Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Changbin isn't sure when he started remembering. Maybe it was 40 lives ago. Maybe 3. Maybe he'd always remembered.

He does remember that in one of his lives, he had a grandfather who divined. The old man scattered a handful of charred bones on the ground and frowned.

"Grandson, in a past life you angered a god. You're cursed to remember your previous lives."

"Grandfather, is this not a boon?" he had asked. Naive. He'd been so naive.

"Only a fool would desire to remember all of the lives that came before him… And it seems you were once a fool."

"Why is that so?"

"A man can only lose a love so many times 'ere he go mad."

"I should like to stop, then. How would I stop this?"

His grandfather peered up at him as if he had grown two more heads. "Now how am I to know that?"

He doesn't remember every aspect of every existence, but the one constant through all of them—big brown eyes that knew him, loved him in every lifetime, a face painted with a galaxy. In this life… Lee Felix.

It always comes to him in pieces, in little flashes of memory. Sometimes he's sleeping and he dreams it. Other times he's just strolling down the street and comes across something—a place, a sign, a scent—that rockets him into another life. Every now and again he has a real 'main-character' moment, and a past life will just hit him like a truck when he is at his most vulnerable—naked and sopping wet in the shower. He wonders if one day he might get isekai'ed into one of his previous lives like some sort of protagonist from one of Jisung's inane animes.

If he thinks hard enough, latches on quickly enough to the trigger, relaxes his brain just right, he can sometimes speedrun the whole life like he's watching a movie reel. Those are always the hardest. But usually, it's just the important parts—the impactful ones—that he gets. Meeting his soulmate, falling in love with him. Chasing him… Losing him.

The important parts haunt him through every single life, stacking one on top of the other.

World's shittiest Jenga tower, he thinks.

The earliest incarnation he remembers—and the only one he remembers consistently across every lifetime—is ancient. So ancient that modern Changbin cannot actually read written text in the memories—he only knows what it means because the previous incarnation was fortunately literate. It's also the only past life he is certain he cannot remember in its entirety no matter how hard he tries—there are prominent important parts absent from the memories. Not forgotten, no. Missing.

He has a theory that this is the lifetime where he somehow cursed himself indefinitely. It starts like this:

Chapter Text

Prince Yongbok & First Guard Changbin, Korea, 124 CE

The young prince Yongbok lay on the cold straw pallet on the ground, silks draped around his waist and his chest bare. Ethereal. Unreal. Ascendant. It was hard to believe that he was not the son of a God, let alone that he was supposedly reviled by one since birth.

When the prince was born, the priest advisors looked up at the Sun crawling up the horizon, rendering the sky a crimson dawn, wispy clouds floating across the ominous expanse of the heavens. They then looked down at the constellation of freckles across the baby's small, ruddy cheeks and told the queen that he had been forsaken by the Sun, that he would live a life of misfortune. It was, they said, the night stars staking claim on his face—those marks would darken in the sunshine and absorb all the blessings the Sun had to bestow upon him. They said the Moon had decided it wanted the child, and that the Sun would forsake him because of this. And so the queen followed the counsel of her advisors—pray for the Sun's forgiveness, give tithings to the Sun, and name the prince to appease and honor the Sun.

She named him Yongbok. Yong for 'Dragon,' a creature of raw and unyielding yang strength—like the Sun crawling skyward each day to its highest peak. And Bok for 'Luck,' something self-explanatory. An entreaty to the gods.

Changbin thought it suited him. Changbin is actually named Changbin this go-round, which reinforces his hypothesis that his current incarnation is the one where he may be able to break this curse.

The prayers for the Sun's forgiveness and luck seemed to work. Yongbok suffered no ill fate besides the occasional jealous commoner's rude remark or petty courtier's snide comment.

"Changbin-ah," Yongbok called out, throwing a hand out lackadaisically and beckoning him forward. "Come here, lover."

Of course Changbin obliged. How could he deprive Yongbok of anything?

It was a tryst, as it always was between them. Hidden away, not for prying eyes. Current Changbin can't remember exactly why, though. They were constantly sneaking around, never meeting in the same place twice. Forbidden. Illicit. Exhilarating.

Changbin planted himself on the soft furs beside Yongbok. The young man reached up a soft hand—his hands were so, so soft, almost velveteen—and caressed Changbin's jaw. He looked imploringly into Changbin's eyes.

"I must know tonight, Changbin. Do you love me?"

He swallowed the large lump in his throat. Of course he did. There was no one on this earth more devoted than him.

"I do. There is no doubt in my heart—I love you with all of it," he said. "But you know this."

Yongbok's gaze hardened. "Then you would do anything for me?"

"I would die by my own hand or yours if only you would ask."

Yongbok shook his head, a small frown drawing his cupid's bow lips into a pout. "Live, Changbin."

Changbin nodded. If Yongbok said, 'Live,' then live he would. Anything for Yongbok.

"Then you'll steal away with me?" Yongbok asked, uncharacteristically timid. "You'll find us two horses and provisions for three months? Let's ride away until our mounts buckle from exhaustion. I want to leave this kingdom."

Changbin sucked a quiet breath in. "You don't mean—"

"I do not want to be a prince. I do not want to be betrothed, to watch a woman bear me child after child until my father sees fit to deem one an heir. I do not want to lead a kingdom or ascend to godhood. I only want to run away with you. I want to live a quiet life where no one despises my face nor wishes for my suffering, Changbin, where you might pull me aside into the orchard and press me against a tree whenever you see fit. Where I change my name and we will pluck radishes from the fields behind our modest home and stoke the fire with our own hands."

"I want that…" Changbin whispered. "So badly, I want that. But… If we do this, there will be consequences."

"We do not know that in surety."

Changbin said, "Nothing is free."

"You would do anything for me?" Yongbok asked again. "You would keep me safe from harm?"

"I would." He meant it. "I would do it in this life and the next—every one of them I would find you and keep you well."

"Then we will go."

And of course he obliged. How could he deprive Yongbok of anything? He pressed a gentle kiss to his prince's lips and pointedly did not dwell on the repercussions that would certainly befall them.

He nodded. "Then we will go."

Present Day

In one of his many lives, some incarnation of Changbin must have found it prudent to start recording the memories. And in every life, he just seems to know inherently where to go to find them. It also seems that he's quite the profound writer, musician, artist, filmmaker—or at least the previous versions of his soul were. In this current life, he is just an aspiring young producer in his last year at a small university's arts department.

Also in this current life, he keeps a binder. It's not as crushingly beautiful as some of the records have been—no odes or sonnets, no orchestral magnum opus—but it does well enough. In it, he's stored movie titles, antique letters, snippets of poetry, photographs, and most importantly, the journals of the others. It's kind of like memory-ception, he thinks. His binder of journals of journals of letters of…

He's listed everything he knows and has collected thus far, and this many lives in, it's honestly quite a lot. He's had to do some serious digging, and many of the bits and bobs he's recovered are not in Korean.

He's lucky to live in the 21st century, because previous incarnations seem to have struggled immensely with finding ways to translate things, leaving many of them unresolved with only a note of, "I'm sure this was me before."

Now, all he's gotta do is pop that shit into Papago and he's on his merry little way. It makes him chuckle in disbelief, really. How simple this life is, and how difficult all his others have been.

He flips through his binder and holds his phone up to scan the latest piece he's found—a copy of a letter from yet another journal, which he's slowly been picking his way through. Once again, it's coming to him almost thirdhand—one of the previous iterations recording someone else before him. It's all pretty confusing, really, but he's doing his best to keep it straight. This journal is in Chinese.

Oh, Changbin is about to fucking cry in the library. This one is hard to read, to remember.

  
    For any future selves who will read this—I'm JianPing, the year is 1913.
I found this letter tucked in a book, which itself was tucked under a plank of wood flooring in the very old house my family just bought. We came to find several personal artefacts hidden in the floorboards. This one, I am sure is a previous me. I am Wan, and I am certain that this Ruo-er is my beloved GuoQiang.
Here is the content of the letter:

Dearest Ruo-er,

I long for you. My life is not the same as it was when you were by my side. I had you for only moments, though I am certain I have known you many times over. The gods want me to find you again and again. I want that, also.
Should I die in battle, I hope you do not know it, I hope you do not feel me fade away. I dreamt of us. I was in a different body, as were you, and it was a different time. But we were still the same. In this dream, your spirit left your body and I knew instantly, though we were leagues away from each other. I would not wish that upon you.
If I die, please live on. I will roam this earth as a ghost until I find you again.
I try my hardest to return to you, every day. You are my fighting spirit and the reason I live.

Yours eternally,
Wan

JianPing's final note—I recall that Wan(me) does die at war. He reincarnates while Ruo-er is still alive, a young man named Tian who becomes Ruo-er's neighbor. Ruo-er has moved on… a wife, children. Tian is far too young, 17 years Ruo-er's junior. Naturally Tian remembers Ruo-er, but Ruo-er only feels a sense of camaraderie and deep friendship.
We remain good neighbors, share holidays and recipes, look out for each other. Ruo-er's children look after my own, his wife loves mine like a sister. When Ruo-er finally passes away, I(Tian) am there at his bedside with his family.
I wonder how many more times I will endure this.
  

Reading the artefact, it all comes flooding back to him piecemeal. Changbin feels the telltale pinch of withheld tears in the back of his throat.

At least JianPing and GuoQiang lived long lives together… As 'friends,' of course. And GuoQiang died first. Of course. Because Changbin can't have anything.

And, ah, it seems Changbin is in fact fucking crying in the library, because his best friend Jisung slings himself in the the seat across and says, "Hey, dude, you okay? What the hell is happening?" Then he glances at the binder in Changbin's lap and, "Oh… Okay, yeah. I see."

He gets up and drags his chair to sit next to Changbin, leaning over and wrapping him in a tight hug before sitting back down.

"Alright, bro, fill me in!" Jisung says.

Changbin's grateful. He knows that there's a few of his past lives that had divulged this—this reincarnation information and had it spat back in their face, or even ridiculed to the point of becoming a pariah. But Jisung himself is a bit of a weirdo and a hobby occultist. He's 'into all that woo-woo shit,' to put it in his own words. He's never once questioned the validity of anything Changbin's thrown at him.

Chris, his other best friend, on the other hand, is a pragmatist through and through. It took taking him on a couple seek-n-find adventures where Changbin accurately predicted both the location and the contents of some artefacts—in a language neither of them spoke, no less—for it to really sink in that, No, Changbin isn't kidding when he says he remembers his past lives and that it fucking sucks.

Changbin snorts miserably. "Yeah, so I died in war, but but my lover didn't and lived. I actually got reincarnated while the lover was still alive, but by the time I found him again, he'd already gotten married and had kids—and I was way younger than him, anyway. Not that it fucking matters, though, because you can't be gay, like, anywhere. They were close friends and neighbors, at least."

"And they were roommates!" Jisung sing-songs. Changbin cuffs him on the shoulder with a watery laugh. Jisung scrunches his nose up. "But seriously, Bin. That's so fucking depressing, bro."

Changbin levels a stare at him. "Jisung. What about this hasn't been depressing?"

"You're right. Have you found your person in this life yet?"

"Dude," Changbin says—it's always the same questions from Jisung. The guy is some kind of boy genius, but his listening comprehension and short-term memory are actually dogshit—sometimes it's as if everything Changbin says goes in one ear and right out the other. "No. I haven't. I promise I will let you know when I do."

"'Kay." Jisung lets it go, popping open his laptop and getting right to his programming assignment, and Changbin wonders how a man can be so smart and so dumb at the same time.

