Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He’s exactly the same, Sehun thinks.

Sehun knows that that’s how the clones — X-EXO, as they were so originally dubbed — were designed, even if it is hard to remember sometimes with the way that they like to accessorize. But still, he didn’t know that it was to this extent, that the Red Force had somehow even managed to clone EXO’s mannerisms.

He watches in something akin to awe as Suhø speaks to Chën, both huddled close together, seemingly lost in their own little world as they discuss battle strategies. It’s so achingly familiar, almost a mirror image of Sehun’s own teammates.

Suhø then ends the conversation to focus on his food. He leans forward and takes a bite of his sandwich, lips pulled back in the same way his Suho’s always do. Sehun unconsciously frowns at that, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his chest at the eerie similarity.

He quickly looks away from the clones’ leader and decides instead to survey X-EXO’s base.

It’s a labyrinth of sorts, like something straight out of one of those vintage horror movies Jongin’s so fond of watching whenever they get the rare day to themselves, what with its winding passages that lead to gloomy dead ends and suffocatingly empty voids. Scattered throughout the labyrinth are the clones’ bedrooms, with their control room smack dab in the center of the convoluted mess.

That’s where they’re all at now.

It’d taken Sehun months to learn the layout of their base, and even longer to finally get the chance to sneak in. But, by some miracle, X-EXO had abandoned their base for a few hours a week ago, giving Sehun just enough time to maneuver his way through the tricky maze and set up a hiding spot in their control room.

Sehun freezes, suddenly feeling eyes on him. He swallows down the lump in his throat and turns toward the source.

Brilliant blue eyes meet Sehun’s dark ones.

Sehun knows somewhere deep in his mind that Suhø can’t see him. It’s physically impossible. Sehun had scoured the control room for the perfect hiding spot, completely obscured by old crates and hanging rafts, nearly getting himself caught with how long he took. But he still can’t stop the fear prickling inside of himself.

They hold each other’s gazes for what feels like hours before Suhø finally looks away and resumes eating.

The prickling feeling doesn’t disappear, though, because even if Sehun’s ninety-nine percent sure that Suhø didn’t see him, there’s still that one percent that’s unaccounted for.

Chapter Text

Sehun couldn’t have been more wrong — they’re nothing alike.

Suhø’s cold, piercing, impersonal in a way that’s almost poetically befitting of his water-wielding ability. He keeps the other clones at arms-length and speaks only when he deems necessary, so unlike his Suho who can’t go a minute without touching, laughing, loving.

But, like water, Suhø’s insubstantial, unstable, weak when compared to the others. Despite this, they still listen to him, look up to him, do what he wants, even when they clearly want something different.

Sehun doubts it’s loyalty that binds them together. Are monsters even capable of such a human emotion as loyalty? He supposes it must be something else then.

Maybe it’s because of the way Suhø is — calculating like a military general, machiavellian like a president, demanding like a god — or maybe it’s something more, something dangerous.

Whatever it is, Sehun’s here to find out, here to find out what makes Suhø tick, here to find out just what button of his to push.

After all, a kingdom cannot survive after the downfall of its leader.

Chapter Text

The first time Sehun sees it, it catches him off guard.

There’d been rumors, of course. Supposedly, something went horribly wrong when the Red Force were making the clones, when they were going against nature, when they were playing god.

Machines malfunctioned, wires crossed, computer codes entered incorrectly — something that made the clones, who were intended to be perfect replicas of EXO down to the last chromosome, so twisted and distorted in a way that no one had anticipated. 

Eerily beautiful Suhø, once resembling Sehun’s own beloved fearless leader, looks downright monstrous in a way that’s so unbefitting of himself. Never has Sehun seen him look so out of control, so completely and irrationally different from his usual impassive self that Sehun’s grown accustomed to over the past three weeks.

Angry red lines cover Suhø’s face — nasty, jagged-looking gashes that glow so brightly they hurt to look directly at. His hair, which had already been so alarmingly red, looks like it’s on fire.

And then it’s gone.

Sehun blinks a couple of times, almost convinced he imagined the whole thing, but when he glances at the others, he sees fear on their faces. That, too, soon disappears.

But Sehun is certain now. The rumors are correct. Even more frightening than that: the clones, who are seemingly ten times stronger than their leader, are scared of him.

For the first time, Sehun finds himself questioning what he got himself into.

Chapter Text

Sehun doesn’t know what to do.

He’s barely four weeks into his mission and his food, which he had been storing in one of the empty rooms in the tangled labyrinth, is gone.

Sehun frantically searches all over for it, nearly getting himself caught for the umpteenth time, before eventually giving up and throwing himself onto his makeshift bed.

He’d have to abandon his mission early, he thinks bitterly. His first solo mission and he’s done a month in. His Suho was wrong to think he’d actually succeed.

Sehun sighs as he goes over the information he’s collected over the past month, trying to figure out if it’s enough.

Baëkhyun and Chën never go anywhere without each other. Sehun thinks it has something to do with their abilities. He also thinks it might have something to do with the lingering touches and glances they exchange when they think no one’s looking.

Chanyeøl is dangerous. He doesn’t seem to have his ability under control, exploding whenever he’s angry and subsequently hurting the others. He’s like a ticking time bomb. Or maybe he’s a guard dog — ready to be sicced on whoever his owner commands. Sehun can’t decide which analogy is more frightening.

Kāi is an enigma. Sehun hasn’t seen him hurt someone once, but the glint in his eyes lets Sehun know he desperately wants to. Sehun doesn’t know what’s holding him back, but he’s not sure he really wants to find out.

Sehůn is dangerous, too. Not because he’s wildly out of control, but because he’s too in control. He’s almost as calculating as Suhø. Sehun is positive that, even after the downfall of his leader, Sehůn will do everything in his power to ensure the kingdom survives.

And Suhø…

Well, Sehun hardly knows anything about him.

Chapter Text

They’re all in the control room again.

The clones are planning a raid of some sort. It doesn’t seem of any importance, nothing more than a means to obtain supplies, so Sehun decides not to report it when he abandons his mission tomorrow. He hasn’t eaten anything in two days and if he wasn’t feeling so horrible because of it, he would’ve forced himself to stay a little while longer.

It doesn’t help that Sehun constantly has to watch them eat. He’s not even certain who cooks their meals. It used to be D.Ø., but he, as well as Xiůmin and Lāy, disappeared a few months ago. Despite extensive searching, Sehun and his teammates haven’t been able to locate them.

Whoever it is, though, Sehun can’t deny their talent. The japchae the clones eat while they plan looks wonderful. Sehun can’t stop his mouth from watering.

Apparently, he also can’t stop his stomach from growling.

The clones freeze and Sehun stops breathing. Suddenly, multiple pairs of eyes dart across the room, looking for the source of the sound. One pair seems to know exactly where it came from.

Sehun scoots further back into his hiding spot, but it’s too late; the brilliant blue eyes catch his gaze. He should’ve known that being ninety-nine percent sure wasn’t enough.

Like before, they stare unwaveringly, except it’s Sehun who looks away first. He readies himself for a fight, but it never comes. Suhø calls everyone’s attention back to the raid planning and Sehun lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

———————

Sehun doesn’t know what he expects when he goes back to ‘his’ room and finds the door open.

He definitely, one-hundred percent, never in a million years expects the crate of dried meats, fruits, and vegetables, though.

Chapter Text

Sehun goes to Suhø’s room.

