Mark wakes up to a corpse knocking at his door. He thinks maybe it’s just a shadow, but the figure is too sharp, too angular and thin. As his eyes adjusts to the darkness, he realises eventually that it’s a skeleton, bones clotted in black, eyes hollow and jaw loose. It simply stands there, still.

He realises quickly it’s a dream because he’d shut the door before he went to bed and he suddenly has curtains, parted open for the window behind him. The fear however is real, the sight like a bite from a snake, the fear its venom running through his blood. The feeling of the unknown impending is an invisible force that chains him to his bed.

“Henrikka.” A voice calls out, and it’s so similar to the sound of Barrick’s voice. Something Mark has only ever heard in the back of his head, mangled in the whispers of his own thoughts. Yet he could hear him, clearly, as if they were both in the same room but he knows they aren’t because the mouth that had moved to speak, the chords that hummed with the name that came out as strangled as guitar strings too tight, they belonged to Mark, and they did not.

It’s your turn now, Mark.

Barrick?

Mark’s hands move of their own accord, his arms looking bulkier, a white tunic that he doesn’t remember owning tight against his biceps.

Barrick…

His eyes fall upon his open palms, large white hands, fingers thick and coarse, their tips drenched in graphite, greyness sunk deep into the lines of his skin. These palms did not belong to him.

Taste how helpless I’ve felt for the last two hundred years.

Just as his voice echoes from within, his words like a nail to the coffin, he raises his eyes back to the door where the skeleton shakes. Bones ricketing and racketing, jaw chattering with silent cries, and where with one swift movement, it charges towards him.

“No!” Mark shouts, the cry coming out hoarse and broken as he lurches out of bed. His vision is blurred, sleep still a ghost behind his eyelids, but he can see in the vague darkness, in the slight light that slips in through his curtain-less windows that his door is closed, and there is no corpse.

Mark lets out a deep sigh, hot breath mixed with relief and the remnants of the fear that followed him out of his nightmares. The first thing he does is look at his hands, squinting down at the angular shape of his fingers, long and thin, and completely clean. No grey.

He waits then, silently in his bed, his head low and the ends of his hair drenched in the cold sweat that layered against his forehead and neck. There is a flicker of hope among the doubt and the fear, that Barrick’s conviction, Barrick’s intentions weren’t true. That he cared more for breaking the curse than he did for extracting a fruitless revenge. He’s been silent to Mark’s mind however, hasn’t said a word since that morning Mark felt his soul being crushed.

A knock at the door startles Mark upright, his head flying straight back into the wall behind him. He bites his lip, holding in a grunt and swallows down his quick pulse. “C-come in.” He mutters weakly.

The door clicks and opens slowly, and for one second, Mark thinks he sees the hand of a skeleton but the shadows move quickly, and morph, solidifying Jinyoung as he steps into the room.

“I heard you shout,” He says, standing awkwardly at the door.

Mark exhales and holds out his hand, an open palm inviting him in. Jinyoung moves carefully, his hand sliding away from the doorknob ever so slowly as he takes the few steps there is to reach the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asks, standing still at Mark’s bedside.

Mark gives his open hand a flicker of a look and then drops it. “Yes.”

“What did you dream about?”

Mark clenches his jaw, teeth grinding against each other silently. “I can’t remember.” He lies, even though he continues to see it, in the empty door frame an outline of a skeleton standing still.

“That’s a lie,” Jinyoung replies softly. Mark looks up to find he’s no longer looking down at him, but through the window where moonlight weakened by thick clouds lightly illuminates his face. “But then again, I don’t want to talk about some of my nightmares either.”

He’s acting oddly. Even though his movements and his voice belonged to him, there is a phantom like quality to him. As if he is himself as he is many people. As ghosts reside inside him, as ghosts are part of him and Mark, there is a thought that maybe they are ghosts themselves. As one would take turns to drive a car, there is only so much time till they reach a pit stop and a new driver takes over.

“Are you alright? Did I wake you?” Mark asks, staring down at his fingers. He wiggles them a little, the duvet below him soft to his touch.

“No, I was already awake.” Jinyoung says and then lowers himself to sit beside Mark on the bed. Perching his elbows on his knees, he looks down into his own hands. “What are dreams made of professor?”

“Dreams? Our dreams or dreams of others?” Mark replies, looking over Jinyoung’s shoulder. He’s wearing a loose white shirt, the neck stretched out a little so it just slightly slips lower at the back where Mark can see the lines of his spine.