Prince Yongbok & Changbin

They rode for three months, just like Yongbok had predicted. Certainly, their luck had been too good. No one stopped them at inns, no one seemed to recognize the prince, with his face full of stars, nor questioned them about the fact they paid for lodging exclusively in gold. Changbin didn't ask why the money never ran out.

Changbin knew that they were operating on borrowed time. Their pursuer a cat playing with mice, giving them a head-start and the false sense of freedom before pouncing, battering them about for fun before it sank its fangs into their necks. It would be foolish to think they had won simply because they rode fast enough from the kingdom. Changbin was nothing but a fool when it came to Yongbok, though.

It wouldn't matter. Changbin would do whatever Yongbok asked him to until his dying breath. As long as Yongbok lived the life he dreamed of, Changbin would happily die a fool.

Their luck continued on. Weeks, months, years passed by without incident. No knocks on the rough wooden door of their little cabin, no assailants waiting for them in the orchard where they picked fruit and indulgently licked the juices from each other's lips, pressed against sturdy tree trunks. They lived the happy, sunny life Yongbok spoke of all those years ago.

Changbin almost got complacent. He almost stopped waiting for their ill-advised escape to catch up to them, almost stopped watching for danger around the corners. Changbin was a fool.

It was a clear day, the sun smiling down upon them from high in the sky, rays peeking out from between plush clouds. Changbin always loved Yongbok the most under the sunlight—his freckles darkened and cheeks blushed and Changbin would worship the ground he walked on if only it didn't remind Yongbok too much of his princehood.

There was no knock on his door, no assassins waiting to strike, no bounty hunters to steal his Yongbok away.

No.

It was illness.

One day Yongbok glowed under the sunlight that had cursed and forgiven him, and then that very night he withered under the starlight that had blessed him—or vice versa. Changbin had never been entirely sure who had blessed and who had cursed Yongbok.

Yongbok fell ill so quickly. Face pale, breaths labored. A sickly black disease creeping up his veins, visible under his golden speckled skin, starting at his fingertips and travelling insidiously toward his heart. Even his perfect freckles were drab, less a scattered plane of stars on his cheeks than dark splotches marring his face.

Three nights Yongbok lay agonized in their bed, and Changbin could do nothing but watch his prince—his lover—wither away. On the third night, as dusk began to settle, bathing the sky in a molten pink, the blackness crawled in to surround Yongbok's heart. His skin was pale and freckles mottled and blackened.

Changbin had searched every scroll and bound book he could find, but he never wanted to leave Yongbok's side too long lest something tragic occur without him nearby.

Finally, as it seemed Yongbok would not last a day longer, Changbin prayed. And prayed and prayed and prayed. To the Sun, the Moon, the Stars. The Earth, the Ocean, Death itself. His words were a whisper and a plea to any god who would listen.

Someone listened.

The wind whipped cold through their small cabin—far too icy for the warm summer nights. It smelled like seawater.

When Changbin opened their door, a woman who looked like a serpent stood in the threshold.

This is where Changbin—the Changbin of present day—loses the plot. In this life and every one since, he remembers Yongbok, but never the deal he made with the snake. He remembers Yongbok's health returning and living out their days peacefully, though always with the feeling of something pivotal missing from himself—but what?

Present Day

Changbin's in the food court, buying his second lunch of the day, because he plans to spend extra time at the gym today and knows he'll need the energy. He's had a rough afternoon—so sue him. He can afford the lunch.

Someone comes barrelling around the corner, knocking the tray out of his hands and the food all over the front of his new shirt. He really doesn't feel up to dealing with any of this shit—that letter from Wan(JianPing?) really put him in a mood. It was one of his more tragic lives, it seems, and all he really wants to do is go brainless at the gym for four hours, not console some stranger who is blubbering at his feet in a wet puddle of soup. He doesn't even have a chance to get angry before a shock of white-blonde hair and and a buttery, deep voice—trembling and close to tears—pulls him out of his head.

"I'm so sorry," the person sobs on the ground—he's crumpled into a little pile, drowning in his oversized, baby-blue sweater, which is also covered in kimchijjigae now. "I'm so late for class but my bicycle got a flat and I got locked out of my apartment this morning and I know it was stupid to run in the cafeteria and I've probably ruined your clothes and they look like they're super nice and now you're gonna be late too and—"

It's got him wanting to apologize to the guy, even though Changbin's the one with the lunch he paid for splattered all over his Valentino button-down. "Whoa, hey, breathe," he interrupts, kneeling next to this hot mess of a person.

Instead of breathing, the person wails. This is not what Changbin wanted to be doing, but with a resigned sigh, he decides that is what he will be doing, whether or not he wants to. He's done with classes for the day, anyway.

"What's—Is there anything I can do?" he asks, trying to keep his voice level.

"I'm so sorry," the person says again. "I—I'll pay for your dry cleaning, just give me some time to come up with the money. I shouldn't have been running around campus like a child, I'm so fucking stupid—"

"Hey—no," Changbin interrupts again. "You're not stupid. I'm sorry. Don't worry about the shirt—it'll be fine." It won't be—the shirt is a nice eggshell cream color, and kimchijjigae stains. But the poor guy doesn't need to hear that, so Changbin keeps his mouth shut. He can just buy a new shirt. It'll be fine.

"What? Why are you sorry?" the person asks, distressed. For the first time since Changbin crouched beside him, he looks up to stare Changbin miserably in the eyes.

Changbin's heart stops.

A heart-shaped face, constellations spattered across the sharp cheekbones. Big brown eyes, wide with surprise and a sense of vague, unplaceable recognition that surely confuses the poor boy—it always confuses them, that they feel like they know Changbin.

A hundred names flip through Changbin's mind. Ruo-er, William, GuoQiang, Elise, Hector, Vic—

"Yongbok."

The guy stops crying—just stops dead short, not even a hiccup from his lips, half-parted in surprise.

"… I go by Felix…" he whispers, and it seems the confusion has overtaken the mortification and panic. It's a start, Changbin thinks.

"Felix," Changbin whispers back, and the name coats his tongue like warm honey, slides sweet down his throat and gums up his lungs until he cannot exhale without tasting it in the air he breathes out. It feels right. It suits him.

"I—" Felix starts, scrambling around, flailing in his gigantic, soggy sweater and slipping around in the cold soup as he stands in a rush. "I'm so sorry—I really am so late. I'm gonna miss this class and if I miss this class I'll fail! I'm so sorry! I promise I'll find you—I'll pay for your ruining your clothes."

He bolts off just as fast as he came crashing in—he clearly has not learned his lesson not to slam through campus like a bat out of hell. Changbin can't find it in himself to be mad.

He also no longer really wants to go to the gym for an excessive amount of time—it's just as well, since his extra calories are splattered on the floor where he crouches.

Numbly, Changbin fishes out his phone and pulls up his message thread with Jisung.

PUNK-ASS SQUIRREL

Found him.
Read 15:42

no way. who????
Received 15:42

Something foreign. Pilikseu? Didn't get a last name…
Read 15:43

He's blonde and tiny and has freckles
Read 15:43

omg wait i know that guy!!! Felix. he's in hwang hyunjin's dance program.
Received 15:43

Give me Hyunjin's number
Read 15:43

bro, i can't just go giving out people's numbers. i barely know hyunjin. we had ONE group project together. think he's friends with seungmin tho…
Received 15:43

Come on man, PLEASE
Read 15:44

okay, fine. let me see if hyunjin is cool with that
Received 15:44

Thank you SO MUCH. I owe you.
Read 15:44

i get to skip one gym sesh whenever i want to, and you buy me dinner.
Received 15:44

i want meat
Received 15:44

deal.
Read 15:45

Chapter Text

Will & Joseph, England, 1822

"Get that filthy street rat out of our garbage!" his mother shouted.

Changbin froze in place.

"Oh, useless child!" his mother crowed at him. "Fine, then, Joseph, I'll do it myself!"

She took it upon herself to get the deed done, brandishing a broom like a weapon as she crashed into the alleyway. "Be gone, you little urchin!" she screeched.

The kid digging through their trash scrambled away with rotten food in his hands, fleeing before she could catch him with the broom. She meant business—it wasn't the bristles she would have hit him with.

Changbin didn't know what to do. He tucked a small portion of grain and vegetables—the ones that were bound for the garbage anyway—into a square of scrap linen and tied it up into a bundle, shoving it under his tunic and hoping he could catch up with the kid. Will—that was Felix's name this life.

He snuck out the front door while his mother was still in the alley and tore through the streets searching for his friend. Friend? Maybe. Perhaps "peer he sometimes sneaks food to when his mother isn't looking and sometimes stares at a little too long but no one needs to know that" was a more apt descriptor. Didn't flow of the tongue as well, though.

After stampeding over the loose cobblestone for a handful of minutes, he came across the boy—Will. He doesn't remember when they exchanged names in this life, only that he—Joseph—learned it and never stopped rolling it around on his tongue like the sweetest hard candy or finest wine.

Will was perched atop a sack of grain out back of someone else's humble home, in yet another alley, though he wasn't digging through their garbage. He was dutifully plucking out the worst parts of the food and tossing them down to eat whatever he deemed safe enough.

"Will!" he whisper-shouted, and he watched the boy's pretty brown hair flop about his face, tips only just brushing the freckles on his cheeks.

Will's big brown eyes widened and he stretched his mouth into a face-splitting smile. "Joseph! Hello, come sit!" He waved around his moldy pear in invitation.

Changbin sat—of course he did. They barely knew each other, only sharing names and faces, but from the moment Changbin had laid eyes on him, he felt a sense of overwhelming familiarity. He couldn't have said why, but he simply knew they had to become friends.

Shyly, Changbin proffered the wrapped bundle of food, and somehow Will's grin spread even wider. He turned those brown eyes on him, and they were filled with something close to adoration. Changbin felt his face heat up, and he realized he was no better than his big sister—whom he teased relentlessly—in the face of a pretty boy.

"Um," said Will. "Care to sit and eat with me? Or—Well. I don't presume that you would eat what I eat. I only mean—"

"Yes, of course," Changbin interrupted. "And I'll eat what you eat. It would be a little shameful for me to offer you something even I would not touch." He scratched at the nape of his neck. "It… It isn't much, I will tell you now. I can't bring you our freshest, but I swear to you, I would eat this myself!"

Will giggled, and Changbin thought he might sink into the sack of grain like a puddle. "No need to swear it, Joseph. I believed you." He broke off a piece of stale bread and handed it over.

Changbin munched on it alongside him, and perhaps they sat a little too close together. They were sharing a single grain sack, so of course they sat with shoulders and legs pressed against one another—no one need mention it.

Present Day

Changbin swears he sees Felix again. The campus isn't that big. And yet, when he arrives at the courtyard, Felix is nowhere to be seen, and he would know—that mop of white-blonde hair is nearly impossible to miss.

He curses under his breath. He's certain—Felix is him. Even catching a glimpse of him is enough to bring lifetimes, a hundred iterations of those same brown eyes, that same spattering of color on his cheeks, hurtling into his memory. Not to mention the all-encompassing pull he feels, now that they have met—it tugs at his bones, a compass pointing to the only star in his sky, a rope to lead him out of the dark cave. He remembers this feeling from every lifetime before.

Well, whatever. He's bound to cross paths with Felix again. If not from his own desperate searching, from fate, always entwining them, pushing them together in every life one way or another. He only hopes that this time, it's the last time he remembers it. Something tells him that breaking his curse—it's this lifetime or bust. If he can't figure it out this time around, he just knows he'll be doomed to this song and dance until the world collapses.

So what if Changbin's friends thought he was losing it? He wasn't a creep just for asking around on campus about Felix.

"You're being weird, Binnie," Minho says, plucking another piece of gimbap out of his lunch. Little thief. He should be stealing from Jisung, but the man would rather eat his own arm than deprive that punk-ass squirrel of a single bite.

