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Chapter Text

It’s all Hongjoong can think as he speeds away from the burning town, horse galloping fast into the alpine night, the man slumped in front of him hooded and still unconscious.

I got him.

It’s hard work to find a wanted man before any other sheriff does. Even harder when the bandit has no face, no name, just whispers of his existence. Hearsay and questionable admittance from other bandits that only once dealt with him. The Prairie Dog Bandit was just that, and how he got away for so long. How his bounty rose so high that even someone like Hongjoong could get interested.

He’s the one. The shadow that slipped away is his. He pieced all together, and now is his. I got him.

It’s not often he does vigilante work like this. He prefers the easier, safer kind of cowboy life. One to make the ends meet while out on a long herd. But when it comes down to it, he does love a good hunt. It alights the fire in him that once was snuffed out. It's all for the power, skill, renown, for the handsome rewards after long searches.

And it’s damn fine work. He figured the man from the tell tale reports, playing nice with unsavory crowds, waiting. Waiting and waiting, even as the bandit teams ripped into town with fire and guns. Waiting for the sly dog that slipped away in the chaos, and into his hands. He won’t give him up now.

They ride into the woods and far from the town, into the darkness. When Hongjoong finds his camp again, it’s been about an hour by his count. He’s taking no chance that his quarry gets away, especially after the mess of bandits and sheriffs running around town. They haven’t hunted The Dog like he has. This victory is mine alone.

Hongjoong lights the lantern waiting by his sleeping tarp. He’s foregone a campfire for the past few nights to work in the secrecy of darkness. As The Dog begins to stir, Hongjoong brings him down to the ground and pulls rope quickly from the horsepack. His capture was quick, an elbow to the gut, a pistol handle to the temple and a scratchy bag thrown over his head. He didn’t stay down for long, but figured out his situation quick once he did wake up. For a feared bandit, he’s been nothing but behaved this whole way up. The act continues as Hongjoong gets ropes tied tight around his arms and legs.

The man strains against the ropes to test the binds, but they don’t give even the slightest. Hongjoong takes a sip from a little flask with him, whiskey for a job well done. His men usually aren’t the most for conversation, and their little arrangement usually goes better if it goes quiet. Hongjoong already turns away from the man to check on his horse instead.

But The Dog speaks up, gets straight to talking even with the bag still over his head. His voice is muffled and accented, softer in tone than what he usually gets from bandits.

“Where’re we at?”

“Outside of Cottonwood. Made sure we were alone. So it’ll just be you and me, Dog.”

“Oh, you figured me out, huh? You a fan or somethin’?” The man is awfully lax for his current state. “Good work kid. What’s ya name?”

“Sir is fine.”

The bandit scoffs, laughs a little. “Come on. You'll be stuck with me for a while yet.”

The easy smile is audible through his words, his posture as loose as it can be while tied up. He doesn't seem phased at all to be finally caught. Hongjoong rather prefers this demeanor of the men he captures. Better than having to wrangle home someone who spits and curses him for days on end. It puts him in a good enough mood to answer more genuinely.

“Call me Lucky. Don’t bother ‘bout my name.”

The man laughs. It’s sudden and barking, ripped from him in surprise. “Lucky! Seriously? I once knew a kid, he liked that name too.”

Hongjoong perks. He pauses where he’s hitching the horse, turns back slightly to look at the man. Still hooded and relaxed.

Despite it, he feels something is off.

Hongjoong finishes the horse and moves closer to squat by the man. “Smart kid then. It’s a good name.”

The Dog hums warmly. He’s lost in a moment of reflection before he comes back to his senses. Sits up straight, sighs out as the memory passes him.

“Smarter than me, at least. But you’ve got me curious now.” The man cocks his head towards Hongjoong’s sound. “Your name. Tell me. I wanna know the man that got me.”

Good mood is turning to curiosity. “Kim Hongjoong.”

It rolls off his tongue easily, even if he hasn’t spoken it in ages. Not a common name or one that locals expect, but he holds it close still. The little bit of his home language he still clings to, even if no one else still remembers. When he says it to the bandit, he says it with pride. For once, with pride.

But The Dog lets out a small sound. Wind punched from his gut.

A wounded gasp.

There’s a puzzled beat when the man finally speaks again, quieter.

“Oh… I should’ve known.”

“Heard of me before?” Hongjong's words come out weaker. A cold sinking feeling grows in his gut that he hasn’t felt in awhile. The twinge from earlier is growing, growing into something deeper.

This is…

Dread.

Silence. The man coils up like a dying snake, knees pulling up to his chest, shoulders hunched and curving in. The easy air that rolled off of him is all but gone now. He’s more like the rest of the bandits he rounds up. Guilty, quiet, nothing to say to a man they hate.

It’s eating Hongjoong alive.

His body moves before his senses, standing up and stepping to the man with purpose. One hand thumbs the handle of his gun, over the familiar engraving to ground him. The other reaches down, fists in the scratchy cloth of the bag he threw over his head. Pulling it off with force.

Out comes a handsome face. Black hair, strong nose. A grimacing mouth, and eyes like…

Like… Like his.

It takes a moment in the dim light to recognize him. For the dread to turn to a full body ice plunge, knocking the air out of Hongjoong. But it’s no doubt, even ten years on, that he’s the same man. The same boy, the same smile that he’s been trying to run from for years.

Hongjoong sees it slower than molasses. How Wooyoung opens his eyes. Cranes his neck up, straining. Like his entire body pushes against him. But he forces his gaze up to see the ugly truth too. His grimace curdles upwards, into a forced smile of a guilty man.

Hongjoong draws in a breath. It burns like fire, all the way down to the pit of his stomach. Chilling dread is warming, turning, roiling. Tempering into anger.

The past ten years of loneliness, the earlier eighteen of peace, the one night of betrayal and the months of tears after it, bursts down into his lungs and out of his ribs.

