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All skin and no shame

...innocence is just an illusion...

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Round and Round [5]
Title: Round and Round
Pairing: YunJae
Rating: PG
Length: Chaptered
Genre: AU
Disclaimer: Goblin premise, the rest is mine.

Summary: In a thousand years, there have been more flowers than rain, but the Wanderer still wanders, searching for someone he knows will bring about his demise and yet, something within him compels him to keep on searching, for his heart has never been at peace in all that time.

AN: Please keep my friend in your thoughts. She is having a very difficult time and I cannot be with her at this point.

I have never seen this kind of love
The kind that won’t slip away
I am soaring through your heart
I would die for you

Yunho feels an excruciating burn in his chest, the same agony he felt when the blade first entered his body while he was human, and his gasp is of a mortal pain, almost more than he can bear and his legs tremble from the effort of holding himself up. Almond eyes wide with shock, tinged with more than a healthy dose of fear, he stares into the glowing eyes of the beautiful white reaper.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, unaware that his own eyes are filled with tears, his voice is hoarse as he asks, “Who are you?” just as a tear spills over.

Moving from a deep-seated instinct and need, the white reaper leans up, capturing the stray droplet, eyes fluttering shut, the hilt of the sword pressing into his own chest between them, a burning desire within him to ease the man’s pain.

The salty tang on his tongue triggers something unexpected, and a forgotten nightmare is brought back to the forefront, his hands tightening around the hilt of the sword, plush lips pressed against the goblin’s cheek, it is now the reaper’s eyes that are filled with tears.


“What will your choice be, Daegun?” the voice is taunting. “Leave him and he will live. Stay, and I will make sure his next battle will be his last.”

He draws his sword, turning towards the faceless enemy. Tightening his two-handed grip on the exquisitely carved sword, he lifts it up in a two-handed grip more befitting the ancestors of his dead mother. It is not the large broad sword of a Goryeo warrior, but rather a long, slender, single edged blade that characterises a Koto katana.

“Are those my only choices, father?”

“You dare to draw your weapon on me?” The king draws his own weapon and charges, apoplectic with rage, he attacks without thinking, the ring of metal echoing around him in his frenzy to cut down his only son and to force him to bend to his will. He is the king and his son the crown prince and his will should prevail. It will prevail.

He wields the sword expertly, changing his grip from two-handed to one handed and then back again with both hands to ward off his opponent, the metal flashing in the sun as he circles his father. One opponent instead of six, he will be the victor in this fight if he were of the mind to fight properly. How can he not, when he was taught by the best in the land.

“Not on you, father.” The prince’s voice is strong as he faces his father, blocking the elder man’s blade from reaching his neck, no sign of the exertion from their brief duel, a strength borne out of a deep love for a man, and pity for his father who will never understand. “He told me that you knew.” His eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he pushes his father away, unmoved as the man stumbles backwards.

The older man bristles, face reddening even more at his words. “And still you dare disobey me?” he bellows.

He lowers his sword and flexes his fingers on the handle, shaking his head. “I let him go, on the promise that he will return to me.”

“He will never return.”

“Then those are my only choices?”

“Leave him and I will allow him to live.”

“I cannot and will not leave him, father…”

“Then he will die.”

The prince bows his head, the winter sun on his back, he closes his eyes, steeling himself, his beloved’s name a whisper on his lips, an endearment carried away by the winter breeze, unheard by anyone save for a passing white butterfly, resting upon a rose so red, the contrast is stark in the forsaken landscape, but no human notices. Lifting his head, tilting it towards the sky, two tears falling slowly down his pale white cheeks, the beautiful face of the crown prince of Goryeo who has had countless poems written for him, recites one of his own making instead, his will resolute because he knows he it is the only way to save his beloved.

“I called for you, even when you left because I cared for you, I couldn’t let you go. And should this soul leave without a final goodbye, I will burn you to forget our engorged vain love. I will return.”

Bringing his sword up to his chest, he double fists it again, holding it as if he is about to drive it into the ground. The King is too slow to catch on and too far away when the crown prince of Goryeo commits the first act of seppuku that will for an eternity, be buried in history.