He hadn’t really had a destination in mind after he’d, in a fit of boredom, decided to take a walk around the base. One second he was scarfing down food like a starved man — which he was — and the next he’s in the vents above Suhø’s room.

It had to have been him who left Sehun the food. There’s no other explanation. Sehun just can’t figure out why. He also can’t figure out why he’s not more frightened that the enemy knows that he’s infiltrated their base.

Sehun glances down into the room and lets out a quiet gasp at what he sees.

It’s breathtakingly beautiful, so reminiscent of the ancient Greek tales his Suho would read to him when he was young, filled with priceless jewels and pearls; intricately forged golden tridents; and enchanting artwork. Clear, crystal blue water covers the floor, its ripples casting iridescent shapes and shadows on nearly every surface of the room.

It’s a room fit for the king that Suhø surely is, a welcomed contrast from the desolate blacks and dull reds of the rest of the base.

It’s also empty.

Sehun should probably leave. It was dangerous enough to come and with Suhø not even here, there’s no real reason he should stick around. But there’s this need. It thrums quietly under Sehun's skin, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and completely out of his control. He needs to see Suhø.

So he waits.

He eventually falls asleep, dreaming of brilliant blues and bright reds, only to be awakened by voices. He lifts his head up and pales as his eyes take in the scene below him. Sehůn has Suhø pinned against the door, towering frame nearly covering his leader whole.

Sehun freezes. He’s never seen any of the clones talk back to Suhø, much less attack him. For some unknown reason, Sehun’s mind screams at him to move, to help. But he ignores it, stays still, continues to watch like a bystander witnessing a terrible accident, unable to tear their eyes away and unwilling to intervene.

Then, Sehůn leans down and kisses the water-wielder with all of his might, hands slipping under Suhø’s red vest and pulling him close.

Sehun blinks once, twice, three times before it dawns on him what’s happening. He can’t stop the quiet, bitter laugh that escapes him.

It seems Sehun and his clone have more in common than he thought.

Both of them are helplessly in love with their leaders.

(Sehun decides not to acknowledge the confusing, painful clench of his heart and quietly makes his way back to ‘his’ room.)

Chapter Text

There’s still two weeks left of his mission. Sehun decides to abandon it, anyway.

He’s been off these past few days.

He tells himself that it’s because he’s homesick — in his defense, he’s never actually been away from his teammates, his family, for longer than three weeks — but Sehun’s not stupid. Deep, deep down he knows that it’s because of something more, something he’d rather not think about, something he can't afford to think about.

Sehun lets out a sigh as he runs a hand through his cropped, black hair. Packing doesn’t take him long, because he didn’t bring much to begin with — didn’t really need to, just needed enough to survive.

Just as he starts to mess up the room a bit to cover his tracks, the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Slowly, Sehun reaches for his gun. He’d gone so long without confrontation that he’d actually managed to convince himself he’d be able to sneak out easily.

The person shifts slightly and Sehun whips around, gun pointed at their heart.

“Leaving so soon?”

Brilliant blue eyes stare steadily at Sehun, even as he takes his gun off of safety mode.

Sehun falters, unsure of what to do next. The gun feels heavy, like it doesn’t belong in his hand, doesn’t belong pointed at Suhø. He feels just as young as he is, remembers why this is his first solo mission, why he’d never been allowed to take Suhø on when EXO and X-EXO battled.

“Not up for talking?” Suhø questions when Sehun remains silent. There’s no hint of teasing in his voice, only a curious twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes, an imploring look on his face, a slight raise of his brow, like Sehun is a puzzle he can’t put together, a riddle he can’t solve, an enigma he’s unable to understand.

Sehun swallows hard, then, against his better judgment, lowers his gun. “I’m not much of a talker,” he says eventually, voice strong and unwavering.

“Funny.” Suhø allows a small smirk to grace his face, not acknowledging the fact that the gun is no longer pointed at him, that Sehun is essentially defenseless now, that Sehun’s life is in his hands. “Neither am I.”

———————

Nothing more had come from that conversation with Suhø.

He had disappeared abruptly soon after. There one moment, gone the next, like Sehun had imagined the whole thing, had gone so many weeks without human interaction that his brain conjured up that whole elaborate ruse to keep him from going insane.

But those eyes, those brilliant blue eyes. There’s no way Sehun could’ve imagined their intensity — leaving him with a mountain of questions and a burning desire to get them answered.

Chapter Text

Suhø and water are one and the same, Sehun realizes.

It flows through him, it’s a part of him, it’s who he is. But water, with all of its ability to give, has just as much ability to take.

Suhø, once dependable leader Suhø, akin to a calming drizzle of rain, is now a tsunami, a hurricane, a typhoon — uncontainable, violent, unforgiving, all-consuming, deadly.

The clones are frantic, each trying to take cover from the waves crashing down on them, while Sehun simply watches from his hiding spot, absolutely transfixed — until Suhø finally calms down, until the bruising onslaught of the hurricane recedes into the soft caress of rain, until water becomes nurturing once more.

Sehun continues to watch as the clones cart their exhausted leader away. 

He still has questions. In fact, he’s drowning in them.

Chapter Text

Sehun’s in the vents above Suhø’s room again.

The clones had left their leader in his room, passed out from the sheer exhaustion of losing control, before eventually going back to the control room to clean up and resume their meeting.

There had been some hesitancy, though — every single one of them lingering by the door, seemingly unwilling to leave their leader alone for even a second.

Suhø was like the sun to them, in an odd sort of way. They were tethered to him, gravitating toward him from all directions like planetary orbit, unable and unwilling to veer off path.

Baëkhyun, as the second oldest, took it upon himself to take charge, to lead, to order them back to the control room. But for all of his brightness, all of his light, all of his glow, Baëkhyun still dulled in comparison to the blazing presence that was Suhø, that was their sun.

No one moved an inch at Baëkhyun’s words, until he eventually gave up on words altogether, instead pushing them out of the room in annoyance.

But Sehun had seen it, had seen the falter in his step, had seen the worried look on his face as he gave Suhø’s motionless form one last glance before shutting the door softly behind him.

It seemed even Baëkhyun, even the all-powerful light-wielder, couldn’t deny gravity.

Movement startles Sehun’s attention away from where he’d been picking at a loose thread on his black nylon shirt. He peers down into the room, gaze instantly latching onto the slight twitch of Suhø’s right hand. He waits, holding his breath, for something to happen. 

Nothing does. The twitching stops and it’s quiet for a few seconds.

Then suddenly, Suhø doubles over, retching and throwing up onto the floor next to his bed, nothing but water coming out. Sehun begins to panic when Suhø slumps back onto his bed, clutching onto his chest as he struggles to take in a breath.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Sehun slides out of the vent and rushes to Suhø’s side.

He hesitates when his mind finally catches up to his body. He purposely exposed himself to the enemy, he’s attempting to help the enemy, he’s about to go against his Suho’s words.

Don’t let them know, Sehun.

He could end it, once and for all, Sehun belatedly realizes. It would finally be over. X-EXO, in their own twisted little way, were a family, bound by blood, loyalty, gravity, whatever you want to call it. Although doubtful at first, Sehun had come to see that in the weeks he'd been there. And with Suhø would go the kingdom, even if only little by little, even if only bit by bit, slowly but surely crumbling until absolutely nothing was left.

All Sehun has to do is walk away and let nature take its course.

But with one quick glance at Suhø’s paling face and the life fading from those brilliant blue eyes, Sehun knows he couldn’t do that, even if he wanted to. With that realization, he slams his hands onto the clone’s chest and lets himself be consumed by his powers.

