not just anyone.
ꨄ.. ⠀⠀woonhak x f! reader. superhero au.
synopsis: woonhak is eager, hard working, and wants to do good. he also cannot get a grip on his powers - which is where you come in, unfortunately. (wc 14.3k)
a/n: happy birthday hakhak! THEE grumpy x sunshine trope. heavily references x-men, but you don't really need to know a ton about it to read this fic! just understand the 'mansion' is something akin to a boarding school for superpowered people. also i didn't watch wandavision i just like the quote. mhm. thank you to rosy who beta read for me! couldn't have done it without you <3 @taestulipss
the danger room is a maelstrom of simulated chaos.
drones whizz through the air, lasers pointing with calculated accuracy. the terrain beneath woonhak’s feet shift as he runs away from the rubble, jumps out of the way of a falling tree, and manages to shove a simulated enemy into a wall before tripping on his feet.
woonhak is having a very bad day.
“sentinel approaching from your six,” sakura’s voice cuts through the chaos, crackling over the comms. woonhak spins to see just that - a giant robot stomping its way across the room to him, repulsor rays pulsing.
panic runs through him and his powers flare to life - he can feel it, an electric tingle dances under his skin and he knows something is about to happen -
and suddenly he’s phasing through the floor.
“no, no, no, not intangibility! i need something that can help punch -” his voice is muffled by concrete because he’s currently waist-deep in the floor, and the sentinel is still stomping across the floor. this is not how woonhak imagined he would die - stuck in the ground like the world’s worst lawn decoration.
he feels the tingle in his nerves change slightly and now he has a new power. telekinesis? maybe? he throws out a hand like he saw the other telekinetics do but nothing happens and his power changes before he can even attempt another fancy hand move.
super speed? he feels his feet kick at inhumane speeds and he vibrates so hard his teeth chatters, but he’s also still halfway into the floor so he’s now just stuck and nauseous.
the sentinel brings its fists down and woonhak squeezes his eyes shut.
“terminate the simulation.”
sungho’s voice cuts through the comms and immediately the room stops whirring. drones stop dead in their track and the form of the sentinel shimmers before it disappears. woonhak finally becomes tangible enough to pull himself out of the concrete floor before he becomes a permanent tripping hazard.
woonhak slumps to the ground (solid!) in an undignified heap. he lies there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath. his powers are still flickering through him like a broken radio - for a second he has enhanced hearing (he can hear sungho sighing in the observation deck), then night vision (useless, the lights are on), and what might be echolocation (also useless).
“third time this week, woonhak,” sungho says, the door to the danger room opening with a soft hiss. he doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and that is somehow worse.
“i know,” woonhak says, still on his back, “i’m sorry. i just panic - and everything goes crazy, and then i panic more because it’s crazy, and -”
“and you create a feedback loop,” sungho extends a hand, pulling woonhak to his feet.
“yeah, that.”
woonhak clasps his hands and allows sungho to haul him back onto his feet.
“your powers are manifesting your subconscious needs and emotional state. fear creates chaos, and chaos creates even more fear.”
“so i just need to be… not scared when a giant robot is trying to turn me into a woonhak flavoured pancake?”
sungho gives him what can only be described as a ghost of a smile, “you just need… targeted advice. someone to tell you what your subconscious is trying to do before the fear takes over.”
woonhak’s power flickers through him again - this time it feels like electricity. he shakes it out of his hands and shudders.
“does someone like that exist?”
“i’ve learnt that there’s a person for everything,” sungho checks his watch, “get cleaned up. we’re taking a field trip, and our advisor does not like sweaty teenage boys.”
you’re on the beach, not the nasty kind where sand gets everywhere and sticks to your skin, but a beach where everything is perfect and there are no responsibilities and no one is asking you to carry their emotional baggage and codify it into helpful advice for them in the world’s worst therapy session.
your phone is ringing. you ignore it. the beach is more important. there’s a pineapple drink with a little blue umbrella in it.
the phone keeps ringing.
“go away…” you mumble into your pillow. your dorm is blessedly dark - you’ve duct-taped blackout curtains over the windows after your roommate moved out last semester. the aircon is blasting and no one is around to judge you for napping at 2pm on a tuesday.
the ringing stops. precious silence.
then it starts again.
“my god,” you lurch up and grab the phone and stab the accept call button, “who’s dying?”
the person on the other end clears their throat, “no one… yet.”
you frown at the voice you don’t recognise and pull the phone away to stare at the caller id. ‘big s’. ‘encrypted call’. whatever that means.
“who are you again?” you ask, trying to clear the grogginess in your voice.
“it’s sungho.”
“oh! sungho. hi. great. love this for me. who’s going on a rampage this time?”
“no one. we need you to come in for a consultation.”
“i’m in… in the middle of something.”
“you sound like you just woke up.”
“yes, exactly. i was in the middle of my nap,” you rolls your eyes and pull the covers over you and pray this call takes less than five minutes, “get jiwoo to do it. or lily. you know, the actual telepaths.”
“this isn’t a telepath situation. it’s a… you situation.”
you groan, “sungho. i have a biochem lab tomorrow. you can’t do this to me.”
“listen -”
“- i already helped you last time when you called me to help diffuse the situation with a guy who could only speak in colours.”
“and you did a wonderful job.”
“and i missed my organic chemistry test because of it,” you drag a hand down your face, “i’m trying very hard to maintain a normal life here, sungho. and normal lives don’t include ditching class to translate emotions for literal walking talking bomb threats.”
“i understand, and i apologise. but this is important. we have a new recruit whose powers we believe will thrive with the right guidance. your guidance.”
“get someone else, sungho.”
“there is no one else.”
there’s a deep seated hatred for sungho growing in your soul right now as you suck a deep breath in. calm. ocean waves against sand. pineapple drink with a blue umbrella.
“what’s so special about this new guy?” you sit up in your bed.
“his powers manifest randomly based on emotional need, but, as you might expect, he has no understanding of what they do or how to control them. he needs an interpreter, and you're the best interpreter we have.”
you stay quiet for a long moment, weighing your options. you could say no, go back to your delicious nap, and pretend this conversation never happened. but there’s something in sungho’s voice - he wouldn’t be asking you this if it wasn’t a last resort.
“this is a consultation, right? quick evaluation, i give you my professional opinion, and i’ll be back for lab tomorrow?”
there’s a pause that’s a few seconds too long.
“sungho.”
“we’d prefer you to run some preliminary field tests with him.”
“you lost me.”
“[y/n]-”
“fields test equal danger room. equal at least a whole day. equal barely anytime to prepare for lab. equal my gpa falling. equal -”
“i understand,” sungho interrupts, “we’ll compensate you for your time.”
“i don’t want compensation. i want a degree!”
“what if,” sungho says carefully, “we arranged for… academic support? professor xavier has connections with the university. he would ensure your professors are understanding about your absences.”
“that’s called academic dishonesty.”
“it’s accommodations for a student with unique demands on her time,” sungho corrects.
you flop back onto your bed, you can feel the beginning of a headache forming - not from your powers, just from sheer annoyance of the conversation.
“you’re not going to let this go, huh?”
“no.”
at least he’s honest.
“his name is woonhak. he’s eager, well-meaning, a quick learner, and also currently a danger to himself and others because he can’t predict what his powers will do. yesterday he manifested laser eyes and put a whole through the entire left wing of the mansion. last week he phased through five floors and ended up in the sewers of chicago,” sungho says, like he’s pitching you a ikea put-it-together-yourself! project instead of a person.
you feel a flicker of sympathy. you remember being new and young, being uncertain about her powers, not knowing what exactly you could do.
“you think i can help him?”
“i think you’re the only one who can.”
you sigh. long, loud, and exaggerated, to make sure sungho can hear how deeply inconvenienced you are from the other side of the line.
“fine. but compensation. and i bill by the hour and by cups of coffee from my favourite spot.”
“deal.”
“and professor owes me a personal apology letter to my biochemistry teacher.”
“i’ll draft it myself.”
“and i want -” you try to think of something to demand in the exploitation of this unfair power dynamic, but you blank - “whatever. i’ll be at the mansion in an hour.”
“actually, we’re outside already.”
“you’re what?”
“in the parking lot. blue car. thought it would be more efficient.”
“you don’t have a license,” you mutter suspiciously.
sungho laughs nervously, “nobody needs to know that.”
you look around your room. laundry everywhere, books opened and furiously coloured with highlighters, three coffee mugs on the table.
“give me twenty,” you mutter.
“understood. thank you, [y/n].”
you hang up without responding and drag yourself out of bed. you look like a mess - because the better the nap the more wild you look.