"You're always weird, Minho," Changbin grumbles back, snatching one of Minho's vegetables.

"Exactly—but you are usually dreadfully, painfully boring. So what's up?"

"It's Felix!" Jisung supplies helpfully around a mouthful of food.

"What's Felix?" Minho asks. "And chew before you talk, baby."

"Felix is someone I would like to meet, and soon, preferably. Sung is supposed to get me his number from Hwang Hyunjin."

"Oh, wait—Yongbok?" Minho says. "Lee Yongbok?"

"Yes!" Changbin shouts, leaping up from his seat and nearly overturning the table. "Do you know him?"

"He's a couple years below me, but I tutored him last semester—well, I more proofread his papers, because his written Korean is abysmal."

"Oh, I didn't know you knew him, too," Jisung says, still talking with his mouth full. "Nice."

"Can you introduce me? Please, hyung!" Changbin begs.

"Sit down, you dog," Minho says. "Why should I do that? He's a sweet kid, and you're being very weird right now. It kind of feels like you're gonna take him out to the woods and skin him or something. That's more my speed, Seo."

Changbin wants to slam his head onto the lunch table. Of course Minho can't make this easy.

"You wouldn't even believe me if I told you," Changbin groans.

"You're not helping your case."

Jisung turns his big eyes to Minho, pleading. "No, really, it'd probably be more believable if he actually was gonna go wear Felix's skin like a suit. It's what I was telling you, hyung! Changbinnie-hyung has met Felix in a past life, and now we gotta help them fall in love or something so he can break this curse."

Minho cocks an eyebrow. "I'll be honest, Sungie, I thought you were talking about an anime I hadn't seen. I didn't realize you were talking about Changbin…"

"Please," Changbin says. "I don't know what else to do."

"Don't be pathetic," Minho scoffs. "Besides, do you even know if falling in love is going to fix this… curse?"

Changbin shakes his head. "I never said that part. That's just Jisung Jisung-ing all over it. I don't know how to fix this curse. I figured I'd work that bit out with Yongbok once we met and I could explain everything."

"Did that ever work in any of your past lives?" Minho asks, skeptical.

"Uh…"

"Can't promise he has the same phone number still," he mentions. Minho leans over the table and swipes Changbin's phone, unlocking it and tapping in Yongbok's number from where he has his contacts pulled up on his own phone.

"How do you know my password?!"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, Seo Changbin."

Will & Joseph

"It feels as if I have known you my whole life," Will said, snacking on some bread and cheese.

"We've known each other for practically our whole lives," Changbin responded. "It only makes sense."

"That's not what I mean," he replied. Changbin accepted the chunk of stale bread Will ripped off and held out to him. "I suppose I meant I feel as if I have known you more than my whole life. Lifetimes over. You are a part of me, I think. Something more eternal than my whole life."

Changbin blinked slowly. How much was appropriate to reveal? He and Will had managed to remain together for nearly three decades, bachelors for far longer than appropriate. The burns he'd acquired in an accident with the ovens, and Will's… faerie-like disposition and job history had kept most eligible maidens at bay, and that was just as well. Changbin had even managed to employ Will at his family's bakery after he'd inherited it when his parents passed away. A convenient excuse to share his home with William, with—well, not no questions asked, but very few questions asked.

"Would you believe me," Changbin mused, "if I said you were correct?"

Will smiled brightly at him. All the years had not dulled his shine—it was as if the sun itself beamed from inside the man. All the years, all the time apart, all the disfigurement that marred Changbin's skin when they finally met again had not stopped him from looking at Changbin as if he had hung the moon.

"How would I be correct?"

"Don't you ever wonder how I found you again?" Changbin asked.

"I just… assumed you asked after me. I felt a pull as you sought me. It felt as if God himself led me to you."

"I felt this, too. But there's more to it. I know it's… blasphemous, but will you hear me out?"

Will leans into Changbin's side, glancing out the windows to the dusky sky, ensuring there were no latecomers who wanted any bread. "I would listen to anything you have to say. You know that God doesn't… favor… those like us." He planted a gentle kiss to the side of Changbin's face, pressing love into the scarred skin below his eye.

"When I lost you, all those years ago… I began to dream of you—but it was not you, William. It was a you of a past life. I had dream after dream. Something called to me to seek a library—a past life of my own, I suppose. But I dreamt of a hundred variations of you and I—always you and I."

"Neither of us can read well, Joseph," said William, not disbelieving, just confused.

Changbin laughed. "And that's the thing that led me to believe these dreams as memories, not some sort of illness or portent. I called upon my sister—her husband is a scholar. He brought me to the library that led me to the archives of a poet."

"Where is this story headed, Joseph?" Will asked, chuckling. "This tale feels like ambling down a winding garden path."

"We will arrive at our destination! Don't be impatient," Changbin said. "To shorten the story, at the library was a poem, translated into English in a compendium of world poetry. I and my brother-in-law looked for the remaining works of the poet, which was held in its entirety by a within a scholar's personal collection. Said scholar happened to be a man my brother-in-law attended school with. The poems were written in a language neither of us spoke, but his scholar friend studied the language.

"All of the poems, every single one—they were written about you. Or rather, whoever you were when I was a foreign poet."

"Wait a moment, Joseph, you mean to say…"

"I mean to say that I was once this poet, and I wrote odes to you, or a you who lived long ago and far away, and I also kept diaries, letters, songs and sonnets. All dedicated to you."

"And what does this have to do with finding me at a brothel in another city, ten years after we parted ways?"

Changbin squeezed Will around the middle, eliciting the laugh he loved so much.

"I wish I could show you, but alas, I cannot read the language, and worked only off of what this scholar friend told me. However, the poet—me—he discovered that once we met, we could find each other again. In every life, it was true. In this life it was true. He said that he, and many previous lives, had followed the draw in their heart, and every time it led him to his lover. He said that he had perfected the method—knowing whom to ask and what places to look. He wrote about prayer, divination, and instinct guiding him to his muse. I took this advice and found you."

"This cannot be true," Will said, but his eyes were alight with wonder. "You simply—asked the right people and prayed the right prayers?"

Changbin nodded. "And I found you. It was years of searching, but as long as I turned inward, prayed skyward, my feet took me to you."

"You're a madman."

"Perhaps. But this madman has been mad in every life he has lived, and each time his madness led him to you. This love is divine—I cannot believe otherwise. Only God could have bound us like this."

Will laughed and slung his arms around Changbin's neck.

Changbin looked into his eyes, clear and brown and the same shining pools they were in every incarnation. "Do you know, sweet Will, that I will find you again in our next life? I will ask all the right people, I will follow all the right paths. Nothing could keep us apart."

Will kissed his nose. "Don't worry about that, Joseph. You have me now."

Changbin gave a kiss to Will's nose in return. "No one knows this but us—and the scholar—but the poem from the compendium in the library… It was not the poet's words."

"Is that so?"

"No, he only wrote the words in his own language, but it was a song from a past life. A song a past me sang to a past you."

"Do you know it?"

"I do. I could not tell you how I know, but the melody is printed into my soul. I saw the words and knew I had written them—sung them—once upon a time. For some reason, I can only recall the melody—the words I know by feeling, but I could only sing it in English. Isn't that so strange?"

"Sing it to me, then," Will said.

Changbin smiled, drew a deep breath, and sang.

"Listening to your stories has become my hobby
Feels like the shortest time of the day
I want to listen to all your worries
Let me share your load
So you can break free from the heavy burden
You’ve been carrying
Y ou can lean on me until your cloud of worries disappear
From your clear eyes
What’s giving you
Such a hard time
I speak truly, I’d rather hurt instead of you
Seeing you smile makes me happy
Though you look most beautiful when you smile
When you want to cry, do not force a smile
Your eyes, filled with happiness,
Are water that will spill even with the slightest jolt
For this, I am more cautious
I worry for you, because I like you
Because I just like you
For no other reason,
I like you
When I look at you smile
There’s nothing more I could ask for
Because I just like you"

Present Day

One of the hardest parts of remembering when his lover does not is that there is always pieces of them that remain. Changbin knows that, logically, every incarnation is a different person. They aren't just continuations of their past selves, only fragments—souls—that carry on through the ages. But every time he meets his lover in a life, it is blow after blow—a hundred losses hidden in the face of a familiar stranger.

It was jarring to realize that the reincarnations weren't chronological. It didn't happen often, he recalls, but occasionally one of his past lives would get a glimpse of a future one. How could a man in 1530 "remember" living a life in 1994… Though he doesn't remember every life each time he is born anew, the imprints of them all remain. His soul is a patchwork composite of a hundred lovelorn men. It is heavy, and it is lonely.

This is why, when he runs into Felix again—completely organically, since he had only just gotten enough free time to send a message—he blurts out, "Felix! Do you want to get chocolate scones?" He knows—though he shouldn't—that Felix has a sweet tooth that would make a dentist sob. He knows that Hector—a previous Felix—adored chocolate scones, that Hector was only introduced to chocolate scones because his Changbin knew the others before loved them…

Felix's eyes grow wide and he blinks rapidly a few times. "I—Yes? How did you know I love those?"

Changbin huffs—he's really set himself up for failure here. Were all of his past lives as dumb as he is this go-round? Did they all word vomit Felix's past lives out loud like this? He doesn't think so—he feels like he'd remember it…

"Uh… Good guess?" he says sheepishly.

"I don't buy it, but maybe if you buy me a chocolate scone, I'll let you try again," Felix says with a glimmer in his eye. It should sound cheeky, but coming from him it's endearing.

Changbin smiles, and it's easy—easier than it should be after embarrassing himself every time he runs into Felix. Then again, everything to do with Felix feels easy, and it only makes sense, he supposes. "Yeah, let's do that. There's a cafe about ten minutes from here that has desserts to die for."

Felix smiles at him. "I'm off class at four. Pick me up from the quad?"

"Quad at four. You got it," Changbin answers.

Felix nods decisively. "Then it's a date."

A date?!

He shouldn't feel surprised by that—isn't that the whole goal? A date with Felix? But still, his heart flutters and a blush creeps up to his ears.

"A date. See you then, Felix."

Felix smiles sweetly and bounds away to his next class. Changbin is dumbstruck by just how deeply he already loves this man. He can't afford to scare him off, but holding back is so hard, especially now that they have a date scheduled.

He rings up Minho, because he doesn't know what else to do.

"Hyung," he breathes into the phone.

"You'd better be calling for something good, Seo Changbin. I'm out with Jisungie."

"Tell me everything you know about Yongbok."

"No."

"No? Please, hyung, I just ran into him and we're going to the cafe in a few hours. I can't make more of a fool of myself."

"That's not my problem."

"Hyung! Please!"

Minho snorts at the end of the line.

Fine. If that's how he's going to play it, Changbin can play dirty, too. He hangs up and immediately dials Jisung.

"Sungie," he says, "it's urgent—don't let Minho-hyung hang up your phone."

"Is it about Yongbok?"

"Yes! Please tell Minho-hyung not to ruin this for me—this is so much more important than some little date."

"I got you, hyung," Jisung says. "Besides, I still want that meat you owe me, and since Minho-hyung gave you Yongbok's number instead of Hyunjin, I gotta do some other sort of favor."

"I will buy you kilos of whatever fucking meat you want, Jisung, just please help me."

"I'll take care of it."

Changbin sighs. Leave it to Jisung to weasel him out of a dinner at any given opportunity. But he can't be so mad when his phone starts pinging with messages from Minho, all of them presumably tidbits about Yongbok that will help Changbin win him over.

Chapter Text

Vic & Marshall, United States of America, 1982

Changbin dug frantically around the shop. It had to be here. He'd dreamt about it. He knew it would be here—he could just feel it in his bones.

