Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jongin’s nineteen when he meets Sehun.

It’s one of those days when time loses meaning for him, firmly shut out by the familiar trance that has him lingering in the studio after hours—just Jongin and the hardwood floor, piano music echoing in an empty room. The sudden compulsion had seized him while he’d been pulling his leg warmers up his calves after rehearsals, waving goodbye to Taemin and Yixing as they shuffled tiredly toward the door.

He doesn’t need the extra practice. Dancing comes naturally to Jongin, he’d mastered the choreography within the first week of workshops. Rather, it’d been the slow bitterness spreading through him when he saw Yixing reach out and grasp Junmyeon’s waiting hand. The sad resentment crawling beneath his skin as his brother pulled his best friend close, pressed soft kisses to Yixing’s cheek, smoothed away sweaty strands of hair from his blushing face. Even a fool wouldn’t be blind to the adoration in their eyes. Jongin would never—could never—deny the two people he loved most their happiness.

Even if his love for Yixing has gone unrequited since they were twelve.

So he channels his frustrations into a flurry of pirouettes instead, emotion flowing out the ends of his fingertips and into his arabesques as he jetés across the room. He dances until he’s one with the music, until he’s an eighth note, variation, allegro. He dances until he’s collapsed on the floor, perspiration raining down his face so he can’t differentiate between the sweat and tears anymore. An hour passes, maybe three as Jongin lays sprawled in the empty dance studio, staring blankly at his reflection in the wall of mirrors.

It’s only when a stray beam of sunlight glints off the shiny surface and hits him in the eyes, that he bolts upright and whips his head toward the clock above the door. Everything’s a blur after that, just flashes of an empty locker room, a dimly lit staircase, the rear doors of the building bursting open.

Jongin’s heart thunders in his throat as he runs, feet furiously slapping the sidewalk. His bag slams against his back as he darts past shop owners locking up store fronts, curtains being drawn over apartment windows, leg muscles burning as he sprints through a deserted intersection and into a narrow alley. His lungs scream in protest, but he wills himself to keep pushing forward. The pain he could deal with later. More pressing concerns were at hand. He glances over his shoulder.

The sun clings to the edge of the horizon—a waning ball of fire flanked by shades of indigo and lavender. Twilight’s rays scatter across the vast wasteland, stretching toward the city and licking at the tall concrete walls lining its perimeter. The light spilling over the top and into the streets below illuminates the long shadows spreading through the jungle of glass and metal and Jongin’s stomach fills with cold dread when he hears the distant toll of a bell ringing from the city centre.

“Damn it,” he pants.

He doesn’t notice the stray pipe protruding out of the uneven ground until he’s already falling, hands outstretched as he skids over rough asphalt. Warm blood trickles from a gash at his knee and for a moment, Jongin lies still, too dazed and exhausted to move. When he finds the strength to lift his head, he sees the outline of his apartment complex rising high above him, taunting him from a near distance. The piercing sound of a siren echoes close by. Too close, probably not even two streets away. He won’t make it.

The Watchmen would catch him and punish him severely for roaming the streets past sundown. Jongin has heard stories about the windowless chambers deep within the monolithic government building—about the muffled pleas spilling past heavy metal doors, about the haunted faces of lawbreakers who were caught and returned several days later, eyes bloodshot and refusing to speak. 

The siren wails frighteningly close. Jongin squeezes his eyes shut, resigning himself to his fate.

He yelps when urgent hands wrap around his wrists, yanking him to his feet. Struggling to see in the growing darkness, he’s just able to make out a hooded figure violently pulling him forward. It jabs a finger at a set of rusted stairs near the other end of the alley. Jongin hesitates, eyeing the dilapidated structure with trepidation and the figure tugs again, harder this time, hands cold against Jongin’s feverish skin.

The low roar of an engine sounds behind him and Jongin whips around, eyes widening when he sees the bright, unmistakable glow of approaching headlights. Time was up, he’d have to make a decision. Fast.

Nodding quickly, he lets the figure help him limp towards the stairs, legs shaking as they lumber up the steps. Halfway up, his knee spasms with pain as he stretches to take a step and Jongin falters, clutching the railing. A few feet ahead of him, the hooded figure slows to a stop in front of a heavy door tucked into the third floor of the crumbling building. It raises a hand, palm facing outwards and Jongin shields his face, watching in disbelief as a vicious gust of wind whips around them and the door creaks open.

What the-?

He hears the thud of a car door closing, then voices sounding below him. With a final burst of energy, Jongin stumbles up the last few steps and hurtles through the gaping doorway, sagging against the wall of the corridor it leads to as the door clicks shut behind him. His pulse beats like a wild drum, adrenaline coursing through his veins in thick waves.

He’d escaped. For the time being.

A beam of light hits him in the face and Jongin’s hands shoot up to shield his eyes. He squints at the source through the gaps between his fingers and sees the hooded figure standing opposite him, flashlight in hand. Jongin staggers to his feet, parting his dry lips to thank his rescuer when the stranger abruptly steps forward. The grateful words die in Jongin’s throat as he watches a ghostly hand reach up and yank back the hood.

Curiosity turns to shock and then slow horror as Jongin registers the jet black hair and pale translucent skin. It’s a boy, maybe around the same age as Jongin, his face youthful and smooth. He’s tall, and thin to the extreme, lanky figure obvious even beneath the baggy, nondescript clothing. The severe angle of his arched brows gives off a decidedly unamused air, at odds with his blank expression.

It’s the eyes that give him away. The cool grey irises, glowing bright with an unknown source despite the darkness of the corridor. Jongin had seen such eyes only once before, but he understands what they represent immediately.

“Nightwalker,” he whispers.

---

Jongin’s nine when he sees his first Nightwalker.

It’s an unusually cold night in mid-October, wind howling menacingly outside the window of the room he shares with Junmyeon. Their mother gently kisses their foreheads as she tucks them in, bidding them sweet dreams.

Jongin tosses and turns in his bed long after she has left, chasing sleep that refuses to come. He tries to mimic Junmyeon’s deep and even breaths, squeezing his teddy bear in frustration as he stares out the window. The city lights are twinkling like fireflies in the dark when a dark shadow darts past on the fire escape.

Jongin bolts upright, throwing his sheets back in alarm. He glances frantically at Junmyeon’s bed.