He yells, screams as his body moves without thought. Moves to protect him, to what it knows best. If Hongjoong’s gunpowder, then Wooyoung’s sick, guilty eyes are the spark.

The gun slips free from its holster. The trigger is cold.

One gunshot rips into the night and recoils up his arm. Wooyoung yelps like a struck dog. In the flash of the gunfire, the ringing in his ears, he watches Wooyoung coil up and tuck his foot closer. His dragging boot smears blood in the dirt. His cry of pain is a bell, surrounding Hongjoong’s head and reverberating through his whole body. It echoes into the night, and a thousand times over in Hongjoong’s mind.

The hellish flames in his gut burn upwards. Another roaring cry as Hongjoong slices his arms through the air.

“You..! You fuckin’ bastard! You lowlife, good for nothin’... You’re the Dog?!” Hongjoong swings his arms in fury. Wooyoung watches him intently through the grimace of pain, flinching at each swing. Each time the still smoking barrel is pointing towards him.

It is not enough to have him shy away. Hongjoong’s anger puppets him forward, fists his free hand in the front of Wooyoung’s shirt and lifts him straight off the ground.

“That’s where you’ve been? What you’ve been up to? For the past ten years you’ve been playin’ a bandit? You left me, no words, to be a bandit?! Where the hell do you get off thinkin’ you can do that?” Frantic eyes flit between Wooyoung’s. Answers, reasoning, nothing can be found as he searches. He shakes Wooyoung for good measure.

“Answer me! Explain yourself, Wooyoung!”

He does none of that. All the guilt washes away and the smile he gives Hongjoong is pure cruel evil.

“Your trigger finger is worse than when I left ya.”

With a snarl, Hongjoong throws Wooyoung back to the ground. Cocking the pistol, Hongjoong aims composed and intent this time. Wooyoung lands heavy and struggles to push himself upright in the dirt, one tied hand flat on the ground. The gun homes in on it, the knuckles and the flesh, and fires with exact, precise anger.

He watches it in detail this time. The burst of light from the shot, the burst of blood as the bullet tears through the middle of his hand. Wooyoung’s cry is louder. It stokes the hatred burning within. In his rage, it feels like retribution. That all the pain of the past ten years could be doled out in a single brilliant painful moment.

Wooyoung swears as he curls up again, writhing in his binds. But with little fight left in him, all he can do is shake and try to flex his hands, as if it could help him stomach it. Writhing, swearing, near begging. Just like the weak dog he is.

The gun cocks and reloads. “Don’t piss me off, Wooyoung.”

Staring up at the barrel, at the man behind it, Wooyoung sears him with a glare. “Then I got nothin’ to say to you.”

“I said don’t piss me off!” Hongjoong roars as he goes into pacing, pointing crueling with the gun. “Ten years, Wooyoung. You seriously couldn’t think of one good thing to say to me in ten years?”

“You’re not much better, shooting me twice. The hell do I owe you now?”

“A whole lot. Start answering my questions.” Hongjoong stands before Wooyoung with purpose.The gun is lowered, but keeps it glinting at his side. “Why, Wooyoung? Why would you run off to be a bandit? The life wasn’t good, but you said… you said we’d get through it together. You’d just lie like that?”

“I did.” His voice is weak and defeated. His gaze is fixed on the ground, at the puddle of blood from his boot.

“Then lie to my face. You’re a coward. You seriously thought you could just leave and be done with it? With me? After I followed you all the way here?”

“I hoped I could.” A small growl. “God, I wish I never had to see you again.”

“We can agree on that.” Hongjoong thumbs the hammer as his finger itches for a third time. “You’re nothing to me. I hate you… I hate you so much.” He repeats it over and over, the scathing words scratching his own tongue, repeating them until he can actually feel them truly. Even if it’d bleed him dry first.

His own conflict raises his arm again. He points the gun at Wooyoung, watches with forked joy and despair as Wooyoung flinches inward.

“Why should I forgive you? You don’t deserve it.”

“You shouldn’t. So hurry this up.” Wooyoung slowly unfurls to face fate head on. His eyes are cold and focused in the dim light.

His finger traces the cold metal of the trigger guard. The question is seared into his mind, the stick he chews on to forget the pain. His arm shakes the longer he thinks about it.

“Come on,” Wooyoung spits. “You hate me, Hongjoong. Shot me twice already, what’s one more?” Fists clenched and quivering, eyes level with the man behind the gun. An open invitation, a command to hurry up.

Hurry up and kill me. Get rid of me. Forget about me and where you left me in the woods.

The voice in his head doesn't sound like Hongjoong anymore. The fire isn’t warm. The fear and despair in him isn’t so small, isn’t so forgettable by the second.

His finger pulls off the guard, and shakily onto the trigger.

“What’s one more, Hongjoong!”

His roar of anger sounds pained, a cry into the night. His arm jolts off his mark, body following, finger tight on the trigger.

His eyes stay shut as he hears the bullet whizz off into the treeline and away from Wooyoung, anger dealt on some other being. Someone other than Wooyoung, anyone else, to spare himself the heartache.

Deep breaths rise through his shoulders and into his aching lungs. His hand shakes not from exertion, but fear.

When he glares over his shoulder at Wooyoung again, the man is miles different than his last look. The fire is gone, the look in his eyes of relief, pleading. He breathes the same deep breaths, ebbs away the same tension.

Relieved to have an answer, for the same sick question in their heads.

“Why… Why’d you do it?” Hongjoong shakes his head as he asks. Slips his gun away with a shaking hand. “Why would you follow me across the ocean to just leave, Wooyoung?” The voice crack at the end couldn’t be stopped by any force on Earth.

And yet, Wooyoung can’t meet his eyes.

