Chapter Text
Driftlings Threads: Tiny, spirit-like creatures who reside in everything magic.
_____
Thankfully, after Jeongin was back in his regular body, things did get easier. His magic was still recovering, and he couldn't do much of anything with it, but he was fine with that arrangement. Despite the fact it irked him sometimes, he knew that it was temporary.
Beomgyu had given him more supplements, different colored pills in a clear bag. Jeongin didn't need to ask where he got them, because he already knew. The others didn't ask either, to the witches' relief.
After another few days of endless talks, Jeongin was finally left the others, able to return to his own place and life. Unfortunately, it was anything but a goodbye.
Because most of the time, they were still there. Clearly having grown fond, they stopped by the cafe, found him on campus, and even invited him back to their place more than once.
Jeongin wasn't sure on how exactly he felt about it. He liked normalcy, his routine. Dull as it was, it kept him under the radar. He attended college, had a job, a few friends, and was inside as much as he was outside. It was clean, aggressively normal, but clean.
And now that was changing.
While witches were mostly hidden from the world, they still had their places. Believe it or not, not all witches were constantly being hunted, just the ones who were unfortunate enough to possess abilities that could do uncontrollable harm. Those who weren’t being chased down could live almost freely, even if that meant acting human. It was an unsaid rule that those who aren’t involved stay out of it. Though it was hard when said people didn’t know they were involving themselves in the first place. So unfortunately, Jeongin had to spend the next few weeks getting glares at every turn.
—
It started with Felix, surprisingly.
Jeongin hadn’t expected to see the group in public, not initially. Seeing them at the cafe was a first, and if it hadn’t been for the rainstorm it never would have happened to begin with. From what Jeongin had observed, the group tended to shop in human areas, though he had seen some fae specific snacks in Jisung’s room during his stay, from what he’d seen the group‘s main diet was human products.
Good. It made things easier.
Jeongin never shopped in human markets.
After he had gotten off an extra shift he picked up, Jeongin headed straight to Sunhee’s, his noonas cosmetic shop. He was running low on hair products, and really needed dye for his hair.
He pushed open the door, grinning. “Noona, I’m here!” He called out, expecting a friendly greeting, instead a confused, and definitely not from his noona, “Jeongin?” filled the shop’s space.
The witch froze. He knew that deep voice anywhere. “Felix-hyung?”
He turned just in time to catch the fae in a bone crushing hug that nearly had them toppling over. Thankfully, Jeongin was always quick on his feet. “Innie!’
“Hyung, what are you doing here?” He asked after a long moment, carefully pulling back from the hug. It made his skin crawl and all he could think is you shouldn't be here, why are you here, why did noona let you stay this long–
“Shopping,” The fae answered, bringing Jeongin out of an almost spiral with a blinding grin. “For makeup.”
“Makeup,” Jeongin repeated like a broken record. “Cool.”
Felix looked at him oddly, and Jeongin almost felt envious of the way the fae could be so expressive. It was trivial and he knew that, but it was a constant reminder that his hyung had the freedom Jeongin longed for.
Freedom he would never get.
He felt her before he saw her. Sunhee's magic reflected her name, it was bright, warm and always made Jeongin goosebump all over each time it brushed against his own magic.
He turned, seeing the woman carrying a small crate full of product. She put it on the counter, then turned to Jeongin and smiled.
“Jeongin, you're later than usual.” She beckoned him over, eyes falling to his hair.
Jeongin smiled awkwardly at Felix before heading up to the counter. “Sorry Noona,” He apologized, feeling eyes on the back of his head. He didn't have to look to know it was Felix. “I was…busy.”
Can he be anymore obvious?
Sunhee took a glance at Felix. Her expression fell neutral, but Jeongin could see the gears turning in her head. “He's new.” She spoke after a moment.
“Noona.” Jeongin warned, voice dropping. He already knew what was coming.
“Not what we expected from you but–”
“Noona.”
“–if you're sure that he won't–”
“Noona!”
Sunhee finally looked back towards Jeongin. Seeing the look on Jeongin’s face, she frowned. Jeongin took a deep breath, hoping the fae behind them thought the shift in the air was simply tension.