“Hyung?”

His brother doesn’t reply, mumbling softly as he rolls over and tugs the blanket closer to his body. Jongin hesitates, pulse hammering rapidly as he turns to look outside again.

Utter stillness. The only discernable sounds are the voices from the television playing quietly in the living room, drifting in through the crack beneath their door.

Balling his fists, Jongin slides out of bed and quietly tiptoes to the window. He holds his breath as he unlocks the hatch and shoves it open, shivering when a blast of cold wind whips his cheeks. Bracing his weight against the window frame, he gingerly pokes his head out and squints into the darkness.

A gust of wind howls past on the empty fire escape.

The sigh of relief has barely left his lips when he hears a soft clang beside him. He whips his head to the left, eyes widening and hairs standing on end.

A man sits crouched outside his neighbour’s window. Jongin knows the pretty nuna who lives there, has met her a few times in the elevator on his way to school. She always indulged him with a sweet smile, the clean smell of shampoo wafting from the ends of her long hair as she affectionately patted his head. Was this man her friend?

Jongin gulps through the lump in his throat, watching with bated breath as the man lifts a hand to tap his knuckles against the glass. The shadows concealing his face shift in the light spilling out from the window as he moves and Jongin can’t stop a shocked gasp from escaping his lips when he sees the pale grey eyes, shining impossibly bright in the dark. The man’s head jerks up at the sound and his eyes lock on Jongin’s scared face.

He smiles.

Pressing a finger to his lips, he slowly moves his head from side to side, eyes twinkling mischievously. Jongin blinks rapidly, frozen in place. Just then, the window slides open and a slim arm reaches out, fingers wrapping around the man’s wrist to coax him in. Directing a final wink at Jongin, the man hops off the fire escape and through the window, pulling it quietly shut behind him. 

Adrenaline courses through Jongin’s veins and a long minute passes before he is able to regain control of his body. Hastily closing his own window, he stumbles back to his bed, fumbling blindly in the dark. Shivering as he pulls the sheets over his head, he burrows his face in his pillow and when he finally drifts off to sleep, his dreams are filled with visions of pale silver clouds.

Sunlight streams in through his window and dances brilliantly across his pillow when his eyes blink awake the next morning. He groggily splashes cold water against his face, washing the sleep from his eyes, and races to the kitchen where his parents and Junmyeon are sat around the breakfast table. A fresh plate of pancakes waits enticingly at his empty seat, the decadent smell of buttermilk wafting from the small stack. By the time he’s scarfed down two hefty servings, he’s almost convinced that the events from the night before had all just been a strange dream.

Until suspicious eyes flick toward Jongin and Junmyeon as they step out of their apartment to go to school. A burly man stands in the corridor, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the dark grey uniform and stiff black cap of the city’s Watchmen. Behind him, bright yellow tape slashes through the doorway of their neighbour’s apartment.

“Run along lads,” the Watchman grunts. His stern gaze stays fixed to them the entirety of the time it takes for the elevator to arrive and for them to hop on. His beady black eyes linger in Jongin’s mind long after the doors have slid shut.

The rumours begin the next day, passed behind cupped hands in scandalised whispers. The hushed voices sound sharp, jarring when they creep into Jongin’s ears as he walks past.

They caught a Nightwalker. With a human.

Jongin knows about the Nightwalkers, has been warned against them for as long as he can remember. Creatures of the night, mysterious beings who remained hidden during the day, crawling out only under the cover of nightfall. Rejects of the sun, Jongin was told, that kept the city alive when the humans went to sleep. When the sun’s rays couldn’t harm them.

Jongin’s not sure when they first appeared, but as long as he’s lived, the Nightwalkers have existed. He learns about them in school, reads about the Nightwalkers’ luminescent grey eyes—to enhance their night vision according to his textbook. The slim frames and light skin, almost translucent in their pallor—the result of having never been touched by daylight.

It hurts them, his teacher explains.

And most importantly, he knows about their strange powers, their mysterious manipulation of objects and elements. Some could call deadly balls of red-hot fire to their palms, flames flowing from their fingertips. Others could summon great bolts of lightning to strike the earth, shattering all that stood in their path. Certain Nightwalkers possessed uncanny foresight which allowed them to make accurate predictions about the future or identify when their enemies were lying. One Nightwalker was known to be able to move solid objects with just the power of his mind. Powers manifested differently by individual, but each of them were gifted (or cursed, as his father says) in some way or other.

It’s the reason why humans and Nightwalkers are forbidden from intermingling. In the aftermath of the Great War, the city leaders had chosen segregation as the only means of co-existence. The Watchmen had been established and surveillance towers had been erected all around the city’s perimeter. Humans weren’t allowed on the streets after dark, when the Nightwalkers rose. Exceptions could be made for special occasions if applications submitted ahead of time were approved by City Hall, but even then an escort taxi had to be used and Watchmen would be sent to monitor the civilians.

For protection, his parents assure him.

But Jongin feels only fear when he stares at the shiny silver whistles hanging around the Watchmen’s necks, when he spots their solemn grey uniforms and heavy gun belts.

He doesn’t see their neighbour again.

---

Jongin’s twenty-one when his heart stops hurting every time he looks at Yixing.

“We’re… we’ve decided to take the next step in our relationship,” Junmyeon announces, eyeing him anxiously across the dinner table. The remnants of their fried chicken dinner lay strewn across the table surface, bones piled high in the empty takeaway box and cola cans neatly stacked at one end. Junmyeon’s fingers are intertwined with Yixing’s, his cheeks tinged pink by wine and nerves. Jongin should have known something was up when his health-nut brother was the first to suggest tonight’s dinner menu.

Subtlety isn’t a strong trait of the Kims.

Yixing squeezes Junmyeon’s hand, cheek dimpling affectionately. There is no nervousness, no doubt in his face as rolls his eyes and turns to Jongin. The warmth in his smile is staggering. It’s his special smile, the one he reserves only for Jongin. Sweet Yixing.

“We’re moving in together,” he explains softly.

Jongin’s hands lower from where they'd paused mid-air while taking a sip of cola. He nods thoughtfully as he swallows, hands dampening with condensation as he squeezes the can. He concentrates on stamping down the shock resonating through his body.  