It’s a rough night. Hongjoong can doze even with the brutal questions lingering, but sleep never truly comes. Too attuned to Wooyoung, he wakes at every noise. Every shuffle, sniffle, sharp exhale and twisted chuckle as sleep evades him as well.

Hongjoong stares straight above into the endless sky. Watches the dark slowly ebb away, the light of day rising. Hears no noise besides the waking birds in the long shadows of morning. Wooyoung’s presence is like an aura of heat around a campfire, so present and ceaseless it hurts. So insistent for output, to be watched, to be tended to. But Hongjoong grits his teeth and ignores him for now. Ignores him until the blue dawn comes.

His body weighs tons as he rises. Slowly does he pack, rolling up his tarp nice and tight. Feeds Horse the last of the forage stashed away. Brushes him down more than he ever has in the mornings, all to ignore the still silent man across the camp. The warm heat of anger slowly rises the longer he considers him.

Ten years of waiting is finally over. But he now wants it to be more, longer and longer, for the rest of his days so he wouldn’t have to turn around and face what he’s done to his only other in life. So that his anger wouldn’t have gotten the best of him, and punched two holes into the boy he once knew.

Maybe, he thinks for just a moment, I should’ve made that third one count.

The thought brings none of the vindication like it did last night. Only cold and sapping regret.

Hongjoong takes a sip from his flask and washes his mouth out. With the burn of whiskey distracting him, he finally turns to address Wooyoung. The Dog lays on his side, breathing steady through sleep. Hongjoong is quiet and careful as he walks over. Careful, gentle to not wake him, he walks over to squat by his feet.

He’s hurt. His face is twisted as he sleeps, pushed down into the dirt. His arms and legs are slack in his sleep, not yet pained by the wounds. And horrible wounds they are. The blood on his palm nearly hides the hole his bullet made, through the top and out the palm. His foot is no better with how much blood has puddled and blackened on the dirt below. If nothing else, he got him good. Better than any man he’s shot and let live. The thought doesn’t bring as much satisfaction anymore.

Staring long at the wounds awakens a lost sense of empathy in Hongjoong. He can’t look away from what he’s done, thinking too much about how he’ll get it patched up. The plan was to load him up and haul him back to any sheriff that’d want him, drop him off there and be done with him. But the wounds… Too much to just ignore. Another stop on our trip.

Hongjoong reaches out with the flask and pours it over his hand wound. Wooyoung reacts viscerally, first in sleep, then waking to groan out. As tied up as he is, he still manages to flail away from Hongjoong and the source of the pain. Hongjoong grabs him hard by the ankle before he can get too far away.

“We’re leaving. Do anything stupid and your head’s goin’ south while your body stays up here.”

Wooyoung blinks tiredly. Spits. “I’d like to see you try.”

Using a small knife from his belt, Hongjoong cuts through the rope holding him. First is his arms, which Wooyoung swiftly pulls his injured hand close. Pulls off the handkerchief stored in his jacket and wraps it secure, before hiding it away in his shirt. He takes longer to stand on his bad foot, Hongjoong watching him for a few moments before deciding to grab him by the scruff and pull him over to the horse. Even if it hurts him, Wooyoung is insistent to get on by himself, which he does manage.

Hongjoong hops on behind him, patting Horse when he shakes his head at the extra weight. He hasn’t ridden tandem in awhile, but he knows it shouldn’t be too much if they take breaks. He grabs around Wooyoung for the reins, eventually finding them and keeping Wooyoung jailed in front of him. Wooyoung leans forward and as far away from him as possible as they get turned around.

“You’re getting us down and out from the mountains. Since I chased you all the way up here, you should know the way back.”

Wooyoung laughs humorlessly. “Back where? ‘Home?’”

“Sacramento. You need a doctor.”

“Hah. Wonder why.” Wooyoung looks at the saddle for a moment before speaking up quietly. “A map would be nice.”

“Sure would. Use your head.”

It pulls an annoyed sigh from Wooyoung, tapping his finger on the saddle before pointing them back toward the roads. Hongjoong gets Horse moving, and before long, they’re cantering through the woods and back towards civilization.

Days and nights have passed by as they slowly move onwards, further down to the valley by Wooyoung’s instruction. Forested mountains have turned into sparse foothills, passing through young forests and over yellowed plains.

It’s slow, slower than Hongjoong would have preferred in the past, but it’s for the sake of his horse. They have all the time in the world, so breaks for water or feeding are often. It’s what Hongjoong tells himself when they’re really just trudging along.

He still hasn't decided what to do with him. Even just waking him up and seeing him again is a shock. It seems to be the same for Wooyoung.

Between the near week spent together, they’ve both come to terms with the arrangement. Not happily or easily, but it can at least be called ‘coming to terms’ with it. Hongjoong doesn't feel so viscerally angry and hurt when he looks at him anymore. The annoying chatter Wooyoung keeps up through the ride is wearing down his senses. Loathe to say, he’s fine with Wooyoung trying to goad him into talking. He hasn’t cracked yet. When he starts talking about their past, Hongjoong might give in. But it’s all been stories or tangents that could’ve been left in his head if he weren’t trying so hard otherwise.

If for nothing else, his good mood is an indicator that his wounds aren’t so bad after all. It soothes frayed nerves each day to see his wounds still clean and even slowly healing, to pour more alcohol over them and change the dressing with what little he’s got. Even if Wooyoung insists he can do it himself, he doesn't make moves to buck Hongjoong off. It’s a little ritual they’re sinking into, taking Wooyoung’s hand and repeating a little mantra.

Alcohol, clean, wrap. I still hate you.

The longer the days go on, the weaker the second part gets. Hongjoong ignores it for now.

About a week further on, Hongjoong starts to see familiar land that he’s travelled before, almost enough that they could get back to Sacramento without Wooyoung’s aid. But to his credit, all his directions have been correct so far. There’s actual roads for them to follow now as they keep going into the valley. Small towns and cabins along the way make for good shelter. Forage and water is abundant for Horse.

