“When you're Emperor, what will you change?”

Luhan had played around, experimented, and created a mirage of stars, shining down at the pair from the cage ceiling. In the silence that followed Xiumin's question, they both looked up at the twinkling lights.

“Everything,” Luhan finally said. “I'll change everything.” He absently traced circular nothings on Xiumin's back, sending tingles down his spine. “The entire empire will be brighter, warmer. More alive. We will be truly powerful and use our power for the right things. No more petty disputes, internal wars, preventable disasters . . .”

As he went on, Xiumin realized that despite the tortures, he was, in fact, sheltered. He had only seen the palace, the gilded decorations hiding a crumbling civilization. He couldn't imagine how life was like outside palace grounds and he felt a wave of anxiousness rise in him.

“And you can rule beside me!” Luhan suddenly exclaimed, eyes bright like the stars.

“W- What?”

Luhan laughed, a deep and rich sound that warmed Xiumin's insides. “Don't be so flustered.”

“Don't tease me like this,” Xiumin mumbled, turning a curious shade of red. The Siren laughed again and pulled him closer; Xiumin was hyperaware of their proximity and he reddened even more, if that was possible.

“How similar are Sirens and humans?” The question had been burning in his mind and slipped out from Xiumin's mouth before he could stop it.

“What do you mean?” Luhan asked, studying him.

“Do we . . . do we feel the same emotions? Happiness, sadness . . . love?”

Luhan shifted so he was looking at the stars and Xiumin was lying comfortably on his chest, even the collar finding a place to settle into. “Yes, we feel the same basic emotions. But love . . . what would you say that is? The opposite of hate?”
 

“No,” Xiumin replied. “The opposite of hate is indifference. Love, it's something different altogether. No one can truly define it. And some say that hate comes from love. You hate because you love.” He was rambling now, hoping that something would make sense in between his jumbled words.

“You hate because you love,” the Siren echoed thoughtfully. “I know what hate is. It burns in my heart, it burns for him. Do you suppose love can come from hate too?”

“Maybe.”

“Then what is your definition of love?”

“Umm . . .” Xiumin was truly the wrong person to ask and he was beginning to regret opening his mouth -- not that he had voluntarily asked the question in the first place.

Sensing his struggle, Luhan chuckled softly. “Then let me ask you. Is it the feeling of owing someone? Is it the feeling of passion, admiration or awe?” he asked.

Xiumin grimaced at the other's slightly teasing voice, but answered seriously anyway. “No, the feeling of owing someone is gratitude. The feeling of admiration is infatuation. Love is . . . feeling overjoyed when the other is happy, feeling depressed when the other is sad. It's being willing to do anything for that person. It is being willing to die for someone.” He wasn't sure where that answer came from, but he found himself genuinely agreeing with every word he said.

"I'm immortal, but I can still die, I suppose," Luhan said, the collar lightly. “Then by your definition, I love no one. Maybe Yixing.”

What about me? Xiumin flinched at his sudden thought and wanted desperately to get away from Luhan, but at the same time, wanted to burrow deeper into the other's warmth. “Your love for your brother is very strong,” he finally managed.

The Prince laughed, water rippling to Xiumin. “Yes, and what about you? Whom do you love?”

“I- I'm not sure.”

“Maybe you'll find someone,” Luhan replied gently. He wrapped his arms around Xiumin and the captive craned his neck to look at the stars.

“People say that if you wish on a falling star, your wish will come true.”

“Humans have such interesting ideas,” Luhan mused. He flicked a finger and a star suddenly began floating down. “Make a wish, Xiumin.”

I wish this love can be real.
 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sehun and Tao lay in the latter's tiny bed, quiet and still as if they hadn't just been ing mindlessly a minute ago. They were still quite and sticky, their limbs entangled with each other and the sheets. “I love you,” Tao murmured, gently kissing the other's hair. “And your roots are showing.”

“You'll love me even with badly dyed hair, right?” Sehun asked, toying with Tao's bracelets again. They fascinated him, even though all they represented was pain. Or maybe it was because of that.

Tao scoffed into the hair in question. “I'll love you no matter what.”

Sehun smiled and quickly wiped it off his face, feigning indifference. “Is love worth it?” he wondered out loud, suddenly thinking of Himchan again. His fate had been in Sehun's mind since that day, nurturing a seed of anxiety.

“Worth what?”

“Getting your heart broken, dying, that sort of thing.” Tao laughed and Sehun made a face. “What?” he whined.

“You sound so serious.” The older boy ruffled Sehun's hair with one hand. “Are you worried I'll break your heart?”

“No!” Sehun sputtered. “It's just . . .” he squirmed in exasperation, tickling Tao in the process. “Do I even know you?” he suddenly wondered. There was a feeling of deja vu. He had asked this question before, countless times before in his mind. It was a sort of paranoia, because he himself was keeping so many secrets. “Who are you?”

Tao flipped over, pinning Sehun onto the bed and stared into his eyes. “I want to tell you the truth, but I'm scared,” he admitted.