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?” Junmyeon’s forehead is creased with concern, eyes bright as they worriedly scan Jongin’s face. Jongin shrugs.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” The tension dissipates from his shoulders as the initial shock wears off. He leans back, looping an arm around the back of his chair. “Congratulations, it’s about time. I’m happy for you.” He’s mildly surprised to find he really means it.  

Junmyeon slumps in his chair, relief spreading over his features. He chuckles, rubbing his palm against his face with one hand and reaching for his half-empty wine glass with the other.

“It took a while for us to find a place. We wanted to be sure before we told you. It’s small but…” he pauses, exchanging fond smiles with Yixing. “It’s ours. It’s home.”

“It’s not far from here. You can visit us anytime. Every day, if you want.” Yixing’s arms stretch open to pull Jongin into a tight hug.

Junmyeon nods.

“I’ve already told mom and dad. They’ll speak to the landowner and have the apartment moved to your name.”

Jongin stiffens in Yixing’s embrace as it finally hits him. He and Junmyeon have lived together ever since they’d left home to attend high school on the other side of the city. Junmyeon had left first and Jongin had followed a year later when he passed his audition for Seoul Arts. Their modest two-room flat had been home ever since, even after Junmyeon got accepted into law school and Jongin got scouted by his dance company. He’d always come home to either Junmyeon, surrounded by textbooks and empty coffee mugs, or Yixing napping on their couch. He’s never had to eat dinner alone, always had someone to nurse him back to health when he fell ill.

For the first time ever, Jongin would be truly alone.

Yixing must sense his distress because he’s instantly rubbing soothing circles into his back, nuzzling his hair softly as he presses a soft kiss to Jongin’s temple. His voice is barely a whisper when he leans in and murmurs in Jongin’s ear.

“Nothing will change.”

And Jongin nods, sagging against him as sad acceptance sweeps through him. He knew this day would come eventually. Junmyeon and Yixing would always be part of his life, but he would have to learn to live without them. He squeezes Yixing’s arm reassuringly and reaches out to pull Junmyeon into an affectionate headlock once they finally break apart.

Later that night, he stares up from Sehun’s living room floor at the cracked ceiling, lost in thought as Sehun sits next to him, attaching another piece to the scale model on the coffee table. It’s just before midnight, the night sky an inky canvas outside the window, dotted with neon signs and glowing headlights. Jongin had sneaked out after dinner, face hidden under a mask and cap as he darted down dark streets into the narrow alley behind Sehun’s flat. He’d climbed up the familiar steps to the fire exit on the third floor, deftly popping the latch above the door and slipping in to Sehun’s front door beside it.

Sehun’s grumpy frown had melted into a grin when he saw the plastic bag dangling in front of him, the faint smell of fried rice and chicken wafting from its contents. The Nightwalker had ushered him in, quickly shutting the door behind them as he made a beeline for the kitchen and Jongin made a beeline for Sehun’s worn leather couch.

“What’s it like, living alone?” Jongin asks now, watching absently as Sehun uses thin tweezers to carefully place a tiny bench on the rooftop of a miniature building model. The Nightwalker frowns in concentration as he nudges it to the left and firmly presses down. He pulls away with a satisfied smirk, reaching for the bowl beside him to shove a spoonful of rice in his mouth.

“Quiet.”

“Gee, thanks for the enlightenment.”

Jongin sighs, turning onto his stomach to squish his face into the couch with a groan. He huffs when he feels a weight settle on his back and turns to see Sehun sitting on him, grey eyes narrowed as he squints disapprovingly at Jongin. Jongin pouts and resumes burying his face in Sehun’s couch.

“You’ve been moping all evening. What the hell is up?”

“Nothing. I’m a dancer, I’m moody by nature.”

“Jongin.”

There’s a long pause, silence filling the gap in their conversation. Jongin marvels at how even Sehun’s silence could sound admonishing. He slumps deeper into the sofa.  

“Junmyeon’s moving out. Or in, I guess. With Yixing.” The words come out muffled.

He gives a tiny jerk when he feels a cool hand kneading the back of his neck. Jongin sighs happily, relaxing into the touch and wincing when he feels a knot loosen in the tense muscles. Sehun lets out a small cough before he speaks.

“Are you okay?”

It’s the same question Junmyeon had asked him, but the implications couldn’t be more different. He knows it goes beyond asking about his new living situation. Sehun knows everything, knows about his brother and Yixing, knows about Jongin’s one-sided affections. There’s genuine concern in his voice, despite the gruff tone.

The hand kneading his neck pauses its ministrations as Jongin flips over to regard Sehun. The Nightwalker blinks, luminescent eyes glinting in the dim light of the living room as he returns Jongin’s gaze.

Two years have passed since their fateful encounter in the alleyway—since Sehun had rescued him from capture by the Watchmen. Two years since Jongin had cried out in alarm, grasping desperately at the wall in his haste to put distance between himself and the Nightwalker and accidentally leaned on the handle of Sehun’s front door. He’d stumbled into the apartment, banging his leg against the front table and knocking over a thin structure made of intricately cut pieces of cardboard. Sitting in the pile of broken remains, he’d gaped up at the Nightwalker as it slowly approached him with wide eyes. Jongin’s arms had whipped up to shield his face as the Nightwalker descended, only to stare in confusion when it dropped to its knees and desolately poked the shattered pieces.

“My modular design…” it whimpered, heartbreak in its voice. Jongin had gawked, eyes flicking from the crushed design to the Nightwalker and back, guilt and hysteria rising in his chest. He’d slowly risen to a crouch, wincing at the same time as the Nightwalker when several pieces crinkled at his movements.

“I-I’m sorry…” he’d murmured, picking up a few destroyed fragments and cradling them in his palm. The Nightwalker hadn’t replied, leaning forward to wordlessly dust the remains of the model into its own palm. They’d silently worked side by side, scooping up the mess in their hands and dumping the larger parts in a shoe box the Nightwalker produced midway through their task. When they’d sat back, dusting off their hands, the Nightwalker had silently stood and disappeared into one of the rooms. It’d come back cradling a first aid kit, pointing at the worn sofa in the living room.

Jongin had cleared his throat nervously, observing the Nightwalker as it cleaned and dressed the gash on Jongin’s knee. Despite the torrent of panicked thoughts whipping through his brain, he’d managed to reach out and grasp the Nightwalker’s sleeve as it turned away to clear away the first aid kit.

