturned, mouth wide open trying to catch the icy droplets pattering against his overheated face. He was thirsty beyond belief, but another little jolt would give him enough energy to help the fishermen tie down the ship before the worst of the storm arrived. Chanyeol’s arm wrapped around his shoulder as if summoned, and Kyungsoo braced himself for another tingly, stomach-flipping rush, only to find himself buried face-first in the taller man’s chest as his traitorous knees buckled.

“Mmph,” was all he managed to say before the whistling darkness him in.

Awareness returned in snippets— the sound of someone’s labored breathing, a gust of wind brushing something soft and ticklish into his face, cold pinpricks of rain soaking into his back. He peeled open his eyes, blinking slowly as the blurry images coalesced in his muzzy brain. Floating faces. Posters, plastered on a wall. He was moving past a wall full of movie posters. Moving because he was being carried. On someone’s back. The wind gusted again as they passed by a break in the wall, and silvery-white tendrils fluttered into Kyungsoo’s nose, drawing out a sneeze.

“Ew. Don’t snot on me.” Fully awake now, Kyungsoo sniffled noisily into Chanyeol’s ear, and the latter tossed his head at the wet sound. “I will drop you off this cliff.”

“If I go, you’re coming with me.” Kyungsoo folded his arms around Chanyeol’s neck as he trudged up the steep hill to the community center, the light from its windows yellow and welcoming in the stormy darkness. Too soon they reached the top of the hill, and Chanyeol’s hands loosened on his thighs. Kyungsoo slid stiffly to the ground, his overtaxed muscles quivering jerkily as soon as his feet touched the ground. He didn’t bother trying to fight the wobbly feeling and simply sank to the ground, grateful for the skinny patch of dryness under the building’s eaves. Chanyeol stood over him, blocking the worst of the wind.

“You look terrible.”

Kyungsoo nodded wearily, swallowing against the scratchiness in his throat. “I feel terrible.” He lifted his hands, inspecting the rope-treads worn bloody and ragged through his palms. Now that he could see the damage clearly, it started to sting in earnest. Once he noticed the pain in his hands, other parts of his abused body began clamoring for attention in a cacophony of aches. Watching the rain steam off of Chanyeol’s shoulders, it occurred to Kyungsoo that the arsonist would make an excellent hot tub companion. He could even pitch the idea as physical therapy.

“Why didn’t you just let go of the rope?” Chanyeol had one hand on his hip, but his other fist knocked absently against his thigh, betraying his worry. “If I hadn’t come, you would have been dragged off the pier.”

“You wouldn’t have jumped in to save me?” Kyungsoo asked jokingly, but he sobered when Chanyeol’s gaze flickered away uncomfortably. “That’s okay.” The assurance popped out automatically, and Kyungsoo was surprised to realize how much he meant it. “I’d pick you, too.”

Bewilderment flashed across Chanyeol’s face, clouding into suspicion as Kyungsoo patted the spot next to him in invitation. Seconds rolled past and but he stayed standing, his lips puckered into a dubious pout, clearly trying to figure out Kyungsoo’s angle. Kyungsoo switched tactics, letting out a pitiful groan as he feebly attempted to climb to his feet. It didn’t require much acting, and it worked like a charm. Chanyeol hissed, pushing him back into a sitting position. He dithered for a moment longer in the rain, then hesitantly folded himself into a sitting position at Kyungsoo’s side, tucking his long legs into the shelter of the eaves.

“You’re supposed to be disappointed,” Chanyeol scolded. Kyungsoo chuckled at the irony, confusing him even further. “You’re supposed to swear at me, or storm off, or—” his hand tapped his chest emphatically, “or call me a sociopath.”

Kyungsoo winced at the term, regretting that he’d ever used it. No regard for others, volatile, unrepentant, devoid of emotional attachments — reducing the Virus to a laundry list of dysfunctions had made him an easy target for the rage of a grieving public, but it had always bothered Kyungsoo how easily Chanyeol accepted the labels. The person he knew was lonely, unpredictable, and more than a little damaged— but he wasn’t half the monster he thought he was.

Ignoring the leaden achiness in his body, Kyungsoo rearranged himself so they were facing each other. Chanyeol shrank back slightly, his expression guarded, and Kyungsoo bit his lip, trying to find the right words. “Before, I said that stuff—” he started, then shook his head. “I was wrong,” he tried again. Some of the tension in Chanyeol’s shoulders drained away, and Kyungsoo forged on. “At the pier, I wanted to let go of the rope.” He stared at the ragged tracks worn into his palms, shame heating his cheeks. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, so I held on for as long as I could, but I wasn’t ready to die for those men. If you hadn’t showed up when you did...”