“Scared?”

The mysterious boy sat up and leaned against the wall. Sehun sat up too, bringing the sheets up with him. “You know these bracelets you like so much?” Tao asked, staring off into the distance.

“I don't like them! I just-” Sehun began to protest.

Tao ripped off the bracelets and shoved his arm in Sehun's face. The younger gulped, unsure of how the atmosphere had suddenly changed, and gaped at the ridges. But rather than the scars that he had glimpsed at, he found himself staring at a forearm full of Chinese characters -- the same character, over and over again.

“These scars,” Tao said, arm dropping back down onto his lap, “They aren't just the typical ones. I use them to tally each time I do something horrible. Something I was raised and trained to do, but something I hate nonetheless. It's not my fault,” he said, suddenly pleading. “I know I should be stronger, but I'm not and it's not my fault. Believe me, I would stop if I could.”

Sehun looked up to see Tao staring imploringly at him. “I- I believe you.” He wasn't sure what Tao was trying to say, but it sounded a hell lot like what Sehun's speech would be like when revealing his identity. Except he didn't hate his job and life. Not really. Maybe.

“You don't know who I am, but I know who you are, Oh Sehun of the Kims.”
 

Sehun's eyes widened, involuntarily edging away in shock. Tao reached for Sehun, not pulling him back but ­anchoring him in place. “Let me tell you my tragic backstory . . .

"I don't remember much from before, just that my parents were simple people. Good and poor. But they died and when these strangers came to my village, recruiting children, I went with them. I had no clue who they were but they promised a wealthy life, so I didn't care. I wish I did. A month later, they sold me -- rented me out? Gave me away? I don't know, but I moved to Korea to my new master -- or leader -- whatever you want to call him."

“How old were you?” Sehun dared to ask.

“Nine.” Tao smiled bitterly. “And my name is actually Zitao. Child of war. Which isn't that happy of a name, but then they changed it, taking away the child and all I have left now is war.”

“Zitao,” Sehun echoed, trying out this new name. “Child of war.”

”Master- the- uh- man- put me into training. At first, I didn't really know what it was for. There was another boy with me, from the same village. His name was Jiaheng, but they changed it too. It didn't matter though, because I never called him by his new name. I looked up to him so much and he protected me from the others. Training was brutal and he was always there, comforting me, helping me. He was the only one and I- I loved him"

Sehun involuntarily let out a small noise. "You don't have to be worried though," Zitao said, smiling sadly. "He was older than me and finished training first. They began sending him out and one day, he never came back. And they knew that we were close, so they told me that I could avenge his death. I was so stupid back then. I should've guessed why they were training me, but I agreed, and I willingly let them transform me into a killing machine. And all these scars . . . one for each person I've killed. It was supposed to remind me of my accomplishments, how I was closer to ridding the world of the evils who took Jiaheng away from me, but it's really to remind me of who I am. A machine. A slave."

Do you see this entire row?" He extended his arm to reveal the newer scars near the crook. "It's the Jangs.”

Sehun stared at the boy in front of him. “The Jangs? You were the one who killed them?”

“Are you surprised?”

Sehun struggled to find an answer and instead asked, "Did you really . . . take revenge for him?"

"There was no body, no trace, nothing. He just disappeared. I don't know who really killed him, if he even died. Just what my master told me. I killed who he told me to, but I would never know if they were the ones."

"Who?"

Looking at the scars near his wrist, faded by time but still too dark, Zitao whispered, "My first kills. The Ohs."

It was as if Sehun had been slammed against a wall, the air knocked out of him. With the wall to his side and Zitao on the other, he felt caged. "But Y-yakuza?"

"It was an alias."

"You killed my family." It wasn't a question and his voice was deathly quiet.

Zitao flinched at the statement. "I was thirteen! I had to prove myself and I wasn't the only one either!"

"You killed my family, you ing murderer!"

"We are both murderers-"

"No! Don't try to act like we're the same. Yes, I kill, but I don't massacre an entire family and later tell the only survivor that I love him!" Sehun gasped out, wanting to slam his head against the wall. "Are you here to finish the job now? Is that what this is?"

"No! I don't just tell you that I love you!" Zitao exclaimed, desperation taking over. "I love you! I really do! You and Candy . . . you don't know how it feels to be able to- to keep someone alive, to talk to them, to laugh with them, to lie there with them without a care in the world, to have someone act as if you're not just a pawn, a machine, to have someone not look at you like you're scum, and I- I-"

"I need some alone time," Sehun suddenly said. He scrambled out of the bed, quickly pulled on his jeans and shirt and stumbled towards the door.

"You were hiding in a cupboard under the sink." He froze at the sound of Zitao's voice, hand on the doorknob. "I remember you. Do you remember me?"

A millisecond dragged on before the door was thrown open, slammed shut behind Sehun. Zitao slumped down against the headboard. He felt so much lighter after letting the truth out, but now he was empty. And he was alone once again.

taohun mini explanation here