Summer 1/3

(warning for violence and death)

“Yongguk,” Junhong called softly as he stepped inside the dark room. He could see a body in the bed, but Yongguk was on his stomach, his face in the pillows, not facing him. “My love, talk to me,” the nymph said, sitting on the bed and placing his hand in Yongguk’s dark hair.

Yongguk mumbled something quietly that Junhong couldn’t hear, and the nymph leaned closer. “Sorry?”

Suddenly, the god twisted his body and sat up, so he was eye-to-eye with Junhong. “I cannot control my anger when this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” he said, hands gripping onto the nymph’s, but not too tightly that it hurt. “I have never been unable to protect someone I’ve cared about. And I have never cared about anybody as much as I love you, Junhong.” He said, eyes blazing with passion. “So, you must forgive me if I cannot tolerate anybody who dares to harm you again, even if it is your feelings.”

Junhong took a shaky breath and leaned forward into Yongguk’s space to embrace him tightly.

“Daehyun does not mean to hurt me, nor you,” the nymph said, after Yongguk buried his face in his shoulder. “He is new to this, and scared of all of us.”

“I know,” Yongguk sighed. “I lost control.”

Junhong kissed his cheek, “That is okay as well. I know that this is difficult for you.” Yongguk still did not look up to meet his eyes, too ashamed of how he had been acting, and Junhong caressed his form, never letting go. The nymph apologised, his voice quietening. “I was harsh on you too. If anyone tried to hurt you, I think I would react the same.”

“I could never imagine you acting like that,” Yongguk said, finally looking up. Junhong was relieved to see an amused smile on his lips, and he nudged him teasingly.

“I would, you know. For you.”

“I know,” Yongguk said, his eyes fond as he looked at the nymph on his lap. “But be honest, my love, does the idea of staying here forever upset you?”  He knew Junhong would try and be as amicable as possible, but he couldn’t help but doubt the nymph’s honesty. After a while, when it sunk in that forever was forever, Junhong would want to leave.

Junhong shook his head, and answered truthfully, “I am happy with you, Yongguk.”

“I see,” Yongguk murmured, wondering how he met such a pure, innocent nymph. He could not resist wrapping his arms around Junhong and turning, until the nymph was trapped under him and giggling. He hovered above Junhong, their lips almost touching.

“You make me do all the work,” was all Yongguk heard, before Junhong captured his lips with his own, an amused laugh leaving his mouth when he fell back against the bed.

Yongguk sighed and buried his face into Junhong’s neck, “Do not mention work, my love. There is so much I must undertake now.” He released an exhausted sigh, feeling Junhong’s hand dance over his back. The nymph did not reply, however, and Yongguk closed his eyes for a quick rest.

“...May I request something?” Junhong said quietly, before Yongguk dozed off. The god’s body woke up immediately, and he lifted himself so he could face the nymph.

“Anything,” Yongguk said earnestly, and Junhong frowned.

“Forgive me,” he started, “but I do not wish to have anything with Sanghyun, or his punishment, if that is okay. I do not want to know about what you choose to do with him.”

Yongguk couldn’t stop himself from arguing, “But they hurt you, Junhong. They deserve to rot in hell.” Junhong flinched, his eyes avoiding Yongguk’s. The man reached out to cup his cheek, but didn’t force him to look up. “What’s wrong, Jun?” he asked quietly, his resolve weakening when a tear ran down the young nymph’s cheek, and he squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking at Yongguk.

“I am not stopping you from punishing him,” Junhong said quietly. “I just don’t want to be at fault,” he mumbled, his shoulders hunching over. “I don’t want to influence you to punish them more than they deserve.”

Yongguk winced and he gathered Junhong up in his arms, pressing kisses over the nymph’s neck. Junhong covered his face, too ashamed of his tears. “I am sorry,” he cried, finally speaking louder. “I know I should be braver, but I–” He hiccupped, and Yongguk rubbed his back soothingly.

“It is alright, do not cry,” the god said gently. Junhong sniffled, and the god suddenly realised that he was probably terrified of Sanghyun, after all the human had done. Even if Yongguk wanted to kill him, Junhong didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

“I am a god, Junhong,” Yongguk said finally. “It is up to me what they deserve. I will not tell you what their punishments are, and I will ask everyone else to respect that.” He repeated, “Please do not cry, my love.”

Junhong’s body trembled and shook his head, “I know...” he whispered again. “I wish I had run, or fought harder... If I was stronger, I could have stopped all of this.”

