o52

Encounter

Hei woke up to silence and stillness.

It wasn’t completely unfamiliar because she knew the feeling very well, though waking up to it was another thing altogether. Baekhyun had shifted so he was facing the other direction, but as Hei pushed herself into a sitting position to look at him, she realized that he wasn’t moving altogether. Despite the fact that her mind still felt muddled from sleep, she could tell that they were in a time-stop. Just… not hers. The feeling was familiar, yet at the same time, utterly foreign.

Hei reached for Baekhyun’s arm, slightly unnerved to be in a timestop that wasn’t her own. She hadn’t realized how eerie it was without the sound of water, without wind, without movement.

Baekhyun didn’t stir under her touch, still frozen.

She knew it was pointless to be shocked, just as it was pointless to be scared. It made sense; maybe the properties of Taeyong’s power didn’t affect her, but it was still his time stop, not hers, and who was allowed to move within it was Taeyong’s choice. Still, the lack of control—the fact that there was nothing she could do to shatter the awful silence—felt awful.

Hei cast one more glance at Baekhyun. He’d warned her to be cautious around Taeyong, which made sense, but Taeyong hadn’t done anything that was necessarily… dangerous. He was just quiet, and very clearly exhausted. And haunted. And nervous. Taking a deep breath, Hei slipped out from under the blankets, shivering at the cold. She pulled on Baekhyun’s coat, which had been thrown over the back of one of the chairs, and headed for Taeyong’s cabin below-deck.

They were still in the fourth sector, and while Hei knew the time stop affected the shadow creatures as well, she couldn’t help the feeling that clawed up as she felt her way through complete darkness. Carefully, she eased her way down the stairs, slightly relieved to see a sliver of light peeking out of a not-quite closed door.

Taeyong’s cabin.

Hei padded across cool boards towards the bit of light. For a moment, she lingered in front of the door and wondered what to say or do or whether she should even go inside. Finally, summoning the rest of her courage, she pushed the door open gently.

Taeyong, from where he was sitting, flinched harshly, head snapping up. He had been sitting on his bed, face buried in his palms—until now, at least. A lantern, the flame absolutely still, rested on the table in front of him.

Hei held her hands up placatingly. “It’s me.”

His entire body seemed to sag as he pressed his palms back into his temples. “I forgot.” His voice was hoarse. “Forgot that my power doesn’t affect you. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Hei glanced around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, but then again, there wasn’t much there anyway. Taeyong’s hair seemed slightly more dishevelled, his voice rough—had he been crying? She wondered if he’d hid his face again so she wouldn’t be able to see. “Are you… alright? What happened?”

He took a shaky breath. “It was too quiet,” he muttered, soft enough that Hei had to strain to hear. “I know it’s because most of the crew was asleep, but it just felt too silent and I needed—I… using my power’s a good reminder that I am… not there anymore.”

Hearing that hurt. Seeing him now, contrary to the quiet collectedness he’d displayed since they’d left the central island, was painfully different, and Hei didn’t know what to say. I understand? Not really. It’ll get better? Maybe, but it didn’t change what had happened, and it felt awfully insensitive. You’re not there anymore? She knew very well that just because he escaped didn’t mean he wouldn’t be plagued by memories, just as vicious and cruel as it had been.

“You can go up to the helm if you’d like,” was what came out.

Taeyong lifted his head finally. He had been crying. “What do you mean?”

“The helm.” Hei shifted her weight. “It does tend to get a bit quiet at around night time since most of the crew is resting, but there’s always at least two people on the helm. If it gets too overwhelming or too quiet or anything of the kind, I’m sure they won’t mind if you joined them.”

Taeyong blinked slowly. Finally, he nodded. “That would be nice,” he said cautiously.

Hei nodded back mutely. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She didn’t want to offer empty comfort, but it felt wrong to leave it at that and treat him like nothing was wrong. For a moment, they remained in tense silence, neither knowing what to say, before Taeyong broke it at last. “Thank you, Song Hei.”

She did a double take. “Why thank me?”

“I heard it was your idea. To come back here to free me with the gem.”

She looked at him; really looked at him. There was something about the exhaustion—it wasn’t exactly physical, through dark smudges under eyes or pale complexion or anything of the sort—but he looked like he hadn’t rested properly for a long, long time. Perhaps eleven hundred years.

“I couldn’t leave you there if there was something I could do about it,” Hei replied, and she meant it. She wanted to say more, about all those nightmares regarding him, about the thought of being stuck alone for a millenium, something that plagued her constantly, horrifying and haunting even if it wasn’t her or Baekhyun in that position. But it didn’t seem like something to share, not when Taeyong already looked like he was barely clinging onto the edge. So instead, she kept shut.

It was Taeyong’s turn to nod. He lifted his hand, fingers moving briefly, and the air seemed to snap around them as time assumed. The ship began to move. The candle flickered, shadows racing towards the corner of the room. “Thank you,” he repeated. “And I am sorry for disturbing your rest.”

Now a little chagrined, Hei managed, “It’s no problem at all.”

Taeyong smiled at her. It was still tired, broken, haunted, but it was genuine. She returned it.

***

When Hei got back to the cabin, Baekhyun’s sixth sense had already kicked in and he had somehow figured out she was no longer beside him. When Hei pushed open the door, the lantern had been relit and Baekhyun was rubbing his eyes, a shirt thrown on messily, flyaway locks sticking straight up. When he spotted her, he stopped attempting to dress himself. “I was just about to look for you,” Baekhyun said, setting the lantern back down on the bedside table. “I guess not anymore. Where did you go?”

