CW: Explicit language, mentions of drug use/abuse, mentions of addiction, alcohol abuse, sexual content, mild dub/non-con.

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The two Milkfangs are put to work delivering the supplies from Taecho when they finally arrive. Princess and a few reliable Hounds hitch a loaded wagon to the back of a rather worn looking workhorse before handing Rin the reins.

“Deliver these to the Slummers on your route,” Princess grunts, giving the Milkfangs a surly eye. “With the reminder that this is provided by the generousity of the Marquis.”

There are hundreds of supplies bundled in waterproof paper and string. Far more than the Milkfangs’ route. When they point this out, Princess simply shrugs and lumbers away. “Then give them away until you don’t got any no more. Use your brains.”

This draws a dry and scathing comment from the raven, but the two get to work immediately.

Masa is none too happy to see his tax collectors approach, clear in the way his chops grow increasingly violent. But the package seems to at once nullify his temper, and when he opens it before the Milkfangs, they see that it contains boxed medicines for injuries and ailments, a small box of tea, a length of good quality cloth, and tiny white beads that purify dirty water for consumption.

The same goes for Kang Dae and Ga Ram, their faces lighting up as Jun hands them their own respective package. Kang Dae has grown rather sticky, tugging on the lord’s arm and chatting happily about a particularly unruly customer. Rin watches on in dissatisfaction, nose wrinkled and eye narrowed.

They part with Jun promising to return to assist running the stall when he next has free time. He doesn’t miss the pout adorning his lover’s mien as they continue their distribution, and he makes a second promise to pay extra attention to Rin that evening. Instead of inciting a lewd quip as it might usually do however, Rin falls quiet and subdued.

Jun doesn’t bother to attempt any form of intimacy further than a kiss that evening. He knows he would undoubtedly be rejected.

Throughout the next week, they continue their distribution Slum-wide. Jun occasionally pops back to the Lakehouse. Rin occasionally performs his anti-Hwan sentiments in public spaces under the guise of inebriation or madness. Or both.

On the tenth day of distribution, the Marquis invites them to Lady Damp's teahouse, a comfortable place to take tea and a light snack for the Slummers. Lady Damp herself is rarely ever seen, working in the backroom preparing the tea leaves themselves. It’s her daughter who is the face and host of the teahouse, greeting, seating, and serving guests with a tirelessly sunny disposition.

“She’s not really a Lady,” Rin explains to his little lord. “That’s just what everyone calls her ‘cus she acts like one. Kinda looks like one too.”

"Hm. Seems to be a rather common phenomenon in the Slums, no?"

Rin shrugs. "We all wanna be someone we're not."

"An odd name. Damp."

"It's not a name. She's just. Always damp."

"..."

"Don't worry about it."

The teahouse is empty at this time of day, two hours before high noon when most Slummers are working or still sleeping off the drink from the night before. It’s a quaint structure that has seen the best and worst of the last fifty years, rich in character. What it lacks in elegance, it makes up for in heart.

Jun smiles as he glances at the clumsy paintings displayed on the walls. Many from local children. Others from Lady Damp herself. Not very talented but earnest nonetheless, her joy in the act evident in the lively strokes of her brush.

The lord picks up his tea. It has a deep citrus flavour that cleanses and refreshes the palate.

“How do you enjoy the tea?” the Marquis raises, loathe to let himself be ignored for much longer.

“Very much so, thank you,” Jun replies, politely.

They are sitting by the open window, overlooking the hustle and bustle of the main road. It’s a bright, sunny day with a surprising but welcomed cool breeze blowing the worst of the summer heat away.

Rin throws his arm over the window ledge, feeling quite idle and lazy. He yawns and pops a small cake into his mouth, chewing without much taste. “Why did you call us here, Korain?”

“I simply wished to see how my two favourite Milkfangs were doing,” the Marquis hums, twisting his tea cup idly between his fingers.

