Archive of Our Own

Yunho would never forget the feeling of seeing Song Mingi for the first time.

It was a sunny Sunday at church, and rumors were running rampant. The small village where they lived wasn't densely populated; the houses were far enough apart that each family could tend to their own plot of land, but close enough that neighbors knew each other and decided to live in harmony. That morning, everyone was excited, and not just because of the sermon they would soon hear.

No other news aroused as much curiosity as the arrival of the Song family.

That week, the town's merchants chattered nonstop, eager to tell the news to every resident who passed by any of their establishments. It was a couple with children, three in total, ranging in age from above twenty to twelve years old. The eldest son hadn't lived with them for some time, having moved to the capital to enlist in the army when he came of age. The middle and youngest sons moved with their parents, their picturesque ways as city boys causing both fascination and bewilderment among the locals.

After all, who in their right mind would leave the comfort of the capital to live as they did? That small rural province wasn't exactly appealing to anyone.

Yunho wanted to meet them. Unwilling to have boys his own age to talk to between church sermons, the young eighteen-year-old found himself in a spiral of anxiety and nervousness when he thought about the Song family boys. He knew that one of them, probably the middle son, had been born in the same year as him, making him a potential friend. It would be nice, for a change, to have someone his own age with whom he could share things. A friendship that would endure for years to come, and an earthly bond — beyond his own family — that Yunho could cultivate.

That Sunday, while his mother straightened and ironed both her sons' shirts in front of the church, Yunho found himself searching for a new face. Any face. But what he found were only the same faces of the people from his neighborhood, with whom he had grown up and lived since birth.

He didn't sigh in defeat, although he wanted to. Frustration was one of the many feelings forbidden among the Jeong family; after all, what could frustrate you so much when you have everything the Lord can offer? What sin had afflicted you to the point of feeling something as vile as impatience and as rotten as ingratitude? Yunho simply took a deep breath, then jumped when he felt a pinch against his ribs.

"Maybe this family doesn't go to church," Gunho said, to tease him. The little rascal knew exactly what a worldly family would mean for Yunho's expectations. His mother would never let her firstborn even think about talking to someone whose soul didn't belong completely and entirely to God. "Or maybe they're Protestants, who knows."

Yunho shrank back, and in vain, sought his mother's gaze for guidance. The slender woman remained impassive, adjusting the black fabric of her own dress. She then took both sons by the arms and entered the church, solemnly greeting everyone she knew. Yunho smiled at all those familiar faces with whom he had worshipped since childhood, finding his place on the wooden bench to his mother's right. He looked around once more, finding no sign of the newly arrived family.

The priest stood before the pulpit in front of everyone.

"Pay attention now," Yunho felt another pinch against his thigh. "You two. I want you to repeat every word for me before dinner."

"Yes, mother." The brothers spoke in unison. But almost simultaneously, the sound of the wooden door hinges could be heard, drawing everyone's attention. The priest automatically interrupted his sermon, his attention now focused on the newcomers.

Everyone looked towards the door, including Yunho. He could finally see the object of all the neighborhood's enthusiasm, finally materialized there.

The father and mother were arm in arm, the mother's eyes wide, probably noticing the attention of everyone in the congregation focused on them. The father seemed to calm her by caressing her hand, and Yunho felt like looking away, unaccustomed to such explicit displays of affection.

Yunho's mother pinched him again, and he looked away.

"Well, welcome!" the priest greeted the new family, indicating a good place for them to sit.

The church erupted in murmurs, and Yunho had to look out of the corner of his eye as they found their seats and settled comfortably. He saw the father guide the children with a protective hand on their shoulders until they were settled, and then the mother, who smiled warmly at him.

Yunho didn't realize he was staring until one of the boys explicitly waved at him, surprising him. Yunho looked at his mother, and took advantage of her praying with her eyes closed to wave back. When the boy smiled at him, Yunho felt his cheeks heat up, but he couldn't look away.

Yunho saw the second little boy trying to get his older brother's attention, and it dawned on him. So it was him. The boy who was the same age as Yunho.

He seemed friendly, and judging by his presence there, he was obviously devout. Yunho closed his eyes to pray, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety, that perhaps he could finally make friends.

Yunho remembered it as if it were yesterday. The first time he was actually in Song Mingi's presence.

It was raining, and Yunho's mother had sent him to the grocery store to get some ingredients for dinner. Although Yunho had insisted on going on horseback to save time, his mother promptly refused. The rain and thunder would probably scare away the only good mare they had, and Yunho could get into trouble. His father's old bicycle had to do, and Yunho felt his throat go dry at the thought of having to ride it. If it hadn't been damaged by time, Yunho could say the vehicle worked like new. But although it was intact, untouched since his father's passing, the gears creaked and the pedals needed greasing. But it was the memory that was the worst part.

Yunho couldn't say he remembered his father that well, because he would be lying. But from the remnants of his memory, combined with the narrative so well-fed by his mother, Yunho knew that the man was as devout as a saint, even though he had preferred the earthly path.

"Your father was a very good man." One night, while tying Yunho and Gunho to their beds to protect them at night, their mother said, "He fulfilled his mission with us well." Accustomed to the nightly routine, the brothers were more surprised that she mentioned their father than anything else.

"What did Dad die of?" Gunho had asked at the time. He was just a baby when their father passed away; Yunho wasn't much older then. Neither boy had an answer, and their mother left them alone, securely tied to their ropes.

But Yunho remembered the bicycle lessons. And how angry his mother had been that day. As he pedaled, Yunho found himself thinking about his father once more. Reflecting on the fact that, if he was so saintly, why was he rarely remembered? Why, when he asked the neighbors, did the only thing they remembered about him was the cornfield his father cultivated with such care, and not about his religious practices? And what did the lack of traces proving his existence in their own house mean, after all? Certainly, his mother didn't like wasting time with nonsense hanging on the walls, preferring the simplicity of her crucifixes and holy images throughout the rooms. But even so, Yunho couldn't help but be curious sometimes.

It was while thinking about this that he left his bicycle leaning against the wall of the grocery store. The journey from home to the city wasn't that long, but it had tired him nonetheless. Entering through the small door of the establishment, Yunho took off his heavy, rain-soaked coat, folding it and putting it over one shoulder. He greeted the grocery store owner with a nod and ventured among the shelves to find what his mother had told him to buy. And she had been harsh about it.

It wasn't long before the grocery store owner cornered him in the aisles.

"Have you heard from the Songs?" he asked, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in front of his own chest. Yunho was about to answer no, and that he didn't like gossip, when the man continued. "The man died a few days ago. The boys' father."

Yunho's curiosity was piqued.

"How?" he asked. Disbelieving that the healthy, smiling man he had seen at church just a few months ago had simply passed away. He remembered his wife's warm smile directed at him, his children gravitating towards him with such familiarity. The subtle yet significant affection Yunho witnessed between them. They should all be devastated.

"A great tragedy. The man had an accident on the road," said the grocery store owner, but at that point, Yunho was more concerned with buying his ingredients and rushing home to tell his mother the news he had heard. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't hesitate to offer her condolences, and curious about the family, Yunho couldn't wait, despite the unfortunate moment, to meet them officially.

That's how, that night, the Jeong family knocked on the door of the Song family home.

The mother had washed, tidied, and ironed them again. She didn't want them to look anything but impeccable to the new neighbors.

Yunho practically jumped for joy with excitement, though he knew that when he saw them he would have to contain his enthusiasm, given the circumstances. At least now he had even more in common with the middle son, and there would be something they could talk about.

Neither of them imagined that a boy completely different from all those they had previously met at church would answer the door, nor that his expression of disdain upon seeing them would be so explicit. Yunho shrank back.

"Good evening, we've come to offer our condolences. Is your mother home?" said Yunho's mother, realizing very quickly who the boy was.

A closer look was enough for Yunho to notice as well.

The boy was like his brothers, only taller. His broad torso made his stature imposing, and his mature expression combined with a disdainful look made him almost frightening. His cheeks bore visible furrows, indicating a meager diet, or evidencing the delicate moment he was living through. His eyes were dull, his brown hair thin, almost shaved. And there was a healed scratch scar on his cheek, a little above the mole he had there.

"Mingi, who is it?" a younger voice sounded, and Yunho saw when the boy who had waved to him at the church came running and bumped into the body of his older brother, who was blocking access to the door almost protectively. He managed to get away, though, and looked at Yunho with a mixture of surprise and admiration.

Yunho saw the boy's swollen face, his red eyes and trembling lips, and automatically felt sad for him.

"Oh, hello," said a woman, quickly reaching her two sons to greet the visitors. Yunho's mother nodded, and Yunho noticed that the two women were now dressed in black. "We weren't expecting visitors."

Yunho felt his eldest son's gaze burning into him and ignored it.

"It was our mistake for showing up unannounced. We only came to offer our condolences," said the mother. The other woman smiled sadly, her eyes filling with tears as she hugged her son in front of her body. Yunho didn't notice when the youngest settled against her legs, but watching them like that, all the children seeking their mother's comfort, Yunho felt a pang of pain inside him.