"Sir, this is a pawn shop. Are you trying to look for something specific?" the clerk said. Her ridiculous beehive hair wobbled as she shook her head disapprovingly at him pawing through the stacks of junk to find his very specific piece of junk.

"Have you gotten a—a leatherbound journal? It's about this big—" He mimed a rectangle with his fingers. "—and it's engraved or stamped or whatever. The letters HL."

The clerk paused and scrutinized him for a long, silent while. "We… did…"

"You did?!"

"What the hell? Is it yours? It—It can't be. It's nearly forty years old. And it's full of nonsense. Are you some sort of occultist?"

"No—No!" Changbin floundered. Would she refuse to sell it to him if she thought he was some devil-worshipper? "It's my—uncle. It's my great-uncle's. He passed away and—you know how it goes. Some family member or another decides to just—auction off the whole estate! Doesn't even ask a one of us if we wanted anything. Caused a whole stink in my family."

The clerk nodded sympathetically. "Oh, I see. Yeah, I do know how it goes. My witch of a cousin Linda did the same thing with my granny's stuff. Let me go see if I can find that journal. We didn't put it out because my nephew—he's our resident expert—wasn't sure if it was worth anything. He said he felt like it was special, but you know how kids are. You are one!"

Changbin wasn't a kid, he was twenty-seven, but nonetheless… He let a breath of relief sweep the tension out of his shoulders as she turned to grab the journal.

Whichever version of him was this "Hector Lee"'s lover had done extensive research on reincarnation, collected it into this journal alongside decades of art and lyrics and prose and letters—all dedicated to the same freckle-faced angel over the course of lifetimes.

The clerk came back with a grin, leather journal grasped in her manicured hands, waving it over her head like some prize.

He smiled widely back at her. "Oh, you're a lifesaver! How much for this?"

She smiled at him and waved her hand. "No, no. That belongs to you, honey. I won't charge you for it, since it came to be here through some unscrupulous means."

Changbin clutched it tightly to his chest. "Thank you so, so much," he said.

"Auntie Jane!" a voice called from the back.

"Now you come out here instead of just yelling across the store at me, young man!" she yelled across the store.

A slight, waifish man popped his head out of the back room, brown hair tied up low at the nape of his neck, some big, round glasses on perched on a pretty button nose. "Are you giving that book away?"

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him. "Yes, I am. That journal belongs to this young man here. You can't keep it and there's no more need to appraise it."

"It's not worth any money," he said quickly.

"Regardless—"

"It's worth knowledge."

"You still can't keep it, Vic," she said sternly. "End of discussion."

The man—Vic—turned to Changbin instead. "That journal's all yours, sir. But please—can I look at it one last time? It's so—It's so interesting. There's just something about it. I wish I'd had more time to study it."

"You don't have to say yes," Auntie Jane said.

Changbin gaped at the man like a fish. He was sure he looked stupid, but he couldn't help it. Yongbok. His own Yongbok from this life. Vic. He nearly melted to the ground. He'd only come for the journal, and now his… soulmate was here.

Honestly, he hadn't been sure if he'd ever meet his Yongbok—the most recent incarnation had lived and died never meeting the man, only crossing paths once and never again. The guy had spent his whole life dedicated to creating all kinds of art—music, paintings, poetry, film—for his muse in the hopes he would see it one day. As far as Changbin could recall, the man never did.

"Yes," Changbin replied quickly.

Vic smiled widely and Changbin thought he'd pass away on the spot. His memories of past lives were fairly clear, but nothing compared to the actual experience of meeting him in real life.

"Really? Thank you so much!" Vic said, bouncing over to hug Changbin—weird, but welcome. Changbin hadn't grown up in a touchy family, but from the little he'd seen of Auntie Jane and Vic, these were people who were full of love to give and lacking in fear to give it.

Changbin smiled, returning the surprise hug. "I'm happy to help you study this, if you'll help me decipher it. I'm more happy to see you again, though."

Vic blushed, sweet and pink behind his spattering of freckles. "Okay."

"I'm Marshall."

"Vic. But I guess you know that already."

Changbin shrugged. "Nice to hear it straight from the horse's pretty mouth, huh? Anyway, I'll see you again soon?"

Vic nodded excitedly. "Will Saturday work?"

Changbin tucked the journal into his jacket's inner pocket. Vic still had one small, warm hand on Changbin's shoulder. "Saturday works. Shall I pick you up from here?"

"Sure! I'm done working at four."

"Can you ride a motorcycle?"

Vic's eyes got wide, fear and excitement glistening in his irises. "Only if you're driving," he giggled.

Changbin smiled. "Saturday at four, then."

Present Day

In Minho's "Lee Felix Yongbok dossier" texts, Changbin has learned that Felix loves caffeine but hates coffee; he enjoys pets, children, and the environment; he has two sisters and parents in Australia—where he's from—and he is chronically airheaded. He also wants to dance professionally, but is in school double-majoring in dance performance and arts management. He likes the beach and the summertime. He thinks Christmas should be in the summer everywhere, even if that means making Christmas in June for the entire northern hemisphere. His Korean is very good now, but sometimes he lacks vocab, and he gets embarrassed about that, so Changbin should help him gently but not make a big deal of it. He likes sweets a lot, but he also likes to stay healthy by eating cleanly—both for his dance career, and so he can eat a lot of sweets.

Changbin hopes the information is good enough.

He arrives at the quad fifteen minutes early. He's already made some less-than-savory first and second impressions, so he hopes that punctuality is something Felix values.

It is not.

Felix shows up ten minutes late, huffing and puffing and—once again—running at full speed across campus.

"I'm so sorry, Changbin!" he shouts across the lawn. He slumps onto the bench beside Changbin and slams his bookbag to the ground. God, Changbin hopes there's no laptop in there. "I got out of my last lecture late because my professor held me back. I guess—" He grunts miserably. "—I've been late too many times, and it'll lower my grades enough to fail the class unless I do some sort of extra credit."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Changbin says. "Don't worry about being late. I'm just happy you're here!" Was that weird? Is Changbin being weird? God, how did any of his past lives do this!

"Aw, you're sweet. Are we still good to go to the cafe?" Felix asks timidly. As if Changbin would ever turn him down.

"Absolutely!" he says, and scoops both his own and Felix's bag off the ground.

"You don't need to carry my bag!" Felix exclaims, scrambling to grab it, but Changbin holds it away from his reach.

"I insist. What else do I work out for but to carry a pretty boy's bag?" He worries it's cheesy, but if his past lives have anything to say about it, Yongbok is historically a sucker for cheesy.

Felix blushes and smiles so brightly Changbin thinks the sun should just retire early. He nods and allows Changbin to sling his bag over a muscular shoulder. They set off, but not before Felix appreciatively—and boldly—runs his hand over Changbin's bicep, squeezing a little and offering an excited little, "Oooh!"

Now it's Changbin's turn to blush, but he hopes Felix doesn't see anything as he leads them in the direction of the coffee shop.

It's bustling—many students are off classes around this time—but not crowded. Changbin figures it's as good a place as any, but he has a gut feeling the sweets here will help win Felix over.

"Order whatever you want," Changbin says as they approach the counter. Felix is already peering intently at the desserts.

"I…" Felix starts. He's clearly fighting with himself—Changbin figures his impulsive desire to buy more sweets than he can feasibly eat is warring with his need to be polite.

"I mean it, Felix. Get whatever you want," Changbin says earnestly. When Felix still hesitates, he tacks on, "Whatever you don't eat, I'll eat. Or we can take them home."

That seems to settle Felix enough, so he leans over to Changbin and speaks directly to him, rather than the employee at the counter. "Can we get the chocolate scone, and a blueberry scone, and one of the big cookies with all the stuff in it? And… a hot chocolate?"

Changbin smiles, relaying the order. "And an iced Americano." He pauses a second and says quickly, "Oh—And a lemon bar." He'd seen Felix eyeing it. He could practically hear Felix talking himself out of it. And Changbin is nothing if not a giver.

Vic & Marshall

Changbin rolled up to the pawn shop on his bike at four on the dot. Vic was already waiting for him, sitting on the front steps with his knees tucked to his chest.

He looked up in excitement as Changbin kicked out the stand and took his helmet off.

"Marshall!" he said, hopping up and heading straight toward Changbin. "Your bike is so cool!"

"Hah, thanks," Changbin said. He fiddled with the straps on his saddlebag and pulled out a spare helmet. "This is for you."

"You're so sweet," Vic said, placing his hand on Changbin's bicep appreciatively.

"Okay, so I'll get on first. Watch how I do it, and then you get on behind me. I won't let you tip it over."

Changbin hopped on, placing his feet steady on the ground, motioning for Vic to follow suit. Vic gingerly settled on, and Changbin could tell he was hesitant.

"Wrap your arms around me like this," he said, reaching behind himself and grabbing Vic's hands, bringing them around and linking them at his solar plexus. "And just move how I move. When we take turns, lean with me. If you hold on tight and just follow my body, we'll have a great time."

Vic giggled, and Changbin thought he could really get used to the sound. "I think I'd have a great time with you no matter what we do."

It turned out that Vic was a real natural. He moved on the bike like he was born to ride it. Maybe Changbin could teach him to ride by himself…

"Well, we're here. This is my house."

He and Vic hopped off the bike and strode inside.

"Sorry, it's a bachelor's paradise in here…" Changbin said apologetically. He liked to keep a clean home, but he knew that it looked pretty barren.

Every time his mother came to visit, she mentioned how drab and spartan his house was. 'How will you ever find a wife when you keep your home like this?' she'd say. 'Guess she'll get to choose all the decorations, then…' he'd respond, and his mother would just shake her head fondly.

What a joke.

"Well, you are a bachelor," Vic said happily. "… Aren't you?"

Changbin chuckled grimly. "Now and forever," he muttered.

"What do you—oh," said Vic. "I… Me, too."

Changbin bit back the urge to say, 'I know.' He couldn't very well explain that away, could he? Well… Perhaps if Vic was as adept at researching antiques as he supposedly was, and provided he wasn't opposed to the idea of the… fantastical…

"Sorry to hear that," Changbin replied.

"Oh, I'm not! Not when I get to spend time with you because of it. If… That's why we're here, right?" Vic said, a little unsure. Changbin couldn't have that, now. Vic needed to know how deeply Changbin wanted him around—he just hadn't wanted to scare him off in case he'd been wrong. Not that any of his or Yongbok's past selves had had incompatible sexualities, but he was never going to write off that possibility. And… it never hurt to be careful in this day and age. The world looked so unkindly upon people like them.

"Yeah, Vic, that's why we're here. I want to spend time with you, however you'll have me."

Vic positively beamed. "Great! I mean, permanent bachelor status is actually what got me working at my auntie's pawn shop—my mom and dad don't, um, associate with me anymore. You know how it is… To them, people like us are just—AIDS on legs. But I love my auntie. She's so, so supportive."

"I'm sorry to hear that. My mom still talks to me, but that's probably conditional, seeing as she doesn't know…"

Vic's heart-shaped mouth turned down into a small frown. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so negative. Anyway—" He clapped his hands together. "—What about that journal?"

Changbin nodded. "Yes, so… It's a little unusual… Would you believe me if I said it wasn't my uncle's?"

"I figured it wasn't. When I was reading through it, it seemed a little more… eccentric than a normal journal. And you were really adamant about having it, so I figured it was something special."

"It is."

"Well, I'm not a skeptic. Lay it on me."

So Changbin did. Over tea and coffee, they pored over the journal, parsing out every page, Changbin explaining along the way every memory that got triggered and Vic soaking it all up like an eager sponge.

