Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

His ears are ringing. 

San groans. His head aches. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. 

“Idiot,” someone says. “You know better than this.”

Strong arms wrap around his torso, bodily dragging him through the dirt. Jongho? But he’s…?

“So are you,” Jongho says. “Come on. One more time. It can’t end like this.”

But San’s so tired. So, so tired. So what if it ends like this? Does it even matter?

“You’d leave them to fend for themselves?” Jongho asks, and his fingernails dig into San’s arm. He squirms, trying to push him off, but Jongho’s strong. Jongho’s always been strong. “Don’t be a coward.”

“This is the seventh time,” San rasps. “It didn’t work the first seven times, it’s not gonna work the eighth.”

“Eight’s the magic number,” Jongho says stubbornly. “One more time. Please, San. I’ve been waiting for years, I can’t wait any longer.”

San knows what his answer will be before Jongho finishes talking. He closes his eyes, too tired to look at the world. Too tired to face Jongho when he knows this try will fail, just as the last seven did. 

“Okay,” San says. Jongho relaxes, buries his face in San’s shoulder and exhales shaky. They let the hug go on for too long, knowing neither of them will get this again any time soon. It hurts to tear himself away, but San does it anyway because he knows if he leaves it up to Jongho neither of them will ever let go. “Okay,” he repeats. “Ready?”

His vision is white and spotty and no matter how hard he blinks it isn’t clearing up. It feels like his brain is pulsing, pushing against his skull. His head aches. San groans.

His ears are ringing. 

Greyscale. Fades. Blue. Peach. Red. Fingernails. Words. 

What does he know?

The book. The store.

Find Yeosang.

FIND YEOSANG.

San wakes up in a taxi. It takes him a moment to get a bearing on his surroundings, and he just about leaps into the air when he’s addressed. 

“What brings you to Haven?” 

The rain comes down hard on the windshield, hard enough that the wipers can barely keep up. San blinks up at them, then at the driver. “Uh,” he says. “Family stuff.”

The driver tsks. “Family’s always a fun reason to travel.”

San laughs drily. “Sure is.”

He’s going to Haven. Why did he forget that? He’s going to Haven to figure out why his family’s property in Haven was so important to his parents. He’d arranged to spend two weeks there, hoping it wouldn’t take longer than that. His sister’s with his lawyer, Taehyung, and he’s prepared to go no contact for the duration of his trip. Haven’s off-grid. No internet, no phone signal. 

It feels like the setup of a horror movie. San hopes they’re just particularly Amish, no Midsommer-esque ritual sacrifice involved. 

His family’s always been weird about Haven. Something about family traditions, or initiation into their family cult. San never really paid attention. He does know, though, that he’s more than likely already been initiated, given they’ve made the trip with him once. He doesn’t remember any of it, which is concerning, but hopefully something on the property, or someone in the town, will tell him what the hell kind of “initiation” they made him do. 

Mrow. 

San smiles down at the cat observation bubble in his backpack. “Hey,” he says quietly. Byeol blinks up at him balefully. She never liked cars, San recalls. 

“Almost there,” the driver tells him. “How’s kitty doing?”

“She’ll be okay,” San says. He pats the bubble.

Byeol just glares. 

The gates are rusted shut, so San’s left with his suitcase and his backpack, staring up at the wrought iron as the taxi peels away. The driver had gotten more and more nervous the further they’d driven into Haven, to the point where he didn’t even offer to help with the bags, too eager to get away. San doesn’t blame him. It’s a little eerie. 

He has a key, but it won’t do him much good here. “Hey,” he says, addressing the air and probably looking a little bit like he’s lost it. “Give me a lift?”

A leaf blows into his face. San bats it away. “Really? How else am I supposed to get in?” The vines on the gate rustle. San sighs. “You’re gonna make me climb?” A gust of air like a huff whips up dirt by his feet. 

Yeah, he’s gonna make him climb. 

“What good is being haunted if your ghost is absolutely useless,” San grumbles. He tosses his suitcase over first, because it’ll survive the drop, and shoulders his cat backpack. The wind that ruffles his hair feels mocking. 

He’s joking, mostly. He knows the ghost tries his best. 

He doesn’t remember a time living without the ghost. Ever since he was a baby, the ghost would help him up, keep him from falling. And San was a quiet kid, okay, he never breathed a word about him to anyone else, ever. Even his parents. The ghost was his secret. His friend. 

In hindsight, San’s very glad he didn’t say anything, because his parents definitely would’ve sent him to a psychiatrist even more often than they already did. 

He tried giving him a name once, but the ghost rebelled so strongly against the notion of being called “Mr. Sparkle” that San hasn’t tried to name him again. To be fair, if San was unable to speak or communicate his name and some kid tried to call him Mr. Sparkle he would be more than mildly upset. 

(One way the ghost can communicate, though, is dreams. He doesn’t do it often—maybe it takes too much energy?—but when he does he can get ideas across pretty solidly. He hasn’t talked to San in the dreams, but instead shows him memories. Usually San’s in the ghost’s head, seeing the memories from his point of view. He knows they’re memories because the people are recurring, and he’s in the same body every time. He hasn’t gotten the ghost’s actual name yet, but he assumes it’ll come out eventually.)

The ghost has saved his life before. And maybe that’s the only reason San hasn’t tried to get himself committed to a mental hospital. (That and before, his parents would have flipped out, and now, since he has guardianship over his sister, he can’t leave her.) His parents were lawyers, and one of the people declared guilty because of their prosecution had gotten out early on probation. The guy had been desperate, San’s pretty sure. And now, looking back, San’s also pretty sure he wasn’t actually guilty. 

He’s never claimed his parents were good people. 

Anyway. San had gotten kidnapped. The guy wanted to get back at them for ruining his life. The ghost had intervened and knocked the guy out somehow—San was too panicked to pay attention—and led San right back to his parents. 

So he’s grateful. 

He lands on the other side of the gate. Byeol protests a bit, but San soothes her through the bubble and heads up to the house. 

It’s very modern. Concrete and glass. Not exactly what he would have expected, looking at the key. 

He’d been given the key in a manilla envelope, kind of what you’d expect suspicious spy documents to come in. It’s ornate, old. There’s an insignia on the top, a spiral and a lion. He’d thought it’d lead him to a decrepit shack, honestly. This house is a little worn down, but it’s nice, and he’d expect that of his hotshot lawyer parents, but why on earth is the key so ancient looking?

He drops his suitcase on the floor in the atrium and heads off immediately in search of a bed. 

It’s dusty as hell, but he’s tired, so he lets Byeol out of her prison and collapses onto the bed in the first bedroom he sees. A dust cloud rises into the air. San coughs, but doesn’t bother moving. “I’ll deal with it in the morning,” he tells the irate ghost, who’s pushing around the dust. “Sleeping now.” 

And he does. But as he slips away, he can’t help but feel as if he’s forgotten something important.

(When he dreams that night, it’s of a boy. He looks maybe thirteen, and they’re playing together, and the other is giggling. He feels love, in his heart, love that he knows by now isn’t his. They’re together next to the house, standing newer and prouder than it does now in its stubborn and weathered state. 

“Hyung!” He yells, following after him. “The cliff, Sangie-hyung, watch out!”

The boy—Sangie?—turns, grins at him, and lets himself fall off the edge.

He runs to look for him, but below, all he sees is water.)

The dust is everywhere.

San sneezes through a lot of the cleaning process, and he’s only halfway done with one room. Maybe he’ll just pick one or two rooms to spend most of his time in and only clean those. It might be more efficient. It’s not like he’s going to use this entire giant house—there’s only one of him, after all, and the house was definitely built for a big family. Byeol makes two, he supposes, and the ghost makes three. But do you even count ghosts when they don’t take up space on the physical plane?

A question for a more awake San to ponder. 

The ghost in question seems curious. San sees books lift slightly, doors and curtains twitch. He’s probably exploring. 

“What do you think?” San asks him. 

A pillow flies up from the couch and smacks him in the face, dumping all its dust directly into his mouth. “Hey!” He’d retaliate if he could, but, well. Ghost. Incorporeal.

