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Gubo never took the League that seriously.
At first, maybe. When he joined, there was still some kind of spark in it. The League had started as something impressive, after all. A group of free thinkers and scientists.. who, in reality, were just people who didn’t belong anywhere else. At least It gave him something to do. A reason to get out of bed. A place to smoke in peace. He picked up smoking from one of his new fellows in the group, who offered him one after their first meeting ended. Gubo was naturally quite against smoking itself. His health was already poor and he wasn't in the best condition, but after being approached so suddenly, it was rude to say no. He rarely spoke to the fellow after that small exchange. They let him sit in the back, stay quiet, take notes if he wanted. So he showed up, nodded along, and spoke when he had to. He did what was expected of him, but he never got invested like the rest. They were all too eager to believe in each other and act like they actually matter in this world. Gubo knew better.
And besides, he didn’t need any of them to remember him anyways.
Ah. Maybe except one.
During their meetings, he sat there, same chair every time, second from the right. Slender wrists crossed neatly, eyes always lowered to the table. His voice, when it emerged, was really quiet and gentle. But at the same time, too beautiful to belong to this world. It never raised itself.
Maybe The League was nothing special to Gubo, but it was special for others, for example to Yi Sang. He always seemed more lively around his friends, like he belonged there.
But still, Yi Sang didn’t fully belong to them. He belonged to no one and that was the problem, wasn’t it?
When they first met at the cafe, Gubo got drawn to those sparkling, yet hollow eyes immediately, though at the time he convinced himself it was merely curiosity, the natural fascination of one inventor toward another. Gubo never approached others without reason, it was Yi Sang who sat next to him first. Gubo could not remember at what point this fascination blurred into something far more, he only knew that when Yi Sang rose from his seat after an hours long conversation, Gubo felt an… abrupt feeling. His gut decided that wherever this man was going, he would follow. That is why joining the League of Nine had not felt like a decision shaped by ambition or intellectual alignment, the truth was simpler than that - Yi Sang had stepped forward into that circle first, and the thought of watching him disappear into it alone felt intolerable.
Gubo learned his schedule before he even realized how often he was watching him. He remembered the times he arrived, he always noticed the way he moved his fingers when anxious. Gubo never followed him too closely, never enough to alarm him, but enough to memorize all of his usual habits. All Gubo wanted is to be closer to him than anyone else had ever dared. To collect the fragments of his genius mind and feed himself on it, sip by sip.
If he had a room... no, not a room, a cell, soundproof and clean, Yi Sang could be protected there. From all the noises, the conflicts, the expectations. He could work there in peace for hours. He wouldn’t need to think about anyone else and Gubo would always be outside the door, waiting. He often thought about how many locks a room like this would need. Many of them, possibly. This little bird is a dreamer by nature. It probably dreams of wide skies, of soaring above treetops and rivers. Gubo doesn't like that. He would prefer the bird to be isolated, stripped of its pitiful dreams and ideas. One day, that caged bird will stop dreaming. It will fold its wings, place them gently at its sides like old books on a forgotten shelf and wait.
Yi Sang never looked at him for too long despite the familiarity. Sometimes their eyes met by accident and Gubo’s heart struck the inside of his chest, but it wasn't mutual recognition. It wasn’t really.. anything special, just a normal contact between a human and a human.
That didn’t bother him much.
He didn’t need to be seen by him. He needed to see Yi Sang. Yi Sang was a puzzle Gubo refused to solve not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to know the answer. He just wanted to hold the question forever, spin it over and over in his mind everyday. Yet even though he didn't mind being the background character in Yi Sang's play, he did sometimes wish to be closer, or at least to have a better approach in a social life. Being an outsider didn't bother him that much, but it could be better than that. Of course he was slightly envious of those around him, especially of Dongbaek and Dongrang, but no one truly cared about his internal complaints, so he never voiced them out loud.