And for a little follower they’ve picked up along the way.

Hongjoong noticed her when the journey first started, thought it was some bandit’s now riderless horse. But every few days, he’ll glance back and catch sight of her. For all of today, she's been keeping pace. A mare, silver and white coat, saddled and insistently keeping pace with them. No rider in sight though. She keeps her distance cautiously, but is never out of sight for long.

As they break by a river for Horse, Hongjoong stares off at the mare that waits just over the hill.

“We’ve got a shadow.”

“Hm?” Wooyoung perks up at the first thing Hongjoong has actually said to him in days. The man was leaning on Horse, but now hobbles over to stand next to Hongjoong. Leans heavy on his shoulder as he looks out over the hill, and spots the mare too.

“Well, I’ll be. That’s my girl.”

Hongjong's subsequent question is drowned by the loud whistle Wooyoung gives out. He waves his hand high, and any other smarter horse would have run off. But the mare rears up and whinnys, and comes charging over to Wooyoung.

Hongjoong laughs, incredulous, looking at his man that starts hobbling forward.

“You got a horse?”

“Hey, she picked me!” It’s the widest Wooyoung has smiled since they met.

The mare comes trotting over and happily pulls close to Wooyoung, letting him lean on her and rubbing her head on his leg. Her silvery tail swishes softly behind her. Hongjoong can only cross his arms and watch, actually surprised at what he’s seeing. Wooyoung’s got himself a horse, one that acts like an overjoyed puppy in his presence.

“Huh. She picked you?”

“Yep. Guess she didn’t like her old man too much, since she wouldn’t leave me once I took care of him.”

Took care. For some reason Hongjoong had forgotten that part of Wooyoung already.

“She got a name?”

“Silver Stallion.”

The name sinks cold in his stomach. Like a live coal, cold before it starts to burn. It churns up a memory before he quickly tucks it off and away.

The pause before he speaks again is short, but thick.

“Gonna race her or somethin’? What kind of name is that, Wooyoung.”

“It’s a great name! The hell you name your horse?”

“Nothin’. His name is Horse.”

Wooyoung genuinely stares at him before cracking into full laughter.

“You’re kiddin’! That’s the stupidest name I've ever heard!” He keeps cackling as if it was the greatest joke he’s ever heard. Hongjoong shakes his head and turns, unloads the heavy cargo stored on Horse. It breaks the tension that had started to form. He’s starting to remember now how good Wooyoung is at that.

“Alright, alright, shut it.” His payback is shoving the heavy saddlebag into Wooyoung’s arms and watching him stumble back. “Load her up. You’ll still be riding with me.”

By the late afternoon of long shadows and an orange sky, they make it to the lake at the end of the river they've been following. Hongjoong is more inclined to march on until the world is pitch black and then some, but Wooyoung has been insistently guiding them towards the lake for the past few hours. He must be getting soft, because they end up by the shore long before sunset. The clear blue water stretches out before them, almost to the edge of his vision. Evening bugs swarm over the surface and the water ripples with hungry fish below. It’s picturesque, and one of the nicer places Hongjoong’s had to stay on this long journey.

Maybe we don’t have to be in a rush.

It’s this thought Hongjoong holds as they set up camp, every time the itch to continue traveling comes on, as he heads off into the woods to find some firewood. It feels like the first time he’s actually caught his breath since he found Wooyoung. The past week has been nothing but a blur of surroundings and the passing world, Hongjoong distinctly untethered from focus. The question of what to do with Wooyoung has been endlessly heavy on his hands.

In the short time they’ve been reunited, Hongjoong no longer feels the hatred. Doesn’t feel much, as any identifiable feeling is too murky and far away to tell. Even if he doesn’t remember what it felt like to be with Wooyoung, something in him does. It’s been trying hard to make him feel it too. It’s something warm, something that makes him drop his guard around the man. It’s foreign enough that he’s not exactly ready to let it go yet, not until he knows every part of it.

He needs time to figure this out. Needs a good few nights of thinking and arguing the point with himself. And he could get that time, if he holds onto Wooyoung for a bit longer. They’re already detouring to Sacramento, but maybe if he had him for even longer…

Maybe until San Francisco…

The rest of his firewood collecting is done absentmindedly, chewing on his answer.

The camp is set up by the time he returns. The sun is low and casts small pockets of burning orange light through the trees, their tarps laid out side by side. A small fire waits for more fuel, while Wooyoung sits down by the water. Somehow, someway, he must’ve stored a fishing rod onto his horse, as he’s currently casting out into the lake and slowly reeling it in. He’s focused insistently forward, enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Hongjoong yet.

He doesn’t seem to notice anything, not as Hongjoong fuels the fire, lights a cigar, and eventually slinks over to his side by the waterfront. Wooyoung only turns to him when he squats down to sit on his heels.

“There you are.” Wooyoung says warmly before casting his line out again. “Hope you’re not hungry, ‘cause nothing's biting.”

“Probably because you’re not using bait.”

“Didn’t think I’d need it.” Wooyoung gestures vaguely to the swarms of flies over the surface, the rippling lake. “How about you run off and find some for me, huh?”

Hongjoong grumbles as he tokes from his cigar. It hangs loosely from his lips as he breathes out the smoke. His mouth still curls up into a smile slowly, finding he likes conversation. Almost missed it. Maybe the smoke puts him in a good mood. Good enough that he doesn’t mind when Wooyoung swipes it from his lips and puts it to his own.

Hongjoong watches, stares, how the end of it lights bright with a deep toke. How Wooyoung smiles, sighs happily with the exhale of smoke. Wooyoung pretends to not notice, doesn’t even offer the cigar back, but Hongjoong is stuck staring at him. He can’t puzzle out what’s so interesting about him before Wooyoung slides his gaze over, and Hongjoong reflexively looks away.