Well, he thought, all the children except one. And Yunho's gaze met his nervously, only to find him still looking at him. Yunho couldn't interpret his expression. It was almost disbelief, perhaps because he had never seen anything as insignificant as Yunho, his family, and that shit place where they lived. Yunho remembered that he came from downtown.

"No, it's alright. How kind of you to show up." the woman sniffed, noticeably touched by the gesture. "We were about to have dinner, would you like to join us?"

The mother's answer surprised Yunho:

"Of course. If it's not too much trouble." and both Yunho and Gunho looked at their mother, shocked.

The other woman smiled sweetly, brushing away the stubborn tears that insisted on falling, and let the family into the house. All the children then also unlocked the doorway.

All except Mingi.

As Yunho entered the simple room, disentangling himself from Mingi, he allowed himself a glance at him. He didn't seem that much older, although exhaustion and much darker aspects snaked across his face. He was as tall as Yunho, who had always been too tall. Perhaps he was even shorter, but compared to Yunho's thin and frail body, he seemed larger because he had noticeably more muscles. He didn't behave strangely, although Yunho expected that.

Downtown boys didn't fit in there. They were too modern for such a traditional and picturesque little town. But not fitting in didn't seem to bother Song Mingi, although the clear grief of losing his father was justification enough for such behavior. He disdained it with his whole being. In the way he looked at others and in the way he stood erect in the middle of the living room of the simple house.

Yunho imagined that he knew grand buildings, perhaps even lived in one.

“What are you looking at?" Yunho was snapped out of his reverie when he heard Mingi speak.

They had been casually led to the living room of the modestly furnished house, but halfway there, Yunho became separated from the others. With his mother following Mrs. Song and Gunho sneaking into the boys' room accompanied by his youngest son, Yunho hadn't expected to find himself alone with Mingi among them all.

"Nothing. Sorry," he said, searching for anyone to take him away from there. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, as was the weight of Mingi's gaze upon him.

Yunho wished he hadn't worn his shirt and jacket today. Perhaps he would have looked less ridiculous. But his mother had forced them, claiming they should look their best to meet the family, even though deep down Yunho felt like just a little boy playing at being a man while dressed like that.

"Why are you all like this in this place?" Mingi asked disgustedly, and threw himself against the seemingly soft sofa until the fabric sank and enveloped his entire body. Yunho felt an involuntary shiver.

"Like what?" he asked, curious.

"Withdrawn. Silent. Insignificant." Mingi spoke easily, and Yunho felt his cheeks flush. "Almost all of you in this damned little town. Nobody looks me in the eye, you just stay withdrawn, heads down, voices soft. It's almost as if you're all repeating a manual of bumpkin behavior."

Yunho began:

"God taught us humility and obedience—"

"God!" Mingi then scoffed, and the shiver ran through Yunho's body once more. "If God existed, He wouldn't have forced me to come to this hell."

"It's not right to doubt His motives." Yunho replied.

"I couldn't care less about what's right." Mingi muttered, and Yunho swallowed hard, holding his breath. Disgusted by how easily Mingi cursed. "My father is dead. Do you think it was because God willed it so?"

Yunho had to look up to realize he was staring at the ground, and when he did, he saw Mingi practically standing in front of him. So close that it was almost as if his body heat could burn Yunho's skin and his distinct breath — fresh, minty perhaps? — was ricocheting against the skin of his face.

"You should question yourself and the way you're living your life to have an answer to that question," Yunho replied.

"You have no idea how I live my life," Mingi retorted.

"No, I don't know. But I know it's not right." Yunho's tone rose just enough to catch the other's attention. Mingi looked at him with wide eyes. "You're rude and ungrateful. Your mother lost her husband, and I didn't see her being cruel to anyone. Your brothers also lost their father, and none of them are saying nasty things to me in the middle of their living room. We just met, and you're being arrogant. You're rude and unpleasant, and with your anger, you won't get anywhere. God is the way to your salvation; we can help you."

Mingi smiled.

"Now you're talking." He took a step towards Yunho. "You look kind of cute like that."

"What?"

"So humble and obedient. Asserting yourself for the sake of your God." The closer Mingi got, the dizzier Yunho felt.

Yunho looked away, unable to bear it any longer. And instead, he began to pay attention to the furniture in the house. The Song's house wasn't luxurious, but it also didn't compare to the wooden chalet where the Jeong lived. The floor was a soft carpet, and the furniture was new. Whoever had sold them the house had kept everything very well maintained. It was either that or the family from the capital had invested a lot of money in a good renovation. Which Yunho didn't rule out.

"Look at me." Yunho was pulled from his stupor when he felt Mingi's fingers meet his chin, lifting his face towards his own. It was as if the touch burned, and Yunho wanted to scream. Scream and run away. Mingi smiled, though. "Cute," he said again, just in case Yunho hadn't heard the first time. He had definitely heard. "This place might surprise me after all."

But just as Yunho was about to answer, both their names were called from the dining room.

Later, back home, while everyone was getting ready for bed, Yunho found himself thinking.

Dinner hadn't been awkward, despite Mingi's sudden outburst in the room. They were able to learn more about the Song family history and their names. The middle brother was called Mingyu, and the youngest was Minhyuk. Along with Mingi, they were the three sons of Song Minseo and the late Song Sunwoo, which initially surprised everyone. It wasn't common for children to inherit family traits from their mother, something Minseo explained with tears in her eyes had been her husband's request in the first place. While the woman was getting emotional, Yunho noticed the disbelief in his own mother's eyes at something so unnatural.

And then, the compliments began.

According to Minseo, her sons Mingi, Mingyu, and Minhyuk — nineteen, eighteen, and thirteen years old respectively — had been brilliant boys since birth. She recounted, her eyes still moist with tears, how Mingyu had learned to walk before he was a year old, how Minhyuk had spoken earlier than the other children, and how Mingi had risen in rank in the army faster than any other soldier in his battalion. It was clear she loved and was very proud of her sons. They were, according to their own mother, little jade stones with a beautiful and promising future.

And that only piqued the Jeong's curiosity even more. After all, wouldn't such brilliant boys, with such a successful future, have even more opportunities in the capital?

Why then, defying logic, had the Song family moved to such a small and resource-scarce city?

"Does anyone want more ambrosia?" Minseo asked, however, at the moment Yunho's mother questioned exactly why they had moved. And the sudden change of subject made it clear that there were details of her own story that the matriarch refused to tell.

"Aw, tell them, Mom," Mingi had said, receiving for the first time a look that wasn't one of love and devotion from his own mother.

"Another day, perhaps," but it was Yunho's mother who interrupted, already getting ready to leave the table. It was very clear to Yunho and Gunho.

Their mother hated them.

Not just hated them. Now she despised them.

She had returned home listing all the immoral acts and sins she had noticed them committing. She had lamented for their souls, for the fate they all would have in hell. She had begged her sons:

"You need to promise me that you will no longer speak to that family."

And the two brothers looked at her confused. Gunho, having already talked to Minhyuk about having classes together, asked about school. His mother convinced him why it was better for him to start studying at home. Yunho, having planned to ride his bike with Mingyu on weekends, didn't ask any questions.

He too was the subject of the most serious request, still that night, while the ropes bound the brothers more tightly than usual. His mother said:

"I don't want you to talk to Mingi, or even think about him. Do you understand me?" Yunho simply nodded. "We'll wake up at four. We have a lot to do."

By 'a lot to do' she meant pray.

Yunho had lost track of how much time had passed since their first official meeting with the other family.

Two days? A week? A month? He didn't know.

Since then, the prayers at home had tripled in number. Yunho still ate his meals, did simple chores around the house, and tended to the stables, but the rest of his days consisted only of prayers.

Which, for Yunho, was a gift.

Although he couldn't help but think.

So humble and obedient. Submitting yourself for the sake of your God. Mingi's voice was like a whisper in Yunho's head, diverting his attention and clouding his thoughts. It was the sensation of his breath on his face, and the warmth emanating from his body. Yunho felt everything, as if being in Mingi's presence, even for a short time, had corrupted him forever.

Yunho prayed with more fervor, day after day.

Every day, since their first encounter with the Song, Yunho found himself kneeling in front of the oratory. Begging, pleading for forgiveness. His mother would sometimes accompany him, reciting melodious prayers while painting the symbol of the Holy Spirit on her son's forehead with olive oil. The smell was unbearable, and deep down, Yunho didn't understand why she was doing it. But he didn't question her wishes, nor did he refuse to pray every day. His mother also monitored him sometimes, wanting to be sure that her son was dedicating his precious time to begging God for forgiveness, and she felt proud when she saw him so devout. Her family wouldn't be lost, and that brought her both pride and immeasurable relief. Even if the routine exhausted Yunho, even if over time he became thinner and more hollow, and his face now had deep, dark circles under his eyes, he would never contradict his mother as long as he lived.