Present Day

Changbin pays and they find their seats, a small table in the back. It's got a little privacy, cordoned off by some large potted plants. Felix is rubbing the giant leaves between his fingers and smiling. "They're real!" He's so cute Changbin thinks he might combust.

"So, what's the extra credit assignment?" Changbin asks. "Maybe I can help."

Felix sighs. "It's for my Advanced Art Preservation Techniques class. If I can find an antique—so long as the owner signs off on it, or I purchase it myself—I work with the professor during office hours to practice restoration techniques. It can be a piece of written or painted media, a moderately-sized non-mechanical object, or a clothing item, and it must still be in good enough condition to be salvageable."

"That's really cool! And you'll have the professor's help?"

"Yes, but his office hours—I'm going to have so much trouble making them. They're at an awful time for my schedule. He only has office hours twice a week, and they end like an hour after I get off work."

"Well that's still a decent amount of time, right?" Changbin asks. He thinks an hour, twice a week, seems fairly reasonable, all things considered.

"Well—turns out my bike didn't just have a flat, it's broken and needs repaired!" Felix all but slams his head on the table, groaning deeply. Changbin is once again slightly surprised by the depth of his voice—such an unexpected treat in light of his delicate face and frame. "And I work off campus… So if I take the bus in, they're basically over right after I arrive!"

The waitress comes by with a tray in hand and begins unloading their small feast. Felix has to peel himself off the chipping epoxy, and his forehead has a little red mark from the pressure of his head. All the food they ordered barely fits on the table.

"Oh, that is a difficult spot. I'm sorry about your bike, too," Changbin says. Problem-solver that he is, he's already mulling over some possible solutions while he picks at one of the desserts.

Felix nods vigorously, his wispy hair flying around his face. "Okay, but the biggest problem is—How am I supposed to find someone who will let some college kid just take their antique and try to fix it up? I can't really afford any antique that would satisfy the requirements, and I don't know if I can swing it as a write-off through my scholarship. Even if I could, I can't make a purchase that big and wait weeks for them to reimburse me if they possibly consider it a class expense."

The metaphorical lightbulb flickers on over Changbin's head. "I can help!" he says, excitedly slapping his hand on the table. It rattles the plates and makes Felix jump. "Shit—sorry!"

Felix giggles. "It's fine. Just startled me. How can you help?" He eyes the chocolate scone for a moment before tearing off a huge chunk and shoving it in his mouth whole.

"Well, I can kind of fix a bicycle. I'm not like, a certified bike mechanic but I'm pretty good with a tool set. It'll just take a while. But I'll do it for free in my spare time. More importantly, though, I have a car. I can just grab you from work and drive you straight to office hours."

"Mmmrmph," Felix manages. There's a speck of scone on his pouty bottom lip.

"I—did not understand a single word you just said."

Felix chews aggressively at the remaining scone, swallowing loudly, and says, "No way!"

"No way?"

"I can't ask you to do that!" Felix exclaims. "I already owe you for ruining your nice shirt. And it doesn't solve the problem of where to even acquire a suitable antique."

"Well, first of all, fuck that shirt. I have other shirts. Second, I don't mind! I don't really, um… need to work, so after my classes end, I'm pretty free. Anything personal I have going on can be moved around—I have no standing appointments. And to the last point, I think I might have an antique. If you wanna come take a look and tell me if you think it'll satisfy the requirements, I'm more than happy to sign off on it for you to use.

"Besides, if you actually can restore it, you're saving me the money I would have spent anyway to pay a professional. That's gotta be worth way more than my dry cleaning." He's not certain how the cost of antique restorations compare to Valentino button-downs, but that's neither here nor there. "If it gets ruined, well—it wasn't super usable in the first place, so no harm no foul. You'd be helping me out immensely. If this gets restored, it will really make other parts of my life way easier."

Felix has taken a much more reasonably sized bite, and he nods slowly. Changbin senses the same hesitation from him as when they were ordering their food. He huffs out a sigh.

"I guess, if you say it really will help you. I can look at it. What is it?"

"It's a painting on cloth. It rolls up like a scroll. My apartment is a couple bus stops away. Do you have time this evening?"

A shy, hopeful look crosses Felix's face. Changbin resists the urge to kiss his face, where the corners of his big, brown eyes crinkle in a small smile.

"I do."

"Then we'll finish up here, and head over."

They don't manage to finish the big cookie or the blueberry scone—though the drinks are long gone—and they pack up the leftovers to carry on the bus.

Chapter Text

Elise & Katharina, Germany, 1798

Changbin laid prone on the floor in front of the fire, a long scroll unrolled before him—her. He was a woman in this life.

She was supposed to be consolidating all her findings into a painting, so that if anyone were to find it they wouldn't call her a fool or a devil-worshiper for believing in the divine. Instead, she was staring at a blank stretch of cloth and shoving apple slices into her mouth like she was dying of starvation.

How on earth was she supposed to translate divination instructions into a painting? She was an artist, not a cryptologist! She wished Elise were there to help—she always knew how to solve puzzles.

Oh, the hubris of youth. They'd been foolish. Brazen. At sixteen years old, it felt like nothing could ever take them down, and how wrong they'd been.

She fought the urge to curl up and cry. It was her own fault Elise wasn't there. If she hadn't been so determined to uncover their past lives, Elise would have never been researching witchcraft, would never have been caught by her brother, never been married off by their father.

The only reason she was now attempting to immortalize the instructions was because Elise felt certain it would be helpful to future selves, but it was impossible to safely record and store them for some indefinite amount of time. It wasn't as if every incarnation was local—Changbin remembered lives from all across the globe, some even from times that hadn't happened yet.

Changbin wondered if she should just try the ritual one more time. She should try it first, and then she should paint it. That way she could feel certain that when she put her brush to linen, it would be foolproof. She could only just hope that any future incarnation would get whatever she was trying to convey.

She ruminated on it a little more, retrieving her notes from their bindings beside her. As she pored over the scattered thoughts and innumerable asides scribbled in the margins, she came across some that Elise must have added:

Changbin sighed. Well. Seems she wasn't going to get the chance to try before she needed to paint the scroll. She wasn't going to get the chance for a lot of things. The chance to steal away with Elise, to live as spinsters by each others side, to cook and clean and share a home. She would not get the chance to grow old together, gossiping about the townspeople and sneaking candies to the neighbor children.

Angrily, she crunched a page in her hand and lobbed it toward the fireplace. It caught air and whipped around, floating gently back to the floor.

With a sigh, she ate the last apple slice, and then there were no more excuses not to begin painting. She dragged herself off the floor, grabbing the long canvas and clipping it onto her easel.

Morosely, she meted out paints onto her palette. Slowly, painstakingly, she dipped a brush into the solvent, mixing hues for the guide and underlayer. Every stroke she put down, she coupled with a thought her heart ached to share with Elise.

A light grey and featherlight touch to fix the main elements in place. "I hope you can feel the love I have for you. In this life, the one before, and every one after. I think every day of you."

Shades of desaturated blue to begin fleshing out the depth. "I haven't married. There is still some foolish part of me that hopes one day we will meet again under better circumstance."

For the next colors, she mixed, mixed, and mixed it again—it needed to do Elise's pink cheeks and radiant skin the utmost justice, but all she had to work with were years-old memories. She landed on a creamy peach. "I have found a happy enough existence. A kind baron—he's of our… inclination. He is my patron and my friend. I paint for him, and he keeps all my artwork in his personal collection."

There were elements of the ritual that required an offering of the body—hair would do. She carefully swirled together paints until the soft color on her palette echoed Elise's flaxen hair. "I took the job. It pays, and it affords me a life as a single woman I would never have had otherwise. The baron was so generous to take a woman artist… I'm so sorry I couldn't do the same for you."

The ritual asked for honesty, vulnerability. What did she—every version of her—love so deeply about Elise? Freckles. She did her best to imitate the gentle tan color of the art all over Elise's face. "Are you happy? Does your husband keep you well? Do you think of me as I think of you?"

Changbin looked at all she had so far. It was… unfit. She felt like it was the ugliest painting her hands had ever touched. Something twisted in her gut and a sudden sob choked her, clouding her vision. She could have hit herself for that thought. How could anything depicting her dearest Elise be ugly? And yet—the painting wasn't good enough. But, Elise was always good enough.

She just needed to work a little harder. It would be beautiful. It had to be. Changbin thanked whatever divine thing urged the sun to rise every day that watery tears could not mar an oil painting. She painted and poured her heart into each swipe of the brush.

"Katharina?" a voice floated down the staircase, followed by its speaker. The Baron Erich—her only confidante in this bleak world. "Are you painting here?"

She was pulled from her frenzy, and she stepped back to observe her work so far before answering—it was better. Still not good enough. "I am."

Erich paused in the center of the room to regard the painting before him. "It's beautiful. Is it her?"

Changbin was inclined to disagree, but she bowed her head gratefully. "It is."

"Why are you painting here? Why not the atelier?"

She didn't have an answer prepared—she hadn't even considered why herself until he'd asked. "I was feeling stifled there. It wasn't very creative in the atelier today. And… I was hungry. I had an apple."

Erich chuckled. "Will you be hungry for supper? That's why I came here to seek you. The staff will prepare our meal in thirty minutes."

She swiped her brush on her smock, jamming it handle-first into her tied-up hair for safekeeping—or forgetting. She often forgot it was there—well, she often forgot it was anywhere—but she was most likely to remember it there, too.

"I'll eat," she said. She wasn't hungry—she wanted to work on the piece—but she knew Elise would have chastised her for skipping supper to paint. She tried to live her life in a way that would have pleased Elise.

Erich smiled. "Wonderful. Oh, I will have the Viscount's brother for supper as well. If you are not comfortable to dine with us, I can have the staff prepare a tray to take to your room."

Changbin turned a tight-lipped smile to him. She was happy for his happiness, and hoped the dinner went well, but she was struggling to tamp down the bitter envy in her heart. Tonight, she wasn't sure if she could bear to watch him and the Viscount dance around each other all evening, doing everything but professing their love to each other.

"That would be lovely, thanks," she whispered, and Erich nodded genially.

Present Day

The bus is predictably very packed. It's too early in the evening, and everyone is getting out of work and late classes. This means—for better or worse—Changbin and Felix are jammed up against each other, holding on to the loops for dear life. Felix is strong, as a dancer, and he's surely got impeccable balance. That said, it's crowded enough that he's unable to stand in a good position to find his footing, being buffeted around at every bump and sharp turn and—Good lord, did the guy in the driver's seat just steal a city bus for a joyride?!

Changbin lets it go on for one more stop before a rude rider nearly bowls Felix over trying to exit, and he decides enough is enough. People generally give him a decent berth—enough to find a wide, stable stance—but it seems like no one on this bus respects Felix's space. He slips an arm around Felix's slim waist, hoping he isn't overstepping. Logically, he probably isn't—every incarnation of himself and Felix have loved each other deeply, but that doesn't mean he can't weird Felix out somehow.

Felix smiles gratefully up at him. "Thanks, hyung," he says. Hyung?! Changbin might faint. "That guy was kind of rude, wasn't he?"

Changbin nods vigorously. He's glad that Felix thought so, too, and that he feels comfortable enough to share that with him. "Next stop, if enough people get off, let's find a seat. It's two more stops to my place."

Felix nods and leans into Changbin's side.

Naturally, the entirety of the seated patrons on the bus have stops either at or after Changbin's stop, and no one gets up. It must be okay, though, because Felix hasn't complained. He's still holding onto the loop, but he's put his own arm around Changbin's middle, allowing Changbin to bear most of the "Felix-stays-upright" responsibility.

