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Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 05

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Five: a desert, a strange tavern, and the influence of desire.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

chapter wc: 16.7k

chapter specific warnings: dub-con due to the presence of an aphrodisiac of sorts (not between main pairing), brief mention of emotional childhood abuse.

summary:

“It’s strange for a tavern to be out here,” San comments, casting a wary glance to which you return. “I wouldn’t think there’d be much business.”

“Maybe they run off of people like us,” Woo offers with a shrug. “Fools who don’t bring enough water.”

a/n: lol guess who returned from the dead. this chapter is lowkey self-indulgent, but i expect you all to enjoy it bc you love me. also if you know anything about greek mythology and the lotus eaters, you may have an idea what’s coming hehe. enjoy <3

When San rouses awake it is still dark outside, only the faintest hint of moonlight peeking through the tent flap. His eyes feel puffy, nose stuffed. The tears have finally stopped, yet his cheeks remain sticky.

Lifting himself upwards, he blinks, finally registering that his head is not, in fact, resting on a pillow, but Woo’s chest. Gaze scanning the area around him, he doesn’t see Seonghwa anywhere, the man most likely having spent the night in your tent.

“Woo?” he murmurs into the open air, words still raspy with sleep, expecting to only receive silence in response.

Instead, the elemental’s voice is groggy. “Yeah?”

He doesn’t quite comprehend what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it, mind still fuzzy as he hasn’t fully awoken. Yet the words leave his mouth all the same. “Why did you stay with me?”

The elemental seems to become a bit more alert at the question. Shifting himself upwards so that his weight sits on his lower arm, he tilts his head towards the swordsman. “Because,” he says, eyebrows furrowed as he takes San’s hand in his. “You needed me.”

San doesn’t say anything to this, a frown across his lips as he settles back down onto Woo’s chest, eyes trained upwards at the tent’s roof. Having finally calmed down from his earlier breakdown, he is now able to think clearly enough to hold a level of regret.

Because Woo will be gone in the morning, and then he’ll simply feel worse.

“I need you on more night’s than just this one,” he thinks to himself, although he doesn’t say them aloud. He’s too much of a coward, because if he dares to risk telling this to the elemental, he fears he may no longer have nights such as these at all.

Stupid.

“You okay?” Woo asks, and San simply nods. He’s not, but he’s also tired, and frankly not in the mood to get into everything right now.

Woo doesn’t seem to buy it, and he shows so by gently tilting San’s chin upwards with his thumb, careful to avoid the burn marks along his jaw. When his eyes meet Woo’s, his face is only a few inches above San’s own. The elemental’s dark eyes flickering across his features, he appears to be looking for something.

San remembers that he is not wearing his eyepatch, Woo having dropped it to the ground earlier, and he tries to pull away.

“Stop,” Woo whispers, and it’s almost a plea, as if he knows exactly what San is thinking. Hell, he probably does.

Despite himself, San listens. Eye falling shut, he knows what comes next, and when the elemental leans in the kiss is like finally arriving home. It’s been weeks since they’ve been like this - not including the petty little display Woo made at the fire a couple days ago - and the taste of the elemental’s lips is like a drug on his tongue. He’d almost forgotten it, battled through the withdrawal, but now as Woo cups his cheek he devours the man’s lips like an addict.

And he is addicted, really, because why else would he come back? Even though it hurts him, even though he’ll regret it in the morning, he always lets the elemental win.

Even if Woo is a poison within his system, he will always come back for his next fix. Always.

“I know I’ve been an ass lately,” Woo says between kisses, the words nothing more than a breathy murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not,” San thinks, because he knows that nothing will change. But instead of saying that, he too lies. “I know.”

Woo’s hand slides down from its place along San’s jaw to his chest, fingertips teasing along his skin as they continue their descent towards his abdomen.

His mind feels hazy again, although this time it is for much different reasons than terror.

Mouth parting open, he lets out an unabashedly loud groan as Woo’s hand begins to fiddle with his belt buckle. It’s been too long, he needs this. He wants the elemental, even if he’s been nowhere near deserving as of late.

“It’s just that it’s you, you know?” Woo mumbles into his lips, and San’s head begins to spin.

“You’re perfect,” he continues, lips shifting from their place against his own down to San’s neck. “I can’t help but fear losing you.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, as San would argue that Woo doesn’t even have him to begin with, not properly. But then again, when the elemental is above him like this, that doesn’t quite feel true.

Like this Woo does have him, because San can’t imagine demanding anything else. He loses all reason in a thoughtless, aching desire for more. Escaping in desperate breaths, helpless pleas.

Like this it does feel like he belongs to Woo. Maybe it is just that Woo does not belong to him.

“Please,” San whispers. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but he knows that Woo will deliver it to him.

He can feel as Woo smiles against his neck, lips finally peeling from the area he’d been sucking. It’s surely marked a deep purple colour, as well as far too high up. People will see. San can’t find it within himself to care.

“I know,” Woo says, looking up to meet San’s gaze. In doing so, the elemental’s own eyes flood with a sense of desire, and San wonders just how desperate he must look right now. “I’ll help you.”

San scrunches his good eye shut, head tilting upwards to face the tent’s roof. His breathing is ragged, needy, and he wishes amidst the desire for more that he also wasn’t so damn weak.

He wishes he had the strength to stop this. That he had the strength to tell Wooyoung how these night’s hurt him, how he yearns for more beyond this physicality.

But Woo is his weakness, the one area he loses all willpower, all sense of reason. And so he says nothing, shuts the logical part of the brain off and lets his desire take over in its place. That carnal hunger that fills him whenever he finds himself here.

If this be the only way the swordsman may have him, then he supposes there are far worse things.

Connecting his lips back with the elemental’s own, he gives himself in fully. Own hand rising up to the back of Woo’s neck, he pulls him in closer, so that this kiss becomes messy. Desperate.

When Woo fucks him it feels like an apology, but San does not forgive him.

San is awoken once more, but this time it is to the sun peaking through the open tent flap rather than the moonlight.

Yawning, he shifts himself upward, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He feels exhausted, the rest that was much-needed having been forgone for… far different activities.

Feeling sweaty, tired, and frankly just a tad disgusting, he also notes that he’s awfully cold. Pulling the scratchy woolen blanket up over his chest, his head falls back upon the pillow behind him. His shirt is surely discarded somewhere amidst the tent, and his bare skin is prickled with goosebumps. He pulls the blanket even tighter to himself.

He feels far colder than he should, and it takes his mind a moment to recognize why. When he does, it’s followed by a sigh, as well as a small pang of hurt that rattles within his chest, even if he does his best to try and ignore it.

Woo is gone.

San isn’t sure when he left, but he feels the man’s absence like a hole inside of him. Like the air is somehow filled with his lack thereof, and with every breath he is reminded of his omission.

Reminded of the fact that this is how it always is, how it always will be.

Hand drifting over to where Woo’s form had previously been, the blanket is now cold, a testament to how long it’s been since the elemental made his exit. San can’t help but wonder when exactly he left. Did Woo simply wait until he’d fallen asleep, not bothering to linger even a moment longer than he had to?

San doesn’t know. He’s not sure if he even wants to.

Searching for his clothing, his hand drifts further along Woo’s side of the blanket. However, it is not his shirt that he lands on, but rather his eyepatch.

“Hey,” Woo says, rushing over to him and taking hold of San’s hands. For a moment, the swordsman thinks he’ll do it for him, but instead the elemental takes the eye-patch from his grasp entirely, sliding it away from his face. “Look at me.”

San swallows hard. What a joke.

Tossing the blanket off of himself, he pushes upwards and onto his knees before the chill of the tent can convince him otherwise. He needs to get out of here. Out of this bed.

Bringing the eyepatch up to his face, he lets out a sigh of relief as the leather touches his skin. He feels like himself again, or at least the version of himself he’s grown used to. More in control, more in command of what others may view of him. Less of the broken shell that lays underneath, but the polished version above the surface.

It’s better this way, he thinks.

Grabbing his shirt that lays on the opposite end of the tent, he throws it on over his head. Steeling himself, he takes his belt of blades from its place beside the flap, wrapping it around his torso.

Before he leaves, he swears to himself that this will not happen again. He will not let Woo have him like this, not when he knows that the elemental will be gone from his side before sunrise. Not when he knows that everytime he offers another piece of himself, he receives nothing in return. Not when he knows that if this is to continue, there will soon be nothing left of himself to give.

However, San also knows that for all of his talk about how he will not let Woo have him again, he fears that it may only prove to make him a liar.

For he is a coward and he is a fool.

But most of all, he is in love, and that may be his greatest fault of them all

It’s your third night in the desert when you begin to fear that you may not make it out alive.

Having run out of your small canister of water yesterday morning, the four of you have walked the entirety of the last two days on nothing but a handful of nuts each. Throat burning especially due to thick dryness of the desert air, each inhale feels like sandpaper rubbing against your lungs. The setting sun beats down upon you, and the many cuts on your face scream in protest, the over-abundant exposure certainly doing no favours for the healing process. Your clothes feel like weights pulling you down into the sand, which slips and slides with every step you take, threatening to rob you of your balance.

You’re fucking exhausted.

Maybe you’d feel more hopeful if you knew you were almost there, the promise of water and cool wind enough to keep you moving, but none of the men have spoken about reaching your destination any time soon.

Which makes sense, as it doesn’t feel like you’re anywhere near your destination either. All you’ve seen the last two days is sand, and all you can see for the miles that stretch beyond you is more of the same.

You always thought of the Calanthian Desert as a place you may one day like to visit, now you cannot fathom why.