He never actually quite learned how his powers work, how any of theirs’ work really, but he was taught that by eighteen years of age, their powers were fully developed. Which makes whatever this thing he can do now unusual, unpredictable, unsafe if the enemy learns about it. Sehun can only pray that this is the right thing to do.

Suhø’s eyes snap open as he inhales deeply, as his lungs clear of liquid and oxygen fills its place, body arching unnaturally for what seems like an eternity, until finally he relaxes.

It’s silent for a few seconds, save for Suhø’s heavy breathing. Sehun retracts his shaky hands and lets them drop by his sides. He takes tiny steps back toward the vent when suddenly brilliant blue eyes — stormy and, thankfully, full of life — stop him, pinning him in place.

“How did you do that?” Suhø rasps, voice scratchy from all of the vomiting. His tone is accusatory and his glare is sharp. Sehun, startled, takes an involuntary step back.

The glare softens the slightest bit.

“I, uh—” Sehun licks his dry lips as he subtly glances around the room, looking for a possible escape route. He could try the bedroom door, but it’s too far away that he’d get caught before he could even touch the doorknob. And the vent, while closer, requires leaving his back exposed to the enemy to climb into. He settles on distraction.

“Does that happen to you often? The throwing up, I mean. Not the…” Sehun trails off, making frantic dragging motions in front of his face, trying to mimic the jagged red lines that appear when Suhø loses control.

He probably looks crazy and he knows he’s rambling, speaking more than he normally does, more than he has in weeks, but Sehun’s in self preservation mode. Just because Suhø didn’t kill him last time doesn’t mean he won’t this time, especially after learning about Sehun’s unusual power.

The glare drops altogether.

Suhø shakes his head in something akin to fond exasperation as he glances away from Sehun’s panicked-looking form. Sehun lets out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, body slowly relaxing now that those brilliant blue eyes aren't laser-focused on him.

When Suhø looks at him again a few moments later, his brilliant blue eyes are no longer frigid, suffocating, abysmal, instead they’re almost…indulgent. “What are you still doing here? Isn’t your mission over already?”

Sehun balks at the mention of his mission. No one was supposed to know he was here. In and out, Sehun, like his Suho had told him. Instead he’s here, talking to the enemy almost as if…they weren’t enemies at all. Sehun tries not to let that thought linger too long. “I still have a week left,” he hears himself whisper before his brain can stop him.

Suhø lets out a noncommittal hum. He seems different now, not as guarded as last time. Sehun would like to think that it’s because he saved Suhø’s life, and to some degree it probably is, but Sehun’s not as young and naïve as his teammates like to think. He knows he’s trapped, caged, cornered like prey. No gun, no escape route, no back up. And Suhø — weak, vulnerable, exhausted Suhø — is the predator.

(Sehun refuses to think of any other reason, even one that involves the slight warmth swimming in those brilliant blue eyes.)

“You should leave soon. They’re starting to get suspicious.”

Suhø doesn’t say who he’s talking about, but Sehun knows. Them, the others, the clones.

Sehun doesn’t respond. He has so many questions he wants answered, but now, with the answers finally within arms length, he doesn’t know what to ask first. “Why?,” he finally settles on. “Why didn’t you tell them that I was here?”

The Why didn’t you kill me last time? Why did you leave me that crate of dried meats, fruits, and vegetables? Why am I still alive right now? Why, why, why? are left unsaid, but Suhø’s smart enough to read between the lines.

The corners of Suhø’s lips twitch. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He shifts in his bed, almost as if making himself comfortable, almost as if he had nothing to fear, almost as if Sehun wasn’t a threat at all.

A predator, Sehun reminds himself.

“If I had to guess,” a full blown smirk stretches across his face, “I’d say that it was probably for the same reason that you just saved me.”

Sehun flushes, nearly lightheaded from how quickly Suhø’s mood seems to shift around him. It’s unfamiliar, unsettling, overwhelming — a huge change from how he is around the others.

A knock on Suhø’s bedroom door cuts off Sehun’s response. The easy, cocksure smirk slips off of Suhø’s face and his brilliant blue eyes harden. “Hide,” he mouths urgently.

Sehun doesn’t have to be told twice. He quickly climbs into the vent and shuts it softly behind himself. He watches, waits with bated breath, as Suhø slides off of his bed, wincing when he stands upright. He slowly shuffles to the door, still weak from losing control, then opens it the slightest bit. Sehun can’t see the person’s face, but he sees a flash of a red-trimmed coat.

“Sehůn,” Suhø states, confirming Sehun’s suspicions. Sehun ignores the uncomfortable feeling that settles in his chest as flashes of the two intimately pressed together flood his brain. He unconsciously shifts closer to the vent, trying to hear and see better.

“Suhø,” Sehůn mocks, brushing past Suhø and flopping onto the bed. It’s a calculated movement, one that causes his coat to open wider, showing off more of his soft, milky skin and the flat planes of his long torso. He leans back on his hands, staring up at Suhø with hooded eyes and an alluring smile. Sehun imagines that this is how an incubus traps its victims. Or perhaps Sehůn is a serpent, devilishly tempting and unnervingly persuasive in its quest to get poor, naïve Adam and Eve to eat the forbidden fruit.

Sehun continues to watch in something akin to morbid awe. He’s never seen Sehůn this close before, doesn’t really know what he’s looking at, to be honest. He looks like Sehun, but in the way a funhouse mirror at a carnival looks like you — distorted, grotesque, almost unrecognizable. He carries lust, sin, and temptation in a way Sehun knows he himself would never be able to.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?” Suhø asks, annoyance seeping into his voice, surprising both Sehun and his clone. Suhø is a lot of things, but he’s never been anything less than benevolent with his teammates.

Sehůn recovers more quickly than Sehun does. He sits up and pulls Suhø close, forcing him to stand in between his legs. There’s a pout on Sehůn’s lips. “I wanted to check up on my favorite leader.”

Suhø sends a quick, worried glance to the vent, then looks back down at the man in front of him. “I’m your only leader.”

“True,” Sehůn hums seductively as his hands slip under Suhø’s red vest, caressing the soft skin underneath it. After a few seconds, his hands drop to the buttons on Suhø’s pants. A sultry look crosses the younger clone's face. “But you’re still my favorite.”

Sehun swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth and decides he’s seen enough. He makes his way back to ‘his’ room, ready to abandon his mission once and for all.

(On the way there, one thought fills his mind: it seems the serpent will once again succeed.)

Chapter Text

Sehun, like air, becomes wind when he’s agitated.

It doesn’t happen often. While not as big or as fast or as strong as his teammates, Sehun has always been the most level-headed, the most in control of his emotions and, by extension, his power. He thinks things through, weighs the pros and cons of every action he takes, careful not to slip up, because he’s not really the type of person who can afford to.

But when he does get upset, he’s uncommonly harsh, unexpectedly unrelenting, unusually disorienting, sweeping up everything unfortunate enough to be caught in his path and spitting it out as crushed and damaged and broken as he feels in that moment.

He’s uncharacteristically careless, too. Doesn’t bother to tread carefully or cautiously. Feels so utterly invincible, so thoroughly unassailable that he truly believes nothing can hurt him.

And for that very reason, Sehun makes no effort to keep quiet as he packs, haphazardly shoving whatever he can reach into his duffel bag and accidentally knocking things over in his haste.