“I don’t know, both?” Jinyoung shrugs.

“You want another philosophy lesson in the middle of the night?” Mark huffs lightly, brushing a hand through his hair. He feels the grease and sweat stick to the betweens of his fingers and grimaces.

“I don’t want lessons, I want answers,” Jinyoung voice hardens as he clenches his hands into fists. Mark sees the tension travel up his arm and spread across his shoulder, his shoulder blades moving tightly from beneath his shirt. He looks to the side then, as if he were to look at Mark but then dips his head back down. “Henrikka and...some of the others say you’re hiding something.”

Mark reels back, “What?”

Jinyoung tries to lift his head but it drops again with a sigh. “I don’t know, okay? They don’t understand why Barrick would just suddenly decide to take over without something happening. I mean, technically, when you died it would have been easiest for him to enter-”

“When I died, he did enter.” Mark interjects. “It was just the start.”

Jinyoung turns around then, the expression on his face soft but harsh all at the same time. “Then what changed from then to now? If he’s getting stronger...something must have changed.”

“He has been trying to get in for two hundred years now. You can’t ask me for the science behind it because it doesn’t make any sense. There are things, there are worlds way beyond our comprehension and how it’s possible for…for feelings so strong they become an actual entity, an existence...I don’t know.” Mark sounds desperate, Mark feels desperate, but he’s not sure over what. Did he not want to get caught out for keeping the truth about Youngjae from him? Or is it the fact he knows how it feels for ignorance to be forced upon him, for helplessness to be the only option, only to later know that there was something that he could have done, and couldn’t because he simply did not know?

Jinyoung would hate him. The simple thought hurt him more than he thought could be plausible. At what point did Jinyoung’s undoubting dependance and care for Mark become his anchor?

“I’m not hiding anything Jinyoung,” Mark says finally, strongly. He almost believes himself.

Jinyoung stares at him for a breathless moment, and then nods. “I’ll believe you, Professor.” He whispers the words tenderly, the tension eased and dissipated now from his muscles. “You know you’re the only real thing I know right now. The only thing I can say this belongs to me, and if I have this...if I have this feeling then that must mean this is real. You said it yourself, right? That reality is based on our emotional importance to it. You’re my reality, Professor. So, I’ll believe you and I’ll listen to you because I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Mark whispers back, barely audible because the guilt that sprouts inside his stomach grows at the speed of light, a beanstalk choking him from the inside.

“Do you mind?” Jinyoung murmurs, he folds his shoulders together and flutters his eyelashes at Mark. “Can I spend the rest of the night here?”

“Of course,” Mark breathes the words, most likely unheard because he’s already shuffled up against the wall and unfolded the covers, inviting Jinyoung in.

Jinyoung peers down curiously, a small smile pinching at his face. “You sleep in boxers? Even in winter?”

Mark clears his throat and scuttles back into the covers. “It’s comfortable.” He states flatly and drops his face into the pillow.

Jinyoung dives in, hands quick to wrap themselves around Mark’s waist, and legs knotting together so tightly Mark can’t even tell which foot belongs to him. “You’ve become...cheeky.” Mark murmurs sternly, even though he was practically melting into him.

“That’s wrong, Professor.” Jinyoung laughs into the skin of Mark’s neck, his hair ticklish. “I’ve always been like this, so you should just get used it because when I get the hang of these ghosts, you’ll probably get really surprised.”

Mark snorts back at that and let’s his own hands wrap naturally around Jinyoung’s shoulders. He smothers his nose into Jinyoung’s hair and inhales the scent of shampoo and warmth, a scent so close to sunlight.

Blue skies twisting in the heat. A sun dipping into sand dunes. Footprints lost to the wind. Storms risen from the ground.

Mark in a breath and his eyes snap open. It’s morning out, blinding white light floods his room, making the empty space beside him even more stark. There’s a feeling, a familiar feeling that encompasses him as he stares down at what is the print of a body in the sheets. It’s a feeling like fingers running through smoke and the scent of a dying flower.

Mark sits up straighter, looking around his room slowly. His breathing shaky and his fists trembling as he realises what this is. Something he had not felt since his adolescence, a subtle confusion as a dream lingers beyond sleep as if it were more than a disjointed replay of images.

