Chapter Text
Seongje feels Baekjin’s absence in hot, white flashes— (He lights a cigarette and remembers Baekjin’s distate for them, the grimace that would take over Baekjin’s face) (He makes himself instant ramen and Baekjin’s voice is in his head nagging at him to make better choices, whatever the fuck that means) (He feels the sudden urge to punch someone’s face and remembers Baekjin’s hand on the hinge of his jaw, hold tight like a leash) —ultraviolence that pulses through him unkind and uncaring and tears at flesh until a phantom limb is all that’s left in their wake.
He knows Humin misses Baekjin differently, not more or less but tender as a bruise; infallible. Baekjin was an extra set of organs Humin carried arround unwillingly, and his body works overtime, now, to rearrange itself back into place. Seongje can hear the wet slotting of sinew all the way across the city. Seongje can imagine the hurdles a golden boy like Humin is jumping through to try and defend the gaping maw of his need.
There are very few sore spots Seongje doesn’t want to press. This, Humin with his head tilted sideways, moonsilver lighting up his face like longing, twists and turns in Seongje’s chest. The unruly nature of their relationship makes itself known, then: with no Baekjin in sight, Humin becomes the open wound Seongje should dig his fingers into, sticky red coating skin. In a second Humin is saying his name, syllables heavy with misplaced remembrance, and all the air leaves Seongje’s lungs. (Should he stop smoking? Baekjin hates cigarettes. Does Baku mind them?) His — empty soulless lacking — hands twitch at his side. There’s no want other than recognition.
There's no moment Park Humin can't ruin, Seongje finds. Humin barks out a laugh, a huff of a thing. "You're no wolf, Seongje-ssi," he says, suddenly very small as if surprised by the boldness of this one as an opening statement. It is so unlike Humin and so unlike what should be said that Seongje forgets for a second about the cigarette in his mouth, hanging from his lips precariously. Smoke billows up, curling in front of his glasses like a metaphysical barrier between them. Something must show on his face, because Baku takes another look at him and smiles. Baekjin had told Seongje once that Humin can be real fucking mean, sometimes.
And easy, Baekjin had told Seongje in the same breath, things with Humin-hyung can be real fucking easy, too. Yeah. This, here, really is, Seongje realizes with a start.
All of his realizations happen in strong blows. Seongje misses Baekjin like brass knuckles to the thigh and wonders if Humin is thinking this, too. "Do you smoke, Baku?" His voice sounds foreign to his own ears. Seongje is trying to quieten the traitorous sound of his quickening heartbeat but Baekjin is not here to give him any orders, to simply look at him instead of saying Lay low, instead of saying Sit, roll over, bark.
Their age difference isn't big at all, Seongje rationalizes. Three years and some change. Less significant than his and Baekjin's solid five. "You know I don't," Humin answers, and the pout on his lips makes him seem younger. There's a sickness plaguing Seongje's mind he can't seem to rid himself of.
Seongje resists the obvious How would I know that? and instead focuses on all the ways in which they're different. Baku's hoodie, red and oversized and boy. The way he manspreads as he sits on the cold bench they're sharing, the easy confidence that he exudes. The sort you can't fake. The kind you fight real fucking hard for. Baku's fists are curled up on top of his thighs. He used to be a weapon, Seongje's heard. He used to be an idiot, and that didn't stop Baekjin from touching him.
"How much do you hate it? Right now, me like this?" Seongje blows the smoke in Humin's direction and even though they're sitting rather far apart he can tell Humin struggles to not move away. He can see Humin puffing his chest out, rising to the invisible challenge. Seongje used to be an idiot, once, too— (how alike is he to you? how have you shaped him? Seongje wants to ask. Examine the wound uncaringly and prod at it until it oozes blood. Problem is—he cares. He's never not cared.) —and Baekjin's touch is like a brand. A maiming of the self.
