They had met, in the thick of the revolution.

A son of a peacekeeper and a ringleader of the rebellion – it was needless to say that it hadn’t been a pretty circumstance they had crossed paths in, but here Minhyuk was, watching Hyungwon as he covertly tried to polish the exterior of his Kahr. Jooheon sat down next to him, heavily, an exhale leaving him as he swiped the pistol from Minhyuk’s grip, trailing his gaze to the lanky figure standing near the grey, washed-out field.

“You should tell him, you know, that you love him. The ground beneath our feet is shaky – you never know who’ll be the next to fall through the fissures.”

“I can’t, Jooheon, you know I can’t be selfish.” I’d rather suffer alone and let the feelings I have bubble up in my throat until it hurts, than subject him to the ridicule of the world, is what he doesn’t say.

Falling for Hyungwon was easy; they only had each other. Guaranteed, the boys were and would always be their backbone – but Hyungwon was different. Minhyuk was the one who would be there, at every single turn of the road, waiting gently for the boy to come back home – his real refuge – in the thick of his very own embrace. He knew about the night terrors Hyungwon suffered from, flashing images of a dying mother and the flesh of his father’s palm landing across skin gripping his dreams like a vice, and in return, Minhyuk let him into his very own fragile world of being left behind with no one to rely on.

It wasn’t Hyungwon’s fault, though, he only wanted nothing but peace for the world, entangled within the government and his father’s doctrine of equanimity and the moral code he had within himself, reinforced by the clan. His predicament often surfaced in blotchy bruises all over his pale skin, stretched tight over the expanse of his arms, neck, back, everywhere. They made Minhyuk burn with an unknown fury, but there was nothing he could do, not with Hyungwon’s pretty fingers curling around his wrist, gently, with a soft plead of don’t go, don’t leave me that revolved in his mind like a record on a turntable. It’s the closest to I love you that they could manage, anyway.

He could only convince himself that Hyungwon was a masterpiece, and the wounds he bore were art in the making.

He ran his fingers across the rough exterior of the stone wall as they descended the spiral staircase in the centre of town, tips of worn-out sneakers brushing against the weeds that grew in the gaps of the chiseled bricks that formed the path. “Hurry up,” Hoseok snorted, eyeing Minhyuk and Hyungwon’s intertwined hands with a splitting grin. He chose to answer with a wide smile of his own, flipping the boy off with his free hand.

When they reached the street that turned into their hideout, there were peacekeeping guards scattered throughout the length of it, rifles cocked, in full gear. Minhyuk peered over Kihyun’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of the offending party, but only saw two young men standing before a makeshift stall, military boots on display, for sale. The clutch the smaller male had on the other’s arm was desperate, and Minhyuk watched a guard’s gaze harden into something akin to disgust as it trailed to the contact.

Changkyun nudged his knee between the both of them, and his grip on Hyungwon’s hand loosened inevitably before the officers could turn around.

Any independence that breached the basic principle of communism would not be tolerated, even more so that the goods peddled had been that of combative nature. Building up a defence from the peacekeepers was an offence punishable by death, and the fate of the young men was most certain. That was, until Jooheon pushed forward, and placed his head beneath the trigger of a rifle.

“What’s going on here, eh?” Jooheon brought up, tone careless in the way it concealed his anger, laced with mock curiosity. He knew full well.

Hoseok shared a gaze with Hyunwoo, and nodded – then all of them were squeezing through the gaps, standing before the guards with defiance and an omnipresent fear that they had to squash for the better. “Spare them,” Hyungwon’s voice, characteristically smooth and gentle, rang out as the soldiers saluted, the gold star – the symbol of authority – he had extricated from his pocket glinting under the harsh rays of the afternoon sun. “Uptightness is not a virtue to be admired, comrades.” His right hand twirled artfully around a cluster of violet flowers, in full bloom, and he paused briefly, inserting it into the barrel of a soldier’s gun.

“Now, go.” Both a command and a threat, despite its soft tone. The guards turned, and marched off into the distance, boots clicking on the uneven ground. Minhyuk didn’t miss the way the tension and terror slid off of Hyungwon’s shoulders almost instantaneously, the shaky exhale of relief that coated his very being. The young men had gifted them each with a new pair of boots, despite Jooheon’s refusal, and were gone in the matter of minutes, stall folded, leaving behind the only indication that they had been there – the neat imprints of the table legs against the dust. Minhyuk kept his gaze on Hyungwon, but the male never once turned back, slumped over his clenched fist, the cold metal of the gold star digging into the flesh of his palm.

