Seungho.
Not the Fire King.
But his Seungho.
The man with fire scars blooming over his heart now—a mirror to the wing-shaped wounds on Haneul’s back.
Seungho was crying, too. Silently, brutally. His breath hitched against Haneul’s throat like he was drowning in it.
Then he moved—sudden, fierce—grabbing Haneul by the waist and hauling him up against his chest, crushing him in an embrace that bordered on violent. The monitor cables snapped free. The bed groaned. None of it mattered.
Haneul gasped, his ribs caught between arms that wouldn’t let go.
“You came back,” Seungho rasped. “You came back—”
He pressed his face into the crook of Haneul’s neck, kissing the sweat and salt there like he could brand the proof of life into his skin.
“I thought I’d lost you. I thought—” His voice broke. “I would’ve burned again. Gladly. If it meant I got to hold you.”
Haneul clung back, trembling, sobbing into the hollow of Seungho’s shoulder. His fingers fisted in the hospital gown, pulling until the fabric tore.
“I’m sorry I left you behind…”
“I loved you so much…”
“I don’t think I told you that enough…”
Each confession fractured mid-breath.
Seungho just held him tighter, one hand sliding to the back of his head, the other splayed over the bandaged back wounds as if to shield them from the world. He was shaking so hard it felt like the whole room vibrated with him.
“You’re here,” he whispered. “That’s all I care about.”
Then he pulled back just enough to see him—just enough to trace the curve of Haneul’s cheek with trembling fingers. His mouth brushed each scar he could reach: along the jaw, over the temple, down the side of his throat. Not careful—hungry, reverent, desperate. Every kiss a prayer and an apology.
Haneul’s sobs softened. He reached up, touched the nape of his neck.
No braid. No tokens.
Only skin, raw and healing.
He stilled.
And then he smiled.
Not mischief. Just peace.
“It’s gone.”
Seungho kissed his temple again, lips shaking.
“I know.”
“I don’t need it anymore,” Haneul whispered.
And for the first time in five hundred years—he meant it.
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