"I don't—yah. Why would I hate this? You? We don't know each other," Humin glares at him. Seongje takes a drag of his cigarette and turns his attention to the park surrounding them. The campus is like a pulsating city, but here it falls away, in this moment it becomes irrelevant. Seongje has a Clinical Reasoning 8AM class. Strong blow: Seongje has treated every interaction with Humin he's ever had so far as study on anatomy. (If you scavenge for long enough you will get to the heart and understand why it beats. Dig further and reach for longing — take Pathophysiology notes. Seongje. Seongje-hyung. I'll be back, I think. You don't need to know when. Be a good dog for me and take care of Baku-hyung.)
They don't know each other, him and Humin. Although it is true that desire paths are born through shared and silent compromise.
"Would you ever ask him to, you know," Seongje aims for detached and misses by the expanse of a continent or two, "Choose between us or something?" He stubs his cigarette out on the sole of his beat up sneaker and waits for an answer he knows will not come just as his body knows the shape of a christened itch.
"This is stupid," Baku huffs out then, "We don't have to do this. He's not—is he even talking to you? I haven't got a single text. We can just pretend, when he comes back." He makes a sudden move to get up but Seongje pulls him to sit back by the hoodie. It's too forceful, Seongje thinks. Like maybe he's looking for a fight.
Seongje is a good liar but not even the most gullible of souls would believe he and Park Humin had spent time together if they didn't. "I've got nothing, either, don't go freaking out on me. I don't even know where the kid is. If he'll come back. Stop being jealous, Humin-ssi."
Smiling looks good on him, even if done incredulously, and the slow build of anger looks even better, "Are you seriously telling me that?"
"Yeah. Because you are," he wonders if these are the right buttons to push. If this is what will take to get Humin down from his high fucking horse, for him look at Seongje as someone he has a connection with. Though severed, though complicated and ugly and grave. Baku wears pride well but it has turned patronizing, now, as he removes Seongje's hand from his clothes with surgical precision and stands up from the stupidly cold bench. He looks down, outraged, at Seongje and whatever he finds in Seongje's face must be real fucking priceless, for the scowl to drop immediately. What the fuck are you looking at?, Seongje wants to bark. Seongje wants to bite with no warning; instead he sighs, tired, remembers Baekjin asking Can you give me this one thing, hyung? and him answering Those are three things. Letting you leave, that's one; leaving you alone, that's two. Park Humin is the third.
"Whatever, Seongje-ssi. Whatever," in a second they're both standing up, looking at each other as if there was an easy way out of this. Baekjin's absence and the hurt little lapdogs he left behind. "I have to go," Humin says, a little like an apology.
Seongje finds he doesn't want to answer him. He hums, noncommittal. It reads like he's looking for a fight, it really does, and he knows it. Humin is a stronger man than he is for not falling for the bait, even though it'd be so easy to. Even though Seongje is giving him all the reasons to.
"I really have to go, Seongje-ssi," he repeats.
"You're not trapped. Jesus," Seongje's lungs are collapsing steadily. A bit more proximity would cause him some sort of cardiac arrest. "You're a free man, Baku-ssi. Except for the metaphorical leash, of course."
But Humin already has his back to him, broad shoulders mocking and sturdy. Seongje's mouth salivates against his will. Baekjin stains this, too, the whole of this interaction. Seongje distantly remembers being being introduced to Humin during a party, remembers Baekjin's lips close to his ear saying That's Huminie-hyung. Doesn't he look dependable? and gritting his teeth. Baku happened to Seongje against his will.
He is leaving and Baekjin has already left and Seongje looks for meaning in fights he hasn't fought through sheer force of will. "Of course. The twin one you're wearing looks nice, too."
—
Seo Juntae is one stubborn little lamb. He won't leave Seongje alone no matter how many times Seongje says I'll kill you, as if he's forgotten all about the stories people tell about Seongje's violent high school years. You won't, Juntae keeps saying, That'd hurt Baku and you're not allowed to do that.
"Things are different," Juntae says. He's a psychology major or some soft shit like that. Seongje doesn't have time for his games. "Baku's different since Baekjin left."
