Again, it’s as if he’s a gentleman from the sixteenth century or something. Seokga can think of no other reason the sight of a single bare arm and a neck should have such an effect on him. “I think I need to get out,” she says through chattering teeth, staring up at him. When did they get so close? “How you can stay in this water for so long, I’ve no idea. Don’t you have any goosebumps?”

“I have plenty.” Seokga makes his way to the shallow end, where he stands and walks until the waters only reach his lower back. “They’re on my back,” he says, though of course that’s not the reason he’s focusing on flexing his back’s muscles with tremendous concentration. Seokga is quite pleased to feel the water sluicing down him (it will lend a certain effect to the whole view, he thinks) and even more pleased to feel Kisa’s gaze on him. The goosebumps multiply as he feels her look, and as her gaze seems to drift lower.

“Erm,” Kisa breathes, and then coughs. “Right. Yes. You’ve proven me wrong…Well done.”

—can’t stop—looking—he’s—per—

A peculiar emotion travels down the red thread. It almost feels like…

There’s a loud and abrupt splash.

Seokga turns to see that Kisa has dunked herself entirely underneath the cold water.

Chapter Twenty-One

Seokga

It’s genius, really.

Seokga applauds himself as he shape-shifts into the adult version of his brother and combs through his newly long, silver hair in the bedroom’s mirror. Hwanin’s punchably perfect face looks back at him, entirely alive and noticeably not-murdered.

Kisa sits behind him on Hwanin’s bed, pursing her lips as she holds his now-baby brother. Her hair is still damp from their swim. “You’ll need to change into one of his hanboks,” she tells him, and banmal has never sounded so beautiful. “I’m not sure Hwanin would ever wear all black like you do. Will you need your cane?”

“Not in this body,” Seokga says, leaning his beloved cane against the wall, already missing the feel of the silver imoogi hilt in his hand. “If I were only casting an illusion to appear as Hwanin, I would. But with shape-shifting, my body becomes another’s.” He strides to Hwanin’s suitcase, perched on the room’s ornate wooden table, and rummages through it before finding a vacuum-stored blue hanbok. Seokga might again flex his back muscles just a bit as he tugs off his dark sweater, since his showcase in the pool was such a spectacular triumph. If Kisa wants to look, which he dearly hopes she shall, he wants her to be suitably impressed.

And then Seokga remembers that he’s baring his brother’s back. Fucking hells.

He grimaces. “Don’t look,” he mutters over his shoulder. If anyone can one-up him, it would be his brother.