I have never known how wonderful it feels to have his lower lip between the edges of my teeth, and he groans when I sink them in a little deeper than I intend to.  Kris tells me to slow down when I mouth along his jawline, his low voice murmuring beside my pulsing temple, but it only makes me dig my thumbs farther into the skin just above his hipbones and hold him against the trunk of a tree.  I kiss down the center of his neck, the dip between his collarbones, the pads of my fingers running up his spine, and he says it louder this time, almost firmly.

                “I’ll slow down when we age at the same pace,” I growl.  I sound like a child—I am the child as I look up to see an undeniably adult face: soft eyes, sad smile—and I hide my reddened cheeks against the column of his neck.  “It isn’t fair,” I mumble into his chest, closing my eyes as the sun sets.

                That night, Sehun catches me before I can sneak out the window, and for a moment I take pride in the newly defined muscle lining his arms as he drags me to the kitchen.  The feeling vanishes when I see that he has brought me before our father—a gazelle in a lion’s den—and I glare at him as I am shoved toward the table.  He looks away and bites his lip, a telltale sign that he is fidgeting with his fingers behind his back.

                “Take a seat, Chanyeol,” my father says.

                When I hesitate, it is a command I am met with, harsh enough that I sink into the chair, head down.  I am a child once again.  My father clears his throat, almost as if at a loss as to what to say.  I am the problem child, the future chief who has run away, who has shamed the family.

                I find myself saying in a rather clear and steady voice, “I’m not sorry, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”  I watch as the slightest twitch reaches his eye and his jaw sets, and from the corner of my eye I see Sehun wince and shift his feet.

                “No, I’m not looking for an apology.”  But his brows are furrowed and his shoulders are stiff, and I can tell that it is exactly what he was looking for.  “I simply want to give you some options.”

                My eyes narrow instinctively.  I know this statement all too well; I’ve seen enough council meetings to know that I am being dealt an ultimatum.  “I have no desire to make use of your options.”

                “Son, there are rules that come with being a part of this family.  You cannot simply run off and expect your problems not to follow you.”

                “What problems?  I’m having the time of my life out there.”  This is a lie.  I know it is from the way my heart pounds and my body itches to grab Sehun and take him with me.  Sehun, my baby brother.  Sehun, who I know secretly blames himself for our mother’s death.  Sehun, whose fingers tremble and throat goes dry at the thought of taking my place.

                Father ignores my statement.  “The way I see it, you have three options.  One: you become a hind Chaser and work your way back to the lead; two: you capture the white buffalo, bring it back for sacrifice, and all is forgiven; or three: you leave and are no longer recognized as a family member.”  He says it without emotion, so fluidly that it is obvious he has practiced these exact words over and over.

                Sehun is squirming now, but I can’t turn to look at him because I know that as soon as I do, as soon as I see those pleading eyes, I will not have the will to go.

                Father continues as I stare at the table.  “Haven’t you always wanted to be Chief, Chanyeol?  Hasn’t carrying on the family name always been your dream?”

                Something stirs about in my stomach, something of disgust and hatred, of broken trust and a son’s anger.  “Carrying on the family name?”  I resist the urge to scoff.  “Well that’s really something, Father, because apparently that is exactly what I have been doing.”

                “Excu—”

                I push away from the table as I get to my feet.  “You speak of family, but that’s not what we are at all.  What kind of father hides the truth of his family’s lineage?  What kind of father lies about the death of his wife to his own children?  What kind of father—what kind of man,” I snarl, “supports the killing of his wife’s own kind?”

                It takes a few moments, but I hear Sehun gasp quietly.  “What?” he asks in a whisper.

                Father clearly hears him but ignores him as well.  “It is for your own good, Chanyeol.”

                “My own good?  What do you know about what’s good for me?  Is that why I haven’t learned anything about my own family history until now?  Was it for my own good?”

                “It was never the right time to tell you.”

                I shake my head and let the anger boil.  “Bull.”

                I stay for the night.  I’m not one to coddle my brother, but Sehun’s cheeks are wet against my shoulder, and I let him fall asleep against me like he did when we were little.  Sleep does not come for me and I lie in stillness and exhaustion, but it is enough to feel Sehun’s weight on my torso, to silently reassure him—and myself—that we will be all right again.

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Oh god, I'm sorry.  I told myself I wouldn't take so long but I did anyway.  Again.  D:

Anyway, thank you for your comments, and thank you for reading!