If the mother had seen the sin in every member of that family, Yunho wouldn't be the one to discredit her, even if he himself didn't see it.

Well, until, for a fraction of a second. For a short, yet tortuous moment, he saw it. Or rather, he felt it.

It had been a Sunday, and they were returning from church. People asked the mother why she had been absent in recent weeks, pointed out the lines on Yunho's cheeks, and commented on the younger boy's apparent weight loss. Is everything alright? Do you need help? they asked, We're worried. they said. The mother solemnly denied that there was any problem, and lowered her head as she assured them that things were fine at home. Yunho didn't say a single word, and Gunho was too worried by the force with which his mother squeezed his shoulder to say anything either.

For several Sundays in a row, the questioning continued, and the Jeong family had nothing to declare. After a significant amount of time had passed, they stopped going to Mass. But not before officially confessing to the priest, who barely knew he wouldn't see them again anytime soon. Neither the mother nor the children had ever missed Mass, and Yunho wondered what the priest would think of this. Would he find it suspicious?

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Yunho said, kneeling in the confessional.

"What was your sin, son?" the priest asked. And Yunho began to tell all the lies he had practiced. The priest listened in silence, surprised by how quickly Yunho spoke. He had known the boy since childhood, knew that he had always been introverted when speaking, shy when confessing. Suddenly, it was clear that something was wrong. Before applying the penance, he said, "You know you can tell me anything, don't you, Yunho?" he asked, calling him by name. Yunho picked at his cuticles with his own nails and nodded.

"I know. And I'm finished," he said. The priest took a deep breath, concerned for the child. "What is my penance, Father?"

And the priest told him to pray, warning him to call his mother to talk to him first. Alone. Immediately.

It wasn't long before Yunho saw his mother and Gunho walk to the back of the church, towards the stairs. He lowered his head and knelt, beginning:

"Our Father, who art in heaven—"

"Yunho," he heard a sigh. Yunho automatically felt his eyes welling up with tears.

"Oh, God..." he cried.

"Yunho!" he heard again, and this time he raised his head to find his way to the sound. To that voice he knew so well, but pretended not to. "I'm here. I need to talk to you." Yunho lowered his head again.

"...hallowed be Thy name..." he sighed.

"Yun..." the voice was definitely close now. And Yunho found himself raising his head once more. It was no surprise to see Mingi there, sitting on the wooden bench right next to where Yunho was kneeling.

Yunho wanted to stand up. It didn't seem right.

But a firm hand from Mingi on his shoulder stopped him.

"Come with me," Mingi asked. Yunho wiped the tears from his eyes and shook his head.

"No!" he gasped.

"I need to talk to you. Alone, and out of here." Mingi gently squeezed his shoulder, and Yunho almost groaned, not having experienced a gentle touch long enough to feel desperate. "Please. I need to apologize to you one last time."

Yunho looked up at him again, feeling a tremor run through his body. Mingi's other hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of Yunho's neck, tracing its path until it was caressing his dirty scalp.

Yunho's trembling intensified, and torn between pulling away or seeking Mingi's touch more intently, he nodded. Mingi finally led Yunho to the back of the church, settling into the last pew and waiting for Yunho to follow with his slow, exhausted steps.

Yunho felt the guilt of not fulfilling his penance spreading throughout his body. The words of the prayers he had memorized so diligently echoed in his head, and he felt the urge to kneel again. He did what the priest had instructed. But he was also very curious about whatever Mingi had to say.

He sat down next to Mingi. Far enough away not to make contact with him. It was as if his touch burned; Yunho still felt it from before. Spreading through every inch of his body, mixed with the guilt of talking to him, giving him attention.

Let it be brief, Yunho thought. And then he murmured softly:

"You can speak."

But the apologies didn't come.

"I'm worried about you," Mingi said automatically. Yunho hadn't expected that. Mingi cleared his throat. "We all are, Mom..."

"There's nothing to worry about," Yunho interrupted with his rehearsed apologies.

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?" Mingi's tone was low, almost affectionate. "Yun. People are talking, your mother has been harsh with everyone. Nobody sees you or your brother anymore, you're reclusive from everyone else, and when you do appear, it's just..." Mingi swallowed hard, observing Yunho's figure attentively.

To be honest, Mingi hardly recognized him.

There was nothing in that specter but deep-set eyes and thin cheeks. His skin was paler than usual, his arms were flabby and thin at his sides. Even though Mingi knew him very little, Yunho looked nothing like the stubborn boy who had challenged him in the living room of his own house. He was like a ghost, his presence and spirit having been destroyed and crushed torrentially so that he became nothing but an empty shell of something else. Not a boy. Almost a dying man.

"I'm perfectly fine." More rehearsed phrases. Excuses. Excuses.

"You're not." Tired, Mingi took Yunho's hands in his own. Yunho held his breath, his body rigid in a mixture of fear and — may God help him and watch over him —expectation. Yunho wanted to pursue the touch, needed to savor the gentleness. And Mingi felt it, bringing Yunho's limp hands to his own face. "Look at me."

Yunho sobbed:

"Why are you being gentle with me?" and felt the warmth of Mingi's skin against his palm. "Am I no longer withdrawn and insignificant to you? Don't I deserve your contempt anymore?" Mingi's grip on Yunho's fingers intensified.

"I'm sorry." Mingi said. "It was grief speaking for me. I don't particularly like this place or these people, but I don't see them the same way anymore. I want to go home, I want to leave this place. But..." despite feeling Mingi's skin against his fingers, Yunho still didn't dare look at him. "The truth is, I can't stop thinking about you." Yunho felt his throat tighten. "And I'm worried. People are talking... about your mother... about her being sick. And..."

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Yunho said sharply.

"Then explain it to me." Tired, Mingi took Yunho's face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. Yunho's own hands, finally free, however, didn't leave Mingi's face. Too accustomed and comfortable with the sensation of the heat. Chasing the burning of the skin against his fingers. And it burned. And it hurt. But Yunho couldn't pull away. "What's happening in that house? Has your mother been hurting you?" Suddenly, Yunho's mind was flooded with memories.

Has your mother hurt you?

Their mother, whose touch was never gentle, but rather authoritarian and assertive. She ensured their safety at all costs.

Their mother, whose penetrating gaze had always been enough to make them understand boundaries, and never allowed them to question them.

Their mother, who tied them to bed at night to protect them from hurting themselves. From running away and leaving. The mother who fed them, but also deprived them of food if necessary. The mother who wasn't cruel, just strict. The mother who lied about their father to protect them. The mother who ensured their discipline, ironed their clothes, took them to church, made them righteous.

Their mother, whose behavior was never maternal.

But who guided them on the right path. On the path of the Lord.

Thus, feeling his own breath become erratic, Yunho spoke:

"She doesn't hurt me." You do. He wanted to finish, but he looked into Mingi's eyes, saw the genuine concern etched on his face, and couldn't utter a word. Slowly, Yunho removed his hands from Mingi's face. The absence of touch burned more than his presence, and Yunho felt cold. "Just forget about it." Yunho stood up from the wooden bench, firm enough to finally end the conversation and leave. But Mingi was faster, pulling Yunho back so that he fell against him. Half of Yunho's body was in Mingi's lap, his legs stretched out on the wooden bench. Mingi sighed, as if finally feeling relief from it all, from the whole situation. He wrapped Yunho tightly in his arms, inhaling the earthy scent and feeling the prominent rib bones against his fingers.

Yunho adjusted himself, torn between disentangling himself from the embrace and snuggling closer. Thick tears burned his eyes, and all he could feel was the warmth. Mingi's touch, though firm, didn't hurt him. And it was the first time he had been embraced so tenderly. The need to simply feel more made him wrap his arms around Mingi's back, returning the awkward hug. The space between the church pews was small, so they had to squeeze together to stay close. Arms and legs intertwined, breathing the same source of oxygen.

Yunho wanted to scream.

"Come with me," Mingi whispered.

The worst part was that Yunho considered it. Too exhausted all of a sudden to even fight.

Memories of his cold, inhospitable home, with its polished wooden floors and shrines and candlesticks, mingled with the warmth of Mingi's home, which he had felt only once but couldn't forget. There was no coldness in the reality of the Song family, in their warm dinners and simple displays of affection.

There was no coldness in Song Mingi's embrace.

And suddenly, everything became clear.

"Our Father, who art in heaven..." Yunho couldn't say when he started murmuring. Perhaps his subconscious was still fighting for the surface of what was right. What he had grown up believing.

Mingi pulled them away just enough to look Yunho in the eyes. The boy was a trembling mess with eyes red from tears.

"No, no, no. Look at me." Mingi was losing him again... "Yun."

Yunho's throat tightened and he felt his body freeze. His heart pounded as if the muscle could leap out of his chest. He trembled, and tears streamed down his face. Mingi slowly approached him to touch his face.

