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English
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Part 1 of subspace shenanigans , Part 1 of OH NO WE'VE LOST THE BRAINCELL
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Published:
2023-07-17
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1,417
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1/1
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585
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brother mine (you're a fucking idiot)

Summary:

Kim Roksu and Cale Henituse have a connection that allows them to meet with each other as they please in a private subspace. Cale needs dating advice. Kim Roksu needs a drink.

OOC because Cale's actually trying to figure out if someone likes him, for once. And Roksu is the overworked wine uncle.

Notes:

Just repeating the tags: KRS!Cale is Cale, OG!Cale is Kim Roksu.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Kim Roksu was skimming through the latest resource distribution reports when he felt the tug at the edge of his conscience, requesting his attention. He acknowledged it with a short huff, putting aside all but the one he was currently looking through. Cale Henituse was a capable man. He could be kept waiting for three minutes.

But the tug came again.

And again.

Twang. Twang. Twang. Twang.

With each subsequent pull, harder and sooner than the last, Roksu felt his temper bleed ever thinner.

Twang twang twang twang—

“Fucking hell!” He slammed the paper down and gave the connection a ferocious yank, appearing in the subspace in a storm of frustration. “What do you want?”

The redheaded bastard stared at him with eyes that trembled in panic, and eventually choked out, “I—is—eh, date?”

Roksu’s barrelling temper slammed into the brick wall that was Cale. He stared back. After a few long, uncomfortable minutes, in which Roksu questioned his existence and Cale questioned everything else, he replied, “I’m flattered. But. What the fuck.”

Which seemed to help something tick over in the emotional wasteland that was Cale Henituse.

“No. Not you. What the fuck.” He grimaced.

“I mean, same reaction here, but also. Why did I feel kind of offended by that?” Roksu groaned into his palms, dragging them down his face. “Forget that. Explain.”

And while he did that, Roksu would get a drink. After a bit of strongarming on both their parts, the God of Death had finally added a liquor cabinet with a variety of soju and the Henituse County’s famous wines. He popped open a bottle of red, poured it into the wine glass that appeared conveniently in his hand and made himself comfortable in the plush Roan-style armchair. The opened bottle found a convenient position on the table next to him—within arm’s reach, because whatever hell conversation he was about to be subjected to would most certainly require it.

Cale, to his merit, took the opportunity to breathe in, out, get himself in order. Then promptly lose it all again. Roksu rephrased that thought. To Cale’s demerit, he had paced the length of the small, cozy room, feet digging shapes into the red-gold carpet, and by the time the first half of his drink was pouring smoothly down his throat, Roksu knew the average paces it took his younger body from one side to the other. Eight or so rapid steps.

Cheers, God of Death. His body-swap partner was a fucking dumbass.

He lowered his glass and looked over at Cale, who about-faced at the other end of the room. Their eyes met.

“Is it normal for your world’s people to hold hands? Or intertwine fingers? Is that a brotherly thing to do?”

Roksu squinted, some part wondering if he was already drunk—not that he could get drunk on imaginary liquor. He would be making a token effort, though.

“And, say, you’re in a drawing room and you’re sitting on one of the couches around a table. And he just sits there. Right next to me. And he bakes! For my children! He knows my favourite colour!”

Kind of pathetic that that was where the bar was. For both of them. Roksu hadn’t lived to forty(-two) by being a hypocrite after all. At least, not a blatant one. He rolled his eyes. “Sounds brotherly enough. Camaraderie is co-parenting, after all. Very Felix Calendar 783 of you two.”

“We have regular dinners together. On his balcony. Alone. I think he gets Mary to play us music from the garden. For the ambience. She’s getting really good at the violin, you know, Rosalyn’s thinking of picking up the cello again so they can duet. Last time he showed up without his disguise. And we talked about our family. He promised me he’d take care of everyone if I died. Gods, that was hot.” Rust-brown eyes blinked, visibly unsettled by his absent brain-to-mouth filter.

Trust me, Roksu grumbled internally, that makes the two of us. Unfortunately, that didn’t trigger the appropriate ‘shut up’ response in the stupid man.