It’s stupid, reckless, irresponsible, goes against absolutely everything Suho has taught him. And it’s almost sure to get him caught, captured, killed, but he doesn’t care, not right now at least. He feels angry, betrayed, even if he has no right to be. Him and Suhø have nothing. Him and Suhø are nothing. And yet, seeing him with Sehůn…

Sehun shakes his head, clearing his mind of those thoughts and of thoughts of brilliant blue eyes, alarmingly red hair, caring gestures, cocksure smirks, and everything else that makes his heart race, even when it absolutely shouldn't.

Sehun zips up his duffel bag and hikes the strap onto his shoulder before turning around to leave. He startles when he catches sight of a figure lurking in the doorway.

Suhø leans against the door frame, strong arms crossed over his defined chest and tiny, pink lips twisted into a minuscule frown. “I thought you still had a week left,” he says after a few seconds of tense silence.

“I’ve seen enough,” Sehun replies curtly, hiking the duffel bag higher onto his shoulder. Suhø stays silent, staring as Sehun walks toward him.

Sehun falters once he stands in front of the clone. Yes, he’s still angry, but underneath that anger is something else he can’t name, something he’s not even sure he should name. For a split second, he finds himself hoping Suhø will say something, anything, but isn’t at all surprised when he doesn’t.

Sehun had expected he wouldn't, anticipated it even, because he knows Suhø, probably even more than the other clones do. That was the whole point of this mission, wasn't it? To learn what made Suhø the way he was, to learn what made him tick, to learn just what button of his to push.

(All for the greater good, Sehunnie, Suho had whispered into the darkness of their shared room the night before Sehun left for his mission. After all, a kingdom cannot survive after the downfall of its leader.)

And learn, Sehun has.

He knows that Suhø is reserved, guarded, hard to get a read on, his iciness making it impossible to get too close, sure to sear and burn more than fire ever could. He never says what he’s thinking, pushes others away, until one day Sehun's sure the clone will have no one left. And what a terrible day that’ll be when he looks over his shoulder as he’s trying to lead and finds no one there willing to follow.

With one last glance, Sehun pushes past Suhø and walks out of the room.

It’s risky, unsafe, downright dangerous to try to sneak out of the base during the day, when anyone and everyone could be lurking around, but somehow Sehun manages to stay hidden long enough to make it to a long-forgotten emergency exit without attracting any attention.

He goes to push the door open when a cool hand wraps around his wrist delicately, stopping him.

“Please stay,” Suhø whispers into the darkness. He sounds distressed, desperate, defeated, like the unyielding force of Sehun’s wind had worked in a way neither of them had expected, like it had caused a crack in the walls Suhø’s worked so hard to build, the walls he’s worked so hard to keep up.

The refusal dies on Sehun’s lips when he catches sight of Suhø’s eyes. His eyes, like the ocean, are stormy and dark, an absolute whirlwind of despair, so completely and utterly different from their usual brilliant blue.

“Okay,” Sehun finds himself agreeing.

Surprise briefly flashes across Suhø’s face, and the ocean, once a frenzy of waves, calms.

Chapter Text

Sehun should’ve known not to put too much faith in water; even the straightest of sticks turn crooked in it.

He expected an explanation for all of it — the relationship with Sehůn, the random episodes of lost control, the demons that seem to be desperately trying to claw their way to the surface, every single little moment between him and Suhø that surely cross whatever invisible lines and boundaries are set between enemies at war.

Instead, Sehun gets nothing.

It’s as if the crack in Suhø’s walls has been sealed off, boarded up, paved over, like it was never there in the first place, like Sehun, in all of his desperation to believe he’d gotten through to the clone, had imagined it all. But that’s unlikely.

Sehun’s always been frighteningly perceptive, always been able to read people like the back of his hand, always been quick to notice the littlest of details, the tiniest of things, anything that could mean the difference between life or death for him and his teammates.

He supposes it doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. Suhø may think he covered that crack, rebuilt those walls bigger and better than before, impenetrable to even those closest to him, but the clone should know better.

Cracks are like weeds. Once one emerges, it becomes all too easy for more to follow. And, eventually, those walls — overridden and overrun with cracks — will crumble at the slightest gust of wind until absolutely nothing is left behind.

Briefly, the thought of why Suhø asked him to stay crosses Sehun’s mind.

Maybe it’s because that’s what he thought Sehun wanted to hear. Maybe it’s because Suhø’s always seemed to be all give, give, give, and no take, take, take. Maybe it’s because it’s in his nature to acquiesce, to bend to the will of others, to take whatever shape is expected of him.

Not for the first time, Sehun’s reminded of water and just how deeply the clone seems to embody it. It’s a frightening thought. Because, although water is something he’s loved all of his life, something he’s respected more than anything, Sehun knows more than anyone what horrors can lurk just below the surface.

“You’re exactly like him.”

The sudden comment startles Sehun out of his thoughts, his brow unfurrowing and his fingertips ceasing their subconscious gliding motions across the iridescent blue duvet beneath him.

(After Suhø had asked Sehun to stay, he'd led the younger to his room to talk, although, unsurprisingly, no talking had been done until now.)

Sehun tears his gaze away from the duvet and instead looks toward the chair beside the bed, where Suhø sits, rigid and uncomfortable, as if he doesn’t quite belong in his own room. It’d be funny if Sehun found anything about this situation remotely pleasant.

It takes a second for Sehun to realize exactly who Suhø’s comparing him to, but when he does, his lips twist into an ugly frown before his expression quickly smooths out into one of indifference. “Is that a good thing or a bad one?”

“I don’t know,” Suhø responds truthfully. He looks broken, conflicted, like he wants to say more, but doesn’t know if he can or even should.

Surprisingly, he does.

“Not completely. You’re,” Suhø pauses, mulling over his words, “…softer, gentler. He reminds me of the harsh winds that precede a turbulent storm, and you — well, you’re more like the gentle breeze that accompanies a calming drizzle of rain.”

Sehun bites his lip. There’s a question at the tip of his tongue, but he’s afraid of the answer, afraid of what it could lead to, afraid of what it'll mean to him. A strange feeling lies in the pit of his stomach, like he's swimming and wants to put his feet down on something solid, but the water is deeper than he thinks and there’s nothing there to stand on.

“Which do you prefer?” Sehun eventually asks, throwing all caution to the wind.

“You.”

Chapter Text

Sehun read once that water is a symbol for emotions. And, right now, he feels as if he might drown in both.

Suhø’s words leave him floundering, set adrift, unable to wade through the multitude of emotions that flood through his body.

A small, traitorous part of Sehun rejoices at the knowledge that Suhø prefers him over his clone, that, for once, someone Sehun wants actually wants him back.

But the more rational part of Sehun — the part that remembers who he is, where he’s at, and, more importantly, who he’s with — brings up memories of Suhø and Sehůn, flush against each other in a way that surely goes beyond a platonic relationship between teammates.

The rational part reminds Sehun to be careful, cautious, on guard, because everyone’s capable of using sweet, sugar-coated words to get what they want, even a monster.

Ultimately, Sehun does manage to settle on one emotion: anger.

“Don’t,” he fumes, pale fists clenched unconsciously. His tone is icy, frigid, like wind on a winter’s night, nipping and pricking unpleasantly at your skin. “I’m not some child you can play with. You can’t just — just say these things to me, while you’re also with Sehůn. You can’t have us both.”

It’s probably unwise to speak to Suhø like that, even if Sehun loathes being treated like a naïve child (something he’s all too used to with his own leader back home).