“Thank you.” Jongin had whispered, hesitating before lifting his eyes to gaze up at the Nightwalker’s face. “I’m… I’m Jongin.”

The Nightwalker had blinked owlishly, tilting its head to stare with mild curiosity at Jongin. Jongin had fought the knee-jerk instinct to avert his eyes from the Nightwalker’s disconcerting gaze, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

“Sehun.”

Sehun had stood without further elaboration, disappearing into the room and returning empty-handed a few minutes later. Walking over to the curtained windows, he’d pushed back the fabric to peek out at the street below, lips twisting in a grimace.

“They’re out already. Too many people, you’ll get caught.”

Jongin had groaned, slouching as the last of his earlier adrenaline evaporated from his body. Confident that he was no longer in imminent danger, he’d slowly approached Sehun next to the window to sneak a look outside. The streetlights had been turned on, illuminating the previously abandoned roads as Nightwalkers moved about, stepping out to claim the nighttime city.

“What now?”

And Sehun had shrugged with staggering nonchalance, stepping back to settle on to the couch with his box of broken model fragments. He’d slowly picked through the contents, examining the pieces while steadfastly ignoring Jongin’s incredulous expression.

“Floor’s yours.”

They’d sat side by side that way until sunrise, Sehun engrossed in salvaging his design and Jongin intermittently asking Sehun cautious questions that mostly went ignored. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he’d known was Sehun shaking him awake, blanket tossed over his shoulders and dawn’s rays slipping in through the window. Sehun had stood watch from the stairs outside the fire exit, skin covered by a heavy cloak, as Jongin gingerly stepped out into the deserted street, glancing over his shoulder to see Sehun stoically observing him with his arms crossed.

Junmyeon had thrown a fit, wildly clutching Jongin’s shoulders as soon as he walked through the front door and demanding to know where he’d been all night, was he hurt, why hadn’t he answered his phone?! Once he’d confirmed Jongin was unscathed, he’d calmed down enough to make a quick phone call to Yixing, buying Jongin’s poor excuse about falling asleep after practice and spending the night at the studio. He’d clutched his younger brother to his chest, begging him never to pull such a stunt again and Jongin had choked out a promise around the thumping in his throat.

He doesn’t know what compelled him to return three days later—still doesn’t know, two years later—but he’d found himself ducking into the streets after nightfall, hood over his head, to knock timidly on Sehun’s front door. The door had creaked open to reveal wary eyes that transformed into a confused frown at the Tupperware full of warm food Jongin shyly held out.

“I made too much. Do you like lasagna?”

And that had been that. In the days, then weeks and eventually months that followed, Jongin would slip out of his room after bidding Junmyeon goodnight, often with a backpack full of leftovers or side dishes. Turns out they lived fairly close, just over a ten-minute walk from Jongin’s apartment complex to the alley housing Sehun’s flat. Still, Jongin’s pulse would always thrum in overdrive, senses on high alert as he darted down dark streets to Sehun’s front door. He knew how risky their correspondence was, never forgot what repercussions were at stake if they got caught.

Sehun, he learns, is the same age as him. An only child, orphaned at fifteen, when his parents had died in an accident. He’d been living alone in the apartment they’d left him ever since. As an elemental Nightwalker, he could control and influence the power of the winds. Jongin had been amused to learn he was enrolled at the same university as Junmyeon, studying engineering in the night program.

“I like structures, I’m interested in the environment. I can use my abilities to test wind-powered generators,” he states simply, matter-of-factly. Most things he said were this way—logical, powered by reason and hard facts. Jongin never ceased to marvel at Sehun’s maturity, at how much more grown up the Nightwalker seemed to be despite their shared age.

In some ways it’s an irony, a miracle that they’re friends. Jongin is fire, sunlight and raw emotions where Sehun is ice, solid and serene. Jongin burns with inner heat, shedding his clothes any chance he can get to expose his bronze skin to the breeze and sun. Sehun is always cold, bundled up even in mid-summer, alabaster skin hyper-sensitive to the elements. When they argue (which they do, often) Jongin fights with fists and angry tears while Sehun fights with cold glares and sharp words.

They couldn’t be more opposite, yet they’d met again and again and again, until finally they’d melded into the routines of one another. The only thing that hadn’t changed, despite the close friendship they’d built, is Sehun’s refusal to use his powers in front of Jongin. After that first day, when Sehun had saved him from the Watchmen, he’d seen Sehun lose control just once: one night, less than a year into their friendship, when Jongin had pushed him too far with questions about his family.

The living room windows had shattered in an explosion of noise and glass, blinds flapping ferociously as wind swirled around the room like a mini tornado. Jongin had stared at Sehun’s dark face, too terrified to move until the Nightwalker had emitted a long sigh, shoulders slumping as he softly mumbled sorry. They’d swept up the debris in silence, wordlessly calling a truce over the pot of ramyun Jongin cooked for them to share afterwards.  

“Jongin?”

Present Jongin snaps to attention at Sehun’s voice, the latter still seated atop him on the cramped sofa. He eyes the thick strands of dark hair falling into Sehun’s pale eyes, the thin lips pulled into a grimace.

“I said, will you be okay?”

Jongin closes his eyes, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his own chest as he inhales and exhales. Outside, the loud honk of a car pierces through the low hum of city noises. Above him, he hears Sehun let out an impatient sigh. He nods slowly.

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay to be okay, you know.”

Jongin opens his eyes, lifting his lips in a small smile as he looks up at Sehun.

“Okay.”

--- 

Jongin’s twenty-two when he kisses Sehun and Sehun kisses back.

It’s the day of his ballet company’s annual gala and Jongin’s dancing lead as Albrecht in Giselle. It marks his first debut as a premier danseur, the lead role having always been assigned to more senior dancers during the three years Jongin's been with the company.

His mind is filled with white noise, heart hammering wildly as he runs through his pre-show warm-up stretches. Jinri’s just finished drowning his face in setting spray, packing up her makeup kit and patting his shoulder encouragingly before stepping out of his dressing room. He’s never had a whole room to himself and the empty space feels suffocating, too big as he sits at the centre, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings. A knock sounds at his door and he startles, berating his jumpy nerves as he glides to the door and pulls it open.