He looks well rested this morning, less gaunt and shadowed. Though there is the distinct bitter scent of Slowane hanging off him, he doesn’t seem at all intoxicated. Perhaps his addiction runs deeper than Rin had originally feared. Perhaps Korain needs it to simply function. How much does he need to get high?

“We’re the only Milkfangs,” Rin points out. Their eyes meet. He quickly averts his gaze out the window. Phoenixes are burnt into his retinas, lingering for long after.

“Indeed you are. And that makes you both all the more precious to me. Is it a sin to be concerned for your wellbeing?”

“We are well,” Jun interjects, worried that his lover might lose his poor temper. “Thank you for asking. How are you faring, Marquis? There has been much unrest since the battle.”

“Yes, though it is not unexpected,” Korain sighs, dramatically. “We lost many Hounds that night. Many good men and women that did not deserve the deaths they had. It is a bad habit of mine, to let shame overwhelm me. I could not bring myself to attend the burial, so distraught was I. And so I let my addiction get the better of me. Ah, they must resent me for my weakness. Old habits die hard, after all.”

“They will come to understand. Anger and grief can inform perception, no matter how incorrect or unjustified. Some people need a scapegoat to cope with the pain. Please do not take it personally.”

“My, you are a kind man, Bijan.” The Marquis reaches out to touch Jun lightly on the hand. Fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Rin’s spine straightens and stiffens. His lips purse as a sickly, unpleasant heat licks at his insides.

“Have the families of the dead been notified?” Jun asks, oblivious to the man’s cloying touch. Or he is simply choosing to ignore it. “I thought they would have attended the burial at least.”

“The Pack is family,” Korain says, withdrawing his hand when he notices Rin’s dour expression. He suppresses a laugh. “If you are referring to blood relations, none of us have any worth knowing. And any worth knowing are already dead. Blood means very different down here in the Slums, Bijan. Aside from magical inheritance, there is no meaning attached to it. We did not ask to be born, therefore we are obligated to those who have birthed us.”

“That is a…refreshing take,” Jun admits, a little wistfully. “I myself am determined by my blood.” He pauses, rousing himself from his angst. “Which is why I enjoy being a part of your Pack, Marquis. It brings a freedom that I have long sought.”

“And freedom from the rebels, no doubt.” There’s a knowing glint in the Marquis’ eyes.

“...Yes. Of course.”

“Never mind that. As long as you are healthy and happy and willing to pull your weight, there is nothing more I could want from you. Speaking of which. How goes the distribution of the supplies?”

“Very well,” Jun says, smiling widely. “The people have responded well to your initiative. In fact, we already have many asking us for more medicinal tea. It is clear that the supplies were sorely needed.”

“That is good news indeed. Fortunately, there is another shipment due to arrive in two weeks or so, if all goes well.”

“May I ask, Marquis, who the supplier is? If we can obtain the medicines through local means, then there would not be an issue with importing goods.”

“I have thought the very same, Bijan Azar. The medicines we acquire are something of a cure-all. Though not the most high quality of medicines, they do treat the most common of illnesses. These have been concocted by Southern Healers using local ingredients which can only be grown and harvested in the Southern climate. Our volatile seasons cannot produce these ingredients, thus importing is our only option.”

“How regular are they imported?”

“Hm. Once a month. If the weather has been especially bad, then it would take twice as long.”

“And would I be correct in assuming that you have a single source for these supplies?”

“You would,” Korain nods, eyes glittering in interest.

“You can see how this current modus operandi is highly ineffective?”

“What do you suggest then, Bijan Azar?”

“Open up more channels.” Jun smiles, drawing three lines on the table using a small puddle of spilled tea. “If the lake is demand,” he says, pointing to the puddle, “then it would make no sense to only have one source, no?”

He points to one of the lines. “Say there has been a storm and the lake overflows, this one source, this river, would become flooded and the structure would inevitably collapse. However, if there were multiple rivers, then there would be no strain, no collapse, and the demand would be well met.”