I have never kissed a sweeter mouth
Don’t you know I cannot survive
Without you in my life
I would die for you

The goblin’s hands move of their own volition when the tenderness of the reaper’s touch reaches his very soul, his own eyes fluttering shut, a sense of calm and comfort coming over him and banishing the immediate shock and fear he had felt, and he moves to cup the reaper’s jaw again, repeating something he vowed he would not do.

“A moment of folly. It won’t happen again.”

Feeling the wetness on the other man’s cheek, he thumbs away at the tears he feels, pulling away slightly, their roles reversed as he kisses the other man blindly, wanting only to return the comfort the other had given him, his lips touching the sweetness of the reaper’s tears.

Trapped in his nightmare, feeling the burn in his body as if he is being mortally disemboweled again, Jae lets go of the sword between them, and the moment he does, it vanishes.

His hands find the tall goblin’s broad shoulders and he holds on, head tilted back slightly, eyes tightly shut against the phantom pain, tears falling and kissed away even as they fall, he does the one thing he has never done.

A Reaper’s kiss can bring back a human’s memory of their past lives.

Jae is not an ordinary Reaper though.

And Yunho is no human.

And for the first time, the kiss was initiated by White Reaper.

Their mouths find each other’s, the shorter man’s arms finding their way around the goblin’s neck to pull him closer.

The true kiss of a reaper.

Yunho gasps against Jae’s mouth as the images start to form, but he is held tightly by a desperate reaper whose mortal pain is slowly being assuaged by their shared kiss, unaware of what he is doing to the goblin who is helpless to do anything but kiss back, his mind open and burning with a blocked memory that washes over him like an inescapable tidal wave.


”The King awaits you, my lord,” Changmin bows before his general, a warrior in his own right, a mere two years younger than the general and his companion for as long as he can remember. He has followed Yunho to every battle and every war. He has protected and guarded the man’s back for years, and has never left his side except when his friend goes to his lover. A man Changmin loves and respects almost equally for anyone who loves his friend is loved by him.

Perhaps, once upon a time, he had felt envy, for his friend’s love is renowned for being a beauty of their land. The foremost beauty if the troubadours are to be believed, and if the jealous whispers of gisaengs and even ladies of the court to be paid note, and Changmin, at the time a mere fourteen year old, had been captivated by the lithe sixteen year old with the snow white skin, ruby red lips and beautiful doe eyes.

Yunho had met the beauty first though, the same age, they had met at a street fight, unaware of the true identity of the other, taken instantly with each other, and despite being on opposite sides of the fight, had ended up tending to each other’s wounds…and each other in the nearby lake soon after.

Yes, Changmin had been jealous of his friend, but it did not last long. Whatever love he thought he felt for his friend’s lover has morphed over the years into a filial type of love for the two of them were like parents to the orphaned young warrior.

And so, he thinks nothing of leading his friend to a clearing away from the army, for he is bringing his friend to his lover’s father.

The two men stare at each other, assessing, one of them taking in the perimeter, fully aware there are at least ten marksmen with arrows aimed at him. The men had come up mere minutes after Changmin had left to dine with the troops, and he is left alone, staring into the angry eyes of an enraged father.

The other taking in his top general, so young and so proud, who had dared to raise above his station and even worse, defile the royal bloodline, tainting it beyond hope or repair, where royal proclamations in the coming months will seek to rewrite history and weave a different tale of what happened in that forsaken winter month.

No one will know of their history for he is king and he will demand history to be bent to his will.

The king unsheathes his sword, his mouth turned down crookedly when he sees awareness flashing in the younger man’s eyes.

“You recognise this sword,” it is a statement, not a question. He makes a show of testing the weight of the sword whose blade is now discoloured. An unexplainable phenomenon from a impossible event.

The young general stays quiet, staring at the blade, knowing the owner of the sword, yet confused as to why it looks the way it looks now.

The king bursts into movement, still nimble on his feet for a man of his age, and the general’s sword comes up automatically to defend himself.

Arrows notched and bows cocked, the silent guardsmen watch as their king parries with the kingdom’s top general, banished to the desolation of the north for reasons unknown.

Locked in battle, the general blocks one last time, before making a move similar to the original owner of the sword that is currently bent on cutting him down.

He pushes the king away, causing the man to stumble backwards before he drops his arms, allowing his sword to fall to the frozen ground.