None of you have spoken in hours, not wishing to waste the energy nor lung capacity involved in doing so. You’re beginning to lose hope, and you wonder if they already had a long time ago. Perhaps your own ignorance is the only thing keeping you moving, when in reality the lot of you were already destined to die the moment you set foot in this barren landscape with no water.

It’s a morbid thought, but that’s what severe dehydration will do to you.

You’ve spent the last day in a daze, mind foggy as you just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving, because if you dare to lie down you know that you won’t be able to get back up.

It’s not until Woo collapses ahead of you that you’re knocked from this daze.

Through bleary eyes you watch as the elemental stumbles. Swaying on his feet, it appears for a moment that he may be able to remain standing, but instead he falls sideways, knees giving out beneath him.

He slides a few metres down the hill you have found yourselves on, sand tumbling over top of him, and after a moment you quickly realize he’s making no move to get up.

“Woo?” Seonghwa calls from behind you. The empath is a few metres back, your group not even bothering to try and keep the same pace. He’s attempting to take care of one of the horses - San doing the same with the other behind him - but it’s not looking so good. Your group is already struggling enough with no water for yourselves, let alone an animal five times your body weight. They’d taken a drink from a muddy stream near Gloria, but they can’t go on much longer like this, that much is obvious.

Pulling past you Seonghwa brings the horse with him, struggling to keep his own balance. It’s the first time you’ve seen his face in a while, and he’s awfully pale. Eyes sunken and lips both cracked and dried by the sun, he looks about as rough as you feel, which cannot be a good sign for yourself.

You feel as San appears by your side, the reign of the other horse in his hand. Sharing a nervous glance, you give him a small nod before the two of you take off after Seonghwa. Not running, as you simply do not have the physical strength to do so, but as much of a jog as you can muster.

San hasn’t talked to Woo in two days. Even with the little conversation between any of you throughout your trip in the desert, you’d be blind to not notice the distance between them. You aren’t sure what happened that night when Woo went to San’s tent, but you had assumed everything must have worked itself out considering the elemental didn’t come back to the fire.

Now it doesn’t seem so likely.

Seonghwa leaves the horse behind him as he stumbles towards the elemental. “Woo?” He calls again, all though the name is barely coherent. Throat far too dry, it’s more similar to a raspy grunt. Falling to his knees, Seonghwa rolls Woo over from his side in order to face him up towards the sky.

When you see Woo’s face, you almost feel bad for saying Seonghwa had looked rough.

His once bronzed skin is now a horrifically sick and pale white, and his lips are not simply cracked but rather peeling off in chunks of dead skin. Dark hair tousled, it sticks to his forehead in sweaty knots. His eyes are rolled back into his head, and you’re now able to notice how his chest convulses, limbs shaking.

“What’s happening to him?” You croak, the first time you’ve spoken in hours. You’ve never seen anything like it, and for a moment you fear he’s dying.

“Fuck, he’s having a seizure,” Seonghwa mumbles. You aren’t sure of the reasoning, but he shifts Woo back over onto his side, pulling the man’s arm out from under him.

Even with the new position, Woo continues to convulse, and it strikes you just how useless you are at this moment. You don’t even know what should be done in this sort of situation, let alone what you could possibly do to help.

However, you can’t spend too much time focusing on your own faults, as your attention shifts over to San. The man stands there, frozen as he stares down at Woo. Good eye wide and mouth drawn open, he appears almost like a statue.

You imagine that he feels just as helpless as you do.

Fortunately, after a few more seconds the man stops shaking, and Seonghwa rolls him back over. Woo’s eyelids flutter close, and when they open again, you can see more than just the white’s of his eyes.

“Hey,” Seonghwa says gently, giving him a small shake.

Woo blinks a few times, rapidly, then speaks.

“Where…” he starts, gaze distant as his eyes wander the area around him. “Where am I?”

Your own heart stalls at the question, as it seems that something must be seriously wrong for him to not recognize the desert that has terrorized your party for the last three days. But Seonghwa handles it calmly.

“The Calanthian Desert,” the empath answers, a small smile on his lips. However, you don’t miss the way his foot taps restlessly beneath him. “We’re on our way to Kuroku, remember?”

“Yeah…” Woo says, although there seems to be no genuine recognition in his tone. However, after a moment his brows furrow together, and when he speaks his voice is surprisingly firm. “No, yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Any relief you feel at the statement is quickly tarnished, as he pushes himself upward. “I need water.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Seonghwa rushes, grabbing Woo’s shoulders before gently laying him back down onto the sand. “Just sit down for a second, okay?”

“No,” Woo says, a sudden amount of urgency in his voice. It’s panic, you realize, as his breathing begins to escalate. He pulls his hand away from Seonghwa. “Let go of me, I need water.”

“Woo, calm down,” Seonghwa says, and although his tone remains soft he keeps his grip on Woo’s shoulder firm, not letting him make any sudden movements. “We don’t have any water, remember?”

“Well then we have to find some,” Woo rushes, before bringing both of his hands forward. Stretching out his palms, he clenches his fingers in and out, a clear attempt at using his gift. Of course, with no water for miles, the gesture is rendered useless.

“Woo, stop,” Seonghwa says again, pushing down one of his arms. “There’s no water, not for miles. So unless you want to start drinking your own sweat - which I don’t think we’re quite there yet - you need to relax. Breathe.”

The elemental stares at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed and expression so fierce that you fear he may actually strike the empath. However, after a moment he breathes, and both hands come up to cover his own face.

“We’re going to die here,” he murmurs, words muffled through his fingers. “We’re fucking doomed.”

“We’re not doomed,” Seonghwa assures him, but even you can hear the hesitancy in his voice, a tell that he doesn’t quite believe it. “Not yet, anyway.”

For once, you agree with Woo. There’s no water for miles, no sign of any buildings or villages, no vegetation. In every sense of the word, you are doomed.

Out of all the ways you’ve feared you may die this last week, this was certainly not one of them. Killed by monsters? Alright. Murdered by the black-clad men hunting you? Absolutely. An unfortunate victim of Woo’s wrath? Hell, why not.

But dying of thirst? Surely there must be grander ways to go after coming this far.

“We have to keep moving,” you say, and for what might be the first time Seonghwa shoots you a glare. It’s obvious that Woo should rest, and despite you having little to no knowledge on seizures, his current state makes that painfully obvious.

But time is not an abundant resource, and you cannot afford to waste what little you have left.

You have no more than a day to find water, and as much as Woo may need to sit down and take a break, he’d just be killing himself in a different way by staying in one place.

Woo sighs, pinching his nose-bridge. “The Kuroken’s right,” he starts, gently taking Seonghwa’s hand off of his shoulder. “We can’t afford this.”

The elemental has just risen to his feet when San calls out from over your shoulder. He sounds far-off, and when you twist around you find that he is no longer standing next to you, but rather at the top of a sand-dune roughly a hundred yards away, both of the horse’s beside him. You hadn’t even noticed he moved.

“You guys!” San calls, both hands cupped around his mouth in order to project, and even then you can hardly hear him. “You’re going to want to see this!”

With one of Woo’s arms wrapped around both yours and Seonghwa’s shoulders, the three of you struggle as you make your way over to the swordsman.

However, after reaching the top of the sand-dune and catching sight of what San had been referring to, the struggle was undoubtedly worth it.

As over the sand-dune and off in the distance there is a building. It’s too far away to make out how large it is, or what exactly it may be, but it is a sign of population nonetheless. Of people.

And with people, there is the possibility of water.

Hope.

“Thank the gods,” Seonghwa breathes, and despite his earlier statement that your group hadn’t been doomed, his eyes gleam bright with relief.

“Thank San,” Woo amends, and you can’t help but chuckle.

As the four of you make your way towards the strange lonesome building, it’s the quickest you’ve been able to move all day. With a new-found destination, it’s infinitely easier to set your feet in motion. A promise of more compared to aimless wandering.

Upon closer examination, the building appears to be some sort of tavern. Made entirely out of wood, its trimming is a rich auburn colour. Structurally an enigma, it’s far more wide than it is tall, and seems to be built right on top of the sand. The sign is printed in fine-lettering above the door-way, and reads: “The Desert Lotus”.

“It’s strange for a tavern to be out here,” San comments, casting a wary glance to which you return. “I wouldn’t think there’d be much business.”

“Maybe they run off of people like us,” Woo offers with a shrug. “Fools who don’t bring enough water.”

“Maybe…” San trails off, chewing on his bottom lip. You can tell he feels off about the strange tavern, and frankly, you understand where he’s coming from.

But you’re tired. You’re thirsty, hungry, and dirty. Caution be damned, you need a glass of water and an actual bed for the night.

Yet, upon opening the door, you fear San may be right. There is something incredibly off about the facility.

This being that it is gorgeous.

The entire building is cast in a faint pink hugh, made possible by the stained glass surrounding the many lamps that are strung about its low hanging roof. The room smells thickly of a floral scent, a mixture of roses and lilacs if you had to guess, and it’s nearly intoxicating. The furniture is velvet of a fine quality, something you’d surely see back at home in the castle, and the floor itself is hardwood, as well as vast considering the sheer size of the tavern, which is even larger than it had appeared from the outside.

However, what’s most shocking about the tavern is not its ambiance, but the people inside. Because it is packed.

The facility is filled with employees and guests alike. Tables are scattered about, where atop them the guests play various different games that you do not understand, but can recognize as gambling. Female servers make their way throughout them, with various colourful drinks on silver trays that they hand-out to the guests with seemingly no charge. Some of the girls are chatting with guests on the many velvet couches, and while the conversation appears pleasant between those who are talking, more of them appear to be far more interested in shoving their tongue down the other’s throat.