And Yunho exploded:

"Get out, serpent! I will not fall for your lie, nor will I accept the forbidden fruit. I will not be expelled from the Garden of Eden!" Yunho gasped, writhing out of the embrace. Trying. Crawling. Just like the snake that coiled around him...

Mingi swallowed hard.

"You're in shock..."

"No!" this time Yunho shouted, and abruptly, fearful of drawing attention, Mingi silenced him with a hand over his lips. Yunho looked at Mingi with wide, tearful eyes, still writhing out of Mingi's lap.

"I don't know what to do, I don't—" sighing and revisiting traumatic memories, memories of trenches dug in the earth and children younger than him with wide eyes, trembling bodies and sobs stuck in their throats, Mingi made a decision. "Screw it."

And he took Yunho in a hug, lifting the limp body and throwing it against his own shoulder. Yunho was worryingly light, and Mingi found himself adjusting him until he was comfortable. It didn't take long for Mingi to feel his shoulders getting wet, and Yunho's body trembling against his own. What were they doing to him... Mingi thought, while Yunho was now sobbing, clinging to Mingi as if clinging to his own life.

Leaving the church with the boy in his arms unseen was a challenge, but in the end, Mingi succeeded. With the family cart parked not far away, Mingi carefully carried Yunho and laid him down on cloths and straw to camouflage him. Yunho's head rested in his lap, providing Mingi with every detail of his face and his expression of agony.

"Don't..." Yunho sobbed again, and with one hand guiding the cart and the other outstretched to caress Yunho’s warm face, Mingi spoke:

"I'm not leaving you..." worried as hell. Mingi seemed capable of destroying all the sick and fanatical people in that city.

Thinking about himself and the long months he spent waking up screaming, terrified by every noise he heard, reliving memories. Seeing, smelling, and feeling the blood against his own hands, on his own body, on the body of a wounded colleague, only to realize that it had all been a dream and that he was at home, with his mother or father sitting on the edge of his bed, comforting him. A comfort that Yunho had never had the privilege of experiencing. Mingi said:

"We will take care of you."

But they never reached their destination.

It didn't take long for the mother to notice her son's absence from his knees against the pews, much less for her to attract the attention of the priest and all the passersby around the church. When they reached Mingi, the boy wasn't even close to leaving with the cart. He gritted his teeth, pulling Yunho's body closer to him. From a distance, it would have looked like Mingi was carrying anything.

"How can I help you?" he asked, trying to cope well with the fact that Yunho was still trembling against his body in an unimaginable stupor. "Did something happen?"

"Evil serpent," the mother said simply. The priest touched her shoulder, stopping her from continuing her advance towards Mingi. "Give me back my son."

Before Mingi could say he had no idea what she was talking about, the priest stepped forward:

"We all saw you leave with him in your arms, son," and Mingi grimaced. "Hurry up before your situation worsens."

Mingi growled:

"He doesn't want to go anywhere with her—"

"Mom," cried Yunho, in his arms. The villagers rushed to forcibly take Yunho from Mingi.

"She's killing him!" shouted Mingi, everyone tensing in place. "She's going to kill him! You can see for yourselves, he's wasting away."

"It's nobody's business," said the mother. But everyone hesitated.

The Jeong family hadn't been well for a long time, and nobody could speak against that. The priest swallowed hard and looked at his most devoted sheep, but the mother remained impassive, saying nothing. Mingi's frightened gaze turned to hatred, and he embraced Yunho even tighter.

"Let him go, Mingi," pleaded the priest, almost at the same time as Mingi's mother appeared running through the passersby in the square. With both of their youngest children being dragged by the hand. "Please."

"What's happening here?" Minseo asked, taking in the scene before her. Mingi looked at her with his jaw clenched, Yunho suddenly clung to him, and Mingi's heart shattered. Those people... he thought. How could they not see? "Mingi. Let's go home."

Mingi didn't object when the people took Yunho from him. Mingi's heart pounded in his chest, and he feared for Yunho's life. The priest gently patted Mingi's back as he helped Yunho to his feet, the boy leaning on his mother's arm, his breathing heavy as if he were still processing everything that was happening. He looked at Mingi with wide eyes, an expression of pure shock.

"We are very sorry for any misfortune," Minseo said, embarrassed.

"Stay away from my children," growled the mother, grabbing Yunho and Gunho by the arm and dragging them away.

Mingi didn't have time to react, only accepting the reprimand in silence as he started the cart to return home.

Not before exchanging a condescending glance with the parish priest, though.

When Yunho returned home, he was forbidden from having lunch so he could pray until sunset. For the first time, Gunho protested, intervening on his behalf, but Yunho, still dazed and out of his senses, didn't argue. And he did as his mother instructed.

He always would.

But that night was different.

"Amen," Yunho hissed, kissing the small wooden cross at the end of the rosary he had wrapped around his fingers. He knew he had completed another cycle of prayers when he heard the bedroom door creak, indicating his mother's entrance. "I'm ready." "He said, and she wasted no time.

One, two, three, four, five...

Gradually, as the pain took over his body, Yunho stopped counting.

His mother's blows were relentless. The rigid wood struck his bare feet with precision. Yunho shuddered with each blow, feeling the burning sensation on the soles of his feet reverberate throughout his body. He had already lost count of how many blows he had received, his thoughts confused about the perception of time. Was it already night? Could he have dinner?

"Please," he whispered with each blow. In the end, that was all that mattered. His lips pressed against the small wooden cross, his fingers firmly gripping the rosary beads. "Please, please..."

Yunho couldn't say how many blows he received that time. Perhaps one for each prayer he said. Finally, when his mother stopped, Yunho was just a trembling, tearful little thing. He gripped his rosary tightly enough that his knuckles turned white, uttering words on his own. Laments, pleas. He begged. He begged so much that his mother took pity on him.

"Do you think you need this?" she asked. Yunho raised his tearful eyes and nodded slightly. His hands gripped the rosary as if they were gripping his own life. His mother nodded, leaving the room and returning a short time later.

The whip consisted of a sturdy handle made of several tightly braided cords at the end, extending into five other cords with knots along their entire length. When held against Yunho's hands, it sent a shiver down his spine. He observed the object and then looked at his mother.

"Thank you." "He said, thus being left alone once more. Untangling himself from the rosary just enough to touch the whip and feel its thickness, Yunho sighed.

The candlelight flickered above the oratory almost at the same time as the wind howled softly outside the house. Yunho held the rosary tightly in his hands, his lips grazing the wood of the crucifix, a gentle touch that felt more like a devotional kiss.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..." he began again.

With each bead passed over the rosary, Yunho felt a warmth spread through his lower abdomen while a shiver ran down his spine. The whip was now resting against his legs, a promise of something to come. Despite the words of the prayer and the throbbing pain spreading through his body, Yunho couldn't think of anything but Song Mingi.

He wept.

Yunho needed to. He needed penance to feel close to God. He needed to share in the suffering, to feel all those knots along the length of the whip's cord striking his flesh; he longed for the pain, and not only that, he needed it to take responsibility for all his sins. All the thoughts he conjured in his own mind. He and Mingi intertwined on the wooden church bench, the warmth of Mingi's body around him...

God knew all the sordid thoughts, and to God, Yunho would punish himself for having had them.

"Amen," he whimpered, trembling in anticipation. Gently placing the rosary on the altar, Yunho tightly gripped the whip with his hands. He had never done this before, and he was immensely grateful to his mother for trusting him with it.

He didn't wait. He struck his own back once, twice, three times. Even beneath the fabric of his pajamas, Yunho knew that the knots in the rope left a trail of redness with each blow to his own back. Yunho sobbed, trying to find enough balance to keep counting. One blow for each prayer. A stab of pain for each sordid thought, for each sin that distanced him further from God.

When he finished, he was a trembling mess. Just a repulsive sinner still trapped in the snares of his own mind. With weak hands, he gripped the rosary again.

And it began again. And again. And again. Losing count of how many times he dropped the rosary to grab the whip and how many times he dropped the whip to pick up the rosary. The skin on his back was now red and bruised.

Hours passed without Yunho escaping that loop. The birds no longer sang outside, and the candlelight alone no longer seemed sufficient to illuminate the room. The room was dark and silent, just like the rest of the house. His mother no longer interrupted him; Gunho, still frightened, was probably perched with the animals in the stable, searching for a way out of that mausoleum that was their room at that moment. Yunho still didn't understand the nuances that moved the faith of the whole family, although he knew that sooner or later he too would feel the same urgency to draw closer to God that they all felt, the duty to submit and be saved by Him.

Inhaling that acrid odor of sweat and dirt, Yunho clung to the edge of the oratory, resting his head on the wood. He was lost in words, no longer remembering which prayer he was on or how many he had already recited. The rosary in his hands was no longer useful; he held it between his fingers, bringing the small cross to his lips. But he couldn't organize his own thoughts.

Mingi... Mingi... Mingi... It was unbearable.

