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The train is uncomfortably hot, but the unnatural ice surrounding Khun’s body is cold, almost unbearably cold. Bam presses a finger against the ice and feels a kind of sick satisfaction as the painful numbness sets in. He flattens his palm against the ice and holds still.
Out of the silence comes the word Rachel and with it a sudden hot mix of anger, hurt, and most of all, disgust. Disgust at himself. Khun had warned him for so long, had stayed by his side and supported his entire way up the tower. Rachel had done nothing but betray him since she’d left him. Why had he continued to forgive her? He should’ve killed her. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He might.
He misses Khun so much that his chest physically hurts. Khun is his rock, his strategist, his best friend. There is nothing he can say or do that will repay what Khun had freely given him after all their time together. What had Bam given to him in return? Because of him, Khun had been dragged into countless fights, made enemies, and been injured. Because of him, Khun is trapped in a coma drifting between life and death.
He turns his head as the door slides open. Endorsi is standing at the doorway, lips drawn into a pout. Her eyes are worried. “We’re meeting to discuss what’s going to happen next,” she says. “Are you,” she hesitates. “-okay?”
Bam doesn’t miss the guilt that flickers in her eyes when her eyes drift towards Khun, still and silent as a corpse under the ice. Despite their outer animosity, they had been teammates for countless floors. Khun’s strategies had saved her name, and her life. “I’m fine,” he lies. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She looks at him, troubled.
“It’ll be okay,” she says. “We’ll find a way to revive that arrogant ice prince.” It’s a gesture of both reassurance and support, heavy words from a Jahad princess.
Bam manages a weak smile, and doesn’t move. “I know.”
Clearly hesitant, she eyes him before stepping back into the hallway. “I’ll see you,” she says slowly. As the echo of her footsteps diminish, Bam looks back down at Khun’s face. Eyebrows smooth and face relaxed, Khun looks like he’s sleeping, like he’s just taking a nap in one of the countless rooms they’ve shared.
It takes a huge amount of energy for Bam to drag himself away and to the door. His hand is numb.
That night, he’s unable to sleep. He wanders the halls of the train, feeling restlessness stirring within his bones. Maybe he’ll find a room sentry. A fight might force him to shake off the invisible weight pressing him into the ground, a weight heavier than his thorn.
He turns left at a corner and finds a door. It looks just like all the other tower doors, except there’s a complicated sigil on the wall to the right. Bam considers it for a second. Puzzles have never been his specialty, so he’s always left them up to―. A physical pang shoots through his lungs, and he has to wait a moment before he can breathe normally again.
He looks at the door again. Something seems to be calling for him inside. On a whim, he carefully weaves a thread of shinsu and presses it into the symbol. The golden thread slowly sinks into the wall until it disappears. Nothing happens.
Bam frowns, unsurprised but still disappointed. It might take him a while to find another room. He’s already taken a step back when the sigil suddenly lights up in a flash of blue. The doors slowly rumble open, revealing an almost blinding expanse of white light.
He takes a cautious step forward and stretches a hand out toward the light, intending to only touch out of curiosity. But the moment his fingertips make contact, a force violently drags him in until he’s falling headfirst through the air. He struggles in vain as he falls, looking up at the door as it shrinks from his view, a tiny dot against the endless space. Even shinsu is unresponsive in the emptiness.
All Bam can see is white, and it’s making him feel so dizzy that he can’t think. He closes his eyes in a fruitless attempt to block out the pain. He hopes that Rak won’t be the one to find him missing in the morning. He thinks that would be too cruel.
His last thought is of soft blue eyes and a gentle voice.
“Bam? Bam, it’s time to wake up.” A familiar voice drifts into his consciousness, soothing and smooth. Bam stirs underneath the blankets, grumbling. Then, the voice fully registers with him.
He bolts awake, sheets tangling around his legs. He’s in a hotel-like bedroom, with a desk and cabinet arranged recognizably enough that he immediately deduces that he’s still on the train. But, the voice. He looks to his right and sees Khun.
Shock renders him speechless. The other boy is sitting on the edge of the neighboring bed, scrolling through his lighthouse. His hair is loose and only the slightest bit untidy, but he’s already dressed in his slacks and white shirt, unbuttoned at his throat. He looks up and smiles, slow and devastating.
“Morning,” he says, and the sound startles Bam out of his shock. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you sleep well?”
Bam blinks, runs through a dozen possible ways this scenario could be fake. It could be a data version of Khun. He could be dreaming. He could be dead. This could be the after-life.
Khun crosses over to crouch before him, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Bam?” A cool hand slips under his bangs to feel his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever. Did you have a nightmare?”