“He’s here to shop.” Jeongin's voice was sharp. “Not indulge in your…subjective ideations about my life.”
To be honest, Jeongin was almost offended that Sunhee thought he would risk his identity and safety over a pretty face. He may be young, but he wasn't stupid.
“Right, right,” Sunhee looked confused, and judging by the second glance she snuck at Felix, she was definitely going to discuss this later.
Stars above I swear...
“My apologies,” Sunhee finally addressed Felix, giving Jeongin a chance to get what he came for. He went to the back, looking for the witch's approved colors. He tuned out the conversation at the front, glancing through the shelves.
It sounded silly, but there were certain colors a witch couldn't dye their hair. At least not fully. Jeongin’s hands hovered the shelves, fingers brushing the white boxes that lined the racks. He didn’t need the labels to know what each contained, the faint aura of each dye spoke enough. Silver shimmered too brightly, the kind that would cling to your magic like frostbite. Red pulsed too harshly, like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
When he had just met Seonghwa, he was confused as to why. Facilities didn't teach you much. Thankfully, the older male had explained it well enough.
“Our kind created magic, which is why we are bound to it. Magic is our air. It is everywhere, including little things like hair dye.”
To be honest, Jeongin owed nearly everything he knew to Seonghwa-hyung. The day he had been found, the other witch had taken him in with almost no questions asked, and gave him a home. A place where he could survive. It had been a little over four years since then, now that Jeongin thought about it.
Blinking out of said thoughts, Jeongin realized his hand had stopped in front of a box of orange. Not just any orange, but a bright orange that reminded him of a common foxes fur.
Jeongin stared at it and grimaced, questioning if his magic was functioning well enough for him to be doing this. It's not that the color was bad, it was just extremely on the nose. Possibly the loudest way he could possibly scream: I am fox! To the world.
Before he could debate doing it all over again, a voice rang out far too close to his ear. “That would look good on you, Innie.”
Jeongin almost screamed, jumping back and nearly colliding with another shelf. Instead of looking sorry for startling him, Felix just laughed warm and friendly in a way that made his stomach feel like mush.
“Hyung!”
The fae grinned, clearly finding Jeongin’s surprise amusing. “Sorry about that,” He said, sounding more teasing than sorry. “I didn't know you were so focused.”
Jeongin pressed a hand to his chest, scowling. “You're lucky I didn't bite you like, what was it, an angry plush toy?”
Felix grinned. “You could try. I don't think your teeth could do that much damage to me.” His gaze lingered on the box by Jeongin’s hand. “Orange, though? Bold choice.”
“I wasn't choosing it.” Jeongin muttered, fingers curling away from the box like it had burned him.
Felix tilted his head, unknowingly drawing Jeongin’s gaze to the nearly invisible wings on the fae's back. They twitched faintly, just enough to stir the air. “It's a loud color,” He said easily. “Not bad loud, honest loud.”
Jeongin snorted. “It screams ‘existential crisis on a Saturday morning.’”
“And?” Felix's eyes returned to the box. “Is that not what this is?”
“That's not the point.”
The fae chucked. A softened smile graced Felix's lips as he reached out and gently grabbed the box from the shelf. The dyes aura flared at the touch, warm and bright before it shriveled away, tendrils reaching out to latch on to the witch instead.
Jeongin pretended not to notice as he rolled his eyes and took the box. He'd buy it, but it'd be a while before he actually dyed it. The ginger had yet to fully die out. Orange was bold, almost too bold, but his magic chose it. How could he say no?
“Come on,” Jeongin changed the subject and tilting his head towards an aisle in the middle. Shaking off his hyung wouldn’t be so easy, so instead he could accompany him for his shopping and make sure the fae didn’t touch anything too magical. Witch magic had been starved of anyone new for a while, and Jeongin didn’t need to deal with a fae bonded to a magic that wasn’t their own. Jeongin would have been exiled faster than he could blink. “You wanted makeup, right? Sunhee has all the good stuff over here.”