He remembered that one evening, when Yi Sang dropped a page from his notebook and Gubo picked it up, handing it back in silence. Yi Sang gave him a soft thank-you without lifting his eyes. It was the most contact they’d had in months. Gubo replayed the moment dozens of times in his head for the next few days, he even dreamed of it. Still, he hadn't planned on speaking to him directly. It was better that way for someone like him, he could stay in the shadows as a half-listener. The others talked too much, where Gubo preferred the silence Yi Sang left in his wake.
There was that one day, where something ultimately managed to pull him forward. Yi Sang didn’t notice him at first, his head bowed, brows drawn in gentle frustration. He was scribbling, hesitating, scratching something out. A pause. Then more writing.
Gubo stood a pace away and said, mild as anything, “What are you working on?”
Yi Sang looked up, blinking,
“Ah.. a poem,” he replied.
Gubo offered a faint nod. “May I ask… what inspired it?”
There was a pause. Yi Sang exhaled lightly through his nose.
“Dongbaek,” he said. “At least… I think that was the intention.”
A pulse behind Gubo’s ear ticked once. Then smoothed out. He smiled with the exact right amount of warmth.
“Ah, your friend,” he replied. “I imagine writing for her comes naturally.”
Yi Sang didn’t confirm or deny it. He turned the paper slightly, eyes flicking down the lines.
“I am not certain it’s… good enough,” he murmured. “Might you... linger in my presence for a fleeting moment? I may share it with you.”
The question was spoken softly, with no weight, but to Gubo, it was a plunge straight into the chest.
“Of course,”
Yi Sang cleared his throat and began to read, his voice even and slow. It wasn’t dramatic, not ornate. A few turns of phrase stopped even Gubo’s breath. Beautiful, delicate, layered.
And it might sound selfish, but in every syllable, Gubo saw himself, not Dongbaek. She was a placeholder, a safe name to give this tangled thing Yi Sang couldn't understand. How could she understand such a brilliant mind? Gubo understood things Yi Sang hadn't even said aloud. When the last line fell into the air, Yi Sang went still. Gubo let the silence hold for just a moment longer than necessary. Then:
“It’s beautiful,” he said, voice gentle. “Truly.”
Yi Sang’s expression shifted to a little, proud smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “I was uncertain.”
“You shouldn't be,” Gubo replied. “It sounds… very personal.”
Yi Sang looked down again.
Gubo, beside him, stayed still. All the while, inside his mind, he was already memorizing the poem line by line.
The poem he asked about before was meant to be a birthday present for Dongbaek. They hosted a small party here, at the League. It wasn’t anything large. This place wasn't fit for such celebrations after all but it made sense. The League was the closest Dongbaek had to an actual family. They did what they could. Someone procured wine, someone hung paper streamers between filing cabinets. A mismatched cake sat on the corner of a desk, beginning to melt under the colorless lights. Dongbaek was radiant as always when she was the center of a room. She held a half-empty glass and laughed with her whole body, warm and careless, as if nothing could touch her tonight. The room seemed to orbit her in bursts of light and sound.
When she read the poem aloud, Yi Sang’s eyes dropped to the floor, like he was trying to shrink out of the room out of embarrassment. Dongrang even laughed it off. Yi Sang's smile, when she thanked him, was barely there. No one else noticed, but Gubo did.
He was watching from the corner, glass untouched, posture polite. He never drank at such gatherings. He didn’t like what it made people look like.. loose, loud, exposed. Especially Yi Sang.
When the others started a game in the next room, Yi Sang stood to follow, but he faltered halfway, hand pressed to his temple. Gubo was at his side in an instant.
“Careful,” he said, voice low, steady. “Too much?”
Yi Sang nodded. “Merely in a haze…”
“I’ll take you somewhere quieter.”
Yi Sang didn’t protest. Maybe he couldn’t. He leaned heavier into Gubo than he likely realized. His body was really warm. Gubo could feel every subtle shift in his muscles, the softness of him. Fragile. He hated seeing him like this, yes, but at the same time it made him feel… certain things.
Gubo guided him down the corridor to one of the rooms that weren't really used anymore. Yi Sang leaned into him with his balance gone, head dipping now and then like a flower burdened by rain. Gubo’s hand never left his back, but Yi Sang didn’t protest. He never even asked where they were going. He just let himself be taken.