Given the pillow-to-the-face attack, San’s going to assume his friendly ghost friend doesn’t like the house. Honestly he can’t blame him. It’s nice and it’s pretty but it’s cold, and impersonal, and his voice and footsteps echo. Also, it’s his family’s house. That’s always an unpleasant connotation. 

“You were here, in last night’s memory,” San says. A wind kicks up some of the remaining dust, giving away the ghost’s agitation. “You’ve been here when you were alive.”

The wind drops, and San takes that as the ghost leaving the room. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Byeol takes that moment to wander in, meowing loudly at him, probably complaining that he abandoned her in this strange place. He pats her head and gives her half of the only can of cat food he brought—he’ll have to buy more today, but he can probably find a pet aisle at the grocery store when he gets food for himself. 

There’s not much he can do about the sulking ghost, so he takes one last glance around the room for any sign he’s still there, and when he finds none, heads off to the entryway to retrieve his suitcase.

He drops it in the bedroom he’d slept in. It’s a pretty nice bedroom, honestly, he wouldn’t mind staying there even if there’s a bigger main bedroom. Speaking of… he should probably explore a little. 

The kitchen is nice—the fridge and stove both look old, but they’re still nice. There is, however, a bowl emitting a frankly putrid smell sitting on the counter. It’s more mold than bowl, at this point. San kind of doesn’t want to touch it, but he steels himself and grabs it and runs out the front door to launch it off the cliff, because he honestly can’t think of a better way to discard it. It lands in the ocean with a plop. 

Even though it’s gone, the smell remains, and he pinches his nose when he peers over at the sink. It has a plate or two and some utensils, again, covered in mold and smelling terrible. 

It’s kind of evident, from that, that whoever was here last wasn’t expecting to be gone for long. 

San can remember the car ride home from his own visit, when he was eight. It hadn’t seemed like they were in a hurry, but maybe someone else visited between then and now. His parents had mentioned his grandparents and uncle liking it here, anyway. 

He pokes around a bit in the kitchen—the fridge is… he shuts it and decides to just not open it again. There’s so much fucking mold. Disgusting. Honestly, he’s grateful there weren’t any maggots. 

...None that he’s seen.

Not really doing much to convince himself to clean it, huh.

The pantry is in a similar state, though there isn’t too much mold, so maybe he can consider it a lot better just on that count. He swears he sees a rat scurry into the shadows, though, and that’s… ugh. He’ll deal with it later. He finds trash bags under the sink and just swipes everything in. He initially thought maybe the ramen would be salvageable but there’s little holes where some kind of rodent chewed through all the packaging, so maybe not. In the end he has too many bags and despairs thinking of lugging all of them to whatever dump or trash disposal system this town has. 

Anyway. Maybe, considering the state of the kitchen, there’ll be stuff left in bedrooms or common spaces, which could potentially give him some sort of clue as to what, exactly, his parents wanted to bring him here for. He’d only really looked at the living room so far, but there wasn’t anything of note there. 

The only other rooms on this floor are the dining room, a few bedrooms, and their connecting bathrooms, all of which are uninteresting and lacking abandoned items, but he takes the stairs up to the second floor, and whoa . 

There’s a wall facing the ocean, completely glass. The view is beautiful. The house itself must be balanced just on the edge of the cliff, because when San gets close and looks straight down he sees waves crashing into the rocks below. There’s a tiny sliver of sand where the water retreats that may be a beach during low tide. He wonders if there’s a way to get down there. Certainly not jumping—it’s a long way down into shallow water, and there’s one particular slab of rock that almost looks like a table and is large enough it’d be a problem to avoid. It’s kind of discolored, too, brownish at the middle, and San’s kind of worried some animal already fell down there. Hopefully it won’t happen again. Both for the animals’ sake and his.

Away from the morbid thoughts. 

San’s stomach rumbles. His phone (fifty percent—yikes) says it’s ten thirty, so maybe he can go and find a place in town to eat, then bring groceries back. 

He didn’t really think the lack of a car thing through. To be fair, he kind of expected to be in town, not in the forest on the outskirts. His parents were always more city people. 

Since the house doesn’t have power, he doesn’t have hot water, but he does have water in general, so he rinses his face and changes his clothes before he leaves, hoping that’s enough. He’s a little leery of how he has running water, because that’s generally something you can turn off remotely, but he’s not going to question it too much. And he’ll figure out the generator situation when he comes back. 

He leaves some water out for Byeol, who’s wandered off to some other part of the house by now, and gathers his wallet and the key and treks out to hop the gate again. Again, hopefully no one sees him and reports him for breaking into his own house. 

The town is no more a bustling metropolis than it was last night when San arrived, but it’s certainly more awake. People ambling down streets, people on the porches of their houses, shops with soft music playing and open doors. (People staring at him—but he puts that down to them not being used to visitors.) He walks past a bakery at one point, the smell of fresh cookies and pastries and coffee almost enticing enough for him to make a pit stop, but he should definitely eat real food before filling up on sweets. It’s a very adult decision that he’s proud of himself for making. 

The town’s small enough that he’s pretty sure everything commercial is just on the square, and the rest is residential. There’s a diner-type place in the direction he’s already walking, so he continues that way and lingers at the window to look at the menu. 

“Tourist?” Someone asks, much closer to his ear than he was expecting. San’s proud to say he doesn’t jump, but he does flinch away just the slightest bit. 

“Kind of,” he says. He turns.

Huh.

Okay, it’s not to say that he expected everyone in the tiny remote beach town would be ugly . But he certainly hadn’t expected anyone like this.

This being a man so beautiful San could cry.

The man grins at him, sticks out a hand. I’m too gay for this , is all San can think as he numbly takes it. 

“I’m Wooyoung,” the man says. San pulls back a little, involuntarily, and something in the pit of his stomach drops at the name. Deja vu? Probably. He would remember meeting someone who looks like that . “If you’re debating about eating here then the answer is yes. Try the tteokkochi. It’s some of the best I’ve ever had.”

“San.” Again with the snacks. San loves food, don’t get him wrong, but if he eats snacks first he’ll just keep eating snacks and won’t have room for real food. “I think I’ll do that,” he says anyway. “I appreciate the recommendation.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung says. “Are you here alone? I was just about to get lunch myself, if you want to join me. I can show you around after if you want.”

San doubts there’s much to show, but if he looks like less of an outsider, wandering around with a local, then he’s all for it. “If you’re not busy, that’d be great!”

The air conditioning that hits them as Wooyoung opens the door is greatly appreciated. Inside is very much retro America, black and white tiled floors, reddish booths and barstools, soft orange walls covered in framed pictures and neon signs. Cap’s , the biggest one reads. 

“It’s called Inception, officially,” Wooyoung says, following his gaze. “But most of us call it Cap’s.”

“Wooyoung!” 

Wooyoung winces. “Um.”

There’s a man standing at the cash register in front of the entryway, tapping a pen on the table passive-aggressively. He doesn’t look angry, per se, but he certainly doesn’t look happy. San suddenly regrets walking in with Wooyoung. “Did you really break into my house to steal one sock from every pair of socks I own? Really?”

“Okay. I’m gonna be completely honest. I know that sounds like something I’d do—” honestly San thinks it sounds like something Wooyoung would do and he’s known Wooyoung for a grand total of maybe a minute. “—but I swear, Seonghwa, it wasn’t me.”

“Who would it—” Seonghwa stops, sighs, and glowers in the direction of what must be the kitchen. “I regret letting him into my house.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Wooyoung giggles and pulls San to a booth nestled in the corner instead of waiting for Seonghwa’s response. 

“Was it really not you?” San asks teasingly.

Wooyoung groans, but the dramatic way he flops onto the bench says he doesn’t mean it. “I swear it wasn’t! Hongjoong just likes to blame me for his own pranks.”

“But if you’re a reasonable scapegoat, then you obviously aren’t always entirely innocent,” San says.

“Ah,” Wooyoung says, hand to his forehead like he’s fainting. “Got me there.” 

They pause to order, San taking Wooyoung’s recommendation as well as some actual meal food. Seonghwa promises them fifteen minutes and disappears into the kitchen.