Suhø’s still the enemy, the clones’ leader, the Red Force’s favorite, unpredictable and unstable, a force to be reckoned with. You never really know what’s coming with him — a small wave or a big one. But Sehun’s hoping that whatever does come his way, he’s strong enough to surf over it, instead of drown in its monstrosity like hundreds have before him.

Suhø’s brilliant blue eyes harden. Gone is the wounded animal and in its place is something else entirely. A wolf in sheep's clothing, that's what he is. “And who exactly said I wanted both of you to begin with?,” he seethes.

Sehun leans back nervously, swallowing hard at the clone’s change in demeanor. Alarm bells ring inside his head, warning him to leave now, yet he pays them no mind, gaze locked on the way that Suhø’s entire form seems to flicker, fuzz around the edges, like he’s not here anymore, not completely with Sehun.

His brilliant blue eyes are unfocused, almost vacant, like the calm before the storm, and his alarmingly red hair is starting to glow even brighter, almost like the flames Chanyeol conjures up, except these aren’t warm like those. These flames are ice cold.

He’s never seen Suhø like this before, only when…

Sehun startles when angry, jagged-looking gashes suddenly bloom across Suhø’s face, despite the fact that he should’ve been expecting them. It’s a terrifying sight to see up close, nothing compared to the beauty of watching the transformation from afar.

Now Sehun understands why the clones, so strong and deadly in their own right, are so fearful of their leader. Because behind that beautiful mask lies a monster. And what a joke that is, that such a monstrous being is hidden within such an eloquent body.

Self-preservation tells Sehun to run, hide, flee, because if it comes down to it, in a fight against Suhø, he wouldn’t stand a chance. After all, how can Sehun defeat someone who was clearly never meant to lose?

But that small, traitorous part keeps Sehun rooted in place, has him cautiously reach over and place a warm hand onto Suhø’s. It’s a bit surreal touching the clone like this, intimate, overwhelming, like dipping a limb beneath the ocean’s surface and knowing that he’s touching eternity, that it goes on forever until it begins here once again.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Sehun whispers shakily, over and over again, hoping by some miracle that his words get through the monstrous haze to Suhø, his Suhø.

Nothing happens at first. Suhø still flickers, eyes still unfocused, gashes still blindingly red, but he doesn’t resist Sehun’s touch, doesn’t draw back, doesn’t put up a fight, even though he could. Because although water never resists, never obstructs, never hinders, ultimately it still goes where it wants to, and nothing in the end can stand against it.

Then, little by little, bit by bit, Suhø becomes solid once more, blue eyes going back to their original brilliancy, and the flames in his hair losing their vibrancy.

Suhø’s with him again, here with Sehun.

He stares down at Sehun’s hand over his in wonder, like it holds all of life’s secrets, like it’s something magical, something holy. Sehun flushes bright red, quickly drawing his hand back and dropping it onto his lap.

Suhø’s gaze moves upward toward Sehun’s face instead, looking at the younger like he’s the closest thing to god someone like Suhø would ever be allowed near. 

“How…?” Suhø trails off, slightly out of breath and voice full of wonder. His cheeks are rosy, his hair is ruffled, and his clothes are mussed, but he still looks so beautiful in spite of it all. And Sehun thinks that Darwin may have indeed been correct in his theory that all men are descended from apes, but surely eerily beautiful Suhø rose from the frothy sea as resplendent as Aphrodite did.

“I don’t know,” Sehun responds softly, truthfully. He shrugs as he looks down, embarrassment still clear on his face. “I just did what I thought was right.”

It’s silent for a few seconds before Suhø leans over and places a cool hand on Sehun’s warm cheek, imploring the younger to look up and into his brilliant blue eyes.

“Are you scared?” The of me is left unsaid, but Sehun’s just as smart as Suhø, just as able to read between the lines.

It’s said calmly, evenly, coolly, like Suhø doesn’t really care what the answer is, wouldn’t be affected by it either way, but Sehun knows better, can see the whirlpool of emotions in Suhø’s ocean-like eyes — fear, hesitance, wariness, hope, warmth, affection — and can feel the tension in his hand as he waits.

Sehun’s response is just as calm, just as even, just as cool.

“No.”

Chapter Text

Sehun is like the wind — open and free. If Suhø cages the wind, would it die?

That’s the question on his mind as he stares at the younger boy in front of him, sitting on his bed, in his bedroom, in his base.

Sehun almost blends in in an odd sort of way, the clarity and transparency swimming in his eyes akin to the water surrounding him. But there’s a sense of righteousness, of heroism, of genuine greatness that just doesn’t belong in a place like this, with a person like Suhø.

Because this is the Red Force's domain, Suhø's own personal hell, and here nothing pure, nothing good, is safe.

That thought alone has the clone drawing back, desperate to put some space in between them. His hand falls from its place on Sehun’s warm cheek slowly, hesitantly, almost as if it has a mind of its own, almost as if it wants nothing more than to stay right there, cradling heaven.

Suhø settles back in his chair and takes in as much of Sehun as he can before the other inevitably leaves him, like all good things in the clone’s life.

There’s a timeless beauty, a silent strength, an undeniable magnetism to Sehun that has always been there, since the very beginning, since the first time Suhø saw him.

———————

Ten Years Prior

He feels so out of control, had felt it building up the longer he was caged like a wild animal, knew it was only a matter of time before he blew up, drowned anything and everything in his path.

Suhø supposes that that’s what they — the Red Force, the scientists, his creators — had wanted. Wanted him to get so rabid, so monstrous, so inhuman, before they sent him out to frighten, to hunt, to kill, like the good pet he is. After all, he is their pride and joy, their favorite (even if he wasn't originally), the first to be made, so it only makes sense that he’d be the first to be let out.

He knows that it’s all some sort of test. If successful, then the rest will be freed, too, and even though they were made to be superior to their human counterparts — above trivial things like love, loyalty, friendship, family — there’s nothing more he wants than that.

He’ll be successful. He has to be. Lives depend on him.

Suhø runs as fast as he can, trying to put as much distance between him and the Red Force as he can. He’s not sure how much time passes before he eventually stumbles upon some obscure town in the middle of nowhere.

There, he’s finally able to let the water consume him, overtake him, to the point where he can’t tell where it ends and he begins. He can hear the few people left in this town scream as he engulfs the place in his water, his emotions, his chaos.

He doesn’t necessarily like it, doesn’t like the pain and suffering he’s causing. It’s more of a relief than anything. After weeks, months, years in the lab — poked and prodded at like a test rat, experimented on daily for the Red Force’s entertainment — he felt like he was going to explode, simply blow up like the bomb they designed him to be.

So it’s a relief really, a quell to an insatiable itch, when he gets to drown this godforsaken place. The water within him calms for awhile and the ravenous monster slowly recedes back into its cage.

Using so much power, so much energy, though, leaves him absolutely exhausted. He coughs as he clutches his throbbing head, struggling to fight against the darkness, but feels himself losing, and soon he surrenders to unconsciousness.

Suhø awakens to the sound of laughter, high-pitched and carefree — an odd sound, nothing he’s ever heard before, because there was never really any reason to laugh back in the lab. But still, he finds that it’s pleasant, reminds him of the better days he dreamt of while locked in that cage.

He blinks once, twice, three times, dull blue eyes adjusting to the brightness of the sun, before slowly sitting up and looking around, taking in his surroundings. Straight ahead, at the edge of town, stands two figures, neither of which seemed to have noticed him yet. Suhø quickly hides behind the empty ruins of a hut and peers around.

