The boy is abandoned among ash and smoke. 

Bundled in rags, he is lifted by charred fingers and pressed to a bosom that smells of fire and animal blood. 

"Just as the heavens foresaw, you have arrived."

He is a day old, but needs no milk. He requires only the mudang's gaze. And her gaze is understanding. 

For though he is a nameless boy, he is a beautiful boy.

The mountain spirits whisper.

She allows him to splash in the river behind the temple. It is the only time the nameless boy doesn't need to pretend. When he catches fish with his bare hands, he is a child. When he delights her with a three-lipped and she pats his soaked hair, he feels loved.

He's not permitted to call her Mother, but he is her son. And in those moments she lifts her skirt to bare her feet and enters the water with him, he believes she thinks the same. He may not be her flesh, but he is her heart and she is his.

"Kai," she says one night as they sit on the bank. His head's on her lap, face nestled in her stomach. It growls, as she's fasting for a ritual. "In Chinese, they have the phrase 'kaimen.' It means to open many doors. And that is what you will do. That is what you are meant to do, starting from this nation's rotting core so it can begin again."

He looks up. He understands little. What core? And he doesn't try to understand, for she's named him. That's all that matters.

He snuggles closer. Her fabrics still bear a charcoal scent. An owl hoots and the spirits hum.

He wades out too deep one day. The three-lipped's tail just brushes over his fingers. The soil beneath his feet gives way and he plummets underwater.

He flails. He has no leverage to push himself up and his attempts only drag him down further. When his lungs run out of air, his mouth betrays him and instinctively opens. Water rushes in. His chubby six-year-old fingers start to clamp.

He barely feels her arms. A hug and she takes his place in a matter of seconds. She too cannot swim—his inability stems from hers. But she will not let him die. He is bigger than her life. He is her life and the lives of many others. She throws him in the shallows.

He chokes for air. Then it comes easy. His breathing steadies and he opens his eyes. Instead of a blue sky, he sees black mist hovering over him.

It's laced around his wrists. It embraces his waist. It threads in his hair. It's in his nostrils and down his throat. He sits up and screams and it dissipates, leaving him to sob and shiver.

"Mother! Mother!"

It's impossible to tell what are tears and what is freshwater. But his lips buckle upward and he weeps and weeps. He just wants her hold.  

He stands on wobbly feet. When he nears where he fell, the mist reappears and lashes at him, forcing him back. He swats his hand and tries once more. Again, the mist denies him entry. He hurries back to where she tossed him, folding into himself like a scroll, whimpering. 

"Mother, Mother, Mother," he cries, looking over the water. 

The mudang never surfaces. Kai doesn't either.

All he loves are doomed to die. That is the nameless boy's curse.

Jongin's curse.

Joseon's reckoning. 

"I'm wicked."

It comes as Kyungsoo's pulling away to breathe—a faint whisper from the lips that have made his own tingle. He lifts a hand to Jongin's cheek, unbothered by the self-deprecation, assuming the male is having thoughts of unworthiness again. It is out of his own selfishness that he doesn't pry further, leaning forward to break moral codes for a second time, hushing Jongin into submission. No more interruptions. He just wants to be kissed. He will spare any moment for Jongin's lips.

This love is a pup. One nip of a treat and he's owned. And like a pup, Kyungsoo's already devoted and trusting, unashamed that he's prematurely ready to risk being broken for feelings born from silent pacings. He knows neither his own fragility nor the intensity of heartbreak, but he's certain that Jongin is worth it. Because after waiting for an eternity, Kyungsoo refuses a split-second failure.

When Jongin yanks himself away hurriedly, it shatters him. The other had kissed him first. Why is he so reluctant now?

Kyungsoo's left alone in the bed as Jongin stands over him. It feels cold without him. Drifting down from the pillar of hubris nobility has granted him, Kyungsoo wonders if he's pushed too far. He should empathize with Jongin's humble origin. A person does not live so impoverished without reason. He should not have forced a fish to walk on land. 

"Lay down. We don't have to do that again," he assures.

Jongin's torn. It's cold for him, too. But he's damned. And it's so close. "No-"

It is only then that Kyungsoo notices Jongin's eyes are not on him. It hurts. He wants the male's attention. But Jongin's gaze seems to instead be locked on something behind him. So Kyungsoo begins to turn his head to glance over his shoulder, but before he can, he hears a dive to the wooden floor and faces bare chest again, his nose in Jongin's pectorals. His throat tightens, breaths fluttery.

Dazed and flushed, Kyungsoo wriggles. "Jongin? Is this truly too much for you? I- I'm sorry for bringing you here."

"No, Kyungsoo, I'm sorry. Jongin's sorry-"

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"For being so wicked..."

Guilt weighs Kyungsoo down. His ego is complicit in Jongin's disdain for himself. A royal must kneel before his subjects to understand them, yet he's tugged Jongin along like a pet. Jongin is beautiful and Kyungsoo has failed in making him see that. Fancy robes and palace invitations are not enough.

"It's okay. Being wicked is okay." He thumbs Jongin's cheek, grazing the groove of his cheekbone. 

Jongin smells of burnt forsythia. Kyungsoo's lost in the aroma, struggling to balance his captivation with his curiosity and concern. It's hard to stay focused when everything about Jongin is lulling him into a fantasy realm.

Following endless pining, the two of them are finally here. Kyungsoo doesn't want to let that go for exploring negativity. Just give him bliss. Just being held like this is enough. He aims elsewhere in hopes of returning to his original purpose for bringing Jongin here. Can they smile again?

"It's okay."

Jongin shakes his head, his chin nuzzling Kyungsoo's topknot. He wants happiness, too.

The most beautiful place had been the dirt. When he sat in it, Jongin could see Kyungsoo from below. The grace of his gait and the aura of his gaze in a sunny silhouette made everything feel normal. And he'd known it was dangerous, but falling for someone so unattainable felt right. He'd been waiting.

Jongin wants that again. He also just wants bliss and to hold Kyungsoo. He wants them to smile together. This momentary peace, even as he quivers, is sufficient. 

That scent is stronger now. It's getting difficult to breathe, but not in the same way when Jongin stole air from Kyungsoo's lungs solely with his appearance. It's like the first exhale underwater, when there's nothing to inspire after. Kyungsoo pulls back, thinking it's because he's squeezed against Jongin. Nothing changes. 

"Jongin-"

The candles all go out at once. The wind outside the palace walls whistles and it feels like the floor is vibrating. Kyungsoo's eyes dart. Though he's burning, he presses closer to Jongin out of fear.

And it's there. The black mist— Jongin shudders. It always appears. It's consumed anyone and anything he's ever loved. The mudang was first. When he tried to steal rice, the vendor who took him in and fed him more than the handful he'd snatched was next. It's even taken a kitten. 

It's all for his sake, even if he doesn't want it