He refers to all three lines, offshooting from the puddle.

“You will need to do some diplomatic work, Marquis. Send someone, or yourself, to the South and explore other modes of production. Sustain your relationship with your current source. When you have found other manufacturers, make your dealings public and alternate deadlines for delivery. This way, you will also ensure that the cost of production will always be at the lowest cost since you are moving between competitors. You are a significant client, so this will put pressure on them to keep you happy.

The more supply chains you have, the more effectively your operation runs. In time, you would phase out shortages and have a surplus that you can keep stored for emergencies. Furthermore, with the regulated costs, you would be able to divert the extra funds towards your other projects.”

Korain listens attentively, his gaze keen and intense upon the little lord. By the end of it, he wears a satisfied smile. He takes Jun’s hand into both of his own, long delicate fingers like porcelain upon the lord’s course and calloused.

“You are a rare find, Bijan Azar,” Korain lilts, drawing a fingertip coyly over the back of Jun’s palm. “A well educated man is exceedingly precious in the Slums. You are wasted as a Milkfang. Will you not stand at my side as my advisor?”

“Advisor?” Jun starts and blinks at the Marquis.

“Better than lugging around a wagon all day, no?”

Jun glances at the raven, who had been extraordinarily quiet during this exchange. Rin’s looking out the window however, so his expression is hidden. His slumped posture indicates that he may even be dozing.

“...What about Rinnie–ah, Rin? I think he is rather wasted in this role, also.”

Korain laughs and pours the lord more tea. “Rin will become my Marchioness so worry not, Bijan. You will stand to my left and he will stand to my right. A powerful trio we make! What do you think?”

“I think it sounds wonderful.” Jun smiles and takes the pot from Korain, returning the etiquette. “We would be able to enact great change between the three of us.” He goes to refill Rin’s cup, but finds it cold and untouched.

“Not until you quit Slowane.”

Two pairs of eyes latch onto the raven. The latter stares blindly at the road, eye hooded. He’s exceptionally apathetic, as if it took more energy than he had to simply speak.

“Rinnie?” Jun probes, furrowing his brows.

“I want you to quit Slowane,” Rin repeats, straightening up and glancing evenly at the Marquis. There’s a sharp austerity to his mien. Cold and commanding.

Jun’s breath catches in his throat.

“Why?” Korain challenges, raising a brow.

“You said it yourself, it’s a weakness. A weakness that can be a detriment to what you’re trying to do here. I want you to show me that you’re serious. That this isn’t gonna stop at some point, a passing fancy. I want you to quit Slowane, get your shit together, and be a proper leader.”

“And you?” Korain smiles, propping his chin in his hand. “What will you do as my Marchioness?”

“I’ll keep you in check,” Rin says, dryly. “And make sure you don’t abandon the Slums.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I have my ways.”

“Pray, do enlighten me.” The light tug at the corner of Korain’s lips turns his expression sensual and coquettish, bringing heat to the raven’s face.

“...You know what I can do. You saw me fight.”

“Yes, indeed I did. I have been meaning to ask you about that, actually.” The Marquis leans forward. “I knew you had the potential to be a witch, but not the true extent of your magic. Is it inherited from your mother?”

“Sure,” is the Rat’s noncommittal response. He notices Jun giving him a worried look, though he’s unsure who or what he’s worried for.

“There is more to it?” Korain asks, brows rising.

“No. It’s just…something I can do.” Rin sighs, picking up his tea cup. The orange tinged liquid looks less than appetising. “A small magic trick.”

“The white light.”

“Point is,” Rin says, loudly, “I can kick your ass. Magic or no magic. Even Princess doesn’t stand a chance against me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The Marquis settles back in his chair, silently contemplating his Marchioness’ request. Eventually, he nods and says, “I shall try. For you. That is the most I can promise you for now.”