The burning sensation in the flesh of his back combined with the sharp pain in his scraped knees almost made him groan. It was too much, and Yunho felt he might collapse. Thick tears streamed down his face, the pain was excruciating, but nothing compared to the guilt he felt. The thoughts that filled his mind even as he still murmured prayers, as he begged for salvation.

"Please." Exhausted, he decided he would try one more time. "Heavenly Father, I earnestly beg you. Forgive me, for I have sinned. I-I have..." a lump formed in his throat. "I have thoughts. Bad thoughts. Sordid and nefarious thoughts. Satan has taken over my head, has made me tremble in my faith!"

Mingi's gaze in his direction...

More sobs overwhelmed Yunho. He closed his eyes tightly, lowering his head as the pain finally spread through his body. The sobs no longer allowed him to utter his prayers, nor did the whip help him anchor him firmly to the polished wooden floor.

Like a trap set by the devil himself, he couldn't think of anything else. His mind then wandered towards his greatest torment once more. Song Mingi and his warmth, and his worried gaze. Yunho took a deep breath, trying to calm his own mind and heart.

Still deeply immersed in the words he was speaking, and the actions he had performed, Yunho only became aware of the knocking coming from the window when accompanied by a whisper:

"Yunho," the voice called once. Before giving him a chance to call a second time and be caught, Yunho hurriedly stood up from in front of the oratory and ran to the window. It was no surprise to see Mingi standing there. "Hey."

Yunho would have snorted if only he had the strength for it. His body trembled even as he stood. And his empty stomach now complained, manifesting itself as drowsiness and sharp pains in his abdomen. His back ached, but he knew he hadn't drawn blood. The sweat made the fabric of his pajamas cling to his skin, though. And he reflected on what state he was in to greet Mingi at the window. What would Mingi think he was doing?

Mingi shouldn't be there. But surprisingly, Yunho didn't find it weird

"You should leave," he said. To which Mingi replied:

"No. I need to talk to you," Mingi insisted, leaning over the window as if signaling that he was going to come in anyway.

Yunho's blood ran cold, and he stopped Mingi with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll go," Yunho whispered, swinging a leg out the window. The house was only one story high, the window wasn't very tall, and yet Mingi felt the need to pick Yunho up to help him out. Still weak, Yunho only realized what had happened when he was put back on the ground. "What are you doing, Mingi? Didn't you hear the warning to leave us alone?"

Yunho's mind was struggling to process the thoughts he'd had before with Mingi's solid presence now materialized in front of him. Yunho felt a shiver and bit his lower lip to stop himself from whimpering.

"I can't," Mingi replied, looking at Yunho's full figure. He wasn't wearing the same clothes Mingi had seen he wearing at church, which meant he had taken a bath. His damp hair had confirmed this. But Yunho's condition was just as pitiful as before. The worn-out pajamas only highlighted his extreme thinness, and his sunken eyes and hollow face still made him resemble a ghost. "I'm worried. Did you have dinner?" Almost at that moment, Yunho's stomach rumbled.

He lied:

"Yes."

"No, you don't," Mingi replied. And then, as if it were nothing, he pulled a miracle from one of the pockets of his leather jacket. He placed the bread against Yunho's chest, and Yunho grabbed it with his arms. It was warm, and it smelled so, so good. Yunho's stomach rumbled again. "You can eat while we talk."

"I'm not going—" Yunho was about to refuse, almost handing the warm bread back to Mingi and jumping back into the house when he heard the sound of the front door being flung open. Yunho pulled Mingi close, shrinking against the side of the wooden house so that whoever came out couldn't see them.

He watched as his mother walked straight to the cart where the family mare was still tied. Yunho's heart ached. He thought that if Gunho didn't take the lead every time, the animal would sleep outside the stable and he wouldn't even know. His mother didn't seem to care.

Where was she going? Yunho thought he had said it aloud, but it was just a thought. He hadn't noticed that Mingi was staring intently at him, too busy watching his mother leave with the horse far away from home. Yunho felt the warm bread irritate his skin under his pajamas and pushed Mingi away slightly.

"And now... can we talk?" Mingi asked. Yunho only realized how close Mingi was when he felt the other's panting breath against his face. "While you eat."

Yunho snorted in defeat, and almost simultaneously, Gunho made a noise inside the house.

Yunho didn't think as he guided Mingi forward, summoning a strength he didn't even know he still possessed, and pushed him into the stable. The small lantern illuminating the room was lit, indicating that Gunho had forgotten to turn it off again. Which was good, since he didn't need to feel Mingi to know where he was.

Even though the weak, flickering light of the lantern illuminated them almost imperceptibly.

Mingi waited for Yunho's breathing to stabilize before saying:

"You can eat."

And Yunho hungrily attacked the bread. Barely chewing enough and swallowing generous, warm pieces at once. Mingi wondered when the last time Yunho had eaten was, and if his mother used food deprivation as some kind of punishment. Mingi knew about fasting, and how the practice, when done responsibly, worked in some religions. But there, observing how Yunho ate, he could see that it didn't seem to be the case with the Jeong family. He smiled when Yunho sat on a pile of hay and continued to eat.

"I'd like you to explain it to me." Slowly and fearing being pushed away, Mingi approached Yunho. "How religious practice works in your family. I... I've never seen anything like it."

Mingi knew it was nothing more than fanaticism and mistreatment, but he wanted to hear from Yunho all the horrors he and his sibling were subjected to. He wanted proof and hoped that the townspeople, though obtuse, would understand and condemn a clear case of family abuse. Reports of child abuse had become common in the town. Even though repressive spanking was still normalized and the government itself sent its children to war.

Mingi had heard stories of families who had been separated and fathers and mothers who had been sent to sanatoriums for far less than Yunho's mother had been doing.

"It's normal, I guess," Yunho replied, revealing his clear lack of references. And Mingi sighed, sitting on the haystack beside Yunho and watching as the other anxiously ate the last pieces of bread. Mingi wished he had more to give him. "God gives us everything, and we give everything to Him."

"I see..." Mingi observed. He wanted to hold Yunho in his arms again, just as he had in the church. He wanted to take him and protect him, take him away from there.

He couldn't say when he had developed feelings for the boy. When the previous contempt had turned into concern, and when the concern had turned into fascination. Mingi hated that city, hated that his father's death had forced him to stop there against his will. But he had been growing increasingly attached to the people who greeted him when they saw him on the street, who recognized him and asked about his family. And who gossiped about how strange the Jeong family had been lately.

When he least expected it, Mingi found himself stuck there. In that land. With nothing but Jeong Yunho on his mind.

"Can I ask you a question?" Yunho asked, when all the bread was gone and he could no longer ignore Mingi's striking presence there.

"Sure," Mingi replied. He moved even closer to Yunho so that their sides now touched on the haystack. Yunho was freezing, and Mingi reflected on how difficult it must be for him to warm up with so little body fat.

"Why did you have to leave town?" Yunho asked, surprising Mingi. He remembered the night they had dinner together, when Mingi's father had just been buried.

He remembered how quickly their mother had tried to change the subject, and the curious looks from the Jeong family sitting at the table. Mingi saw no point in lying to Yunho, although he knew the boy's convictions would make him shrink back the moment Mingi told him. Which he certainly did:

"I fell in love with a man." Yunho's breath caught in his throat. "I was caught in bed with him one night, in a boarding house. Rumors spread quickly, the army expelled me, and religious groups started persecuting my family. My brothers had to leave school, and my father thought it best we start over somewhere else. But I didn't want to."

"So you stayed," Yunho said hoarsely, almost as if the lump in his throat was preventing him from speaking.

"I stayed. Until he said he didn't want me anymore. He was sent to another country by his family." Reliving the story no longer hurt Mingi. "I spent months trying to return to the army, but my conduct was recorded as sodomy. After everything I had seen and done for the troops, I had nowhere else to go. And then my father died."

Yunho remained silent, trying to piece together the chronology of it all. I fell in love with a man. He couldn't stop thinking. The closeness to Mingi and the way the other's side touched his own body made Yunho's insides clench.

He knew the lit lamp made the room warm, but he didn't understand the sudden blush that had spread throughout his body. Sin. It was a sin. The only thought that passed through Yunho's clouded mind was that Mingi had committed the greatest of sins. Still, defying all his own dogmas, Yunho found himself seeking Mingi's warmth even more. Yunho wanted to pray for him, to connect with him. Perhaps that was Yunho's purpose in the world, perhaps he could change Mingi for good and make him seek salvation while there was still time.

But Mingi, whose arms then enveloped Yunho's body in a longing embrace, didn't seem to want to be saved.

"Are you disgusted by me?" Mingi asked. Too close, so that his voice was sticky against Yunho's ear. Mingi's arms wrapped around Yunho tighter. Taking him. Wanting him.

Yunho shuddered.

"God made us in his image and likeness. We shouldn't question His purposes." Yunho felt a shiver spread through his skin as Mingi's touch slid across his body. He couldn't process anything; his head was a cacophony of thoughts. He said, "Y-you can still redeem yourself."