“normal life,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair, “i could have a normal life. be a chef. work at a bookstore. but no, i just had to have weird emotion-reading powers.”
you finish in eighteen minutes, a new record. the air outside is warm and sticky as you push open the doors, autumn’s humidity clinging to you like a second skin. your biochem book is in your hands, because you’ll study in the car, and your shoelaces are untied. the campus is busy - students chattering everywhere, heading to classes, laughing with friends, living normal lives. you weave through them, gritting your teeth at how suddenly it’s everyone's first day on a university campus and no one knows how to act. you think about how nice it would to be worried about nothing more than exams and which party to hit up next.
you spot the blue car immediately. it’s ugly, as you expected. no superpower could fix bad taste. sungho sits sprawled out in the driver’s seat, and in the passenger seat is a guy around your age, all nervous energy and fidgeting hands. you watch how he keeps checking himself in the mirror every few seconds. you catch his eye in between blinks and your eyes meet.
even from a few feet away, you can feel the absolute chaos of his emotional state - anxiety, excitement, hunger, fear, determination. all swirling together like a storm in human form.
“wonderful,” you mumble, wrenching open the passenger door, “this is going to be a disaster.”
you fling your book into the backseat and slide in after it.
“hi!” the guy twists around to face you, his smile bright and genuine and way too energetic for 3pm tuesday, “i’m woonhak!”
“noted,” you say curtly.
“it’s so nice to meet you. sungho told me about your powers and i just think its so rad that you can -”
“coffee first,” you interrupt, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the headrest, “talk later.”
sungho starts the car, “there’s coffee at the mansion.”
“are you trying to poison me?” you scoff, “i want the expensive coffee. from my favourite place.”
sungho sighs, “we’ll stop on the way.”
woonhak is still turned around, still looking at you with those earnest, eager, hopeful eyes. you can feel his emotions without even trying - he’s nervous about making a good impression, excited at the prospect of maybe making sense of his powers, anxious about how it entirely works, hopeful this might be the answer he’s been looking for.
it’s exhausting.
“you can turn around now,” you remind him, eyes still closed.
“oh, yeah,” he faces forward, clicking his seatbelt into place, but he’s still vibrating in his seat and you’re pretty sure he’s peeking at you through the mirror.
“coffee. now. and get woonhak a doughnut. he’s practically broadcasting hungry.”
you made the right decision to detour for coffee. you clutch the latte in your hands like it's the only thing keeping you tethered to the normal world as sungho pulls through the gates of the mansion.
woonhak hasn’t stopped talking, not since he’s finished his doughnut.
“- last night, i dreamt that i was floating, and when i woke up - bam! i really was! my nose was touching the ceiling and everything. but i got scared and i immediately fell down and i got even more scared so i manifested, like, absorption impact. it was weird. i ended up blasting a hole into hyung’s room and -”
you wonder if he ever stops talking. you think you prefer your lab partner, who’s biggest flaw is that he doesn’t wash the beakers properly and you have to go back to the sink every time to do it yourself. you take a long, deliberate sip of your coffee.
sungho ushers you inside, and you’re immediately hit with the familiar sensation of the mansion - dozens of emotional signatures layered on top of each other. students worried about controlling their powers, teachers stressed about lesson plans, heroes anxious about their next mission, and the constant, buzzing fear that comes with being a superpowered mutant.
you’ve learnt to filter it out over the years, like white noise, but woonhak emotions cut through everything else like a siren - wee woo wee woo-ing his excitement and fear.
“[y/n]!” sakura appears in the hallway, “sorry for such short notice! thanks for coming.”
“i go where i’m needed,” you grumble.
“the professor is waiting in his office. we need to brief you on the situation before we begin the comprehensive tests.”
“comprehensive tests?” woonhak perks up, “i thought we were just doing an evaluation?”
sungho and sakura exchange a look.
“no - i agreed to preliminary field tests, only. the one day type situation. comprehensive tests means multiple sessions and i’m not -”
“let’s just let the professor handle it,” sakura interjects smoothly, already guiding you down the hall.
you shoot sungho a withering look, at least he has the decency to look somewhat apologetic.
professor xavier’s office was always too tacky for your liking. too many old books and it always smelt like tea - deliberate ambience. it couldn’t deceive you. you know he’s a complete fool.
“[y/n],” the professor greets you warmly, “it’s wonderful to see you again. how are your studies progressing?”
“would be progressing better if i wasn’t here,” you mumble, xavier gives you the textbook definition of a tight smile.
“i apologise for the sudden summon. i’ve already sent a notice to your professors explaining you’ve been called away for a family emergency.”
“a family emergency,” you repeat, “is that what we’re calling this?”
“well, in a sense, we are family here,” xavier gestures to the chairs in front of his desk, “please, sit. both of you.”
woonhak practically throws himself into a chair, still alight with nervous energy. you hope you’ve achieved more grace with the way you take to your seat slowly.
xavier steeples his fingers, his expression losing that hint of warmth and more serious, “woonhak, i understand sungho has explained why we’ve asked [y/n] to consult on your training?”
“yes, sir,” woonhak quickly replies, sitting up straight, “because my powers manifest randomly and i don’t know how to control them. and [y/n] can read emotional intent and translate it into… um… instructions?”
he glances at you uncertainly as the ending of his sentence falters.
“close enough.”
“your power is quite unique, woonhak,” xavier nods knowingly, “we’ve seen adaptive powers before - minji absorbs abilities through touch, and yunah can copy powers, but your manifestation is different. you don’t copy or absorb. you generate entirely new abilities based on your subconscious emotional needs in the moment.”
“right. so, to summarise,” you set down your coffee cup, half empty, “you don’t know what you’re doing half of the time.”
woonhak slumps, “yeah, it’s like, i’m just constantly surprised by what my own body is doing.”
“precisely,” xavier turns to look at you, “and that’s where you come in. your ability to sense and interpret… emotional intent - makes you uniquely qualified to help woonhak understand what his subconscious is trying to accomplish before the power fully manifests.”
woonhak perks up, “it’s like your power is made for mine!”
you ignore him, his relief and excitement stinging over you like electrical signals.
you take in a deep breath, “so i’m basically going to be his instruction manual.”
“think of it more as… a translator,” xavier suggests gently, “his powers speak a language he doesn’t yet understand. you can interpret that language for him.”
“and you believe this will help control his powers?”
“we believe, with proper guidance and experience, woonhak’s powers will stabilise. it wouldn’t eliminate the randomness - that appears to be intrinsic, but it will give him the tools to work in tandem with his powers rather than fight a battle against them.”
you roll the suggestion around in your mind like sisyphus pushing a stone up a hill. you can feel woonhak’s hope radiating off him like a heat from a furnace, his desperate desire for this to work, for someone to finally put sense to his chaos.
“let me ask you something,” you finally say, turning to woonhak. he straightens at your voice.
“what do you want to do with your powers?”
“i want to help people,” woonhak answers without hesitation, “i want to be good.”
“define good.”
“like, doing the right thing,” woonhak says, less confident than before, you feel hesitation trickle down his spine, “saving people.”
you frown. unconvincing.
“please,” woonhak says quietly, desperation rolling off him in waves, “i just want to be useful. i can’t be useful if i’m falling down sewers or floating away every time there’s a threat. i just want to protect what’s important to me.”
he looks down at his hands like he’s mourning what he could do. regret pings off him in sparks and shame fills your lungs - his. you watch as he flickers between them and your figure - hopeful, but also telling himself he can’t be.
“how long?” you finally ask, the question directed back at the professor, “i can do a one-time evaluation, maybe a few trial tests. but i can’t put my life on hold for - for a guy.”
xavier and sakura exchange looks. you’re starting to hate these looks. just pretend you don’t acknowledge each other like normal telepaths do.
“we were hoping,” sakura says carefully, “that you might consider more… ongoing arrangement.”
“define ongoing?”
“a few sessions per week. possibly more if it's urgent.”
“a few sessions per week,” you repeat slowly, “while i’m a full-time student, with a course load that people without a secret superhuman consulting job find way too much already.”
“we will take the necessary measures,” xavier suggests, leaning forward in his wheelchair.
“like what?”
“providing academic support, and i have connections with several of your professors -”
“so you’re gonna bribe them or do your telepathic mumbo jumbo to them. got it.”
“i prefer to think of it as letting them know you’re doing valuable work outside of the classroom.”
you breathe in, “and what if it doesn’t work?”
“it will,” sakura says firmly, like she has complete faith in professor xavier’s brainwashing capabilities.
you look at the two of them skeptically, “this is insane. you’re asking me to drop everything.”
“you have a gift, [y/n]. a gift that could help someone who needs it. is that so insane?”
“it’s like a full-time job,” you say.
“we’ll try to be understanding of your other commitments.” keyword: try.
you look at woonhak, who has been uncharacteristically quiet through the whole exchange. his emotions swim around him in a miasma - guilt that he’s causing problems, hope that you’ll say yes, fear that you’ll say no. and under all that, a deep, aching loneliness he thinks no one will understand.
the stone rolls down the hill.
“damn it,” you mutter.
“is that a yes?’ xavier asks, the slight smile on his face suggesting he already knows the answer, probably because he saw your metaphorical sisyphus rock roll down the hill through his telepathic bullshit.
“yes, maybe,” you grumble, “one month. if it’s not working and woonbaby over here doesn’t improve, or my grades slip, or your connections with my professors aren’t connecting - i’m out. no guilt tripping and no ‘but he needs you!’ speeches. and no puppy dog eyes.”
“that seems more than fair.”
