Chapter Text
⤫-⤬-⤬-⤬
“My darling? Hongbin murmured, leaning across the length of the sofa to prod at Jaehwan’s arm, “Are you well?”
“Of course, bunny,” the ringmaster replied, “Why do you ask?”
The vaulter looked him over with a critical eye. Jaehwan’s skin possessed an unhealthy pallor, almost sallow, like he’d been sick. His eyes were rather bloodshot and, upon closer inspection, Jaehwan’s fingernails were tinged a pale lavender.
“I asked because you don’t seem well,” he said, “All of your usual color is gone.”
Jaehwan flashed a smile that was very clearly forced. Taking Hongbin's hand and lacing their fingers together. “I’m fine. I assure you. Perhaps dinner didn’t agree with me.”
“Did you have another headache today?”
“Only a small one.”
“They’ve been coming more and more frequently, no?”
“A bit.”
Hongbin felt himself frown. “Are they debilitating?”
“No, no,” Jaehwan gave his hand a squeeze, aiming to reassure, “They aren’t so bad as all that. Simply an inconvenience, bunny, nothing you need to worry about.”
The vaulter squeezed back. “I only ask because I care.”
Leaning all the way over, eliminating the remaining space between them, Hongbin cupped Jaehwan’s face in his hands. Stroking the ringmaster's cheeks with his thumbs. Trying to silently convey all of the love that he felt but was not allowed to verbally express. It grew harder to keep quiet with every day that passed.
Jaehwan kissed Hongbin’s fingertips. “I know.”
⤫-⤬-⤬-⤬
Taekwoon had waited until Wonshik left his apartment for work to actually approach him. In any other case, he would have asked sooner. Simply knocked on his door and waited for an answer so that he could question when the other had lost his mind. He couldn't guarantee Hakyeon wouldn't be there, however. He was still at the circus, and seemingly closer to Wonshik than ever. He was meant to leave three nights ago. He was not meant to be perched on the edge of Wonshik's bed, tucked up against him in the menagerie, visiting his office across all working hours. He was meant to be gone. Yet there he was.
Wonshik was simple enough to find, sitting on the floor of the ring. He was sanding down a prop, preparing it for paint if the jars of pigment strewn about said anything. He didn't immediately notice Taekwoon, back turned and abrasive scrap of sandpaper in his ears. His back was defined, even dressed. Taekwoon plotted what he would say watching the artist's shoulders work. Hakyeon is still here. Definitively passive aggressive, maybe too much so. Best to start more gently. Simply greet him. It served Taekwoon best in the past to wait for his opportunity to voice his opinions, rather than announce them. If I wanted your thoughts, boy, I would have asked for them .
“Wonshik.” Taekwoon stood at his shoulder, staring down at his work. The clear crescent shape of a moon. Wonshik's head flicked up to him in surprise before he smiled.
“Good morning, Taek!” There wasn't a drop of shame or malice to his welcome. Just as happy to see Taekwoon as ever.
“Did you cut yourself again?” He had bandages about his fingers. Taekwoon concentrated on them rather than meeting Wonshik's eyes. He looked at his own hands with a shy chuckle.
“Oh, yes. Caught myself when I was cutting this out. At least they're protecting me from splinters now.” It was meant to be a joke. Wonshik wiggled his wrapped fingers as if to show them off. Taekwoon felt imbalanced standing while Wonshik was down on the ground. His head was level with the guard's hip.
“You should wear gloves. It would help.”
“Force of habit, I suppose.” He began to sand again, a shrug of the shoulder. “The sailors never wore gloves and they were constantly patching holes and tying sails.” Wonshik had explained his old job before. Told stories about when he was an errand boy in order to provide for him and his sister. He seemed to fondly remember the older men that practically raised him. Taekwoon felt a degree of kinship with it.
“You are more delicate than them.” Wonshik laughed, nodding with a hung head. Taekwoon finally settled onto his knees beside him. Balancing them.
“You think I'm delicate?” Taekwoon kept his eyes focused on the incomplete moon.
“Managing a circus is much less physically demanding than a boat. You're a leader, not a captain.”