“What the fuck…” Woo mutters, putting words to your own thoughts.

The group of you hang in the doorway for a moment, unsure of what to make of the bizarre display before you. Or better, the impossibility, because where could all these people have come from?

“Welcome to The Desert Lotus,” a voice speaks up from beside you. Turning around, you can see that it belongs to a girl, with piercing eyes and dark bangs that hang over the forehead. She’s pretty. “Are you looking to book a room?”

“We are,” Seonghwa starts, although his tone is cautious. Casting Woo a nervous glance, he continues warily. “Listen, how is it so busy here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“We’re always open to the weary traveler,” she replies with ease, as if that provides any sort of real explanation. A soft smile coating her lips, she extends her own platter of vibrant drinks out towards you. “Feel free to have a refreshment, you must be parched. Don’t worry, they’re compliments of the house.”

In order to not appear as on guard as you feel, each of you accept one of the glasses. Yet, despite the way your throat burns with thirst, none of you take a sip.

“My name is Minnie,” she continues, nodding her head in greeting. “But Yuqi - our barkeep - you’ll have to talk to her if you’re looking to stay.” At this she points over her shoulder, towards a blonde working the bar at the other end of the room.

“Great. Thanks,” Woo says, tone blunt. Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched tight, he appears about as uncomfortable as you feel. Although if Minnie notices, she doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she smiles sweetly. “But if you need company or anything else tonight, ask for me,” she says. At this her gaze drifts to San, and her grin grows a little wider. “Especially you.”

Woo scoffs. “Yeah, okay,” he grumbles. Patience clearly wearing thin, he pushes past her towards the bar. San rolls his eye, casting Minnie an apologetic smile before your group follows after him.

“This is seriously weird,” Seonghwa whispers under his breath, whether to you or himself you aren’t sure, but the message stands all the same. This is weird, and as you walk deeper into the facility it only becomes more so. The tavern is unbelievably loud, as a band plays in the far corner of the room, and cheers erupt from many of the different gambling tables. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, but then again, that may not be saying much. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever imagined.

And somehow it’s in the middle of a desert, with no other landmarks or populated kingdoms for miles.

Reaching the bar, you find that Woo is already in a conversation with Yuqi, the barkeep. However, argument may be the more appropriate term.

“Cut the bullshit,” he says lowly, eyes darting back at you for only a moment as you place yourself beside him, before falling back on her. “You aren’t telling me something.”

“I just told you, we’re merely a tavern for anyone lost in the desert” she says tiredly, before sliding a tall glass of water in front of him. “Now drink some water. You look like shit.”

Ignoring the last comment - as well as the water in front of him - Woo shakes his head. “We haven’t passed by a single person all day, there aren’t this many people travelling in the desert.”

Yuqi shrugs. “It’s a nice place. Much better than out there, anyway. People tend to stay a little longer than they originally plan to.”

Woo’s eyes narrow at this, although he doesn’t say anything in response. Yuqi’s lips curve upwards into a smirk. “Good.” She pushes the glass forward. “Now drink, you need it. Does your group want some water, as well?”

San clears his throat. “Please,” he croaks, before nodding to the stairs behind her, where you assume the rooms to be. “And two rooms.”

Yuqi nods, before pouring each of you a glass of water. When she slides it towards you, you bring the glass up to your lips, eager as you pour the liquid down your gullet. It’s an immediate cool against your burning throat, a brief antidote to the painful dryness, and you almost let out a sob due to the immense relief you feel.

You aren’t dying today. Or at the very least, not from dehydration.

“Better?” Yuqi asks, giving Woo a smile. The elemental doesn’t return it, just looks down at the table as he begrudgingly slides his glass forward for another.

The barkeep laughs, before addressing San. “Our daily rate is three gold pieces per room, but our weekly rate is ten.”

San’s eyebrows shoot up at this. “Three pieces per night? That’s steep.” When he doesn’t receive much of a response, his good eye narrows. “And weekly rate? People are staying out here for a whole week?”

Yuqi smiles before granting another nonchalant shrug. “You’d be surprised.”

San seems to deem this an acceptable answer, nodding to himself as he sets his own glass of water down on the table, digging into his pocket. Pulling out a small bag, he unties its tangled strings before pulling out six gold coins.

“We’ll take two rooms,” he replies, and nobody objects. While the price is sheer robbery, you’d do just about anything to not spend another night wandering in the desert, and you’re certain both Woo and Seonghwa feel the same way.

Yuqi disappears through a door behind the counter, before returning with two keys in her hands. Handing both of them to San, she hovers for a moment, likely to see if you need anything else. When nobody addresses her, she makes her way to the opposite end of the counter, to serve an elderly gentleman who’s been waiting.

“Here,” San starts, handing Seonghwa a key. “We’ll grab our supplies from the horses and bring them some water, then settle into our rooms. Seonghwa, you don’t mind staying with Woo for tonight, do you?”

Seonghwa’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this. He glances between the swordsman and the elemental, uncertain. “I mean, sure. But why-”

“Thanks,” San cuts him off. Before Seonghwa can make any sort of protest the swordsman turns on his heel, already making his way back towards the entrance to the tavern. Eyebrows drawing together, he casts you a nervous look, before hesitantly following after him.

Turning your attention to Woo, the elemental wears a frown. His eyes follow after San as he disappears through the crowd, and they are full of an emotion you can’t place. Longing, but not quite. Sadness, but a little deeper.

As if feeling your gaze, his eyes dart over to meet yours. He huffs.

Downing the rest of his water, he scowls at the taste, as if he desires something stronger. Placing it on the counter - a tad too firmly, you note - he doesn’t spare you another glance as he makes his way into the tavern. Winding through different gambling tables and bustling conversation, he too disappears into the excitement, and for the first time in days you are left alone.

You sigh.

It’s strange, as you thought your first taste of alone time after days of male company would be if nothing else, liberating. Even if you’ve grown comfortable with all three of them in your own way, it’s still exhausting to have to constantly be careful. Constantly on guard of letting something slip, keeping your entire past on lockdown even as they all undeniably grow curious.

Especially considering the extreme increase in your guilt three days ago, when you learned why exactly they need your “father’s” money.

After learning San’s history with Jay and The Cat’s Cradle, your lie - which had already been weighing heavily on your shoulders - increased in severity tenfold. They are running out of options, and it seems that you are their last real hope.

Yet, even though this reality urges you to tell them the truth, it is also the very reason that you cannot. As if they will not receive any money after delivering you to Kuroku, they certainly will by turning you in for your reward.

And after how horribly you have betrayed them, your life for San’s surely isn’t something they will think twice about. Frankly, you wouldn’t expect them to, it’s what you deserve.

But even if it is selfish, dying is not something you are ready for. Betraying the one chance your kingdom may have to flourish again isn’t something you have in your heart to do, nor is breaking Mingi’s final request.

So for now, you have a new plan, even if its prospects are bleak. Once you make it to Kuroku and to the royal family, you will not only request shelter and possible matrimony, but you will also wish for them to pay the men escorting you. Big. Beg, if you must, but you will do everything you can to make it possible.

Even if this is merely a fool’s hope in order to keep yourself sane. A lie, although you cannot bring yourself to call it that.

“Enjoying the festivities?”

The voice comes as a surprise, knocking you from your daze. Blinking, you turn to find a man standing beside you. Leaning against the counter, he sports formal attire, although its colour remains a simple grey that matches his eyes. His hair is combed neatly and parted in the middle in order to frame his face, a blonde colour, although it is a darker shade than Seonghwa’s bright gold. He is well put-together, and thus most likely not an average customer, as you’ve noticed that most of the guests have seemed to remain in the dirtied clothes they’d arrived in.

You eye him, cautious. “You could say that.”

“Really?” He says, corner of his mouth tilting upwards into a sort of half-smile. “Because to me, it seems that while all the fun is happening out there,” he continues, gesturing outwards at the tavern with his hands, before pointing to you. “You’re conveniently over here, away from any possibility of enjoying it.”

You shrug, although a smile tugs at your own lips. “Got me there.”

“Not the partying type?”

You answer without really considering the question. “Not in strange places, no.”

“Strange?” He gasps, before putting a hand to his chest in mock offence. “You wound me.”

You raise an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. You’d already assumed that he was a worker, as he certainly doesn’t appear to be a guest, but by those standards he also doesn’t look much like any of the others. They all wear black, and the majority of them appear to be women.

“Who are you?” You ask, twisting to face him fully, curiosity getting the better of you. The mysterious stranger smile grows wider at this, and when he speaks his eyes do not leave yours, even for a second.

“Well I can’t tell you that,” he says softly, leaning in a little closer. “It ruins all the fun. You’ll have to guess.”

You roll your eyes, but for some strange reason you find the playfulness in the man’s tone more luring than irritating. Like a puzzle you wish to solve.

You know that it’s a bad idea for a woman to converse with strange men, as strange can quickly transform into dangerous at the flip of a hat, but you find that you don’t care much at the moment. He doesn’t seem dangerous, and your entire group has already left you to stand here by yourself. Frankly, the bar seems much safer than any of the bustle from deeper within the tavern.

“You work here?” You venture, knowing it’s wrong but hoping it might be close, nonetheless.

He considers it for a moment. “Something like that,” he replies. When you make no further efforts in guessing, with an exaggerated sigh he seems to accept it as close enough, although he doesn’t attempt to correct you.

You suppose you can work with that. If he’s something like an employee, he must know at least a little bit about the place, about the display before you that is just so utterly bizarre.