It’s two boys, teenagers by the looks of it, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, dressed in all-black utility clothes. One — tan, lean, and tall — pouts at the other — pale, equally as lean, and just as tall — who’s hunched over and clutching his stomach as he lets out high-pitched giggles.

“No fair, you cheated,” the tan one says, pout still on his full lips. The way he carries himself — confident, yet contradictingly timid — is oddly familiar to Suhø.

The pale one stands upright then, laughter having died down to the occasional giggle, but mirth still present on his angular face. He affectionately shoves the other. “Not my fault you’re a slow runner, Nini.”

Suhø’s fists tighten unconsciously.

It’s them. It’s EXO.

He didn’t realize it, not at first glance.

But when he looks, when he really looks, he can see the resemblance to him, to Kāi — same bronze skin, same doe eyes, same pouty pink lips. But it’s not Kāi, his mind supplies. There’s brown hair where there should be blue-green, brown eyes instead of the mismatched ones Suhø’s seen everyday of his life, and an all-black utility outfit in place of the usual yellow leather crop top and skintight black leather pants.

It’s a jarring difference, like light and dark, heaven and hell, good and evil.

As for the other, Suhø can hardly tell the difference between the original and the clone. They’re both so striking, such natural beauties, with a face men would gladly go to war for — perfectly arched eyebrows; alluring eyes; straight nose; high cheekbones; nicely-shaped lips; clear, milky skin — like EXOplanet’s very own Helen of Troy.

But there’s a darkness, a twistedness, an absolute ugliness to the clone that the original just doesn’t seem to have. It makes sense, though. Sehůn’s a mere copycat, a doppelgänger, a knock off, nothing compared to the beauty of Sehun, the priceless original.

And now Suhø finally understands the Red Force’s obsession with their human counterparts. Because in such a wicked and broken world, they’re living proof that god can still create perfection.

Suhø belatedly realizes his luck. The enemies, the targets, the prey, are within grasp and, even better, unaware of his presence.

He could end it, once and for all. It would finally be over. EXO, although resilient, wouldn’t be strong enough to handle the deaths of their two beloved youngest members. They’re a family, bound by love, loyalty, friendship, whatever you want to call it — a fact that had been instilled in Suhø by the Red Force — and while this was undoubtedly their greatest strength, it also happened to be their greatest weakness.

And with those two would go EXO, even if only little by little, even if only bit by bit, slowly but surely crumbling until absolutely nothing was left.

All Suhø has to do is act.

But with one glance at Sehun’s grinning face and those dark, alluring eyes, Suhø doubts he could ever go through with it. There’s a purity, an innocence, to him that not even someone as monstrous as Suhø has the heart to end.

Perhaps instead of Helen of Troy, Sehun will ultimately be his Trojan horse, the very source of Suhø’s downfall. It’s alarming that he can’t seem to find it in himself to mind.

He guesses he’ll just have to find some other way to free his team.

———————

“Suhø?”

Sehun’s soft voice, akin to a gentle breeze, draws Suhø out of his reverie. Worry mars his striking face, an ugly emotion that someone as beautiful as Sehun doesn’t deserve to ever experience.

Underneath that, Suhø can see that that purity, that innocence, from all of those years ago still remains, despite the fact that Sehun’s much older now, has seen things that no one his age ever should, has experienced just what it means to lose beloved brothers-in-arms to the horrors of a long and drawn out war.

But Suhø’s wiser now, no longer that young wide-eyed soldier who’d just seen the most beautiful man in the world, knows now that nothing good can come from the union of Helen and Paris.

“You don’t mean that.”

Chapter Text

Anger is like harsh winds, Sehun remembers Suho telling him once — it calms eventually, but only after damage has been done.

And right now, in this very moment, anger is all Sehun can feel. So intense, so red-hot, so all-consuming. It’s as if he can actually feel the heat, the pain, the blistering of his own rage burning him up from the inside out.

And he absolutely hates it. Because anger isn’t passionate, isn’t igniting, isn’t empowering. It’s a paralyzing emotion.

Anger means loss of control. And Sehun knows — has seen it with his lost beloved brothers-in-arms — that in the strategic game of war, succumbing to your emotions, succumbing to the darkness hidden within you, succumbing to your demons, results in nothing more than death.

Sehun knows this, and yet he can’t ever seem to control himself around Suhø. The clone just lights Sehun up in a way no one ever has before, makes Sehun feel as if he’s drowning in the very same emotions he’s worked so hard to wade through all of his life.

But more than anything, Suhø makes Sehun want to lose control, to lash out.

And lash out he does.

Sehun’s not exactly sure how it happens — one second, Suhø's sat in the chair in front of him; the next, the clone’s flung halfway across the room, pinned against the bedroom door by some invisible force Sehun distantly recognizes as being in his control. But he can’t find it in himself to dwell on the how right now.

Brilliant blue eyes, wide and full of wonder, meet Sehun’s dark ones, fierce and wild with rage.

And before Sehun knows it, he’s crowding into Suhø’s space, towering frame nearly covering the clone whole, desperate to eliminate any space between the two of them, to eliminate every doubt the clone has.

“You’re just so — so,” Sehun lets out a frustrated groan at his inability to voice his own emotions. He feels like yanking out his hair, screaming out into the void, anything to get these overwhelming emotions out.

Suhø stays silent, simply stares up at the younger, allows Sehun to gather himself without fear of interruption. Sehun, even in the heat of his rage, appreciates it.

“You always act as if you’re trying to catch people in a lie. But the fact is that no one’s lying to you — I’m not lying to you. Why don’t you get that?”

He’s not sure when the tears start to come out, but he makes no move to wipe them, uncaring if he appears weak in front of Suhø. That’s what he is now, Sehun supposes — so weak that he’s been reduced to this sniffling mess that’s begging his enemy to give him a chance because he’s so tired of no one ever doing so.

A cool hand settles on one of Sehun’s flushed cheeks, effectively pulling him out of the convoluted mess that is his mind. Almost in an instant, all of the fight, all of the anger, all of the rage, leaves his body, leaves him feeling raw, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt, hasn’t been allowed to feel, in awhile.

Sehun glances down at the clone, startling when he realizes just how close they are. He’s momentarily mesmerized by the tiny flecks of indigo in those brilliant blue eyes. A person could drown in those eyes — the small, traitorous part of Sehun whispers — and really, he could think of a million worse ways to go.

And now, no longer is there a curious twinkle in those brilliant blue eyes, an imploring look on that face, a slight raise of that brow. Sehun, once a puzzle unable to be put together, a riddle unable to be solved, an enigma unable to be understood, is now easy for Suhø to read.

“It’s time we talk, yeah?”

Chapter Text

Suhø doesn’t remember much from the early days of his existence.

He remembers the darkness, of course.

Remembers being surrounded by it, entrenched in it, being one with it, as if he had emerged from its depth, arose from its ugliness, was born from its wickedness.

Remembers when he first gained consciousness in the hell that was CAGE 1 — SUHØ, not really knowing where he was, what he was meant to do, or who he was meant to be.

Remembers eventually feeling as if he was going to go crazy, as if the darkness was eating, clawing, ripping away at the person he was, even if he wasn’t exactly sure who that was to begin with.

He also remembers feeling…off.

He wasn’t made to feel emotions, not really. That wasn’t the goal, at least. The Red Force had made them with the intention that they’d be superior to their human counterparts, better than them in every single way. They were made to be impersonal, indifferent, cold, because what’s more lowly, what’s more debilitating, what’s more inferior than experiencing human emotions?