They had barely made it to the road tunnel leading to the bridge before the peacekeepers were back on their trail, only this time, Hyungwon’s father stood at the very front, a single cigar between his thin lips, pressed together tightly in distaste. “Chae Hyungwon,” he began, stepping forward and extinguishing the pipe with a single, condescending blow of air. “You have disappointed me, greatly.” The sound of a fist landing against the tender skin of Hyungwon’s cheek was entirely within the range that Minhyuk had expected, but it hurt all the same, and he could only stare in wide-eyed horror, unable to avert his gaze. “I should take that star from you, let you bleed out in the streets, and you’ll know what a great father I am,” Officer Chae sneered, and Hyungwon clutched at his face, eyes fixed on the dusty ground, silent. By his side, Minhyuk’s fist clenched and unclenched.

Helpless.

Spitting at the tips of his very own son’s shoes, the Officer brought the cigar to his mouth once again, a hardened expression of disdain across his sharp features. “I’m not done with you yet, we’ll see what should be done to you when you get home. Platoon, let us head back to the station.”

For a while after his father had left, Hyungwon did not move, staring dazedly at the blotch of spit swirling in the dust at his feet, hand still cradling his abused cheek. It broke Minhyuk’s heart, and he gestured for the boys to return home. There was no purpose in having a meeting to plan the grand rebellion, not any longer, not when Hyungwon was this closed off. He strode over, crushing the spit under his shoe, and placed a hand on the small of the boy’s back, leading him into the sunset.

They had a small shack they shared, a private, quiet place of some sorts, that even the boys knew not to intrude. It was here that Minhyuk had been witness to tears, anger and anguish; to gaping wounds and coloured bruises. The walk there was silent, and Minhyuk hoped, fervently, that he would be able to patch Hyungwon back together, once again, as he had always done.

Once the flimsy wooden door had shut behind them, Hyungwon wordlessly dropped to his knees in an unspoken form of thank you for not intervening and allowed Minhyuk to curl his fingers into soft strands. A gift that only Hyungwon could offer, and one that Minhyuk could only take, and take. His hands twisted around the back of the boy’s head, and he let out a moan that sounded too much like I love you, I love you, I love you, I’m sorry I couldn’t shield you from it.

The sunlight filtering in through the torn paper windows was cold.

A day after the foiled arrest of the young men, Hyungwon turned up to the shack with a white mask over his pretty, pretty features.

A lump grew in Minhyuk’s chest and it became hard to breathe. His fingers trembled as he reached out, only to have Hyungwon bat his hand away. “Don’t,” a plea, choked out with a strained voice. Minhyuk could see the bruises in the shape of a curled hand around his throat, and the taste in his very own mouth turned rancid. “Let me see,” he countered, hands gentle in the way they peeled the fabric off, and his exhale caught in his throat at the injuries splattered across the boy’s face, fringe sticking to his forehead with sweat and drying blood. A swollen and bloodied eyelid, scrapes across his bruised cheek, and a gash across his forehead, ending right above his browbone.

Hyungwon met his gaze with one of utter desolation, of complete defeat, where Minhyuk’s eyes blazed with fury and indignance. This time, when Minhyuk yanked himself away from the broken boy and stormed out of the shack, wooden door rattling from the force of the slam, Hyungwon did not bother to hold him back.

“Hyunwoo,” Minhyuk curved into the ration centre that he knew the boy would be in, ticking off ration cards based on identification. “I need gasoline.”

The latter lowered his voice to a whisper, confusion written clearly across his face. “What for? You’ve just collected enough to last for a month, and we don't need any for missions at the headquarters.”

Minhyuk let his fist land on the wooden surface of the table in a swift, rage-driven swing, struggling to get his voice under control. “Officer Chae,” he began, resentment diffusing into his tone, “and Hyungwon.”

“That’s his only shield, you’re being rash, Minhyuk,” Hyunwoo frowned, features knitting together. “He only gets away with what he does because his father is a government official, let’s face it.”

“I’ll protect him from what the world throws at him, that I can do, but I can’t shield him from his father. I have to, Hyunwoo. At least try to understand.”

“One becomes weak because they have someone they want to protect,” Hyunwoo interjected, sighing. “I will give you three litres, no more, no less. I hope you’ve weighed the consequences, please, Minhyuk.”

If Hyunwoo didn’t approve, neither would Jooheon. They did everything together, those two, and Minhyuk might understand, because he felt the same way for Hyungwon. Hoseok and Changkyun proved to be more than willing, though, and they managed to piece together a sizeable amount of petroleum from each of their households, scrimping if it meant ending Hyungwon’s suffering, once and for all. Gripping tightly onto a torch, Minhyuk set the barrel of fuel down by his feet, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head, letting the fabric cloud the light around him – and began his descend into darkness.