"Kid got his heart broken," Seongje murmurs, half against his will. "So did I, Juntae-ya. He's not special."
"Quit it with the self-deprecation. Not you too. I need you to do something about it," Juntae half-begs. He looks pretty like this, big eyes looking up at Seongje as if Seongje had all the answers. He looks easy to hurt, were Seongje meaner. Were Seongje unclaimed.
"Ah, fuck," Seongje lets out a loud HA! of a laugh, startles a couple passerbys. He's late for his Nursing Management lecture. "What the hell do you want me to do, kid? I've tried—bonding with him or whatever, and he blew me off. I'm not the type to get rejected twice, you know."
"Really? It seems like you and Baekjin-ssi have—"
"Alright, shut the fuck up, Seo Juntae, don't you have classes?" It's supernatural, really, the effect Baekjin's name has on Seongje's body. The knowledge that other people have seen them, know how they work, it makes Seongje's blood flow unnaturally. The impossibility of Na Baekjin.
"I'm just saying, Seongje-ssi," Juntae's hand on his bicep, warm as high noon. It's a pressure Seongje hasn't felt since— "You two have a lot in common. There's something to be said about that."
"Fuck you," old habits die hard. Seongje thinks of Humin and feels the ghost of Baekjin's breath in his ear whispering dependable. Seongje is not that, exactly, but he is loyal. "If it hurts so much to miss—if he—Park Humin knows where to find me. I hardly ever leave this building these days."
Stubborn little lamb, Seo Juntae. Bites his bottom lip worriedly, makes Seongje look at it for a single moment and dare himself to do something about it where everyone can see. There was a time when Seongje would, and it is not now. Want is a foreign concept when the body is unknown. Seongje is interested and curious but his hunger stands for someone else, gnaws steadily at his insides. In other circumstances he would have Juntae just to see him eaten, not to see himself fed.
Juntae lets go of his arm. Seongje misses Baekjin, finds he is not trying to unlearn this habit even though he should be.
—
Five months since his disappearance—departure—the abandonment, on the dot, Baekjin calls as if nothing happened and dares to ask about Park Humin.
Seongje's insides thrum at the sound of Baekjin's voice, a Pavlovian response. "Hi, hyung," is all Baekjin says before dropping the bomb on him, "Did you speak to Humin-hyung? How is he?"
The Ethics & Law notes front of Seongje grow blurry in time with his rage. The low lighting from his table lamp casts shadows over the wall and Seongje was so little when he believed in monsters and knights and dragons to be slayed. There's so little he believes in, these days. Graduating with honors, getting a job in whatever hospital near his Grandparents' house just in case. He hasn't seen them in years but he tries to call every week.
"Ah. That," Seongje tuts, lollipop in his mouth instead of the usual cigarette because he doesn't want his room to smell. It was a tremendous effort to stop smoking inside, but he managed, because Baekjin asked him to two years ago. "You ought to train your dogs better, Na Baekjin. Make sure they don't bristle when looked at for too long."
"What did you tell him?"
"Where the fuck are you?"
"It's none of your business," Baekjin sighs. He must be so tired of all this devotion Seongje has for him. He must be so scared of the enormity of it. "I don't want you to know. Either of you. And stop texting me, I won't reply. I'm busy studying."
"Whatever, doc. I didn't say shit to Park Humin, you can rest your pretty head about it. I tried to have a normal conversation in the park but he didn't want to talk," Seongje scribbles something down that looks ridiculously like Baekjin's initials. Stupid. "When are you coming back?"
"Bye, Seongje-hyung. Take care of yourself," Baekjin says, here meaning Leave me alone. He once called Seongje freak and meant it, both their hard-ons pressed against Seongje's chest. He let Seongje bathe in his warmth many times before taking it away entirely, and that's where the hurt comes from, the phantom limb. Pavlov's dog turned Na Baekjin's.