His man chuckles. “You can take it back, y’know. I don’t bite.”

Hongjoong takes it back while changing the topic.

“So, you named her Silver Stallion.”

“Youre still on this?” Wooyoung reels back a clump of weeds, clearing them off his hook with a sigh. “Hey, I guess Horse isn’t too bad for the mind of Kim Hongjoong though.”

“It's that pistol.”

A pause. An ages long pause, Wooyoung suddenly entranced on where his line falls into the water.

“...Yeah. It is. You really remember that?”

“You do too.” Hongjoong says flatly.

“Always have.” Wooyoung smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I always have. I remember a whole lot more than you’d think, Hongjoong.”

Conversation stills as they both think. Hongjoong absorbs the words and tries not to think about how much his heart aches suddenly. Instead focuses on how Wooyoung is silent, thinking. Juggling the words he wants to say in his mouth. It’s in his flexing jaw, the intakes of breaths like he’s about to speak. The flashing emotions. He wishes he could know it. Could egg him on. But he finds the words too heavy to speak up either.

This silence is awful. Hongjoong scrambles to conjure up words to fill the space. Impersonal, formal words for this twisted journey. It’s wrong, he can feel it the second they come tumbling out.

“We’ll be going to San Francisco after you’re patched up.”

The warm air between them crystalizes and turns into sharp spears the minute he says it. Hongjoong watches in real time as Wooyoung wilts. His face falls and goes stonelike, his reeling stops for a breath before continuing. The hint of his smile is now flat and impersonal.

“I-I figured, we could get some more time to get you healed up. Maybe go see the old farm. Least I could do after shootin’ ya.”

“Alright. You call the shots here.” Wooyoung’s eyes turn faraway, face neutral, still like Hongjoong might look right past him. Pretending neither of them are here now.

Hongjoong does the same. They stare out at the lake while the rest of his cigar sits bitterly in his lungs.

Chapter Text

Dark clouds gather over the mountains they retreat from as the sun begins to sink low. The entire world is ominously dark, the gold and yellow sun captured on the clouds as the world below is plunged in shadow. A dramatic hour they ride through, passing smaller towns on the main roads in favor of progress towards Sacramento. They’re nearly there, the untamed land becomes sparse farms as they race towards the city.

Wooyoung warned many times that rain was coming. Hongjoong sensed it the moment they awoke that day. Their pace on the horses had been good the past few days when there was little to nothing to reference on how quickly their pace was. In familiar towns, it’s clear that they’ve been wandering slow and aimless for days.

The time until they reach San Francisco is no longer ambiguous. Forever suddenly turns to mere days. The rain is no longer the coldest thing rushing through his body.

As the rain falls, Hongjoong sets their pace faster, and shields Wooyoung in front of him with his body until they make it to a boarding house with space for their horses. Wooyoung is silent, but warm.

The sight of the room unloads the tonnes of weight on Hongjoong’s shoulders. It’s been ages since he had somewhere else to sleep besides hardened ground. The rain patters down on the glass, skipping over the roof in a comforting hum. When Wooyoung strikes a match, lights the candle at the bedside, soft blankets are dimly colored orange. The light is caught in the darkness by the bathroom mirror.

Hongjoong surveys the room quietly as Wooyoung quickly dives into his pack they brought up from the horses. His damp shirt is pulled off, white fabric pulling back to reveal warmth. The lithe plane of his back suddenly seems to suck up all the light in the room.

Hongjoong physically turns away, blinks his eyes as he grabs for clothes blindly, retreating to the dim bathroom.

“What, shy or somethin’?” Wooyoung’s voice is cracked by a smile, tone easy even as Hongjoong half-shuts the door between them. “Dont act like we haven't seen each other naked.”

“Who said I wanted to see you naked now?”

His chuckle is free and warm on the other side. Hongjoong quickly strips from his soaked clothes, dries himself off with his vision latched on his dim reflection. His eyes can just begin to pick out the details of his face that become crescents of light. His nose, mouth, eyes. His hand runs over his jaw and feels the stubble there.

Need to shave. He draws his fingers of the sharp hairs as he’s lost in thought.

The light drifts over as he finds the complimentary blade and cream. He thought Wooyoung would be asleep by now with the long ride, the long strain of being Hongjoong's captive. But as he looks up into the mirror, Wooyoung is captured in the warmth of the candle, leaning onto the doorway. His face is warm, smile soft.

Hongjoong slides his gaze back to his own. The dark face in the mirror is worse for wear. Dark eyes stare blankly, his face tense. Old memories, the events of the past week cross over his features like scars. He expects Wooyoung to leave soon enough as he starts rubbing the shaving cream over his jaw, but his aura of warmth never leaves from the doorway. It seems to reach out like a flame, sweat dewing on the back of Hongjoong’s neck the longer he’s there.

“Need something?” Hongjoong mumbles as he starts dragging the knife over his jaw. Wooyoung only hums.

“Just waiting.”

“Go wait on the bed or something.”

“Don’t like it when I stare at you?” Wooyoung asks with a laugh.

Hongjoong foregoes an answer to focus on his upper lip.

Every move of the blade is tinged with the warmth seeping from Wooyoung. It turns into thoughts, questions, uneasy and shy under his gaze. His eyes dig into him. Lodges his presence into his thoughts. Hongjoong hasn’t been alone in his head in days.

Wooyoung’s eyes are small embers of warmth, curling upward as Hongjoong wipes his face clean.

His voice is far too low. “Handsome.”

Hongjoong ignores it in favor of trying to suck air into his tight chest. But it doesn’t come, throat choked out by his searing heat.

The shaving knife rattles into the sink. Hongjoong turns and shoulders past Wooyoung, a skink dropping its tail and fleeing away.

