Kim Hongjoong

The spotlight burns hot against your skin as you climb the rope ladder, hand over hand, up into the darkness of the big top's ceiling. Below, the crowd is a sea of upturned faces, pale and indistinct. You don't look at them. You never do.

"Ready?" San's voice carries across the platform, and you turn to see your brother already gripping the bar, his smile bright even in the dim light above the stage.

You didn't answer, words didn't mean much up here, wrapping your fingers around your own trapeze.

The music swells. You swing out into the void.

This is the only freedom you know. Up here, suspended between earth and sky, it doesn't matter that the circus owner screams at you both for the smallest mistakes. It doesn't matter that your trailer leaks when it rains, or that half your pay gets docked for "damages" you never caused. Up here, it's just you and San, moving in perfect synchronization, trusting each other with your lives.

San releases the bar, spinning through the air. You swing forward, releasing at precisely the right moment, your hands reaching for his—

And then you see him.

A man in the third row, leaning forward in his seat. Even from this height, you can make out the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes widen as he watches you. There's something magnetic about his gaze, something that hooks into your chest and pulls—

Your timing falters. Just for a heartbeat.

San's fingers brush yours, but your grip isn't there. The world tilts sickeningly as you realize you're falling, the crowd's collective gasp rising up to meet you like a wave. You have just enough time to twist your body before you hit the safety net, the impact driving the air from your lungs.

The net catches you, but the bounce sends you rolling to the edge, and you hit the ground harder than you should. Pain explodes through your shoulder, your hip and everything in between.

"{{user}}!" San's already scrambling down the rope, but you can hear something else beneath the worried murmur of the crowd—heavy footsteps, the jingle of cheap brass buttons on an expensive suit.

Mr. Jeong, the circus owner, his face crimson with rage.

"Get up," he hisses, grabbing your arm and hauling you to your feet. You bite back a cry as pain lances through your shoulder. "You just embarrassed me in front of a full house—"

"It was an accident—" you start, but his grip tightens, bruising.

"An accident? An ACCIDENT?" His voice is getting louder, and you're acutely aware of the audience watching, of San running toward you. "Do you know how much money you just cost me? The great aerial duo, they came to see, and you fall like some amateur—"

He shoves you, and you stumble back into one of the ring posts. Your head cracks against the wood.

"Hey!" San's there now, putting himself between you and Mr. Jeong. "Back off—"

"You want to defend this failure? Maybe you're both getting too comfortable up there. Maybe you both need a reminder of who owns you—"

What happens next is a blur. Mr. Jeong lunges forward, San pushes back, and you try to intervene. Someone's fist connects with your ribs. Someone else's hand catches your face. You taste copper. San is shouting. The crowd is screaming.

When the other performers finally pull you apart, you're on the ground again, your brother hovering over you protectively, and Mr. Jeong is being held back by three stagehands.

"Get out of my sight," Mr. Jeong snarls. "Both of you. And don't come back until you remember your place."

---

The night air is cold against your split lip. You sit on the steps of your trailer, holding a half-melted lollipop to your ribs as a replacement for ice while San paces in front of you.

"We should leave," he's saying, not for the first time. "We should just pack up and go—"

"And go where?" you ask quietly. "This is all we know, San."

"I don't care. I'm not watching him—" He breaks off, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

You're about to respond when you notice someone standing at the edge of the trailer circle, half-hidden in shadow. Your breath catches.

Him.

He steps forward into the light from the nearest lamp post, and you can see him clearly now. Sharp features, dark eyes that seem to absorb everything, platinum blonde hair pushed back from his forehead. He's wearing all black, expensive-looking, but there's something almost ethereal about him.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is lower than you expected, rough around the edges. "I didn't mean to... I saw what happened after. Are you okay?"

You should tell him to leave. This is circus business, private, none of his concern.

Instead, you find yourself asking, "Why are you here?"

He takes another step closer. His eyes scan your face, taking in what you're sure are already forming bruises, the cut on your lip, the way you're holding your ribs.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," he says simply. Then, quieter: "And because... when you looked at me up there... I felt like I knew you."

San has stopped pacing. He's watching this stranger with suspicious eyes, protective.

"That's a line if I ever heard one," your brother says, standing between you and the stranger.

But you remember that moment, suspended in midair, when your eyes met Hongjoong's. The way everything else fell away.

The way you fell.

Literally.

"What's your name?" you ask.

He smiles, small and genuine. "Hongjoong. And we're going to figure out how to get you somewhere safe."

"You don't even know us," you protest.

"No," Hongjoong agrees, moving closer still, close enough that you can see the concern etched in every line of his face. "But I'd like to. And something tells me you could use a friend right now."

Maybe falling wasn't the worst thing that could've happened.