His flesh is sumptuous. Fingernails scrape down the sun-kissed lengths of Wonshik's arms, and, oh, oh. Their whispers ghost over each other's skin like breezes, like gentle wind on the earth. Hair as raven drips into Taekwoon's eyes, veiling dark abysses in the place of eyes, abysses that inhale Wonshik. Human darkness, Wonshik thinks. Places his hand over Taekwoon's heart. Its beating is too strong, too irregular, too much.

They brace themselves against the walls of the alley, cinderblock like pillows against their heads and backs and limbs. "I'll take you with me," Taekwoon murmurs.

"Where?" Wonshik breathes. Inhale, exhale. Fingernails scrape again.

"Under. You and I."

Exhale, inhale. Fingernails. Deeper this time, reaching into Wonshik's arms, caressing bones. The sound of ocean is loud in Wonshik's ears, louder than his breathing, louder than the rush of blood in Taekwoon's veins. Taekwoon removes his fingers.

"Come with me."

Does the world tilt? They walk along the cinderblocks. Up, up, up. If Taekwoon's eyes are abysses, Taekwoon's hand around Wonshik's is the edge of the cliff. Wonshik can feel a million heartbeats. The night is falling around them like a gauze over their eyes, making movements fumble. Wonshik continues to walk the cliff's edge. "Where are we going?"

"Under." Up, is what Wonshik hears echo.

Wonshik's mouth opens to speak, but the dark of night is suffocating. He looks at his own hand in Taekwoon's. It's ghostly, it's unreal, it's insubstantial. Taekwoon turns his abysses on Wonshik.

"You look beautiful," Taekwoon's lips form, but Wonshik hears nothing but ocean.

Rush. Taekwoon turns and specter hands grip Wonshik's shoulders. The grip is tight. More soundless words. Taekwoon seems to dissolve into the gauzy black night, so Wonshik reaches for Taekwoon's face. His hands pass through. It puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

Taekwoon leans, putting pale lips to Wonshik's ear. "Breathe." Wonshik remembers: inhale, exhale. Repeat. Fingernails scrape again. Scraping to the center, leaving red ribbons and dripping rose petals. It's stark against Taekwoon's raven hair, Taekwoon's moonshine skin. "Somebody wants you," Taekwoon whispers. "Somebody wants you. But I am—" Oh. Fingernails. An irregular heartbeat. Rip, tear. Rich flesh like solid garnet. Taekwoon wants to hold it in his hands, marvel at its riches. He wants to see the crown jewel. Wonshik's breath comes in great waves, and Taekwoon susurrates once again: "Breathe. We're going under." Shred, peel. Oh, so close to that—fingernails are scraping along Wonshik's ribs, playing them like piano keys. Wonshik wants him closer, wants Taekwoon to drag him into his black abyssal eyes, to drag him under.

At last. Taekwoon cups ivory hands around the heart, quelling its beat-beating. Pulls it as close as heartstrings allow, putting it to his porcelain lips, liquid gemstone spilling down, down, running in rivulets down arms, neck, chest. Sumptuous, is what Taekwoon thinks. Inhale, exhale, inhale. Wonshik thinks it feels like brimstone, like hellfire, and the feel of Taekwoon's touch and of his beautiful white teeth spreads through his limbs. But it's cold. It's icy. Ice water runs through his veins, leaving searing, burning trails of hypothermic-- oh. Fingernails drag. Fingernails fix, replace, patch.

"Ah." Taekwoon's breath is like gentle winter wind again. Wonshik wants to reach out again, but he's gone, oh, he's gone. Dissolved, fizzled away into that black. The beating of Taekwoon's heart is too fast, too frenzied for Wonshik to keep track of. Slipping, falling, Wonshik feels the world dissipate under his fingers. He feels Taekwoon dissipate under his fingers. Is this under? Up? Where has he gone? Where has he--