A desert, a wide endless desert, sand hills rising and dipping in the distance. It goes on forever, sort of like looking out onto the sea and never seeing where it ends. It was a sea of gold. The sun so hot, so high in the sky, there are no clouds there, there’s nothing there, nothing but me, the sky and the sand.

These were memories.

Mark’s come to a point now where he’s in a constant state of realising things without actually understanding them. He’s got all separate corners of a puzzle but no real substance in the middle to create the whole picture. Jinyoung’s memories apparently not proving to be of a much help, everything that involves their start and beginning on indefinite block. Youngjae being cryptic and mysterious because as much as he may believe he has Carl shut away somewhere in the back of his mind, the pleasure in seeing things twist and tear may just be hereditary in this long succession of reincarnations.

Then there’s Mark, placed in the middle of different battles, protecting different things. In hindsight probably the most blinded person in the situation, riding on nothing but on memories of a victim filled with so much regret he’d managed to break through a force that kept Mark’s reincarnations asleep for so long. However something else has managed to slip through the cracks, memories that neither belonged to Mark or Barrick.

Something that may finally have the answers Youngjae won’t give, or might give with his own string sewn into the letters.

“...he’s doing it again.” Mihyun whispers.

“He’s been doing it often.” Jinyoung replies.

“He can hear you guys, you know.” Mark mutters, eyes narrowing at the two students across the table. Large white cups of coffee settled before them, steam rolling off the surface of their hot drinks.

They’re at a cafe for breakfast. Mihyun had barged into their house earlier this morning after handing in her dissertation and stated that one, we need to celebrate and two, Jinyoung’s been hauled up in here for nearly two weeks. Technically, this didn’t mean Mark should be involved at all but seeing as he has a car, he is most definitely involved.

It’s not like they asked to get dropped somewhere in town though, no, they made Mark drive them to a specific cafe down the Han River where the interior resembles a rustic cabin in the woods and there’s a hundred different variations of lights and shades hanging off the ceiling illuminating the cafe in a dull, orange light. Mihyun hasn’t stopped taking pictures since they entered.

“What are you thinking about so intently professor?” Mihyun asks as she takes her large cup to her lips, the circumference of it is so big it covers the majority of her face as she tilts it up. It’s like drinking from a bowl, Mark thinks as he looks down at his own cup of black coffee.

“Why I’m here?” Mark mutters and picks up the drink from the handle, trying not to show how heavy it feels on the wrist.

“It’s kind of just default now, where Jinyoung and I go, you go.” Mihyun says, smiling brightly.

Mark raises an eyebrow and scoffs, “You mean where you and Jinyoung go, I drive.”

“He saw through it,” Jinyoung lazily whispers to Mihyun from across the table, and Mark gives him a quick sharp look from the side.

“Don’t worry, Professor, it’s on me,” Mihyun nods, giving the back of Mark’s hand a little tap.

“I’m not going to let my students pay for me,” Mark rolls his eyes and settles his cup back onto the plate.

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” Mihyun grins cheekily. “You don’t mind if I order another cup of coffee, right? Thanks so much!” She jumps too quickly out of her chair and skitters her way down the small cafe. Mark watches her as she bounces towards the cashier, blonde hair and the ends of her skirt bobbing with her.

“She’s just trying to distract me you know,” Jinyoung says from beside Mark. He has a finger tracing the edge of his saucer, and his chin propped into his hand. A melancholy look on his face.

“I know,” Mark says, eyeing Jinyoung a little while longer. “Navy suits you.” He says referring to the thick knitted jumper Jinyoung has on.

Jinyoung looks down at his sleeves and tugs at the hem, hiding his palms into the arms. “Mmm, my mum sent it to me last Christmas. I didn’t like it much back then, but these days I think it’s pretty nice.”

“It is,” Mark states a little too flatly, it was hard conversing with him casually when last night’s conversation was still too fresh. Jinyoung may not know Mark very well, but his past lives did, and there’s only a matter of time before the clutter of unwarranted secrets began to unfold between them. “You know you told me one time that you see a desert sometimes?”

Jinyoung’s finger stop mid-glide upon the plate as he twists his head to look at Mark. “I did, what about it?”

“Do you remember what life it is? Have you had more memories?”

Jinyoung stares a little too long at Mark as if he were trying to unearth the real question from behind his words. The nerves beneath Mark’s skin are restless, calmness as whimsical as the wind on the coast.