A hooded figure shoves its way in past him, whipping around to lock the door in a flurry of lightning-fast movement. Jongin’s cry of protest dies in his throat when the figure tugs off its hood and Sehun’s grinning face is revealed, pale face glowing in the incandescent overhead lights.  

“Wha-?!”

“Congratulations,” Sehun cuts off. He shoves a small bouquet of sunflowers into Jongin’s hands, a modest bundle tied with a blue ribbon. Jongin gawks at his friend’s pleased smile, eyes instinctively flicking around the empty room. It’s empty of course, but Jongin’s nerve ends are frayed enough as it is.

“How did you-? It’s the middle of the day, are you crazy? Did it… hurt you?”

“Did what hurt me?”

“The sun!”

Sehun clicks his tongue, gently slapping away Jongin’s fretting hands. He gestures to his over-sized sweatshirt.

“Direct sunlight burns, Jongin. Indirect exposure only weakens. Didn’t you pay attention in school?”

He chuckles at Jongin’s scandalised expression, letting out a low whistle as he slowly takes in the dancer’s elaborate stage outfit and the gold powder dusting his cheekbones. His eyes crinkle into thin crescents as he smiles proudly at Jongin and Jongin’s head whirs, caught off-guard by his friend’s unusually open display of emotion.

“I know it’s bad luck to gift flowers before a show, but you don’t need luck, and I wasn’t sure I’d get a chance afterwards with all the people…”

He trails off when Jongin flings his arms around him in a tight hug, voice thick with emotion as he croaks out a hoarse thank you. Sehun’s skin is cool beneath his fingers, but Jongin feels nothing but pure warmth as his friend slowly lifts a hand to pat his back. It’s amazing how all the crushing loneliness from before had instantly vanished in Sehun’s presence.

The warmth remains long after Sehun’s slipped out, promising to watch from a safe distance. It lingers in Jongin’s chest when he takes a final steadying breath before jumping out on stage, when he lovingly leads Seulgi as Giselle through a pas de deux, when the vengeful Wilis surround his fallen figure in the final act. The applause at curtain call is deafening, cheers and whistles thundering in his eardrums as the crowd gives him a standing ovation. Next to him, Yixing squeezes his hand, jerking his jaw toward the front row where Junmyeon is all but cartwheeling as he enthusiastically shouts praise at both of them. A sea of faces beams down at Jongin but he finds himself craning his neck, eyes searching for one person only.

He doesn’t spot Sehun amongst the crowd, nor does Sehun return to greet him after the show. In all fairness, it would have been too risky, what with the steady stream of family and friends coming to congratulate him and insisting on taking an unreasonable amount of photos. Jongin’s half wild with impatience by the time the cast and crew has regrouped on stage for the director’s closing speech, barely listening to the words and cheering half-heartedly as they’re dismissed.

It’s just before 5 p.m. when he steps out the theatre doors, but the sky is already dark with a light drizzle. A line of escort taxis lay waiting on the street, two Watchmen standing near the front of the procession. Jongin’s company had booked out a restaurant for their celebratory dinner and City Hall had sent security to guide them to their destination.

“Wanna ride together?” Taemin asks next to him. Jongin presses a hand to the side of his neck and rotates his head, groaning loudly. He lets out an exaggerated yawn.

“Actually, I’m exhausted. I think I’ll turn in early. Don’t want to risk it before monthly evaluations.”

“Oh, right. Will you be okay going home alone?”

Jongin sneaks a furtive glance at the Watchmen.

“Yes, it’s a short walk. I’ll call Junmyeon.”

Taemin nods, giving him a final pat on the shoulder before hurrying in line for the escort taxis. When the Watchmen are momentarily distracted by the company members filing into the cars, Jongin seizes his chance and ducks into a side street, jacket raised high above his head to block the rain. He almost slips twice on the wet pavement as he sprints in the direction of Sehun’s apartment, but soon the familiar alleyway comes into view.

He’s still catching his breath when the front door swings open to reveal Sehun’s surprised face.

“Jongin? Why aren’t you- god, you’re soaking wet, come in.”

Sehun pulls him into the warm apartment, dumping him on the living room couch as he himself rushes into the bedroom. Jongin waits shivering, until Sehun returns with a large towel and dry clothing. He crouches in front of him, draping the towel over his head and softly petting Jongin’s drenched brown hair dry. He moves meticulously, thoroughly working through one section before moving on to the next, snapping the towel and flipping it over intermittently.

“I thought you had some fancy dinner thing with your company people.”

Jongin sneezes, swiping an arm across his nose as Sehun softly chides him. He grins up at Sehun’s disapproving face, shaking his wet hair out of his face. Sehun slaps his arm as water droplets fly around them.

“Wanted to see you.”

Sehun rolls his eyes, vigorously ruffling Jongin’s hair with the towel. The Nightwalker leans back to smirk down at his friend, lips curling at the ends. His grey eyes sparkle playfully.

“Don’t you have any friends? You like me too much.”

But Jongin’s eyes are anything but playful as they bore into Sehun’s face, a sudden swell of emotions crashing like a sea of angry waves within him as he looks at the tiny mole on Sehun’s long neck, at his thin pink lips, at the long lashes framing his pale eyes and wonders why he’d never noticed how pretty Sehun is.

Why his chest had never burned this way when he looked at Seulgi, even though he’d perfectly immersed himself as Albrecht, infatuated with Giselle. Why his heart never squeezed with such longing, only fierce possessiveness when he looked at Yixing, why suddenly the room felt too hot and Jongin couldn’t breathe.

He leans forward, dazed, time moving in slow motion as he presses his lips to Sehun’s, swallowing his surprised gasp. It’s the briefest of kisses, the most fleeting touch of the lips before he’s pulling back and staring into Sehun’s wide eyes. The Nightwalker's eyes glow unreadably.

“I like you so much,” Jongin whispers hoarsely.

And Sehun’s eyes are pale fire as he presses his hand to Jongin’s neck and pulls him close, teeth biting down on his lip, tongue wrapping around his moan. They’re opposite forces, clashing wildly as urgent fingers grab at wet clothes and slick skin, hands fisting in damp hair, limbs tangling over each other. Jongin sinks into a feverish haze as Sehun trails soft kisses down his stomach, thumbs over his hip bone, takes him gently in his hand.