“Officially, Jaehwan is the leader.” He went back to sanding and the loss of his stare was a weight off Taekwoon’s shoulders. “I just run the books.” Taekwoon refrained from rolling his eyes out of courtesy.
“Ornamental. We answer as much to you as him.” If not more so he didn't say.
“But I answer to him,” He emphasizes. “Or well, him and his uncle. We couldn't do anything without him.”
“He's very lenient with you, then,” Taekwoon said before he could think better of it. Before he could push down the irritation that was the real root of why he was sitting so close to the artist and chatting.
“Jaehwan?” He frowned to himself. “I guess you could say that. I think it's just a matter of we were friends and a couple first. It's hard to treat someone like your boss when you've known him so long.”
“Couple?” Wherever Taekwoon’s mind was spiraling next, trying to steer the conversation where he needed it, halted. A couple. All the touches between them, the pet names, the check ups, fell into place. Taekwoon clutched his thighs. Wonshik, ignorant of his plight, nodded.
“Not recently. It's been a year or two. It was one of those things that simply happens. You're each other's only friend, spend all your time together, you're both recovering from a really hard past.” He blew the sawdust off of the prop, forming a cloud around them. He took a dry paintbrush to brush off even more. “Of course I was head over heels.”
“Was he?” Taekwoons voice was remarkably timid.
“Well, Jaehwan's complicated when it comes to love.” He glanced at Taekwoon with a sympathetic expression. He was keeping it vague out of courtesy for the ringmaster. “But I feel pretty certain we felt the same way about one another.” He was full of nostalgia, fondness. Taekwoon put forth immense effort to not clench his jaw so hard he cracked a tooth. “Sometimes I see us with him and Hongbin. Jaehwan's changed quite a bit since we first met, though. You wouldn't even recognize him back then.”
“He's still Jaehwan.” Taekwoon was sure he would be exactly the same kind of man past, present, and future. Wonshik laughed.
“You're probably much better at sniffing people out than me.” The irony of it coming from him was agonizing. “No one could hide from you.”
“It comes with the occupation.” Taekwoon was already an observant person, his career only beat the skill into him further. He only needed a few exchanges to remember a person. Jaehwan would have had to go through leaps and bounds of development in those two years for even a chance of confusing Taekwoon. Wonshik nudged him with his shoulder.
“That's why we made you head of security.” Despite its roundabout manner, Taekwoon still shied at the praise. You were the best of the bunch .
“Were you a couple for long?” Taekwoon can't move on, and he especially can't acknowledge the feeling of Wonshik's praise. Wonshik is clearly surprised by the question, but answers it nonetheless.
“A few years, I believe.”
“And you're still as close now.” Taekwoon’s stomach was somewhere on the floor beside them. There was a collection of sounds his first week. Scarcely even audible through the door. He wasn't sure what it was then and chose to grant both his employers a degree of privacy. Now, he was considering killing Jaehwan.
“Of course!” Wonshik cracked open a jar of white gesso to prime the wood for color. Wonshik had no idea about Taekwoon’s train of thought.
“Close as you and Hakyeon?” Wonshik's hand froze mid-air, brush dripping gesso onto its intended canvas. Taekwoon was a mere motion away from clutching onto Wonshik’s arm in desperation. Hakyeon and Jaehwan both. Who else had a grip on this man?
“Hakyeon is… different.” Wonshik cleared his throat. He hesitantly began to paint, clearly avoiding eye contact with the guard.
“I had thought he was leaving days ago.” Taekwoon couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone this time. He wanted to shake Wonshik by the shoulders and question how he couldn't see what was right in front of him. How he could trust everyone around him with an ease akin to that of breathing. Wonshik did an aborted motion with his head.
“He had planned to, but I said there was no rush.”
“Why?”
“Well, there isn't,” Wonshik stammered. His voice subtly pitched up in defense. “They clearly don't miss him that dearly, if no one has questioned why he hasn't come back. And i…” he huffed, dropping his hand. Not like he was frustrated with Taekwoon, but with himself. “I didn't want to send him back there. With how they treated Hongbin, I doubt they treated him much better. I couldn't stand to let him go back when there's no harm in him being here.” He held a hand out to Taekwoon and his expression was so earnest that it shook the arguments out of Taekwoon. He was begging Taekwoon to see his perspective. “It's the same with you. I can see how well you're doing here.”