“and a better coffee machine. the mansion coffee tastes like it's been there since the 1980s.”
“understood. i’ll speak to the kitchen staff,” xavier says, amusement clear in his voice.
“and if we’re going to do this, woonhak,” you turn to him and he jumps at his name, “you need to be honest with me. about what you’re feeling, what you’re struggling with, all of it. i can’t help you if you’re hiding things.”
“i can do that,” woonhak says immediately, “i’m an open book. way open. people tell me i overshare sometimes and -”
“great. perfect. wonderful,” you cut him off, “when are we starting?”
“how about now?” sakura suggests, “the danger room is unoccupied.”
you look at your half empty coffee cup. you think about your untouched biochem textbook and your comfortable bed back at dorms.
you look at woonhak, who is looking at you with said puppy dog eyes and like you just offered him a life raft in the middle of an ocean.
“fine,” you sigh.
“okay,” you say, inserting your data into the computer, “let’s establish some ground rules.”
you hold up a finger, “first, when i’m reading your emotions - it’s not telepathy. i’m not in your head. i’m sensing what the purpose of the emotions are, which means -”
“you experience my emotions secondhand,” woonhak finishes, “but unlike me, you also know what i’m actually feeling and what my emotions are manifesting into.”
“look at you, clever kid.”
“feeling other people’s emotions all the time - it must be painful. is it painful?”
“sometimes,” you admit, because you’re too lazy to lie, “but that’s not your concern.”
“it feels like it should be my concern,” woonhak frowns.
“just trust me,” you breathe in, “this is about you working with me, not worrying about me. concentrate on yourself.”
woonhak nods, but you can feel his anxiety spike anyways, leaving you with goosebumps down your arm. great. thirty seconds in and everything’s already worse than when you walked in.
“second,” you try to recalibrate, redirect - “when i give you an instruction, you follow it immediately. no ums and ahs. no hesitation, second guessing, or talk backsies. your power responds to emotion and intent - if you doubt yourself, you’ll lose the power.”
“okay. trust you. don’t doubt myself. got it.”
“third, if at any point you feel like you’re losing control. you tell me. immediately. no dilly dallying. don’t push through it, don’t try to be tough. just tell me.”
woonhak fiddles with his fingers, “why?”
“because your powers are connected to your emotional state. if you’re spiraling, you’re losing control, and i can’t help you. i need to know so i can help you course correct before something explodes.”
woonhak eyes widen, “explode? me?”
“it’s just a figure of speech, let’s hope it stays that way.”
you press your palm against the scanner on the door to the danger room, and the panel slides open. you can feel sakura and sungho’s simmering anxiety when you step closer to the observation deck. the danger room whirrs to life around you, but it doesn’t change appearances - baby mode, you deduce, for dummy testing.
“let’s start simple,” you step away from woonhak, “i want you to try to manifest a power. any power. just focus on needing something and see what happens.”
“er,” woonhak stands in the middle of the room, looking like a lost baby chick, “like this?”
“like… that,” you wave non-committedly at him.
woonhak closes his eyes and concentrates. you watch him, extending your power carefully. you feel his emotions shift - determination, focus, performance anxiety.
and then, like a switch flipping, you feel his power activate.
it hits you like a wave of vertigo. the world suddenly has too many dimensions, space folding in on itself in ways that makes your stomach lurch. spatial manipulation? reality warping? something that fundamentally breaks geometry and laws -
“got it,” you press a hand to your forehead.
woonhak’s eyes fly open, “what? did i do something wrong?”
“no, you did something right,” you hiss through teeth and wait for the sensation to pass, “i’ll give you a gold star sticker later. right now, concentrate on the power. probably some kind of spatial distortion ability. do you feel it?”
woonhak looks down at his hands, confused, “my hands are kinda tingly.”
“that’s it trying to activate. your subconscious generated the power, but you don't know what to do with it, so it's just sitting there.”
“then what should i do?”
“think about what you need.”
“i don’t know? to understand what i’m doing.”
“deeper, woonhak. be more introspective. your subconscious manifested spatial manipulation for a reason. think. what do you need space for?”
woonhak is quiet, thinking. you can feel him sorting through his emotions like a stack of cards, trying to identify the source.
“i need room,” he starts, quiet, “i feel… cramped. like my powers are too big for my body and i need more space to contain them.”
you blink, “good.”
“what now? how do i use it?”
“can’t. too advanced for day one,” you step closer, watching him carefully, “i want you to let it go. release the power.”
“i can do that?”
“letting go is part of control, woonhak. you need to learn when to hold a power and when to release it.”
he looks uncertain, but he closes his eyes again. you feel him struggling with it - his instinct tries to hold on, and he tries to force it out in a push, like it could pop out of his body if he clenched hard enough.
“don’t force it,” you bark, “think of it like releasing a breath, not forcing out a stool.”
woonhak snorts, but slowly, gradually, you feel the spatial distortion power face. the vertigo eases and the world returns to normal geometry.
“did i do it?”
“you did,” you give him a small encouraging smile, “first lesson - manifestation and release. you’re going to practice that until it’s second nature.”
“when’s that?”
“when i say you’re done.”
he groans but nods.
“its nice. having someone who understands what’s happening. usually i’m just flailing around hoping i don’t phase through a wall again.”
“don’t get used to it. you need to learn to rely on yourself, too. one month, remember?”
“right. trial period,” he nods furiously, but his emotions tell a different story - like he’s already hoping you’ll stay longer, already imagining what it would be like to have someone who actually understands.
but you love to disappoint.
rule two: never question me. always trust me.
woonhak’s room is quiet except for woonhak’s occasional frustrated breathing. you’re nestled on woonhak’s bed - on your laptop that you’re supposed to be taking notes about organic chemistry on.
“again,” you say, without looking up.
“but i’ve done it fifteen times already!”
“you’ve only done it fifteen times,” you correct, “you need to hold your power for at least two minutes. you’re only at forty-five seconds.”
woonhak sighs like a kid being told he has to finish his homework before he can play on the ipad and closes his eyes. you watch as his power activates again - it’s like a buzzing under your skin, an emotion sharpens into focus.
alertness, tension wound tight around awareness. a strain and desperate need to not miss a single thing.
“heightening perception,” you say slowly, “hearing? other senses?”
woonhak’s eyes open in surprise, “yeah! i can hear… everything. like taesan’s record player from upstairs.”
“makes sense,” you say, highlighting a word on your document, “some part of you is probably afraid of missing something important. now, the critical part is not fighting it, acknowledge the need and let the power do it’s job.”
you can feel him trying, holding onto his power but not tugging on it. his feelings stabilises slightly as his frustration mellows out.
forty-five seconds.
fifty seconds.
a minute.
“new record,” you whisper.
one minute fifteen.
one minute thirty -
the power flickers out like birthday candle. woonhak slumps to the floor, shaking his head like an oversized dog.
“minute thirty seven,” you announce, “good job.”
“really?” he lights up immediately, all exhaustion forgotten, “that’s like two minutes!”
“it’s like one minute and thirty-seven seconds. you do know how time and minutes work, right?”
woonhak rolls with it, unperturbed, “i’m celebrating!”
he sprawls onto his back, grinning at the ceiling, teeth and all, “minute thirty-seven, that’s like, way better than yesterday.”
“uh huh. yesterday you managed fifty-two seconds before you put your hand through the wall because you accidentally manifested super strength.”
“in my defense, i panicked and got too excited.”
“i know,” you deadpan, “i was there, and you panic a lot. that’s your default reaction to everything.”
“i’m working on it,” he looks at up at you curiously, “how do you deal with it? all those emotions at once.”
you consider the question, "learnt to tune it out. it feels like background noise now - irrelevant, uncessary. like when you’re at a party and twenty different conversations are happening around you but you gotta concentrate on the desperate guy trying to tell you about his vhs collection in front of you.”
"i’m never been to a party,” woonhak mumbles.
"you’re not missing much,” you stab a key on your keyboard, "practice. you still haven’t reached minute two yet.”
"okay, okay,” he sits up and closes his eyes again, and you scoff at how he never questions you - what a rule abiding goody two shoes.
rule three: always tell me if something is wrong
"i can’t do it.”
you look up from your biochemistry notes, because your life isn’t complicated enough by basically being an emotional sponge, and squint at woonhak, who’s sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.
"tell me,” you prompt.
"i can’t do anything of it - the powers, the control drills. they just keep shifting before i can figure out what they are! i’ve been at it for an hour!”
you lean forward in his chair - elbows on your knees, "what happened?”
"i don’t know!” he stares down at his fingers, "i was doing so well yesterday! i was hitting three minutes consistently - sometimes even four! but i can’t even feel it today. it’s like - like my own body doesn’t want to listen to me!”
you push his sweaty hair out of his eyes with a delicate finger and a feeling pops out from where your skin grazes his skin. it’s gnaws at you like a dog with blunt teeth - it doesn’t hurt, but it chews.
"homesick?” you say softly, "a call from home?”
woonhak’s swallows harshly, "i can’t hide anything from you, can i?”