Watching him for a moment, you expect him to say more, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues to meet your gaze, as if waiting for you to make the next move. Those piercing grey eyes are almost unblinking, and you find yourself nervous. Not afraid, but nervous. Unsure of what may happen next.

“Then maybe you could tell me how this is possible,” you say, forcing yourself to look away and back at the crowd. At the hundreds of people filling the massive floor space, despite there surely being nobody outside the tavern for tens, even hundreds of miles. “How are there so many people here?”

“People come and then people stay,” the man replies with ease, and through the corner of your eye you can see that he is still watching you. “It is as simple as that.”

You blow a puff of air through your nose, a sort of half-laugh, half-scoff. “Right. Sure.”

“Don’t believe me, hm?” He says, and his tone remains that strange sort of playful. “Give it time. Spend a night here and you’ll understand why people aren’t so eager to leave.”

It’s an ominous thing to say, and you cast a suspicious glance out of the corner of your eye. He meets it, before frowning, although the expression is more sulky than playful. Like a child who just got their toy taken away.

“Are you really not even going to try and have a good time?” He says, or more so whines, cupping his cheek in his palm as his elbow rests on the bar’s counter top. “It makes me sad.”

“Then go somewhere else,” you reply, more sharply than you intended to. But your mind is beginning to race, as none of the men have made their way back yet. “I’m waiting for someone, so sorry but I’m staying here.”

He hums, gaze finally drifting away from your face and out in front of him. His eyes remain distant, as he seems to ponder something. After a moment, he smiles.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to bring all the fun over to you,” he says, before stepping back and making his way into the crowd. For a moment, you think he may have just taken the hint and will leave you alone, but that is not the case, as when once again accompanied by two chairs.

Dragging the stools up to the counter top, he sits down, before motioning for you to follow suit. You stare at the seat, considering your options. You could deny him and walk away, but that would involve you venturing into the tavern, which is what he appears to want you to do anyway. You could try and continue to ignore him, but you're certain that will only make him try harder to get your attention.

Or you could let your curiosity get the better of you and take your seat, learn more about the strange man and the equally odd tavern that accompanies him.

You sit down.

His grin grows even wider as you do so, and you notice that his canines are sharp, creating an almost feline image. Not the same as Jay’s, which appeared to be fastened down in a way that made him look more dangerous. Rather, they give the man before you an almost mischievous feel, sly. Playful, but in a way that hints he’s also up to no good.

He gestures forward, holding out his left palm as he nods towards your own, which remains folded in your lap. “Let me see your hand.”

You scowl at this, and he simply laughs. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” he assures you, placing a hand on his chest as if swearing an oath. “I’m merely a palm reader.”

“A palm reader?” You snort, casting him skeptical gaze. Palm readers don’t exist. Well, that’s not exactly true. They exist, but they can’t actually tell the future - or anything for that matter - from a person’s palm. It’s a part of the old faith, a belief from thousands of years ago, before the gods blessed the gifted and genuine magic began.

You aren’t a very religious person, never having been the devoted daughter your father wanted you to be. But you suppose some of your lessons and forced prayer-sessions towards the gods have paid off, as something about the old faith just strikes you as…wrong. You’ve never met a palm-reader, mostly because they don’t much exist anymore with the shift in the dominant religion. And yet, amongst the discomfort you feel, it also strikes your curiosity.

Who is this man, and why does his list of oddities only grow longer with each passing minute?

He shrugs, before beckoning for your hand a second time. “Come on, you know you want to.”

You find your hand drifting forward before you can contemplate otherwise. He takes it, cupping your palm more gently than you expected him to. His gaze scans along your skin, the fingers of his free hand gently dusting along each of the lines and crevices.

“Hmm,” he hums, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. However, when he doesn’t elaborate, you shuffle yourself in your seat, feeling surprisingly anxious.

“Well,” you begin, trying not to sound too interested, too eager. “What does it say?”

A cat-like smile flutters over his lips once more, his gaze slowly drifting up from your palm to your eyes.

“You were destined to be born into a wealthy family,” he starts, and your eyebrows raise upwards despite your effort to stop them.

“Lucky guess,” you remind yourself, although a strange tingling feeling settles beneath your skin, like an itch you can't scratch. Fear and worry, mixed with shameful curiosity. You shouldn’t be buying into this, even a little bit. And yet, you lean forward, hungry for his next words.

His thumb gently strokes itself along your palm, although his gaze does not leave your face. Those piercing grey eyes are almost in-human, as if looking past your skin and somewhere deeper, beyond the surface-level.

“No brothers, no sisters. Just you and a parent for most of your childhood.”

He pauses for a moment, then he frowns, a sad expression. “The other died when you were young, didn’t she?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“How-” You start, beginning to pull your hand away, but his grip tightens, holding you in place. Deep down, you know that if you really tried, you could almost certainly rip it free. But maybe it’s just that you don’t want to. That even though your mind urges you to run, knowing that this is a trap, your body stubbornly stays. Curiosity is a deadly opponent.

“Your father lost himself after that. Took out all of his grief on you, and everyone could see it. There was talk around every political court, but none of them helped you, did they? None of them could, as long as it wasn’t physical harm. As long as there were no bruises.”

His eyebrows furrow together, mouth drawing open in a look of what you’d label as surprise. “But he didn’t need to leave bruises. His words were enough. His neglect, his belittlement, his constant disapproval, his-”

“Stop,” you whisper, before another attempt at pulling your wrist free, this time a little harder. He shouldn’t know this. Nobody knows this. It’s not something you like to think about, let alone discuss. You tell yourself your father wasn’t a bad man, that he was just a broken one. That your mother’s grief was a burden you both had to carry, you simply handled it differently.

But to hear the man before you state the truth so plainly, so straight-forward… It feels too honest. It brings you back to years ago, when you lost your mother and father on the same day, only in different ways. Your father died with your mother, only then you were forced to live with his vengeful ghost.

This man, he shouldn’t know that. But he does, you can see it in his eyes.

You don’t know what he is, but he is not a palm reader. You are certain of that much.

His lips tighten, the expression almost sympathetic. “Then tragedy struck, didn't it? That’s why you’re here now, right? Why you’re lost.”

“Who are you?” You manage to whisper, although the tone is far different than the last time you had asked. This time you are terrified. This time you are exposed.

“My name is Minho,” he says softly. Such a simple name for anything but a simple man.

“I’d ask you for yours but I already know the answer to that,” Minho says, giving your hand far too gentle of a squeeze. It’d be almost comforting, if it weren’t for the circumstances. “Princess.”

Your body chills even deeper, limbs frozen as if shutting down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you start, although your voice shakes, an easy indication that you are lying. But he already knows that. “My name is Yeji.”

“That’s what you told your friends, isn’t it?” He says with a nod, understanding. “The ones you arrived here with. The ones that you’re lying to.”

A tear slips down your cheek, and in this moment you aren’t certain if you have ever been so afraid. Maybe of the black-clad men, but even then, at least you understand the threat they pose. At least you know they’re motives. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE. At least you know what they’re planning.

But this is different. You don’t know what this man is doing to you, how he is getting this information. You don’t know what he will do with it. Will he tell your group? Will he turn you in for the reward? Will he continue to keep you here, forcing you to hear all of your own secrets, the ones that run so deep you won’t even listen to them yourself?

You don’t know, and that is a terrifying thing.

“What are you?” You say, because “who” was never the right question. This man, he is more than a name, he is more than human. He is something else entirely, something you don’t understand.

“I am a clairvoyant,” he replies, and when your eyebrows draw together in a lack of understanding, he sighs. “It’s a rare gift. You’ve never heard of it.”

“You’re gifted?” You ask, because it doesn’t feel true. The gifted are explainable. Are magical, but also known. This is something entirely foreign, and it causes your hand to tremble as it rests in his palm.

“When I touch things - people, objects, whatever it may be - I can see into them. Like a journal of sorts,” he explains, tone calm. Nonchalant, as if he isn’t an oddity. As if he isn’t an impossibility, an enigma.

Your heart is racing, and you manage a weak half-hearted attempt at pulling your hand away. “I have to go find my group.” He doesn’t stop you, and yet your hand does not fully leave his. Proof that it is not only him that holds you back from leaving.

“I can also tell someone’s future,” he adds, gaze flickering from your eyes, to your wrist, and back again. “If that’s something you’re interested in.”

You pause, looking down at your hand that rests in his palm. You’re already half-way off your chair, a mere moment away from escaping this man. From escaping anymore unwanted talk about your past, hearing your own trauma’s spoken back to you.

But your future, that is another story. It’s equally as terrifying, perhaps even more so, to dive willingly into the unknown. Especially when so much danger is ahead of you, when you’re taking what feels like endless risks.

Yet, that is exactly what makes it so tempting. With so much uncertainty, how could you possibly pass up the opportunity for clarity? For knowledge of what’s to come, what’s waiting for you beyond these tavern doors, as Kuroku draws closer.

This is why you stay. Shuffling yourself back up onto your chair, you let out a shaky breath, forcing your gaze back upwards to meet Minho’s own.

He smiles.

“The future’s a little trickier,” he says, grip tightening as he focuses himself. “It’s less cut and dry than the past, there’s always opportunity for change.”

“So you can’t be certain?” You reply, frown deepening. What’s the point of even bothering with this if he may be wrong?

“No, not fully,” he replies honestly. “But there are pieces of the future that appear far clearer than others, like looking through a magnifying glass. Things that are likely to happen, no matter what you may do.”