“How small is the town, anyway?” San asks. People have been greeting each other around them, and even Wooyoung’s waved a few times. Clearly everyone’s fairly friendly.

“Relatively.” Wooyoung shrugs. “Population five hundred, I think. I grew up here, and I don’t really leave, so I don’t quite know how it compares.”

“That’s very small,” San notes. “But I lived in Seoul, so maybe I just have a skewed view and it’s not small compared to other towns. Do you know everyone, then?”

“I’d like to think I do. Who knows, though, maybe there are some recluses I’m missing.”

Small talk is easy, even though San usually has trouble with it. Wooyoung’s just pleasant to talk to, he supposes.

The promised fifteen minutes passes, and Seonghwa emerges with their food.

“So what brings you here?” Wooyoung asks. “‘Kind of’ tourism?”

“Family stuff,” San says. “I’m visiting. My parents used to spend time here, but I know nothing about it, really.” 

“Oh interesting! Are you staying long?”

San shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s indefinite, right now.”

Wooyoung nods in understanding.

There isn’t a moment of awkward silence, which is nice. San usually has trouble filling conversational space, but like he said before, Wooyoung makes it easy. It’s nice. Especially after going no-contact with everyone but his lawyer and his sister for the past two months. It’s very nice.

“So, anywhere in particular you want to check out?” Wooyoung asks.

And, shit. He needs to buy groceries and he needs to check if the electricity and water are still running in the house. He’d love for Wooyoung to show him around, but maybe now’s not the best time? He should figure out the house stuff before poking around town. He needs power. And Byeol might be getting hungry again. He says as much, a little sheepish, but Wooyoung waves it off.

“No problem,” he says. “That’s totally reasonable. Why don’t we meet up tomorrow? Cell service is shitty here, as I’m sure you’ve noticed—people usually just show up at each others’ houses. It’s probably much different than you’re used to, city boy.”

San nods enthusiastically, not rising to the bait of the teasing comment since he’s excited at the prospect of having a friend in this place. “Yeah, sure! I’m at the end of Lorelei Drive. The big one, facing the ocean?”

And Wooyoung—Wooyoung shuts down. His smile disappears, he pulls back and closes off his body language. He was so friendly and warm and open before, to everyone he saw, and yeah San hasn’t known him long but the flip between that and—and this, whatever this is… It’s chilling. “Your name is Choi,” Wooyoung says. He’s not asking.

“Y—yes? Is that—” San combs through what he said, but he has no idea what could have pissed him off. It was literally one second happy, the next cold enough that San’s starting to actually shiver. Was it the house? Is there something wrong with the house?

“Fuck that,” Wooyoung says, slamming his hands on the table. He stands, fumbles pulling cash out of his pocket to cover his portion. “Nope. Nope! Can your fucking family leave me alone for one fucking year? If you ever talk to me again, I will throw you off your extravagent piece of cliff into the ocean your family hates so fucking much!”

And with that dramatic statement, he storms out of the diner.

San sits, stunned. He doesn’t know what else to do. The rest of Cap’s’ patrons slowly go back to their own lunches, the low murmur resuming with some trepidation, like they’re all waiting for him to storm out too. He doesn’t. He pulls his milkshake closer to him and pulls one long, drawn out sip. 

Outside, it starts to rain.

“That was unfortunate,” someone says, dropping down into Wooyoung’s now-vacated seat. 

Unfortunate’s one word for it. Clearly, his family pissed some people off, while they were here. Great. So San has the dubious pleasure of dealing with those repercussions. If only he knew what they did, he could begin to make amends. Maybe there’s someone he can ask? But Wooyoung, at least, doesn’t exactly seem like he’d be willing to sit down and talk about it.

San snorts into his cup. “You can say that again.” 

“I won’t,” the man assures him, reaching out a hand. He’s wearing the same uniform Seonghwa was, peach vest over white button down and white slacks, though San’s pretty sure the man in front of him’s wearing a peach skirt as well. He must work here. His hair’s blue, and it should look out of place among the warm colors of the diner but he somehow makes it work. “I’m Hongjoong. Wooyoung’s a friend of a friend, and I know he has a bit of a temper, so sorry about that. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright. Just startled,” San says, accepting the handshake. Wooyoung had mentioned a Hongjoong, hadn’t he? The guy reminds him a bit of someone, but San can’t recall who. “I’m San.”

“No one new’s staying at the hotel, so I’m assuming you’re visiting family,” Hongjoong says, now shamelessly eating Wooyoung’s fries. San wonders if he’s supposed to be working right now. “What house?”

“Given what happened just now, I feel like I should start keeping that to myself.” San drops his head back on the booth’s backrest and stares at the ceiling. It’s yellowing, and one of the bulbs is flickering. There’s a piece of plaster peeling off the edge of the wall.

Hongjoong whistles lowly. “So that’s what set him off. Lorelei Drive, right?”

San squints at him suspiciously.

“Wooyoung hates your family,” Hongjoong says. “Though I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.”

“Yeah.” San laughs hollowly. “He made it a little obvious.”

Hongjoong nods, swallows his mouthful of chicken. San’s a little amused to note that he’s moved from the fries to the rest of Wooyoung’s lunch. “He’s a sweetheart, usually. Your family just… sets him off.”

“That’s unfortunate,” San says. “Maybe I can change his mind.”

Hongjoong shrugs. “He’s a bit stubborn. You’re not gonna have much luck.”

“I can still try.”

“That you can.” Hongjoong wipes his fingers on the napkin. His nails are painted red. That feels important, but San can’t put a finger on why. “Hey, stop by if you ever want company. You’re new here, so I’m guessing you don’t know many people, and it can be hard to integrate yourself without some help. I’m working shifts here Mondays through Thursdays at 1 to 8, and Seonghwa usually lets my friends hang out by the counter while I’m running around. Wooyoung only shows up during Seonghwa’s shifts cause he likes to annoy him while he’s working, so you should be in the clear.”

“I might take you up on that,” San says, grateful.

“I’m sure you will.” Hongjoong winks, and saunters off (he is wearing a skirt! It looks good on him) to a tall frowning man who gives off big puppy vibes. He says something, and the man brightens up considerably, squeezing Hongjoong in a hug, and then dragging him out of Cap’s by the hand. Hongjoong waves at San before he’s pulled through the door. Seonghwa yells after them about how Hongjoong’s shift is starting in five minutes and if he’s not back in time he’s firing him.

San finishes off the dregs of his milkshake and wonders if small towns are always this exciting.

So, the house. The water’s running, but the electricity’s not. That’s fine, he can work with that for as long as his battery pack lasts. Though his phone doesn’t have signal and the town’s supposed to be off-grid, so maybe it’s not worth even having it on. 

San’s tempted to go have a cold shower but he needs to check the generator before it gets dark. His parents probably turned it off, or something.

He doesn’t have a map, is the thing. He doesn’t know where it is. It shouldn’t be far, though. 

The land surrounding the house is nice. There aren’t many trees, but there’s a lot of growth. Shrubs and stuff. Honestly, he’s surprised the house itself hasn’t been overrun. 

There’s a few paths he could take—well, he thinks they’re paths. They’re really more openings in the walls of shrubbery. He picks one at random and just hopes he doesn’t get lost on the property. 

Anyway. Hongjoong seemed nice. It was nice of him to come over and talk to him instead of talking and pointing like everyone else, and it was nice of him to invite him back. San’s not sure he wants to go back to Cap’s, but given that he’s met a grand total of two people and one of them hates him, he’ll probably end up back there regardless of what he wants. 

And Wooyoung… the whole situation reads like a bad omen. Wooyoung seemed well liked by everyone in the diner, and presumably the town itself. Hopefully he won’t spread any nasty rumors. It’s not like San can help what family he was born into. Though honestly he can’t blame Wooyoung for being wary, at least, because from what he’s learned recently… San’s not discounting anything, is what he’s saying.

Hate like that doesn’t come out of nowhere. He just wishes Wooyoung would tolerate his presence long enough for him to trace it back. 

Whatever. He shakes his head. Whatever Wooyoung’s problems are, either he’ll confront San about it or he won’t. San’ll try not to worry about it until that happens.

