Hongbin and Sanghyuk go over to Daewon’s house the next day, all three agreeing that it might be easier to talk face-to-face rather than over the phone. They had spent the better part of four hours talking about the scene; Daewon trying to explain what it actually is and Hongbin realizing that Sanghyuk has to be able to deal with people that exude Dominant from their very pores if they ever want to stand a chance in court.

A whole night later and there still is no conclusion, but they definitely weren’t expecting this, when Daewon said a meet-up would be more productive.

They weren’t expecting this – a manila file laid square on the kitchen table. Daewon gestures casually to it and Sanghyuk carefully pries it open, like a safe. 

They weren’t expecting this – meticulously curated notes on what is, on what it isn’t, personalized with red pen markings and highlighted sentences.

“I work with abused subs, subs who need an explanation for their abuse, and people who want to be subs but don’t know what it entails. So I give them files like these, ask them to look through and think about it.”

Sanghyuk flips through the pages, and in his increasingly tunnel-becoming vision, manages to understand what Daewon is trying to get at. He doesn’t freak out, doesn’t freeze up and forget how to take in air, which is shocking. It feels like all his focus is on the file and its every word, not bouncing all over the place like it usually is.

He reads it as if it is an academic piece (which, to some extent, it is, with how much effort Daewon very clearly put into it). Sanghyuk doesn’t put himself in the words. He doesn’t imagine himself being the one hurt, or wanting to be hurt, or waiting to be hurt.

But then Daewon says, “Is this what you’re used to?”

And the epiphany hits him like a ton of bricks.

It’s not what he’s used to. That’s why he can’t fit himself into the story.

It’s exactly because this… politically correct version of what is… he has never experienced. All these rules were all bent for him. No one ever adhered to the rules he’s reading – he never even knew there were rules until this point.

Sanghyuk tries to find his voice, and when he does it’s still trying to find itself. “N – No.”

Daewon nods with a certain earnestness that tells Sanghyuk it’s not the first time he’s hearing a response like this. “My job is trying to help my subs understand that there are rules like these. And that these rules are supposed to be respected, regardless of what their experience is with . I help them re-learn, or I help them to understand that what they went through wasn’t their fault.”

Sanghyuk has heard “it’s not your fault” so many times – from Hongbin, Taekwoon, even Nakhun, and yet, when Daewon says it it’s different, because for once he wants to say prove it. He wants to make a big fuss – wants to get angry and use his words.

Daewon reaches over the table and points at the yellow tab towards the end of the file.

Sanghyuk goes to it, feeling the weight of the number of pages in his hand, and it’s a contract.

It very clearly is one. Carefully numbered clauses and dotted lines where signatures go.

Hongbin starts to say something, but Daewon speaks before he can.

“It’s not a contract crafted for you. It’s a contract crafted for one of my previous subs. If you continue to flip the pages, you can see the different contracts I’ve drafted. I tailor them according to what my subs want.”

 Sanghyuk does, and he spots words like “terms of co-habiting”, “food, shelter and security”, “care and concern”, “ual relations”.

“I was thinking, if you want to, I can draw up a contract so I can help you the way I help my other subs.” Daewon says, then adds as almost an afterthought, “I don’t engage in ual contact with any of my clients, because I’m in a relationship with Byungjun.”

There is a long, drawn-out pause where no one makes a sound. Sanghyuk’s hand is caught in the middle of flipping to a new page.

“I’ll give you guys time to talk about it.” Daewon slowly lifts his chair and stands up. He says to Hongbin, “call me when you guys are done”, and Hongbin nods gravely.

When they hear Daewon’s room door close behind him, Hongbin turns to face Sanghyuk, but Sanghyuk is the first one who speaks.

“I’ve never seen a contract like this before.” His voice is steady, clear: so unlike the war going on inside his own body, that it adds another dimension of shock. “I didn’t know there were rules.”

Hongbin clears his throat. “Do you think this is something you might want?”

Sanghyuk looks up. “I can say no.”

He knows he can, but deep down, there’s a small seed that screams for him to confirm it. To, if in the case that everything goes wrong again, he can hold out that small bit of hope that at least it wasn’t entirely his fault – that they lied to him about being able to say no. That wouldn’t make much of a difference but at least, to him, he’ll retain a little bit of his sanity.

“You can say no.” Hongbin says, and Sanghyuk snaps back into himself. “I promise.”

Sanghyuk swallows. “I don’t know if I want to. But I don’t think there’s any other way.”

“We could go to a professional therapist.”