And, this. The concern in his best friend’s eyes. The familiar press of his hand. The scent, like crisp mountain air and the laundry detergent he’d bought at a store a floor below. It’s so unbelievably, undeniably Khun that Bam throws all caution to the wind and chooses to believe. This Khun is real.
“Bam?” his best friend repeats, worry slipping into his voice, and something finally loosens deep within him. He throws himself at Khun, hears the quiet oomph as the other boy adjusts to his weight. Bam buries his head into his shoulder and breathes deep, arms tight around him. He wants to cry.
“You’re really worrying me here,” Khun sighs, shifting to awkwardly pat his head. Bam shudders under the touch and buries his nose deeper into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t want to let go.
But eventually, he does. He sits down on the bed, but keeps his eyes trained on Khun’s face. At his questioning look, he finally tries to speak. “I just had a nightmare,” he says quietly. He fiddles with the blanket and tries to ignore the feeling that something is wrong.
“I see,” Khun says sympathetically, reaching out to tousle his hair again. “It must’ve been pretty bad.”
“Yeah,” he swallows. “It was.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He mutely shakes his head and Khun hums without judgement. “Okay.”
They stay there for a few more moments until Khun steps away. “I’m just going to fix my hair,” he tells Bam with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I’ll wait for you while you get ready, and then we can go to breakfast.”
Bam makes a sound of acknowledgement and watches him move away until he disappears into the bathroom. Only then does he stand and search for his clothes. They’re where he always puts them, on the left side of the closet.
After changing, he catches himself in the mirror. In the mirror, he looks tired, shadows dark under his eyes. He looks scared.
He turns to see Khun standing near the door, waving a keycard. “Go brush your teeth,” he says. “We gotta get there before Rak comes back to harass us.”
“Coming,” Bam says, and ducks into the bathroom before Khun can see his face properly.
He doesn’t know what kind of a world he’s in.
On their way to breakfast, Khun keeps stealing glances at Bam. The other boy doesn’t move from his side during the entire walk, even as he warily glances around as if enemies are going to ambush them at any second. It’s rare for a nightmare to leave him so shaken the day after. Bam is like a plant, resilient and optimistic and always reaching for the light. Khun resolves to keep a closer eye on him.
They reach the dining hall. It’s a little late in the morning, so only a few of the tables are occupied. Endorsi and Yuri are arguing at one, with Sachi calmly eating a few seats away. The insufferable crocodile is nowhere to be found, presumably training already.
Bam is silent and moody throughout the entire meal, but he sits besides Khun instead of across from him. Khun decides to humor him and quietly sips on his coffee as Bam shifts closer and closer. He’s all but leaning on Khun by the time they finish eating.
Khun is acutely aware of how close they are, but he valiantly suppresses that awareness for Bam’s sake. “I’m going to meet Evan now,” he finally says, slipping out of his seat and trying to ignore the way Bam’s face falls like he just kicked a puppy. “I’ll see you at lunch,” he offers, and tries not to notice how his golden eyes brighten, if momentarily.
“Okay,” Bam says tentatively. He reaches out to grab Khun’s wrist before he can walk away. Khun patiently waits, wrist still in his grasp while Bam gathers his thoughts. “What do you think about the Hidden Floor?” he finally blurts nervously.
“The Hidden Floor?” Khun is surprised, but he connects the dots within moments. “I think we’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly. “We just have to make sure we’ve prepared as much as we can before we enter. Yuri and Evan are still here, so they’ll be able to protect us from serious danger.”
Despite his words, Bam looks stricken. Khun turns his hand so that he clasps the other boy’s wrist, comfortingly rubbing small circles into it. His skin is warm to the touch. “You can come watch me train with Evan for a bit,” he offers. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”
Bam shakes his head, “No, it’s okay. I think I should go train more, too.” Khun can’t tell if he’s lying, if only because he averts his gaze to only look at their linked hands.
There’s nothing more he can say. Tugging his hand back, he sticks it into his pocket. “I’ll see you,” he says, and turns to leave. On his way out, he pointedly ignores Sachi’s raised eyebrow and Endorsi’s glare. He doesn’t plan on bringing that up for a long time yet.
He’s lost in thought as he walks down the hallway, skimming through his dozen and one plans for the future, ways to further upgrade his lighthouses, and somewhere underneath all of that pool of concern for Bam. As a result, he doesn’t notice Hwaryun until she’s only a few feet away from him. But he does notice when she abruptly stops, looking beyond him with an expression of shock that he never thought he’d see on her face. It’s gone within milliseconds, but he’s sure that it was there.
He barely has a moment to open his mouth before she abruptly nods at him and sets off past him, not quite rushing, but close.