“Sweetling, it was not your fault,” Yongguk said firmly. “Even if you were sleeping in the middle of the village square, he should not have done that.”

Junhong hiccupped, but did not reply. Yongguk knew he did not believe him, and hugged him tighter. “My love, I am just relieved you are with me,” he said, rubbing his back. “And Youngjae is too. You may have died, but you are safe now, are you not?”

Junhong nodded, and sniffled again. Yongguk’s heart broke – he had seen Junhong cry once before, back when he was alive and had been trapped in the Underworld for the first time. It seemed the only thing that could stop Junhong from smiling was Yongguk’s home.

His arms tightened around the nymph when Junhong buried his face into his neck.

“Sweetheart,” the man soothed, his deep voice making Junhong close his eyes. He always felt safe around the god. “How about we try some of those delicacies you were looking forward too?” he suggested, already making plans in his mind. The gold-dusted cake, the fluffy bread, and a wide assortment of fruits would be easy to get, he would just have to summon some chefs from Olympus. “Youngjae and Daehyun cannot have any, but you may.”

The nymph nodded timidly, and Yongguk moved to stand, extending his hand out. “Come, Himchan will be excited for his favourite meals as well.”

“Yeah,” Junhong spoke quietly, his voice small. He mustered a shaky smile and took the god’s hand.

Yongguk returned the smile, hoping to settle the nymph’s nerves.

Sanghyun’s punishment could wait – the suspense would only add to his pain. He already had an idea planned in his head for that as well; one that would not only send Sanghyun to Tartarus, but also teach the entire village a lesson.

Yongguk was angry, but he knew that his feelings were not the priority here – he could hold it off until he was sure Junhong was safe, and happy.

The nymph always came first, after all.

Three days later, when Junhong had settled down, Yongguk finished his plan after consulting with Jongup. Jongup was surprisingly vicious – he had wanted to burn down the entire village – but Yongguk knew he had to remain level-headed. He supposed if anything like that happened to Himchan, Jongup would go insane.

Once he finished the plan, Yongguk went to Olympus to request Natasha’s approval, as a formality. He already knew that she would agree. She was just as bloodthirsty as he was – wanting revenge for the nymph she already viewed as a younger brother.

The goddess looked at him worriedly from across the long table, “Are you sure you are alright, Yongguk? I know you love your forest nymph very much. You must be filled with rage.”

“I was,” he said honestly, and his shoulders dropped. “But Junhong... he is mourning. He lost his home.”

Natasha nodded in understanding, her eyes filled with sympathy. She had only met the nymph a few times, but had grown to love him as well – the thought of him dying, even if he was still alive in the Underworld, was a tragedy.

Yongguk’s fists clenched and he stared down at the wooden table. “He is unhappy, and I cannot do anything about it, Natasha.”

“He will grow to love the Underworld,” Natasha said, and Yongguk shook his head.

“How can a nymph so full of life grow to love a place so dead?” he snapped, but he was not truly angry with her. She wasn’t the one who caused this. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, but he was still tensed. “Yongnam was right, you know. The Underworld is hell.”

“The Underworld is also heaven,” Natasha said gently, knowing how to console her younger brother. “And everything in between. The Underworld is not good, or bad – it is just what comes after.”

“Junhong was not meant to have his after yet,” Yongguk spoke, his voice haunted. He looked up at Natasha. “He was meant to live.”

Yongguk never spoke of his breakdown in Olympus to anyone, ever again. The only one who even knew it happened was his sister, and she never told anybody of it.

He felt his feet hit the earth and he took a deep breath, looking around the forest. He had not wanted to return after Junhong’s death, but still felt a pull towards it. It was Junhong’s home, and the place where they had spent their happiest moments together; the beginning of their friendship and courtship had started here.

He walked through the forest, to where Junhong had died that night, when Junhong had wanted him to meet him there in the evening, but Yongguk had been swamped with official business. Yongguk hadn’t been able to save him.

The god stepped over a log, and felt his breath leave him when he looked up.

The forest was covered in hundreds of white flowers – his white flowers. He knew, without a doubt, that this is what Junhong had wanted to show him the night he died.

But what caught Yongguk’s eye, was the blood-red flowers that grew beside the patch of white, sprouting from the grass. They were younger than the white flowers, but already standing tall. When Yongguk neared them, he felt Death nearby, and he fell to his knees, beside the place his lover had died.

His hand reached out to hold one of the stalks, which had grown from Junhong’s blood, but he held himself back, not wanting to kill them with the sheer power of his rage and sorrow.