He eventually emerges at a grassy clearing, and immediately regrets it. 

There’s a faerie ring, in the middle, surrounding a small cross. There might be some symbolism there, but he’s a little too weirded out to think too hard about that right now. 

The thing about creatures like the fae is that San legitimately has no clue if they exist or not. It’s plausible, given his ghost situation, but human essence (spirits, souls, whatever you want to call them) lingering after death is a very different realm than entirely non-human, mythical creatures. However it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, and San’s never discounted the possibility that something like the fae or unicorns or dragons could exist, so he’s read up on a lot of mythology. He knows all the tricks. It’s a little unfortunate that people think he’s rude when he doesn’t say thank you, but honestly better safe than sorry. 

San inches closer, as close as he can without crossing the ring, trying to see if the cross has a name—a name would confirm his assumption that it’s a grave. It’s too grimey for him to tell, unfortunately, but he thinks there’s an inscription. Call him superstitious, but you could not pay him to step into that faerie ring, even if that’s what it’ll take to read the words carved on the cross, so he gives up and backs away from the clearing. No use provoking bad luck.

Luckily, the next path he chooses leads to a small hut, and when he cautiously opens the door, he finds the generator.

It’s just a really fucking weird generator.

He did a little reading on generators when he figured out that the town is very much in the middle of nowhere, and that it's more probable the electricity comes from generators instead of electric companies. He even looked into specifically hydro powered generators, and he can actually tell this one is hydro powered, it’s just… put together really weird. 

He does figure it out eventually. It’s not turned off or broken, but there’s an ancient looking key, kind of resembling the key to the front door, somehow stuck in the gears. He manages to extract it slowly, careful not to catch his fingers, and examines the rusted metal. It’s smaller than the one he was given, but it holds the same insignia on top. He wonders if there are any other locked doors on the property that this will open. Maybe the gate?

The turbine slowly grinds into motion and he sits back on his heels, relieved. He’s not really an engineering-inclined person. It’s honestly a miracle he even realized the key wasn’t supposed to be there. 

By that point the sun’s starting to go down and he’s getting hungry and somewhat uneasy, being out here in the growing darkness with nothing but his (dying) phone, so he hurries back to the house without thinking too much on it, feeling a little like he’s being watched. He shivers suddenly, about halfway back, and feels mildly comforted to know that his ghost is there. The rest of the run isn’t as nerve wracking.

He’d bought kimbap at the grocery store earlier, anticipating being too tired to make dinner. He was right. Past-San is the MVP.

The first thing he turns on, between bites, is the fridge. He’ll deal with the mold tomorrow, but maybe it being on will help? Byeol pops in for her food, which he places on the floor for her, and she eats it in record time and zooms away. He squints after her, but shakes his head in dismissal. Her behavior isn't that weird.

He finishes unloading his groceries and ambles off to find an AC controller. He’d specifically bought non-perishables where he could, aware of the fridge situation, but he does have some milk and he’s a little worried of it spoiling. Whatever. He’ll check in the morning.

Once that’s fixed, he lets himself collapse onto one of the chairs he’d cleaned in the morning. It’s been a long day. Not entirely horrible, but definitely could have gone better. He still has a laundry list of things to do. Clean the house, explore the house, fix the gate, explore the land, figure out whose grave is surrounded by a fairy ring (he’s not looking forward to that one), make friends with people in town who don’t hate him, figure out what he did when he was here, find people who knew his parents, and figure out why people (Wooyoung specifically, maybe) hate his family. 

It’s a lot. He should probably sleep on it. 

So he does.

(“Your family’s hunting again.”

He jolts, startled. “Oh.”

Sangie flops onto the sand next to him. “I’m worried for Binnie’s kids.”

“You know they’re, like, all older than all of us, right?” 

Sangie waves a hand. “Irrelevant. They’re kids. We’re us.”

He feels a pang at that, but forces it down quickly before he can think too hard about it. “And they can take care of themselves. You know that.”

“Yeah.” Sangie rubs his eyes. “Still. I’m worried.”

“They’ll be fine, Yeosang,” he says. “I promise. They’ll be fine.”)

He wakes up again to the sun shining through his window. The dream’s slipping away, as dreams tend to do, but he grasps onto the important bits, pawing over at the nightstand for his phone to write it down. Yeosang. Binnie. Hunting.

Hunting. Something about the word tickles at his memory, but he’s promptly distracted by the reminder on his phone going off— date confirmation. His lawyer knew ahead of time that San would be unreachable, so hopefully if there are complications he can take care of it—but San can’t help but worry.

Byeol’s meowing at him. He blinks, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, to find her standing, agitated, next to the bed. “What?” He asks, but she escalates to higher pitched meowing. It’s weird, for her. She’s done stuff like this before, when weird stuff happens to him, but never at him.

Something in the bathroom rattles, startling him out of his musing. She whirls around and hisses at the door. He sighs. When he opens the door, nothing’s there, but his toothbrush has been knocked over.

Honestly, he should be used to these kinds of things. The ghost… San isn’t sure if it likes playing pranks, or it’s trying to warn him, or… something. 

“Stay,” he tells his toothbrush firmly, putting it back in its cup. There’s a somewhat mocking returning rattle. He ignores it. 

The outlet by the bed hadn’t let him plug his charger in yesterday, blocked by those surge protector things that close the outlet when it’s not in use, so he collects his phone from where he left it on the counter. He supposes it’s reasonable for the thing to be stuck, considering how long the house was abandoned, but it’s kind of inconvenient. 

He could probably just take off the protector. 

He has a few coins in his pocket, so he uses those to unscrew the outlet plate. The thing comes off—sockets and all. 

Bingo.

He’s not entirely surprised to find that the “outlet” isn’t an outlet at all.

There’s a key sitting in the little matchbox-sized enclave. A quick comb through of the room reveals a little keyhole-esq bump on the edge of the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, there’s a click, and the mirror swings open.

There’s a box.

He takes it and sets it on the bed, wondering if maybe he should be worried about it. It’s certainly very old.

He opens it. Inside are bundles of paper and pictures. Letters, he thinks. He takes the pictures out first, to find that they mostly consist of two people. Laughing and holding onto each other, having fun. It’s not lost on him that finding the box in his family’s house likely means that one of the people in the pictures is related to him. One of them has bleached blond hair, around ear length. He’s pretty, almost ethereally so.

The second guy has brown hair, probably natural, and he’s also pretty, but definitely buff. In one of the pictures he’s holding a split mellon with an expression of smug glee that probably means he broke it himself. The first guy’s just looking at him with the fondest expression of annoyance.

San pulls out some of the writing. The paper is old, yellowing. The first letter—unsent, apparently—is addressed to—

Dear Yeosang, it reads. 

Holy shit. 

There’s a spot of cold on his arm, around the size of a hand. The ghost. 

The ghost knew someone named Yeosang. The ghost has been here, to this house. It’s not entirely implausible that the ghost is, then, San’s relative. Which kind of makes sense, in a way. There’s that traditional belief that your ancestors are always watching.

This one maybe just took it a little too literally.

Dear Yeosang.  

The letter reminds him a little of Romeo and Juliet, how it’s written. Last ditch. San tries not to crinkle it as he reads, but his grip gets tighter and tighter and at the end he sets it down, abruptly, and re-hides the box. He puts the key back in its hiding place, and hurries out of the room and the house. Hongjoong had said 1-8pm, but Cap’s should be open and Seonghwa had seemed friendly enough. San just needs to find someone, anyone that his family was close to. There has to be someone in the town, and having a new name, even if it’s a nickname, is big. He’s never heard of a Jjong in his family, and he’d been hitting dead ends in his family history for months, now. 

Maybe this is the clue he didn’t know he needed. 

Dear Yeosang,

Hopefully my family won’t find this letter.

I tried to find what you asked for, I swear. But by now my family knows I love you and I think they’re coming for me tonight. Planets are aligning, or something. They were murmuring about ritual power. 

I’m sorry I let you down. 

I’m going to try and run, to get help. I’ll come back for you. I’m just no use to either of us dead and I will die if I don’t go immediately. WCY waiting for me and hopefully we’ll be able to figure it out together.

