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The Dark Saint was an outstanding man in many ways. From his martial arts to his four nobleman's skills, from his sense of humor to his appearance. Cheong Myeong would never tell him this. Not out loud, at least.
If only because the Dark Saint is dead.
"Hyung, do you want to see my skeletal chart?"
"Pfft. It looks like a child's scribble."
Tang Bo puts his hand to his chest, offended.
"I got the best result in the group!"
Cheon Myeong only raises an eyebrow.
The Dark Saint sorted through the corpses, bone by bone, recognizing ligaments and muscles by touch even when they were separated from the body. He certainly wouldn't have imprinted a ligament attached to the wrong side of the bone.
"You said yourself that half of them won't survive to the end of their third academic year."
Tang Bo twitches, putting the stack of papers back in his backpack. Fingers stained with graphite resemble the blackening from poisons.
"Ahem. Anyway, hyung," the stained hand pauses awkwardly a hair's breadth from his own, hesitating to cover it. "Want to come over to my place after classes?"
Lunch break will soon be over, separating them for the rest of the day. Naturally, this leech has begun to get nervous. Cheong Myeong hides his smile behind a can of beer.
"Why?"
"I bought a cake! And we can watch that slasher! And play later!"
Of course, Tang Bo is expecting more. It's evident in his rosy cheeks and nervously flexed fingers. The Dark Saint had hoped, too—and often his hopes were justified. He knew all too well what exactly the Sword Saint loved, what to say, and how to touch him to elicit the desired reaction.
"What kind of cake?" Cheong Myeong asks disinterestedly, swirling the rest of the beer in its can.
"Cream. With roses."
"Eat it yourself."
A frustrated howl nearby lifts his spirits, causing him to hide his smile again as he finishes his beer.
"Why, hyung?!"
"Too oily."
Tang Bo squeezes his wrist before he can get up from the bench. His desperate gaze makes one to want to tease him even more.
"Maybe we should go to karaoke then?"
"I don't want to hear your howling."
The Dark Saint had a low, resonant voice that vibrated through his bones when he sang. Unlike the Sword Saint, who belted out songs without remembering the words, when in the right mood, he could find an instrument and put on a short performance—a treat for the eyes and ears.
Tang Bo blushed, his eyes darting around the park in search of inspiration. This uni student nearly lost his voice every time he opened his mouth to sing.
"Arcade!"
"You'll lose it dry. No fun."
The Dark Saint always represented danger, a challenge. Even if the Sword Saint always won, he was never bored.
"The ramen shop on the corner!"
"We eat there almost every day. Aren't you feeling sick yet?"
Tang Bo is on the verge of tears. The Dark Saint always found a new interesting place for their next meeting.
Cheong Myeong accurately throws the can in the trash, turning to the leech attached to his hand. The guy tried to write him poetry, frankly bad one, dance with him, trampling all over his feet, drink with him, but he collapsed after the first bottle.
In this life, Cheong Myeong is allergic to pollen—all flowers go straight to the trash. That idiot spent an astonishing amount of money on bouquets before he realized it.
"Then maybe we should go to your place?"
"Sa- Cheong Mun's home. Are you sure you want to listen to him grumble all evening?"
"Then come to me! I'll buy you any other cake you want, you know I live alone! Please, hyung! Pretty please!!!"
Cheong Myeong barely restrains himself from laughing.
"Buy some plum liqueur and I'll do it."
Tang Bo blossomed, just as the Dark Saint blossomed every time he managed to decipher the Sword Saint's preference.
* * *
In his new body, he can barely handle alcohol—it can't handle even a tenth of what he was used to in his first life. That's probably why he doesn't down the bottle in one gulp, like before, but takes small sips—even if it goes against his nature.
"You know, the uncoupling of this molecule has been on my mind for days now. Depending on the different acids, it releases different compounds, seemingly without any pattern, but if you look closely..."
Tang Bo enthusiastically recounts some nonsense to which Cheong Myeong listens attentively. He waves his hand, nearly knocking the bottle off the table.
"Hyung?"
Tang Bo looks at his now cought hand, a centimeter from the liquor. His cheeks, pink from alcohol and excitement, are filling with more color. His fingers move, tracing Cheong Myeong's bruised knuckles.