The way Felix smiled and took Jeongin’s arm made the whole ordeal seem less daunting. Thankfully, Felix let himself be tugged along, fingers curling loosely around Jeongin’s sleeve as they moved down the aisle. The shop’s lights flickered once or twice as they went to the non witch section- which of course wasn’t labeled, but Jeongin’s magic knew what was his and what was not.
Sunhee glanced up from behind the counter as they walked by, one brow arching in knowing amusement. Jeongin avoided her gaze on instinct. Some things were better left unspoken.
Felix suddenly leaned in closer, voice soft and almost conspiratorial. “You know,” He murmured. “Orange suits you.”
Jeongin scoffed, ignoring the warmth creeping up his neck. “You don’t even know that.”
Felix only smiled, bright and unbothered. Something about his presence made Jeongin’s magic calm, like an anchor to a swaying ship. It unnerved Jeongin in such a way he tried his best to ignore it.
But as the fae began to fuss over finding a foundation that matched his skintone, Jeongin glanced over to the box in his hands.
Maybe bold isn’t such a bad idea.
_____
Bold was in fact, a bad idea.
It had been a while since Jeongin had bought the orange abomination, but he had let it rot on the counter for more than a few weeks before he bit the bullet. Frankly he had intended to wait longer, but the malicious aura the dang thing was sending his way had gotten too aggravating for Jeongin to ignore.
A while later, he ended up at Sunhees shop. After dealing with her relentless teasing and interrogation while his Noona so kindly bleached his hair correctly and applied the dye, Jeongin had hoped the outcome would have been worth it.
It wasn’t.
“I look like a tangerine.” Was the first thing he said as the witch looked in the mirror after his noona was done. His hair hadn’t been styled yet, just brushed down and carefully dried. Now as Jeongin saw how long his hair had really gotten, he felt like he should have requested a hair cut. He couldn’t now, not with the color settling in and feeling its way around.
Oh well. He’d figure it out later.
Meanwhile, Sunhee smiled approvingly. “It suits you,” She nodded to herself. “And not just because of your alias.”
“I’m a highlighter.”
“A sexy one.”
“Ew.”
Sunhee nudged his shoulder, something teasing in her eyes. “I guess little-blonde fae was right, wasn’t he? About the color.”
Jeongin made a face. “So you were eavesdropping.”
She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Not eavesdropping, simply overhearing. He wasn’t as quiet as he wanted to be.”
“You were just paying extra attention to catch something that doesn't exist.” Jeongin pointed out, well used to his Noona’s antics.
“Was I?” She batted her eyelashes, making Jeongin give a deadpan look as she broke into giggles. “Okay, okay you caught me. It wasn’t something nonexistent, though. A fae’s magic is rather telling.”
Jeongin arched a brow, ignoring the way his heart spiked. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure. Tell yourself that.” His Noona quipped, reaching to try and ruffle Jeongin’s hair. He ducked out of the way, scowling and patting his hair just in case.
Sunhee laughed and raised her hands in surrender. “Relax. I won’t touch. God forbid the dye rebels and turns you into a pumpkin.”
“This isn’t funny.” Jeongin frowned, eyeing his reflection again. The color was really loud. Not neon, exactly, but vivid in a way that the previous ginger wasn’t. The exposure feeling that came with it made his skin prickle uncomfortably. He flexed his fingers. The feeling didn’t go away.
Sunhee noticed, because of course she did, and the teasing glint faded from her eyes. “It took well.” She spoke seriously. “There’s no reason to be worried.”
“I’m not worried about the threads.” That was true. Jeongin’s magic itself was versatile, so the chance of threads rejecting him was low. Even then, the only consequence was unstable magic and given Jeongin could barely even access his currently, it wasn’t that worrying. What Jeongin was truly worrying about was something he couldn’t say. Not here at least.
Sunhee hummed, seemingly catching on. She squeezed Jeongin’s arm in support before changing the subject entirely.
“Seongwha has been worried.”
“Has he?” Jeongin knew the answer. Beomgyu had already reamed it to him about the entire thing. Honestly, Jeongin had heard it so many times he was lucky Seongwha himself hadn’t showed up yet. “Well, I asked ‘gyu to–”
“He went against direct code,” Sunhee finished, voice firm, all mirth gone.