If you ever find this… that means I didn’t destroy it. Whether that means I got out and couldn’t get back in, or didn’t make it out, is up in the air. Either way, I didn’t make it back to save you, which means I failed.

I just realized this is the first time I’ve said it. Written it, I guess. That I love you. But I do, I love you more than I can even comprehend. I know you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay. I love you anyway. I don’t think I can stop.

I have to go. I’m out of time. 

I’ll come back soon. I promise.

Yours always,

Jjong.

San’s been avoiding thinking about why exactly the house was abandoned without notice. 

Because even if someone had just left for a day or two, they would have washed the dishes or put that bowl away. Whoever was last here left in a hurry. And with Wooyoung’s outburst— Fuck you and your fucking family —he thinks that it’s not impossible that there are people in town who really didn’t like them. (Not that San blames them.) 

And then there’s the letter. “Jjong” potentially (definitely) being his relative aside, San doesn’t even know where to start with it. He doesn’t know what any of it means—ritual power? What the hell is ritual power? 

He pushes open the door. A bell chimes at his entrance, which startles him because when they came in the day before there wasn’t a bell.

“Oh, hey. San, right?” Seonghwa nods at him, but he’s focused on the corner booth. There’s three guys around their age hunched over the table, and occasionally one of them will gesture too hard and almost knock over a glass, but they’re the only people there besides Seonghwa and San.  “What’s up?”

“Not much,” San says, shrugging a shoulder. “I know Hongjoong said he works here starting at one, but I don’t really know anyone else, so… I was wondering if you could help me find some people?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, but he clearly decides San doesn’t have any overt ill intent because he gestures at one of the bar seats near his station at the register. “I don’t know as many people as Hongjoong, but I can try. How’s the Landlord House?” He says it in a way that denotes that it needs Capital Letters For Emphasis. 

San sits, leaning his face into his palm. “Landlord house? Is that, like, a Thing?” 

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says. “Since it kind of towers over the town. People started making jokes about it being a feudal lord house, and that evolved to the landlord house.”

Huh. He can see that. The cliff thing, being one of the only houses outside town, being significantly bigger and nicer than most other houses. It makes sense. 

“I’m getting the feeling that my family isn’t well liked.”

Seonghwa laughs. “Yeah, got us there.”

Ouch. Expected, but ouch. “Is there anyone that liked them? Or not even that, but anyone that knew them well?”

“Can I ask why?”

One of the three guys in the corner is looking over at them. Seonghwa shakes his head slightly and he looks back away. 

Here’s the thing. 

Being completely honest to himself, thinking with all the facts he has and assumptions he’s made, San knows his presence in this town doesn’t look good. His family can be cruel. He thought they would be more subtle than whatever the hell they did to make the people here hate them, but maybe this is where they fucked up. Maybe they left this town behind for a reason and San’s presence is throwing everything off balance again. But he doesn’t know because he can’t exactly ask his parents and the last thing he wants to do any time in the near future is call his grandmother or his uncle. 

San’s not here to look for absolution. He’s well aware his family isn’t necessarily filled to the brim with altruistic people. But maybe, to Seonghwa, him asking after anyone in Haven who might not dislike his family means he’s looking for someone to tell him “they weren’t that bad”. San just wants to wrap up what he needs to wrap up in this town, and get out. No use prolonging his stay when it just makes everyone involved uncomfortable. 

He just doesn’t know how to tell any of them that without sounding incredibly fake. 

So he goes with honesty. “My family spent a long time hammering our family tree into my head, for some reason. I could tell you my great-great-uncle’s birthdate, deathdate, former address, and what he left who in the will. I could trace several family heirlooms back eight generations. But I just found the name of someone I’ve never even heard a whisper about and I want to know why.”

Seonghwa nods. San tentatively takes this as approval. “The library’s open on weekends. You’ll find a book there, 2020 updated version of town records. If your missing relative lived in Haven, they’ll be in that book.”

San deflates, sinking back into the backrest of the chair. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“I’d show you where it is, but I’m a little busy.” Cap’s is still practically empty. San imagines a tumbleweed rolling past. Ah, yes. So busy. “Tell you what—hey, Changbin!”

One of the three turns to look at him, the other two ignoring him to continue their furtive discussion. “Yeah?” He has a bit of a death glare. Yikes.

But. Binnie? From the dream? If the letter’s to be believed then Changbin’s way too young to be the same Binnie. Still… San can’t stop thinking about it.

“You owe me from last week,” Seonghwa says, leaning forward and smiling a little bit too conspiratorily for San to be comfortable with. “I’m cashing in that favor.”

Changbin groans, flopping onto his black-haired friend. Said friend protests and shoves him off, too engrossed in whatever the red-haired one is doing. “Really? Now?” He whines.

“Show San around,” Seonghwa says, and Changbin groans again. Louder. “He needs to know where the library is, but might as well just give him a tour.”

Changbin gets up like one might expect a petulant toddler to. Slowly, and with much disagreement. “Fine. I’m leaving,” he tells his friends, but they just wave him off. He rolls his eyes and gestures for San to follow.

The bell doesn’t chime when they leave Cap’s, and when San takes a glance he doesn’t see one. Maybe he imagined it…?

“You should probably be careful who you tell your address to.” Changbin says, then winces. “Ah, that came out… I heard about yesterday. Lots of people don’t like your family.”

“I’m getting that,” San says drily. “It’s not like I’ll have the chance to introduce myself to people anymore. Seems to be town gossip at this point.”

“Maybe. So the library, huh?”

Changbin walks him through most of the town, stopping to point out which restaurants are best for what. There’s a teahouse a little off the square that San wouldn’t have even noticed on his own that Changbin says has the best custard buns, a little hotpot/kbbq place at the corner of the square that’s disguised almost as a nightclub, and the one bar in town looks just like a regular restaurant, and according to Changbin he should stop by even if he doesn’t drink. They have open mic type concert nights there, sometimes, that are worth attending. The library isn’t far off from the square, but it’s tucked away enough that San understands now why Seonghwa insisted someone show him the way. 

And in the entire time they walk, Changbin manages to not divulge a single fact about himself while also pulling tiny bits of information out of San, which is something San only realizes as they slow down. San’s inadvertently told him about Byeol, which is fine, but also that he has a sister, which is less fine. And probably more. San doesn’t quite remember. Changbin’s good at small talk, apparently. 

They come to a stop at the dock.

“There’s a restaurant over on that side,” Changbin says, pointing. “It’s nicer than the ones in town, probably more your speed, since you come from a city. My friend owns it, and his cooking is to die for. You should stop in while you’re here.”

“I will,” San assures him. “Does Haven not have a beach?”

Changbin frowns at him, and San wonders if he said something wrong. There’s nothing weird about asking after a beach, is there? It just seems like he keeps stepping on people’s toes and he doesn’t know how to stop. “No.”

San nods and doesn’t push further. Okay, maybe the town’s sensitive about their lack of beaches. 

“So what do you owe Seonghwa over?”

Changbin grimaces. “Drinking games at a mutual friend’s place. I’m not telling you details.”

San holds back his laugh. Drinking games. Not exactly what he expected, though he doesn’t really know what he was expecting. 

“I heard you ask about your family.” Changbin says. It’s an abrupt change of topic.

San’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that he wasn’t eavesdropping on the entire conversation. “Oh. Yeah.”

Changbin squints at him. “You seem like a decent person, honestly. I was expecting puppy kicking.” San splutters. There’s no good way to respond to that, is there? “If you really want a family friend, look into Song Mingi. His family’s been close with yours for years. His parents are… I wouldn’t go there, but maybe you can stand it. Mingi’s a solid guy. He’ll probably be able to tell you what you want to know.”

“I appreciate that,” San says earnestly. “That helps a lot.”

“He’s friends with Seonghwa.” Changbin says it like a warning. “Seonghwa probably didn’t tell you about him to try and protect him, but you’ll probably see Mingi around, anyway. I’m telling you because you seem decent. Don’t prove me wrong.” There’s a figure in the distance, waving somewhat frantically at them. Well, at Changbin, San assumes. Changbin flips them off, and the figure flips him off right back. “Ah, I think that’s my cue to leave—is there anything else you needed? Mingi’s attached to Yunho, when he’s not at the library. And Yunho practically hangs off Hongjoong’s arm. You can find them at Cap’s when Hongjoong clocks out.”