He stands under the porch of the building, leaning onto the brick wall. He should've brought a cigar. His hands are uneasy and unresting, rustling in his pockets or pulling on his finger to try and pop the same joint over and over. His thoughts are rapid, no longer masked by hazy smoke filling his body full. God, he should've brought a cigar. He came out here to think. He tries to slow his mind by picking out the first thought that comes to him.

You hate him.

A mantra searing onto his brain, a scar that twinges each time he moves. It wants to heal, but he just can't stop brushing over it, breaking open. He keeps pressing on it and hoping the pain will remind him, you are supposed to hate him. Both pain and thought are unnatural.

“You hate him,” Hongjoong whispers to himself as he pulls on his finger, joint popping, aching at strain. It holds little truth anymore. You can’t delude yourself.

The loud rain fills his body with noise. It counters the thoughts and washes it away. Settles him. Perhaps it's his tiredness, his subtle ache, the weariness of fighting with himself that the thought he’s been fending off comes slithering out.

You still want him.

He wants Wooyoung. Like a warm meal. Like a cigar. Like his memories, fleeting and long gone in the past. He wants it back despite the impossibility. Despite how little good he’s done to Wooyoung.

Maybe he wants you too.

Wooyoung has been nothing but amicable in his long march south. More than amicable; insistent. Close, friendly, like no time at all has passed. Like two holes weren’t punched through him. That he’d rather ride with Hongjoong, go fishing because the weather’s nice, and smoke the same cigar.

Wooyoung looks like a man who's ready for the end. Hongjoong’s been the one struggling, fighting with his senseless longing.

Can you do it, Hongjoong?

Can you leave him and be done with it?

He lets the answer slip away. Back into the storm of his thoughts, coiling and sharp like angry brambles. As he leans against the wooden post, hands clutching his arms, he’s less man and more a storm of reanimated thoughts.

The door to the boarding house opens with a heavy hand. Hongjoong glances over, and freezes at the familiar face that comes limping out.

“What are you doing?” Hongjoong whispers just over the rain. Wooyoung blinds him with a smile like the sun.

“You weren’t coming back. Had to see where you ran off to.”

“I’m fine, Wooyoung. Just go to sleep.”

“I’ve been trying’. You need sleep too.” Wooyoung wanders close, his warm hand dropping onto Hongjoong’s arm crossed tight over his chest. The smile is painfully genuine, sharp against his coiling mind. A knife that shears it all away with a simple flash.

You couldn’t. Not without killing yourself too.

“Are you done?” Wooyoung pulls insistently on Hongjoong’s arm. “Come on, you’re acting like a kid. Least you can do is help me back up the stairs.”

Hongjoong mumbles it, so silently, before limping back inside with Wooyoung.

“Sorry.”

The ride over to Yunho’s office is at a bright, brisk and early 7:00am. The soft dawnlight crests over the two as they ride Horse. Down by the river is busy with boats and people hauling, a backdrop of working normalcy that they blend into. For the short ride over, Hongjoong can forget that they’re captor and bandit.

The wooden porch comes into view soon enough. Not a formal office of means, but still a splendid house and the place where Yunho sees his patients. Though the curtains are drawn, there’s a soft light still radiating from a candle within. Hongjoong knows he’s open and awake, that the doctor only sleeps shortly and rises early.

Hongjoong stops Horse right by the stairs up to the porch. Wooyoung stays sitting and looking at the horizon, at the house, taking in the morning with tired eyes. His entire posture is different than usual. Wooyoung is quiet. Withheld. Unlike his fiery self the past few days in a way that can’t be attributed to sleep or disinterest. It bleeds like a venom into Hongjoong and changes him too. Makes him softer on the man he once knew. Makes it harder to repeat the mantras so surely.

Before his boots even hit the ground, the door into the house opens to reveal Jeong Yunho, looking the same as ever. Black hair hangs in his face, eyes encircled by dark, but his energy untouched by lack of sleep. His smile is welcoming as always and his handshake firm. The first thing he offers Hongjoong is an outstretched hand.

“Kim Hongjoong, good morning. Back in town finally?”

“Just for today. Got a man for ya.” Wooyoung is still up on the horse, slowly turning himself to prepare to land on uneasy feet. The wound is bothering him more than usual, enough that he silently looked to Hongjoong for help up onto the horse this morning. He obliged in the dim pen, but not now. He allows Yunho to step forward and help him.

Hongjoong lingers back as the two exchange names, pleasantries, polite laughter as Wooyoung spares no detail in how Hongjoong got him into this state. It fades into background words as he saddles himself back on to Horse, before the call of his name splinters his attention.

“Where the hell are you goin’?” Wooyoung calls.

“I got errands.”

“Well, I do have some questions I need you for.” Yunho says with a smile. “Come on back. You’ll be out before noon.”

Doctors orders. Hongjoong slips off Horse, pulls his hat off and joins them up the steps.

Yunho’s house is still mostly the same as he walks down the main hallway. The parlor to his left is transformed into a doctor’s busy study, candle lit and papers mussed by Yunho, already working this early. The back half of the room is filled with chests, cabinets, and all matters of a doctor’s affairs taking up space. The rooms he knows better are down the hall. The patient’s room is tucked right at the end of the hall and by the staircase that leads upstairs, though the steps are equally covered by stacks of books. The patient room is the cleanest so far of the house, as much as it can be. Wooden walls hold a comfortable bed, a desk for the doctor’s supplies, and other such paraphernalia scattered around the room where it can be accessed at a moment's notice.

Wooyoung is laid up already on the bed and offering up his bandaged hand. Yunho has a stool and water bucket pulled over, wringing out a cloth to begin his examination. The two are chatting, small laughter from the two as they settle in. Hongjoong lingers in the hallway.

“Shot you? And you’re still alive?” Yunho asks with a trailing laugh. “You should know he’s not typically so shy with his men.”

“Really now. I guess he’s got a plan for me.” Wooyoung says with a smirk.