"For what?" Mingi asked, a mocking smile playing on his lips. At first, he had only hugged Yunho to warm him, noticing how his thin body trembled as Mingi spoke about his lover, about city life, and his sin. But now, oh, Mingi just wanted to feel him.

"For wanting a man, back then. For sleeping with one." Yunho recited, and the weight of the words alone made him feel dirty. Mingi smiled and brushed a strand of Yunho's hair away from his face. "We've had people like that around here before, sooner or later everyone was touched by the Holy Spirit— What are you doing?" Mingi's hands touched Yunho's prominent ribs beneath the fabric of his pajama shirt.

"The touch of the Holy Spirit?" Mingi asked. "The same one that's been doing this to you?" He would never fail to point out how thin Yunho was. "My sin belongs only to me, Yunho. But yours has been trying to kill you." Tears streamed down Yunho's face, and Mingi licked them away with his tongue. Now Yunho was truly trembling, and due to the sudden rise in his body temperature, Mingi doubted it was from the cold. "Okay. So, can I confess?"

"I'm not a priest," Yunho promptly replied.

"But I want to confess to you." Even though there were no more tears, Mingi's tongue continued to crawl across Yunho's face. Sometimes licking it, sometimes giving small kisses. Yunho remained motionless against Mingi's arms, but now he also hugged him tightly. Yunho's arms encircled Mingi's torso as if they were unsure whether to push him away or pull him even closer. All around them, the hay pricked. But neither of them could care less. "I sinned. I killed people in the war. I lied and wasn't a good example for my brothers. I fell in love and desired a man, I fucked him against the mattress of a cheap boarding house in the city." With each word from Mingi, Yunho shrank even more. "I moved to a poor village, I looked down on all the locals. I was relieved that my father died because I would no longer be a worry and a burden to him. I touched myself thinking about the boy from the neighbor's house who came to my room to challenge me and defend his God."

Yunho started crying again. Suddenly, every fragment of thought he had repressed his whole life came rushing back. He prayed. He helped his mother on the farm. He was a good boy and didn't challenge anyone. He prayed not to desire, not to want anything. But Mingi was crawling under his skin, making him feel affection, making him burn with a simple touch. God was testing him, and Yunho was being defeated.

"I want to tell you how I did it," Mingi whispered. Suddenly, the hands that had been touching Yunho's ribs moved with a different purpose, and Mingi's fingers touched a nipple that Yunho had never suspected was sensitive. "When you and your little family left and my mother started reciting how good a boy you seemed to be. Such a good boy. So polite. A little lamb..." Mingi's lips slid from Yunho's cheek to the skin of his neck. "I wanted you so much. With an urgency I've never had wanting anything in this life. I wanted to go after you, and then I wanted you to disappear. I didn't want to get attached to anything in this place. I didn't want to want anything that came from here."

Yunho found himself desperately wanting proof of how much Mingi wanted him. And almost as if Mingi could read his mind, Yunho felt it. Mingi's hard penis touched the side of Yunho's hip, and he whimpered. The sudden change in the atmosphere was overwhelming.

"And then you really disappeared. And people started talking. And now I'm here with you, or something that was supposed to be you. And I'm so furious! And I still need..." Mingi sniffed Yunho's neck. "I need to get you out of here. I need you to come with me, I need to feel all of you, and I need to be stronger than Him. I need you to want me more than you want Him."

Yunho's eyes widened; Mingi was talking about...

"I want you to renounce your God for me," he was. Yunho sobbed, a cry stuck in his throat. "I want you to let me have you. Call me whatever you want. Satan. Serpent. Just let me..." Mingi's hands were deliberately exploring now. Yunho cried out when he felt Mingi's warm touch on his pajama pants. He barely realized he was hard too. "Let me have my sin."

Yunho was dizzy with a sensation he'd never experienced before. An unbearable heat spread through his lower abdomen, and he found himself craving Mingi's touch even more, wanting him close. Wanting him all over his body.

"Please..." Yunho whimpered tearfully. Mingi kissed him, laying him down on the hay.

It was like experiencing paradise on earth.

Mingi's lips covered Yunho's in a passionate, tongue-filled kiss. It didn't take much for Mingi to understand that it was Yunho's first time doing this, so Mingi took his time. He licked Yunho's lower lip and sucked his tongue lasciviously while his hands roamed Yunho's body beneath the fabric of his pajamas. Saliva quickly accumulated against Yunho's chin, and Mingi drank it too; the wet sound of their mouths and tongues devouring each other hit Yunho's already aching cock directly, and the other found himself raising his hips in search of Mingi, yearning for contact.

"You're so sweet," Mingi whispered, tearing the pajama shirt from Yunho's body. The sudden contact of wounded skin with hay made Yunho groan against Mingi's mouth. Shame overwhelmed Yunho, and he returned to his dark room, the oratory and the whip against his back. How could Mingi's arrival have made him forget? "What happened?"

"Nothing," Yunho promptly replied. But Mingi arched an eyebrow and turned Yunho's body by the hips, so that he was now lying completely face down. Mingi's eyes widened the moment he saw this. "No... Mingi, please..."

"What is this?" Mingi asked, his mouth dry as his gaze swept over the red marks on Yunho's back. They were blows; it definitely wasn't difficult for Mingi to tell. "Who hit you?"

"I..." Yunho sobbed. Mingi's index finger gently touched the skin of Yunho's back, and he shuddered. Even without seeing him, Yunho felt Mingi's body trembling against his. And he knew he needed to reassure him before Mingi left the barn to hunt down whatever had done this to Yunho. He would be surprised. "I did it myself. It was... penance."

"You self-flagellated?" Mingi's mouth was dry. "No, baby..." the sudden use of the affectionate nickname made Yunho brush imperceptibly against the hay. Needing something he couldn't quite place. Mingi placed a kiss on Yunho's back. "Please, no. I can't even think about anything hurting you. God..."

"It's a practice—"

"No," Mingi said. Just as he knew about fasting, Mingi knew the stigmas surrounding self-harm. He couldn't believe Yunho was subjecting himself to this willingly. "This is insane, let me... let me take care of you." Mingi himself cried a little as he left the kisses.

Mingi kissed each scratch mark on Yunho's back. The reddish bruises, but the intact skin, indicated that Yunho hadn't hit himself hard enough to tear the skin, but it still seemed to hurt as Yunho flinched with each kiss Mingi left there. The thought was killing Mingi inside, what was this...

“Never again. Never do that again."

But conflicting thoughts swirled in Yunho's head. Luckily, he was too distracted by the sensation of Mingi's kisses on his back and the feeling of the fluffy hay beneath his body to think about that now. Yunho lifted his hips as Mingi traced his lips down Yunho's spine to his lower back.

Yunho's slender waist projected into delicate hips, and Mingi found himself gripping the skin there tightly, somehow lifting Yunho's hips even higher toward him.

The thought that no one had ever touched Yunho there suddenly transformed Mingi into something ferocious, so that a bite was delivered to one of Yunho's buttocks with enough force for Yunho to let out a little cry. Mingi lowered the pajama pants enough to see the reddish mark of the bite on the velvety skin...

This was how Yunho should be properly marked.

"Beautiful." Mingi climbed onto Yunho's body again, kissing the skin of his nape and taking care not to hurt the bruised skin on his back.

Yunho writhed on the hay and his body sought Mingi's. One of Yunho's hands rose until it was on the back of Mingi's head, his fingers gripping his hair. Mingi kissed the nape of Yunho's neck and sucked on his skin. When Yunho turned his head towards Mingi longingly, Mingi didn't hesitate to take Yunho's lips again in a passionate kiss. His hand rested on Yunho's chin to turn his face in the right direction.

It was as if the world around that stable no longer existed. As if together they had created a new reality, a place where Yunho's convictions and all his pain from giving up wouldn't prevent them from having exactly what they wanted. And in the way they wanted it.

It was paradise hidden on earth, a burning sensation that spread through his body and made Yunho feel that his prayers were worthless, because nothing could compare to the feeling of Mingi's body against his and Mingi's tongue in his mouth, and Mingi's arms, and Mingi, and Mingi...

"Let me see you." Urgency made Mingi turn Yunho from his prone position and place him on his side, so that they were now lying facing each other. Yunho then pursued Mingi's lips. Not wanting to pull away, unable to bear the thought of being apart, Mingi grabbed Yunho's leg and threw it over his hip, drawing them closer.

The kisses became more tender and languid, unhurried. Just the light touch of their lips against each other, devouring slowly but deeply. Yunho hardly knew what to do, but his instincts spoke. He plunged his hands even deeper into Mingi's hair and brought him more fiercely to his mouth, hungry for something he didn't yet know, but needed.

"Do you want to touch me?" Mingi asked, and Yunho nodded, sliding his hands from Mingi's hair to his shoulders and then to his face, exactly as Mingi had encouraged him to do in church, but with much more purpose. "Cute." And Mingi plunged into Yunho's lips again, and without Yunho noticing, Mingi took off his own shirt.