Silence apart from the heavy breathing of the king.

Head bowed, his eyes closed the warrior general speaks quietly. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it, but please leave him alone.”

“Leave him.”

A small, rueful twist of the cupid bow mouth. “I am here, Taewang. He is in your palace.”

“And yet you are still with him, are you not? Do not lie to your king.”

He opens his eyes, lifting his head to meet the cold, hard eyes of his liege. “I will go wherever you want me to go. Even if it means never seeing him again, I will go.”

“I want you to leave him. Leave him or he dies.”

His hands clench tightly, the nails digging into his clammy palms. There is only one way that he will truly leave him. Only one way.

His eyes drop to the tainted blade of his beloved’s sword. He watches as the king lifts it, eyes focused on the blade, an unworldly calmness coming over him.

The warrior tilts his head up towards the star filled sky, the light of the full winter moon on face, his body tense and resolute, knowing what he has to do, his beloved’s name a whisper on his lips, an endearment carried away by the winter breeze, unheard by anyone in the surrounding wooded grove, except where a sole red rose bloomed, hidden from sight, with a white butterfly for a companion perched on its delicate petals.

He closes his eyes as the king approaches. “I was always willing to give my life for you, so please forgive me for I cannot be there to protect my most precious person anymore.”

A blade, tainted with the blood of another that may be directly attributed to himself, pierces the chest of the fearless general, striking true through his heart, and in his final moments, all he remembers is the unique laughter of his beloved. A throaty chuckle in his ear that sends goosebumps racing across his flesh even as the life bleeds from him.


Kim Shin watches the entire thing, just as shocked as his friend when it is clear the reaper can not only see, but touch the sword. And then one thing just leads to another, everything seemingly progressing in slow motion, as if time itself has slowed down to prolong the moment. It takes a few long moments before the younger guardian realises that he is not imagining it.

Time has not just slowed down, it is frozen for the second time that night.

And this time, he cannot move either, watching the goblin and the reaper kissing in the space between time, where only they reside, the world frozen at their feet.

If only he could close his eyes from the searing heat, the kiss he walked in on and the kiss from earlier nothing compared to this one, blond hair against black, pale skin against tanned, yet fitting so perfectly against each other, he can feel the desperation in the mating of their mouths as they seem to draw on each other.

Time has no meaning or consequence, and Shin has no idea of the period that actually lapsed, but he can vow on his life that it was his friend who broke the kiss first, stepping back, hands wrapped around the wrists of the angel of death to unwind the blond man’s arms from his neck, breathing harsh, eyes stark with a remembered pain that goes deep.

The white reaper is in a similar state, doe eyes wide with a sheen of unshed tears that add a glistening beauty to his eyes, his mouth red and ravaged, making the most feared reaper appear vulnerable in that instant.

“Who are you?” Yunho asks again, uncertain and confused, the memory of his death is still cloudy for he does not know what drove it. What drove him. “Who are you?” he repeats again, shaking his head, trying to clear it, to grasp at more elusive memories that skip just that little bit out of reach, and he steps back, dropping the reaper’s hands, stepping away, backing away, expression stark, something deep within him calling out in pain at being separated but he is too shaken. “Who are you?”

“Just…Jae,” he replies, though there is a hesitance in his voice that was not there before as he is not sure of who he really is either.

He steps forward reaching out at about chest level to the goblin who takes it the wrong way, flinching away as he remembers that the blond reaper can take hold of his sword.

“Don’t touch me,” he bites out harshly, before vanishing in blue flames.

The sudden storm that covers East Asia is by far the worst one that it has seen in years. Night and day have no meaning anymore for both are almost equally dark, the clouds so thick and absolute that not a single ray of light touches the ground for days.

Not sunlight.

Nor moonlight.

And forget about starlight.

Havoc reigns in the streets as their guardian abandons them, the other impotent to undo the mess for a younger, soft hearted deity cannot compare in power to an older deity struggling with a torment beyond his imagination and beyond his comprehension, seeking answers and yet his prayers fall on deaf ears.

His ritual is repeated now, almost every hour, his shaking hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword, simply to torture himself to try and remember whose laughter it is that he keeps hearing. Whose father it is that killed him, and who it was that he loved so deeply that he was willing to die for them. It is as if the Almighty had erased an entire part of his history, for he remembers everything except for this person.