Jeongin winced. “I know.”
“No you don’t.” She said, arms crossing. “You think you do, but you’re treating it like a minor rule break. It wasn’t.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Seongwha’s worried because if they find out, it won’t be Beomgyu who disappears.”
Jeongin’s jaw tightened. That, at least, he had known. He just hadn’t wanted to say it out loud.
“I didn’t ask him to break anything.” Jeongin muttered. “He came over on his own accord.”
“And he did.” Sunhee agreed. “And then he went further than just stabilizing your magic. To what extent we’re not sure.”
“I-what?” Jeongin was confused.
Sunhee hesitated. Just a beat too long.
Jeongin caught it immediately.
“To what extent,” She repeated more carefully. “Depends on if we can find the source before someone else does.”
Jeongin’s confusion sharpened into something colder. “What are you talking about?”
Sunhee turned her back to him, suddenly finding the shelf more interesting than Jeongin. She only did that when she didn’t want to meet his eyes while delivering bad news.
“Four days ago, a witch was apprehended because it had been discovered she faked her aptitude results. Her overall aptitude was one hundred twenty.” Jeongin felt a pit in his stomach. Magic aptitude was what determined if you’d be sent to corrections or not’. If you were above a hundred in anything it was almost a guarantee you would never be seen again.
But in terms of magic, a hundred was so low. That’s part of why most witches hid in the disguise of another species. A fae could have an aptitude up to three hundred without problem, a siren as well. Werewolves and other similar species didn’t have to worry about ‘pure’ magical aptitude at all, they had their own set of laws to handle.
To say it lightly, the laws were corrupted.
Sunhee exhaled slowly like she was bracing herself. “They caught her because someone tipped them off. Someone knew her numbers weren’t natural.”
Jeongin’s pulse thundered in his ears. “That doesn't mean anything.” He said automatically, even as his magic prickled beneath his skin, restless and uneasy. “Results are faked all the time. We always have.”
“Yes,” Sunhee agreed. “But this wasn’t sloppy. Her aptitude wasn’t just ‘high’, it was wrong. Like it had been stretched past its original capacity and molded into something else entirely.” She turned back to him, gaze sharp. “Do you know how rare that is?”
Jeongin swallowed. He did. Everyone did. Aptitude could be hidden, dulled, redirected, but artificially increased? That was a taboo. Something witches had long stopped doing due to the devastating consequences.
His fingers curled against the counter. “You’re saying someone sold her out. On purpose.”
“I’m saying that you need to be careful on who you connect with going forward. Witch or not.” Sunhee countered and Jeongin still wondered why and how he and Beomgyu were closely involved with this. He opened his mouth to ask straight up, but Sunhee beat him to it again.
“Those stabilizers weren’t what brought you back.”
Jeongin blinked, trying to process what that meant. “What?”
Sunhee’s jaw tightened. “They helped,” she clarified. “They kept your core from splintering further. They kept you alive. But that wasn’t what brought you back.”
Jeongin stared at her through the mirror. He couldn’t bear looking at her face.
“It was just a form lock.” He muttered weakly, But deep down he knew that truly, it was more than that. It was a last ditch effort for protection, a way to nearly guarantee a witch would return to the magic that gave it life. It took thirteen days, Jeongin had been on day nine.
He had been so close…
“When your magic destabilized," Sunhee continued carefully. “It didn’t just disperse. It latched. That’s why we couldn’t trace the break properly for days, it was being manipulated by a third party.”
The pit in his stomach dropped through the floor.
“That’s not possible.” He argued. “I didn’t bind to anything, I would feel that–”
“Do you even remember what you were feeling at the time?” Sunhee countered.
Jeongin shut his mouth.
“We looked into it more. Compared her signature to yours. There were too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. There was a bond Jeongin, a bond that changed your magic. A bond authorized by another witch.”
The words didn’t register at first.
Authorized.
Bond.
Another witch.
Authorized.
The dots connected far too quickly.