“Yes and no.” Jinyoung says, dropping his eyes back to his untouched cup of coffee, his finger still. “I don’t remember anything specific, just see images.”

“What do you see?”

“Sand. Heat. The sun. A cart. A camel. Occasionally...a pair of eyes,” Jinyoung murmurs, his eyes fluttering with the images he replays across his mind. “But they’re so faint, I can’t grab anything.” He says finally and tilts his head to look back at Mark. “Why are you asking?”

Mark stretches out his jaw and clears his throat, poor tactics in delaying time as he contemplates telling the truth. He realises keeping secrets comes on instinct, a subconscious need to protect himself, to hide himself. He wonders now what there is to hide from when the danger is on the inside.

“I’ve been seeing it too,” Mark admits, settling back into his seat. “A desert...sand…”

“When?” Jinyoung asks.

Mark looks at him, there’s a slight crease between his eyebrows, his eyes sharp as they look at Mark with a combination of concern and restlessness. “When I’m around you.” Mark says, remembering the moment they had first kissed and he’d seen the sun falling into the horizon.

“It doesn’t belong to Barrick?” Jinyoung thinks aloud, his finger now tapping lightly at his chin. “You think it’s one of the two? The end or the beginning?”

“I don’t know,” Mark shakes his head. “I don’t really know anything.”

Jinyoung hears the exhaustion that layers upon his words and turns to look up at Mark. He seems as if he’s going to say something but a hand comes slapping down to the table, startling the two of them.

“Ugh men,” Mihyun almost spits as she takes her plastic cup of ice coffee, furiously from the straw.

“I know she doesn’t mean us specifically but I can’t help but feel wounded,” Jinyoung whispers as he stares across the table, Mihyun slurping up her drink with a fiery grudge.

“You okay, Mihyun?” Mark asks, leaning slightly across the table.

Mihyun stops drink abruptly and then lifts her eyes to stare up at the two of them. She places her iced drink onto the table carefully, her hands lightly wrapped around the cup as she contemplates upon something. “I just need to know why guys think trying to look cute means I’m begging for their attention?”

“Ego.” Jinyoung quickly replies.

“Ego?”

Jinyoung shrugs. “They look for clues to see you’re interested in them as much as they might be in you and when they don’t see it, they look for other things. Oh, she’s wearing a skirt, she must be asking for us to look at her legs. Oh, she’s wearing make up, she wants to look good for us. A man’s pride is a desperate and deadly thing.”

Mihyun blinks at him surprised for a while before a wide, knowing grin grows on her face. “I forget you must know how it feels. This is probably why I like you so much Jinyoung, you understand.”

Jinyoung snorts, “To an extent.”

“Did someone bother you, Mihyun?” Mark asks carefully.

Mihyun’s gone back to sipping a lot more pleasantly on her drink and she replies to Mark’s question with a smile, “Don’t worry professor, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Thank you.” She says and Mark nods, even though he still finds his eyes wandering briefly over the space of the cafe.

“You are looking cute today though, more-so than usual,” Jinyoung lightly remarks, his eyes gliding down Mihyun. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve been stuffed in jogging bottoms and stress-sweat drenched t-shirts for a week straight because of my dissertation.” Mihyun says, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder as she settles back into her seat. “I needed to feel human again. Also what do you mean more-so than usual?”

Jinyoung grins widely, “Nothing.”

Mihyun narrows her eyes, giving him a long look before deciding this wasn’t something she was bothered to make a fuss about. “Anyway when are you coming back to uni? The reporters are basically non-existant now.”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of enjoying this break.” Jinyoung says, tilting his head slightly to offer a smile only Mark could see. “Besides all my deadlines got extended so I got another month or so.”

“Lucky bastard.” Mihyun mutters as she returns to torturing her drink, the straw crushed between her teeth.

“Things have gotten quieter…” Mark trails off as a thought dawns on him; the video. Mark jolts upright from his seat, the realisation surging through his body sparking idle matches of anger. “I have to go.”

Jinyoung clamps a quick hand to Mark’s wrist, looking up at the professor with knitted eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Mark blinks, quickly snuffing out the sparks going on forest fire. “Nothing, sorry. I just have to do something at the university. You guys can get back on your own right?” Mark hurriedly says, barely catching Mihyun’s nod before exiting the cafe.