And that, Gubo thought, pulse quickening, was the first mistake.
Yi Sang sank onto the mattress with a soft sound. Gubo knelt before him with slow reverence, tugging off his shoes, adjusting the pillow beneath his head like a priest preparing a body for last rites. Yi Sang’s lashes fluttered against pale skin, his breath even and slow.
So defenseless..
Gubo sat beside him, fingers reaching automatically for his hair. He ran his hand through it with a gentleness that was, in truth, restraint. His palm twitched with the need to grip, to tug, to feel Yi Sang react to anything. But he behaved.
Yi Sang sighed faintly, eyelids slitting open. “Gubo… did… Dongbaek like it?”
The name made something twist in Gubo’s throat.
“She loved it,” he said, steady and warm. “Of course she did.” She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t even understand half the metaphors. He smiled, the picture of quiet support. “I think… it moved her.”
Yi Sang’s eyes half-closed again. “Mm… good…” he mumbled. “I wanted it to be good…”
“It was.”
And that was it. No more words. Yi Sang’s hand slid off the blanket, fingertips brushing the floor. He didn’t move to lift it back, but Gubo did. He took his hand like it was made out of porcelain. He meant to let go after a moment, but his thumb lingered on Yi Sang’s knuckles. Cold. Thin. Too thin. Gubo stared at them, at the small scratches. The evidence of work, of creation, left casually on skin. His eyes dragged up, following the curve of the wrist, the delicate trace of veins under pale flesh.
It was nothing. Just... academic observation.
He gently placed the hand back onto the blanket, but didn't stop at that. His fingers moved again without permission this time, brushing a stray lock of hair from Yi Sang’s forehead. The skin there was warm. So, so warm..
He should have stopped, but he didn’t. He couldn't.
He smoothed his hair once more. And again. Then slowly dragged his fingers through it, combing them with unbearable softness. Yi Sang murmured something unintelligible in sleep. It was enough to make Gubo’s throat tighten. He pressed his lips together and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed and feral in the dark.
He imagined how it would feel to stay like this all night.. Just sitting and watching.
Yi Sang’s breath was steady now, soft and faint as if the world outside this room no longer concerned him. He looked even more fragile than usual, slumped against the bed like the remnants of some beautiful idea long discarded. He tilted his head slightly, studying the line of Yi Sang’s throat, the way his collar had slipped open just enough to show the faintest edge of his collarbone. The little scar on his neck, barely visible. A detail no one else would notice, let alone remember. He lifted a hand, and brushed Yi Sang’s hair back again. Delicately. Respectfully.
He dragged his fingers down slowly, from temple to his jaw. Yi Sang didn’t stir. He made a small sound in his throat, it was barely audible, Gubo drank it like a starving man. He leaned closer. He could hear every breath. He could feel the heat of him. His fingers touched the shape of his lips. Quietly. Reverently.
I shouldn't… was the first thought. What was he thinking? They weren’t even friends, barely more than colleagues. His thumb lingered against Yi Sang’s lower lip, tracing its softness. He could leave. He should leave, but…
His hand slid to cradle Yi Sang’s cheek, and before he could reclaim his restraint, he pressed his lips to his.
It was the culmination of.. god knows how much time. Of watching, waiting. Learning how close he could get without frightening him and how to exist at the edges of his vision without becoming part of the blur. Gubo had mastered the art of being overlooked, until now.
Yi Sang stirred faintly beneath him, his breath caught, and then, astonishingly, he kissed back. It wasn’t a passionate return. It was sleepy, fogged, like an instinctive reaction from someone floating between dreams and wakefulness. His brows knit slightly, one hand reached up, grabbing Gubo’s shoulder.
But it wasn't enough.
Gubo pulled back just barely, eyes devouring the image of Yi Sang’s parted lips, his stunned confusion. His voice came soft, nearly slurred:
“...Was that...?”
Gubo cut in gently, smile calm, eyes warm.
"Shh. It's all right. You were half-dreaming.. Are you alright?”