"nope,” you lean back in his chair, wiping your finger against your shirt, "tell me.”
woonhak is back to fiddling with his fingers, because he can’t sit still and his brain runs a mile a minute like he’s trying to break the record for world’s most anxious marathon.
"my mom called, said she misses me. asks if i’m eating well and if training is too hard. i told her i was learning to control my powers and everything’s great. but - but i don’t know if that’s the truth.”
"you held a power for five minutes yesterday,” you point out, "i know you’re bad at maths and telling the time, but do you know how many things you can do in five minutes, woonhak? a lot - you can do so much.”
"but what if that’s just a fluke? what if its just a lucky try?”
you’re quiet for a moment, "come on.”
"where are we going?” woonhak asks as you stand up.
"training room.”
"i told you. i can’t do it today -” you shush woonhak.
"i’m hearing a lot of this chattering but i want,” you clap your hands together, "silence."
woonhak nods dumbly as he stumbles to his feet.
"trust me."
you back out into the hallway of the mansion and woonhak patters after you like a sad dog in pouring rain, confusion radiating off of him. you can practically see the question mark over his head.
the training simulation is simple. a few swaying targets, a basic obstacle course.
"manifest something,” you stand back, "anything.”
woonhak frowns - "can’t.”
"don’t talk back,” you snap, and woonhak straightens in attention. you watch as he defeatedly sighs and closes his eyes. something flickers through him - anxiety? but it’s gone as soon as it comes and leaves the lingering bitterness of doubt.
powers swing through his body, his feet is alight with super speed and next it’s anchored down by metallic armour. his fingers tingle with telekinesis until it shatters into time manipulation. he doesn’t even have a second to manipulate, though, but it’s just replaced with simple super strength.
"see?” he sighs, "can’t.”
"again.”
you say forcefully.
"it’s not going to -”
"again.”
he tries again to the same results.
"[y/n] -”
"again.”
"i can’t do it!”
"again!”
something in him breaks and frustration bursts out of him like water breaking through a dam. a target explodes into smithereens and both of you cough as fine dust spreads through the room.
woonhak stumbles back, eyes wide, "what was that?” he manages through his coughs.
"frustration,” you say, wiping at the tears that gathered at the edge of your eye. the training room’s machine activates as it starts cycling clean air back in - never a stranger to unintentional simultaneous combustion.
"you’re trying to control it - but you can’t. that’s a feeling too. it manifested as a spark - an explosion, because that’s what you feel. there’s no specific manifestation, just pure power.”
woonhak frowns, "but that’s not useful, making things explode is not handy at all.”
you tap your head, "first of all, many problems can be solve via explosion. secondly, your powers aren’t failing. you’re just anxious, scared, which makes your power unstable.”
you place a hand on his shoulder, "you can’t let your anxiety control you, woonhak.”
"i don’t trust myself,” he’s trembling under your touch.
"then trust me. lean on me. but also learn to accept yourself, and the fact you’ll make mistakes, and the fact that it’s okay.”
"you’re really bad at bringing the mood up. no wonder you don’t like parties,” woonhak laughs wetly.
“excuse me. my kindergarten teacher told me i was a joy to have in class,” you squeeze his shoulder as your tone softens, "do you know what i feel from you right now?”
"failure?”
"no, fear. you’re scared of disappointing your mom, you’re scared of wasting peoples’ time. but do you know what else i feel? determination.”
you poke him in the chest, over his heart, "it’s just so teeny tiny down here that you want to ignore it. but it’s there. i know you want to try - so hard. that’s all you need, woonhak.”
“is that enough?”
“of course. trust me.”
rule four: let’s be open to each other.
you twist and turn around in the bed. the pillow smells like a garden after rain, which of course it does, because that’s the perfume woonhak uses. he insisted you take the bed (you wrinkled your nose when he said he had a sleeping bag) and demoted himself to the floor. you pull the blanket up as your cheeks heat up at the fact that you are wrapped in his scent and it just makes it worse. it smells like him but sweat free, and it smells comforting, like cool dew dripping from leaves and the earthy tones of dirt.
"are you asleep?” you whisper softly, muffled by feather down and soft moonlight.
you hear woonhak’s sleeping bag shuffle before a zipper gets pulled down.
"no,” he whispers back, speaking into the cool midnight air. you can feel his anxiety hum through the air.
"you should sleep,” you frown.
"but you’re awake.”
"no talking back,” you grumble, and woonhak chuckles.
"why are you still awake?”
"exam in four days,” you stare out into the darkness, "i don’t think i know the content.”
"i’ll quiz you tomorrow. you should sleep.”
"quiz?” you scoff, "woonhak, you don’t even know which blood cell carries oxygen.”
"i can still read from your textbook!” woonhak defends himself, his sleeping bag rustling more now. you can imagine the wide eyed look he always gives when he thinks he’s been wronged.
"tomorrow, you can try,” you let scepticism bleed into your voice.
"i want to help you too,” woonhak starts playing with the zipper on his sleeping bag. it makes a clinking noise, "you’re doing so much for me.”
you let silence consume the room.
"can i tell you something?”
"always.”
you take in a deep breath, "my first mission. i was fifteen, fourteen? it was supposed to be a simple undercover mission at some company building. the goal was to get in, disable some security codes for the main team, and get out. but somehow they found out about it - the enemy. they ambushed us. we were completely caught off guard. i don’t remember much - just suddenly the entire building exploded into intense panic. i felt like i had ants crawling all over my skin, i’ve never been burnt but i guess it would be something like that. it was so scary. my brain completely shut down and i would’ve died if my partner didn’t drag me out.”
you grab a fistful of blanket - "the worst part was - was there were injuries. we couldn’t prevent them. for some people it might have just been a temporary upset, or a guilt - because injuries heal and it wasn’t our fault, however they justify it. but - but i wasn’t for me. i felt their fear, panic, and pain. it felt like i broke every bone in my body. you can’t forgot emotions like that.”
you bury your face into woonhak’s pillow, "i was so scared of my powers afterwards. quit the institute and packed my bags to go home. i kept thinking about what would happen if i failed one day, if someone died, and what would happen to me if i could feel that. i could live with background noise emotions, but i had nightmares about what ifs. i never linked myself up so - so closely up with other people like that ever again.”
you sprawl out, suddenly feeling too hot and the bed too small for your big feelings. the slight breeze cools the heat that pools in your palms, "i don’t do this for just anyone, woonhak. you’re helping me already - just by being yourself. i’m learning to not let my powers control me, too. i’m trying to be brave again.”
you hear him shuffle before a warmth envelopes your fingers. you realised he’s grabbed your hand that dangle over the edge of the bed when a flurry of emotions - not your’s, settles like a light layer of snow over you. nervousness at his actions, sadness at your story, gratitude that you trust him enough to let him know.
"i’m sorry that happened,” he picks his words carefully. you still can’t see him over the edge of the bed and the darkness, "you’re being really brave. thank you for telling me.”
he squeezes your fingers.
"you were vulnerable this morning,” you let out an unamused huff, "it’s my turn. relationship economics.”
"okay,” he whispers, "let’s be open to each other, from now on.”
"okay,” you move your hand so you’re gripping him too, "deal.”
"thank you for not giving up on me.”
"oh, no, don’t mistake me. the paperwork would be a nightmare if you quit.”
woonhak chuckles, "you’re honest, even if you wound me.”
"i’ve learnt that hiding emotions don’t actually do much in the end,” you give his hand a squeeze, this time, "that’s why i like you. you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
"you like me?”
"you’re easy to read,” you correct.
"i’ll take that as a compliment,” his voice drops into a quieter volume, "you should go to sleep. we still have training tomorrow.”
"okay,” you settle back into the mattress, "goodnight, woonhak.”
"goodnight, [y/n],” his thumb rubs comfortably across your knuckles as you finally let sleep take over.
"are you ready?”
sakura appears in the door of the danger room. woonhak has suddenly taken to doing push ups on the floor while you chug your water, exhausted by the recent training session. woonhak can consistently hold a power for five minutes now, and he’s becoming overly self-confident - he thinks doing push ups makes him look sexy. you’re still thinking how best to humble him.
"ready?” you look up at sakura as woonhak claps dirt off his palms, "woonhak can do five minutes now. we’re working towards six.”
"that will have to do,” sakura purses her lips, "what about you?”
"what about me?” you ask, before realisation dawns on you when you feel sakura’s hesitance dance across the room.
"oh. oh no. i am not field mission material.”
"you’re field mission material for this mission alone,” sungho appears behind sakura, tablet in hand, "we need you two specifically.”
woonhak jumps to his feet, suddenly on high alert, "we’re ready!”
"no - no we’re not. don’t listen to him,” you’ll let him do as many push ups he wants to do, "i’m not ready.”
"i’m afraid you’ll have to be,” sungho shakes his head, "it’s a situation i believe only you two can handle.”
"what situation?” woonhak blurts, he avoids your burning stare - you didn’t raise him to have free will!
sungho crosses the room in easy strides while tapping on his tablet. he stops in front of you two and you groan as you pull yourself up to your feet. the screen shows aerial footage of a small town shrouded in thick mist.
