Taemin opened the door, motioning Con to go inside first. He hesitated for a moment, but more shadow figures flickered along the walls. Regardless of the fact he knew they were just in his head, he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't leave Taemin alone. 

The shadow people wanted him.

Sometimes it was better to indulge the madness. If he didn't, Con knew he'd be plagued by this fear all night. That it would lead to more delusions, worse delusions. Sometimes, ignoring it amplified it. Instinct told him this was one of those times.

So he slid past Taemin, looking around curiously. It was identical to Con's in layout and decor, with lots of dark wood and muted oil paintings. The only difference was the rose-colored walls and the patterns carved into the wood of the four-poster bed—grapevines twisting down to a sitting fox where Con's had climbing ivy.

Taemin closed the door softly. "I'm taking a shower."

When a quip about joining him didn't come, Con realized something was genuinely wrong.

Outside, Taemin had seemed so...steady. So unshaken.

Why?

Con sank into a dull gold, wing-backed chair. Resting his head on his fist, he stared blankly out the window. The trees flashed red and blue, the officers still hanging around.

The events of tonight started replaying in his head. How unconcerned Taemin had seemed, even drenched in blood. Ella's sudden temper. The simple fact that they had chosen to speak in a language no one else around them knew.

How angry Taemin had been at Ella's last question.

Con's brows drew steadily closer together. The sheriff's reactions had been odd, too. In spite of his assurances that he didn't think Taemin responsible, he hadn't seemed to care for the question about animal attacks.

"Torn apart," he murmured. Images of what that might look like flashed in his mind. It started with skin slashed by claws, puncture wounds, a torn throat.

He shouldn't have trusted his brain. 

The police lights were hypnotic, and he felt the slip moments before the memories ripped into him. A flash of bright lights. The blare of a horn. Jenna's soft gasp of surprise. Then, the shriek of tearing metal. The smell of smoke and gasoline filled his nose, sour in the back of his throat.

"Con?" Light fingers touched his shoulder.

His eyes popped open. He had curled over, his forehead nearly touching his knees. Sweat slicked his skin. His fingers clutched at his hair so tightly he was sure he'd pulled out a few strands.

Taemin knelt down, gently unbending Con's fingers, forcing him to release his hold. The soft light of the room was too bright. He could hear blood rushing in his ears. Taemin pushed at his shoulders, forcing Con to sit upright.

Air flooded his lungs, his muscles shaking. Taemin peered up at him, his expression calm and carefully uncurious. Con stared back, forcing himself to notice every detail—to ground himself in this moment.

Taemin's hair was a little wet, the dry strands starting to form gentle waves. He wasn't wearing any earrings. A small wrinkle had formed between his brows. Con let his gaze rove over Taemin's face, following each perfect line until a splash of red caught his attention.

"You missed some," he croaked, lifting a hand to touch the blood on the line of his jaw.

Taemin winced, but didn't pull away. "It's a scratch. She...she scratched me." His throat bobbed. "When I rolled her over."

"Oh." Con frowned, still shell-shocked from the sudden onset of memory. He ghosted a finger over the ripped skin. "Does it hurt?"

Taemin caught his hand, pressing it to the smooth skin of his cheek. "Not really." Then he pulled Con's hand away. He studied the cut scored beneath his knuckles before flicking his eyes up to Con's. "Does this hurt?"

He shook his head. Neither had the cut on his cheek. Taemin frowned, returning his attention to the cut. "What happened?"

Con's chest hitched, the answer spilling out before he could stop it. "I think I might have done it to myself." He touched the matching cut on his cheek. "And this one."

Blinking slowly, Taemin stood and went back into the bathroom. When he returned, he had a first-aid kit in his hand. Taemin lightly grabbed his chin and tilted his face up. Con's eyes fluttered shut as he smeared antibiotic along the raw line. He smoothed a couple steri-strips along the cut, gently pulling the edges together.

"It might scar," he muttered. Con opened his eyes as Taemin turned his attention to the fresher cut along the back of his hand.

"It's not deep," Con whispered.

Taemin's eyes flicked up for a moment. "You said you thought you did it to yourself. Why don't you know?"

A million responses fluttered through his mind. Several made him sound far more insane than he wanted to right now. He sifted through the more plausible ones and shrugged. "I might have cut my hand running out of the car. Or...the restaurant."

"The one you and Ella went to?" Taemin's face betrayed absolutely nothing. "She said she wanted to make sure you ate."

Con nodded cautiously, memories of two very different kisses warring in his head. He flinched slightly when Taemin stood, but all he did was return the first-aid kit to the bathroom. When he came into the bedroom, he headed toward the bedside table. He picked up the phone, keeping his back to Con as he ordered that drink he'd needed.

When that was done, he flopped onto the bed. Gently rubbing at his eyes, he said, "If I promise not to bite, would you come over here?"

"I...what?" Con craned his neck, looking around one of the chair's wings.

Taemin curled onto his side, messy hair falling in his dark eyes. "I don't want to be alone right now. And I want to talk to you. It's weird with you being over there."

It took a moment for him to realize Taemin wanted Con to join him on the bed. He started to shake his head, but couldn't quite manage it. Not with the sensation of Taemin's hands still on his skin. Not with that pleading expression in the other man's eyes. He stood slowly and limped toward the edge of the bed.

"What did Ella ask you?"

Taemin tilted his head in confusion.

"On the porch," Con clarified. "What did she say that made you so angry?"

"Oh." Taemin's expression shuttered, and he sat up. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face. He looked at Con. "Sit and I'll tell you."