“No,” Jeongin felt like he had been slapped across the face. He stumbled back, bumping his hip against the desk. The pain didn’t register, or maybe he did and he just didn’t feel it. His body was there, he knew it was, but every nerve seemed to retreat inwards curling in on itself like his magic was trying to fold until it was too small to be seen.
“No,” He repeated, weaker this time. “He wouldn’t–that’s—that’s treason.”
But the look on Sunhee’s face was enough. It wasn’t pity. If it were pity, Jeongin could’ve managed. No, this was guilt. Regret. Confirmation.
Her voice came out quiet, the kind of quiet that was worse than any scream.
“He did, Jeongin. We checked twice.”
Something cracked. Not physically, though for a second he half-expected glass to shatter around him,but somewhere deeper.
He had known Beomgyu’s magic better than most did. Wild, like water cascading over rock, always changing and never truly still. Chaotic, sure, but true. And yes, he’d crossed lines before. But binding a person to another's core without permission? Without anything beforehand? That wasn’t a simple mistake.
Sunhee’s hands tightened around the edge of the counter. Her fingertips brushed against old and tiny runes carved into the wood. Wards, stabilizers, reminders of times when witches needed such things to keep conversations from drawing attention.
“We think…” She hesitated, like the rest of her words could make him combust. “…we think he was trying to divert it.”
Jeongin frowned, confused but already dreading what she meant. “Divert what?”
“Your core was imploding, Jeongin. You know what happens when that happens. Everything goes with it. He couldn’t stabilize it in time, so instead he redirected the overflow. Into more conduits.”
Silence hung between them. Thick. Suffocating.
Jeongin’s stomach twisted painfully as understanding hit him square in the chest.
“You’re telling me,” he said slowly, forcing each word through a throat that was suddenly too tight, “Beomgyu didn’t just tie me to one, I’m tied to multiple people?”
Sunhee didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Jeongin’s knees nearly buckled. He gripped the counter to steady himself, the wood scorching under his palms with restrained magic. His pulse thrummed like the beat of a fractured drum.
“How many?”
“Jeongin–”
“How many, Sunhee?” His voice was shaking now. His magic flared in warning, brushing the shelves and rattling boxed bottles until one clattered to the floor.
“Jeongin.” She said it like a plea. “You need to calm down before–”
“How many did he bind me to?!”
This time, something did crack. Magic thrummed so violently that every light in the shop flickered. Sunhee winced, pressed both palms against the air, weaving stabilizers that fizzled under the weight of his unraveling energy.
When she spoke again, her tone was low. Pained.
“We counted seven. Seven different individuals.”
Jeongin's mind blanked. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who they could be.
Sunhee closed her eyes. “It shouldn’t be possible, Jeongin. But it’s true.”
He stared at her, heart hammering, skin pale and cold at the edges.
“None of them bond with witches,” he said weakly, almost to himself. “Their magic doesn’t even recognize ours.”
Sunhee’s lips thinned. “Not unless another witch forces the shift. The bond was crafted. Carefully, deliberately. And if what we’re seeing is right, it’s complete.”
Jeongin’s expression splintered.
“No, no, that’s–they don’t even know–they would feel it, right?”
“Not necessarily,” she said quietly. “If Beomgyu masked it the way I think he did, they wouldn’t notice until your magic stabilizes completely. At that point…”
“At that point,” Jeongin finished hollowly, “They’ll realize I’ve been tied to them the entire time.”
The mirror in front of him warped slightly,the reflection rippling, like the space between forms was starting to misalign. Jeongin turned away before his face disappeared into static.
“I have to go.”
“Jeongin–”
“I have to go.” The words came fast, frantic. His heart pounded in his ears, beating in uneven rhythm. He stumbled to the back exit, feeling a sickening sense of deja vu that he pushed aside. He couldn’t stay here, not for a minute longer.
Sunhee moved like she might follow, but she didn’t. Not when the wards were still shivering and the lights overhead flickered with every uneven spike of his magic.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” she called after him, voice steadier than the air between them.
Reckless.
Jeongin almost laughed.