They kissed with synchronized movements of their heads, their wet and eager tongues intertwining. Yunho nibbled on Mingi's lower lip, tasted blood, and licked the bite. Mingi growled, then mustered all the self-control he still possessed to push Yunho away considerably.

He expected Yunho to protest, but was surprised by the whimpering nonetheless.

But worried about Yunho's recent state of mental confusion, Mingi first had to make sure.

"Do you want to continue?" Mingi asked, and Yunho nodded frantically. Yunho's fingertips gently touched the bruised flesh of Mingi's lips, and Mingi kissed the digits. "Then I need you to answer a few things..." Mingi's hand, in turn, brushed away the strand of Yunho's hair that always insisted on falling across his face. "Where are you, Yun?"

"I'm in the stable at my house. I'm on a pile of hay, in your arms." Yunho answered without hesitation, and Mingi smiled.

"And who's with you now?" Mingi continued, apprehensive that the questions might trigger some kind of trance in Yunho.

That's how it was when Mingi saw the nurses treating his battalion comrades. Any slip or wrong word could be fatal. Catatonia and shell shock were bizarrely complex and delicate states.

Yunho hadn't been on the front lines, but he had fought battles with irreversible consequences throughout his life.

"You are," Yunho said anxiously. Mingi raised an eyebrow, clearly demanding more clarity, and Yunho continued, his cheeks flushing considerably. "Mingi. Song Mingi."

Mingi placed a kiss on Yunho's forehead.

"And what am I going to do with you now?" was the last question, and Yunho blushed even more. He almost lowered his head, but Mingi's delicate fingers under his chin stopped him.

Yunho began:

"You're going to make love to—" but he didn't finish speaking. Of course, Mingi had treated him tenderly, but love him? Yunho quickly corrected himself. "You're going to fuck me."

"No, baby. I'm going to make love to you." Mingi gave Yunho another kiss on the forehead, and then on his trembling eyelids. "So good that you won't think about anything else."

Yunho cried out:

"Please." But Mingi was already in his mouth again.

For Yunho, who only vaguely knew the theory of it all, it was difficult to let go and simply... feel. And he felt a lot. And it was almost unbearable.

Mingi moved them until he was between Yunho's legs, his hands firmly on his knees as he spread his thighs even further to fit himself there. Mingi leaned in to take his lips again, too addicted to the taste. Wanting to devour him whole.

Yunho kissed him back, getting used to the rhythm and as eager as Mingi. If before the simple touch of Mingi on his body burned, having him on top of him and between his legs was almost like being devoured by flames. The heat in Yunho's lower abdomen increased, almost consuming him, and he found himself trembling from the waist down where he and Mingi met. They were both still wearing pants, and noticeably hard and throbbing. Yunho's anxiety manifested itself in the lifting of his hips, and Mingi groaned against his mouth as he felt it brush against his stiff penis.

Mingi slid open-mouthed kisses along Yunho's chin and jaw, feeling him flinch as he spread his legs even wider to accommodate Mingi even closer. Mingi's lips brushed the crucifix against Yunho's chest, but didn't linger there, fearing the other would become uncomfortable. Yunho's arms were thrown over Mingi's back, touching the firm line of his shoulder blades and feeling the warmth of his skin.

Yunho traced a scar here and there with his fingertips, swallowed hard, turning his head slightly to leave a solemn kiss against Mingi's hair while Mingi, in turn, traced a path of kisses down Yunho's neck and collarbone, going lower and lower.

It was adorable how the mere scraping of teeth on Yunho's skin was enough to leave a mark, and Mingi smiled against his skin. Mingi's hands, now rubbing the skin of Yunho's hips, followed the movement of his lips, lower and lower, closer and closer to where Yunho truly needed it.

When Mingi enveloped Yunho's penis with his whole hand, he heard the most beautiful moan escape Yunho's lips, at the same time as Mingi's lips nibbled and kissed the bones of his hips. The first thing Mingi would do when he got Yunho away from there, he thought, would be to feed him more than three times a day. The thought amused him, and Yunho watched from under his eyelashes as Mingi let out a low but audible laugh.

Yunho blushed and bit his lower lip hard.

"What's funny?" he asked. Mingi reassured him with another kiss on his hips, and then on his pelvis.

"I can't believe I have you here. I can't believe my own eyes how beautiful you are." I can't believe I risked not having you. He would say, but he preferred to kiss his skin again instead. Mingi's kisses became more intense. And Yunho writhed.

When he brought Yunho's penis to his lips, Mingi groaned. It tasted of vegetable soap and skin, and Mingi found himself ravenous. He licked and sucked the head, just teasing. The movement of his hand against the member combined with the stimulation of his lips was tender, slow, and precise. Mingi teased him by taking the penis into his mouth and then pulling it away, returning to distribute kisses over the surrounding skin and then taking the delicious cock into his mouth again.

For Yunho, who was restless and almost dumbfounded by the stimulation, it was torture. A new and very good kind of torture. Still, it left him frantic and on the verge of tears.

Provocatively, Mingi rose above Yunho once more. Mingi's hand slid off Yunho's penis, rubbing the glans one last time while the other traced a path along his skin, leaving its mark on his thighs. Mingi trailed kisses along the inside of Yunho's thighs, feeling the softness of his skin and finding his bruised knees.

Mingi then kissed the wounded skin, his chest aching as he imagined him kneeling for hours in front of the oratory or on the wooden church benches, begging for a forgiveness he didn't need.

"Mingi..." Yunho moans, again imperceptibly raising his hips in search of contact. The support of his wounded back against the hay made Yunho shrink back. He had been disguising it so well that Mingi had almost forgotten. Almost.

"Let's turn you over," Mingi said worriedly, ready to turn Yunho onto his stomach again. Yunho frantically shook his head.

"No, no. I need—" Yunho looked down where his sensitive, flushed cock was releasing pre-cum as it rubbed against the fabric of Mingi's pants, leaving a damp stain on the front. Mingi's mouth watered. "D-down there. Please."

Mingi's smile widened.

"Where?" he asked. And he slid his hands from Yunho's thighs back to the stiff member that begged for attention. Yunho groaned even more. "Here, huh? You need some attention here?" Yunho nodded again.

But Mingi turned him onto his stomach anyway, enchanted by the way the hay clung to Yunho's bare, bruised back. The contrast of the reddened skin with the dry grass created an exotic, beautiful, painting of the body that Mingi was more than ready to worship. Mingi's index finger traced the skin of Yunho's back, making its way down to his lower back. The soft buttocks were also soiled with hay, and Mingi's mouth went dry. Of course, he would have liked to have taken Yunho properly, comfortably in a warm bed and on fluffy blankets, but this, this image, went beyond Mingi's own understanding of what he considered perfect.

He only realized he'd spent too much time gazing when Yunho shifted his hips impatiently. The sudden movement made him rub his own penis against the dry foliage, resulting in a choked groan. Noticing that he could stimulate himself this way, Yunho continued moving his hips in rhythmic movements. Mingi could spend hours just watching him.

But Yunho seemed impatient.

"Are you going to make love to me now?" Yunho asked genuinely. Mingi couldn't help but lean in to leave a kiss on his hair. Yunho pouted and turned his face away; Mingi kissed his lips as well.

"I will," Mingi replied, settling himself over Yunho so as not to lean on him, afraid of hurting his aching back. Yunho lifted his hips in a silent plea. The message was clear: Mingi would have to hurry. "I need to open you up first." He parted Yunho's buttocks and spat on the untouched entrance. Yunho flinched as Mingi felt stupid. Suddenly, the lack of any tool frustrated him, and he feared hurting Yunho even more. "It will hurt, but it will pass." He left another kiss against Yunho's shoulder blades. "I promise."

Yunho could only nod condescendingly as he felt the tip of Mingi's finger just graze the entrance. Yunho didn't need to say he had never been touched there, or even touched himself, because Mingi knew anyway. Caressing the hole a little more before forcing his way in with the tip of his index finger. Yunho flinched, clutching the hay around him.

"Relax," Mingi pleaded. But how could he? Yunho's haste manifested in frantic hip movements, and Mingi had to concentrate, or he would stop everything, just to appreciate him. Mingi himself trembled with anticipation, and his mouth was dry at the mere thought of being inside Yunho.

Mingi pushed his finger in a little further, entering Yunho to the first joint. Yunho gripped his grip tighter, trembling. And Mingi leaned down to kiss the nape of his neck and his bruised back, distracting him from the intrusion and the pain. Yunho whimpered, and Mingi pushed in a little further to the second joint. He widened it slowly, pulling out and pushing back in.

When Mingi inserted his second finger, he didn't encounter as much resistance as before. But until then, Yunho had shown no sensation other than discomfort.

He was about to ask when the sensation would get good when Mingi found his prostate.