“I’ll get more money if you're alive.” Hongjoong says flatly. Wooyoung is quick to look straight at him, not a glare, but a still poignant look over the doctor’s shoulder. The smirk, small as it was, is snuffed from Wooyoung’s face.

Yunho works diligently at Wooyoung’s hand, wiping off old dried blood to reveal the wound beneath. When he turns to clean his rag, there’s a smile still on his lips. “Well, if you’ve seen the other poor souls he’s brought in… He certainly was delicate with you.”

Conversation lulls as Yunho focuses on his task. Carefully as ever, he examines his wounded hand, gently twists and turns it to check all angles and all points of pain. In the light of the room, it’s the first time Hongjoong’s gotten a good extended look at the wounds. While bandaging them before, he found the sight, oddly, too gruesome to be so close to, going rather quickly to tend it right. But now he’s stuck watching. Staring as the rag is dirtied over and over with blood.

His hand is a mess. There’s still a definite wound through his palm that looks no better than the first night. His fingers are frail and slow now on that hand, watching how they struggle to clench and the pain on his face as Yunho tests each one of them thoroughly. The twin wound on his foot looks much the same, and all of Yunho’s prodding produces the same pained noises from Wooyoung.

Hongjoong chooses to stare down the hall for the rest of the procedure.

“Interesting,” is all Yunho says minutes later, standing and sorting through the items on his desk. “And you were shot how many days ago? Ten? Who’s been tending them?”

“Hongjoong, sir.” The voice that comes out of Wooyoung is soft and polite. “He’s been changing the bandage and pouring his damn whiskey in it twice a day.”

When Yunho turns to Hongjoong, he’s smiling. That smile. Hongjoong is starting to dislike that smile.

“We’ll be just a moment. You can help me mix this medicine, Hongjoong.” His words are a command, as the moment he’s out of Wooyoung’s sight, his smile falls and he beckons Hongjoong with him.

The cowboy kicks off from the wall and reluctantly follows him through the house, into the kitchen, and into a small pantry. The inside is like a medical cabinet, small drawers lined against the wall and full of pungent smelling herbs and remedies. Yunho closes the door as much as possible while keeping the surroundings dimly lit.

Yunho sighs, runs a hand through his hair before looking around the cabinets with a flat face. “Just how long have you had Wooyoung?”

“Ten days, like you said.”

“Really. You two seem quite close for that time.”

Hongjoong scoffs. “I wouldn’t say close.”

“Right, not close.” Yunho turns to Hongjoong to talk directly to him. “Familiar is more fitting, yes? You’ve known him longer than ten days I’d say.”

This is a side that Hongjoong doesn’t often get to see of the doctor. He’s a good man at what he does, and it’s thanks to his ability to see into people. Though he could work on how quickly he gets to the point in Hongjoong’s mind.

“Yeah. I knew him a couple years back. But he ran off on me.” The pregnant silence afterwards makes Hongjoong calculate his words, realize just how tinged with emotion they are. Spit words, still scorned with anger.

“Is that why you shot him twice?”

Hongjoong huffs, a humorless laugh pushed out of his lungs. “He deserved it.”

Yunho pointedly doesn’t reply or react. Just grinds away at the herbs in his bowl.

“His complexion is good. His wounds aren’t festering. It’s a different conversation on how well his hand will still work, but it’s not going to kill him. Neither will his foot. You’ve been taking care of him like I showed you to.”

“So?” Hongjoong is backing away into the dark corner of the pantry. He’d really like to leave now, but the doctor’s station where he grinds away a medicinal paste blocks the door fully. “Get to the point, Doc. We’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m trying to get you to see the point. You’ve killed kinder men before, Hongjoong. I’ve seen the bodies after you and a gun came through. You’ve got damn good aim when there’s a bounty.” Yunho halts in his process of preparing a bandage, so he can turn and look at Hongjoong dead on. “Why is he still alive?”

“Shouldn’t matter to you. You’re not gettin’ the money.”

“I don’t want your money. You don’t care about it that much either. You shot him where it wouldn’t kill him. You’re taking care of the wounds.” Yunho stands up to get closer to Hongjoong to actually talk to him, to level him with his stare. “Hongjoong, you don’t take bandits alive. You never have. Are you sure that you’re actually going to turn him in?”

“I’m-”

Hongjoong knows what he wants to say. I’m sure. I’ve been sure since I saw him again. Give me a reason and I’ll turn him in today. But it doesn’t come. His voice dies in his throat with a withering crack. He turns his head from Yunho, but the doctor is already in his thoughts. Even when he steps back, Hongjoong tumbles with the question.

He’s chewed on this question. Longer than just last night, longer than ten days. In his mind, it was easier to block Wooyoung off as the kid who ruined the small childhood he had. That he’s a back stabbing, faithless, cruel bastard that could leave him so easily. He doesn’t deserve a reunion or a happy ending.

He hated Wooyoung.

It started with that withering look he sent him over Yunho’s shoulder. With the grin of his first cigar in ages, with the taste of him on the end of it. Since the sleepless night, since the fear on his face, since that sick grin waiting for him under the sack. Since he became physical again, all muscle and blood and flesh. He hated Wooyoung; because he only hated how the old feelings were now only memories.

He should still hate him for turning those memories against him. For coming in and stirring up the questions Hongjoong took so long to lock away. He should, he should, he should’ve…

Any sheriff in California would take him. Any of them would applaud him the same, pay him the same, kill Wooyoung the same. San Francisco was supposed to give him time to decide. That he’d be so sick and angry of Wooyoung he’d happily turn him in to die.

That after so long, his anger would still run so red. That the only answer his thinking would ever divine up is to let him die.

Yunho is standing before him, pulling him back to reality. Hongjoong drags a hand over his face, focuses up on the doctor and chases off the thoughts for a little while longer.