He watched the military base station go up in flames from the opposing street, dropping the empty petrol can with a harsh exhale. They would have to get rid of the evidence, sooner or later, but for now, that could wait. Hoseok placed a hand on his shoulder as he admired their handiwork, and he was grateful for that, the touch grounding him. A feral part of him longed to run forth, telling his conscious that this wasn’t enough, that only inflicting the torturous pain twicefold on Hyungwon’s father would avenge the boy. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a semblance of a smile, watching the paramedics bring out stretcher after stretcher of charred bodies, the gold stars on their uniforms glinting ominously.

It slid right off his face as a familiar figure came stumbling out of the crumbling compound. A yell from Changkyun, a sharp inhale from Hoseok, and Minhyuk was sprinting, rounding the corner, his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen.

The moment his arm curled around Hyungwon to steady him, and their eyes met, Hyungwon knew.

“That makes you a monster no different from my father,” he began, the severity of the situation making him dizzy. “This isn’t a favour I can remunerate, oh god, Minhyuk, what have you done?”

Minhyuk’s grip around his arm tightened, and his jaw clenched. “They hurt you! Why won’t you just let me care for you without worrying about repaying me in some form?”

“Because you’re the only one who’s been good to me,” Hyungwon choked out, both from the smoke and the tears that had gathered beneath his eyelids. “I’m afraid, Minhyuk, so afraid that you’ll up and leave one day. But this – this I can’t repay, I’m so sorry, I – “

His hand slipped from Minhyuk’s grip as he turned, running into the night. The smog from the ablaze building curled upwards, and disappeared into the dark sky.

Hyungwon stayed away for days on end. Minhyuk saw his pale face, devoid of life and angular in all the wrong places, on the telescreen as his father’s wake was broadcasted to the town, and its citizens were made to go into ten days of mourning for a politician they did not feel a connection towards. It was only right that the son of a high-ranking peacekeeping official had to lead the very district in that, dressed in a tailor-made black suit that seemed too heavy on his shoulders. Minhyuk stared, and stared, until the back of his eyes burned with the image of Hyungwon – then looked away, obstinately.

On the thirteenth day, Minhyuk gingerly pushed the door open to the shack, as he had done for the past twelve, and found Hyungwon sitting on the floor, waiting. The hope that filled his chest at once only served to make him realize how pathetic this was; the war, the revolution, love.

Hyungwon’s outstretched hand was clenched around a soda bottle of grape juice, and he shook it a little, offering it to Minhyuk. Once his fingers had curled around the glass, Hyungwon let out a shaky sigh of relief, a thin smile stretching across his features. Minhyuk caved in, how could he not, returning it with a grin of his own, taking a seat next to Hyungwon and popping the bottle cap off. In the low light, he searched around for the boy’s hand, and held it tightly, letting the comfortable silence settle.

“I feel strangely at peace,” Hyungwon confessed in a soft voice, breaking the stagnant summer air as he took a large swig of the grape juice. Minhyuk’s own tasted bitter on his tongue. “Maybe I am a monster in my own right.”

“It’s normal,” he interjected, bile rising in his throat at the latter’s instinct to point the trigger towards his own form. “He was never human, father or not.”

What Hyungwon did next was something Minhyuk would never have foreseen, not in a million years of untold reveries. He leaned over, curled his hands into the fabric of Minhyuk’s jumper, chewing on his lower lip. “Can you kiss me?” he asked, voice wavering, eyes uncertain. They were treading on thin ice, on shaky ground, like Jooheon had said. Minhyuk longed to kiss more than just that sweet, sweet mouth; longed to leave gentle marks across the pale skin across his torso and between his thighs, longed to replace bruises with tender discolouration of his love.

“Will you let me?” His hand snuck beneath the surface of Hyungwon’s favorite hoodie, soft from years of use. “Let me take care of you?”

Hyungwon allowed himself a deep breath like he was taking a plunge, and nodded.

The setting sun in Autumn was lukewarm, as was the skin at the back of Hyungwon’s neck as Minhyuk drew him in for another lazy kiss, sighing gently.

“We have to walk to get to the headquarters, the boys are probably already waiting,” Hyungwon’s soft voice was laced with a hint of laughter, and his nose crinkled in the endearing way that was entirely Hyungwon.

“They can wait,” he responded, stubborn, but brushed the dust off of his jeans as he stood up, trailing after the boy, who had taken off down the path winding into the cornfield.

They would have to run, and run, and run, into the eternity, but Minhyuk knew, that they raced not to beat even the elusive construct of time, but to be with each other.

The rush of breath into his lungs stung, but Hyungwon glanced back, turning around with a soft smile on his face – offering him a single violet blossom that had bloomed in the centre of his palm.

And they had all the time in the world.