Rin gives the man a rare smile and downs his tea. “That’s all I want.”

“I think it would be best to undergo your withdrawal at the Clinic,” Jun says, giving Rin’s knee a soft pat beneath the table. Well done. “At the very least, allow me to attend to you if you should choose to withdraw at the Temple.”

“I’ll take up your offer then,” Korain nods gratefully at the lord. “In your proximity as a Healer, have you had much experience with Slowane?”

“Only as a prescription. However, I am familiar with the withdrawal process through my studies.”

“That’s good enough for me. Thank you, Bijan Azar. You truly are a man amongst men.”

Rin rolls his eyes and slams his empty cup before Jun in a silent demand for a refill. “When you’ve both finished sucking each other off, I have another request for you, Korain.”

“What is it?”

“I want you to lend me the Pack.”

The Marquis tilts his head in surprise. “That is a rather big request. What do you mean my Hounds for?”

“I’m taking down Kahin.”

A short silence follows. The Marquis’ shock is in no small amount. He brings a hand to his chin and strokes the underside. “I assume this has something to do with your mother’s death?”

“Something.”

“I know that Kahin has a habit of burning down her rivals so I had suspected…”

“You’ll give me the Pack then?” Rin says, impatiently. His eye bores into Korain, the vantablack as penetrating and intense as the midsummer heat. “I can’t take her down by myself, Korain. I need an army. You know how many fucking guards she has at the Rose Palace.”

The Marquis releases a long breath, regret straining his features.

“Korain!” Rin barks, slamming a fist into the table. “I’m your Marchioness, aren’t I? Consider it a fucking wedding gift!”

Korain shakes his head, unmoved by the other’s anger. “I am sorry, bébé souris. But I cannot endanger my Hounds for your personal vendetta.”

“Personal–you know what she’s doing, don’t you?” Rin scowls, gripping the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles turn white. “You know that the Roses are her slaves. This isn’t personal.”

“Even so, she is a powerful woman. I cannot gamble with my Hounds’ lives in such a flippant manner. Not only are they inadequately trained and armed, but they are not soldiers to be traded and used.”

“Bullshit! You threw them into battle against the Crow–”

“That is Crow. This is Kahin. There is a vast difference in power.”

“Rinnie.” Jun calls to his lover softly, bringing his hand to his back to calm. “I think the Marquis has a good point. And I do not believe further violence is the solution to your problem–”

“My problem?” Rin bats the lord’s hand aside. “Why isn’t it your problem too, Bijan?”

“It is my problem. It is everyone’s problem. And I assure you, I am working every day to come up with a proper solution–”

Rin shoots to his feet, suddenly feeling suffocated. “I’ve been patient enough. You can’t cower from violence forever.”

“Rinnie–” Jun frowns, rising from his seat. “Come and sit. We can talk more on this together. Surely there is a compromise–”

“I’m sick of talking. I’m done. Enjoy your tea.” Rin leaves in a huff, parting with a cold glare to both parties. He hears the men resume their conversation and somehow this makes him moreso frustrated.

If Korain won’t give him his Hounds, then he’ll just have to win them over. The Marquis can’t control them if they choose to fight for Rin. It’s a matter of who can wrest the most influence over the Pack, rather than petty titles of authority. The Rat knows that he has the upper hand, given the Pack’s dissatisfaction with their boss.

If only he can fan the flames – not so much to lose them, but just enough to gain their favour – then he might be able to finally make a move against Kahin.

Deep in thought, Rin trudges his way back to the Temple, cutting through the main road of the Slums. When he starts paying more attention to his surroundings, he notices something rather odd about the district.

Seeing the roads lined with intoxicated Slummers is a common sight. What’s odd about this however, is the sheer number of intoxicated, slumped on the roadside, fighting and shouting, or attempting to walk in a straight line as they go about their daily business. The characteristic discord of the Slums is all the more chaotic, and this chaos is mean and insidious. The rugged cheeriness and mania has been replaced with a depressive delirium.