So no, he wasn’t made to crave the touch of another person, wasn’t made to ache for the warmth that accompanies bonding with someone emotionally, wasn’t made to feel anything close to loneliness.

Wasn’t made to feel or be or want anything really.

Suhø was made to be a robot — shiny on the outside and hollow on the inside.

But the weeks, months, years of having nothing but darkness as a companion, of looking it straight in the eye and seeing himself reflected back, of being trapped with his demons, forced to face them over and over again, being torn down to nothing and then forcibly rebuilt once again — wore down on Suhø, broke him, created a hole in his chest that he’d be destined to spend the rest of his life trying to fill.

(Although, the creation of his brothers years down the line did aid in filling that hole a fraction.)

Looking back, he supposes that it had something to do with his blueprint, his coding, his x-DNA.

Suhø was meant to be EXO’s Suho, meant to embody every single aspect of the original, meant to take his place during the new world order (albeit, under the watchful eye of the Red Force).

More than anything, though, Suhø was meant to be a leader.

But how exactly was he supposed to lead, supposed to be whole, when there was no one around to follow?

———————

What Suhø doesn’t remember much is how this…thing with Sehůn all started.

Sehůn was the last to be created, the glue that was meant to hold X-EXO together, the key to their imminent and predestined victory.

By then, the Red Force had perfected the formula, had been so sure that they’d successfully made the perfect soldier, the perfect robot, the perfect monster.

And for the most part, they’d been right.

Sehůn never questioned orders like Suhø, never had trouble controlling his powers like Chanyeøl and Kāi, never got lost in his own world like Baëkhyun and Chën, never lacked passion for the cause like D.Ø., Xiůmin, and Lāy.

Sehůn was everything X-EXO was meant to be and more.

Powerful. Cunning. Indestructible. Emotionless.

But the Red Force should’ve known that everything has its limit, everyone has a breaking point.

Suhø had seen empathy before. Had seen it amongst the Red Force scientists, even if that emotion had never once been extended toward him. Had seen it in the data, information, knowledge that they’d ingrained in him during his creation. Had even seen it in the way that one junior Red Force scientist would often sneak Kāi extra food when they thought that no one was looking.

But while he had seen it, Suhø had never experienced it, had never felt the need to extend it toward anyone, either.

At least, not before that night.

The memory is a bit hazy around the edges, almost out of his grasp, not as colorful or crisp or clear as Suhø’s photographic memory should allow. (Most likely his subconscious’s pathetic attempt at protecting him. But from what? Suho is the monster under the bed, the ghost in the attic, the demon in the woods. The child of darkness. Nothing should scare him. And yet...)

What Suhø does remember, though, makes his stomach churn — flashes of chains and whips, knives and blades, gags and restraints, flooding his mind the more he thinks about it, the more he presses himself to just remember.

The Red Force were always cruel in their training, their exercises, their discipline. (It was a reminder, they’d said once, that no matter how strong the clones got, that no matter how big and bad and tough they thought they were, at the end of the day they were nothing more than mutts and the Red Force were their owners, always ready to put them down if they got to be more than they were worth.) That day, though, was something different.

Hours into the gut-wrenching torture, Suhø watched with mild apprehension as a group of high-ranking Red Force officials entered the arena. The way that they barely reacted to the cries spilling from Suhø’s brothers’ lips or to the floor drenched in their blood, sweat, and tears made the monster in Suhø want to break free, to tear them apart, make them react, make them care, but even the monster knew nothing good would come from it.

They didn’t spare any of them a glance; Sehůn their sole focus.

A few words were exchanged before Sehůn was led out of the arena. It was nothing out of the ordinary, the Red Force often whisked him away for what they called research or for some sort of specialized individual training, but something that day had left Suhø feeling uneasy, made him want to run after the youngest and bring him back where he could be sure that he was safe (or as safe as they ever really were).

It was a jarring emotion — protectiveness — seemingly appearing out of nowhere and completely out of his control. But Suhø knew his place, knew in a fight against the Red Force, he wouldn’t stand a chance, even if he somehow managed to convince his brothers to help. After all, how could he defeat them when they were clearly never meant to lose?

So he ignored that feeling, gritted his teeth, behaved like the mutt he was.

But, even if he wouldn’t admit it, he spent the rest of the day on edge, waiting anxiously for Sehůn to return.

He didn’t — not until much later.

They weren’t allowed to interact much outside of the arena, outside of group training, each of them confined to their own cage, their own darkness, their own personal hell.

(There was probably some twisted reasoning behind that decision. Loneliness had a way of disparaging people, making them feel small and insignificant, like their thoughts and ideas didn’t matter, like they didn’t matter. It had broken Suhø once, had domesticated the beast within him, so the Red Force had probably figured it’d work on the others, as well. Or maybe it was to prevent any potential uproar from the clones, because how were the masses supposed to overthrow the king if they weren’t even allowed to speak to each other?)

So it’s a mystery really, how Sehůn had managed to slip into CAGE 1 — SUHØ that night without detection.

Blood. Warm and red.

It was all Suhø could see, smell, hear.

Drip, drip, drip.

One drop after another hitting the linoleum floor, creating a puddle that dauntingly made its way toward Suhø.

The metallic scent of it clung to his nasal passages, thick and heavy, coating the back of his throat, nearly choking him, as he stared at Sehůn in horror.

***

Blood covered him from head-to-toe, his skin no longer the healthy tan hue Suhø was so familiar with, instead a pale and sickly color, as if he’d been drained of all of the blood in his body and been forced to bathe in it. His body was covered in nasty, jagged-looking gashes that ran so deep they tore into fat and muscle, exposing the bone underneath — the most prominent one ran from his hairline down to below his right eye, nearly slicing the orb.

The gashes were so reminiscent of Suhø’s own monstrous ones, but Sehun’s weren’t an unintended side effect of machines malfunctioning, wires crossing, computer codes entered incorrectly, they seemed to be man-made.

The drying, tacky blood made his clothes cling onto his lean body in thin shreds. The slits of skin Suhø was able to see were bruised and blackened, torn and bloodied. His right arm rested awkwardly, like it had been yanked out of the socket.

***

Sehůn, once a sight to behold, no longer stood upright with the air of superiority only one made to be utmost perfection could, instead he was hunched over in despair, looking as if one gust of wind could knock him over.

And then he broke down, and suddenly Suhø was reminded of how young Sehůn truly was. He may have been taller than Suhø, stronger than him, too, better than him in every single way really, but in that moment, he was nothing more than a scared little boy.

Sehůn crawled into Suhø’s lap, crowded into his space, and clung to him as he wailed for the entire night. And Suhø, as out-of-his-depth as he was, had comforted him as best as he could. Small, awkward pats on the back and stilted, whispered reassurances that nothing worse could happen to him than already had. Surprisingly, Suhø was able to calm him down, was able to push him off long enough to call for Lāy to heal his wounds.

But Lāy could only do so much, his healing powers only extending so far, able to heal most of Sehůn’s physical scars but unable to touch the emotional ones. Sehůn never went back to who he was before. He became clingy, dependent — all take, take, take, demanding more and more of Suhø as time progressed.

And somewhere along the line, those awkward pats and whispered reassurances had blurred into something more, something physical, something completely out of Suhø’s control. Like a typhoon, a hurricane, a cyclone — ugly and destructible — water and wind eventually became one.

But Suhø was the leader, their leader, Sehůn’s leader and that meant he was supposed to give everything that he had to Sehůn, right? Even if that meant that Suhø would ultimately have nothing left for himself.