Bemused, he turns in time to see her disappear around the corner. He briefly contemplates following, but knows that he can’t afford to keep Evan waiting, not when they’re less than a week away from their next stop and the Ranker is still travelling with them.
Despite this, he can’t help the prickle of unease along the back of his neck as he continues on his way. It had to have been something big to surprise Hwaryun, even though her abilities are limited on the train. What had she seen?
Bam has only been walking for a few minutes when Hwaryun accosts him.
“What have you done?” she asks him, almost angry. “Who are you?”
“I’m Bam,” he tries, but she shakes her head vehemently, red hair rippling down her back.
“The threads of fate are faint on the train, but they’re still there. I can’t read them, but I know their patterns.” She looks at something past Bam’s left shoulder, and her eyes seem to glow crimson even as her face pales. “Your fate threads are foreign. You do not belong in this tower.”
Bam feels a kind of faint lurching sensation in his stomach that leaves him vaguely nauseous. He knows. But that doesn’t mean that he didn’t want this to be any less real.
Haltingly, he explains to her the mysterious door that he’d fallen through, sketching the sigil in the air. How this world seems to be different because he doesn’t recall living through a day exactly like this, with the same room, hallways, and dining hall. But, as Khun had said, they’re headed for the Hidden Floor.
Something in his tone or facial expression must’ve changed when he says Khun’s name because Hwaryun’s gaze sharpens. Her voice, though, is not unkind when she asks, “Did something happen to the Khun in your world?”
He nods miserably, and she lets out a short, wry laugh. “Of course it was him,” she says.
Bam feels an irrational need to justify himself to her, but refrains when she exhales. It’s the most discomfited he’s ever seen her.
“Bam,” she says after a long moment. “My guess is that you’re in an alternate parallel timeline, but one that runs slightly behind yours.”
“Is there any way to get back?” Bam asks, throat dry. Hwaryun looks at him dryly.
“You don’t belong here,” she tells him, and gestures at the glowing sigil hanging in the air. “It’s in an ancient script, but it gives us a lot of information. Within a day or two at most, you’ll be returned to your timeline, and the Bam of this timeline will reappear.”
“The other me is just gone right now?”
She gives an elegant shrug, apparently having calmed down. “We’ll see.”
It’s as cryptic of an answer as she usually gives, but he has a more important question. “Will major events repeat here?” He pauses and clarifies, “Will Khun be safe?”
One eyebrow arches at his word choice, but she is merciless in her response. “Regardless of what happens to Khun in this timeline, you will not be able to prevent it. It is up to the Bam of this timeline to prevent that and even then, fate cannot be avoided.”
His shoulders tighten. He can’t imagine Khun bleeding and in pain, sealing himself in a coffin of ice. He can’t know and not do anything about it.
Before he can do anything stupid, like launch himself into a wall, Hwaryun speaks again, gaze cutting. “I don’t think I need to remind you to not tell anyone else about this. You’re too important and interference of the wrong kind could spell disaster for both timelines.”
She takes a step back and pivots on her heel. “If you aren’t able to change anything, think about what you can gain here,” she says over her shoulder. “Why are you in this tower?”
She leaves Bam standing in the middle of the hallway as the sigil dissipates into thin air.
Throughout the rest of the day, Khun gently tolerates Bam clinging onto him like an oversized koala. From lunch to afternoon training, dinner and afterwards, he’s always within sight or pressed against him in some way.
Khun doesn’t mind, even when he catches Yuri snickering as he tries and fails to extricate himself from Bam towards the end of dinner. He tells himself that he’s only humoring Bam, and ignores the irritating voice in his head that squeals like some indecent fangirl when Bam hooks their ankles together under the table in an uncharacteristic possessive display. If anything, he has a good poker face.
So he lets himself be manhandled, and worries about his best friend. Afterwards, as he unlocks the door to their room, Khun is aware of how Bam is still watching him with that intense, focused look. The back of his neck feels hot.
He swings the door open with perhaps more force than necessary, but covers it up by dramatically announcing, “We’re back!” to the empty room. Bam doesn’t react beyond a small smile, moving to sit on his bed.
“You want to shower first?” Khun asks as he switches on a lamp, turning to face the other boy. Light spills across his chestnut hair, setting him aglow in the darkness. He blinks, and Khun’s heart momentarily stutters. He feigns a cough to look away.
“You can go first,” Bam says, large golden eyes still on him.
“Okay,” Khun tells the cabinet. He glances over one last time before entering the bathroom. Bam has moved to curl up in the armchair, head resting on his folded arms. Khun wishes he could take some of his burden, ease the tension in his shoulders. He knows he’d do anything for him. But sometimes, Bam just seems too far away to reach.
He closes the door.