The scent of dusted coffee beans is quickly exchanged with cold winds and the scent of salt as the wooden door of the cafe gives way to the sight of the sea. An expanse of water so tight and flat, condensed as if Mark had fallen into a cup of water. He stands upon a wooden dock, old and worn down, the lines filled with moss and mould. It’s warped slightly from the damp, nailed planks bending as if it unhinge itself from its confinements.

“Do you visit here often?” Youngjae’s curious voice comes from behind Mark.

Mark turns around to find him standing casually on the dock, his hands stuffed into grey trousers, a loose knitted jumper hanging off his waist. His eyes look upon their surroundings with curiosity and a little nostalgia. Behind him is the port hidden deep in a fog that did not belong to the coast but to the depths of Mark’s mind.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Mark says, confusion riddling his mind. He brings a palm to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was in a cafe.”

“Did you forget?” Youngjae asks. “You came to me about the video of Jinyoung.”

“Yes...yes…” Mark brushes his hand through his hair and breathes deeply. “Was it you that posted it?”

“We’ve had this conversation, Mark.” Youngjae sighs, locking his hands together behind his back as he peers over the edge of the dock.

“We did?” Mark rubs at his eyes.

“Yes, and I told you it wasn’t me. His expulsion doesn’t benefit me at all.” His voice distorts. Mark feels the world let go of him for a moment, the darkness behind his eyelids overwhelming.

“What does benefit you?” Mark murmurs into his palm as he rubs vigorously at his face.

“It seems I did not have to look far to find you,” Carl says softly, oddly. A gentle tone to his voice, a tone that did not belong to him.

Barrick removes his hands from his face to look towards his old friend. It’d been months since he’d seen Carl, months since the fire. Carl had been classified as missing after the fire; his body not found.

“Carl? You’re alright? What are you doing here?” Barrick muttered, a surge of emotions flooded him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he became overwhelmed with a feeling of relief, to see someone familiar, to see a hope beyond the rubble and ash that blackened the streets of what was once his home. “What happened, my friend? The fire- it started at your house, your parents-”

“I know.” Carl said, a solemn expression upon his face. His hand moves carefully, slowly, Barrick too focused on the fact that the curls of his bronze hair seem duller, like wilted flowers against the side of his face. “I was there, when the fire started.”

“What do you-” Barrick in a breath, his words cut short as his attention is immediately taken by the shimmer of metal against cloud-dulled sunlight. In the palm of Carl’s hand a revolver fits perfectly, his fingers laced into the trigger comfortably, the end pointed at Barrick. “Carl?”

“We have to leave Barrick,” Carl said, his eyelids heavy as he looked upon his firend. “It’s been too long as it is. We have to follow.”

“What- what are you doing?” Barrick carefully places two palms up, daring to take a step forward. “Carl, is this about your family? Your house? I promise, I’ll do what I-”

“They have nothing to do with this. In fact, they’re probably in a more peaceful place now.” Carl spoke with an iron grip to his words, as if he believed them with desperation and force. “We need to go too Barrick. We need to follow Henrikka.”

Barrick flinches at the mention of her name. “What are you talking about? Carl, just put the gun down first.”

Carl the revolver, the click harsh, and Barrick takes a fearful step backwards. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’d thought about it for a long time, thought about giving in, giving in to life but they won’t allow me.” He said the words in a sort of comfort but his face was still, frozen in a state of what disillusionment may look like. “She had to go, and so do we.”

“What- what do you mean she had to go?” Barrick asked breathlessly, confusion and fear soaring through his mind as he lost himself in the tunnel of the gun.

“She had to die.” He stated flatly.

Barrick flicked his attention up from the gun to Carl, yet he was met with the same pit of darkness. Carl’s eyes lost and hollow of life, a look that meant he’d given up.

“What happened? Did you- did you start the fire?” Barrick asked, the question shaking with the tremble in his breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Carl murmured, his finger inching on the trigger. “I understand it may not mean much, but I’d wish you know that you of all the people in my life were the only one I truly cared about.”

Barrick’s palms drop dead to his side. “The fire, it started in your home, it spread so fast and latched into our neighbourhood first. Was it meant to? Did you do this? Did you kill Hen-” A noise goes off but Barrick is deaf to it as something rips into his chest. He stumbles backwards, a name stuck in the opening of his mouth. Heat pulses and radiates outwards from his chest, and he looks down to find crimson pooling on his white tunic. He’d been shot, straight in the heart, and if it wasn’t already cut, bruised, and dried out from the agony then finally, it’d broke.

