Minho stands at the edge of the creek, eyes cast downward. Across from him is the patch of lifeless dirt where he had opened his eyes surrounded by crows, voices screaming in his ears, another creature in his body. Behind him is the dying cradle of daisies and ferns where Jisung first looked at Minho with hate in his eyes.

He's been thinking. About everything. About when he was young, and he and his sisters would sail paper boats in the creek. It was so simple. Creasing the paper, tucking a few rocks into the folds. Running along the bank, trying not to trip over his own feet. There was no wondering where the boat would end up after the chainlink fence stopped him from following any farther, after it disappeared around the bend and ceased to exist.

He can never go back to that place.

He isn't sure what time it is. He's been hiding out in the forest as if he'll be able to stay forever. He went back to the house only once, for a jacket and something to eat. The maids and cooks weren't there, probably visiting his family at the hospital. Worry and guilt are eating him up inside, slowly-consuming parasites. But he knows Hara is alive. He knows it. If he let himself question, he might not have the strength of will to stay away.

His goal now is to stay as far as he can from the house, from Hara, from Jisung. It's his only goal. He has no idea what he'll do beyond today, beyond wandering in the safety of the trees. He feels like he's stalling at the edge of something terrifying.

He has one goal. But the goosebumps prickling across his skin are leaving cracks in his resolve. He stares back toward the house though he can't see it through the dense rabble of trees. He can't help feeling like his body is telling him something. Like it's giving him a warning.

He walks till the house comes into view, crosses the lawn and rose garden. The door to the conservatory echoes as it opens. He calls his sisters' names into the house. No reply.

Something is different. The air is no longer stagnant. He can see dust motes floating in the sunset light, but they aren't moving with the draft or sinking to the floor.

They're moving upward.

He walks through the foyer and takes the stairs. His lungs are buoys in his chest, climbing altitudes with every step. He follows the hallway on the third floor, approaching the nursery.

He stops dead. Goosebumps scream across his skin, claws digging in.

Jisung is kneeling, hands tented against the floor. The veins in his arms and neck are blackened, like his blood has turned to tar. His eyes are open, unblinking, all pupil and no white.

Minho says his name without thinking.

Jisung's eyes squeeze closed — once they open, the Dark has bled away. He takes his fingers off the ground and his veins fade into his skin. He doesn't seem surprised to see Minho, but his mouth stays shut like he's afraid to speak.

"What are you doing here?" Minho murmurs.

"I'm trying... to fix this."

"Fix what? What the fuck, you're in my house — I told you not to come here."

He rises to his feet, avoiding Minho's eyes. "Get out of my way."

Minho stands his ground for a moment, then takes a wary few steps back, like a dog, eyes trained on a fox. Jisung walks past, out of the nursery. The pull in the air follows him, and so does Minho.

"What were you doing in there?" he asks.

"You said it yourself. You're poisoning Hara, and so is the house. It's too full of you. It's of you."

"What, you think you can fix it?"

"I know I can." The veins on his neck blacken again as he takes a slow breath and lets it out. "I already cured Hara."

"How?"

"It's like... breathing in, taking the Death out of her. I think she'll be better soon."

First Minho feels relief, profound relief, profound gratitude. Within seconds it's draining out of him like blood from a cut.

Millennia, brandishing his power where it's none of his concern, parading around as if Life is the Maker's favourite. As if Life is the Maker. As if Life is the panacea, not a poison just as deadly as Death.

Life is no better than Death. It never has been.

Jisung is walking down the stairs. Minho wants to stop. He has to let him leave. Let him go.

Someone pushes him forward.

"You have no right to be in my house."

Jisung looks back, sees Minho is following him. He squares his shoulders. "I was helping."

"Do not deceive me."

"What's your fucking problem?"

"Life believes itself greater than Death."

"Life gives life. Death takes it away. Life's superiority is innate."

"Death heals as well."

Jisung lingers in the conservatory, eyes on Minho, dark and cunning. Both their voices sound so wrong, like crushed rocks and howling wind.

"Then why do children cry in its presence?" Jisung says, deadly low. "Why do dogs lay down at its feet and die?"

"Because they don't understand. Because they seek rest."

"You say the infant seeks rest?"

"The infant doesn't have the capacity to understand!"

"Then she is lucky I rid her of its venom!"

In one fast, harsh move, Jisung's back is against the wall, Minho's forearm is hard at his chest. A gasp escapes Jisung's lips before he goes rigid, eyes downcast.