"Tell me and maybe I'll sit."

Taemin gave a shadow of a grin. He gnawed on his lip, and Con forced himself not to stare. He was confused enough after the kiss with Ella. More temptation wouldn't help clear that thicket at all.

"She...asked if I'd really tried to help her—the woman I found."

The shock of that answer was enough to prompt Con to sit on the edge of the bed. "What...what does that mean?"

She doesn't believe me, you see. Con frowned. Ella had defended Taemin so fiercely in front of the police. Did she really not believe him? If she didn't, why not?

With a shrug, Taemin lay back down. "Does it matter? Nothing I could have done would have helped her. I couldn't heal a wound like she had."

That made Con blink. It was an odd way to say the woman's wounds had been so severe that Taemin hadn't been able to help her.

"What were you thinking about when I came back in here?"

The sudden question startled Con. His knee was starting to ache from having his leg hang off the edge of the bed. He took off his shoes and scooted up toward the pillows, stretching the painful joint.

"I won't believe you if you say 'nothing'. If you don't want to tell me, that's fine." Taemin tucked a hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. "I want to know, though."

Con stayed quiet for a very long time. He never spoke of it. That was the rule. If he didn't talk about it, it wouldn't kill him. It would stay happily ignored, allowing him to pretend his way toward normalcy.

When he looked at Taemin, he found he'd closed his eyes, long lashes fanning over his cheekbones. Con slouched down, staring at him.

"Why are you so calm?"

Taemin opened his eyes. His forehead wrinkled as his brows drew together. "Calm?"

"Five minutes ago, you were drenched in blood. Since then, you've played doctor"—Con gestured to his bandages—"and now you're just...laying here not thinking about it."

"It's easy right now," Taemin said. "Right now you're here. So I'm thinking of you. I'm thinking that I'd really like it if you'd lean down and kiss me. I'm devising a million plans to keep you here. I don't have to think that Ella doesn't believe me when I'm wondering about that scar on your side. Or when I'm wondering if you'd like my tattoo."

"You were calm when we were talking to the police," Con pointed out, refusing to get distracted. "Most people would freak out if they were covered in blood. You just complained you were cold."

Taemin pursed his mouth, highlighting the fact that his bottom lip was just a little fuller than the upper. His eyes were completely unreadable. Con could practically see the secrets swimming behind his inky irises, but couldn't begin to so much as guess at them.

"Tell me why you were having a full-fledged freakout," Taemin said, "and I'll tell you why I'm so calm."

The unexpected bargain drew Con up short. He desperately wanted to know if Taemin's unruffled demeanor would help explain Ella's anger. He wanted another piece to the puzzle.

Was it worth ripping open barely healed wounds?

In the end, it wasn't his curiosity that opened his mouth. It was the gentle curiosity on Taemin's face.

"A year ago, my wife and I were in a car wreck," he whispered.

Taemin's eyes went wide—horrified—at the word wife. He started to sit up, but Con put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"She..." His throat went tight and his voice refused to rise above a rasp. "She died. Not...not on impact."

Slowly, he drew up the edge of the black sweater he was wearing. Taemin sucked in a breath as Con turned, exposing the scar's jagged edge curling around his side. He kept his eyes on Taemin's, the shift and flow of light in them keeping Con in the present. If he wasn't careful, the memory's twisted thorns would burrow in his mind and refuse to leave.

It helped when Taemin traced light fingers over the puckered skin, giving Con another anchor.

"The car spun three times and flipped. I was...part of the frame had speared right through me." Tears pricked at his eyes and he couldn't bring himself to explain how Jenna had been pinned by the car. How the life had been slowly crushed from her.

"We were taken to the nearest hospital," he gasped, grabbing Taemin's hand and pressing his palm to the scar. Con closed his eyes. "She died. I...didn't."

He regretted absolutely nothing more in his life. If only he'd insisted she let him drive that night. If only he'd been paying more attention.

Silence reigned for a long time, Taemin's thumb stroking the top curve of the scar. Con's eyelids started to grow heavy. Despite sleeping most of the day, he was desperately tired. He slid farther down the bed, fighting the exhaustion eating at him.

I should go. It's not a good idea to stay. Especially after kissing his sister. After I kissed him.

The hazy chain of thoughts didn't get the chance to gain much traction.

"It's not the first time I've seen a dead body," Taemin whispered, and Con's eyes opened. "It's not the first time I've watched someone die. I just..." He bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "Follow death. I just...got used to it." 

Con licked his lips, unsure of how to respond. Six months ago—before he'd started seeing things—he'd have brushed Taemin off as ridiculous, but the slight itch of bandages on his cheek and hand kept his skepticism at bay. He could sense the same briars that threatened to ensnare him coiling within Taemin. He could see it in the tight skin around his eyes and slight tension in his jaw.

Taemin was busy fighting monsters and memories, just like Con was.

So he couldn't bring himself to walk away when Taemin's hand moved up to his jaw. His muddled brain couldn't offer anything more sophisticated than the fuzzy idea to wrap his arm around Taemin's waist.

Taemin took his time with this kiss, the slide of his lips against Con's languid. Con's hand flattened against the hard muscles of his back, pulling him closer. Small tremors ran through Con's body, his heart tripping. His eyes closed completely when Taemin's mouth moved down to his throat, lightly biting the pulse-point just below his jaw.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that. He didn't know when he started to doze off.

What he did know was that he actually did like Taemin just as much as he liked Ella, and that he was being really goddamn stupid.