Their stop arrives, and half the bus pours out of the small doors. Changbin's glad to be off the public transport thrill ride, but he's a little bummed to have to release Felix. Blessedly, Felix decides he also doesn't want to release Changbin either—though he slides his hand off Changbin's waist, he only drags it far enough to capture Changbin's hand in his own.

"Is this okay?" he asks timidly, a precious blush rising behind his freckles.

"Very okay," Changbin says in a way he hopes doesn't sound too skeezy. The little squeeze Felix gives his hand is enough reassurance that it didn't.

"I know—I can kind of—Well," Felix says. "It doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want to take it like that. I've been told I'm kind of—"

"—touchy," he says, as Changbin says, "— a cuddlebug."

Felix turns to him with wide eyes. "I—"

"Sorry!" Changbin exclaims. "That's too weird! I'm sorry! I like holding your hand!"

Felix laughs. "Okay, noted. But that brings me back to earlier—How come you know so much about me? I said I'd give you a second chance to explain."

They arrive at Changbin's apartment and he reluctantly extracts his hand to punch in his code.

"I'll answer, but, uh… Can we look over the antique first before you decide whether my answer is good enough?"

"I was just kidding about that," Felix says, placing a placating hand on Changbin's bicep. "Unless you're some sort of like, psycho-killer, but didn't Minho-hyung give you my number? I trust him. He was really good to me when he tutored me. And Hyunjinnie likes him—sorta. He likes him and says he's scary, which I take with a grain of salt," he chuckles.

Changbin pops some mugs of water into the microwave for tea—sacrilege, he knows. So sue him. He's gonna work smarter, not harder. Felix smiles as Changbin fishes out all his bagged tea. "I'll go grab the stuff. Pick whatever you like, or if you don't like this, raid my fridge. What's mine is yours. I think I have a chocolate milk in there."

He heads to his room to rummage around for a decrepit scroll he'd found on some online estate auction, debating on how much of his… collection he should actually bring out. He settles on "basically all of it," because if he's going to weird Felix out so hard he never wants to speak to Changbin again, he might as well get it over with tonight.

Felix is sipping at a mug of hot tea and also has the chocolate milk out beside it. He doesn't look guilty at all, and Changbin is going to take this as a good sign. He deposits all of his artefacts—the scroll, a journal, small paintings, a locket, pins, his binder.

Felix's mouth pops into a little "O," and he says, "Wow, that's a lot! Is all of this antique?"

Changbin points to the scroll. "Well, this was the one I was talking about earlier, but then I thought I'd just let you have your pick if something else worked better."

"Oh, my god, really?" Felix says. "Are you like, a collector or something?" He roots around the pile. "None of these seem… related?"

Changbin scratches at his neck. "I guess not… But kinda?"

"What?" Felix says. He's not looking up, just deftly inspecting a monogrammed handkerchief around with careful fingers. His hands are a little small, but Changbin finds it cute. It suits him.

"Yeah. Uh. So," Changbin begins, but then realizes he doesn't know where he's going with that or how to broach the subject of past lives without sounding insane. He's just going to have to pull the bandaid off, he thinks. "Have you heard about reincarnation?"

Felix hesitates, saying nothing as his face morphs into one of consternation, and Changbin wants to smack himself. That was not how he meant to ask that. Of course Felix has heard of reincarnation, and—

"I don't know that word," Felix says finally. Oh. Oops.

"It means like when you die, and you come back in a new body. A new life. But forever."

Felix's eyes light up in recognition. "Oh—reincarnation!"

"Um… Yes? Now I don't know that word…"

Felix barks out a pleased laugh and digs his phone from his pocket. He taps something into the translator, holding it up to Changbin.

"Yeah, exactly!" he says, forgetting in his excitement to overcome the language barrier that this is a subject that most people consider insane.

"I do know about… reincarnation." Felix pronounces the word slowly. "Why do you ask?"

And isn't that just the ticket? Changbin takes a deep breath in. Here goes nothing…

"Well, before I start—please, please hear me out to the end before you decide I'm crazy and never speak to you again."

Elise & Katharina

"This one is just for you, isn't it?" Erich asked, looking at the long stretch of painted cloth.

Changbin nodded. "I'm sorry. This one is just for me."

Erich only smiled. "You're allowed to make art for yourself, Katharina," he said patiently. "I promise to keep it safe for you."

She felt torn—Erich was doing too much for her, all the time, but she also couldn't bring herself to turn down his infinite kindnesses. She needed what he had to offer. "Thank you," she said finally.

Erich knew of Elise, but not much. Changbin never really spoke about her, but this painting had drawn too much to the surface. It was all fresh again, and if she didn't let it all out intentionally, it would exorcise itself in the worst ways. She wondered if she should just be forthright.

"Erich," she said carefully, "do you have a moment to spare?"

"I do," he replied, smiling as he sat on the settee in the atelier.

"Can I tell you about her?" she asked timidly.

Erich's face softened. "Of course. Tell me anything you want."

She sighed. "She is so bright. Her nose always buried in a book, there was never a conundrum she met that she did not ask, 'Why?' She solved problems for fun. Elise loves apples—only red ones—and chocolate pastries. She prefers spring to summer, and when we would visit the brook in April, she always made me get in, even though it was cold as ice. When she kissed me, I knew I would never kiss another for the rest of my life."

Erich grinned. "Tell me more."

"We met as children. Our parents were both merchants, and had befriended each other at some point. I don't remember why her family settled here. Before we met—I used to dream of her, of us. The dreams were strange, as they never occurred in Germany. Usually we were men… Lovers, of course hidden, as you know well. I was seven when we were introduced, and I was certain I knew her already, deep in my heart."

"Do you think you knew her in a past life?" Erich mused. Changbin laughed. Of course he would simply toss that idea into the air. Erich was never one to judge—he was far too fanciful.

"I know it," she replied. "It wasn't until we met that I realized she was the lover I met a hundred times over in my sleep. We lived a thousand lifetimes together and apart, someone different every time, but the one constant was how surely I loved Elise—or whoever she was that time."

"How romantic. Fateful," he said, gaze cast aside to sweep over the painting. "She's beautiful."

"She has always been so. Through every life, this one included, her eyes have remained the same, and she has always had the most perfect dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Though she has never dreamt of our former lives together, it feels as if she recognizes me—our souls recognize the other's—in every life, no matter what."

Erich was silent for a long time, just staring at the painting. He was always too clever, and it was something Changbin both adored and despised about him. It was also what made him the only logical choice for her patron, for her career and her life.

"Why did you really paint this, Katharina?" he asked. "This is unlike any other painting you've made under my patronage. And it isn't the only painting dedicated to Elise."

"I want to find her again," Changbin said simply.

"Then why do you not?" Erich asked. It wasn't judgment, just genuine curiosity.

"I will never see her again in this life. Her family and husband would never allow it. I don't even know her husband's name. She didn't either, when they were to be married."

"I am sorry to hear it. I would do anything to help you find her, if you so wish," Erich said. How kind, how impossible.

"Thank you, Erich. I know you would. You're a good patron. I could not have better."

"I would like to believe I am also a good friend, Katharina," he chuckled.

"That, as well. But alas, as I will not meet her again in this lifetime… Could I ask you a different favor, instead?"

Erich nodded. "Of course."

"Please keep this painting safe, ensure it for as long after our deaths as you can."

"I will do my duty," Erich said somberly. "You have my word."

Changbin looked at him gratefully. "You are a good friend to me. A good person. I hope you find your own Elise, Erich, and that you may stay unseparated."

He nodded and stood, making his way out of the atelier. "Thank you. I hope you meet Elise again one day, unlikely though it is."

Changbin hides a sad laugh behind her hand. Oh, if only he knew how likely it really was. "And Erich," she said, stopping him at the door.

He waited for her to speak, kind and patient.

"If… If ever you do meet her—she did not marry nobility, but if you ever do—please ensure she is kept well. And tell her I am sorry, and that I love her. Now, then, and tomorrow."

Erich smiled sadly. "I will, Katharina. Have a good evening." And with that, Changbin was alone once more.

Present Day

"So you… you love me?" Felix asks, eyes round and searching.

"I'm sorry," Changbin says quietly, nodding. "I don't know how not to."

Felix is quiet, and Changbin waits with bated breath. It's rare in his collection of lives that Felix does not love him, too, but in most of them, they'd had time together—time to build rapport, time to grow together. Or they were separated by some outside force. It has never—as far as he's aware—been the case that he's rushed their interaction, that he's dropped a bomb on Felix after meeting three times like this. He just feels a deep sense of urgency in this life—this is the one where he must break this curse, or suffer this fate forever.

"I'll be honest… I don't know that I love you," Felix says, equally as quiet. "Yet. But it doesn't scare me like I feel it should. Really, none of this has scared me like I feel it should. It should have been creepy that you knew my name and my favorite dessert without having met me, but it just feels… familiar. It feels comfortable—being with you."

Changbin heaves the biggest sigh he's ever let out, going a little lightheaded from how hard he'd been holding his breath.

"I believe you," Felix said. "And…" He blushes, and it's beautiful under his sweet freckles. "I could come to love you. I think something in me does already."

Changbin turns to the scroll again. Felix had picked lightly through all the other artefacts, but ultimately, he agreed to help with the painting.

"You said it's… instructions?" Felix asks.

"I remember the life where I painted it. The me from back then—we were girls, then, isn't that romantic?—felt certain some future me would be able to figure it out. I can't really remember exactly what the instructions are, though! It's not like a perfect recall."

Felix peers at the painting. "Not to mention it's pretty fucked up. Let me do this project, and see what the professor and I can do to restore it, and then we'll work from there." He smiles sweetly up at Changbin, awaiting his input.

God, Changbin could just die from relief. Felix is… Felix is perfect. He's not—he's just a person—but he's so perfect to Changbin that it hurts.

"Yeah, that sounds great. I don't even know how to thank you. You have no idea how much this means."

Felix scrutinizes him, seemingly weighing some option or another, when he finally says, "Can I hug you?"

Now it's Changbin's turn to blush. "You could slap me and I'd thank you," he says awkwardly. He chides himself—why the fuck would that be his response?! What an alarming thing to say to a near-stranger.

Felix just laughs, and it's the loveliest sound Changbin's ever heard. He hugs Changbin tightly.

They sip at their tea—well, Felix sips his chocolate milk—while Felix putters about with the scroll, taking notes and photos and doing things Changbin doesn't quite understand the purpose of, like sniffing it, or scratching at it gently with his fingernail. Eventually, Felix agrees to let Changbin take him to and from each office hour, under the premise that Changbin will tinker with the broken bike while he waits, and then they'll spend a while afterward working through the instructions of the ritual.

Changbin insists on driving Felix home, because even though the buses are still running, he feels more comfortable seeing with his own eyes that Felix gets back safely. Call it paranoia, but he's lost Felix too many times to take the chance when he can so easily drive him himself.

Felix leans into the open window of Changbin's car, freckles almost invisible under the moonlight. "Bye, Binnie-hyung," he says. Changbin thinks he might melt. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Something flutters in Changbin's chest. He realizes how lucky he is, in this lifetime. He will see Felix tomorrow. Not every version of him had the fortune to say that. "See you tomorrow, Lix."

He picks Felix up, drops him off, works on his bike, and picks him up again twice a week for four weeks. Eventually, they reach a point where they feel they've got as much as they're going to. Changbin figures it's time to phone a friend.