You swallow hard. He hesitates, as if waiting for your confirmation, and after a moment you force yourself to nod. Better to know what’s coming, surely. Better to know what you must prepare for, even if it is painful. What you wish to not know at all is exactly what you need to know the most.

Taking in a deep breath, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again his gaze is set firm. Grey eyes piercing, he looks through you once more. Moments pass as he does not say anything, and your heart only grows more rappent in your chest as the silence spreads thicker.

“There is much uncertainty,” he mumbles quietly, eyebrows furrowing together. You resist the urge to scoff, as if you needed a clairvoyant to tell you that.

“This journey you’re on, its end is blurry. I do not know if you will make it there safely or not,” he whispers, shaking his head. His eyes narrow, as if attempting to read fine print, but unable to quite make it out.

Then he lets out a gasp beneath his breath.

Minho’s eyes widen and he blinks a few times, as if surprised. His mouth drifts open, but no words come out.

“What?” You say, panic rising hot in your throat. What is it that he sees? The black-clad men? Will they find you? Will they kill you?

“They will discover your lies,” he states, and it is with a sudden amount of firmness, as if he is stating a fact rather than a possibility. “And it will change everything.”

Your heart stalls, breath catching in the back of your throat.

“W-who? Who is they?” You stutter, but deep down you already know the truth.

He knows that too, which is why he does not waste time answering the question.

“You don’t have long,” he continues, shaking his head absent-mindedly. “Fate calls, and your past is bound to catch up to you. They will know.”

“What should I do?” You ask, desperate. You can feel your skin growing hot, the fear that had already begun to build in your chest spilling free, mind fuzzy with terror.

They will know. Before Kuroku, they’ll know.

“I cannot tell you the answer to that because I do not know it myself,” Minho says, blinking as he seems to come back to himself. This time it is he who pulls his hand away, as if he does not want to know more.

You simply sit there, both hands coming up to cover your face. Breathing heavy, you exhale into your palms, attempting to stifle the ragged sound.

Because really, you are fucked.

Horribly and catastrophically fucked. They will discover your identity before you make it to Kuroku - if you make it to Kuroku, because Minho could not guarantee that - and they will be furious.

It will change everything, the man said. What could that mean other than total destruction? Other than shattering the trust you’ve managed to build with Seonghwa, the understanding you’ve made with San. They’ll hate you as much as Woo does, they’ll turn you in.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says, and his tone is genuine. It grants you no solace. “But that is all I know.”

You suck in a tight breath. “It’s fine,” you start, bringing your hands away from your face, attempting to compose yourself despite the way your head spins. “I wouldn’t want to know more anyway.”

Minho seems to consider this. “Well,” he begins, slowly, as if he’s still deciding what he may say next. He sighs. “Since I’ve forced you to be so honest, I should probably grant you the same.”

You can’t find it in yourself to care, too wrapped up in the devastation. What does it matter what he may say? You’ll still be doomed all the same.

He continues despite your silence. “This tavern, you’re curious about it, no?”

When you respond, it’s hesitant. “Possibly,” you reply, slowly pulling your hands from your face, peeking at him through the open gaps between your fingers.

“Well perhaps I can quell your curiosity,” he says, the faintest hint of mischief sliding its way back into his tone. “After all, I own the place.”

It’s by no means shocking, and you stare at him plainly. A few moments ago, maybe you would have been impressed. But after what he just did, the man owning the tavern may just be the least impressive thing about him.

“You could at least pretend to be surprised,” he states, tone disappointed.

“Then tell me something that’s surprising,” you respond flatly.

With the way his eyes glint, sharp canines once again visible, it’s obvious he takes this as a challenge.

Leaning in a little closer, he rests his chin in his palm, although he twists his body outwards in order to face the tavern rather than yourself. When he speaks, his voice is lowered, so that only you will be able to hear him. “That man over there,” he says, pointing outward with his free hand. “What do you think his greatest desire is?”

You follow Minho’s finger, which leads you to a man standing at one of the many gambling tables. He’s tall, with a bushy black beard and a stained red tunic. He has a wide smile on his face as he laughs, pulling a stack of chips towards himself.

“I don’t know,” you reply, caught off guard by the question. “Wealth?”

“Close,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s security. He wants to be comfortable, content. Never have to worry about losing what he owns.”

Your eyebrows furrow, casting a side glance at the clairvoyant. How does he know that?

“What about her?” He adds, before you have time to really contemplate the thought. This time you follow his finger to another end of the room. Landing on a woman who is sitting on a velvet chesterfield, she has one of her legs wrapped over the lap of a female employee. Hand clenched in the server’s hair, she practically devours the other woman’s lips, with what you’d label as an alarming level of enthusiasm for a public place.

“Sex?” You venture, and Minho hums, considering it.

“Maybe,” he replies after a moment. “But what I’ve found is that what most of them really want is intimacy. Closeness. Someone who wants them equally in return.”

“How do you know this?” You blurt out quickly, before he has the chance to continue. Minho pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering from the woman to you, briefly meeting your gaze. He grins.

“There’s one thing that is most important for a businessman to know, and that is the wants of his clients,” he replies, seemingly ignoring your question, or perhaps this is his own bizarre way of answering it. “If you give a client what they want, then they stay. It’s that simple.”

You consider the statement, gnawing on your bottom lip. What he says makes sense, and yet something doesn’t feel right. It’s true, but not the truth.

“But it’s not, is it?” You say, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not really that simple.”

He pauses, and for a moment he appears as if he’s been caught. Mouth drawing together and eyes widening, even if only slightly, he glances back at you. This time he doesn’t look away.

Then he begins to laugh, a low chuckle beneath his breath.

“Clever,” he replies, eyes flickering across your face, observing you. You’d almost say he appears impressed.

“People can be shockingly un-self aware at times, they don’t always know what they want,” he begins again, tone lazy, filled with an almost forced sense of carelessness. “Sometimes they just need a little push.”

The statement is strange, and you aren’t quite sure what to make of it. However, when he doesn’t elaborate any further, it seems that it's up to you to decipher exactly what he means.

Looking around the room, you really try to take it all in. Upon first arriving, maybe you’d been too absorbed in the impossibility of it all. Overwhelmed by the vastness and expenses of the tavern, as well as the mass size of the crowd.

So now, you instead focus on the individual. You look at the man at the gambling table, the one that Minho had pointed to earlier. There’s a wildness to his eyes, as he pushes more chips into his corner. You can hear him cheering, with an unhindered sense of joy, all care appearing to have been tossed to the wind.

You turn to the girl on the couch, who is still entirely infatuated with her lover’s lips. With that same unbridled sense of urgency, pulling the woman closer into her, it’s as if the server is a desperate need rather than a want. Like her most primal instincts have taken over, like she’s not fully in control of herself.

Your mind pauses at the thought.

Gaze darting across the room, you look at each person individually, and find that you are met with the same pair of wild eyes. The same unbridled laughter and carefree actions as they celebrate. Whether it be gambing, talking, or sucking faces with the person next to them, it appears that everyone has made some sort of agreement to shed their inhibitions for the night.

And with that, it all makes sense.

“You’re compelling them,” you whisper, and this time you are shocked.

Minho shrugs, but you can tell that even he is surprised that you’ve managed to figure it out.

He’s a compulsionist. It’s not necessarily a rare gift, more so that it should not be feasible on this grand of a scale. Compulsionists were supposed to be persuasive, get you to act on your emotions and inner desires. If they were in financial trouble and you appeared to be a generally kind and naive person, maybe they could compel you to get them out of it. If you were angry with a bouncer and they had a vendetta against the guard, maybe they could get you to act on your compulsions and fight the man.

They should not, however, be able to get a room of over a hundred people to all act on their inner and most wild desires.

“Don’t be too impressed,” he adds, as if reading your throats. “All of my servers here are compulsionists, I couldn’t pull this off alone.”

However, the power of his ability is not what scares you the most, it is that he should not also be a clairvoyant. He should have no other gift, because that is impossible.

Nobody has two gifts. Nobody. Not in scripture, not in myth, not in reality. Not the man sitting before you.

“You can’t have two gifts,” you state, casting him an incredulous stare. “That’s not possible.”

He simply grunts in response, shaking his head in what you would label as annoyance.

“You’re going to find that most things are only impossible until they happen, Princess,” he replies, shaking his head. “A second ago you didn’t think clairvoyant’s existed, well here I am. You didn’t think a person could be dual-gifted, well once again, here I am.”

You aren’t sure what to say, so you decide to keep your mouth shut. You simply stare at him, disbelieving. If he takes note of this, he only shows it through his growing agitation.

“This world doesn’t play by the rules and laws your father taught you. This isn’t a kingdom, it’s a playground. You should learn to keep yourself on your toes, if you wish to survive it.”

It’s awfully blunt, and you consider walking away. Going to find your group, and leaving Minho to himself. He’s already turned your entire future on its head, surely you don’t need to listen to a life lecture from him as well. Yet, there’s one question that continues to bother you.

“Are you compelling me?” You ask, and his annoyed scowl lightens, even if only for a split second, as if amused.

“No,” he answers, and when he can tell you don’t believe him, he laughs. “Don’t worry, it’s not from a lack of trying.”

You frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Leaning back so that both of his elbows rest atop the head of his chair, he once again nods towards the tavern. “Like I said, I can tell the inner most desires of everyone in here. For most it’s wealth and security, or sex and intimacy. Some are a strange variation, but we can find something suitable to do the trick.”

“But you,” he continues, his canine's glinting in the dim tavern light. “Your’s is freedom.”