San thanks Changbin for his time—Changbin smiles back toothily and San’s reminded of that time he ran into a shark while swimming in Busan. It wasn’t an aggressive shark, but he’d seen enough of his grandfather at that point to be terrified out of his mind. Grandfather rips on about sharks whenever he gets the chance. He got bit by one when he was in his twenties, and it took his hand right off. He was on the beach, when out of the blue this shark— giant , he tells San. It was huge and monstrous and all it wanted was to eat me —came up and latched onto him. He regales everyone with the glorious tale of how he fought it off, knocked it out and took it home to gloat, saving both him and his little brother. 

So. Not the most pleasant of experiences. He hastens his retreat.

When he looks back, both Changbin and the figure are standing in front of the dock, seemingly arguing, before the figure throws up their arms and enters the restaurant. Changbin remains standing, alone.

It’s not his business, San tells himself. He’s trying to avoid stepping on toes. 

Cap’s is empty when San reenters, and once again the bell rings. He glances up, puzzled, but Hongjoong appears at the doorway to the kitchen before he can investigate further. “Hey! Seonghwa said you stopped by.”

“Yeah,” San says. “Changbin showed me around for a bit, but he had to meet a friend. Thought I’d come back and say hi, since it’s past one.”

Hongjoong beams at him. “Aw, thanks! Hi!”

Changbin’s two friends are still there, still bent over the table. San wonders what they’re doing that requires so much concentration. 

He spends the next few hours talking to Hongjoong, mostly small talk but a little bit about why he’s here. Hongjoong seems to be pressing a little about where his parents are and what he knows about them, but at this point San gets that their return would be a big deal. So he lets it slide, and says what he can. 

Unlike Changbin, Hongjoong actually gives him a bit in return. He tells him he has a few close friends who hang around with him at work, sometimes—Yunho (the guy from yesterday) and Mingi—but Seonghwa’s his closest friend and they spend a lot of time together on their off days. (San wonders who’s cooking the food while Hongjoong or Seonghwa’s out front, but Hongjoong’s on a roll at this point and he doesn’t want to interrupt.) He and Wooyoung aren’t super close, but Wooyoung’s close with Yunho and Seonghwa, so by extension he’d consider him a friend. It won’t hurt any of their opinions of San, Hongjoong reassures him. Wooyoung’s weird with new people, just doubly so with San since he’s from the family he’s from.

8pm arrives quickly, and Changbin’s friends hurry out the door so fast San’s surprised they didn’t break the sound barrier. The bell rings.

“There they are,” Hongjoong says, and San turns to see Yunho at Hongjoong through the window. He’s accompanied by another tall guy who’s making fun of his pout, presumably Mingi. “Seonghwa banned Yunho indefinitely. He’ll let him back in after like a week, though. No one can resist his puppy eyes.”

Yeah. The guy is adorable. He can see why Seonghwa might have a hard time saying no. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says loudly. San didn’t even see him arrive. 

They make meaningful eye contact for a few seconds before Hongjoong shakes his head. “It’ll be fine,” he tells him, and leads San out by the elbow. The bell doesn’t ring. San squints up at the doorframe suspiciously.

“This is San,” Hongjoong says, gesturing to him. “San, this is Mingi and Yunho.”

“Hey,” Yunho says. “You’re the one Wooyoung’s going on about?”

Dammit. “Yeah.”

“He holds a mean grudge,” Yunho says. 

“I noticed.”

Mingi snorts. “He used to hate me, too. Don’t worry. If he gets to know you he’ll probably get over it.” He sticks his hand out. “Hi, nice to meet you. Our families are friends. Kind of. They’d be happy to have you over for dinner, or something.”

“Kind of?” San asks, shaking it. 

“It’s a weird dynamic,” Yunho says drily. Mingi glares at him, which keeps him from saying more.

“Mingi’s our unofficial town historian, though,” Hongjoong says. “Any questions you have about Haven, he probably has an answer.”

Interesting. “Can I ask you a few things about my family?” San asks. “Later, maybe?”

Mingi looks to Hongjoong in askance, which is interesting. Hongjoong nods. San notes that for further observation. 

“Sure,” Mingi says, now that he’s apparently received approval. “But it might be better for you to ask my parents.”

Hongjoong makes an ‘ick’ face. “Good luck with that.”

San’s not sure he wants to know what that means. “Uh, I don’t know. If they’re, like, friends… I’m not sure I want to meet them, no offense.” Even though he did start today wanting to meet family friends, if he has the library and potentially Mingi as a resource, he’d like to avoid too much information on his movements reaching his family. Optimistically, Wooyoung’s rumor spreading won’t reach them, but San doesn’t have too much hope on that one.

Silence. Then Yunho’s face splits into a grin and he thumps San on the back. “You passed the vibe check.”

The tension bleeds out of all of them at that, and even Seonghwa—who’d been watching through the window—relaxes. “Absolutely no offense taken,” Mingi adds cheerfully. “I never want to meet your parents ever , so we’re pretty even.” 

San grimaces. It’s not like Mingi will ever get the chance to meet them, anyway. Not after the events of this year. “Do you know why they spent time here? They only ever came up for a summer at a time.”

“Hunting,” Mingi says immediately. 

“Hunting,” Yunho repeats in distaste. 

Hunting, San had written in his notes this morning. What the hell is so important about hunting?

They’re both pulling faces. Mingi wraps his arm around Yunho, comforting.

Hongjoong giggles, but he’s the only one even vaguely amused. “Just hunting, Sannie. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’d worry about it,” Yunho says. “They pissed a lot of people off, hunting what they shouldn’t have. And now you’re here, without them. Some people would say you’re vulnerable.”

What.

They’re clearly on edge. What the hell did his family hunt? What they shouldn’t have. What does that mean? San has a pretty good idea. It’s a horrible fucking idea but he wouldn’t put it past them. 

“Just steer clear of Wooyoung,” Hongjoong dismisses, blissfully unaware of the thoughts running through San’s head. “Lots of people don’t like you, but he’s the only one with the balls to act on it.”

Yunho tilts his head in admittance. “That’s fair.”

“You’ll be fine,” Mingi says to him quietly, as the other two devolve into an ethics debate of some kind—San tunes them out. “And at this point, plenty of people have seen you with Hongjoong. They’ll leave you alone for as long as he likes you. Except Wooyoung. Wooyoung’s kind of crazy, though. Not that I can blame him.”

“Why does he, specifically, hate me so much?” San asks. He shelves the Hongjoong comment, assuming he’s just really well liked. Cap’s seems popular, at least, so maybe it’s because he works there?

“There was a hunting accident,” Mingi says with some trepidation. “Two of his close friends died because of it.”

Oh. 

Yeah, that’s a fair reason.

“Hey, your gates are rusted shut, right? Mom likes to drive up sometimes, to see if anything’s changed. Not that she’d be able to see if there was a change.” 

“Yeah, they are.”

Mingi nods resolutely. “I can come by and help you get them unstuck on Friday, if you want. You can ask me questions then.”

That’s especially helpful because San’s not sure he could do it completely on his own. He was going to ask Hongjoong after he gave it a go, but if Mingi’s offering, he’ll gladly take him up on it. They make arrangements, and by the time they’re done Yunho and Hongjoong are wrapping up their argument, which has turned into… Shakespeare? San isn’t sure he wants to know at this point. 

“We’re going to the bakery,” Yunho tells him. Mingi’s already starting to walk, bullying Hongjoong about something fairly innocuous, but Hongjoong’s bullying him right back and Yunho’s clearly not worried, so it must be normal for them. “You can come with us, if you want.”

“I should go,” San says reluctantly. He does kind of want to stay, get to know them better, but he’s tired and still doesn’t know what to think about the three of them, and Byeol’s probably hungry by now, anyway. 

“Suit yourself,” Yunho says, and waves goodbye. 