The comparison took Taekwoon aback. He had to blink at Wonshik just to be sure he meant what he said. He saw even a lick of similarity between him and Hakyeon. He had a similar sense of pity for them both. He picked Hakyeon.
“What?”
“You’ve changed since you first came here. It's not day and night, but you're,” he squirmed in place in a flimsy gesture, “looser. You don't seem as weighed down anymore.”
“Looser,” Taekwoon repeated.
“When you first came, you could really tell you had been through something difficult.” Wonshik idly returned to painting. His attention wasn't focused on it, however. “Everything that happened with your old boss was written all over your face. Getting you to even crack a smile felt like an accomplishment. Now, it's not as difficult.” Did Wonshik take pride in getting Taekwoon to smile?
“Hakyeon doesn't seem to be suffering.”
“Well, I'm not certain to what degree, or if he himself would even call it suffering. You should see him when he's alone, though. That's when I see it.” He painted the prop with white xs. Makes the brush strokes less obvious, he had explained before when he thought Taekwoon wasn't listening. “He disguises it behind all of his charisma.” Taekwoon bites back on his own inferences about Hakyeon's character. The trainer would surely radiate pride if he could hear how well Wonshik had bought into him. Bat his lashes and agree that he was simply a tortured soul trying to cope with a tragic history. Tragic history of being raised amongst the cream of society with everything at his fingertips until daddy sent him away to work like ordinary men. Torturous.
“You're very generous in your perceptions of others.”
“I see it like this, no one is inherently bad.” He gathered more gesso on the brush. “I think it's better to assume the best of someone, until they prove you shouldn't. No one should be discounted from the start.” Taekwoon stared at him, even when he had said all he intended. He was serious. He genuinely believed what he was telling the guard. Why should he assume ill intent? Taekwoon wanted to ask if he had truly never had his trust betrayed. It was the surety of a child that still viewed the adults around them as all knowing gods and not fallible human beings. Taekwoon wanted to tell him he was stupid. He wanted to tell him he was failing to take the most basic precautions with his heart.
His heart which was clearly too big for him, that felt too much, that bled on his sleeve with every single breath and smile. The heart was meant to be trapped behind the ribs to keep itself safe. People were meant to be trapped behind facades to keep themselves safe. No one deserved immediate trust. The wolf wasn't meant to be left with the baby simply because it had yet to clamp its jaws down on the tender flesh. Wonshik had to not know any better. Taekwoon was sick with envy. A cruel part of him wanted to prove him wrong, just so he could understand how foolish he was being. More significantly, however, a part of him wanted to protect it. He wanted to be the ribs that cradled the heart.
Wonshik held out a brush to him. Taekwoon looked up to see his lips quirked up at the corners. A shy kind of gesture.
“Do you want to help?” Taekwoon would butcher himself on his own sword for him. He had realized it so clearly in that moment he almost lurched at the suddenness. He took the paintbrush from his hand, fingers gracing each other. He nodded limply. Wonshik offered the jar of gesso to him. How simple life must be when you still believe in the men around you. “We'll put this down and then I'll mix the colors while it dries.”
Taekwoon knows he was never truly upset with Wonshik when they start to paint together. He knows his anger only has one true subject when Wonshik shows him the sketch of the design they're creating while the gesso dries. He knows who he's righteously angry for when Wonshik explains color theory to him while mixing together his pigments.
“To get the kind of purple I want for this, we'll need red and blue.” Taekwoon handed him the cerulean jar. “And black for the shade.” He mixed pigment into the medium, making three pools of color to draw from on the palette. Taekwoon watched as he started mixing them in small amounts. “Colors work a bit like a wheel. You can make anything out of just maroon, cerulean, and yellow. Black and white just control the shade and tint.” A beautiful violet began to form in the center of the palette, swirling together with his brush. “You have to be careful when you add black. Even the smallest amount can take over the color if you're not careful.” He dropped only the tip of his brush into the glob of black paint. The violet became a deep midnight. “Blacks tend to be tricky, because they'll have notes of blue in them.”