Hei shrugged off his coat and told her a condensed version of what had happened. By the time they were both under blankets, a bit of the chill had begun to seep in and Hei was shivering slightly. Baekhyun, ever attentive, wrapped a loose arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She could see the faint outline of his features in the dim glow of the lantern.

“We can’t have him using a time stop every time he feels upset,” he finally muttered after Hei finished. He still sounded sleepy, but at least he was lucid enough to hold a conversation. “Because given what he’s gone through, it’s safe to say he’ll probably be upset quite a bit.”

“Technically,” Hei pointed out, “it doesn’t waste time, because time is… well, stopped.”

“Yeah, but you’re still in the time stop,” he countered, voice getting drowsier, “and you clearly don’t like it.”

Hei laughed quietly, even though she agreed. The split-second after she’d touched Baekhyun and he hadn’t moved had felt absolutely terrifying, even if the logical part of her had already been piecing it together. “I think he’ll be better,” she reassured him. “I suggested that he could go up to the deck, since there’s always someone up there even when the rest of the crew is resting. And having contact with someone is probably a better way to cope than summoning his power. Being alone in a time stop is also… lonely.”

“I guess,” Baekhyun replied. Then he seemed to remember something. “It’s still dangerous at night, though. Even if the shadow creatures can’t get you in the time stop, you didn’t bring a lantern and Taeyong had released the time stop when you were coming back to the cabin. That’s dangerous. Especially at night.”

Baekhyun had a point, one which Hei had completely neglected when she was returning. She wanted to about practically repeating the same thing twice, but he was clearly still exhausted from his shift, and he had a valid point. “I’ll be more careful,” she promised instead.

“Mmhm.”

Hei brushed his bangs away from his forehead. “Goodnight, Baekhyun.”

He mumbled it back, grip tightening ever so slightly, and Hei let herself relax as well.

***

Shifts with Junmyeon were usually spent in comfortable silence, with minimal words exchanged, and Jinqiong liked that. Junmyeon was capable of companionable silence, while with most other people, it just felt awkward. She hated awkward silence, and she hated it even more when people tried to fill it with just as awkward talk.

They had an easier shift. Lanterns surrounded them to ward off the shadow monsters, but the shadows were already lifting slightly, and so far the only monster that had appeared had been cut down efficiently by Junmyeon. According to Jongdae, they couldn’t stay in the fourth sector forever or they’d never make it to the gates, but Baekhyun had decided to take a slightly longer route to be safe. Half of them were in no state to fight if something big appeared in the fifth sector. Jinqiong was not capable of flinging herself at another serpent. She couldn’t even strap her daggers comfortably to her legs, and that made her feel on edge. They were to cross into the fifth sector in another hour or so, but by then, they would be changing shifts, and Kyungsoo and Baekhyun would be on the helm instead. Which would make the fifth sector Byun Baekhyun’s problem, and she was more than happy to let it be.

Except the current problem was that Junmyeon had started talking, and it was a conversation Jinqiong was neither expecting nor ready for.

“Where are you going to go after this?” The way Junmyeon said it was almost infuriatingly casual. He was steering with a hand, she was leaning against the railing, and Jinqiong nearly tipped over.

“What do you mean?” she managed, glad that the words came out composed enough.

He looked at her for a brief moment before turning back to the wheel. “Where are you and Jongdae going?” Junmyeon repeated. “Pardon me for assuming, but I highly doubt either of you are the type to settle like Baekhyun and Hei.” He paused thoughtfully. “Although to be fair, Byun Baekhyun didn’t quite settle either. He’s still working with Yoona.”

Some old insecurity reared its ugly head at the comparison to her sister, one that Jongdae had so painfully called her out on all those months ago, standing in the entrance of Hei and Baekhyun’s home and dripping from the rain. Jealous, had been his accusation. Jealous of her half-sister and her husband and the seemingly perfect life they lived, jealous of the way Baekhyun had looked at Hei with so much love and adoration and jealous because despite leaving her family, everything Hei had was still something Jinqiong could never grasp. And angry too, because she didn’t want to be Song Hei, didn’t need her life, didn’t ask for it.

And now, Jinqiong realized that though the feeling still rose, she could shove it down and tell herself that it wasn’t true. Because Jongdae had promised, and he’d never broken a promise. Because Jongdae, bruised and bleeding and beaten on the ice next to her, had stayed despite everything. Jongdae had held his ground when she’d tried to run, dragged her back when she hadn’t the courage, and when she had finally stopped running, he had remained right there with her against all odds.

“I don’t know,” Jinqiong told Junmyeon truthfully. “I don’t really have anything in mind. I don’t know if Jongdae does, either.”

“What did you initially plan to do, then?”

Run. The answer came to mind immediately. Run from her family. From the crew, from her sister, from everything and everyone until she felt safe, if ever.

“I planned to leave.” The answer came out short though Jinqiong didn’t mean it to, but if Junmyeon sensed the snappish tone, he didn’t comment on it.

“Where?” he asked instead.

“Anywhere. Nowhere. Byun Baekhyun cornered me once, the first day I met him. He told me not to get Hei’s hopes up if I were just going to leave afterwards. Which—good ing riddance, I didn’t care. I wanted to do exactly what he had asked me not to do, if ju