Mists of Celeste - an Ateez Fanfic

act six ➻ part 6.5

note: all interim chapters are optional to read and you do not have to read them if you don't want to. it is advised that you read the interim chapters after completing all the chapters in the act rather than reading them based off number order. they are based around the relationships between the crew and interactions they share. They are indicated with [x.5], x being the number of the part that came before it

warnings: explicit mxm content

...

Hand clasped tight in Wooyoung's, Yeosang knows fairly well how this will play out. It never changes much no matter how many times it happens; in fact, it's become more of a ritual than a genuine attempt to fix whatever went wrong between them this time, a way of showboating that they can communicate and make up to some odd degree. He lets himself be dragged along almost the way a petulant child would be pulled away by their angered parent, except the circumstances are so vastly different for him and Wooyoung.

They step into Wooyoung's room, and Yeosang takes a deep inhale of air as soon as he crosses the threshold simply because it has been so long since he had permission to even set foot inside. It's not as though it has changed at all — still has all the simple decorations and little knick-knacks strewn about with no particular order — and the smell is still warm and comforting as always. Sometimes he wonders if he has been trained like Pavlov's dog to find peace in everything Wooyoung does, because of all they've been through together, but in the same vein, he does not wish to reduce what they are and who they are to something so cruel.

Wooyoung seats himself on the edge of his bed, letting go of Yeosang's hand to rest both between his slightly spread legs, and the loss of contact leaves the older of the two feeling hopelessly weak.

"Do you feel better?" he asks without blinking.

Yeosang swallows around nothing. Words won't come out as intended, and his head is so void of an explanation that he truly does feel like a child again. All he knows is that no, he does not feel better at all.

"Are you satisfied?" Again, Wooyoung remains so still that he looks more like a statue than a person.

No, I'm not.

"Did it hurt?"

I had hoped to hurt you, but it backfired. I hurt myself instead.

"It didn't hurt me. It doesn't hurt me anymore, Yeosang." It's not that Wooyoung gets off on making him miserable but part of Yeosang wonders if he doesn't feel remorse at all over it.

The apology sits heavy on his tongue but rather than saying it out loud to the air between them, all he can do is let his chin fall to his chest.

"You were cruel," he whispers as a final line of defense.

"And you were heartless."

When Yeosang was younger, he cried because the Steward found the small porcelain knight figurine that he had kept hidden underneath his mattress. It had been promptly confiscated and thrown out, the little semblance of childhood he had ripped away without a care in the world from the adults around him, while Yeosang was left to be given a book in place of the toy. Elitists don't have toys, Elitists don't play with the other children, Elitists are meant to be strong and intelligent. Being told such a thing while still so young should have been wrong, but Yeosang understood his duties well enough by then.

Until Wooyoung came to him that night with a half-smile and a bright, rambunctious laugh that implied he was up to no good.

He had pulled a poorly-carved wooden figurine out of his pocket and displayed it to Yeosang like it was the most precious gem in the universe. In Yeosang's eyes, it was. The semblance could barely be distinguished between a human being and an oddly amorphous blob, but it was a gift, a treasure, one meant for Yeosang and Yeosang alone.