“Will I see you at Cap’s tomorrow?” Hongjoong shouts. He turns several heads, but ignores them. San recalls what Mingi said and wonders if this is a verbal equivalent of staking territory. Hey look, I’m willing to yell my approval of this guy no one likes in the middle of the street!

“Sure,” San calls back. Why not?

(Jjong’s singing, this time, and he sees Yeosang smiling at him, but there are others around a campfire with them.

The song is… it’s sad. Beautiful, but sad. If only we didn’t have to end up in tears, he sings, and Yeosang bows his head. 

“Your voice is beautiful,” one of the others tells him. “It’s a wonder you aren’t one of us.”

“Youngie,” Yeosang hisses, hitting him and looking up at Jjong cautiously.

But he doesn’t mind, because he knows what they’re talking about, even if San doesn’t know and Yeosang doesn’t know that he knows. “Thanks,” he says instead. 

Yeosang gets up to hug him, but he curls away, and thinks that he shouldn’t keep taking when Yeosang doesn’t really want to give. 

And with that thought, he wakes up.)

The song’s stuck in his head. San keeps finding himself humming it. It’s not a happy melody, but for some reason he finds it peaceful.

“Oh, hey.” 

San looks up at the familiar voice. “Oh! Changbin!”

Changbin nods. He’s wearing a hoodie today, which is weird because it’s really fucking hot, but kudos to him for being able to stand it. “We’ll sit at the bar, if you don’t mind.” His friend waves. It’s the black haired one from before. 

San hadn’t gotten a good look at him earlier. He regrets that a bit now because his entire body is telling him to run, immediately. The longer San spends hesitating the more anxious he gets, especially with the searching look the guy gives him. 

San ignores it as best he can and smiles in response. “Sure,” he says. 

It’s been a few days since Changbin showed him around, and San’s dropped by the diner for each of them. Usually he’d just help out when the traffic was too high, but today Hongjoong’s in the back with Seonghwa, for some reason, and had left him with the very detailed instructions to ‘just give us their orders, and don’t let anyone leave without paying’. Yunho’s around, too, but San’s pretty sure he’s flirting with the girl at the corner booth, so he made the executive decision not to bother him about half an hour ago. 

“Did Hongjoong bail?” Changbin asks, not bothering to look at the menu. His friend picks up his own, though. 

“He’s in the back,” San says. “He said something about checking inventory with Seonghwa.”

Changbin’s friend snorts. “Oh yeah, they do that a lot. Must be a lot of inventory to check. I’m Han, by the way.”

“San.”

“I know.”

San sighs. “I guess I don’t need to introduce myself to anyone at this point.”

Han laughs. “Probably not.”

San’s not one to ignore his instincts, especially after the year he’s had, so he doesn’t show his back to the two of them for the entirety of their visit. He’s pretty sure neither of them notice, but he can’t really tell. Changbin’s blank-faced, in general, and Han is just… he spends the entire time smiling and laughing entirely genuinely. Usually San can tell when people fake it, because their eyes give them away, so if Han’s faking it he’s extraordinarily good. San’s never reacted to anyone like this, though, and like he said, he trusts his gut. There’s something off about Han.

The two of them whisper to each other through their ordering and right on through their meal. San minds his own business and takes other orders, and Hongjoong continues emerging occasionally to bring food out. San finds himself humming again to distract himself from the itch of Han’s presence, straining to remember the words, a title, anything, so that once he forgets the tune he’ll be able to listen to it again.

Soon enough, Han makes to leave. “Come visit my store,” he says to San before he does, lingering in the doorway. (The bell rings.) “You might find something you didn’t know you needed.” And with that he lets the door swing shut, and San watches him walk away. 

It’s a weird thing to say. San gets directions from Changbin anyway. Might as well take a look, right? Maybe it’ll lend some insight into why exactly San feels like the princess lying on the pea that is Han’s presence. Sensitive to something no one else seems to notice. 

“If you ever need anything, Hongjoong knows how to reach me,” Changbin says once San’s written the directions down. “It can’t be fun, spending your entire time here sitting around a diner.”

San’s a little surprised. He’d seemed… brusque, kind of, when he was showing San around. He hadn’t expected him to want to see him again. “Sure,” he says, kind of touched. 

“I love that song, by the way,” Changbin adds. San’s taken aback for a moment before remembering that he had been humming. Probably for most of the time they were here, too. “Most people find it sad, but I’ve always found it more hopeful than anything.”

“Yeah,” San says, for lack of anything better to say. He wants to ask the title, thinking of playing it off like he listened to it casually and forgot, but the silverware he’s sorting into drawers starts to shake, and he hurries to cover it up, and when he finally manages to look up without forks scattering across the floor, Changbin’s already out the door. (The bell doesn’t ring.)

Weird. It must’ve been the ghost acting up, but he usually doesn’t react to things like this. Maybe it’s just the song. It might’ve meant a lot to him.

Anyway, San would’ve pegged the expression on Changbin’s face as sad, if he hadn’t said what he said, but maybe it’s a bittersweet thing. 

“You seemed friendly with him,” Yunho says when Changbin’s gone. 

“He showed me around a few days ago,” San says. “He seems nice.” 

Yunho looks troubled. “Alright. It’s a little… Be careful, okay?”

As if San could even attempt to let his guard down. “Always.”

(They loom, like something out of a nightmare. San’s usually better at this, he can usually remember to check his wrist for a watch that may or may not be there, or find something to read, to confirm that this is just a dream, just in his head. But when he has nightmares, it’s never them. They’re different.

He thinks he’s here now because of what happened. That before, he knew they would never hurt him. Before, he wouldn’t have thought they could hurt anyone at all. Now they stand here, looming, and he’s frozen, remembering their last words to him. 

It’s your fault.

He turned on them, and now they should be gone but they’re here, looming over him.

One of them reaches forward, and he pulls back (he doesn’t flinch. They can’t hurt him). He looks behind him, desperate for the door, but his vision goes black and flashes red like a video game death and then—

Jjong’s sitting on the floor of a… basement? Maybe? In front of him, a man sits in chains and a gag. 

“Yeosangie,” he says softly, not daring to reach forward. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

This is Yeosang? 

They’re older, twenty maybe. Yeosang looks more like he does in the pictures.

Yeosang tilts his head, but doesn’t otherwise respond. Obviously. He physically can’t.

“I should’ve left all of you. I shouldn’t have stayed. You told me it was fine but I should have known better, fuck, sorry doesn’t even cover it, I—I don’t know what to do…”

Yeosang lifts his hands, making a twisting motion. 

“Key?”

He holds up a two.

“Two keys? I’ll find them. I promise.”)

The week passes, and before he knows it, it’s Friday. San doesn’t get in contact with Taehyung. He definitely should at this point, but he’d have to hike out beyond the city limits as far as he needs to get signal, and anyway the notion of calling is almost too much, for him. He doesn’t want to face everything he has to sort out, especially now that San’s technically acting legal guardian for his sister—as much as he loves her, he’s barely an adult himself, he can’t take care of a whole other human. Thankfully, Taehyung’s going above and beyond to help out. 

But there’s things Taehyung can’t take care of, and while San set everything up ahead of time (going through assets their parents left them, sorting out finances and his sister’s schooling payments and paperwork, settling affairs, etc) there’s still things that need checking up on. Time sensitive things. Scheduling. It’s giving him a headache to think about. 

He kind of wishes he asked more questions while he could. (Not that his parents would have told him anything if he had asked.) Now it’s just him and his sister and the relatives he wants nothing to do with, and there’s no way she knows anything more than he does. 

Anyway, Mingi arrives at noon. San had gone out to the gate early, to see if he could get it started, but honestly he doesn’t think he made much headway. 

“Wow,” is all Mingi has to say as he comes to a halt. “They’re really rusted shut.”

They are. They’re practically red, at this point, and the hinges barely look like hinges. Where they aren’t red, they’re green, the flora twining through the bars and gaps. 

“I don’t think this is normal,” San grunts, still pulling at the vine he started extracting like fifteen minutes ago. It’s stubborn. Very stubborn. 

“Definitely not,” Mingi agrees, and holds up a bucket of supplies. “You clip, I’ll spray.”