The statement catches you off guard, because frankly, freedom is not what you would have guessed. Getting to Kuroku is the first thing that comes to mind. Bringing Mingi back from the dead is the next. Then again, maybe those are too simple, but how would you know? You’re not a compulsionist.

He takes your silence as a lack of understanding and elaborates. “It’s a contradiction. I can’t hold any control over you if your inner desire is to not be controlled.”

It’s stupid, maybe even arrogant, but thought makes your chest swell with the slightest hint of pride. He clearly notices, before huffing. “Relax. It’s happened before, don’t think you’re too special.”

You nod, taking it all in. The tavern makes sense now. The wandering traveler who’s lost in the desert arrives, they get sucked into the pleasure of the tavern and spend away their savings on overpriced rooms. It’s a cunning system, as well as morally despicable, but it makes sense at least.

“You're free to leave, you know,” he adds, lazily waving his hand towards the doors. “If you really wanted to try and escape your fate.”

It takes you a moment to realize what he means, but when it dawns on you, it’s as if all the air has been squeezed from your lungs.

Seonghwa, San, and Woo. They're here too.

Which means they're under Minho’s compulsion.

Your first thought is that you have to find them, you have to get them out of here. Before they do something they regret, or get themselves in trouble. You should by no means be spending the night here. It’s not safe, and while you are not afraid of Minho, you do not trust him. It’s time to leave.

Your second thought, one that arises from a deep dark part of you that you’d like to pretend doesn’t exist, is that you should leave without them.

They wouldn’t know, they’d be too wrapped up. You could escape now, and they’d never discover your identity. You could go forward alone, surely Minho could set you in the direction towards the Burovian Mountains, which you know is your next stop. It could work.

But you know that it’s not a real option. You don’t know how to make it through those mountains alone, and you don’t remember the name of each of the places after. San has only begun sword-training with you, and if you had to take on any sort of monster - or the black-clad men, for that matter - it would surely be suicide.

No, it’s not an option, you need them whether you like it or not.

Besides, even if you didn’t need their help, you could never abandon them. Not because of selfish desire, but because even though you don’t want to admit it, you’ve grown to genuinely care for them. It troubles you, as this care is a weakness - something you cannot afford - but it is there all the same.

After all that they have done for you, the fact remains that you could never throw them to the wolves like this. You know that.

Minho knows that too.

He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “Go,” he says tiredly. “If you can even convince them to leave.”

On that positive note, you slip down from your chair, not looking back as you shove your way into the tavern. Feeling uneasy from everything Minho told you, you do your best to clear your mind and just focus on finding the three of them. You can worry about everything later, at least then it won’t be a waste of crucial time, as all of you will be safe.

Looking over people’s shoulders and brushing past all of the employees that attempt to offer you a drink or company, you can’t spot any of them anywhere. The tavern is a blur of motion, people actively dancing or playing games or embracing one another, and the sound is overwhelming with the mixture of cheering, laughter, and excited conversation.

You understand why it’s so easy to become wrapped up in it all, as staying out of it as you are now is almost impossible.

It’s becoming quickly apparent that you aren’t going to be able to find them wandering around aimlessly like this, and you decide that it’s time to change strategies.

Maybe you need to stop focusing as much on trying to find them, and start thinking about who it is exactly that you’re trying to find.

In a building where people are drawn to their deepest desires, where would Seonghwa, San, and Woo be?

You immediately think of San, heading towards the gambling tables. While you’re certain gambling isn’t something he would wish to participate in due to his father, Minho had mentioned that it often derives from a need for financial security, rather than a hunger for thrill or wealth. It’s the need to be comfortable, to no longer struggle with debt or payments.

And if there’s one thing that you know San desires, it is to finally be free of Jay.

Scanning each of the tables in turn, you wind through the different games as fast as you can. Each of them seem to be different, some with chips, others with dice or cards, or a variation of all three. While you don’t know the rules of any of them, everyone else seems to, as those who are not playing rush between the different tables, cheering as they absorb the growing excitement.

You continue to push your way through, murmuring quiet apologies to those you are forced to nudge or elbow out of the way, although they appear too involved in their games to even notice you anyway. You’re beginning to feel anxious, almost ready to give up when you spot a familiar face just a few tables away, beginning to roll the dice he shakes in his clenched fist.

However, contrary to what you’d expected it is not San you find, but Seonghwa.

The blonde’s smile widens as the dice settle themselves, and the table erupts into a fit of cheers around him. The dealer - another woman in a black dress similar to Minnie’s - slides a token in his direction, and he laughs as he takes it, a boyish and joyful sound.

You shove your way over to him, and when you shout his name he doesn’t seem to notice you. In another attempt, you grab his wrist, giving it a sharp tug.

He blinks, almost dazed as his head slowly turns to face you. When he meets your eyes, the smile returns.

“Yeji!” He says, a little too excited. He lifts his hand upwards, repeatedly pointing at the table, thrilled. “Look, I’m winning!”

You spare a glance at the table, and from the looks of it he certainly is winning. He has five tokens on his side, while the man on the other end of the table only has two.

However, you know he’s not actually winning, as if things work out according to Minho’s plan, all the money he wins will eventually be spent on purchasing rooms for the nights that follow.

“Great,” you say dryly, and it comes off more rude than you had meant it to. He doesn’t notice. “Listen, we have to go.”

He laughs, shaking his head. Once again pointing to the table, he gives you an incredulous stare, although the smile remains on his face. “Are you kidding? I can’t quit now, look at my chips.” He laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder before shaking you slightly, trying to spread his excitement. “Don’t you understand what we could do with this money?”

You don’t know how much each of the tokens are worth, but based on his enthusiasm, it must be a lot. Which means it’s going to make this even harder than you expected it to be.

Seonghwa’s attention shifts back to the board, shaking the dice in his hand once more before throwing them back out onto the table. They land next to one another, both of them displaying six dots. The table erupts into cheers.

Seonghwa joins them, pumping his fist in the air as the dealer pushes over another one of his opponents tokens, which the empath accepts gladly. The wildness in his eyes only grows at the sentiment, appearing wide and glossy, feral just as everyone else does.

He seems to have already forgotten that you're beside him, as he doesn’t turn back to face you when his turn is done, completely consumed by the game.

This is getting out of hand, and you’re going to need to do something quick unless you really do want to be stuck here forever. Or well, until all of their luck and money runs out.

Acting on scheer instinct, you reach forward for Seonghwa’s hand. However, instead of tugging on it, you instead place his palm against your chest, against your beating heart. It’s not something you’d ever do under normal circumstances, the action undoubtedly taking advantage of the man’s gift, but you’d argue that this is far more for his benefit than your own.

It takes a moment, but after a few seconds the empath winces, and you feel a jolt of calm serenity pass through you. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, the current stakes not allowing for anything but fear and panic, but Seonghwa’s gaze shoots away from the table in order to meet your own.

He blinks a few times, and when he speaks his tone is not enthusiastic, but rather confused. “Yeji…” He begins, eyebrows furrowing together as he shakes his head, as if coming to. When he stops blinking, the glossiness has left his eyes almost entirely, and they are filled with concern. He presses his hand firmer against your chest, as if trying to take more of your fear for himself.

“Shit, Yeji,” He says before shuddering, and you can already see his eyes watering. You want to pull his hand away from your chest, to stop him from taking in any more negative emotions, but you don’t dare to. You have him back, even if briefly, you can’t risk losing him again.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, eyes scanning your face.

“Seonghwa, we have to go.”

“But-” He starts, but you cut him off, shaking your head.

“Just trust me, okay?” You plead, squeezing his hand that rests on your chest tightly. “We have to go.”

He hesitates. Casting a longing glance back at the table, he looks down at his chips, and for a moment you fear he may not listen. That his eyes will glaze over once more, and he’ll push you away before returning to his game. That he will be trapped here.

Instead, he lifts his other hand and places it on your shoulder, just a few inches away from the one already on your chest. He smiles.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says gently. Even if confused, he’s at least able to tell that you’re upset, and that is something he has never ignored, no matter the circumstance.

You let out a deep sigh of relief, and when you go to move, you reach up to pull his hand from your shoulder and intertwine your fingers with his own. Although it is to make sure you don’t lose him again, so that you don’t turn around and find that he has disappeared somewhere else, you can’t deny that the gesture also provides you comfort. Something steady to hold onto, to ground yourself in.

“We have to find San and Woo,” you call over your shoulder, winding between different groups of people. It’s difficult, as the customers are constantly pushing into your conjoined arms, even if by accident as they too attempt to make their way through the crowd, but you do not dare let go.

“Where are they?” He asks, and while you don’t know the answer, it causes you to consider the question. Where would they be?

You’d assumed San would be by the gambling tables, but you hadn’t seen him anywhere. So what is his greatest desire, if not security? You aren’t sure, and frankly, you’re even more in the dark of what Woo’s may be.

Letting out a groan of frustration, you glance around the room. You don’t see them anywhere, the entire place a blur of people and servers, hardly any room for differentiation as people whirl through the place.

Shit. As if this wasn’t already hard enough.

A female server walks past you, carrying a tray of colourful drinks. She’s short, with dark hair and a mousy face. You tap her on the shoulder.

She turns around, eyebrows raising in surprise. You don’t even bother to hide the intensity in your voice. “We’re looking for someone, would you know where he could be?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment, eyes flickering up and down as she observes you. You can tell she’s uncomfortable, perhaps of the fact that you seem so aware compared to everyone else in the room. Clearly coherent, unaffected by Minho’s gift. He said it’s happened before, but it appears to be rare enough to startle her all the same.