This nameless and faceless person.

This man.

For there is no doubt that it was a man that he loved enough to die for without any feeling of regret apart from that he will be unable to protect him anymore.

It was the right love, at a wrong time.

He knows it in his heart that was pierced by his beloved’s sword, dying at the hand of his blood.

And his pain doubles when he thinks of the white reaper.

He has found his bride.

And what a bride that is.

Another man.

He pours through libraries in search of his history, but he cannot find anything.

Jung Yunho the great warrior and conqueror who expanded the lands of Goryeo and whose battle tactics and military manoeuvres were studied and replicated by many other generals in years to come.

A general who died at the relatively young age of 31 in a battle up north in the deep winter, though details of his death were not given, just that he died a hero defending his king.

That made him angry enough that thunder crashed for a good few minutes, rattling windows and terrifying every living creature, human and animal alike.

No mention of a lover.

No mention of another man.

A man he knows now to be a prince.

A prince whose beauty remains in the history books, known only by title and not by name for he never ascended the throne. His life and death both remain a mystery, and that is the primary source of the guardian’s pain. The more he searches, the more he realises that perhaps his death had been for nought. This faceless man that he loved so deeply, lost in history, the only lingering mentions of him sing praises of his beauty.

With all the power he has, he feels powerless for he could not protect his beloved.

And he cannot forgive himself for it.

The unnatural atmosphere permeates and affects the other plane where souls, ghosts, ghouls, and other supernatural beings reside, for the White Reaper is on a rampage.

With the ability to call anyone he wishes, he uses that ability like the avenging angel that he is, criminals from across the globe coming to untimely and unexplained ends.

And in Japan, whispers abound about a real shinigami stalking the earth and cleansing it.

The popular manga series Death Note flies off the shelf, going out of print as the masses discuss the probability of the premise of the series being true.

Grim Reapers are only allowed to move on orders, and for the White Reaper to move as he does and do as he does, in such a short span of time, makes it clear to everyone that he is not truly of them.

Who is he then?

They whisper amongst themselves, interrogating the select few unlucky enough to be called upon to clean up after a culling, but no one is the wiser. He is an enigma and a mystery and even more intimidating now than he ever was before. His sexuality is wielded like the weapon it is, his call is that of a siren luring those unfortunate enough to their end and their eternity of suffering, and his justice is served like the king he was always meant to be.

Triad leaders, mafia godfathers, drug cartel groups, human traffickers, and your average serial killer, all lie in fear of the unknown, of when they will expel their last breath, for Death comes for both the healthy and the sick, and they always die the same way.

Heart attack.

Jae is confused and in pain. The pain of his death haunts him though he understands now why he is what he is for he had committed a huge sin in killing himself. However it is the pain of a lost love that torments him even more for he cannot remember, and in the absence of the memories runs an agony soul deep. Samshin Halmeoni will not answer his calls, and he refuses to speak to the only other being who can answer his questions for he knows this is probably his machination.

Strangely, it is the thought of Yunho that calms him, bringing a little balance to his own sense of being despite his actions of laying waste to the evil side of the world as a vengeful angel of death. He does it to call the attention of that being that he does not wish to speak to, seeking, perhaps forcing an intervention, but never getting it no matter how far he pushes.

And he keeps pushing.

Yet he is allowed to keep on as he has. He answers to nobody, and the reapers are genuinely afraid of him.

Kim Shin has taken himself off to Canada altogether, unable to handle his two guests who no longer even reside in the house at the same time the way they avoid each other, but the tension that is left behind in the mansion is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Or a sword.

“Aren’t you going to intervene?”

“You know this was meant to be.”

“All these deaths?”


“Their pain?”


“And why is that?”

“They loved each other more than they loved me.”

The lady in red stares in consternation at her companion who merely smirks and tilts his wine glass at her in a mocking toast. His features are of a very handsome young man in that moment, but in other moments, his preferred form was always that of an unobtrusive white butterfly.

She opens her mouth to remark, pauses, and finally decides against it altogether much to the amusement of the young man.

“Samshin Halmeoni, don’t despair. You know as well as I do that I have a soft heart for them.”