With the tools, they make decent headway by the time clouds set in, dark with rain. They don’t speak, both content with company over words. San’s questions aren’t (entirely) burning, after all, and the companionship is nice.

Mingi’s the one to suggest continuing even as the rain starts to fall. “It’ll help wash away some of the foam,” he justifies. San wonders why he’s willing to sit out here in a downpour with someone he barely knows, just to help open a gate.

Must be a small town thing.

“When I was eight,” San says into the quiet, lulled into a sense of security by the sound of rainfall, “My parents took me here to visit. Did we meet?”

Mingi shakes his head, though it looks more like when a dog shakes water out of its fur than an answer. “I remember that. My parents were talking about it, but your family kept you up here at all times. I never saw you.”

“Ah,” San says. He doesn’t know if he should say anything about how he’s forgotten that summer. He likes Mingi, but he doesn’t really trust him yet. He might have already given him away a little, but he can always play it off as being bad at retaining names. Eight’s young enough that anyone his age will have changed in appearance since then. 

They continue working with a little more back and forth with questions that San thinks Mingi might know, and the sun starts to set. Yes, his family had to flee. No, Mingi and his parents don’t know why. Yes, San was with them when they ran. 

They’ve made it about three quarters through at this point, and Mingi looks up, then stands back. “I’m gonna try to push it. You pull.”

They heave and heave, but it doesn’t work. Mingi sighs, and they get back to de-rusting it. 

“By all accounts my family should hate yours just like everyone else,” Mingi says, quietly. “But there was some agreement a while back—I don’t know the details. We help your family in exchange for something. I don’t really know, there’s supposed to be this whole retelling family history thing my parents do when I turn twenty-five, but obviously I’m not there yet, so.”

“Obviously,” San echoes. 

“Do you think they’ll come back, anytime soon?” 

“My family… I don’t know. But my parents have some hold ups and hoops to jump through, for now.” Something in his gut squirms as he says it. He doesn’t want to think of the implications of his grandparents or his uncle searching for him, finding him here. He should. He should plan for the worst case outcome. But he doesn’t want to think about that now, so he doesn’t.

Mingi exhales, long lasting and relieved. “Good.”

Agreements that tie families together… that’s a very traditional thing. It’d be interesting to dig up any documents, see if anything’s binding for future generations who didn’t take part in the signing. Hopefully neither of them are bound to do things they don’t want to.

“Do you know anything about what happened? With Wooyoung’s friends? You said a hunting accident.”

Mingi pauses for a moment, then returns to scrubbing. “A little. It’s difficult to explain, because I didn’t know any of them, back then. Wooyoung hadn’t really gotten close with Seonghwa by that point, and that was kind of how he joined our circle, so I didn’t know him or his friends just yet. 

“They were fond of pranks. From what I’ve heard, two of them were hiding out in one of the caves for preparation of some kind. Harmless fun. But someone in your family was walking down the beach with a gun, and they must’ve startled them, because Ch—one of them heard gunshots and then silence, and when they went down to the beach…” Mingi shrugs. “There was blood on the rocks, but no one could find their bodies.” 

When Mingi said hunting accident, San thought he meant, like, shot at deer and accidentally hit humans instead. That’s way different than “startled and shot without thinking”, which is honestly so much worse. They can’t have shot both people by accident. And then there weren’t bodies to bury. San’s starting to think Wooyoung under- reacted when he figured out who San was. “That’s horrifying.”

“Yeah.” Mingi steps back, pushes on the gates a little. They give slightly, which is much more tangible progress than the two of them have had so far. San joins him, pulling from his side. “Wooyoung’s been through a lot. It doesn’t excuse how he is, but it does explain it. Just maybe keep that in mind when you’re around him.”

“I will.” 

The gates creak open. It’s a little laborious, San’s straining and he’s sure Mingi is too, but it works, finally. 

“You’re the best, I appreciate this so much,” San says, wiping plant debris off the clippers. “Do you want to come up and see the house…? I don’t have much food, but you can meet my cat.”

Mingi wrinkles his nose. “Ah, cats. No offense, but I kind of dislike cats. Usually the feeling’s mutual. Thanks for the offer though.” 

Fair. Mingi does strike him as a dog person. “Well, I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely.” 

And San watches, a little apprehensive, as Mingi heads back down the road. 

It’s not like he doesn’t believe him. Honestly, San’s pretty sure Mingi’s been more truthful to him today than literally anyone else has been for his entire life. But there’s just something weird about the whole situation. Maybe it’s just Haven. Maybe the entire town’s just their own brand of weird and San has yet to get adjusted. Maybe.

He guesses he’ll see.

(“Who do you think we’ll be, in ten years?” 

It’s back to just Jjong and Yeosang, sitting on the beach and looking at the stars. It’s quiet, except the waves crashing, the sound of their breathing. They’re younger than last time, lighter before whatever happened that ended with Yeosang chained to a wall.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just hope we’ll be far from here.”

“You know I can’t—” Yeosang starts. 

“I know. But you only have to come back once a year, right?”

“It’s just not feasible.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I wish my family never moved here.”

“That was years before you were born. You couldn’t have changed anything.”

“I know.”

The stars are bright. The sand is coarse, under his fingers. He wishes he could feel it for real again. But he knows he can’t. 

It’s just not the same.)

It’s Saturday, so San goes to visit the library.

“A town directory?” Mingi echoes, eyebrows raised. “Why?”

San stumbles over his response, because it’s a little bit difficult to explain, and Mingi clearly doesn’t buy it but leads him to one anyway. It’s not like San lied, okay, it’s just a weird situation to be in. 

“It took a while to compile it,” Mingi says when San takes the book. “Hongjoong helped, but…” the bottom of the front cover says Song Mingi. Town historian indeed. “Anyway, be careful. Don’t look up the wrong person.”

What does that mean? This isn’t a search engine, it’s not like there’s anything recording the history of what pages were open, or something. He shakes his head, and takes it to a table. There’s no one in his range of vision but he feels a little like he’s being watched. A camera, maybe?

Regardless. He opens the book. Updated 2017 2018 2019 2020. There’s a page for families, first, and San finds a few “Choi”s, so he keeps a finger marking that page and flips to the first one. He doesn’t recognize any names, so he keeps going. The third Choi entry is the right one, and San pauses for a moment to admire the little demon caricature on the top corner, accompanied by messy handwriting saying “hey man don’t insult demons like this”.

Relatable. 

He notes that page down, then flips to the back. There he finds a list of people who lived in Haven by first names. It is… a surprisingly short list. San wonders if it’s incomplete, if Mingi’s still working on it. 

He checks the Yeo’s and finds, surprisingly, only two Yeosangs. The first one is from the 1100’s (Haven has early records, wow), so he checks the other. No birthdate, interestingly enough. 

Kang, the given page says. The entry only takes up a quarter of the page, unlike what San saw of his own family’s. No known blood or marital relations. Just Kang Yeosang, unknown–May 5th, 1956. 2018 10th Street. Cause of death: hunting accident. 

San wonders if the chill is from reading, or his ghost friend has some things to say about him looking up his friend. Regardless, the “hunting accident” should be innocuous but San’s still a little shaken from what Mingi told him before. There was a hunting accident. Two of his close friends died because of it.

But Wooyoung’s definitely not old enough to have known Kang Yeosang, so… have there been multiple “accidents”? But then, that one dream. The dream with the singing. 

It’s a wonder you aren’t one of us. 

Youngie!

Okay. Coincidence, it has to be. Nothing else makes sense. It’s not like Yeosang said “Wooyoung”, and “young” isn’t exactly an uncommon second syllable for a name. It has to be a coincidence. 

Right?

But then… San has a ghost following him around, weird things are clearly possible. Maybe Wooyoung has lived that long. Maybe.

San turns back to his family’s entry. He recognizes all the names—his is there but his sister’s isn’t, which he expected given she hasn’t been to Haven before—except one. 

“Found you,” he breathes, eyes glued to the page. No way. No fucking way.

Choi Jongho. October 12, 1936–May 5th, 1956.

1117 Lorelei Drive.

Cause of death: hunting accident.