“Why is that?” Taekwoon rarely made a sound as Wonshik talked, hoping he would just keep going on and on. There was a love, a passion, for what he was explaining. He wanted to share that with Taekwoon. That said, a few questions could easily keep the fire fed.
“Well, it's hard to just get pure black. Often it's just really, really dark shades of blue or brown. Pigments are a little more reliable, but then you have to deal with mixing yourself.” He added a touch more cerulean. “It's more cost effective in bulk like this. A small amount of powder can color a large amount of paint, and we have to paint a lot here.” Set pieces, backdrops, posters, props. Everything was brilliantly colored in the circus. It overwhelmed the senses at first.
“Did you study this?” Wonshik handed over a second palette to Taekwoon, scooping paint into its wells for him.
“You try.”
“I don't think-”
“Come on,” Wonshik interrupted. “Just give it a try. Even if it's not an exact match, I'll still use it. We'll need lots of different shades.” He brushed some of the midnight purple on for him to use as a point of reference. The bandages on his fingers were splattered in color. Taekwoon glanced up at him, but he simply waved a hand with a smile. Go ahead. The guard sighed and gathered maroon on his brush. “And I didn't have any formal training like an arts school. I just picked things up.” He began to sketch his design onto the painted wood, created a guideline. “When I got here and learnt how to read, I got every book I could about painting.”
“You weren't literate before?” Given his position in the circus, Taekwoon would have assumed he had learnt when he was a child. A very unsound business decision to have an illiterate keeping the books.
“I was too young for schooling when my mother passed.” He erased a crooked line. “So I never had a chance to learn. Jaehwan has always loved books; so when he met me and found out I couldn't read, he insisted he help me study.” He chuckled to himself, clearly fond. Taekwoon scowled at the paint.
“You must be grateful he insisted now.”
“It certainly makes the job a lot simpler than if I didn't know what the papers said,” he joked. He gestured for Taekwoon to add his black before returning his attention to the guidelines. “I am happy that I learned. I like this job, and I'm sure Jiwon likes me not having to have someone read her letters to me, too.” Taekwoon snorted to himself. He surely would have never written anything to his sister if he knew someone else was reading.
“I wrote to my sister recently.” Wonshik's grin was blinding as he looked back at Taekwoon.
“Did you? When did you do that?”
“Just the other morning.” Just after Hakyeon tried to bash his head into the floor. Wonshik didn't need to know why he stopped to take the time to do so. Thankfully, he didn't even ask.
“That's great! I know you were meaning to.”
The violet on the palette now was something of the color of a bleeding heart. Taekwoon swallowed down the urge to smile.
“You remembered that?”
“Why wouldn't I?” He made it seem so simple. “I like talking with you,” he carefully connected his anchoring dots to create a star, “and it was one of the first times you told me anything about yourself.” Taekwoon’s cheeks probably took on a red comparable to that of the paint. He felt just about the same gooey texture as it.
“I like talking with you as well,” he muttered. Wonshik didn't reply, but there was an easy peace that made Taekwoon certain he heard him.
He managed a halfway decent color match, and Wonshik praised him for it.
⤫-⤬-⤬-⤬
Sanghyuk focused on the vibration of the rope beneath his feet.
It was a much higher rope than the one he’d walked across during his quote-unquote skill assessment. Jaehwan had decided to test Sanghyuk's nerve that night. To make sure that an increase in height wouldn’t affect the acrobats confidence.
There was a net strung out beneath him, of course, but Sanghyuk had never really minded heights. Nor was he scared of falling.
Now, walking back and forth across the highwire, he was irresistibly reminded of the time he’d scaled the maintenance ladder in his parents' ballroom at the age of eight so that he could walk along the rafters. The beams that supported the giant crystal chandelier and kept the domed roof from caving in.
The acrobat felt the same heady rush now that he’d experienced back then. Not an adrenaline thrill, not exactly. More like the adrenaline enhanced the euphoria he always experienced on the rope.