PUNK-ASS SQUIRREL

Sungie, one more favor, please.
Read 18:09

one more dinner then. and another skip day at the gym.
Received 19:55

and u gotta tell minho-hyung sorry for calling dori a gold-digger
Received 19:56

Goddammit, he's right there, isn't he?
Read 19:57

Is that what took you so long to answer?
Read 19:57

maaaaybe
Received 19:57

what favor?
Received 19:58

I need your woo-woo occult knowledge.
Read 19:59

im in!
Received 20:00

is this for your reincarnation thing?
Received 20:00

i know you've been hanging out with yongbok a lot lately
Received 20:00

Yes. I think we've got the ritual instructions, but I can't really make sense of them. I want you to make sure.
Read 20:00

And I'd love it if you were there when we do it. Just in case.
Read 20:01

honestly, this sounds cool as shit
Received 20:01

i would do this for free
Received 20:01

but you already said yes so no take backsies!
Received 20:01

🙄🙄🙄
Read 20:01

You pest.
Read 20:02

hey do u want my help or not hyung
Received 20:02

Yes, please help us, Sung.
Read 20:02

All your stipulations, I agree
Read 20:02

can minho-hyung come?
Received 20:02

Why?
Read 20:03

moral support? i figured channie-hyung would be there too
Received 20:03

Fine.
Read 20:03

Also, sorry I called Dori a gold-digger.
You're a good cat butler, Minho-hyung.
Any cat would want to have you as its dad.
Read 20:04

☺️☺️☺️
Received 20:05

Chapter Text

It's Felix's final office hours, and Changbin idles in the circle drive of the arts building. Felix comes bounding out, scroll tucked under his arm, paint all over his jeans, and a bright smile on his face. The setting sun has pinkened the sky, and it looks like rainbow sherbet. It backlights Felix, and he is ethereal. Changbin can't believe it's his car Felix is running toward, his hand he wants to hold, his life he wants to share… Felix is more beautiful than any sunset, but the idyllic lighting doesn't hurt.

He's been working with Felix diligently to determine the steps, and he's pretty sure it's going to work, but Chan, Jisung, and Minho are all going to come as an additional level of security. They're supposed to meet him and Felix at his apartment in twenty minutes. His stomach is rolling with nerves.

What if it doesn't work? What if it does?

What if he learns things he doesn't want to? What if it makes things worse?

They're going in practically blind, because Changbin can't recall what the ritual actually does, and he's about to vomit from anxiety. He's white-knuckling his steering wheel, and Felix—bless him—sets a soft, warm hand on Changbin's thigh.

"Binnie, it'll be okay. No matter what happens, it'll be okay, alright?" Felix says, voice low and calming. It does wonders to Changbin's nervous system, and he finds himself musing on how amazing that is. What a miraculous thing, that Felix's very voice can soothe his fraying mind. He is so, so lucky. And Felix is right. No matter what happens, they'll be okay. He has Felix, and that is more than enough. It always has been. It seems it always will be.

They pull into his lot all too soon, and then they're stepping out of the car, typing in the code, preparing to welcome their friends into Changbin's tiny living room. All their supplies are set up—candles, cups, blessed water, artefacts, written incantations. Felix sets the restored scroll on the floor, too. It's the first time Changbin will have seen it completely restored. The woman in the painting—Elise, Changbin knows—is beautiful. It's clearly a painstaking labor of love, worship, devotion. He would be able to feel every ounce of love Katharina poured into the piece, even if he didn't remember the feeling of painting it himself. He can also feel the reverence with which Felix worked to restore it to its original beauty.

He sneaks a glance at Felix, and catches Felix staring adoringly at him. "You did amazingly," Changbin says. "Thank you."

Felix lights up, and Changbin wants nothing more than to make him smile like that every single day. "No, I should thank you," Felix says. "My professor says I did really well, and that this extra credit will make up for my missed classes. I'm going to pass this class now. Thanks to you."

Before he can respond, Jisung stumbles in with Minho, Chan following behind them. Chan perches on the couch while Minho and Jisung join Changbin and Felix on the floor. Already, Jisung is rifling through their items, making grabby hands for the scroll. Changbin had written the instructions as best he could in plain Korean—numbered steps, just in case staring at the painting wasn't enough—but they were still kind of vague. He really hoped Jisung would be able to make sense of it.

"Body, confession, fire, seawater, and then the incantation…" Jisung says, eyes bouncing between reading down the list and scrutinizing the painting. "That's really all you got?"

Changbin holds his hands up. "I'm doing my best, man. Basically all I could pull together was the ingredients and the order."

Jisung nods and hums to himself. "So it looks like you've got to offer something of the body, and I'm sure hair will do. Spit, too, probably, but that's a little harder to burn." He looks at the list again, then back to the painting. "Yep. Yep. I think the confession is about vulnerability—you probably have to impress a secret or an intense feeling into the offering. I think that is gonna be key here. You have to really, really mean it. Whatever you tell that hair, it's gotta be something with weight. Typically, it's a secret, something that could ruin you. But also… a declaration of love and devotion will probably work, because—face it, that has the potential to ruin you, too. Spells and deities really love a good bargain, and bargaining with things that they can hold over a person is generally the route they go."

Changbin nods, holding Felix's hand tight in his own. He'd lay his life down for Felix, no questions asked. He hoped that was enough.

"Once you've done that, you're supposed to drop the hair onto the lit candle, and quickly put it out in seawater that has sat under the light of the moon on its three fullest days, and their respective high noons in the sunlight—isn't that all seawater? Eh, whatever. You did right by putting it out in this bowl. Then, say the incantation, and wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, you've got your ritual completed." Jisung grins, proud that he's deciphered both Changbin's chicken scratch and the obscure, incomplete instructions he's written down in it.

"I cannot believe you got all that out of—" Chan gestures incredulously at the list of ingredients in Jisung's hand.

"Hey, man, I'm an expert. What can I say?" he preens. Minho smiles at him, disgustingly fond, and Felix giggles at his silliness.

"What does this spell even do?" Minho asks, eyebrows pinched. Chan bobs his head, equally as confused.

Changbin hesitates. "I… uh. Don't know."

"You don't know?!" Chan exclaims. "What if—What if this is something really bad! Or if you like, I don't know, double curse yourself or something!"

Changbin juts out his bottom lip. "I thought you were a skeptic!" Chan huffs. "Besides, I don't think a previous me would leave a spell that does anything heinous…"

"I don't like it," Chan grumbles.

Jisung sticks his tongue out. "Then leave, spoilsport!"

Chan shakes his head, remaining planted in his seat. "I'm here in case anything goes wrong. In which case, Sungie, I'll do whatever you tell me to. Since you're the expert."

That seems to be good enough for Jisung, who shuts up and turns back to the ritual. Changbin, despite all his entrenchment in the supernatural, can't help but still feel a little like this is some hocus pocus bullshit. But he's also not stupid enough to believe it isn't real—not knowing everything he does. He swallows, and it sticks in his throat like glue.

"I feel like this is probably a simple wishing spell. It's a service or an object in exchange for a piece of you," Jisung says. "The real issue is… We don't know who you're bargaining with."

They arrange the items in the order they need to utilize them, and Minho rises to shut off the lights. A pale stream of dusky red from the setting sun pours in through the window. Chan leans over and lights the candles.

The ritual goes off without a hitch, miraculously—or, they're at least able to complete the steps with no interruption.

Felix gasps, eyes fluttering shut, and Changbin nearly tips the bowl of water over in his haste to catch his swooning body.

"Felix!" Minho cries, and Chan is on his feet, poised to act and only awaiting instruction. Jisung is watching them like a hawk, but he hasn't moved yet. He holds a hand up, urging the others to stay put.

Felix is… sobbing? He's doubled over, small fists pressed to his eyes, and he curls up tightly in Changbin's lap. He hiccups and then turns his face to Changbin. "Binnie," he says through warbling sniffles, "you love me so much. For so long. You've loved me so much for so long, and you—I—" His eyes are a neverending stream of tears, but somehow, Changbin knows he shouldn't worry. "I'm sorry it took me so long. To find you. To remember you."

"It's okay, Yongbok, it's okay," Changbin says, and his own face is wet with tears he didn't realize he was crying. "I would love you if you never remembered me. I would love you even if you hated me. I just love you."

"I'm glad I found you again," Felix whispers, leaning up to clutch at Changbin's neck. He's seated comfortably in Bin's lap, when all of a sudden, the lights flick on and off. The inky sky goes pitch-black, and wind whips at the windows. It sounds like there's rain pelting the glass panes, but it was perfectly clear that evening, and the weather didn't call for storms. Changbin's hit with punch of salty sea air, stinging his nose.

Around him, Minho, Jisung, and Chan are frozen in place. Their images waver, as if he's seeing them from behind a ripple of hot air. He thinks he sees their mouths moving, but he can't hear anything they're saying. His head throbs trying to make sense of the disruption to reality.

"Hello, little knight," a voice calls. It's eerily familiar. "Been a long while, hasn't it?"

A woman emerges from a door that should not exist, turning a wicked—but not sinister—grin toward him. She looks like as close to a snake as a human being could get without sprouting scales.

Changbin waffles a bit—she knows him. He feels like he knows her, and yet—he cannot place how. Something tugs at his mind—this feels different than a memory, or even his experience of past lives. This feels deeper—ingrained in his own soul. He knows she is not good, is not evil, there neither to help nor harm them. Based on this, he figures how it all ends up going down likely hinges on the nature of their conversation.

He turns to his friends, and throws them a thumbs-up. He can make out Chan shaking his head in disbelief, but they all three retreat to the couch.

So, instead of asking who she is—he feels this might offend her— he says, "It has. Good to see you again."

She smiles, sharp and wide. "Send your friends away. I will let you speak with them. You have my word, no harm will befall them."

The weird, wobbly film that separates them parts for a moment. Changbin says, "I know her. We're good from here on out. Thank you."

Minho's mouth drops open. "What the fuck? No way I'm leaving yo—"

"It's okay, hyung," Jisung says. "I think they'll be fine. Felix's spell worked, so I can safely assume Changbin's did, too. Let's go. You can always text me if you need us back, okay?"

Changbin looks to the snake woman. She nods.

"You'd better let us know when you're done. If I don't hear from you in two hours, I'm coming right back. I know your door code," Chan says tensely.

The three get up and hesitantly leave. The curtain of air closes once again.

Changbin looks the woman in the eyes. "You have helped us once before." He knows this to be true—he still has that memory from his first life—but he doesn't remember how it's true. "What would I owe you to help us once again?"

She laughs, and it's as sharp as her grin. "Oh, little knight. You owe me nothing. I would do anything to disrupt the petty Moon once again. I am beholden to it out of obligation, but my service to the Moon is not borne of my own heart. Nothing, of course, is free." She eyes them both, and it feels like their very souls are being probed. Perhaps they are.

"I never thought it would be free. But I'm so afraid that not breaking this curse in this lifetime… I feel like it's my last chance," Changbin says honestly. Felix trembles but stands tall beside him.

"Let me tell you a story, then," the Serpent says. "Let me show you the circumstances you so fight so futilely."

Changbin nods tersely. Whatever it takes.

"You remember, little knight, what the priests said about the babe Yongbok?"

Changbin nods. Felix shakes his head.

"Oh, you don't know, little prince?" she cackles. "They said your face of constellations was a claim—a curse—from the Moon. They said to your queen mother that these brown flecks upon your cheeks would darken in the daylight and absorb all the good fortune the Sun could bestow upon you. They told your royal parents to name you in honor of the Sun, to give tithings to the Sun, to pray to the Sun for its favor and forgiveness.

"But you see…" she said, the same wicked, knowing grin upon her face, "As it turns out, things as petty as Moons and Suns are not supposed to claim souls—this is the job of Life and Death, and the celestial bodies aren't supposed to interfere. According to the kingdom's priest advisors, the Moon was never supposed to have laid claim on Prince Yongbok to begin with.

"In light of this, there was another advisement the queen had been given upon the birth of Prince Yongbok: In addition to all the other instructions she followed—devote the prince's life to the Sun. Not only were your foolish parents to offer material tithings to the celestial body, but they were to, at the prince's coronation, announce their offer of the prince himself. Upon his death, the Sun would receive Yongbok as a tithe, and this would restore balance."