"Don't wild out," he grumbles, letting go.
Tang Bo intercepts his hand, intertwining their fingers. The sincere gaze of his green eyes catches his own. Sincere and desperate, as if there was no tomorrow.
Idiot. Even in your last moments, you were smiling. Why this expression now?
"Well, you know, I think I will."
"Huh?"
"Hyung, I have to tell you something, something very important." This guy blinks rapidly, but doesn't turn away. "Promise you'll listen to me, okay?"
Cheong Myeong raises the shot glass to his lips with his free hand, taking a sip of liquor.
When the Dark Saint confessed, they were so drunk they couldn't even stand. They laid on top of each other until that idiot started reciting poetry, moving on to increasingly explicit, and then to strange phrases. Only when the Sword Saint asked, "What's gotten into you? Are you studying for the imperial exam?" did he finally confess directly.
"I don't promise."
Tang Bo winces, but only squeezes his intertwined fingers tighter. And he reduces his obviously prepared speech to two sentences:
"Hyung, I love you. Let's go out."
The Sword Saint only laughed at it, thinking it was a joke. The Dark Saint had to spend many kisses that evening to convince him otherwise, and then again in the morning to prove it wasn't a drunken whim. Of course, he ended up getting pretty beat up in the process, both the first and second times.
Cheong Myeong raises an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
"You're incredible. I've never met anyone stronger than you, whether in body or character. With you, I feel like I can do anything."
"Is that why you started picking fights? Are you copying me?"
"You said yourself you'd be impressed if I won even once! I couldn't help but try!"
In a one-on-one fight, the Dark Saint was second to none except the Sword Saint. Even on the battlefield, it took months of attritional battles, an ambush, and an attack aimed at the one he was trying to protect to defeat him.
Tang Bo couldn't withstand even two blows, falling to the ground and then receiving kicks that he couldn't even catch or trip.
"Idiot," Cheong Myeong whispers softly.
He later whined when Cheong Myeong pressed a cold beer can to his swollen eye, complaining about how fast they were.
"Hyung, you never said who you liked, or what was your type, but now you're here. And we're holding hands. And you still haven't hit me."
Tang Bo had tried more than once to find out if Cheong Myeong would like him. Does he have someone, has he ever had someone, is he even looking for a relationship? What kind of personality does he like, what kind of appearance?
But how can he respond to all this?
"I... You can hit me later, just not in the face, okay?"
Tang Bo stands up, resting his knee on the table, and looms over Cheong Myeong, pressing his lips to the other's.
The Sword Saint has his preference. His preference is wearing a green robe, throwing daggers, smelling of herbs and opium, smiling as if the sun will never set. His preference died in his arms.
Cheong Myeong has his.
Grabbing the insolent man by the hair, he pulls away. He throws the rest of the liquor into his mouth and forces the other's mouth open with his tongue, pushing the alcohol through.
His preference is to bandage his knuckles after every battle, can't shut up, do stupid things to impress him, dare him at every opportunity, and act like a complete idiot.
Come to think of it, nothing has changed.
At least between them. This Tang Bo doesn't have the memories of a Dark Saint. The world has changed beyond recognition in his third life. Even Cheong Myeong himself is forced to live without Huashan. But despite this, they have found each other – as if they had never been apart.
"Hyung, move in with me," Tang Bo whispers when he is finally released. "You're closer to work from here."
"If you really want it, persuade Cheong Mun."
The green eyes light up at the new challenge.
"I'm sure I left a good impression on him. It shouldn't be too difficult!"
The problem isn't even who he'll move in with, but the sheer distrust of his sahyun and Cheong Jin that he can take care of himself or that anyone other than them could tolerate his domestic habits and nasty temper.
However, Tang Bo doesn't need to know that.
"I love you too, leech," Cheong Myeong smiles openly for the first time.
The words spill out, contrary to his plan to torment his idiot for a few more days in uncertainty.
It took the Sword Saint several years to muster the courage to say those words in response. Even if the Dark Saint already knew the answer, the return confession made him the happiest man in the world—according to his words at least.
Tang Bo kisses him again.
"Hyung, you know, I'm so happy right now—it feels like I couldn't be happier. I'm the happiest man on Earth, ahahaha!"
Some things really do never change.