“Move to the middle,” Jaehwan called from where he waited on the ground, hand propped on one jutted hip.
Sanghyuk did as he was instructed; pacing to the center of the rope, spinning in place, and then walking back to the platform. The vibration of his motion continued to buzz through his muscles even once he was standing on something more steady.
“Good,” Jaehwan nodded. He gave the younger a look of stern approval. Clapping twice. “Come down now.”
The acrobat smiled. “Yes, sir.”
⤫-⤬-⤬-⤬
“Do you have any other skills you're practiced in?” Wonshik asked as he cut into another bag of feed. He lifted it up to pour it into the already half full container of seeds and nuts and dried fruits. Hakyeon leveled it out as he poured.
“What kind are you looking for, dear?”
“Performance wise. Something that could be used in an act.” He shook out the last few grains from the sack before tossing it with the others. Hakyeon filled a metal dish with the feed.
“Are you plotting something, sweet boy?” He glanced up at Wonshik with a half a smirk. Wonshik cleared his throat. He took the full dish from Hakyeon so he could fill the other two.
“Well, I just thought- if I'm going to ask if you could stay that I might,” he struggled to find a way to put it, “convince Jae and his uncle.”
“Need to make it worth their investment.” The seeds and nuts pinged off the sides of the feed bowl.
“I'm sure they'd say yes,” Wonshik was quick to explain. He didn't want Hakyeon to think he doubted that idea. “I just want to make the best case I can. For your sake.”
“You seem to be going to a lot of trouble for my sake.” He replaced the lid to the box, closing the latch so pests couldn't break in. Wonshik could almost hear a note of confusion in his voice.
“It's not trouble.” Hakyeon blew a breath from his nose.
“Effort, then.” He led them back to the cages where the birds noisily cried for their dinner. The fruits and vegetables still sat waiting to be cut and added.
“You're worth the effort.” The dishes were set down, Hakyeon beginning to cut a carrot in his hand so that the pieces would fall into the bowls. Wonshik anxiously watched his fingers.
“How did I manage to find someone so sweet?” He mused with a smile.
“I'm being serious.” How he managed to not cut his thumb was a mystery to Wonshik, especially with how efficiently he cut through the produce. A strawberry stained his thumb pink.
“So am I, dear. I've never met such an attentive man.” Wonshik picked at the slices, dividing them out evenly. Means of distracting himself.
“There's no reason not to help someone if you have the means to.”
“Survival of the fittest,” Hakyeon mumbled.
“What?” Wonshik hadn't expected the response. He looked up to meet Hakyeon's eye, but he was still watching his hands as he cut.
“Survival of the fittest is the rule of the beast. If you can't provide it for yourself, you go without.”
“That's how it is in nature but we're,” Wonshik grabbed for the words, “men. We don't work like that.”
“You have very generous views of your fellow man.” Finished with the produce, Hakyeon took a bowl to the cage, carefully opening the door to set it inside. The birds quickly swarmed it. Wonshik frowned at him.
“You don't agree.” An obvious observation.
“My love, I have had men state such a belief directly to me without an ounce of irony.” Hakyeon held out a hand for another bowl, which Wonshik gave to him.
“Do you believe it?” Hakyeon turned away from him to set the bowl in the cage before he responded. The flock split into two, giving some of the smaller birds a better chance. No smile anymore. Just an unreadable, flat expression.
“I believe generosity will only get you so far. There won't always be someone there to pick you up when you've fallen.”
“But that doesn't mean it has to be every man for himself.”
“Why risk it?” He silently asked for the last bowl. The simplicity of it floored Wonshik.
“What?” Hakyeon sighed.
“Wonshik, did you end up in the circus by someone else simply handing you the job?”
“Well, no-”
“No. You sought it on your own. You took control of your own fate.”
“That's different.”
“You got the job because Jaehwan's uncle needed someone to fill a role. He hired you to benefit both of you.”
“But he could have chosen someone else. He saw I needed it.”
“But he still benefitted.” Hakyeon took the bowl himself to serve it to the birds. Wonshik felt scolded. “People do not simply do things without a benefit to reap for themselves.”