Chanyeol rested his elbows on his knees, the shift bringing him to Kyungsoo’s eye level. “You were fighting a force of nature. Nobody could have blamed you for letting go.”

“I would’ve blamed me,” Kyungsoo admitted, meeting his eyes. “Even if my hands were ripped off, it was still my choice to pick up that rope in the first place. I let those men trust me.”

“But, you won!” Chanyeol’s head tilted to one side, puzzled. “So why were you wrong?”

“We won,” Kyungsoo corrected. “If I had been alone,” he shrugged helplessly, “it would have been me or them, and I’m not confident I would have chosen them. I thought we were different, so I was wrong.”

Chanyeol raised a finger to object, his mouth working soundlessly before he subsided a reluctant sigh.

Oddly pleased by the lack of response, Kyungsoo repeated, “But that’s okay, because I figured it out. If it comes down to you or me, I’ll pick you.”

“Why?!” The question exploded out of Chanyeol, startling Kyungsoo with its vehemence. He probed his eyebrows cautiously, surprised they hadn’t been singed off. He’d expected gratefulness, but the arsonist was staring at him as if he’d sprouted horns.

“When I was younger, my mom and I played a guessing game every night,” Kyungsoo explained. “If we both fell into the river and there was only one life-vest, who would she choose? If we were being chased by a tiger, and one of us had to get eaten, who would it be? I always guessed that she’d save me, and I was always right.”

Kyungsoo paused, holding his breath when Chanyeol’s eyes abruptly unfocused, drifting to a point over Kyungsoo’s shoulder. Tiny orange flamelets shivered over his skin and left faint, blackened tracks in the weave of his sweater. Careful not to make any sudden moves, Kyungsoo stretched out his hand and gingerly rested it atop Chanyeol’s knee. Anything that eroded Chanyeol’s control like this couldn’t be a pleasant memory, but a meltdown right now wouldn’t be healthy for either of them. To his relief, the flamelets guttered out at the contact, and Chanyeol blinked back into the present with a shaky gasp, a tear leaking down his cheek. He swabbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, frowning at the wetness he found there. “Sorry,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. Kyungsoo let out his own breath as he leaned back, but didn’t push for details. The key to unraveling knots, even tightly wound, secretive knots, was patience.

“When I was eight, I got chased into traffic,” he carried on with his story, as if there had been no interruption. “I could have made it across the street, but I tripped over my own feet and fell right into the path of a bus. Some older kid appeared out of nowhere and stood in front of me like this,” Kyungsoo spread his arms wide to demonstrate. “He risked his life to save me.”When Chanyeol peeked at him through his fingers, he prompted, “Guess who saved me.”

“Jongdae,” came the muffled reply.

Kyungsoo swatted Chanyeol’s leg irritably, and regretted it instantly, the rope burns in his palms stinging anew. “At least act like you don’t know!”

“You’ve told me this story a thousand times.”

“I’m trying to make a point.” Kyungsoo grumbled, blowing on his hand. “He was always around, but I never questioned it. I just assumed that all older brothers followed their dongsaengs around in case they got into trouble. Being friends with Yoondae meant Jongdae came as part of the deal.”

“Doesn’t sound like deal.” Kyungsoo feinted a backhand at Chanyeol, but he batted it away, beginning to shake off the old pain Kyungsoo had accidentally dredged up.

“My point,” Kyungsoo continued doggedly, “is that I’ve never had to worry about saving myself, because I’ve always had someone to protect me.Now I’m going to be that person for you.”

Chanyeol sat upright, absorbing the promise, and Kyungsoo waited expectantly for the emotional floodgates to burst open.

“I’m older than you,” Chanyeol said, completely ruining the moment.

“You have no proof of that,” Kyungsoo retorted. “I’m your hyung until you produce a birth certificate.”

Chanyeol started to protest, but Kyungsoo caught the back of his neck and pulled him in until their foreheads touched, and they were breathing each other’s oxygen. “I’ll protect you, so you don’t have to do it yourself. That means no more fires. Understand?”

Chanyeol’s eyes mouth pulled to one side stubbornly, so Kyungsoo head-butted him. “Understand?”

“Fine!” Chanyeol relented, pulling free. “Ow! No more fires!” He glared at Kyungsoo as he rubbed the reddened spot, but he couldn’t hide the delighted dimple in his cheek.