The woman makes an unconvinced sound as she nurses her own glass of wine, staring into its depths. If anyone were to look closely, they would see her looking at a handsome man sitting in the darkness of his office, the lights dimmed, staring out over the Seoul skyline at the twinkling lights below him, his profile grim and stark. His desk is a litter of shattered glass.

“A heart so soft you ordained that my Jaejoong will be the cause of the end of Yunho’s existence on this earth once and for all? A man he loved so much that the only way he could promise to leave him was to die for him? His death never reached Yunho who died with his blood tainting the blade that pierced his heart, choosing to give his life because it was the only way he could truly leave Jaejoong and ensure that his beloved lived even though he was already dead a week. That soft heart?”

“Impudence doesn’t become you. Neither is your proprietary behaviour. Jaejoong was never yours.”

Her lips thin, but she keeps them pressed shut, knowing she has probably overstepped. Taking a deep breath, she turns her gaze back to her wine glass, the deep red of her drink flaring white as a vision of the angel of death blazes in it in all his terrifying glory as he summons a cruel dictator from the depths of Africa to him. He is in his true form, two grim reapers already fainted at his feet, his wings outstretched behind him as he calls to the cowering dictator responsible for thousands upon thousands of deaths of people he was meant to serve and protect. Something absolutely unforgivable.

The strength in him gives her the courage to respond. “Forgive me, Almighty. Whose is he then?”

“Do you even have to ask?”


The young man chuckles heartily at that, his eyes mismatched at the true mirth he feels at his deity’s answer. Throwing his head back he laughs, and yet the sound that grows louder and louder does not stir anyone in the night club they are in. He laughs with his entire body, and it is as if no one can hear or see him. The handsome young man laughing to himself.

“Do you know whose body I am in?”

“Shim Changmin. This is his second life and he looks exactly as he did when he was Yunho’s second in command a millennia ago.”

“Do you know he refused to drink the tea upon his death?”

“The reaper allowed it?”

“The reaper did at my behest.”

“So he remembers his past life?”

“He remembers everything.”

“Will he remember that you took over his body?”

“No, but he will remember this very morning that he applied for a job at Jung Holdings a few weeks ago, and for some absurd reason, managed to get the position of the CEO’s secretary.”


“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” her answer comes quickly and truthfully.

“I was hoping to get you before you arrived but I guess it cannot be helped.”

Changmin does not respond, merely quirking a brow enquiringly at the extremely frazzled woman who had greeted him in the lobby of the offices of Jung Holdings.

“He…the boss…he’s…I—“ she wrings her hands, looking over at receptionist who shakes her head, face pale as she starts rearranging the stationery on her desk to avoid being spoken to.

“Please take me to my office. Somewhere private where you can speak freely,” the tall man replies quietly, eyes looking around the lobby. At a glance, everything seems to be operating fine, but look closer and there is a palpable tension in the air.

“Yes, yes of course,” she nods, heading towards the bank of elevators. “This way, sir. Your office is on his floor. The only other one on his floor, and may god be with you.”

“God is always with me,” comes the mirthless answer.

Yunho steeples his fingers, resting his elbows on the arms of his plush office chair, he stares out at the view he has of the city below. The gloom is getting to him, and he knows he is to blame. Everything about the past two weeks has been unnatural and he is done with trying to get answers.

For what it is worth, the rain feels like a permanent part of him. How he used to tease Shin about his maudlin thoughts, and now he cannot seem to undo the weeping of the skies for his soul cannot stop crying at the memories he has lost. His questions remain unanswered, and a part of him believes it is probably for the best because he does not know what he will do if he finds out the truth of what came to pass over a millennia ago. Something shook the end of those memories loose, and while he has a feeling it is all wrapped up in the enigma of the not-reaper living in Kim Shin’s mansion, he is finding it difficult to pursue the man for a myriad of reasons.

Jae is avoiding him, and he is avoiding Jae. It works out for him because even if he manages to catch the reaper, he has no idea what to say to him. It is always a question on his lips.

Who are you?