“That's not true.” The embarrassment in his chest was starting to roll over into an indignation.
“Isn't it?”
“I'm trying to help you.”
“And in return you get to keep me.” He did a flippant gesture with his hand as he locked the cage. Wonshik swallowed down a statement about how Hakyeon wasn't a thing to be kept.
“What do you gain from not forcing Hongbin back home with you?” Wonshik felt proud of the question when Hakyeon actually took a moment to consider it. Wonshik watched him stare forward at the birds.
“Jaehwan doesn't kill me, I suppose.”
“He wouldn't kill you.” He would think about it. And say it. And act like it. But Wonshik knew he would never do it in actuality.
“I have a better rapport with Hongbin, too, by not forcing him away against his will.”
“Not a part of you wanted to help him just because it was the right thing?” Hakyeon rubbed a finger against a bar, seemingly deep in thought. His motions were slow, almost mindless. The birds continued to noisily peck at their dinner. Wonshik shifted his weight in the silence.
“Do you have any bull whips?”
“What?” Wonshik jerked. Hakyeon turned round with a smile, like that pensive expression had never been there at all. He took the knife and stems left from the produce he cut.
“You asked me if I had any other talents. I have some tricks with a whip up my sleeves.” Wonshik opened his mouth, going to say something about their previous conversation. Why did you let him stay ? Hakyeon walked away however. He headed for the slop sink and Wonshik automatically moved to follow.
“I'm sure we could find one.”
“We can make private use of it as well, if that interests you.” Wonshik splattered, much to Hakyeon's enjoyment.
⤫-⤬-⤬-⤬
There was a party that night.
Not the kind of party Jaehwan enjoyed; far from it. No exotic burlesque dancers, no fast paced music, no clouds of opium smoke floating around his head. The Metropolitan Club was far from Jaehwan’s favorite place.
It was his uncle’s birthday party. And the chance of encountering a familiar face was too high for comfort.
Because he’d been in a generous mood that afternoon, Jaehwan had decided to let his best friend off the hook. His generosity was due, in no small part, to his frustration with Wonshik; not wanting to look at Wonshik’s precious face for too long. Wonshik always hated stuffy parties like this and the ringmaster had found an adequate substitute for him. Someone far more familiar with this type of crowd. Someone better suited to mingle. One of them was, anyway.
From his place at his uncle’s right, Jaehwan shot a surreptitious look over his shoulder. Sanghyuk and Hongbin were speaking to a small flock of very lovely young women, the former more at ease than the latter, nearly obscured by folds of rich taffeta and lengths of dainty lace.
The sight of Hongbin’s wide, terrified eyes brought a laugh right to the cusp of Jaehwan’s mouth, but the ringmaster swallowed it down. Nobody close to him had told a joke. It wouldn’t do to laugh. Too obvious that he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation he was supposed to be engaged with.
“Uncle?” he whispered, feigning hesitance, hands folded politely behind his back, “I’m dying for a smoke... I won't be long?”
“I thought you’d quit,” his uncle replied, glancing down at Jaehwan, “Filthy habit.”
Jaehwan smiled his sweetest, most saccharine smile. “I’ll quit tomorrow. Promise.”
His uncle was a large person. Several inches taller than Sanghyuk, making him a full hand taller than Jaehwan and far broader besides. The ringmaster was on eye level with his neatly tailored shoulder.
Calloused fingertips stroked his cheek... A crooked finger tilting his chin up... “Don’t be long.”
The ringmaster kept his smile in place even as he gave the group of men in suits -suits that were several years out of fashion- arranged around him a shallow bow. Excusing himself without another word.
He wove through the crowd with practiced ease. Steps aimed toward the back of the club. Jaehwan caught Hongbin's eye as he went and gifted his bunny a wink. He failed to notice one of the young women detach from the flock and trail after him.
Smoking had been nothing more than an excuse, a simple excuse that wouldn’t be questioned, but now that he was alone in the empty private parlor at the farthest end of the Metropolitan Club, Jaehwan found himself desperate for one. He fished his silver case from his trouser pocket and pulled a cigarette free. Holding it between his parted lips and striking a match just as the door opened behind him.