Tear blurred eyes flicker back up to Carl, his features distorted and twisted, his mouth moving with words unheard. In the vagueness there is the shimmer of metal as Carl moves his arm, lifting it to his head. The movement goes unfinished as the world tilts and flies over Barrick’s head as he falls back. Water beds his death with gentle but cold hands, wrapping him in a blanket that drags him down below to his grave. The last thing he sees is the sky warped in the blue of the water he loved so much.

Mark lurches and twist on the floor in pure agony; his skin prickles with cold, goosebumps rising up the length of his body as he screams with pain, his heart thumping harshly, loudly as if striving to live despite the metal lodged into it it’s flesh.

“Mark!” A voice shouts out to him but he can’t think, can’t tell who it belongs to. The pain engulfing him as he writhes on the cold marble floor, clutching his chest with desperation.

“Make- make it stop,” Mark groans, choking on his own breath. The pain twisted its way through his chest, thorned vines twisting round his ribs and ripping into his organs, his insides coming undone. “It hurts.” He gasps, his face sheen with cold sweat plastered to the ground below him, his knuckles white as he fists the fabric of his shirt.

“Mark! Come out of it!” A face appears at his side, bronze hair and furious eyes behind glasses staring down at him. Youngjae. “Wake up, it’s not real.” He demands, there’s the faint feeling of his hands gripping Jinyoung’s shoulders but the pain demands for attention and all Mark can do is look up at the man that shot him and let him fall.

Barrick, he killed you.

He killed Henrikka.

“Mark, you’re not hurt. Listen to me, it’s Barrick’s memories.” Youngjae says close to Mark, his face now clamped between his palms. Mark looked up at him, a furious feeling burning alongside the pain that felt so real he wondered how he’d not died already.

“Carl.” Mark seethes as he unhinges his fists from his chest and blindly goes to grab at the man above him. “Carl!” Mark shouts and lurches upwards, the pain and anger blinding, the back of his mind fallen into a pit of darkness as his body moves on instinct.

“Mark, it’s me! Youngjae!” He shouts back but Mark’s already throwing himself at the other man, knocking his glasses right off his nose and pummeling him into the ground.

“You killed her!” He spits down, clutching at Youngjae’s collar. “You killed her!” He shakes at him, his veins tight under his skin, his muscles flexing with every harsh breath he in between his teeth.

“Mark...it’s Barrick,” Youngjae murmurs, limp and calm underneath Mark, almost seemingly unbothered by the fact that Mark was seconds away from wrapping his hands around his neck. “Don’t let him take over.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” Mark roars, drops of water sliding down his face and he can’t tell if it’s tears or sweat but he feels like a stream atop a cliff, and he’s about to waterfall into oblivion any second. “You were my best friend...my brother, and you killed, you destroyed everything.” He whimpers, and shuts his eyes.

Behind his eyelids he see’s his family, his sister, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, small hands around a violin too big for her fimble shoulders. He see-

“Mark-” Youngjae’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Who are you thinking about right now?”

Mark slowly opens his eyes and below him is Carl, curly brown hair and vacant brown eyes. Carl who set fire to Turku, who ruined any chances Barrick’s teacher had in regaining his position, a Turku where hundreds of people lost their jobs, a withering capital that was put to it’s grave too early. “You ruined everything.” Mark seethes. “You ruined everything, you burned everything down, and you killed her! You killed me! Before I could even-”

“Is that it, Barrick?” Carl says, his voice so clear to Mark’s mind. “Is your ego wounded? You spent years with a goal to make a name for yourself only for me to end it, right? Tell the truth you saw opportunity when you looked at the rubble of Turku. When you saw the Cathedral all broken and burnt up, you thought this is my chance, everyone will remember me as the man who rebuilt a exiled capital!”

“Shut up…” Mark murmurs, his fists shaking as he brings them round Youngjae’s neck.

“Tell the truth! Among the loss and the mourning you were secretly glad, you could finally accomplish your goal! People were going to remember you for centuries, the saviour of the great fire of Turku.” Carl muttered in disgust, Youngjae’s lip contorted into a horrible grimace.

“Shut up!” Barrick screams through Mark, his hands tightening around Youngjae’ throat. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, I swear to god, I’ll do it!”