“What does he look like?” She asks finally. You decide to give her San’s description instead of Woo’s, considering his features are likely to stand out and make an impression.

“He wears an eye-patch, and has some scarring along his jaw. Dark hair, chiseled face?” You offer, and her eyes almost immediately light up in recognition. She chuckles.

“Sounds like the guy Minnie’s with,” she says, shaking her head, appearing both disappointed and amused. “She likes the unique ones, makes the job more interesting.”

You think she may be referring to his eye-patch, but there’s something within her tone that plants the suspicion that she is not. Something cunning, devious. That implies she knows more than you do.

You’re tempted to ask her what she means by that, but time does not permit it, so you swallow down your curiosity. “Do you know where they are?” You ask instead, and she nods.

She points over to your right, leaning in closer so that you can hear her clearly. “They're sitting on one of the couches near the wall. It’s a bit quieter over there, you shouldn’t miss them.”

There’s a certain playfulness to her voice that makes you uneasy. You cast Seonghwa a weary glance, and he matches it, a frown spread across his lips. You’ll be sure to explain it all to him later. Most of it, anyway. You’ll be sure to leave out the details of what Minho had in store for your future.

He’ll find them out himself soon enough.

“Thanks,” you say quickly, before pulling Seonghwa behind you as you move towards where she had pointed. The server hadn’t lied, the club is definitely more quiet on this side. There’s less people moving, no longer having to force your way through the crowd in order to get around, and the cheering and excited chatter has been brought down to a medium.

However, this may have less to do with an actual lack of people, as the place remains packed, but more to do with the fact that nobody seems to be standing or talking.

You know Minho had said sexual intimacy is one of the most common and easily satisfied desires, but perhaps you were foolish to assume it would, at the very least, be done in the customers rooms.

Instead, everyone appears to have thrown caution to the wind, preoccupied on one of the many velvet Chesterfields that fill this area of the tavern. Most are fully clothed, lips just interlocked as their hands wander elsewhere, but there are more than a few who… aren’t so gracious.

“Classy,” Seonghwa mumbles, decidingly keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling as the two of you fumble your way between them, trying to grant a semblance of privacy as it feels an awful lot like you are intruding.

Keeping your own eyes upwards, you can feel your face burning, the fact that Seonghwa is the one here with you at the moment making you even more uncomfortable. Hand stretched outwards, you reach the wall with a sudden thud, finally allowing yourself to look for San.

When you see him he is a few couches over, and the server was right, he is with Minnie.

However, not in the way you had expected.

Frankly, given the state of everyone surrounding you, you’d assumed San would be in a similar situation. However, while he is strone about the couch, his lips do not meet Minnie’s own. Instead, his head rests upon her lap, eye shut as she plays with his hair. Fingers sliding back and forth through his thick dark locks, the swordsman has a content smile across his face as she says something to him that you cannot hear. He is not wearing his eye-patch.

Seonghwa casts an incredulous stare, before practically pulling you with him as he moves closer.

“You deserve better than that,” you overhear Minnie say, before she clicks her tongue in disapproval. “I’ll make sure you receive better than that.”

San’s smile grows wider at this, teeth visible as chuckles softly. “Will you?” He asks, and his tone is almost teasing. His good eye flutters open, and he reaches up to run his fingers through her own long hair, raising an eyebrow playfully. “And how will you do that, exactly?”

Seonghwa seems to hesitate at this, slowing down in his pursuit as he also listens in to the conversation. He may not know that what he’s seeing is San’s greatest desire on display, but he can certainly tell something about this is deeply off, and it holds him still.

“Aren’t I already?” Minnie replies, before tilting his chin upwards, so that his eye is forced to meet hers. She smiles.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, and it is a promise. As she leans down, San leans upwards, and she kisses him.

It’s not what you would call a passionate kiss. It’s very chaste, tame. Gentle, as her hand tilts from his chin to his jaw, cupping his face. He grins against her lips.

It’s with this that Seonghwa appears to have had enough.

“San,” he says firmly, taking a few steps towards them, dragging you behind him.

San stiffens at the sound of his name, slowly pulling his lips away from Minnie’s as the two of them turn to face Seonghwa. Minnie’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as her expression darts between you and Seonghwa, who are both clearly aware and in control.

San’s expression, however, is vacant. Good eye glossy, mouth tight-lipped, he may as well be looking at a stranger.

It unsettles you.

“Um,” you start, awkwardly clearing your throat. “Sorry San, but we have to go.”

He blinks, and then places his head back down on Minnie’s lap. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” he states plainly, and you internally groan.

With the swordsman’s lack of empath abilities, how exactly are you supposed to get him to understand the danger you’re all in?

“San, come on,” Seonghwa says, and you notice a twinge of annoyance in his tone that surprises you. He lowers his voice, leaning in a little closer, serious. “What about Woo?”

San actually laughs at this, although the sound holds no humour. Seating himself up onto his elbow, he smirks, shaking his head. “Oh, yeah? What about him?”

You aren’t sure what exactly San’s greatest desire is, but you can tell it’s undoubtedly coming from a place of anger. Of hurt. Whatever strange rift that has grown between the elemental and the swordsman over the past couple days rearing its ugly head in the form of the swordsman’s condescending smirk.

You aren’t sure what angle to play here. San seems intent on not leaving, and although he seats himself upwards, his hand slithers itself around Minnie’s waist. It’s a strange sight, as you never pegged him as the publicly, nor physically affectionate type.

Seonghwa scowls. “What is going on with-” He starts, but you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. San clearly isn’t in his right mind right now, and you don’t think starting an argument is going to make him want to leave with the two of you.

You need to take another approach.

You turn to Minnie.

“Please,” you say, and even you can hear the desperation in your voice, more of a plea than anything else. “We can’t stay.”

She watches you for a moment, big eyes analytical as she holds your gaze. She glances at San, and her expression softens. After a moment, she sighs.

“Let it be known I’m not a monster,” she murmurs. Her gaze drifts between you and Seonghwa, as if considering something. After a beat, she motions to the empath, beckoning him forward with her hand.

“Come here,” she says after Seonghwa hesitates. Glancing back at you, you give the empath a reassuring nod before releasing his hand. You aren’t sure what Minnie is planning on doing exactly, but you can tell she’s going to try and help, you can see it in the disappointment in her smile.

As Seonghwa moves closer, she takes the empath’s hand in hers and pulls Seonghwa toward them - a tad, firmly you note - before practically shoving his hand into the swordsman’s own. She stands up just as fast.

“Comfort him,” she tells Seonghwa, glancing down at San, who begins blinking rapidly, as if coming out of his trance-like state. “And don’t stop moving until you’re out the doors. Don’t let go, and don’t stop to talk to anyone, even if they try to talk to you. You’ll regret it.”

“What-” Seonghwa starts, clearly lost, but Minnie has already walked past him. She’s about to do the same to you, when she stops suddenly at your side. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she speaks lowly, so that only you may hear. She doesn’t meet your eye.

“Watch over San, yeah?” She says, and her tone is gentle. “He’s a lot more broken than you think.”

Your first thought is to argue that you already know that, based on your experience in Gloria and what he’d told you by the fire. However, you can’t ignore that what you just saw - his greatest desire - doesn’t seem to have to do with that, at least as far as you can tell.

So instead, you give Minnie a curt nod. You will keep an eye on him, both for his sake and yours.

As Minnie leaves, she appears to have forfeited whatever power she held over the swordsman. His eyes are still glossy, but he appears almost dazed as his gaze drifts upwards, wandering around the room as if only now remembering where he is.

“San,” Seonghwa says, hesitant, leaning in closer to observe his friend’s face. “You okay?”

San blinks a few times, eye drifting from the room, to their conjoined hands, to Seonghwa’s face. He stares up at him for a moment, lips parted. Although, it appears less as if he does not know what to say, and more so as if he’s momentarily forgotten how to form words.

Seonghwa clears his throat. “Alright, well, we have to go. Okay?”

San seems to come back to himself at this statement, eyebrows furrowing as he squeezes his eye shut, shaking his head. “Right, of course,” he murmurs under his breath, bringing his free hand up to rub at his temple, as if he has a headache.

Seonghwa lets out a sigh of relief, and when he smiles the expression is gentle. As if remembering what Minnie had told him, he puts his hand on San’s shoulder, pulling him up by their conjoined hands. The swordsman sways a little, but remains standing. Seonghwa begins to guide the two of them towards the doors, but San stops suddenly, digging his heels into the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and his tone reeks of embarrassment, as does his expression. He pulls his eye-patch out from his back pocket, clutching it tightly in his palm. “I-I don’t know what came over me.”

Seonghwa smiles as if he understands, even if he may not fully. “It’s alright. I think it’s this place, not you. Let’s just go, yeah?”

San watches him for a moment, then his lip curves upwards into the faintest hint of smile. The relief of being understood. “Alright.”

Before they continue towards the door, Seonghwa turns back to you. “I should get us outside. Will you be able to find Woo on your own?”

“No,” is your first thought, followed immediately by “I don't know.”

Instead you say: “Yes. Go.”

Seonghwa smiles, turning back around and heading towards the door. One hand still resting on San’s shoulder as the other continues to clutch the swordsman’s own, comforting him. You wonder if Seonghwa is using it to take away any of San’s fear, anxiety, or embarrassment. He probably is.

As they disappear into the crowd, you are once again left alone with no idea where to begin. You haven’t a clue what Woo’s greatest desire may be, even less so than Seonghwa or San, and the mission feels horribly daunting.

Deciding to just take it one area of the tavern at a time, you first scan the couches surrounding you, hoping that by some chance Woo will be with one of the server’s and make your job infinitely easier.