Jaehwan swung around, the unlit cigarette completely forgotten.
“Aera?!” he asked, even though the identity of the woman before him was unquestionable. Jaehwan hadn’t seen her since he was a teenager, but that didn’t make her any less recognizable. Soft auburn curls and brown doe eyes almost as lovely as Hongbin’s.
The fury pinching her small round face was no surprise. She’d always been angry. A fighter, much like Jaehwan himself. However, having that fury aimed at him was unexpected.
“It’s been ages! Are you-”
The ringmaster reached out to take her hands, the cigarette and smoldering match compressing beneath the sole of his shoe, heart swelling with a potent mixture of sadness and joy at the sight of his childhood friend. This woman who had been like a sister to him, once upon a time.
“I hoped you would be here,” she replied, “I’ve been trying to find you for months.”
“You have?” Jaehwan frowned, confused, “You all have forgotten about me by now, I’m sure...”
Barely registering it, only noticing it in passing, Jaehwan saw that the hands he’d been reaching for were hidden in the folds of her skirts.
“We never forgot about you,” Aera hissed, gaze narrowing a touch, “You did the impossible. You escaped.”
“Oh, I-”
“You should have heard the way some of them used to talk about you. Like you were the second coming.”
Jaehwan couldn’t suppress a flinch at the accusation in those words. Unsure of what to say. He was woefully unprepared for a conversation like this.
His old friend moved closer, glaring up at him with such hatred, such disgust, that Jaehwan recoiled. Stepping backward as she stepped forward.
“You escaped. Alone. And you left the rest of us behind.”
“No, it wasn’t like that,” Jaehwan whispered, tears burning unbidden at the corners of his eyes, “It wasn’t, I swear.”
“Do you remember Dohyun?”
The ringmaster swallowed around the razor sharp flower that had bloomed inside his throat. “Yes.”
“Do you remember asking him to watch the door for you? Promising that you would come back and rescue him if he only watched the door to Madame’s bedroom so you wouldn’t get caught sneaking away?”
Guilt stung him, each memory that Jaehwan had tried so hard to suppress buzzing angrily around his head like a cloud of wasps. But he nodded.
“He’s dead. Dead for almost a decade now.”
“What?!” Jaehwan gasped, swatting the wasps away with an invisible hand, “Why- how?!”
Aera took another step, and Jaehwan shrank away. Shrank under the condemnation in her big brown eyes. “Madame found out. She found out that he was the one to help you get out. And he was so small... So much younger than us. His punishment for helping you was servicing your clients, Jaehwan, and by then all of your clients were used to roughing up a teenager. How do you think he died?”
“No, listen,” Jaehwan pleaded, his mind refusing to process the meaning of her words. Refusing them utterly. Not allowing them to cut him any deeper. “I had to get out. And I wanted to help you, all of you, but I didn’t escape, Aera, I left one master for a new one. It wasn’t safe to bring anyone else where I was going. You know I never meant for Dohyun to get hurt, you must know that, but-”
Swift as a deer, Aera raised the folding knife that had been hidden in her skirts and slashed at him.
Jaehwan felt the sting of his flesh as it parted, saw the silver tip of a blade glazed in crimson lacquer, heard the fabric of his shirt rip. She hadn’t swiped at his face. Not cutting him very deep. The arc of the wound was long. Crossing from collarbone to pectoral like a constellation drawn across his chest.
All at once, he became aware of two other people in the room.
Muted party noises floated inside. Sanghyuk was there, backlit, framed in the doorway. And Hongbin was there as well. But Hongbin was not standing still as Sanghyuk was.
As soon as the vaulter realized what was happening, Hongbin knocked the knife out of Aera’s hand. Jaehwan heard it skitter across the wooden floor as his bunny grabbed her by the hair.
“What have you done?!” Hongbin’s voice, always like warm brandy to Jaehwan’s ear, had dipped into something deep and dangerous. He released his grip on her hair and grabbed her wrists, yanking her forward so that she almost lost her balance, “How dare you-”
Aera hissed at him and Hongbin snarled right back.