“He said he wants to know what I taste like.” Cale ran a fraught hand through his hair, pupils shaking. “Is that weird? I feel like that’s weird.”

Kim Roksu polished off his wine. He threw the glass aside—it vanished before it hit the wall—and went straight for the bottle instead. The redhead had paused his rant, as if he was genuinely confused by the most blatant flirting Roksu had ever heard of, and not just an emotionally constipated rat. “Cale, you’re fucking hopeless.”

“He invited me to dinner tomorrow. Again. But, like, at the theatre this time. ‘Cause he heard I wanted to see this one production. I have to look good! He’s going to look so good, right? The glib bastard looks good in everything. Ron and the kids always help me pick an outfit, you know? Hong’s really good at it—you know, I think he might have a hidden talent. Ron keeps giving me the same spatial pouch every time and telling me not to open it until the time is right. What even—”

Roksu was growing desperate. He had to deal with this clusterfuck of an adult man and paperwork? For fucking free? Also – added bonus, really, but whatever—Kim Roksu resented Cale Henituse’s little squad. Sure, a ton of it was jealousy, he was self-aware enough to admit that much, but there was something about the memories of those put-together, righteous people from his own timeline that made him want to fuck with their much more innocent, gods forbid cute counterparts.

He was also just generally pissed, in all honesty, because he’d been on the tail end of a twelve-hour shift, and after this was all done, he would wake up slumped on his desk with the worst back pain imaginable. And he wouldn’t even get compensation for the upwards of three hundred psychic damage he had taken from this ridiculous conversation.

Yeah, obviously he had to fuck with them a bit.

“For the love of everything, shut up. He’s your hyung, right? Sworn brothers and all that. What’s so weird about dinners between brothers?”

“Sworn brothers,” the redhead snapped, whirling around and planting his feet in front of the bemused Korean. “Not even, like, real ones! That was a political manoeuvre at best.”

“Cale Henituse, so help me god I will transmigrate back there and slap you upside the head.” If they could touch each other in this subspace, Roksu would have already strangled the living daylights out of the idiot.

Cale squawked in protest. “You’re so bitchy. What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing. You haven’t done anything for me, either.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my helpful consultant on culture and stuff?”

“Only as helpful as you’re willing to listen,” Roksu snorted into a glass of Henituse County wine. “And hey, look, it worked. Done with the hysterics?”

He nodded contritely.

“Good. Now listen up. Coming from your real hyung—just cut the crap and say yes, already.”

Cale baulked. “What the fuck. We’re basically the same age.”

Roksu barked a laugh and waved the near-empty bottle at him. “Please, I died at forty, lived two years here. Your body’s 38 now. I’m older in every sense of the word. Also, what on Earth is more hyung material than the soul that’s living in your present body? While, I might add, you live in said soul’s teenage form.”

“Your brain chemistry is a nightmare, old hag.”

“You aren’t any better, rip-off.”

“I beg your fucking pardon.”

“You have it. Are we done here?” Cale rolled his eyes—he probably thought that was subtle. But Roksu was the king of subtle slights… and okay, yeah, his dongsaeng did a respectable job. “Good. Now, repeat after me. ‘Thank you, my most generous hyung!’”

“Fuck you, my most confounding body-stealer.”

“Wouldn’t change that for the world. Now let me get back to my paperwork, for fuck’s sake.”

At the mention, Cale’s eye twitched. Good to know they both hated that shit.

“Give me the run-down later, dongsaeng.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, get going, grandpa.”

“Last advice. That scam Prince likes to ******.”

Cale choked on air.

“Good luck, brother mine!”

Kim Roksu grinned roguishly as he fell through the sofa and back into his body, delighting in the stunned horror, curiosity and disgusted intrigue that amalgamated in Cale’s expression.

So fucking worth it.

Notes:

IT'S 4AM AND I GIVE TO YOU ANOTHER BANGER. Why did I lose sleep for this. Also sheesh it's like 12 hours since the last fic drop. Really ignoring the doctor's orders to rest my joints lmao.

Kudos and comments are appreciated, as always, hope you enjoyed reading :D

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