"mist,” you say flatly, "you’re worried about mist? just uncondensise it with your powers or something. you can literally control the weather.”
"no, that’s not it,” sakura cuts in, tapping the screen so it zooms in. you watch as silver flashes under the mist, curling and unnatural.
"the mist appeared two days ago in millbrook, approximately forty miles north. population of about 3000, now completely cut off from outside contact,” sungho finishes.
he swipes to another video - one taken from the edge of the phenomenon. buildings are visible through the fog, but they’re… wrong. twisted. you watch a particularly thick patch of fog temporarily covers a building and when it drifts away the roof is angled in the opposite direction. a street sign is readable but the letters keep moving and glitching like a computer screen.
“it doesn’t comply with normal physics. space and logic break down inside it. we’ve sent in reconnaissance drones but they either stop functioning or come back with stuff that looks like this.”
“sounds like a job for not us,” you say flatly, tugging down your sweater sleeve, “woonhak barely has any field experience. send someone who can, like, punch the weird mist away.”
“we’ve tried,” sakura’s expression is grim, “lily attempted to enter telepathically. she said the emotional landscape inside is too incomprehensible, too chaotic and layered. everyone who’s tried to enter physically has been turned back within minutes, disoriented.”
“so naturally you’ll send in the reserve member and the rookie,” you nod, “makes total sense.”
“we want to send in the adaptive power manifester and his emotional interpreter,” sungho corrects, “[y/n], if the mist is responding to emotional states, as lily’s analysis suffests - you’re our best chance at understanding it, and woonhak’s power will adapt to need. inside the mist ,he might manifest exactly what you need to navigate it.”
woonhak is vibrating with barely contained energy. he’s jumping on his heels when he responds; “we can do this. we’ve been training. i’m so much better than i was -”
“- three weeks ago you could barely hold a power for thirty seconds,” you interrupt.
“and now i can hold one for five minutes! that’s a thousand percent improvement!”
“that’s not how percentages work.”
“what i mean is - we’re ready! put me in, coach!” woonhak stares pleadingly at you. you look at him, then at sakura, then at sungho - both of whom are strangely very calm about this situation, or maybe woonhak’s excitement is so overwhelming to your senses that everything else seems baseline and normal. you stare at the video on the tablet - thick smog churns and swirls like it’s alive - and waiting.
“what about the people inside? the 3000 residents?”
“we don’t know,” sungho admits, “no response when we tried to make contact. but we need to assume they’re trapped and need help.”
“you want to do good, right?” you turn to woonhak and he nods furiously, “are you sure you’re ready?”
“i am!” he insists, “you said all i need is determination! and - and i’m determined!”
you’re quiet for a long time. three week ago you would’ve said no immediately. found an excuse to pack up your bags and go back to normal life again. said you couldn’t use your powers properly anymore. even though you could. what were you scared of? yourself? the pain of others? you play with a loose thread from your sleeve. you could turn away - sakura and sungho couldn’t force you into doing something you didn’t want to.
woonhak’s hand find yours, clasping around your fingers gingerly again, like he’s too scared to actually commit to holding your hand and settled for the next best thing.
“it’s time to be brave, [y/n],” he says quietly, soft enough only you can hear.
you’ve gotten soft.
“if i die in weird mist,” you say finally, “i’m gonna be so annoyed.”
woonhak’s face lights up like bright red lights on a christmas tree, “is that a yes?”
“and for the record, i never said determination is the only thing you need. it’s just something you need.”
you say gruffly, slapping your water bottle into his chest, “when do we leave?”
“two hours,” sakura says, a relieved smile breaking over her face, “we’ll brief you on everything we know right now on the flight.”
“not much, i suppose,” you grumble, “fantastic. great. love this for me.”
you look at woonhak, “go get your gear. and maybe do some breathing and meditation exercises. your excitement is going to make me throw up.”
woonhak rushes out, stilling grinning like an idiot and clutching your water bottle, leaving you alone with sakura and sungho.
“he trusts you,” sakura observes.
“well, yeah. he’s an idiot,” you swipe your training equipment off the floor.
“no,” sungho says, with a far too serious tone than the situation called for, “he’s someone who finally found someone who understands him. that’s not stupidity, that’s hope.”
for once, you don’t have a response.
woonhak’s leg bounces with nervous energy as he sits next to you in the small cockpit in the x-jet. your hand shoots out to settle on his knee, forcing him to still.
“you’re going to burn yourself out if you spend all your energy worrying about something,” you say, “do the breathing exercises i taught you.”
“okay,” woonhak says, somewhat breathless, he sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes as he exhales with the force of a rocket taking off into space.
“now listen while i go over the protocols,” you pull out a notebook from your suit - you haven’t worn it in years, and it’s just as uncomfortable as before.
“we have protocols?”
“we have now,” you huff, “i made them up on the way to the jet.”
“one. stay within ten meters of me at all times. i am squishy and also i need to be close to read what’s happening.”
“copy.”
“two. when i say do something, you do it immediately. do not second guess me. we worked on this in training but it’s real now.”
woonhak lets out a particularly loud exhale, “i understand.”
“three. if at any point you feel like your powers are not under your control or if i am in distress, you pull us out. it doesn’t matter if the mission isn’t complete. you get us out.”
“but -”
“no buts. i’m serious, woonhak. i know how much you want to help, but if i’m compromised, i can’t help you, which means you’re like a blind rat in a maze full of cheese. you’ll be disoriented and flying solo in a place that literally doesn’t follow physics. that’s how people and rats die.”
he’s quiet for a moment, his emotions dulling from a bubbling excitement to something more somber.
“okay. rule three. if you’re in trouble, we extract.”
“good,” you snap your notebook shut, “now let’s lay out what we do know. the mist appeared suddenly, two days ago. no warning or building. that suggests -”
“a trigger event,” woonhak interrupts, “something happened that caused it.”
“glad you’ve been paying attention. pop quiz - since lily said the emotional landscape is chaotic and layered, this implies -”
“multiple sources? one really confused source?” woonhak scrunches up his nose in confusion.
“trick question. could be either,” you tap your pen against the cover of your notebook, “the fact that space and logic breaks down inside suggests reality manipulation - or something like that. perception alteration. your powers might adapt to counter, or they might get weird because rules don’t function the same in there.”
“weird?”
“yeah - code for ‘i don’t know’.”
woonhak laughs, “three weeks ago i would have been terrified to do this. but now? i mean, i'm still scared, but i also feel like... like maybe we can actually handle it?"
you glances at him. his emotions are steadier than you’ve ever felt them - still anxious, but grounded and determined.
"we will handle it," you say, steady and convincing, “you’re gotten better at control, and i’ve gotten better at reading you specifically. we’re functional.”
“functional,” woonhak repeats, grinning - all of his teeth showing, “you believe in me.”
“of course i do,” you snort, “if i didn’t - i wouldn’t have come here.”
“you complimented me.”
“don’t make me regret it,” you cross your arms.
“too late. it’s imbedded in my brain forever,” woonhak sits back in his chair with a grin that makes him look like a kid who got into the candy jar.
sungho clears his throat awkwardly from his co-pilot seat, “we’re approaching. town to your two o’clock. you should be able to see the mist in about thirty seconds.”
woonhak’s eyelids fly open as he presses his face into the window, you settle for a peek that doesn’t scream eager and desperate.
the mist rises like a wall, perfectly vertical and straight. it stretches as far as the eye can see in either direction. it’s churns and drifts between white and gray, other colours swirling through it that definitely makes it not normal fog.
you extend your awareness carefully, trying to grasp some of the emotional signatures pinging off the fog.
pain, confusion, fear, loneliness. all twisted together in a horrible stew that makes her head spin just by touching the edge of it.
“someone’s hurting,” you supply.
“who?”
“won’t know until we find out,” you look sideway at woonhak, “are you sure you’re ready for this?”
he takes a deep breath, then nods, “ready.”
sakura sets the jet down in a clearing about a hundred meters from the mist wall. as you disembark, you can feel the discord from even there - dancing like static on your skin and a pressure in your ears.
sungho hands you both a small disc, “stay in contact. this is a tracking device. if it stops moving or loses signal, we’re coming in after you.”
“with what?” you stare at it with an eyebrow raised as woonhak attaches to his wrist, “you said drones don’t work, and everyone who tried got turned around.”
woonhak salutes, which is dorky but somehow appropriate. you just nod.
they approach the mist together, the air growing warmer as they step closer. you can feel woonhak’s anxiety spike in real time - a blood rushing through your ears suddenly - his powers start pinging in response.
“hey,” you say quietly, just before the wall, “look at me.”
woonhak turns.
“you’ve got this - we got this,” you try to keep your voice as steady as you can - because in a duo mission, one person freaking out is the limit, “you trust me to read you, i trust you to manifest what we need. that’s the deal, right?”
“right,” his voice is steadier than his emotions.