He stood up and walked back to the village slowly, each footstep creating an imprint on the ground with how heavy his steps were. He walked through the entrance of the village, not caring for the dozens of humans who froze and began whispering in a frenzy when they recognised his clothing – he didn’t care that they ran away screaming, or hid away in their huts.

He sought out the hut barricaded by steel poles, obviously for protection, and glared at them until they dismantled and flew apart. The wind was whipping around him, causing destruction to the huts around him – but he could not care.

He could not care for a village that had not cared for Junhong.

Yongguk heard a shout from inside and looked around, seeing a crowd slowly gather, when it became clear that he was not targeting the entire village, only Sanghyun.

He walked slowly into the hut, the door flying off its hinges as he neared, and splintering into a million pieces. He saw Sanghyun cower in the furthest corner of the room, cradling his broken arm in one hand, as his father stood in front of the god.

Yongguk looked at the older man, seeing how he was wielding a sword, and almost laughed.

The man lifted his weapon, but Yongguk stared at him until the sword became too heavy for him to hold, and the air became too thick for him to breathe, and he crumpled onto the floor like a sack of bricks. He could hardly lift his head to see what Yongguk did next.

The god walked to Sanghyun, seeing the man squeeze his eyes shut and snivel.

“I am so sorry, my lord, how would I know that your lover was a nymph – he is a nymph! He is evil. I would never have thought someone like you, my lord, would love someone like that,” he babbled nervously, his eyes flickering from Yongguk, to his father. “Please, please don’t kill me like you killed my brother. He was precious to me and –and...”

Yongguk could not bare to hear his lies any longer and held Sanghyun’s broken arm, heaving him up with a force that made him groan. He dragged the human outside, to where there was a crowd waiting, fear palpable on their faces.

“Children and mothers must return to their huts,” he ordered, seeing a woman holding a baby in her arms. “But everyone else must remain here.”

Sanghyun winced, and Yongguk’s arm tightened around his wrist, crushing the bones into dust. He released a blood-curdling scream, and both children and mothers began hurrying back into their homes.

“This man, here,” Yongguk began, “will receive the biggest punishment I have ever unleashed onto a human.”

A gasp was shared by the villagers, and Sanghyun began trembling in fear.

“He killed an innocent nymph, my lover, Junhong.” Yongguk said, his eyes dark as he cast his gaze downwards towards the floor. “And for that, he and his hunting group, who restrained Youngjae from rescuing Junhong, will be sentenced to death immediately.”

Sanghyun actually sighed in relief, which made Yongguk bark out a laugh, “Oh, you think that is it, murderer? You think I will be so gracious as to offer you death alone?” he asked darkly, a smirk on his lips.

Dark clouds covered the sky upon Yongguk’s will, and he looked up at the rest of the villagers.

“This man has cursed your village for all of eternity,” he spoke, and the villagers’ eyes filled with panic. “For the entire villager’s prejudice against nymphs, you will all be sentenced to an unbearable fire every year, which will burn for three months. The sun will burn brighter, and the lakes will dry. You will all starve, for what you did to Junhong,” he snarled. “He should not have lived his life in hiding. He should not have been scared of humans. He should not have been murdered.”

His voice laced with vehemence, and a single wave of Yongguk’s arm sent Sanghyun’s hut crashing down, with his father still inside. He was sure the man was not dead, nor dying, but he deserved punishment for trying to harm Yongguk, no matter how futile the attempt would be.

“Every time your stomachs cry of hunger, or your throats scream of thirst, you should curse this man here, for bringing this upon your village,” Yongguk growled. “And you should blame yourselves, for forcing such cruelty onto an innocent nymph who was willing to live in peace.”

His eyes made contact with the two other hunters, in the audience. “I will come back in a week, to collect you two. If you try and fight, like his father did,” he gestured to the collapsed hut, “then I will increase your sentence.”

He grabbed Sanghyun’s wrist and disappeared from the villagers’ sights, not wanting them to witness the cruelty of the man’s execution.

Sanghyun crumpled to the forest floor and Yongguk snarled, “Look up and see the life and beauty that my lover created, every day of his life.”

He watched as the murderer struggled to lift his head, and changed his mind, pinning the man’s throat with a foot. “No. You should have seen it before you killed him. Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked the human, eyes completely black.

Sanghyun gasped, “I k-killed him here.”