Jaehwan knew how pale his face must have grown. Eyes wide, blinking too fast, mouth a soundless gape. Sitting on the floor as he was, having backed away from the pain with such haste that he’d tripped over the corner of the rug. Spots of his own blood staining his front. She’d meant to kill him, would have done it if they hadn’t been interrupted, and he would have been unable to defend himself. Utterly powerless to fight against such a well-earned punishment. But-
Hongbin came from Requiem and Requiem broke people.
“Bunny!” he gasped, not wanting his old friend to get hurt, “Bunny, stop, it’s okay.”
By some miracle, Sanghyuk shook free of what was no doubt shock-induced paralysis and got in between them. Grabbing Hongbin by the collar of his borrowed frock coat and hauling him backwards.
Aera fled without another word. Pulling the parlor door open and skittering over the threshold. It slammed shut in her wake. Gone before Jaehwan had even managed to get to his feet.
Hongbin slipped free of Sanghyuk’s grip and spun around, going for the door again. And again, the acrobat got in his way. “Who was that?!” he spat, so furious that he appeared on the verge of shaking apart.
The ringmaster let out a rasp of a breath. Sitting straight and then standing up with as much dignity as he could muster. He needed to de-escalate. Diffuse the situation so that Hongbin could relax. And, almost as important, he needed to say something that wouldn’t reveal too much of his past to Sanghyuk.
“No one,” he lied, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, “A silly quarrel between long-ago lovers, bunny, that’s all.” He took Hongbin's face in his hands and leaned in so their foreheads touched. “Be calm for me, bunny. Nothing to get so upset about.”
“She cut you!”
“And I deserved it,” Jaehwan replied, honest, “I used to be even more dreadful than I am now, believe me.”
A burst of loud, booming laughter from somewhere nearby made Jaehwan jump.
Sanghyuk cracked the door open and peeked out into the corridor beyond. And then he slammed the door so hard that the pictures on the wall shook.
Jaehwan jumped at the loud slam as well, but he managed a weak sounding, “What is it, Sanghyuk?”
The acrobat turned to face them, back pressed to the seam of the door, and the ringmaster was alarmed to see that Sanghyuk’s eyes were wide with terror. All the blood had drained from his face, color leaking from his skin as though someone had cut his throat.
“What is it?” he repeated, more sharply this time, keeping his palm flat on the base of Hongbin’s skull so the vaulter wouldn't take the distraction as an opportunity to bolt after Aera.
“My- my...” Sanghyuk stuttered, eyes going even wider if such a thing was possible, “My...”
The acrobat couldn’t say it. But he didn’t need to say it. Jaehwan read the final word like it was scrawled on Sanghyuk’s forehead. My father.
“Give me your shirt.”
“What?”
Jaehwan snapped his fingers. “Give me your shirt, Sanghyuk. I need to go back in before someone comes looking for me, and I can't go back in covered in blood.”
After a few moments of hurried motion, the acrobat was wearing Jaehwan’s torn shirt. Jaehwan himself had taken Hongbin’s belt, using it to strap a folded linen napkin over his cut in place of a bandage. Sanghyuk’s shirt buttoned over that, and Hongbin’s frock coat on top. An extra layer of protection just in case the blood managed to leak through.
While they changed, Hongbin bent to snatch up the blade Aera had abandoned. Examining it in the parlor’s dim light with a scowl on his face.
“Out the window, now, both of you,” Jaehwan said, unlatching the window in question and propping it open, “Take him home, Sanghyuk, please. And- breathe, bunny. Wait for me at home, I won’t stay too late.”
Sanghyuk reached for Jaehwan’s hand. “Thank you.”
Jaehwan moved away before Sanghyuk had a chance to touch him. “Go.”
A handful of words were exchanged, and then the pair of them vanished. Out the window and into the night.
“Where did this come from?” his uncle asked, nodding at the frock coat, rubbing a slow circle across Jaehwan’s back.
The ringmaster smiled his sweetest, most saccharine smile. Not thinking. Not remembering. Not allowing himself to feel the ordeal that he had just gone through. “I was cold, that's all. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
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