Yunho feels like he should know. He feels like he ought to know. The man is his bride, and he will return him to ash the way it should be, and in all honesty, he is ready to go if it means an end to the pain of his memories and his failure. Yet for some reason, there is this strange also this inexplicable yearning feeling. He wants to stay and find out more about his bride. Both he and Shin had always expected their brides to be female and human, but of course, if his great love was once a man, it stands to reason that the Almighty would choose to saddle him with a male bride, and a powerful one at that.

A supernatural bride. One that gives him hope for his continued existence.

He feels the prick of pain on his mouth, and the memory of it happening before has him uttering a heartfelt groan before he disappears from his seat, just as a knock sounds on his office door.

Topless and glowing, the Angel of Death is exactly as his name suggests. The dictator is gone, his soul now in the depths of Hell, his torment only just beginning, the worst of it will be memory of the angel’s liquid eyes beckoning him with a promise of forever, only to twist it into an inhuman need and hunger that will never ever be satiated. It is the same for all the souls he collects, for the memory of him is by far the worst torture they will ever face. Skin will be flayed from their bodies, hair ripped out, and their bodies turned inside out, and yet that pain will always be secondary to the memory of what they could have had. The illusion of what they could have had if they had only been decent humans.

He has only used this form once before, this time his anger at the most recent soul’s misdeeds causing the tattooed wings on his back to unfurl, scaring the two reapers with him practically to death had they been able to die, so caught up in his infamy that they basically expired at the unexpected turn of events.

Crossing his arms as he looks down at the two prone bodies, he chews on his bottom lip, deep in thought, his wings slowly folding back, but not quickly enough.


Jae whirls around, his wings folding with a snap and in a blink, they are back being black tattoos on his milky white skin.


Yunho’s smile is a little wan, considering the weeks he has had, but the blond is still astoundingly beautiful, and even more so now that he can see the contrast of the dark tattoos on a pale canvas. The butterfly on his chest catches his eye, and the shape of it seems familiar, almost a tease again of memories wiped, and slowly, the wan smile disappears.

“Where are we?”

“Central Africa. How did you know I was here?”

Yunho raises his hand, thumbing his bottom lip, he stares unashamedly at the still topless man, the toned body and musculature making it difficult for him to think.

Jae stares back. Yunho is overdressed for this hot climate, wearing a bespoke suit that can only have come from Savile Row, and impeccably tailored to his toes with leather boots made from some unfortunate animal.

Even as he watches, Yunho loosens his tie, and takes off his jacket, and not at all to his surprise, offers it to him.

“Put this on.”

“It’s too hot for a suit jacket.”

“Your body runs cold, purveyor of death. I’m sure you’ll survive. I can’t think with you looking like that.”

Jae accepts the jacket, an uncharacteristically soft smile playing about his mouth, the weeks of avoidance between them forgotten for the moment. “Was that difficult for you to admit?”

“What did you think I was admitting to?”

“That you’re attracted to me.”

“You know you’re attractive.”

“Yes,” the blond man nods as he puts the jacket on, seamlessly altering it and making it fit his body. “But that does not mean you’re attracted.”

“What if I am, but I don’t want to be?”

“Is there someone else?”

The depth of his pain manifests itself right there, and for the first time in months, a sprinkle of rain starts to fall on the parched earth of the desert they are in.

“There was,” the goblin finally replies, tearing his eyes away from the V of his jacket where the reaper’s white skin shines through. His tie is still too tight, and he pulls it loose altogether, letting the ends dangle as he unbuttons the top three buttons of his crisp white shirt, turning away to look around the plain building, empty of humans save for the dead body of the dictator, his sentinels outside and unknowing of what has transpired within the mud walls. “When I was human, I died for him.”

The angel follows Yunho around the room with his eyes, tracking the other’s aimless wandering as he paces around. “You loved a man too?”

Yunho pauses, turning bodily to face the other. “Too?”

The reaper clears his throat, a rueful smile on his face. “Perhaps the Almighty is toying with us. I know that I grow tired of avoiding you and I have many unanswered questions, but I shouldn’t take it out on you or anyone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I too loved a man, and I too died for him. Isn’t it ironic that I am also your bride? Someone who has lost the very same thing I did. I am over eight hundred years old, I guess it is the same thing for you. The right love, at a wrong time.”

Something stirs within Yunho at the familiar words and he takes a step towards the other man. “You’re only eight hundred years old?”