“That’s right,” Yongguk said, his voice eerily quiet. “And now, you will feel every bit of pain and fear he did four nights ago.”

Yongguk may have moved Sanghyun out of sight from the villagers, but he was certain they could all hear Sanghyun’s screaming as Yongguk broke every bone in his body, before letting him bleed out in the very forest he killed Junhong in.

When Yongguk returned home, he was exhausted. He never liked executing people directly – he preferred to have them wait for their death, and then kill them. Rarely did he ever make an appearance in front of hundreds of humans, either. But obviously, he could not let Sanghyun live any longer, after what he did to Junhong.

He saw Himchan first when he entered the castle. The half-god was slumped on the stairs, looking half-dead. He had dark eyebags, and he was sweating like he had run a lap around all of the Underworld. Jongup was nowhere in sight, although Yongguk knew the messenger god would be worrying over his lover if he were here. Jongup was busy delivering Sanghyun to Tartarus instead, but would be back in an hour.

“Are you ill?” he called out to Himchan, his pace quickening as he walked to him.

He was not expecting the man to burst out in tears, crying and heaving large sobs.

“Are you hurt?” Yongguk asked, panicked. He was a second away from summoning Jongup, when the Atlantean shook his head and exhaled a shaky breath.

“Yongguk, I could not heal him,” Himchan said quietly. “I thought I could heal him from death, like my father, but... I will never be skilled enough,” he wiped his eyes. “Junhong was so hopeful – I know... I know he was trying not to pressure me, but he wanted to return to his forest.”

“You tried to heal him from death,” Yongguk said, shocked, and Himchan nodded.

“But I think it has been too long,” the half-god said sadly. “I am sorry. I have disappointed everyone.”

“Do not blame yourself, Himchan,” the god said, even though he was still reeling from the news. “Thank you for trying.” The half-god lowered his head, and Yongguk patted his shoulder. “Is Junhong okay? Was he upset?”

“He said he was not, but I think he is emotional...” Himchan mumbled, not looking up. “Go to him. He is in his room.”

“I will summon Jongup,” Yongguk called, as he began ascending the stairs. He could not wait to see his lover, especially if the nymph was upset. “You did well, Himchan. Thank you.”

The half-god shuddered, but said nothing.

Yongguk ran up the stairs towards Junhong’s room, his heart breaking when he heard broken wails. He couldn’t stop himself from throwing the door open, and his mouth fell open when he saw the destruction, with Junhong in the middle of it all. The nymph had frozen once he saw Yongguk, but broke down crying again once he got over his shock.

“Sweetheart,” Yongguk whispered as he made his way over to the nymph. To his horror, he realised that there were patches of ash all over the room – Junhong had to grow his flowers, but they had died the moment they sprouted, and fallen onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Junhong cried, covering his face with his hands. “My lord, I’m sorry. I-I,” his breaths were short, and Yongguk went to cradle him in his arms. He held the nymph tight to his chest, not caring that his tears were dampening his clothes. He could feel the younger’s breath fan against his neck as Junhong tried to calm himself, but ultimately failed.

He resorted to burying his face deeper into Yongguk’s neck, as if trying to hide himself from the world. He snuffled quietly.

“I lied to you, my lord,” he said, trembling. “I miss my home. I miss my forest.”

Yongguk did not move him, instead holding him tighter. “You are miserable here,” he said dully, and Junhong shook his head furiously.

“I am not miserable here,” the nymph denied, looking up at the god with wide, watery eyes. “I am upset that I lost my home. But I am not – I will never be upset that you brought me here.” He swallowed, and rested his head on Yongguk’s neck. “If I cannot have my forest, it is a relief that I can have you.”

Yongguk swallowed thickly and nodded.

Junhong was happiest in his forest. Yongguk knew that. He wasn’t jealous, only angry that he had taken that away.

He sighed lightly and pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead. “Are you upset because Himchan tried to heal you?” he asked, wondering what had triggered Junhong’s crying. He was fine when Yongguk left for Olympus in the morning, happily munching on breakfast.

Junhong shook his head again, “I was grateful he tried. Really.” He shrugged, “It just did not work. I think it has been too long. His hands did not even glow.”

Yongguk felt regret for leaving the half-god alone immediately. Even though Himchan was now undoubtedly being consoled by Jongup, he would obviously feel disappointed with himself – not because he couldn’t heal Junhong, but because he couldn’t do what his father did.