Rin doesn’t recognise his Slums anymore.

***

Later that night, long after Jun passes out in his cot, Rin slips out of the room to join the Marquis upon his request. It’s a peace offering, he explains, inviting the raven into his quarters. And a chance to catch up properly after five years.

The Marquis’ quarters is surprisingly homey. Sunnah cushions mountain, dimly lit by a myriad of odd lamps and lights, the wiring rudimentary but efficient. Of course, the junkyard king has himself a sprawling bed and various antiquated pieces from the Last Cycle, restored to their former glory. While common enough in build to be worthless, the intricate design might have once been treasured by society past.

They share an amicable drink - a home distilled rice wine, rumoured to be stronger than the imperial wine, Yayaroi. Sure enough, it doesn’t take long for both to be giddy in inebriation, lost in the haze of incense and drink.

Korain reclines languidly in the cushions and sips at the wine, head propped up by one hand. He’s the very image of hedonistic fare and idle grace. Dazedly mussed.

Rin hides his red face in his cup, though he’s reluctant to drink anymore than he already has.

“This doesn’t mean I’m sweet on you or anything,” he mutters, taking a loud slurp of turpentine-esque liquor. “I just couldn’t sleep and had nothing better to do.”

“In truth, I did not expect for you to accept my invitation,” the Marquis hums, bleached hair shifting into his flushed visage as his head gives a drunken bob.

“It was either this or staring at the ceiling.” He reaches out and brushes those rogue white locks out of Korain’s eyes. The action is done unthinking, instinctive.

The Marquis’ eyes gleam like black pools reflecting Luna’s light. “I am so happy you are returned to me, bébé souris.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. It depends on how you do.”

“No Slowane.”

“No Slowane.”

Korain laughs lightly and takes a sip. His tongue flits out to catch a rogue drop on his upper lip.

Rin watches, enrapt.

“You feel very strongly about Madame Kahin,” Korain says, dropping his head back upon the cushions. Feathery white locks fan his head like a wispy halo. “I must tell you, while I knew you were a Rose for a time, I was not aware that you had been enslaved. Otherwise, I would have taken action.”

“Liar,” Rin scoffs, kicking the air. “I don’t care. I got myself out, like I always do.”

“You are extremely capable.”

“One way of putting it.”

“Extremely capable but not very independent.”

Rin narrows his eyes at the Marquis, the latter who returns with a sage smile. “I am independent,” he protests, shortly. “How could I not be?”

“Not once have I seen you without a man stuck to your hip. Or between your hips.”

“Fuck you,” Rin tosses a cushion at Korain’s head.

The man laughs as the cushion sails at a safe distance away. “For the eight years I have known you, you have always feared your own company. That is why you have Bijan Azar. If that is his true name.”

The raven scowls into his cup. “What other name would he have? And stop talking bullshit. I ain’t here to be counselled.”

“When Bijan leaves you, what will you do?”

“Who says he’s going to leave me?”

“I say.” Korain gives the younger man a pointed look, brow raised. “When. Not if.”

“He’s not gonna leave me,” Rin clips, gnawing on the rim of his cup. His voice echoes in the ceramic hollow. “He promised he would never leave my side.”

“You know as well as I that he will leave you. Everyone leaves you. Which is why you try to leave them first. Like you left me, no?”

“I left you because you were killing me, Korain,” Rin snaps, sitting upright. He grips the cup tightly until his fingers ache. “And my mother didn’t leave me. She was taken from me.”

“No, your mother left you long before her death.”

Rin raises his knees to embrace. Teeth click restlessly against the ceramic rim. How could he argue with that? Korain is right. Dasom had left him from the moment she prioritised drink over her own son. Perhaps even from the moment she tried to strangle him to death.

And when she came back, he only had her for a few precious seconds before she was taken by Kahin.