Kill him, a voice screams, the need echoing through every inch of Minho's body. Their faces are inches apart, the house is dead silent, frozen in time. Push harder. Go for the throat. Kill him now.

"Minho, please..."

The vessel's voice... Jisung's voice... is pleading. His hands clutch the front of Minho's jacket.

Minho narrows his eyes. Shakes his head. He doesn't know who he's talking to. He doesn't know who's talking for him.

"Please let go."

Slowly he takes the pressure off Jisung's chest. It feels like running against the wind, swimming upstream. He doesn't back up an inch. His feet are nailed to the floor.

Jisung's hands release his jacket, but stall fisted on his chest. Minho thinks he might wrap them around his neck. Try to strangle the life out of him once again, fingers crushed to his skin, thumbs digging into the soft beneath his jaw.

For a second, his trembling hands brush over Minho's neck.

And then those same hands twist into Minho's hair, and Jisung's lips press hard against his. Rough. Hungry. Sweet.

The Death inside him roils.

The human inside him kisses back.

Minho's arms wrap around his waist, drawing their bodies together. Jisung doesn't fight it, neither of them do. There's nothing wrong about this. No, it feels too right, too strong. Desperate, like they're underwater, running out of breath.

And maybe they've drowned. Maybe the world has ended, maybe the Dark or the Light has consumed them whole. Then a sound rings out — a crash and a shatter, a blast of pressure; the two duck into each other as a hail beats down on their backs.

Minho raises his head, looks back over his shoulder. The conservatory has imploded. Every pane of glass is shattered on the floor, speckled in their hair, crunching beneath their feet, leaving just the frame above them, the bare moonlight shining in.

They look at each other. The colour has drained from Jisung's face. He pushes away from Minho and runs out of the conservatory.

Minho hears the front door open and shut. He's gone.

It takes a moment for Minho to come back to life. He shakes his hair out and looks around the room, fear rising in his chest. The blast is replaying over and over in his head, that split second of an eternity. The fire in their skin. Jisung's lip between his teeth. The pressure mounting in his ears. The cold air surging in.

He holds his face in his hands. Tells himself to calm down. Calm down, calm down. What would Sooyun do? What would she do if she was possessed by an angry god and a kiss destroyed the family conservatory — what the fuck would she do?

Minho grabs the phone and a phonebook, finds the number for a glass repair company, and dials with shaking fingers. He's trying to channel Sooyun's bargaining strategy. Sound busy, cut to the chase, and mention the family's money as often as possible. Minho makes it clear that this is a big job, it has to go fast, and nobody can know. The voice on the other end assures him that they are no stranger to confidential jobs in the Forest Estates.

Minho hangs up. He can feel pinpricks of glass on his skin. He needs to get out of this house soon as possible.

But now, holding the phone, he's thinking about Hara — about Haewon. He hasn't gone to the hospital, hasn't even checked in. He doesn't want to explain himself. Because he can't. He hasn't even considered telling his family the truth; they'd probably throw him into rehab. He can't even blame them. He wouldn't believe himself either.

He dials the hospital. Sooyun answers, hears his voice, and without a word passes the phone to Haewon.

She says hello. Coldly. Minho wraps his arms around himself.

"Hey," he says. "I haven't called. I'm sorry. How is she?"

"Fine. At the moment. Crying, but not choking." He can hear Hara's familiar wail in the background. "We're going to stay here longer, till another doctor can give us a second opinion."

"Okay. Yeah. That's good."

Silence.

"So?" she says. "Are you going to explain yourself?"

"Explain... what?"

"Did you have something more important to do than come with us? Hole up in your room like a fucking hermit? Chat on the phone with your friend?"

"Haewon, I'm sorry. I just thought I'd get in the way if I came with you."

"You're my brother, I wanted you here! Do you have any idea how scared I was?"

"I was scared too!" He palms his face. "Not... not scared like you, obviously. Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. What do you want me to say?"

"You've said everything and done nothing. You're not even gonna come to see us now — you're just calling as an afterthought, aren't you?"

He can't find the words.

"Okay. I get it. Loud and clear. Don't call again."

The dial tone.

He throws the phone and fists his hands in his hair. He's so fucked. Whatever he does, he causes pain. No matter who he tries to protect, it isn't fucking enough. He isn't enough.

The terrifying thing rears its head.

He gets up from the couch and runs into the house, up the staircase, into his bedroom. He grabs a duffel bag out of the closet and fills it with clothes. It feels like ransacking a stranger's bedroom. Leaving a stranger's house in a stranger's car.

He doesn't look back.

He won't be a poison any longer.