When Bam leaves the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair, he sees Khun lounging on his bed and typing on his lighthouse. There’s a furrow between his eyebrows that he gets when he’s solving a particularly invigorating puzzle. It smooths out when he sees Bam, though his blue eyes widen slightly when Bam boldly sits next to him.
Khun straightens a little and his lighthouse drifts away to the side of the room. He looks at Bam, ever-patient.
“Am I good to you?” Bam asks, then immediately feels stupid because he hadn’t meant for those words to come out at all. He’d meant to ask about his training, or whatever, just to talk. He hadn’t meant to bring this up at all.
Or maybe he did. Because what Hwaryun had said was right. He misses his Khun so badly, but now he’s talking and touching another Khun who he feels he would also trust with his life, someone he’d gladly die a thousand times to save. Perhaps his Khun won’t be able to answer his questions for a while yet, but this Khun might.
Bam aggressively tamps down his sadness before it can rise up and swallow him whole.
“That makes it sound like we’re dating,” Khun comments laughingly, but his gaze is fond. “Come here, you.” Bam obligingly leans against him as he wraps an arm around his shoulder, leaning against the headboard.
“I think that being a son of the Khun family was going to destroy me,” Khun says. “It was all ruthless politics and justifying death with power. Maybe I would have lived, but I would’ve lost myself.” He smiles. “That’s why I’m happy to have met you. You believe in the value of life. Maybe I don’t agree with some of your principles, but seeing you makes me want to become better. Climbing the tower with you, that crazy crocodile, everyone...I’m so much happier with this version of myself now compared to before.”
Bam feels like he’s going to cry. “Even if you’ve made enemies because of me?” he asks. “Even if you’re hurt or killed?”
Khun huffs. “I’m not going down easily,” he says seriously. “I’m from one of the ten Great families. I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.”
Bam starts to say something, anything, but he’s interrupted. “I’m not weak, Bam.” His voice softens. “And even if I am injured, it’s bound to happen at some point, whether I’m with you or not. It’s also my choice. I chose to travel with you and to support you because it’s fun and I like you. I like you all,” he adds, a little belatedly.
To his horror, Bam feels actual tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly scrubs them away before they can fall, but Khun has tensed beside him. “Did I say something wrong?” he says, distress edging into his voice.
“No, you didn’t,” Bam lets out a little hiccuping laugh and feels Khun relax slightly. The idiot. “I just--” and then he’s overcome by a fresh wave of tears that just won’t stop even though he’s trying to tell them to go away.
It’s been too long since he’d last hugged Khun and heard his voice and seen him smile and watched him do all the normal Khun things he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate until they were gone. They make him feel so, so lonely, with only the weight of this Khun’s arm and the warmth of his side keeping him tethered to the ground. Otherwise, he feels like he might float away into the black space between the stars and dissolve into a thousand mindless specks of dust.
Khun doesn’t say anything, but holds him reassuringly until his sobs have turned into quiet, sad sniffles. When he glances up, he sees that the edges of Khun’s mouth are turned down. “You are good to me, Bam,” Khun says, like he means it. “You’re probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Don’t make me start crying again,” Bam tries to hit his leg, still teary-eyed, but something is finally shuddering loose inside of his chest. “Khun?”
“Yeah?”
“You have to stay safe, okay? Promise, for me.”
“I’ll do my best,” Khun says. He grins unrepentantly at Bam’s unamused look. “Keeping you alive is a full-time job.”
“Then keeping you alive is mine,” Bam says stubbornly. “You better not get hurt.”
“My prince,” Khun dramatically sighs. Bam really hits him this time. He gets a great deal of satisfaction from his yelp.
Later that night, when the only light in the room is the dim blue glow of the hovering lighthouse and they’re both in their respective beds, Bam finally realizes why the tower had brought him to this timeline.
Maybe he wasn’t able to protect Khun in the past, but he’ll find a way to save him. He’ll do anything, wait however long it takes.
Perhaps the most important thing he’s gained is hope. Hope, and a closure of sorts. Although he’ll never forgive himself for taking their time together for granted, he was able to spend time with this Khun and treasure every last moment of it. He tucks these recent memories into his heart and exhales, resigned but ready.
Before his eyes close, he already knows where he’s going to wake up.
The next morning, Khun is fixing his hair in the mirror when he hears a thud behind him. He spins around to see Bam scrambling off the floor and barrelling towards him, a terrible kind of desperation on his face.
For the second day in a row, Bam hugs him bruisingly tight, like he’s a lifeline and Bam is about to drown. Khun can feel his heart in his throat as Bam takes a deep, shuddering breath, warm air ghosting past his ear.
“Thank goodness,” he whispers. “It was just a nightmare.”