Gone. Like the ashes of his home.

Rin shivers and hides his face in his knees. Cool darkness is his comfort.

A pair of skinny arms wrap around his shoulders. Bony ribs bump his side. A hot tickling breath against his jaw. The bitter scent of wine and Slowane decaying on his tongue.

“Je suis désolé, mon amour. I did not mean to upset you. I simply wanted to highlight the fact that I am here. I had never intended to leave you - that was an incorrect presumption on your part, despite whatever my behaviour might have indicated. I never intended to leave and I never intend to. Of those you have left or have left you, who has returned but I?”

Rin raises his head to meet those gleaming phoenix eyes. The Marquis’ cold beauty is melted by the warm hues of the artificial lights. His features softened by the drink. Rin releases a tremulous breath and instinctively leans into Korain’s embrace.

“I want to believe you, Korain,” he murmurs, leaning his head against the other’s shoulder. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t, mon amour. That is not a promise, but a truth.”

They daze for a time, locked in their embrace, as if they were revelling in their shared past. Back when things were good between them. More than good. When it was the whole world against the two of them. When they were one soul.

Eventually, Rin rouses himself to ask his companion about the state of the Slums.

“Given that Crow and his Flock are gone, there would be others who would attempt to establish the next drug empire in the underbelly.” Korain strokes and pets those long raven locks, making Rin feel like a cosseted cat. “For a time, there will be an uptick in drug sales and use. We will be tracking and ridding these smugglers until equilibrium has been reached. You needn’t worry so.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Rin closes his eye, hugging his empty cup to his chest. The other’s touch is soothing, but lacks the little lord’s signature warmth.

“You must remember that there has been a major power restructure in the district. This not only affects the Slums but all three districts. There will be confusion and chaos for a time, and there are many who would take advantage of this.”

“Once upon a time, you would have been one of those people.”

“Once, yes. Not anymore.”

“I did it for you.”

Korain stills. He glances down at the raven’s head, resting against him. His delicate features and those ugly scars. Most enticing and repulsive. He touches the unmarred cheek, admiring the softness of the skin there.

“What did you do for me, bébé souris?”

“Kill Crow.” Black lashes flutter open. Rin stares at the unmade bed. He can see a figure there, lying prone, still as a statue. An object. A nothing with a façade of something. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eye. “I did it for Vex. But I also did it for you.”

There’s a dense silence. And then, Korain says, “Why did you do this for me?”

Rin closes his eye and falls into a light doze, the fog of inebriation weighing too heavy upon his scattered cognition.

“Why?” Korain asks in a hushed yet urgent tone, staring wide eyed at his drunken companion.

The raven mumbles something, almost incoherent, his body growing heavy within Korain’s embrace. Despite those slurred words, Korain catches their meaning, and his face splits into a giddy grin.

“You will always be mine,” he husks, pinching Rin’s chin between finger and thumb. He angles the raven’s face to his own, expression darkly licentious. “Always. I knew you could ever leave me. Not when I was, and am, your everything.”

There’s a flicker in his periphery. The door to his quarters stands ajar.

Korain smiles knowingly.

He dips his head and kisses the unconscious man deeply, gathering him tightly in his arms. He releases a low moan. A desirous huff. One arm coils around Rin’s slim waist like a constricting snake. The other rises, palm cupping his unmarred cheek, obscuring the raven’s state of oblivion from their silent observer.

Rin stirs in his stupor, instinctively responding to those burning, probing lips. He whimpers a name but it’s swallowed by the kiss, and his body turns to putty, limp and pliant. But twin suns burn brightly in his mind, warring with the wintry onyx of the other. Little lord, he whines drowsily, flitting in and out of consciousness. Jun…

Goldens flare in torment. The little lord tears his eyes away from the traitorous scene. He storms down the hallway, taut form engulfed into the shade, ears ringing with his lover’s drunken moans ignited by another.