Seongje wonders how Park Humin does it, having known Baekjin for way longer. Having grown up with this cold, unforgiving in its tenderness. Whoever claims to understand Na Baekjin should get themselves clinically checked.
do you want me and huminie to get along well? Seongje texts him, half expecting to be ignored again.
Yes, Baekjin texts back almost immediately, I would like that very much.
how well?
… You know. Don't you?
ah baekjinnie ㅋㅋ you should've told hyung sooner, Seongje gets left on read but the buzz on his veins hasn't settled and probably won't. He has a hand down his pants before he can think too much about it, notes forgotten.
i get it now, baekjinnie, he's thinking of Baku as he types, you've always been a greedy little thing haven't you?
but it's ok, Humin's name in his mouth as he comes, hyung is too.
—
Humin is a dry texter, Seongje learns. Takes a long time to answer to can we meet? with a gut wrenching no. and even longer to reply to please? hyung will treat you with a terrible where?, him and Baekjin have that annoying thing about them in common. Seongje wonders if—maybe, if Baku replies to Baekjin faster, to that leech Go Hyuntak, the bug-eyed Yeon Sieun. Seongje has been paying attention because he was asked to do precisely that. Seo Juntae seems to always be around them, too. And Seongje knows Ahn Suho from high school and has no real desire to meet him again.
There's a student café near campus that Baku begrudgingly accepts going to on a random Thursday afternoon because he might be a morning person but Seongje isn't. Juntae must've convinced him of something, or maybe Baekjin has called asking about Seongje just to rile Humin up. It seems easy to do so, these days. Seongje's fingers itch for violent contact with a body that's not his own and isn't laying down on the dissecting table.
Iced americano for Humin, a caramel latte for himself. The fucking irony, Seongje thinks, to still search for ways in which they're different when him and the guy couldn't be more alike in their want. It's a sort of monster, this energy between them, it has a name and a face and it has gotten away from them swiftly as if prey fleeing from a predator. Humin's eyes store the mirrored sadness of his own.
There are no hellos. There's nothing they can talk about that isn't Baekjin. Maybe they should start there, Seongje thinks. Maybe they should dissect this corpse before it rots.
"Seongje-ssi," Humin starts, before Seongje has the chance to say anything, "Did you hear from him, too?"
A cough. "You can call me hyung. Don't be so formal," we've been shared. There's a hopeless proximity between us, "Yeah. He called asking about you."
"God, he's so cruel," and Seongje couldn't agree more. They're getting somewhere. The caramel latte is too sweet for Seongje's taste but he has to live with his own choices instead of wishing someone else made them all for him, ordered him around. "Isn't he? Hyung?"
Something light settles in Seongje's chest like the flutter of butterfly wings. It sounds different, coming from Humin's mouth. From anyone else's mouth, honestly. Less heavy. Less burdening. The sickness inside Seongje's chest sometimes makes it difficult to breathe when being stared at too closely but he lets Humin look at him across the table, and he looks back. That night in the park seems like a distant memory, now. Seongje barely remembers the scent of Humin's cologne and very suddenly wants to smell it again, get his nose near Humin's pulse point.
How has Baekjin haunted him? When Humin sees Seongje, does he know the weight of Baekjin? Can he imagine all the sleepless nights, the worry, the ever present punishment of him? A ghost that's alive and breathing and beautiful and will never love you back.
"He really, really is, Humin-ah. Tell me about it," Seongje bites at his straw hoping to slow his tongue down before saying something he'll regret, like I want to taste you as a reminder of him. Like His hands have shaped you all over. Like Me too. Me, too. They've held me, too.
"It's kinda crazy we never spoke before, huh?" Baku smiles the most uncomplicated smile Seongje has ever seen, crunches the ice in his drink between his teeth like it's a delicacy.
Seongje pretends to think about it, "Nah, not really. Boytoy to boytoy, it would be crazier if we'd met sooner."
"I don't like that term," Humin's eyebrows pinch together cutely. Seongje is older than him, he's reminded, again. But not by much.