He shoved the back door open and the cold evening air hit him hard enough to sting. It did nothing to cool the wildfire under his skin. The orange in his hair felt too bright, too loud, like a beacon. Like a flare shot into the sky.
Seven.
The number echoed with every step.
He took off.
Not walking. Not power-walking. Running.
Down the narrow alley behind Sunhee’s shop, past stacked crates and a rusted dumpster he nearly clipped with his shoulder. His breath came sharp and uneven, but it wasn’t exhaustion chasing him. It was awareness.
He felt it now.
Threads.
Faint. Filament-thin. Not obvious enough to name, but present in the way gravity is present. Subtle pulls in different directions. North. West. Somewhere across the city. Somewhere closer than he wanted to admit.
Seven separate hums, out of sync with his own.
He skidded onto the main street, ignoring the startled look from a pedestrian as he nearly ran into them. His phone buzzed in his pocket, once, twice.
He didn’t check it.
If he saw a name he recognized, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.
University buildings came into view ahead, concrete and glass cutting into the dim sky. The campus always felt sterile to him. Neutral ground. No wards carved into wood. No hidden sigils in doorframes. Just fluorescent lighting and overworked students.
Safe.
Normal.
He needed normal.
He sprinted across the quad, shoes slapping against pavement. A few students glanced at him. but he wasn’t in the state to care.
The threads tugged again.
Stronger this time.
As if reacting to his panic.
His pulse spiked and something in his chest answered, magic flaring outward in reflex. The nearest streetlight buzzed violently. A nearby group of students complained about “electrical issues.”
Jeongin swallowed hard.
Not here.
He bolted into the nearest academic building without checking which one it was. The lobby was quiet, most people in classes scheduled right now.
Too open.
Too visible.
He turned sharply down the hall and pushed through the first door marked with the universal restroom sign.
It swung shut behind him with a hollow echo.
The bathroom was empty.
Three stalls. Two sinks. Fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. One mirror spanning the wall.
Silence.
Jeongin locked the main door out of instinct before leaning back against it, chest heaving. The sterile scent of cleaning supplies filled his lungs.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
The threads were clearer here.
Not louder, but easier to isolate.
Seven distinct signatures.
“Shit.” He murmured, sliding down all the way. Something washed over him, a slight smell of sea salt hit his nose, and he found himself relaxing just a little bit. Jeongin breathed deeply, resting his head on his hands.
He welcomed the quiet, letting his nerves settle on their own accord. He’d make sure it was neutralized before he left, like he always did in times like these.
Someone cleared their throat.
Jeongin’s whole body tensed.
“You know,” a very familiar dry voice murmured. “We really have to stop meeting like this.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. The universe seemed to have a thing for screwing him over. Constantly.
“Hello, hyung.” Jeongin mumbled back, lifting his head. To his utter dismay, there Seungmin was, staring at him with a pinched expression and eyes filled with concern. He hated the way it made his stomach warm.
Jeongin shouldn’t let the siren any closer, for both their sakes really, but as his hyung took a hesitant step forward, the words left his tongue. Instead he watched the sneakers as they got closer and closer, then stopped right in front of him.
“Innie-ah,” The siren was kneeling, and Jeongin’s nose caught the same sea salt scent that had calmed him earlier. His breath hitched. Seungmin gently grasped his shoulders then pulled him closer. Jeongin didn’t resist. He nuzzled into the siren’s neck, hands grasping the grey jacket Seungmin wore.
“I’m sorry,” Jeongin whispered, for a million things he couldn’t say aloud.
Not now.
Not ever.
Seungmin just pulled him closer, squeezing his shoulders firmly. The touch was grounding, more so than Jeongin would admit.
“It’s okay,” The siren replied, even if he had no clue what this was about. “You’re okay, Innie. You’re okay.”
Desperately, Jeongin wanted to believe that. But he couldn’t, especially now.
“I’m sorry.” You’re going to be dragged down with me.
Seungmin didn’t respond verbally this time, just held him tighter.
And for a fleeting, fragile moment, Jeongin let himself pretend that the warmth of that embrace could outrun what was already closing in.