"I didn't deserve this!" Felix says. "I didn't do anything wrong."

The Serpent laughs. "Oh, you've no idea the extent to which you did nothing wrong, little one."

"Then tell us," Changbin says. He can feel the sensation of whatever he'd forgotten all those centuries ago tickling at the back of his mind. "Give us the memories you took from me. I know you have them."

"All in due time, impatient little knight. My story is not even finished. You do not know this, but I'll tell you now—you willingly released these memories to me. It was a part of our deal."

Changbin clamps his mouth shut.

"Little Yongbok did nothing wrong, nothing at all," she says, eyeing Felix interestedly, like he is some sort of fascinating specimen or shiny toy. "The Moon never claimed Yongbok. The freckles were just freckles."

Changbin feels sick—is she telling them this, all of this, is for nothing? Felix was never cursed to begin with?

She smiles. "I see you thinking, little knight. But wait and listen first, then make your judgments… In their haste to correct this so-called fate, by offering Yongbok to the Sun, the king and queen had imbalanced scales which were never tilted to begin with. This overcorrection had the unintended consequence of angering the Moon—why had its sibling the Sun been promised a bright child it never deserved?

"In fact, the Moon seethed. I got to hear about it nonstop. 'Why is it that the Sun is so revered that a kingdom would bequeath its crown prince's soul as an offering? And why is it that the Moon is so reviled that something as innocuous as freckles would be attributed to my ill-will?' it complained. 'The people want ill-will? Then they will get it,' the Moon said. 'The Sun will have nothing!'

"The Moon planned to lay waste to the boy and take his soul for its own upon his coronation. Let the Sun see what its avarice would earn it! Let the Sun fall out of the favor of an entire kingdom as its people watched their crown prince wither before their eyes. Let them see what their empty, misplaced prayers could do! The Moon hadn't even really wanted the child. But to spite the Sun? The Moon would take the boy posthaste.

"Instead, it saw the boy eavesdrop at night, discover his parents' plan to give him to the Sun as an offering. It watched you two young lovers steal away, banking on the safety of nightcover, capitalizing on dim moonlight to hide their movement, yet still cursing the Moon for its so-called curse that led you to flee in the first place. Its plans, foiled. There would be no coronation, no fanfare, no grand justice to flaunt at the Sun.

"So the Moon angrily laid a true curse on Yongbok anyway. Something like Moonsickness is permanent—if the Moon took Yongbok's soul, or the Sun for that matter, he would be taken out of the reincarnation cycle forever. And so the young guard Changbin prayed, though he didn't know at the time what he prayed for. No matter. He prayed first to the patron gods of his kingdom. He prayed to the Sun, who obviously did not answer—it was mad its offering had been stolen. He prayed to the Moon. The Moon was not inclined to answer, either, having been slighted too many times yet. And finally, when no one answered, little Knight Changbin prayed to any god who would listen.

"Oh, but the treacherous Snake of the Sea," she smiles, pointing to herself, "the Ocean who is supposed to bend to the will of the Moon… She answered the knight Changbin as a neutral party, curse her! So I kindly offered a solution. I offered Changbin a curse of his own—take on Yongbok's illness, his misfortune. Something permanent for something permanent—a soul's reincarnation cycle for a soul's blissful ignorance. You agreed, Changbin, that you would love Yongbok in every life, and that you would remember all of it, in exchange for his life and his soul's place in the cycle.

"Of course, it would do me no good to have you calling me back all the time to undo it, so you also agreed to lose the memories of the deal. Naturally, curses are a volatile thing, even for gods like the Serpent of the Sea. I had not anticipated you would be so clever as to compile the learnings from all your lives and call upon me once again, little knight."

Changbin lets out a heavy breath. Hearing the story brings the memories flooding back. He has always known he made a deal—he remembers the before, and the after. He remembers Yongbok dying in his lap, limbs black and breathing labored, remembers crying out to any god who would listen, remembers the Snake at their door. But now—where there used to be a great big blank is a crisp, clear memory of the deal he made with this Serpent. And then he remembers living out the rest of that life together with Yongbok—the only one that ended so happily with them together.

"So can you undo it?" Changbin asks.

"You know," she says slowly, "the Moon was very cross with me for ages for interfering all those centuries ago. If I help you again, it may punish me. No one worships the celestial bodies as they did before—they're weaker now. If the Moon cannot make good on its promise to take Yongbok one way or another, it will take it out on me, because it is not strong enough to take it out on him. So you must first promise that you'll appease it before I tell you anything at all."

Changbin is frustrated—first she says she'd do anything to piss off the Moon, and then she turns around telling them they have to appease it? He's glad that the Moon and the Sun are weak now! They've done nothing but wreak havoc on him and Felix for centuries. And now—to find out it's all for, what? Stupid jealousy? A fucking grudge?

"Is this really our last chance?" Felix asks quietly, before Changbin can open his mouth and give the Sea a piece of his mind. Probably for the best…

"It may be, it may not be," she says cryptically. "I find it interesting the coincidence that you share the location and names of the lives where it all started. But sometimes, humans like to make connections where there are none—is this not how you ended up in this predicament to begin with?"

Changbin could deck her. She was a neutral party, indeed. She didn't give a fuck about their fate. All of this was simply entertainment to her.

"What do we need to do to appease the Moon, then?" he asks through clenched teeth. He's never felt so indignant in his life. None of it was some grand mistake or meaningful fate—it was heavenly pettiness. It was trivial grudges between gods, at the expense of his and Felix's souls—their entire reincarnation cycles. He could cry or scream or strangle this Snake.

"You must offer it something. Something meaningful, personal. Something permanent."

"Well, I'm not fucking offering it our souls!" Changbin shouts. "That's what got us into this mess, and frankly, I don't think it deserves that!"

She snickers, and it sounds like a hiss or the brush of waves on a rocky shore. "I agree. If it were up to me, the Moon—and the Sun—would get nothing! My only solace is that humans still revere and fear the Sea, but they feel no great debt to the heavens. Even my sister the Earth weakens from the humans' continued disinterest and abuse. But that's no matter. I suggest you call upon the Moon and the Sun and offer them your past lives."

"Huh?" Changbin's ready to pull his hair out. Isn't that the last thing they are supposed to do?

"I granted you the curse of memory, but some would call it a blessing. It blessed you, in a way—it gave you the tools to reverse the curse in this century, did it not?"

She isn't wrong, but he still isn't quite following.

"Now that you both have the knowledge of all your past lives, and the guidance of your future ones, you have a power that weak gods would prefer you not have. These past lives—they're personal. They're permanent. If you relinquish them to the Sun and the Moon, they should be satisfied enough to give you your eternal souls back, to leave you in the reincarnation cycle, but this time starting anew. This should both appease the Sun and the Moon, and also end your curse.

"Even those who cannot remember all their lives still have a connection to them. Your soul has memories your body could typically never hold. If you give this up, you'll have no boon from your previous incarnations. Not only will you no longer remember them, they will be inaccessible to you—they'll cease to exist in your souls' histories."

"So… We'll just be fresh souls?" Felix asks.

"Yes."

"That doesn't sound so bad," he says. "Will I still love Changbin?"

"In this life? Yes."

"Will he still love me?"

"Yes."

"What about our next lives?" he asks.

"I cannot say. Your souls' continued magnetism is driven in part by Changbin's retention of your past lives. However, I feel confident in saying that, even as brand new souls, your two in particular have been intertwined so long that they've left indelible marks on each other. Perhaps not every single one, but I would not be surprised if you continue to find each other, life after life."

Changbin chews this over. "Not… Not that I don't love you deeper than it's even possible to contain in a single life, Felix," he says, holding Felix's hand in his own, "I would follow you to the ends of the earth, in this life and any others. I always have, and I always will. But I can say with certainty—I don't give a fuck if we find each other in the next life."

"What?!" Felix exclaims. "Isn't this what has basically ruined your every life? Trying to find me?"

"Well. I think that's only because I remembered. That's why this has been a curse. I have lost you as many times as I have loved you, and I'm kind of tired of it. I want to love you without fear, or the weight of a thousand of your deaths.

"I'm more than happy to live this life loving you as much as I do. But if I don't remember it all in my next life… It's okay. Honestly, after millennia of this, I can't say I give much of a fuck… I get to love you fully now. No more curse. No more loss. No more desperate searching. I have you now. And that's the life I want to live. I want to love you in this life. What future me doesn't know won't hurt him."

Felix nods. "It makes sense. Okay. I'll give it up. I'll give the Sun my past lives."

"And I'll give the Moon mine," Changbin says.

The Serpent bows her head. "Then I will call the Moon and Sun."

Felix holds his hand up. "Can… Can I just have a moment to revisit these lives? I didn't have the chance to live them again and again like Changbin," Felix says. "This is the first time I have gotten to remember. I just… want to feel all the ways I've loved you. I want to honor all the pain you've gone through for us."

Changbin's eyes are misty. With all the misery and hurt, in some ways he'd lost sight of the fact that it was all driven by unwavering love. He hasn't sat down to simply feel their souls' connection in a long time, because his every life has been dedicated to finding Felix and breaking the curse.

"I will allow this." She taps the space between each of their brows with her clawed fingertip. It doesn't feel like anything has happened. "You will not forget anything from this life, meaning whatever you remember from revisiting now will not disappear, though you won't be able to access those past lives directly. A memory of these memories, so to speak. Take as much time as you want to revisit these lives. When you are finished, the Sun and the Moon will be called down. Offer to them your tithings, and then live your lives."

"Thank you so much," Felix says earnestly. "How can we repay you?"

"I will take solace in the Moon and the Sun getting exactly what they deserved in the first place—nothing. They may be receiving your past lives, but what they do not understand, so far away in the heavens, that I and my sister Earth know intimately, is that humans are best suited for the here and now, for the lives they live currently. Let the foolish, selfish, petty celestial bodies believe they have stolen something great from you. Let them think they've outsmarted a millennia-long curse." She is quiet for a moment, smiling wickedly and fondly at them. "And come visit the Ocean sometimes. I will not grant you favor—I've granted you plenty at this point—but I will not ever bestow disfavor upon you in this life, either. Honor the power of the Sea and the Earth every now and again. It is enough."

With that, she leaves through the door, and they both know it is for their sake—it's just to spare their feeble human brains a headache should she have simply demanifested.

Changbin turns to Felix again, grabbing both of his small, warm hands. He leans in, pressing their foreheads together, closing his eyes after watching Felix do the same.

Slowly, quickly—who knows?—the memories from every life flow within and around them. They swirl in the air and burrow deep in their chests. Flashes of singing, of painting, dancing, embracing… Glimpses of romps between sheets, hands on hands on the handles of a motorcycle, a flash of freckled fingers stirring a pot on a hearth, tearing bread into chunks. Kisses against trees in an orchard under the warm setting sun. Promises of forever and a day.

Changbin wonders if he'll miss it. If he'll feel the empty space where the lives used to be in the same innate way he knew he was missing memories of the deal. He wonders if they'll love each other in the next life anyway—secretly, he has a deep feeling they will—though he decides he ultimately doesn't care.

It doesn't matter, because he knows. He knows unequivocally, with surety that, even lacking the memories of all his past lives, he will love Felix with all their intensity combined in this one.

After their millennia together—and apart—has finished flowing through their tired minds, Felix reopens his eyes and tilts his head to kiss Changbin's lips.

They hear a whoosh of air, the click of yet another mystical door, and Changbin can feel the presence of two gods behind them.

Hand in hand, they kneel in supplication to bargain for the rest of their life—just this one—together.