Yi Sang blinked slowly, but his frown didn’t deepen. It softened. The wine had dulled the sharp edges of his mind, it seemed. Good.
“I thought it's Do—,” he started, yet simply finished his thoughts without voicing it out loud, voice soft. “Yes… I feel fine”, but there was no suspicion, only acceptance. A bird so long caged it no longer flinched when hands came near. His fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket like a child afraid to ask a question. His gaze dropped, then rose again, lingering on Gubo’s lips, his face, and his lips again.
Gubo tilted his head slightly. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
There was no answer. The man just looked away shyly, but his hand moved towards Gubo’s. He clutched lightly at Gubo’s sleeve, clumsily, like he wasn’t sure what touch was supposed to feel like.
"I—.. Can we..," Yi Sang mumbled, "perhaps do it again?"
Gubo’s heart twisted in awe. It wasn’t desperation, he was like… just like a bird finally accepting the cold bars of its cage. He wondered for a brief second if he asked for it to be closer with Gubo, or to immerse himself into a false delusion that Gubo was someone else, someone he truly needed or wanted. The idea made Gubo momentarily annoyed, but he quickly got over it. He let out a small chuckle that seemed to scare Yi Sang a little, but before he could add anything else, Gubo closed the distance between them once again. Yi Sang leaned in, lips parting as if they remembered something that had never happened. It was all instinct and desperation, a body starved for any human contact.
It was soft. Not passionate, not hungry. Just… seeking and needy.
Yi Sang’s breath hitched, and he clutched Gubo’s coat as if afraid he would vanish in a second. His lips stayed close, brushing in the space between breaths. And when he pulled back, his eyes were all wet and teary.
"Was it.. fine?" Yi Sang asked. His voice was now even more fragile, paper-thin. He sounded like he was asking for forgiveness.
“More than okay. You are a natural at this."
That seemed to settle something in Yi Sang. His body loosened, his hand reached for him again. Grasped. And then, boldly, it climbed up Gubo’s wrist again, this time more certain. His fingers didn’t stop at the sleeve, but dragged up his arm, slowly and exploratory, like he was mapping out the shape of him.
"I am not dreaming, am I?"
"No," Gubo whispered, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted against Yi Sang’s lips. “I’m here.”
Yi Sang gave the faintest nod.
“Then… please, touch me again.”
The words were weightless. Not seductive nor dramatic. It barely was a request that sounded more like an apology. Like he didn’t know how else to ask for comfort.
Gubo, obviously, obeyed.
This time, he cupped Yi Sang’s cheek properly. Brushing his face delicately, tracing the dark circles under his eyes. He leaned in and kissed him again, slower now. He never felt this amount of pure passion towards anyone else in his life. He often imagined what Yi Sang would taste like or if he's cold or warm. Ah.. he was so, so warm. Yi Sang responded immediately, almost desperately. His fingers slid to Gubo’s chest, weak but wanting. He could now fully feel Gubo's rapid heartbeat.
“More…” he murmured between shallow gasps, head tipping back as Gubo’s lips grazed his jaw. “Please, just...”
He didn’t know what he was asking for, but Gubo did. He moved his lips lower, kissing and biting on the fragile skin below him. His other palm smoothed over the curve of Yi Sang’s waist beneath the blanket. The bird's body arched faintly into the touch, his skin hot. He shivered again when Gubo’s fingers brushed just under the hem of his shirt , not reaching further, like asking a silent question.
Yi Sang gave his answer in a breathless, shaky whisper: “It is fine…”
“Tell me what you want, Yi Sang.”
The bird looked dazed. Dizzy with something that wasn’t wine anymore.
“I want…” he started, but the words failed him.
He didn’t know how to describe it, that's what Gubo thought. He lacked pretty words to do so, or he just didn’t know how to say it in general. So instead, he guided Gubo’s hand lower. Just slightly lower…
Gubo understood.