“D-do it,” Carl wheezes, his breaths coming out broken. “I’ll….I’ll just see you again.” There’s a slight upturn of his lips that quickly slips away and his eye’s snap, big brown eyes that Mark recognized, eyes that belonged to Youngjae.

“Professor!?” Mihyun’s voice comes from across the room. Mark snaps his head up to find he’s in the kitchen of Inseok’s house, one of the dining table’s chair is toppled onto the ground, Mark and Youngjae on the floor beside it. “What are you doing? Professor Choi?” Mihyun’s at the entrance of the kitchen, she’s wearing the same fluffy skirt he remembered seeing at the cafe.

That was real?

Jinyoung runs up from behind Mihyun, quickly peering into the room to take in the spectacle. It doesn’t even take a second for him to react, quickly pushing past Mihyun to get in where he basically flies at Mark, pulling him off Youngjae. “What are you doing!?” Jinyoung exclaims as Youngjae gasps loudly, he lurches and groans on the ground, wheezing desperately for air. “Professor Choi, are you alright?” Jinyoung cautiously asks from beside Mark, his hand clamped tightly around Mark’s arm.

Mark sits back on his hands, the ground cold from beneath his palms. He still hears the first splash of Barrick’s body hitting the water, the memory so vivid and clear like he’d just risen from the depths of the ocean.

Youngjae moves slowly from his crouched position, his breathing slowing down to a regular pace and all three of them watch him as he goes to sit on the ground with one final huff. “I really thought I was going to die then, that’d be bad.” Youngjae chuckles breathlessly, taking a hand to brush through his hair.

“Why?” Mark snaps. “Because you wouldn’t be able to drag us down with you?”

Youngjae peers at his side, giving Mark a look of consideration. “No, if I died, it wouldn’t be long before you guys followed. We’re tied you see.” Youngjae says flatly, but Mark sees it, sees that taunting smirk like a ghost to his lips.

“What- what are you talking about?” Jinyoung asks bewildered, looking between the two of them like he could find understanding in the air.

Mark flinches, quickly realising the situation he’s in right now. He stares down at the iron grip Jinyoung has on him, and then up at the look of confusion and horror that twists at his mouth and his eyes. “Jinyoung-”

“You didn’t tell him yet?” Youngjae says, pushing himself up to his feet. He pats off at his knees and straightens out his sweater as if tidying himself up could hide the redness that circles his neck and the scratch that goes across his cheek. “You should recognise me by now though, right Jinyoung?” Youngjae says, his eyelashes fluttering for a second like the twitch of a butterfly’s wing before it takes flight.

“P-Professor?” Jinyoung stutters looking up from the ground, his hands begin to shake and Mark feels his wrist shake with him.

Youngjae moves his hand from his side, and for a moment Mark thinks he sees metal glinting in the light but his palm comes out empty as he brings it closer to Jinyoung’s face. Despite the memories that fog his vision Mark is quick to jump up, latching onto Youngjae’s wrist, his fingers wrapping tightly around the other man’s arm. “Don’t touch him.” Mark warns, his jaw tense and his face threatening. Youngjae gives him a flat look before stepping back.

“Professor?” Mihyun murmurs, scared, from the door frame.

“Mihyun, go into the living room or find a room upstairs to stay in for now, everything’s okay.” Mark tries to go for soothing but his voice comes out strangled, and the worry is so clear in his face that Mihyun just ends up looking more afraid. But she nods despite it all and steps away from the kitchen, quickly disappearing into the hallway.

“It’s you, right?” Jinyoung says from behind, and Mark turns to find him standing up, anger flaring in his pupils. “You’re the one that started all this!?” He says, his anger hot in his words.

“No,” Youngjae says harshly. He moves then, too fast for Mark to even react, Youngjae shoves his way past and makes his way to Jinyoung. His hand whizzes in the air as if he were about to hit Jinyoung but instead Youngjae just places his palm upon Jinyoung’s forehead with force. “You did.” He mutters as he forces Jinyoung down onto his knees.

There’s a thick atmosphere as something happens in the silence. Mark can’t breathe, can’t move from where he is, his own emotions drowsing out his nerves. There’s just the faint sound of breathing growing harsher and louder with every passing second, and Mark doesn’t realise it belongs to Jinyoung until he begins to scream.

A bloodcurdling scream that begins to shake the ground.