And Yunho melted. Spreading himself across the hay and raising his hips even higher. Mingi repeated the scissor-like movements inside him, massaging that specific spot and watching him shudder. Yunho's moans grew louder, almost whiny. And Mingi kissed and bit his shoulder, trying to stay focused so he wouldn't come just from the sight and sounds. God, Mingi couldn't believe he was lasting so long neglecting his cock like that.

When Yunho turned his face to him again, asking for a kiss, Mingi lay down beside him, but without removing his fingers from inside.

They kissed in a confused embrace, they were a mess of intertwined limbs, tongues and lips sucking each other, and Mingi's hand between them, his fingers pounding Yunho's prostate. When Yunho seemed to lose himself in the kiss, so that now anxious moans sounded against Mingi's lips, the other withdrew his fingers, comforting him with a soft kiss on Yunho's cheek.

With his hands on Yunho's hips, Mingi moved him. They were lying on their sides, in a position that allowed them to touch each other completely. Yunho's hips were pressed against Mingi's pelvis, and Mingi lifted one of Yunho's legs at the crook of his elbow, raising it enough so that he could clearly see the newly dilated and seemingly very receptive hole.

It wouldn't be fair for only Yunho to be naked, but Mingi, trembling with anticipation, only lowered his pants enough to remove his cock. When his rigid member pressed against Yunho's buttocks, Mingi mentally praised himself for his resilience in not having come right then and there, just from the sight. Yunho open to him, his hips moving eagerly. So warm. So good.

The notion of the perversity of what they were doing silently tortured Yunho, though he could barely think. Mingi's hands on his body, the perfect fit of Mingi's body behind his, Mingi's lips nibbling at his ear made him oblivious to anything else in the world. But there was an itch on his skin, just below his heart, where the rosary still rested on his chest, that tormented him. The sordid thoughts mingled with the excitement, and Yunho shed tears upon tears, which were swallowed by Mingi's tongue without hesitation.

Yunho needed to forget completely. He needed to stop thinking. He needed Mingi inside him.

And Mingi understood. The moment Yunho thrust his hips back, Mingi understood. Brushing the head of his cock against Yunho's soft entrance, Mingi let out a strangled sound. He buried his head deep against Yunho's neck, kissed the immaculate skin, and massaged his own cock a few times, fitting himself inside him, penetrating him slowly. They groaned together, and Mingi gripped Yunho's leg tighter, entering inch by inch and causing a searing pain in Yunho. It wasn't anything like a finger, or two. The sensation was like being torn in two.

And maybe Yunho deserved it. Maybe this was his final penance.

"God!" Yunho groaned unconsciously. Mingi felt that cry directly in his cock, now buried almost completely inside Yunho. "Jesus, Mary... Oh-"

Mingi was now fully inside Yunho. He kissed his neck, his shoulder, slowly caressing his prominent ribs. All to distract him from the pain, longing for the moment when pleasure would take over his body.

Softly, Yunho seemed to be uttering a prayer. It very well could have been one. At the same time, he sought one of Mingi's hands on his body to intertwine their fingers, pulling him closer.

There was no repulsion in any of Yunho's touches, and Mingi found himself touched by the gesture more than he expected to be. Had Yunho truly renounced his God for him?

"Can I move? Does it still hurt?" Mingi was trembling as if he had run a marathon. It was perceptible how much he longed to fuck Yunho without mercy or benevolence. But above all, he wanted to show that devotion to him would bring Yunho no pain. Only exorbitant pleasure.

Yunho shook his head, and then, obedient to Mingi's previous instructions to be explicitly clear, he said:

"You can move."

And Mingi did it. Moving slowly at first, his hand firmly against Yunho's hip, holding him in place. Almost like a whisper, Yunho still murmured unintelligible phrases, which Mingi, in particular, was unable to grasp. Mingi's movements were precise, lingering, and deep, repeatedly seeking that same spot.

Yunho's tears still rolled down his perfect face, and Mingi brushed them away by kissing his stained cheeks. Yunho's lips sought Mingi's then, and their tongues met, eagerly, once more. Mingi's hand, once on Yunho's hip, moved up his stomach as the movements continued in sequence.

They were a sweaty mess on a pile of hay, a puzzle of arms and legs, lips and saliva. Intertwined. Drawn together like a magnet. Mingi fucked Yunho as if this were his purpose on earth, and perhaps it was.

Yunho believed it. And finally, he thought of nothing but Mingi. And on Mingi's body, and Mingi's hands scratching the skin of his stomach until they snaked towards his nipples. Yunho sobbed into Mingi's mouth, begging him to continue. That he should never stop.

And for Mingi, being inside Yunho was almost like a miracle. He was so good, so delicious inside, that Mingi could lose his mind. Feeling the urgency take over his senses, Mingi turned them. So that now Yunho's back was partially turned towards him, and his legs were wide open over his body. The angle was difficult, Yunho had to move his hips down to meet Mingi's, but the position also made Mingi go deeper, and Yunho threw his head back, crying out in ecstasy.

Mingi silenced him by pulling him back to his mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as pleasure increasingly took over their bodies. Mingi's hand slid down, lifting Yunho's cock between them. Fascinated by how wet he was, Mingi wanted to suck him again, to lean in and suck him. But with the impossible angle, Mingi had to focus on his priority: fucking the boy senseless, making him find paradise on earth. And judging by Yunho's eyes rolling in response to Mingi's thrusts against him, combined with Mingi's hand moving quickly and tightly up and down on his cock, that wasn't far from happening.

There was no Jesus, Mary, or Joseph who would take Yunho away from Mingi now.

Let them call him a serpent, then. And let that stable forever be their Garden of Eden, Mingi smiled, kissing a now cock-drunk Yunho. Bringing his hips against his rigid member while fucking him mercilessly, encouraging him to thrust his hips. Injecting lust into his veins, covering him with earthly sin. Also dizzy and disoriented by so many stimuli, Mingi wondered if heaven was even real. And if their act would condemn them to burn together in hell. Together. Mingi's heart did a pirouette.

He kissed Yunho's jaw, tracing the line of his collarbone. Satisfied to feel Yunho shudder when Mingi adjusted the angle of his hips and hit that sensitive spot. Yunho became a beautiful, trembling mess in Mingi's arms after that, moaning incoherent words.

It was when Mingi's lips descended to the crucifix against Yunho's lap and his teeth grazed the wood that Yunho melted. Crying, he hugged Mingi with his arms and legs, squeezing Mingi's penis inside him. Mingi came next, Yunho's name on his lips. It took them long minutes to stabilize their breathing. Intertwined like that, they seemed like one organism. Something new and unique.

Yunho laughed when Mingi blew against the skin of his neck. The tip of Mingi's nose brushed under Yunho's ear and he inhaled. Shampoo, earth. his.

"Come with me," Mingi said. But now he already knew the answer.

Yunho swallowed hard, absorbing the post-coital aura. He was still dizzy, exhausted, and hungry again. In the warmth of Mingi's arms, he felt he could do anything. Including run away with him.

His mother would probably suffer. But she still had Gunho, and the younger one was so much smarter than Yunho in so many ways. They would know how to manage.

Yunho smiled with tears in his eyes and nodded. Mingi kissed him again, and again, and again.

Their little paradise.

The difference between hay and straw was very simple, especially for those born and raised on a farm. Yunho learned this very young; Mingi never found out.

In case you also don't know, here's a brief explanation:

Hay is made from grasses, alfalfa, or clover that are cut while still green and dry. The mixture serves as feed for cattle, horses, and other herbivores. It has a high nutritional content, is soft, and smells like fresh grass. It can sting the skin of humans or animals with short coats because, although it can be moistened to feed herds and flocks, it is naturally dry.

Straw, on the other hand, serves as bedding for these animals. Made from dry stalks and crop residues, the naturally yellowish material has a harder texture. It's also perfect for covering isolated soils or dead crops. It's not suitable for good animal feed.

But like hay, it is dry. Even the mere contact with a remnant of fire is enough to devastate entire areas. It spreads quickly and with shocking intensity. Very difficult to contain, both hay and straw, when burned, are extremely dangerous. No one would want a spark of fire in their hay or straw on any farm, you can be sure of that.

Still, the mother raised her arm just enough through the barn door to reach the lantern hanging on the wall. Afraid to make noise, not wanting to wake the couple resting there intertwined. Both naked, both covered with a sufficient amount of hay...

When alive, her husband called her crazy. Before he died, he called her a murderer. The children simply called her Mom, although in her own conception, she knew she was much more than that. She would be their savior on earth, an intermediary between her children and the kingdom of heaven. But the corrupted soul and desecrated body inside that stable was no longer her son, her devoted boy, her little lamb...

Wiping a stubborn tear from her cheek, the mother knocked over the lamp. And the chemistry did its job. An insignificant spark was enough. The fire was lit, and it spread quickly. As quickly as the same fire that had been set to the family's old cornfield, so many years ago... When the poor husband had chosen the wrong day to harvest corn and make popcorn for his beloved children. The mother swallowed her tears and walked away from the wooden stable.

The mare would sleep in the open air for another night.