“then let’s go find out what is making this mist and stop it.”
you offer him your hand, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he takes it.
together, you step into the mist.
and everything goes sideways.
your stomach flips, like the world’s most dangerous rollercoaster. once that settles the first thing you notice is the noise. each footstep you take returns three echoes, one from your feet, one to your side, and one echoes from faraway, like it didn’t come from you but another person, far far away. woonhak’s breathing is inside your head. in the unexplainable and illogical, woonhak’s hand in your’s seems like the only real thing in this world.
"okay,” you say, your voice rippling out like skipping a stone across water, "this is strange.”
"[y/n],” woonhak says, his voice tight, "i - i can see buildings. but they’re not right. one’s - one’s turned upside down, and the building that was on our right is now on the left, but we didn’t move.”
you look. he’s right - the pink building that was on your right hand side has suddenly plopped itself onto your left, in between the upside house and the house that’s l shaped. you’re pretty sure the yellow house wasn’t there either.
"architecture playing musical chairs,” you mumble, "how wonderful.”
"what - what should we do?” woonhak loses all the confidence he has before, leaving only nervousness.
you squeeze his hand, "power check?”
woonhak shuts his eyes, "feels kinda dizzy.”
dizzy. you shift through woonhak’s feelings. peeling back a layer of nervousness and a tinge of panic, you find an intense curiosity.
“spatial manipulation? does your hands feel tingly?”
woonhak shakes his head, “no, not like last time. it feels more like a humming under my fingers.”
“time related, then. chronokinesis, i’m thinking something like psychometry.”
“that’s a big word,” woonhak laughs nervously. the chuckle echoes back at him through the mist a few seconds later and the both of you jump.
“you’ll be able to see the historical memories of objects,” you touch the lamp post that suddenly sprouts up from the ground next to your feet, “you should try it - like, before it disappears.”
woonhak slaps his free hand against the cold metal and winces, but his eyes instinctively shut. you feel his emotions dip out of your awareness, like his existence isn’t completely on the same reality as your’s. it’s suddenly quiet. you’ve been connected to him for three weeks now, and the sudden feeling of emptiness leaves you cold and nervous.
“woonhak?” you try, and he gasps as his eyes fly back open and he folds onto himself like he has a horrible tummy ache.
“did you see anything?” you prompt as his emotions - loud as ever, flood back into you through your hands - panic, disbelief, disorientation. it makes the world in front of you spin for a moment - or maybe it actually has, seeing that the lamp post has completely disappeared out of view after woonhak pulled his hand off it.
“yeah,” woonhak looks winded, “i saw… things.”
you sigh. it sounds like a trumpet blaring.
“did you see where the mist came from?”
“oh, yeah,” woonhak finally straightens up - maybe the trumpet reignited the marching band kid in him, “that way.”
he gestures towards a thick wall of mist.
you gulp. for once, you don’t know what will happen and where you’ll end up.
“lead the way, then,” you try to sound confident, but woonhak squeezes your hand like he’s trying to remind you he’s right here, next to you.
he starts walking, still holding your hand, and follows. you walk toward the wall of mist, and just when you’re sure they're going to hit something solid, the mist parts and you’re on a street that shouldn't exist.
there’s people here.
but they’re frozen mid-motion, like a video that someone hit pause on. there’s a kid jumping off a curb, a woman reaching for a car door, a man with the trash bag he was throwing out suspended in mid-air, and an elderly man watering a potted plant that has spiraled impossibly through the air.
“are they,” woonhak swallows, “alive?”
you extend your powers out cautiously.
“they are,” you gestured to the woman by her car, “she’s anxious about being late for something, but it’s looping - like, like a broken stereo.”
woonhak winces, “that sounds like it sucks.”
“yeah,” your head is starting to pound - there’s too many emotions, too many people, too much of one thing is never good, there’s at least a dozen knots of emotions on this block alone.
“we should move. the sooner we find the center, the better.”
you walk through the frozen town, the pavement twisting right before your eyes, and woonhak’s power shifts.
you feel it like a key turning in a lock - the psychometry fading and being replaced by something else. this one is more obvious - it hits you harder. your eyes water as your vision blurs.
“enhanced vision,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to blink away the sensation, “can you see the pattern of the mist? signals?”
“there’s a path,” woonhak says, wonder tinges his voice despite the hellscape, “like - like a river. if we follow it upstream -”
“we’ll find the source,” you finish, “let’s go.”
you move faster now, woonhak pulling you along the invisible current only he can see. his power shifts again and this time it makes your muscles vibrate at the wrong frequency. his urgency is palpable - it singes like friction. enhanced speed? teleportation? time dilation? whatever it is, you’re covering ground faster than you should be able to.
the frozen people dot the path. they become more frequent, popping up like weeds that refuse to go away. a bunch of kids mid tumble, a couple whose fingers just about graze each other, a dog suspended mid bark.
then you turn the corner and find the town square. there’s a foundation with water that’s frozen but still flowing - huddled up near it, a girl, with mist pouring off her.
she can’t be more than fourteen. her eyes are closed and her face is peaceful despite the chaos that surrounds her. the mist swirls around her, curling up her legs and weaving inbetween the strands of her hair. you can feel the wisps trouch you - and its like emotion made visible, friend and confusion and fear and loneliness spiralling outwards in waves.
“found her,” woonhak breathes.
you extend your powers towards the girl and immediately regret it.
the emotional impact is like being hit by a truck - hell, actually being hit by a truck would probably hurt less. you feel the pain cut through your flesh like a knife and it worms into your bones - deep and absolute. death in the family? you vaguely wonder. recent - someone she loved more than anything. it broke her and her mutation activated in her grief - stopping time like all of us wished we could.
“[y/n]?” woonhak's voice sounds far away, “[y/n], you’re shaking.”
you realise it when he says it, your entire body trembling from the force of the emotions that latched onto you. it’s too much, your head screams, you’ll overload your brain and explode. it’s too raw and too -
woonhak’s power shifts again, but this time it feels gentle and soothing, like you were suddenly slathered in a thick layer of aloe vera gel.
it dampens the overwhelming input of emotions just enough so you can breath. emotional buffer? psychic shielding? you gulp down air and focus on the feeling of your hand in his - whatever his power is, it’s grounding you so you don’t turn into a pile of emotional slop.
“i’m good,” you gasp out.
“what do we do?” woonhak asks, worry etched into his brow, “should we wake her up?”
“can’t. not too suddenly,” you force yourself to think through the pain, to recalibrate, “could make it worse. her mutation is reality manipulation, i think, emotion - shit. she’s trapped in her grief, mist is a physical manifestation.”
“so what? do we just - leave her?”
“no -” you look at the girl, at the mist pouring out from her, “we need to go in.”
“in… in her brain?”
“her emotional space,” you force out over the pain that’s building again, “i need you manifest something - something useful. if we connect our powers i might be able to create a bridge into her consciousness.”
“that sounds dangerous.”
“it is.”
“is it the only way?”
“i can’t think of any other way that’s quicker,” you offer.
woonhak frowns, “and what if we fail?”
“then we’re stuck in weird mist town forever, and i fail my midterms,” you try for humour, but your voice cracks on the word fail, “woonhak. i can feel what she’s feeling. she doesn’t want this but her mutation kicked in instinctively - it’s protecting her but its trapping everyone else. we have to help her.”
woonhak is quiet for a moment, his emotions cycling through fear and uncertainty and then settling on determination - growing by the minute.
“okay,” he says, taking both of your hands, “tell me what to do.”
“i need you to trust me. no hesitation or doubt. your powers respond to emotional need - i’ll try to extend it towards her’s.”
“i’m nervous,” he admits, his teeth catching his bottom lip.
“i know. but i’ll here, i’ll guide you through it,” you squeeze his hand, “i won’t let you get lost in there.”
his eyes meet your’s, and for a moment, there's nothing but trust between them. pure, absolute trust.
"okay," he says softly. "let's do it."
you close you eyes and extend your awareness towards woonhak. you feel his emotions like it’s your’s - determination, fear, hope… you feel his power stirring, responding to his desperate desire to help, to connect, to understand.
the power blooms under your hand like a flower. it’s not flashy or obvious, but subtle, intimate. a psychic bridge forms between you two and you gently nudge it towards the girl. woonhak’s consciousness slips in and out of your’s, beside you. you feel the moment the both of you reach the edge of the girl’s mindscape and -
you fall in.
“i want to barf.”
woonhak’s voice echoes and it makes you even more nauseous. you hold your breath until you can get your bearings, and breathe out once you do.
“not right now,” you shake your head, “i don’t know the effects of psychic vomit.”
you look around you - you’re standing in what looks like a living room that’s fractured. the furniture exists in multiple states at once - a couch which is pristine but covered in dust and scratched up on the other end. the coffee table switches between intact and shattered, a cracking sound accompanying it everytime it glitches. the frames on the wall show smiling faces that disappear the longer you look at it.
but, god, the space is alight with emotions, like a fire tearing through the room.
you can barely stand under the weight of them. every surface is slick with grief, every object screams loss. woonhak makes a pained sound next to you, he can feel it too - through your connection.