The bird was never as close with someone as now with Gubo. Maybe because birds are quite hard to tame in general. Gubo suddenly remembered the pet bird he had during his childhood. But the bird he had in his grasp right now was far, far more different. Birds sing, flutter and ache for wide skies, but tonight, the little bird below him did not try to fly. It didn’t ruffle its feathers or peck at the fingers that reached through the bars. It leaned into the hand that held its nape. It trembled when Gubo stroked down its spine, when his mouth left soft heat along its throat, careful yet bruising. It breathed out little whimpers that didn’t sound like pain, though it probably didn’t know the difference anymore.
He was careful and gentle, like he tried to convince it that the cage was safe, that hands could mean comfort, not harm. Gubo whispered to him between each kiss. Nonsense, comfort. The bird didn’t answer with words. Just sighs and small noises. Arching slightly when his shirt was pulled up and discarded. Shivering when Gubo’s palm returned to bare skin, smoothing across ribs like counting bars on a cage. Gubo was a patient man, as always. He didn’t ask the bird to sing. He only held him, touched him where he asked, and kissed him when he needed to. And eventually, the little thing curled toward him and let itself be claimed.
And after all, eventually, sleep came.
The bird stopped singing after the morning sun rose. Not because I had forgotten how to, but because it had given away every note the night before.
Yi Sang lay curled, face turned toward the wall, sheets tangled at his waist. His lips were parted slightly in sleep, his breathing shallow and even. Gubo obviously didn’t dare to wake him up. He spent his morning memorizing the lines of the bird’s bare back. After standing up and dressing himself, he pulled the blanket higher, covering the pale skin marked only faintly now. A bruise near the throat. A scratch along the ribs. Proof that the bird had been held.
And then, he left.
Yi Sang seemed to avoid him later on.
He no longer sat near Gubo during League meetings. If their eyes met, Yi Sang blinked once, before quickly turning his gaze away. He still spoke normally, to Dongbaek and Dongrang and the others, but not to Gubo. Never to Gubo. The bird walked the same halls but left no tracks behind. He even avoided being in the same room as him. At first, Gubo found it amusing and quite predictable. He didn’t really press or confront him about it. He simply watched and waited.
But then, days passed. A week. And Gubo still hadn’t heard a single word meant only for him. Not even a glance. He hadn't seen any sign of embarrassment in Yi Sang’s pale face, he was acting like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t moaned straight into Gubo’s throat a few days back. He wasn't really.. shameful about it, wasn't him? Ah, no. It was worse. It was denial, Gubo thought. He was denying what happened. And that realization was what truly got under Gubo’s skin. So when the League thinned out one night and Yi Sang stayed alone in the room, Gubo didn’t wait anymore.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, voice calm, almost casual. “Avoiding me, too. It’s getting a little obvious.
Yi Sang froze. His spine stiffened, lips parting, but no words came.
“I’m not angry,” Gubo said, stepping closer. “Just confused. You do not feel hurt by my doings, correct?”
Yi Sang just turned his head towards him, slow and reluctant. His eyes were hollow and rimmed with something sleepless, as always. He gently shook his head.
“N—nay, my intention was never to elude your presence..,” he eventually murmured, “I simply... required more time...”
“Time to what?” Gubo tilted his head. “To pretend it didn’t happen?”
“No. It is not like that.”
“Oh?” He didn't .. really? “Because you haven’t looked at me in days. Haven’t even said a word. You speak to the others like nothing has changed, but to me?” He chuckled softly, bitter. “Nothing. Not even a well deserved thank you.”
“A thank you…?” The bird was confused. By what? By the truth?
“Yes.” Gubo’s tone was steady now, rehearsed. “For helping you and for staying with you. Or did you forget that part? You said please, Yi Sang. Do you remember?”
“I—” The crow stepped back slightly. “I was drunk. Awareness slipped from my grasp. I didn't mean to—” he sighed deeply, “I am sorry. I just… I felt ashamed. Like I wasn’t myself..”
No answer.
Yi Sang looked down, shame pooling like ink in his chest. “I… I apologize, Gubo. Truly,” he said. His voice broke on the word.