“They’re not going to understand – t – this,” Sanghyuk gestures lamely to the manila file in front of them. “Not the w – way that Daewon-ssi will.”

What he leaves out is the fact that no therapist will ever intimidate him the way his Sirs did. He can talk to Hongbin about the things that hurt him precisely because Hongbin doesn’t view him as a sub. It’s one thing to talk to someone about the pain and talking to your attacker about the pain.

“So you want to do it?” Hongbin asks carefully. “It’s going to be really hard.”

“I don’t think I’ll know how to stand strong enough in court if I don’t.” Sanghyuk replies after a long pause. “I don’t think I can figure it out on my own.”

Hongbin takes time to think, and then he says, sounding a bit anxious, “Honestly, I’m not comfortable with it.”

Sanghyuk is ready to close the file.

“I don’t know what all of this is,” Hongbin says, running a finger down the side of the stack of paper. “I’ve never – Are you sure you’re okay with it? I mean, like, wouldn’t it be a little bit weird to go through kind of the same stuff you did?”

Sanghyuk doesn’t know what to say, so he considers not saying anything. He’s not sure how to explain anything at all. Of course he doesn’t trust Daewon – trust didn’t get him this far in life. But he so desperately needs solutions and he’s so tired and stupid and small, that he’s willing to take a shot at any chance he gets. When he went to the police station, he wasn’t counting on how far taking back control was going to bring him. But apparently, that trip made him so tired of feeling like a monster (made him so scared of becoming a monster like Jaehwan), that he’s now willing to prod at the dark, secret things of his heart.  

Han Sanghyuk is a boy made of anything but nothing.

He’s survived so many adversities, and even though he hates his body for them, he knows that nothing is going to break him. He knows that – life, for the most part, is infinitely resilient. And unless his life is deliberately taken, it cannot end on its own accord.

For so many years, he’s surrendered to being kicked around and hurt, wishing for his body to just give up. But now, in these few weeks, he’s starting to realize that his body is always going to be there. Even if it hurts, or aches, or scars, it never wants to kill itself. His biology textbook teaches him about immune systems, and white blood cells, and tissues, and equilibrium.

He still wants to die – still doesn’t feel like he’s worthy of living. But if its just one more day that his body doesn’t break down, then its one more day he can… He can, what? On some days he lives because it is painful and he deserves it. On some days he lives because he doesn’t know how to take his own life. On others, he lives because he knows it’s the right thing to do. And on the good days, he lives because he has Hongbin. And he has… life. He has a chance of getting better by being.

“I just wanna f – feel better.” He says tremulously, like there are insects buzzing around in his blood. “Don’t wanna feel like this anymore.”

Hongbin can see the toll this is taking on Sanghyuk. He can see the boy’s arms starting to tremor, can see the unfocusing of the eyes.

“Are you okay?” Hongbin asks. “You here with me?”

Sanghyuk nods, feeling a pressure behind his eyes like he’s going to cry.

“C’mere,” Hongbin stands up and opens his arms.

Sanghyuk topples into Hongbin’s torso, cheek pressing against his stomach through the thin of his cotton shirt. He squeezes the boy in his arms with a certain degree of precocity, one hand reaching up to his head.

“If this is what you want, then I trust you.” Hongbin says softly. “I don’t understand it, but I’ll try to. I’ll support you always.” 

He feels a minute, determined nod, a feeling of skin against skin, a feeling of sparks burning from two flints rubbing together.

***

Daewon draws up a contract for Sanghyuk.

The clauses are so comprehensive that by the time its done, Hongbin’s fears are mostly rested. If signed, Sanghyuk stays with Daewon for at least a week. He doesn’t ever get to meet Hongbin in that time; just 10 minute calls every night. There are rules for everything, even down to who Daewon can invite into his house during the course of Sanghyuk’s stay.

Daewon is going to switch between Sanghyuk’s Dom and Sanghyuk’s “friend”. Sanghyuk is allowed to say ‘no’ to anything he doesn’t want and nothing will happen, even if he’s being Daewon’s sub, but Sanghyuk is not sure he can do that.

Hongbin keeps shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and asks a million questions, that Daewon take on one by one like it doesn’t even faze him at all. If Daewon wants to draw himself up to full height, he’s at least a whole head taller than Sanghyuk.

Sanghyuk, on occasion, will kneel even if he doesn’t want to.

***

They leave with a printed contract of 11 pages and the manila file.

Daewon had signed everything necessary with a fountain pen, now the ball is in Sanghyuk’s court. 

[A/N: Sort of a long chapter as a buildup to Fantasy]