When Sehun finally presses in, Jongin desperately clutches his back, clings to him so he doesn’t fall apart, squeezes tighter so they both fall apart. Sehun’s pants echo raggedly in his ear as they move against each other and Jongin drowns in the push of Sehun, the pull of Jongin, blood rushing in his ears as Sehun moans out a broken Jongin and finally comes undone.

Afterwards, they lie curled on the sofa, Jongin’s back pressed up against Sehun’s chest, staring out the window. Sehun glides a single finger down Jongin’s arm, lets it slide down to his hand and gently interlocks their fingers. He presses a sweet kiss to Jongin’s temple as he murmurs in his ear.

“You were magical today. On stage. When you dance, it’s like… it’s like watching sunlight.” There is reverence and yearning and wonder in Sehun’s quiet voice. “Like I’ll burn, or you’ll disappear if I touch you.”

Jongin squeezes their entwined hands, twisting around to press a soft kiss against Sehun’s collar bone.

“I won’t let you burn,” he promises.

Sehun’s eyes are twin moons as they bore into Jongin.

“I love you,” he states simply, matter-of-factly. It’s all he can say, it’s all he can promise.

Outside, the city lights twinkle like stars against the night skyline.

---

Jongin’s twenty-three when Junmyeon finds out about them.

This time, Sehun’s visiting Jongin at his apartment and they’re just settling in to takeaway Chinese and a Godfather rerun when the doorbell rings.

“Were…were you expecting somebody?” Sehun whispers, pale face blanching even paler as he turns to face Jongin. Jongin shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line as he slowly rises from the couch and pads over to the front door. Pressing a finger to his lips, he cautiously looks through the peephole, wrenching away with a gasp when he recognises the faces on the other side.

“Junmyeon,” he hisses. “And Yixing.”

Sehun’s already moving, tipping the contents of his glass into the sink and clearing away the eating utensils on the coffee table so there’s only one set left. With a quick nod, he grabs his coat from where it’s been tossed over a dining room chair and slips into Jongin’s room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Jongin takes a deep breath before plastering a smile on his face and opening the front door.

“Little brother!”

Junmyeon wraps him in a warm embrace as he steps through the threshold. They haven’t seen each other properly in months, not since Junmyeon had made junior partner at his law firm. He’d been immersed in projects ever since, often working overtime or pulling all-nighters to assist his senior associates. Junmyeon tousles Jongin’s hair affectionately before making his way into the apartment with easy familiarity. Yixing trails in behind him, pecking Jongin’s cheek and pressing a wrapped bundle into his hands.

“We made malatang.”

Jongin squeezes out a weak thanks, chuckling nervously as he moves into the living room with Yixing in tow. Junmyeon stands paused in front of the couch, staring down at the heavily-laden coffee table. His brows are raised in surprise.

“Oh, you already prepared dinner. We should have called…” he trails off thoughtfully. “Three dishes? Wow, are they starving you at the theatre?”

“Ah, I skipped lunch. Figured I’d pack the leftovers,” Jongin replies, fighting down the hysteria clawing its way up his throat. Yixing cocks his head, confused, and Jongin breaks into a cold sweat as he remembers they’d sat together for lunch earlier. Shit.

“Did you guys eat already? We can share the takeout. Mmm, I've been craving malatang.”

He hastily moves toward the kitchen, making a show of sliding the drawers open in search of spare chopsticks. Junmyeon shrugs and settles in front of the coffee table, humming appreciatively when he sees what’s on the tv. Yixing’s hands grab hold of Jongin’s, stopping them where they’re swiping absently at an open drawer. He shoots him a concerned look as he pulls the silverware box from a different shelf.

“Are you okay? You look a bit ill,” Yixing whispers.

“I’m fine, just a bit drained.” Jongin grits through his teeth. “I…stayed back again after rehearsals.”

Instant understanding flashes in Yixing’s eyes and he nods, immediately accepting Jongin’s feeble excuse. Guilt burns hot in Jongin’s chest at his betrayal of Yixing’s undoubting trust. Sweet, trusting Yixing. He doesn’t deserve him.

Dinner goes mostly without a hitch, Junmyeon shouting appreciatively around a mouthful of kung pao chicken every time Marlon Brando gives someone the stink-eye on screen and Jongin almost going into cardiac arrest when Yixing rises once to use the bathroom. He’s almost breathing normally by the time they’ve polished off the last of the malatang, settling back against the couch with full stomachs.

“Will you stay over?” he asks.

Junmyeon shakes his head, sighing resignedly.

“No, I need to head back to the office by 10. We’re pulling another all-nighter to finish our current case file. They let us go home to grab amenities and eat dinner. I’ve requested for the escort taxi to pick me up here,” he says. “They’ll drop Yixing off at home on the way.”

Jongin nods, relief flooding through him. It’d been roughly three hours since Junmyeon and Yixing had arrived, and as happy as he was to catch up with his brother and best friend, he hated the thought of leaving Sehun cooped up alone in his room for a minute longer.

“You still have my spare clothes in my old drawer, right?”

“Laundered and folded, right where you left them.”

“Perfect.”

Junmyeon rises, groaning as he stretches the stiffness out of his arms. Twisting the crick out of his neck, he ambles down the hall to the door opposite Jongin’s, disappearing inside with a big yawn.

“How are you, Jongin?” The weight of Yixing’s hand on his leg is comforting as his old friend rubs gentle circles into his knee. Yixing had been offered a chance to co-direct their upcoming production as sub-ballet master, on top of his position as a first soloist. They hadn’t seen each other much outside of quick lunch breaks, what with Yixing overlooking the corps choreography and Jongin occupied with principal dancer rehearsals.

“Tired,” Jongin replies honestly. “I’ve missed you.”

Yixing smiles, squeezing his knee. Jongin’s so tightly wound that he wants to cry when he sees the unconditional affection swimming in Yixing’s eyes. “I’m always here for you, Nini.”

“Hey, do you have any spare socks you can lend me?” Junmyeon’s head pokes out from behind his bedroom door. “Forgot to restock clean ones.”

Chills erupt over Jongin's skin. He hastily stands, moving toward the hall.

“I’ll get them for you.”

“Never mind, I know where they are.”

Jongin’s vision tunnels as his brother crosses the hall to his door. He practically flies across the living room, hands desperately outstretched to block Junmyeon as he grips the door handle but he’s a beat too late and Jongin watches with despair as the door swings opens to reveal Sehun quickly rising from Jongin’s bed.