“stay with me,” you say, though you weren’t sure to him or to your soul that’s threatening to drift away any moment, “we have to find her.”
you slowly move through the living room - a feat that is harder than twenty rounds of sungho’s training regiment. it’s a house - you realise, a house that radiates grief and absorbs sadness, a collection of items that scream despair. you push open a door to another room - it’s the same. every room exists in multiple states, caught between before & after, unable to move forward but also impossible to return to what once was.
“[y/n],” woonhak says, his voice strained. you look at him and his face is screwed up in hurt and worry, “your nose is bleeding.”
you touch your face and your fingers come away stained red. the strain of being this deep in someone else’s emotional space while also channeling woonhak’s manifested power is taking a toll.
“it’s okay,” you lie.
“it’s not,” woonhak stops walking, turning to face you, “this is too much. we should -”
“we need to keep going. the people outside are trapped. she’s trapped. we’re really close, woonhak. come on.”
his face projects conflict - caught between concern and his need to help the girl. you feel his power shift again.
this time, you feel strength flood into your limbs - endurance of some kind. his subconscious is trying to help you - give you what he thinks you need to continue.
“thank you,” you breathe, and woonhak just wipes the blood off your face with his sleeve.
you climb the stairs together and stall at the door at the top. unlike everything else in the house, the door is real - solid, unchanging.
behind it, you can taste the bitterness of concentrated grief.
“she’s in there,” you say, trying your best not to let nervousness bleed into your words, “behind that door is where she’s hiding from her own pain.”
woonhak reaches for the doorknob and hesitates, “what should we say to her?”
“i - i don’t know,” you admit, “let’s just be honest - we’re not here to fix her… just talk to her.”
“okay,” woonhak nods, “when all else fails, try honesty.”
he pushes open the door.
inside is a bedroom - there’s posters on the wall and books on the shelves and a desk covered in textbooks and homework. sitting on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, is the girl from the town square.
but this time, she’s wide awake, and crying.
“go away,” she says thickly, “this isn’t real.”
“we’re real,” you step forward, slowly, “we’re here to help you.”
“i don’t need help, i need -” her voice breaks, “i need my mom.”
the words chokes you, her grief becomes clearer. mother died - suddenly, recently. mutation activated in response to grief and pain.
“i’m sorry,” you say, and you mean it, “i’m so sorry you lost your mom.”
the girl finally looks up, her eyes red, “you don’t understand anything.”
“no,” you agree, “i don’t understand, not completely - but my powers let me feel what other people feel. i can feel you’re sad, and that you loved her so much.”
the girl’s face crumples, “it hurts. it won’t stop hurting.”
woonhak moves forwardly, slowly, inching closer to the girl, “i know what it feels like - to have emotions that feel too big for your body. like they might tear you up and eat you alive.”
“you do?” she looks up.
“yeah,” he nods, “my powers - they’re super random, manifests based on what i’m feeling. i couldn’t control it at all in the beginning. everything i felt suddenly was dangerous - chaotic. i wished i’d stop feeling things, at one point, because i didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“does it ever go away? this feeling?”
“it gets better,” he gently says, “it’s hard but it gets easier to control.”
the girl is quiet for a long moment.
"i didn't mean to do this. to trap everyone. i just - when mom died, i felt like the whole world should stop. like nothing should keep moving when she's gone. and then my power activated and-" she gestures helplessly, "and now it won't stop."
"because you won't let it," you say gently, "your power is responding to what you need - like, you need everything to stop because moving forward feels like leaving her behind."
"isn't it?" the girl's voice is small. "if i let go, if i move on, doesn't that mean i'm forgetting her?"
you move closer, until you’re standing at the edge of the bed. you’re sure you look like a mess with blood running down your face - you can taste the copper on your tongue and your head is pounding like the world’s loudest rock concert.
“moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting,” you say, “it means carrying her with you instead of being buried by losing her. i know it sounds hard, and i know it feels like the pain might never end. but we have to be brave now - we can’t let this drown you, and everyone else.”
the girl looks around the room, at the fractured house beyond the door, "i don't know how to let go."
"that's okay," woonhak says, "nobody really does. but you don't have to know how. you just have to want to. and we'll help you."
"how?"
you extend your hand, "by feeling what you're feeling, and showing you that you can survive it. that's what i do - i translate emotions, i help people understand what they're experiencing. and right now, you're experiencing grief. real, terrible, overwhelming grief. but you're also experiencing love. so much love for your mom. and that love doesn't go away just because she did. you can remember her - but it doesn’t have to be painful."
the girl stares at your hand for a long moment.
then, slowly, she reaches out and takes it.
the moment your fingers connects, you feel everything.
grief hits you like a tidal wave. quite literally. you feel like you’re drowning, like water is filling your lungs and you’re being pulled under a wave that’s too strong to fight. her pain is everywhere, in everything, an unhealable wound.
you struggle to breath. as you start doing your own breathing exercises you can feel her overwhelming grief - and under that, even more overwhelming love. it’s blinding and heavy and unexplainable. memories of her mother flood your brain, it sounds like laughter and feels like safety. it tangles into grief - inseparable, because you can’t have one without the other.
“it’s not just pain,” you rush out, “do you feel it? love?”
the girl is crying harder, but she nods, “i forgot. it hurt too much.”
“that’s grief,” you can barely hear yourself over the thunder in your ears, “grief is love, your love has always been there.”
woonhak moves closer, pressing his shoulder against your’s. you can feel his power activating again, dully, it feels like emphatic healing or something - you can’t think straight, but it’s flowing through your connection to the girl, stabilising.
“your mom loved you,” woonhak says softly, “your grief - it’s your love persevering. its all the love you never got to tell her.”
the girl’s grip on your arm tightens, “but the town - the people. i trapped them because i -”
“they’ll understand,” you say, “you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. your power was just trying to protect you. but now you can let them go. you can let yourself move forward.”
“i’m scared,” she whispers, “what if i forget her? what if moving on means she’s really gone?”
you think about how you spent years trying not to feel too much of anything, put up a wall between your normal world and the world you left behind. then you think about your past three weeks with woonhak. how you tried to not care. how that failed spectacularly because you couldn’t help but fall in anyways. how you started to care - for god’s sake.
“you won’t forget her,” you say, “i promise you won’t. emotions like love and care never goes away.”
the girl takes a shuddering breath. then another. and slowly, gradually, you feel the grip of the grief starting to loosen. not disappearing, but no longer drowning.
"okay," the girl says, "okay. i'll try."
"that's all you need to do," you said, "just try."
the girl closes her eyes, and you feel her reaching for her power. it releases like an exhale - the fractured house around them starts to solidifying and the mist starts to thin. woonhak squeezes your hand in careful excitement.
and then you start feeling something shift wrong inside your own body.
the strain is catching up to you. holding woonhak’s power and emotions that made an entire town freeze in time. you realise in horror that blood is dripping onto the bedsheets and you can taste iron in the back of your throat. you cough - once, twice, and your vision drifts in between black and blurry.
“[y/n]?” woonhak’s voice echoes in your brain and is muffled like he’s underwater, “your nose!”
you can’t find the strength to respond. you hold the girl’s hand tighter - you can’t severe the connection now, not at this moment. you need to help her find her way back.
you register the faint chirping of birds, and everything goes white.
you’re on the beach. there’s a pineapple drink with a blue umbrella. you pick it up and it’s delightfully chilly. the sun is beaming - literally, it feels like heaven on earth.
“[y/n]! come on - please, [y/n]!”
someone is calling your name. you peer over your sunglasses around the sandy beach but there’s no hot beach boy calling for your attention. you settle back into your beach towel.
“[y/n]!”
someone shakes you and you gasp as your beach dissipates like a popped bubble.
“w - what?”
the sky above you is clear - no mist, no fractured reality, just a normal sky with normal clouds.
“[y/n],” someone curses under their breath as their hand slaps your cheek gently, “over here.”
“ugh,” your head pounds as woonhak’s face swallows the blue of the sky - he looks terrified.
“please tell me it worked,” you croak.
“you literally stopped breathing for at least a minute,” his voice is rough and wild, “i thought you died on me!”
“woonhak,” you touch his arm, “answer the damn question.”
he sits back on his heels, looks around at the normal town with normal cars and normal plants, “yeah. yeah - it worked. the mist is gone, people are unfrozen. the girl - her name’s ellie. she’s okay, just disoriented.”
“good.”
you try to sit up and immediately regret it. the world spins violently. woonhak lets out a worried squeak when you flop back against the concrete - “okay, maybe i’ll just stay down here for a bit. i did die for a minute.”
woonhak’s face scrunches up like he’s about to cry, “the x-jet is coming. sungho’s coming with medical.”
his hands hover over you, like he wants to help and doesn’t know how, “you scared me. like, really, really scared me.”
“sorry,” you close your eyes - maybe that will help with the spinning, “occupational hazard.”
“don’t - don’t say that. you - you were convulsing, your body shutting down from the strain, hell - you stopped breathing for a really, really long time! i could feel it - but i couldn’t stop it. i - i didn’t know how to.”
“you’re being overdramatic,” you force your eyes open again, finding his face, “it was just a minute - not a really, really long time. besides. you did help. your powers - you were manifesting exactly what i needed. if you hadn’t been there, i wouldn’t have made it that deep.”