“I know it’s not my place. But you’re a good man Hongjoong. Wooyoung doesn’t seem half bad either, and it’s written all over you.” Yunho says with sincerity and kindness. The smile is true, not laden with his ulterior motives. “You want my advice?”

Hongjoong sniffs. “Sure.”

“If you want him to heal, then let him rest. Stay in town for a few days. Do both yourselves a favor and decide before you're back on the road.”

Yunho takes no reply. He simply ducks out from the pantry with his bandages in tow, leaving Hongjoong in the darkened corner.

The countryside of Sacramento is familiar territory, even more so with the smell of the passed storm. Memories slowly spurn up as they travel on. Wooyoung sits tall on Silver Stallion, alone, insisting he'd be fine. While Horse is stronger for it now, Hongjong silently misses the weight of Wooyoung, the warmth of him. On the edge of the passing storm is the smell of the ocean, almost a shock to remind Hongjoong where they ride towards. He had managed to distract himself with his detour.

This is home. These lands in the valley, close to the bay, filled with farm lands and small towns in the foothills. The endless hills of grass grow green if only for this short time in summer. He doesn't dare draw closer than the distant road they travel on, but in the distance, Hongjoong sees their old home. This is a detour from the path to San Francisco, Hongjoong had noticed the moment his muscle memory led him down the path, but he did not correct himself. He wanted to see it again, see it with Wooyoung.

The sun is high through the clouds. Everything is sparkling and fresh after a long missed rain. It's only been a year since he last passed through, yet it looks so different. Trees are fuller, new buildings crop up on the outskirts of town, the livestock that pass through the countryside aren’t familiar. Even just on the outskirts of town, it passes him as a place he struggles to recognize.

Their pace has slowed. Wooyoung is catching up to him and passing in front of his vision as he looks out over the land. He’s been quiet for the entire trip, ever since they left Sacramento. At least currently, he’s quiet as he takes in the sight. Absorbs the memories before they pass into the distance.

“What are we doin’ back here?” Wooyoung asks. Hongjoong could ask himself the same.

“Looking.” He responds flatly. “It’s been… been about a year since I last came by. I like to check in now and then.”

“I hardly recognized it.” Wooyoung looks long over the land, quiet for a moment. Hongjoong finds it hard to look away from him, to try and see his face and what he feels. Wooyoung eventually makes a noise, trots up alongside Hongjoong and points out over the rolling fields.

“You see it?”

He points towards a farm with an old apple tree. Hongjoong could never forget it even as much as he tried.

When they came off that boat, bright eyed but unsure of everything around them, they knew only two things. Find a home, and find work. Both opportunities fell into their lap thanks to Wooyoung, finding a man who’d take pity on them. No money, barely spoke the language, but they found a bed in the barn’s hayloft. Found work in the fields and tending to the animals. Years they spent there, years growing up, working hard for pennies, running around the fields and rough housing under the trees.

His sight turns watery. Hongjoong turns his head forward and focuses on the empty road.

“You think he still has that barn cat?” Wooyoung asks quietly. His voice is tinged by a smile, softened as he delves into memories. “Y’know, the one that’d sleep on your face? He was a sweet ol’ man.” A warm laugh. “Man, I nearly forgot about it.”

Hongjoong stays silent, struggling to keep his breathing even and face away from Wooyoung. It was a bad idea to come out this way. A bad idea to entertain the detour, to leave Sacramento. A bad idea to not listen to Yunho’s advice.

As the town rolls away and over the hills they fall back into marching order. Hongjoong ahead and Wooyoung trailing behind, going slower and slower as the horses tire. But Hongjoong doesn’t want to stop, because he may just never be able to start the walk again. They’re going to walk until they make it to San Francisco.

Wooyoung speaks up hours later as the sun starts to dip before them. He’s far behind, more than a few lengths when he gets his horse to catch up to Hongjoong. Wooyoung stares at him before asking.

“It’s not too late, y’know. We could even turn around. Spend a day at home. I don’t reckon we’re in much of a rush.” Hongjoong remains silent and blocks him from his mind. Pretends he doesn’t hear his question or what the meaning is behind it.

Can pretend until Wooyoung finally asks the real question. He takes in a deep breath before speaking, and Hongjoong can hear that damn tone before he even speaks.

“Are you really gonna get rid of me?” His voice is weak and young. Pleading. “I know I shouldn’t ask. I know what you’re thinkin’ too, that I don’t deserve it. Your sympathy. And you’re right.” Wooyoung takes another breath, shakier. “But, but Yunho- Doc got me thinking. Why didn’t you shoot me dead?”

No reply. It surprises Hongjoong that Wooyoung even paused for him. He won’t even glance over at him, eyes drilled ahead on the road, unblinking.

“I really thought you were gonna shoot me. I knew you could’ve. I knew I deserved it. And I thought, maybe you should’ve, just to make yourself happier. Give you… revenge. Could’ve dragged me to any other sheriff and just gotten rid of me. But you haven’t. You got real annoying with taking care of my wounds. We talked and laughed like nothin’ happened. You’re older, but not so different from when I last saw ya’.”

The pause this time is louder, as Wooyoung breathes in sharper, steadies himself. “So… will you? Really?”

“I don’t know.” Hongjoong simply says. His voice has none of the typical bravado. It’s quiet and ripped from his chest, that he really doesn’t know. That he’s still hoping this entire thing will just get done with, and that if he doesn’t care, it wouldn’t hurt.

Wooyoung is silent for a long while. Silent and staring, waiting for his answer. A real answer. But there’s no pressure to crack under. It’s the truth.

“I wouldn’t know either.” Is all Wooyoung says. His tone is softened and hurt. Slowly, he loses pace with Hongjoong, and slips behind him, horses clopping quieter at each minute. More space grows between them, and all Hongjoong can do is hope he can forget about this once he’s gone.