However, after a few minutes of searching, not only do your cheeks burn with embarrassment but Woo doesn’t appear to be here. Letting out a sigh, you make your way back towards the gambling tables. Although it’s more difficult to make your way through the crowd, knocking elbows and being shoved this way and that, you’re able to scan the faces of each participant of each game, none of them being the elemental you’re searching for.

You let out a groan of annoyance, forcing your way out of the crowd and back towards the bar, frustrated. You don’t know where else he could be. Perhaps in one of the room’s you rented out? Then again, nobody is heading upstairs, the rooms seemingly more of a formality and way for the tavern to make cash rather than an actual necessity.

You’re about to head up and check anyway when you hear a voice from over your shoulder.

“Having trouble?” It asks, feline in its coyness.

You twist around to face Minho. He’s a few feet away as he leans against the bar table, not far off from where you’d left him earlier. He has a drink in his hand, sipping it as he watches you above the rim. You wonder if he was waiting for you to come back.

“Do you know where he is?” You ask, already tired of the conversation, no longer wanting to indulge the compelling clairvoyant in any more of his games.

“Mmm, perhaps,” he hums, sharp teeth glinting as his grin grows wider. He motions with his finger for you to come over to him. “Come. I want to give you something before you go.”

You don’t move. “Will you tell me where he is then?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he answers with indifference, before once again beckoning you to come closer, this time with a bit more urgence.

Hesitantly, you follow. Digging into the pocket of his suit’s blazer, he rustles around for a moment before pulling out a vile. It’s small, no bigger than the size of your thumb, and the liquid inside is a metallic silver. It’s oddly dense, heavy, it’s descent slow as you tilt the bottle back and forth, the consistency of molasses.

“What is this?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. The owner shrugs.

“An elixir,” he says, before reaching forward, taking hold of your fingers and pressing them down so that they close over the bottle. “I have a feeling you will need it down the road.”

“An elixir,” you repeat, a frown cascading itself over your lips. “This is old magic.”

Unlike palm reading or other forms of divination within the old faith, old magic is for those who try to tamper with more than just the future. It is those who try to bend the elements of the world, try to create magic that has been reserved solely for the gifted. Potions and spells to try to give them the powers that the gods did not.

Not only is it frowned upon, it is utter blasphemy. Said to tarnish the very soul, the gods look down upon anyone who uses it.

“Indeed it is,” he replies casually, as if he hasn’t handed you a bottle that will prevent you from ascending after death.

Your gaze flickers from the bottle, back up to meet his own. You try to hand it back to him. “I don’t want this.”

“No, but you will need it,” he says, pushing it back towards you. He grins. “You’re not very religious, Princess. I didn’t expect you to be so pious.”

It makes you uncomfortable how he knows these things without you telling him.

You swallow your pride, indulging him. “Why will I need it?”

“I already told you, I cannot see the future so clearly,” he replies. “It is simply a feeling I have, I’m choosing to act on it.”

“Alright,” you begin, dissatisfied. You return your attention to the bottle, flipping it upside down and watching as the liquid slowly creeps its way to the otherside. “What does it do?”

“Many things,” Minho replies with a chuckle, stirring his pinky in his drink. “It’ll grant you what you seek in the way that you least expect it. Let’s you defy the order of things, as old magic typically does.”

“Must you always speak in riddles?” You say, casting the man a glare, tired of his nonsense. How can he hand you a bottle you don’t want, insist that you will need it, and then refuse to tell you what it even does?

“Well, of course,” he grins, raising his hands up in innocence. “It’s a part of my charm.”

You open your mouth, ready to tell him that he is anything but charming, but he speaks before you get the chance.

“But I suppose that just this once, I can give you a straightforward answer,” he says, stroking his chin as he glances out towards the tavern. He then points over towards the wall, where you spot a hallway you hadn’t noticed before, so narrow that you likely never would have had he not pointed it out.

“Your companion, he’s in the sauna.”

Your expression quickly shifts from surprise to confusion. What kind of greatest desire is satisfied by a sauna?

As if reading your thoughts, Minho smiles. “Don’t worry, you’ll see.”

With that he tips his head back and downs the rest of his drink, setting it on the bar counter. He fixes his collar, giving you a curt nod while doing so. “Good luck, Princess. You won’t see me again.”

With that he turns on his heel, and before you can say anything in return, makes his way behind the bar and into the little room where Yuqi had originally grabbed your room keys. He shuts the door behind him.

For a moment you simply stand there, looking at the door. Such a brief and abrupt exit for such an out of the ordinary character, the conversation feels almost incomplete. There was much more you could have asked him, your momentary annoyance enough to distract you from the fact.

But perhaps this is meant to be the ending of your exchange, the divulging paths to where yours had crossed. He told you what he was meant to tell you, and nothing else. Minho would know if there should have been more.

Glancing down at the bottle in your hand, you slip it into the pocket of your trousers before making your way across the room. Entering the narrow hallway Minho had pointed to, you follow it down to the very end, where the sign simply reads “SAUNA”.

Twisting the handle to the door, you're immediately overwhelmed by a strong blast of steam. A thick white haze flowing out from the room, it smells floral but also fruity, a strong blend that you can taste on your tongue as you unwillingly breathe it in. It makes your head spin.

Coughing, you take a few steps into your room, squinting your eyes to attempt making your way through the steam. Everything blends into a grainy mist, and it takes you a few moments before you’re even able to spot the body that leans against the wall in the corner of the room, head back and chin tilted upwards towards the ceiling. His torso is bare, shirt cascaded to the side, and you think you can make out that his eyes are closed.

“Woo?” You call out, before taking in another breath, the thick floral mist tickling your nose. When he doesn’t answer, you try again. “Woo, is that you?”

You hear a sigh, and his response is barely a murmur, drenched in a sleepy haze. “What do you want, Kuroken?”

“Change of plans,” you respond, pulling at your tunic. It’s awfully hot in here. “We’re leaving.”

Woo doesn’t respond, and for a moment you think he may have actually fallen asleep, until he sucks in a tight breath. “Do me a favor,” he mumbles, nearly incoherent as the words practically trip over his lips. “And fuck off, would you?”

Bristling at the statement, it takes everything in you not to lash out at the elemental’s unabashed rudeness. Does he really have to make everything more difficult, not to mention insult everyone in the process?

“No,” you say stubbornly. Your mind searches for a witty insult in return, but for some reason, it does not come easily. You stand there for a moment, puzzled as you search your mind, and only then do you realize that it’s becoming difficult to contemplate anything at all.

Your mind feels a bit fuzzy. Thoughts like a necklace with no string, the little beads bumping into each other, but not able to connect themselves. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out, as you try to remember what you were planning to say next.

“It’s the steam,” Woo slurs suddenly, understanding the reason for your silence. “Makes it hard to think.”

Registering his words, you're quick to pinch your nose shut, stopping yourself from taking in any more of the steam than needed.

You consider the statement, frowning. The scent is still strong, and you can taste it on your tongue even with your nose plugged. You’re surprised he’s able to communicate this well, considering he’s been breathing it for the gods know how long.

“Why would you want that?” You say, and afterwards realize it may be too blunt. But the steam continues to swim in your mind, and it makes your tongue loose, careless.

Woo chuckles, an almost drunken sound. He shakes his head back and forth. “Because I don’t want to think about what’s going on out there, obviously.”

He sighs, settling his body further against the wall, trying to get more comfortable. “It’s peaceful. Sue me.”

Swallowing down the strange feeling that arises in your gut, you try again. “Well, alright. But we really do have to go, San and Seonghwa are outside.”

“Hm, are they now?” Woo replies, tone distant, almost cold. “Fascinating.”

“Woo, come on,” you sigh, tired of this. The room is too hot, the steam too dizzying, and it gives you a headache. “They’re waiting for us.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, followed by another half-hearted chuckle. “San doesn’t want me there.”

You consider the statement, and the strange feeling in your gut twists into something you’d almost recognize as pity. He’s being awfully blunt - whether due to the steam or just his personality, you aren’t sure - and you figure it would be fair to offer a level of candidness of your own.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you and San a few days ago, but you need to just swallow your pride and put it aside,” you start, and when he snorts in amusement, you force yourself to continue.

“He’s not doing so well,” you continue, hoping that San wouldn’t be too mad at you for disclosing that fact to Woo, who he’s clearly been annoyed with. “This place…It really got to him. He needs to get out of here, and we need you to come with us to make that happen.”

When Woo doesn’t say anything in response, you add: “He also needs you.”

It’s similar to what you’d told the elemental at the fire a few nights ago, and for that reason, you already know it is what’s needed to make him come with you.

No matter what is going on between him and San, whatever caused this strange rift between them, it appears that San is the one who’s upset with the elemental, not the other way around.

While you don’t know him deeply, beyond that snarky and quarrelsome surface-level he has shown you, you do know that Woo would do anything for San.

Which is why you aren’t surprised when the elemental sighs, pulling himself up from the wall and rubbing his hands across his face, tired. Grabbing his shirt from beside him, he balls it up in his fist, not even bothering to slip it on before heading towards the door. When he moves past you, it’s without a word.

However, as his hand rests on the handle of the sauna’s door, he pauses. Closing his eyes, he takes one final, deep breath of the mind-numbing mist, then speaks.

“Are you coming, Kuroken?”

Having twisted the handle, he hangs in the open doorway, holding it open behind him as he turns to face you. When you meet his eyes, he does not look away.

Despite yourself, a smile creeps its way onto the corner of your lips.

You follow after him.

~~~~

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