There’s a pregnant pause as Junmyeon cocks his head at Sehun, utter confusion on his face. At first, he doesn’t seem to understand the situation, frowning as he takes in Sehun’s unfamiliar figure.

“Oh… I didn’t know you had friends ove-“

He cuts off with a shocked gasp as he finally notices the silver glow of light bouncing off Sehun’s eyes. Jerking away like he's been burned, he hits the back of his head against the opposite wall, collapsing to the floor. Yixing races to his side, eyes filled with concern that transforms into fear when he sees the source of Junmyeon's distress.

“Jongin, I- there’s a- quick, run!”

Jongin slowly backs into his room, shaking off Junmyeon’s alarmed fingers and pulling to a stop in front of Sehun. He stretches his arms out in a protective stance, swallowing thickly as he stares resolutely into Yixing and Junmyeon’s stunned faces. Sehun’s hands pull nervously at the back of his shirt.

“Please, he won’t hurt you.” Jongin’s own voice sounds foreign in his ears. He wonders if he’s having an out-of-body experience. “This is Sehun…he’s special.”

Junmyeon’s mouth flutters open and shut as he gawks at them, pupils ping-ponging back and forth between Jongin and Sehun. Another moment of stunned silence passes, then Junmyeon’s expression crumples into a defeated scowl as he raises a palm to his face. His moan of comprehension comes out muffled by his hand.

“Is this… is this why you've been sneaking out all those nights since you were twenty?”

Jongin falters, eyes widening in surprise.

“Nineteen. You knew?”

Junmyeon sighs, rubbing his temples. His eyes are watery and exasperated when he rolls them at Jongin.

“You know for a ballet dancer, you walk like a baby elephant.” He lets out a weak chuckle before falling back into pensive silence. There’s fascination mixed with fear when his eyes scan over Sehun. His voice is low and solemn when he speaks. “It’s forbidden, Jongin.”

“He saved me from the Watchmen, hyung. He’s kind. He’s good. He protects me.”

Sehun nods behind him, looking beseechingly over Jongin’s shoulders at Junmyeon. His tone is soothing, earnest when he addresses the older Kim. “I would never hurt Jongin.”

Junmyeon looks away, unnerved by the Nightwalker’s glowing eyes and the raw sincerity in his words. It’s Yixing who moves first, leaning on Junmyeon’s shoulder as he rises to his feet. He slowly enters Jongin’s room, raising his hands reassuringly when Jongin tenses and pushes Sehun further behind his back. He coughs nervously, looking at Jongin.

“He is important to you?”

Jongin nods, eyes unblinking. Yixing hums, absorbing the information. He reaches out and gently takes Jongin's tense fingers into his own, stretching his neck to address Sehun directly.

“Sehun?”

The Nightwalker stares at him, eyes glimmering uneasily. His fingers flex into a nervous fist.

“You…you care for Jongin?”

“I love him very much.”

Yixing nods, lips quirking in the hint of a smile. He raises his other arm, extending a hand palm-side up toward Sehun. His cheek dimples in full force and his mouth explodes into a warm smile. He looks straight into Sehun's eyes, acceptance ringing in his voice.

“Then you are family.”

Nothing can stop the force of Jongin’s happiness as Sehun steps around him and slowly takes Yixing’s hand, completing the circle.

---

Jongin’s twenty-six when he abandons his old life and chases hope with Sehun.

It starts one day when he returns home from training to find Sehun on the couch, eyes bloodshot as the news blares on the tv screen in front of him. Started really when he was nineteen, tearing through the streets after he’d missed curfew, started when he’d returned to that alley after the first encounter with his beloved Nightwalker.

In any case, Jongin had halted in the hallway, caught off-guard by the heavy atmosphere and the unnerving expression on Sehun’s face. He’d let his gym bag slide off his shoulder to the floor, approaching the couch with trepidation.

“Hun-ah.”

The Nightwalker had snapped out of his daze, turning to look at Jongin with haunted eyes. Jongin had gone into immediate panic mode when he saw the tears glistening in them. Sehun never cried.

“Jongin,” he’d croaked. The dancer had flown across the room and onto the couch as the first tears dropped, hugging Sehun to his chest and whispering soothingly into his hair. Sehun’s entire frame had shook with the force of his sobs as broken words spilled out between his staggered breaths.

“They- the law- Gyeongju-“

Jongin had pet his head confusedly, unable to comprehend the nonsensical words until he’d caught sight of the headlines on the tv screen.

GYEONGJU FIRST CITY TO ADOPT NEW COHABITATION LAW

They’d huddled on the couch for hours, volume turned up high and eyes straining to devour every update they could get about the amendment that had been made to the Human-Nightwalker Coexistence Charter in Gyeongsang Province. The movement had been passed in the early hours of the morning and Gyeongju had been the first to implement the new law, removing the after-dark curfew on human civilians.

News footage had shown shop owners crossing out their signs and replacing them with new business hours, the first few humans brave enough to venture out for dinner unchaperoned, a pair of human-Nightwalker businessmen shaking hands around a conference room table. The last image they’d seen before Sehun had wordlessly turned off the tv was the image of a human-Nightwalker couple, exchanging smiles across an outdoor dinner table as the Nightwalker used a finger to light the candlestick between them.

“They’re protesting against it. Seoul. The central office is petitioning the Blue House to get the movement invalidated. They’re putting a lockdown on the city gates, increasing curfew patrol officers.” Sehun’s voice had been bitter as he stared unblinkingly down at the floor, Jongin’s head buzzing from the deluge of information.

“There must be a way.” Jongin’s voice had cracked with hope, desperation. When Sehun looked at him, he’d seen the same storm of mixed emotions swirling in the pale depths of his eyes.

“There…there might be a way. I know somebody, one of the gate Watchmen. He’s…sympathetic.” Sehun’s voice had shook as he rubbed his knuckles uneasily. “He was close with my cousin, Luhan. Before…” he trailed off, and the loss in his eyes had been enough to keep Jongin from pushing for further details.

“Let’s try.”

“It’s risky. We might get caught, we might never….” Sehun’s voice had been no more than a broken whisper. “You’d have to leave your entire life behind.”