Yongguk knew Hyunwoo was powerful, but he had thought Himchan had overcome his father’s skill decades ago, especially since Hyunwoo’s powers were now dormant. Hyunwoo had only ever resurrected the dead when Yongguk was away from the Underworld, so he had no idea exactly how his powers worked, either.

“He tried to heal your wound?” He asked Junhong, and the nymph nodded, pulling up the edge of his silk shirt to show the gaping wound. If Yongguk was human, and not as used to dead bodies as he was, he would have recoiled – but instead, he peered closer.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Junhong muttered, his shirt covering his wound again. He was still insecure about it, not liking how the red of his open flesh contrasted with his pale skin.

Yongguk nodded, and said nothing. He would do everything he could, to try and bring Junhong to his forest again, but he did not want to say a word to Junhong, not wanting to get his hopes up.

For now, Yongguk did not want the nymph to be alone again, not for a while. He didn’t think it would be safe for him, especially when he was so frail.

“Lay with me tonight,” he proposed, watching Junhong smile shyly. He kissed the other’s cheek, finding him adorable, but said teasingly, “I mean that innocently, you nymph.”

“It sounded very promiscuous!” the nymph protested, and it was almost as if he had never cried at all. He shifted in Yongguk’s hold. “Innocently or not, I would love to sleep in your bed for tonight.”

“The proposal could be extended for all nights,” Yongguk murmured slyly in his ear, and Junhong blushed.

“That would be improper,” he said, but did not deny him.

The god smirked, “Himchan and Jongup lay with each other every night, even sometime at noon. Are they improper as well? ”

“They have courted for centuries,” Junhong rolled his eyes. “It is not the same.” Yongguk was amused at their conversation, until Junhong twisted to face him. He looked stern, but Yongguk thought he looked more adorable. “You cannot wait that long to propose, my lord. I would go insane waiting.”

Yongguk forced his smile.

“Of course,” he said, the promise wrapped in lies. Junhong beamed, satisfied, and settled back against him – but Yongguk could only feel dread, even if the nymph was in his arms.

No matter what, as long as Junhong was in the Underworld, the nymph would never be happy.

Yongguk did not want to let him go, but he knew he was never going to be as important to Junhong as the forest. He had already accepted that he was not enough to keep the nymph happy. Here, he was only keeping him trapped.

That night, at dinnertime, Yongguk watched as Junhong poked around his food, no longer as impressed with it as he was the first night. Himchan looked as down as the nymph, but when Daehyun and Youngjae returned from the Surface from their first day of looking after the forest, the half-god perked up and started asking them questions.

Junhong only seemed to be more depressed.

“How was your day?” Youngjae asked the nymph, noticing his silence. “Did you do a lot of reading?”

Junhong shook his head, looking at his food. “Lord Yongguk and I spent some time together, though.”

Yongguk smiled when his name was mentioned, but when Junhong didn’t light up, his heart dropped. The god suddenly knew the answer to the question that had plagued his mind all night; the nymph would much prefer life on Asphodel, with his nymphai and a forest, than life in the Underworld.

Yongguk felt his hands tremble in the air as he lifted his cup to take a drink, his mouth dry. He had already made the decision – an he knew he would only regret it if he stalled it any further. Jongup looked at him in concern from the other end of the table, but Yongguk was not looking at him.

He was looking at the beautiful nymph beside him, whose eyes were downcast with sadness as Youngjae and Daehyun talked more and more of the forest’s wonders.

Junhong no longer wanted to be here, and Yongguk would always grant him his every wish.

That night, when they laid in bed together, Junhong was clearly not in the mood to do much other than sleep. Yongguk held him close to his body, knowing it would be the last time he could hold him this tightly – the last time he could hold him at all.

Junhong snuffled against his collarbone sleepily, curled up into a ball. Like this, he could sleep in Yongguk’s chest without his feet hanging off the bed.

“I love you so much, my nymph,” Yongguk murmured quietly, squeezing his eyes shut so tears would not escape. His fingers carded through the nymph’s hair, knowing it would be the last time. “I will always love you.”

“As will I,” Junhong replied, smiling sleepily.

In Yongguk’s arms, he felt safe and happy.

“Goodnight, my lord,” he said, mid-yawn, before closing his eyes and preparing to sleep.

If he was more alert, he would have noticed Yongguk’s body shudder at his words. The god exhaled, waiting for the air to settle between them before whispering back,

“Goodnight, my love.”

That night, when everyone in the castle was sleeping, Yongguk lifted his lover’s body from his bed and carried him out to the river, sending him across the river –

To Asphodel.