“Give or take a decade or two,” the blond shrugs. “You’re older by a couple of centuries.”

“Who are you exactly?”

A cloud falls across the blond’s features and after a long pause, he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. My only memory is of my death by your sword.”

“Impossible!” Yunho steps back as if slapped. “This sword has been with me for over a thousand years. It was already with me when you were human eight hundred years ago.

The reaper blinks and in an instant he is standing almost toe to toe with the goblin. Reaching out, he places a palm just off to the side of where the heart sits, and as he does, the glowing sword comes to life, materialising once again.

Yunho stands his ground, he does not look down nor does he look away, looking at his bride instead, for that is what the man is.

Only the Goblin’s bride will pull out that sword, and if the sword is pulled, may it return to ash and be at peace.

He sees the flare of pain in the other’s eyes, and then the pain transfers to him as he feels a slight tug.

“I am certain it is the same sword.”

“And I am telling you it is impossible.”

“Shall I draw it out to check?”

“If you do, I will die.”

The angel looks up from the sword, eyes searching yet seeing no fear in the other man’s eyes. “You’re not afraid to die.” It is a statement not a question. “Did you know that I can call you back?”

Yunho had a suspicion. He had been thinking about it off and on when not dwelling on other impossible things. He had heard of the blond’s rampage because anyone causing that big a disturbance in the natural flow of things will always catch his attention as a Guardian. He knows the reapers are terrified, as evidenced by the still prone bodies of the two who had accompanied the blond on this trip, still passed out cold on the ground.

He vocalises his thoughts.

“I did not know for a fact, but I guessed it was a possibility, White Reaper.”

“I prefer the other word.”

“What other word?”

Jae cocks his head, his gaze direct and unflinching, and it brings a reluctant smile to the goblin’s mouth. That movement however, distracts the blond immediately, and his eyes drop to the man’s cupid bow, his gaze intent as always.

Yunho gives in at the peek of a pink tongue sweeping thoughtfully over a plush lower lip, and he answers the silent invitation.

Closing the gap between their bodies, the sword disappearing again, he bends down to capture the reaper’s mouth. “Angel…” he breathes against the blond’s lips, and he gets a nip in reply before a warm tongue slides into his mouth, silencing all further thought.

The new secretary waits in the outer office, the door of his new boss’ office is ajar, left that way by the confused woman who had let him in and told him to wait.

He is flipping through a magazine when he hears noise in the previously empty office, and the sound of a familiar laugh.

Breath caught in his chest, refusing to hope, he places the magazine down carefully.

“You need to loosen this, otherwise it won’t fit me again. I’m supposed to meet my new secretary and I’m not dressed appropriately.”

This time Changmin’s heart is racing. It isn’t just the voice but the man’s manner. He has always been a stickler for doing things properly and correctly.

This is his first job, and the first Jung Yunho he had found since he started his search. Is fate so kind that he will find his friend on his first try?

He does not knock, filled with too much adrenaline, he forgets himself as he walks into the room.

Yunho is facing the door, Jae behind him brushing off imaginary dust from the back of his jacket when Changmin walks in.

“My lord!”

“Cha…Changmin?” Yunho is stunned. Not only does his friend look exactly the same, but he seems to remember him because he is pretty sure no one calls anyone my lord anymore. At least not in South Korea.

Jae pops around, curious at the strange greeting. He is wearing one of Yunho’s spare shirts, but it is yet to be buttoned.

Changmin’s eyes widen at seeing a second familiar face, not to mention the familiar state of en déshabillé the crown prince is always in when around his best friend. Smiling broadly at the couple, his heart is filled with joy that they are reunited once again, he steps forward quickly. His refusal to drink the tea of the reaper at his death means that the memory of his past life remains as strong as ever, and he belatedly remembers his manners, dropping to his knees in prostration before bowing his head to the ground in front of the surprised blond.

“Your humble subject greets you, Taeja. It is good to see you with my lord again.”

AN: Hmmm, I hope that helps to answer some questions. Wrapping this up slowly but surely…

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Bow down To Nikki!!!
sh*t I'm so into it and I rerad it again from the start...
They dying for each other and the memory of the past revealed...
As always,Changmin to the resque...

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