And Jongin had taken Sehun’s hands in his, had rubbed them between his own to generate warmth, had held them close to his heart as he smiled at Sehun and said, “I don’t want this life if you’re not in it.”

So here they are now, in the back seat of an escort taxi provided by Junmyeon’s law firm, cruising down an empty street at 2 a.m. in central Seoul. Junmyeon sits up front, exchanging hushed words with the driver as Sehun pulls the cap down lower over his face, Jongin squeezing his hand nervously. A heavy canvas backpack rests between his legs.

The car slows to a stop in front of a weathered building. A laundromat and run-down convenience store occupy the first floor, while tattered clothes lines hang down from the residential area above. It looks like it hasn't been occupied in ages.

Junmyeon turns in his seat to look at Jongin and Sehun. The smile on his face is sad and wistful.

“We’re here. Get home safely.”

Jongin reaches out to grasp Junmyeon’s forearm. He channels all the love and gratitude he can conjure into his hands, hoping even a modicum of it is conveyed to Junmyeon.

“Thank you, hyung. Bye.”

Junmyeon’s voice is thick with emotion as he replies. “Goodbye, Nini.”

They watch as the car pulls away from the curb, following it with their eyes until the tail lights are tiny specks in the dark. A few minutes later, a new car emerges from up the street, silently pulling up next to them. The windows are tinted so dark that Jongin’s amazed the driver can see through them, but he’s duly distracted when the passenger seat window rolls down and a low voice rings from within.

“Get in.”

Sehun nods at Jongin encouragingly, reaching out to grasp the handle of the back seat. He slides in first, reaching back to extend his hand to Jongin. Jongin braces himself and climbs in, bumping his head on the ceiling when the car departs before he’s even closed the door behind him. He scrambles forward, wrenching the door shut and burrowing into Sehun’s side as the car navigates through the nightscape. He sneaks a glance at the driver, but his face is obstructed by a black Watchmen’s cap, eyes shadowed in the mirror. Jongin gulps and clings tighter to Sehun.

It feels like hours pass as they drive to the outskirts of the city, cutting through dilapidated slums and a dark forest before the perimeter gates rise up into view in front of them. Jongin cranes his neck to stare at the top of the colossal structure, feeling tiny in the presence of its immense mass. The car pushes on until it reaches a small clearing, the driver smoothly pulling into park mode.

“Put these on.”

Two bundles are tossed into the back seat and Jongin’s fingers shake as he clumsily undoes the knot on one of the bundles. Bile rises at the back of his throat when the outer layer slides off to reveal a set of Watchmen uniforms. He glances at Sehun, who has wordlessly begun to shed his own clothes. Jongin quickly follows suit, discarding his soft black sweatshirt for the heavy-duty grey material. The hems are a bit short, but the fabric makes up for it in bulk. He shoves his discarded clothing into his backpack, adjusting the black Watchmen’s cap on his head as he straightens.

“We’ll walk from here.”

They silently follow the Watchman as he marches toward a trail at the end of the clearing, flashlight lighting their way as they step into the woods and weave through plants and fallen branches. Except for the small circle of illumination provided by the flashlight, it’s pitch black in every direction Jongin peers out at. They don’t meet anyone as they move in a silent line through the eerie forest and Jongin thanks the gods for small favours.

They walk until they’re right at the base of the wall, concrete rising out of the ground like a tsunami in front of them. Jongin checks the watch on his wrist. 4:27 a.m.

“There.”

The Watchmen points the flashlight at a small opening in the concrete structure, a tiny tunnel tucked into a low alcove. It's barely discernible amidst the vines and shadows, and Jongin stares at the black hole, shivering at the sensation of being sucked into its depths.

“Maintenance entrance. Goes right through the wall, leads to a reservoir. You’ll have to walk around it but Gwangju is on the other end. We only patrol it once a month, so you shouldn’t run in to anyone. Someone—Jongdae—will pick you up on the other side and take you as far as Jecheon. You’re on your own from there.”

Sehun nods solemnly, jumping lightly in place to adjust the weight of his backpack. His eyes glimmer brilliantly in the dark, their brightness emphasised by the darkness surrounding them on all sides. 

“Thank you Minseok. Really.”

The Watchman grunts, twisting his head to give the area a brief scan. Jongin studies his face in the dim glow of the flashlight and realises with a jolt that despite the tired shadows framing his sharp eyes and the frown lines surrounding his lips, he can’t be much older than them. Jongin’s heart aches as he thinks of Junmyeon.

Minseok turns back to them and there’s faint worry in his eyes when he looks at Sehun. “It’ll take you the better part of a day to walk around the reservoir, if you don’t stop, that is. It’s…completely uncovered. Will you be alright?”

Sehun smiles faintly, eyes glowing half-moons as he looks at Minseok.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not alone.”

Minseok nods, smoothing his hands down the front of his uniform. Reaching behind him, he pulls an extra flashlight and a burner phone from his back pocket and holds them out to Jongin, who steps forward awkwardly to receive the items. They feel hot and heavy against his palms.

“Press 1 once you've reached a safe spot on the other side. I’ve set it to automatically dial Jongdae’s number. Good luck.” With a gruff cough and a curt salute, he turns on his heels and briskly walks back in the direction they’d come from. He doesn’t look back as the shadows swallow his retreating figure. 

Jongin lets out a deep breath and turns to face Sehun. He slouches under the weight of his backpack, eyebrows scrunching as his lips twist in a frown.

“Man, he’s scary.”

Sehun laughs.

“He’s seen a lot of scary things.”

They both turn to face the tunnel entrance. The sounds of the night forest swell in their ears, crickets chirping ominously as the entrance looms before them like a black void. Jongin feels chills break out over the back of his neck and reaches out to take Sehun’s hand. The thundering in his chest slows a bit at the familiar contact.

“Guess this is it,” Sehun says.

He squeezes Jongin’s hand, warm and solid in his grasp. When Jongin lifts his head to meet Sehun’s gaze, he sees night and day, fear and courage, hope and soul-crushing love all blended into the planes of Sehun’s face. He smiles, strong and sure, pulling Sehun close.

“I won’t let you burn,” Jongin promises.

Sehun’s answering smile is brighter than the sun. A slow gust of wind swirls around them, enveloping them in its warm breeze. 

“I love you,” he replies.

They step into the dark together.

-