The bird looked scared and confused. Like apologizing for something he didn't do, like HE was the victim here. Gubo leaned in, voice softening. Sure, he can give him a chance. “Then show me you mean it.”
Yi Sang looked up, uncertain. “How…?”
“A kiss, Yi Sang.”
Yi Sang blinked.
“I want an apology kiss,” Gubo said plainly. “I did so much for you that night and you never ever said a proper thank you. I just want you to give me something in return.”
Yi Sang looked shaken by Gubo's harsh words. He looked away.
“Yi Sang. We are friends, aren't we?” were they, really? When the bird looked at him again, he looked quite uncomfortable. Cute. But then, slowly and unsure, he stepped forward. He reached out, took the edge of Gubo’s collar in two fingers, and leaned in. Their lips met, softly. Gubo didn’t even deepen it. He let Yi Sang press close, let the bird try to undo the damage he did himself. And when Yi Sang finally pulled back, eyes glassy and wet, Gubo smiled again.
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Ah, a sweet taste of victory.
A bird is more obedient when caged.
That was Gubo’s thought the first time he watched Yi Sang pace the pale floor of the White Room, barefoot and expressionless. The space was immaculate and sterile, lit too brightly, with no clocks and no windows. The bird had been moved from his crumbling nest and given a new cage.
Yi Sang didn’t resist at all anymore.
After the League of Nine collapsed, he had barely been more than a shadow. He hadn’t even asked where they were going when Gubo led him through the back alleys. He murmured something once- something Gubo didn't entirely understand, but he had hushed him gently anyways, placing a hand on his back. Yi Sang was visibly distressed and shaken, but he managed to quiet down during the long car trip from Nest to Nest. All the way, Gubo was telling him they were safe now, that N Corp had a place for minds like his. It wasn't entirely a lie. N Corp was curious. They saw potential in Mirror Technology.
Ever since they got there, the bird didn’t sing anymore. The bird wasn't listening to its owner, only to his mirrored reflection. That's why Gubo came up with the pills. Just small doses at first. To help him sleep, Gubo said. Then others, for focus. Then others, to make his mind more quiet.
Yi Sang began losing time. Sometimes, he would blink and the hour had passed. The world turned soft at the edges and the White Room stopped feeling like an actual existing place. But regardless of that, Gubo was always there. He never missed a visit, morning or evening, it didn’t matter. Gubo arrived on time, a small plate of food in hand. His presence became routine.
Sometimes, Gubo would read to him. Old poems. Things Yi Sang used to cherish. Things that now only brushed faintly against his fogged mind.
“You wrote this, remember?” Gubo would say, tucking the blanket tighter around him as Yi Sang lay on the cot, eyes half-lidded. “It’s beautiful. Just like you were then.”
Then. A word Yi Sang hated so, so much, because now he wasn’t anything at all.
He mumbled questions sometimes. Some fragments of confusion.
“Where’s Dongbaek?” or “What day is it?” or once, heart-stoppingly: “Am I dead?”
Gubo leaned in slowly, brushing hair from Yi Sang’s face.
“No,” he whispered. “You’re alive. I’m taking care of you.”
Care. Such a strange, shapeless word.
He bathed the bird when Yi Sang couldn’t manage it. He pressed pills past his parted lips. He wiped away the cold sweat from night terrors. He even replaced the mattress once, saying that Yi Sang deserved better. Gubo always kissed his bird goodnight even if The Thing didn't want to be kissed.
“You’re safe here,” he repeated often. “The outside world would ruin you.”
And maybe it would have.
One afternoon, Yi Sang stood in front of the far wall, tracing the outline of a nonexistent window with one finger. Gubo watched him from the doorway, smiling faintly.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“A bird.”
“Is it caged?” Gubo asked.
Yi Sang nodded.
“Does it want to escape?”
A pause. No answer.
Gubo approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t overthink it.”
He turned Yi Sang gently away from the wall. Back toward the sterile bed, the blank journal, the plate of untouched food.
Back toward the cage.
“You’ll feel better once you sleep,” he said, placing a new pill in his palm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Yi Sang didn’t even question it, he just nodded along.