"I'm not calling you his bitch, Baku-ya. But that's what we are, right? To him. See how easy it was for the bastard to leave—"
"He has his reasons—"
"He's not an idiot—"
"He's studying abroad—"
Seongje hisses under his breath, leans forward into the table towards Humin, "Baekjinnie's not here to see you defend him, Baku-ya. And I'm literally the only person in the world who will listen to you complain about the fucker and actually agree. So please, let's skip the whole 'the guy I like is decent, I swear' thing, okay? I want to cover him in bruises," I want him to regret trying to quit me, he could say, I want him to look in the mirror and remember who he belongs to.
That is not true, Seongje knows. Baekjin is no one's. Baekjin is certainly not his. Humin's, maybe.
Baku blushes easily despite his tan skin. Seongje feels the constraints of his own body as if they're chains, the confinement of self against an unfabricated hunger. He feels over the bluntness of his teeth with his tongue, tries to convey to Humin just what it means for them to be sitting like this, eye to eye, baring their underbelly.
"Why do you think I do what I do, Humin-ah? Do you think I have some big, conniving plan for this? For us?" It's not enough to circle his prey, Seongje decides. It's no fun if they're unafraid.
"I think you want people to think you do," Baku counters easily, the fucker. "Does that make any sense? I think Baekjin ruined me but left you unmade, hyung."
For a second Seongje thinks he'll finally get the fight he's been itching for for months, ever since Baekjin left. It'd be a no-brainer, it'd satisfy him to no end, getting to ruin Humin's handsome face. Leave him unrecognizable to anyone who dares look at him. Fists to skin. But then he lets himself hear the words, sees the two-way street they're standing on.
There's the sound of sinew meeting muscle meeting bone. Humin has lived Baekjin maybe twice as much and as hard as Seongje has, and yet here he is. Here they are.
"I really—" he's embarrassed to admit he has to clear his throat before continuing, "—I thought after last year he'd—we would—I don't fucking know. You know. That."
Their empty cups sit in front of them, mocking.
"That's rich, Seongje-hyung. Did you ever stop seeing other people?"
Seongje shakes his head no. A brief show of teeth, an animal snarl that's soundless but carries a weight he doesn't know how to unpack. "But it never meant—I was always thinking about him, Baku-ya. I'd run to him to tell him, see how jealous he got, make sure—"
"What," Humin starts, huffing, disbelieving, half-smile on his face like sin. "If you do it, it's romance, if others do it, it's an affair?"
All of Seongje's bloody offerings fall flat at his feet at this, something he refused to recognize in fear of making it real. The idiom is old but leaves Humin's mouth like a good punch to the ribs, takes the air out of Seongje's lungs. He needs a cigarette and needs it soon. There's no hiding from a longing this heavy.
"Fuck you," he tries, but it's weak.
Humin hums. He will keep winning as long as it's not physical and Seongje might let him. Pry me open, fucker, if Baekjin were here this would count as foreplay, Dig in deep, Seongje could tell Humin.
"Whatever lets you sleep at night. I've tried to make peace with whatever it is I have with Baekjin, hyung," he's playing with his straw again, manicured nails taunting Seongje's bitten and frail ones. "It's not perfect, of course, but—"
"I already tried. Don't you think I've tried, already?"
There's a flicker of amusement in Humin's eyes Seongje can't decipher. Pathetic, really, how Seongje is hanging from his every word now. At twenty-five, Seongje learns he's irreparable. Learns there's no dog collar he won't wear if you pay enough attention to him. How entertaining must this be, for Baku? How was it for Baekjin, two years ago?
Seongje's eyes flicker down to Humin's lips for half a second. Barely enough to mean anything. Barely enough to show any real desire.
Humin fixes him with a glare. "No," he says, firm.
"Okay," he throws his hands up in the air, a brief surrender. "Sure."
But he knows. And Humin certainly does, now, too. And Baekjin, oceans away from them, must have his suspicions about it. Divine punishment. Ego fucking death. Seongje will follow orders until he's dead and buried, and he's been given three.
Park Humin is the third.