"if i hadn't been there, you wouldn't have been hurt! the only reason you had to push yourself that hard is because you were connected to me and my chaotic powers while also dealing with ellie’s emotions."
"woonhak -"
"no."
his voice is firm in a way you’ve never heard before.
"no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to act like you being hurt is just part of the job. every time my power shifts, it hurts you. and today it literally - " he stops, voice breaking. "it literally killed you."
you’re quiet for a moment, processing his outburst. you can feel his emotions even now, even though you’re barely holding onto consciousness - you can taste the fear, the guilt, the desperate need to protect you, even from himself.
“hey,” you say softly, “look at me.”
he does, and he sniffles, his eyes wet.
“it’s not your fault. i chose to go that deep. i chose to hold the connection. that girl needed help, and we’re the only ones who could help her. you get it - right? you said you wanted to help people.”
“not if it means you die!”
“i didn’t die,” you hold up a finger, “okay, i technically did. but i’m alive again - so it’s not that bad.”
“you’re trying to be funny,” he frowns.
“listen, i’m just stating the facts here.”
“[y/n] -”
“woonhak,” you interrupt, “when i agreed to this whole arrangement, i knew this was a possibility. your powers could push me to my limits. but in the end, i think it was worth it. you’re worth it.”
he stares at you, “what?”
“don’t make me repeat it,” you grumble, “i am very injured and it was embarrassing enough the first time.”
but you let a slight smile ghost over your face, “you’re worth it, woonhak. these past three weeks, watching you grow, seeing you learn to trust yourself - it's been worth every headache and nosebleed and death - well, one death.”
“i don’t -” he stops, swallowing hard, “i don’t know what to say.”
“you don’t have to say anything,” you throw an arm over your eyes, “just keep manifesting those healing abilities. i might pass out again.”
as if on cue, you feel his powers shift. a familiar, gentle energy washes over you, numbing the worst of the pain. it smells like a garden after rain. he's getting better at manifesting specific powers when he needs them. the control they've been working on is paying off.
“see?” you murmur, “we’re a good team.”
"the best," he says, and there's something in his voice - something warm and soft and impossibly fond - that makes your heart do a complicated flip that has nothing to do with the strain of the mission.
fuck, you thinks distantly. when did that happen?
but you don’t have enough time to think about it too deeply because the x-jet is landing nearby and sungho is running towards you with a medical kit and suddenly there are people everywhere checking and prodding and asking questions you’re too tired to answer.
through it all, woonhak doesn’t let go of your hand. you realised he’s never let go since you two stepped into the mist hours ago.
and, well, you didn’t let go of his.
the bed is comfy, and you’ve managed to bribe sungho into installing blackout curtains. you’ve been in the hospital wing for two days, recovering from what has been clinically described as "severe neurological strain from prolonged psychic bridging while experiencing secondary power manifestation feedback”.
you just called it “pulling an empathetic hamstring and now everything hurts”.
you’re sitting up in bed, shifting through your biochem notes because your exam is in three days and extenuating circumstances doesn’t cover ‘injured because of mindscape deep dive’. your head still pounds if you concentrate too hard, and you’re not allowed to actively use your powers for at least a week, but at least you’re not a permenant stain on the street of millbrook.
there’s a knock on the door.
“come in!” you yell, expecting sungho with more medication.
instead, it’s woonhak. he hovers by the door, a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries and a face of uncertainty in tow.
“hey,” he says, “is this a good time?”
"is any time a good time when you're stuck in a hospital bed?" you jest, "get in here."
he enters, setting the coffee and pastries on your bedside table, “i got it the way you like it, and the cookies you always order.”
“you remembered!”
“i watched you order it, like, fifty times.”
he sits down in the chair besides your bed, and passively you can still feel his emotions seeping out of him - concern, relief, and something else.
“how are you feeling?”
“better than yesterday,” you reach for the coffee and take a grateful sip, “god, that’s good. i swear, the mansion coffee is actively trying to make me worse.”
“okay,” woonhak laughs, “no mansion coffee.”
the room is quiet for a moment, the comfortable kind of quiet you’ve developed over weeks of training together.
“i talked to ellie,” woonhak says finally, “says she wants to say thank you and sorry, and she’s in therapy now.”
“oh, good. that’s good,” you set down your coffee, “and the people?”
“better, still processing, but no one was hurt. just confused and scared,” he pauses, “she asked if she could come say thank you in person - when you’re better.”
"she doesn't need to thank me. we were just doing our job."
"see, that's what i keep saying! but everyone keeps insisting what we did was extraordinary."
he grins, but it fades quickly. "i've been thinking."
"uh oh. that's dangerous."
"i'm serious." he leans forward, elbows on his knees. "i've been thinking about what you said. about how working with me pushes you to your limits. and i don't - i don't want to be the reason you get hurt."
you raise an eyebrow. you know where this is going.
"woonhak -"
"let me finish." he takes a breath. "i talked to sungho. and i just - just wanted to let you know that if you don’t want to work with me anymore it’s okay."
he fiddles with his fingers.
“no, it’s okay,” you say simply.
“what?” he blinks, “you - you aren’t going to go away? but - but you literally died and -”
“and i’d die again,” you interrupt, “pop quiz! do you know why?”
“because you’re really stubborn.”
“no, dumbass,” you sit up straighter, “because you’re worth it.”
you hold his gaze, “i said it on the field - and i can’t believe you’re making me say it again, but i meant it. yes - working with you is hard, but woonhak - seeing you go from someone who couldn't hold a power for thirty seconds to someone who can manifest healing abilities to save people? that's not something i want to give up."
“even if it hurts you?”
“i told you -” you take his hand, “i’m being brave. i don’t want to live in constant fear of what i can or can’t do anymore, and how am i supposed to do that if i keep doing what makes me comfortable?”
“are you sure?”
“yes. a thousand percent,” you squeeze his hand, “you might drag me into weird mist towns to save people, but i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
woonhak’s emotions wash over you - relief and delight and something deeper - something that makes your pulse quicken.
"you really want to keep working with me?" he asks quietly.
"yes - i want to keep working with you. and i like you. as a partner. as a... friend."
the word friend sounds weird on your tongue. you don’t really want to dissect why just yet.
woonhak's face breaks into that bright, genuine smile - the one where his eyes disappear and his teeth show.
“i like you too, even when you’re grumpy and sarcastic and pretend you don’t care about things.”
“harsh, but okay,” you roll your eyes and he laughs.
“so,” he fiddles with your fingers, carefully, “if you're willing to keep putting up with me and my chaos, i promise i'll do everything i can to keep my powers from hurting you. i'll train harder, focus better, manifest that healing ability more consistently -"
"woonhak."
"- and i'll carry extra tissues if you have nosebleeds again, and i'll make sure we always have coffee that won’t kill you nearby, and -"
"woonhak."
he stops, looking at you.
"you're rambling," you say softly.
"i ramble when i'm nervous."
"why are you nervous?"
he's quiet for a moment, his emotions swirling. "because i almost really lost you. and i realized that somewhere in the past three weeks, you became really important to me. and i don't know what to do with that."
your heart is doing that complicated flip thing again, and this time you can't blame it on coming back from the dead.
"you became important to me too," you admit, "which is inconvenient, because i was trying very hard not to get attached."
"how's that working out?"
"bad."
you both laugh, and the tension breaks slightly.
"so," woonhak says, "partners? still?"
"partners," you confirm, "but i have conditions."
"of course you do."
"one: you have to stop asking if i'm okay every five seconds. i'll tell you if i'm not okay."
"copy that."
"two: you have to actually study the emotional manifestation triggers i wrote up for you instead of just saying you'll memorise them later."
"ugh, fine."
“three: you have to deal with my grumpiness in the mornings, because i hate getting up.”
“got it,” he nods, “i’ll get used to it”
you're both smiling now, hands still linked.
"when you’re better… would you take me to the coffee shop?”
he scratches his cheek.
"like a date?”
embarrassment washes over him, "y - yeah. something like that.”
"hmm,” you tap your chin, "i think i can fit you into my schedule.”
"really? you can?!”
"i’m a very busy woman, woonhak. i don’t do this for just anyone.”
"i know,” he grins, "but i’m not just anyone, right?”
"no, you’re just someone very special to me. that’s all.”
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Ando que si dando vueltas por ahí enviando mensajitos chéveres a mis mutuals, porque he estado un poquito más offline de lo normal y quería recordarles que los tengo bien presentes en mi corazoncito de pollo. ¡Y tú no podías faltar! Me caes muy bien, de verdad, es un pacer tenerte en mi dash, me permites darle un vistazo a cosas relacionadas con el k-pop, que fue uno de los fandoms en los que más llegué a estar en su momento y que me trae tan buenos recuerdos, y en general eres una persona muy agradable.
Gracias por estar, daramgyu<3
Love you lots, Mary.
MARYYY 😭😭😭
ilysm bro como te explico que este mensaje solito me calmó el crashout 😭😭
por siempre en mi corazoncito de pollo💗 mi moot más real