———————

A myriad of emotions flutter across Sehun’s face throughout Suhø's monologue. It’s a bit distracting how beautifully and freely the younger man wears emotions. Even bathed in gloom and sorrow, he looks regal, timeless, elegant, like he was crafted out of the finest clay, made from the softest fabrics, painted with the most vibrant of colors.

And when Suhø finishes speaking, silence settling between the two, that’s when Sehun looks the prettiest, determination clear on his angular face.

"Is that really how you feel?"

It’s said quietly, stubbornly, as if Sehun’s daring Suhø not to answer, as if he’s daring Suhø to lie. But Suhø’s past all of that, was past it the moment pure, innocent Sehun broke down in front of him, because of him. Never had he felt more like a monster, more like the devil himself, than in that moment. Because surely only someone who was pure evil, full of darkness, could take Sehun’s light and squash it. So now, he’s fully committed to seeing this thing through, even while knowing nothing good can come from it. Still, like a fool, he’s drawn to Sehun like Icarus was drawn to the sun, except Suhø’s expecting the burn, the subsequent fall, welcomes it even, because what would be sweeter than to die by the hands of an angel?

“Like you’re some irredeemable monster? Or some defective robot?”

It’s not the first thing Suhø had expected him to ask, but he should’ve known better. Sehun’s full of surprises — always ten steps ahead, and Suhø, like a moth drawn to light, like Icarus to the sun, like Paris to Helen, stumbles after him, trying desperately to keep up.

It’s not an easy question, something he finds that he struggles with, hesitates to answer. He feels the walls desperate to rebuild around him. Suhø’s given so much already, to Sehun, to his brothers, to the Red Force, but…it's different now, isn't it?

Sehun takes, takes, takes, but he also gives, gives, gives, too. No longer does Suhø feel used, his water taken for granted, others taking their fill and leaving him dry and barren. Instead, he feels…replenished, renewed, revered.

And just by that, Suhø knows that Sehun’s special, knows that there was a reason he’d been drawn to him all of those years ago, a reason he’d never sought him out during their battles with EXO, a reason he’d draw his brothers away from him if they got too close.

(There’s that emotion again — protectiveness. This time he welcomes it, and every other emotion that comes with it.)

So for once, Suhø decides to stop drowning under the words he usually leaves unsaid.

With an inaudible sigh, he flops onto his bed beside Sehun, arms crossed behind his head and gaze everywhere but on the younger man. It's unbecoming, not how he usually acts, but he supposes that he’s already let some of his guard down. What’s a little more?

“I’ve long accepted what I am. Everyone knows nothing good can be born from the darkness,” Suhø says as he stares up at the ceiling, the angels of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel staring down at him, worn and broken in some places, but just as beautiful as they were during the Italian Renaissance. It was a gift from Chën — the most thoughtful he’s ever received from someone.

More than that, though, it serves as a reminder, a reminder that angels weep as they stare down at the abomination that he is, a reminder that…“There’s an ugliness inside of me that’s impossible to love. And it’s tiring to act otherwise. I feel like I’m constantly wearing a mask — a mask that’s hiding all of this secret ugliness, turning it inside, forcing me to swallow it instead.”

There’s the sound of movement before Sehun’s face suddenly comes into view — Michelangelo’s angels replaced by a real living, breathing one. He hovers over Suhø, balancing his weight on a pale, well-defined arm that he rests beside the clone’s head. Up this close, Suhø can count the freckles that rest high on his cheeks and nose, can trace the harsh lines and angles of his face that smooth out into soft curves and slopes, can feel himself get lost in his eyes.

Sehun has such pretty eyes, dark and alluring, but they seem prettier now. They burn with a righteous fire that warms Suhø from head to toe.

For the first time in a while, the clone feels at ease, comfortable, safe, the monster inside of him placated, domesticated — not out of fear or some innate need for survival, but out of something else entirely. And because of that, the words come tumbling out of Suhø’s mouth before he can stop them. “You’re so beautiful that you make the rest of the beautiful things in the world cry for even trying at all.”

Almost instantly, a pretty blush rises to Sehun’s cheeks, traveling along smooth, pale skin; pink lips quirking up the slightest bit; the scalding, righteous fire in his eyes softening to an addictive, all-consuming warmth, and never has Suhø seen him look so dangerous as now, as surely one look at the sight before him could bring even the strongest of men to his knees.

He can feel his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage as he watches Sehun’s dark, alluring eyes drop down to his lips before darting back up. The air between them suddenly feels charged, electrified, the sparks dancing around them almost tangible. Slowly, Sehun inches himself toward Suhø, crowding into the clone’s space, caging him against the bed, stopping when they’re a hair’s breadth apart. Just the slightest movement and their lips would touch, and Suhø isn’t even surprised how badly he wants that, how badly he wants Sehun.

It's a bit surreal to want something, someone, so wholly, so completely, with his entire being. Never before has Suhø been allowed the luxury to simply want.

They stay like that, chest-to-chest, in their own little world, for what feels like an eternity before Sehun seems to snap out of it. He pulls back abruptly, putting space between the two of them. The monster in Suhø lets out a pitiful whine at the sudden lack of contact.

“Stop that,” Sehun huffs, voice lacking any real heat, as he runs a hand through his cropped, black hair. The embarrassment that covers his face is endearing. “Stop distracting me when I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

Suhø sits up slightly, resting his weight on his forearms. He lets out a quiet laugh, feeling light, giddy, freer than he ever has in his entire life. It's addicting, this feeling. Is this what it feels like to be human? “If anything, I think you were the one that was distracting me.”

It’s cute how quickly Sehun’s face flushes dark red. He pointedly ignores Suhø in favor of laying down on the bed. The clone settles down next to him, their shoulders knocking whenever one of them shifts slightly. It’s silent as they both stare up at the angels.

“There are different kinds of darkness, you know?” Sehun says softly into the silence. His voice, much like him, feels like a soft breeze. “There’s darkness that frightens, darkness that calms, darkness that does neither. There’s darkness between lovers and darkness between enemies.” Suhø closes his eyes, picturing each. “Darkness is whatever you want it to be, whatever you need it to be. It’s not wholly bad or good.” A soft hand settles on Suhø’s, engulfing his in its warmth. “And just because you were born of darkness doesn’t mean you’re evil. You believe you’re a monster, but what kind of monster you are is entirely up to you.”

Suhø struggles to swallow down the emotions that Sehun’s words conjure within him.

It’s a nice thought, that he can choose who he is, who he wants to be. But the darkness that surrounds him feels so suffocating, so evil. It drowns him, holds him captive, feels as if it’s the one in charge, not him.

“Darkness is like water. Maybe that’s why you’re clinging so desperately to it, because it’s all you’ve ever known,” Sehun says, as if reading Suhø’s mind. He gives Suhø’s hand a comforting squeeze. “But you have to realize that you don’t drown by falling in, you drown by staying there. And I’m here, trying to offer you a life vest.”

And it’s in moments like this that Suhø’s unsure as to why Sehun isn’t EXO’s leader. He makes everything sound so easy, so doable. He makes Suhø want to believe, makes it too easy to get caught up in his wind’s path like so many likely have before him.

So Suhø lets himself believe, lets himself get caught up in everything that is Sehun. (Because he's smart enough to know that, just like you cannot stop time, you also cannot stop wind. It goes on and on and on.)

And while Sehun’s right that there are darknesses in life, there are also lights, and Sehun is one of the lights. The light of all lights.

And surely his brightness can lead Suhø out of his darkness.