Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Where the fuck is Seoho?” Dongju groans, checking himself in the mirror. As has always been customary, the coven decided to add finishing touches to their looks together. It’s been sort of a tradition for them ever since Woong’s second year when Geonhak stabbed himself in the eye with eyeliner and needed emergency assistance. Thankfully, they managed to save the other’s eye, and they realized getting ready together is kind of nice.

It never used to be so crowded, though.

Dongju shifts the tone of his button-down, watching the color transform from deep red to a dark wine violet. He purses his lips, unable to commit to a color - and hogging the mirror while doing so. Hwanwoong hovers above his bunk. Pictures scroll idly down his phone screen as one of his many enchanted makeup brushes swipes highlighter on his cheekbones.

Geonhak chuckles in response to Dongju, “Probably picking out a sweater vest to match his fit.”

“He better not !” Youngjo, also floating to free up precious floor space, exclaims.

“Mirror, mirror in my hand,” Keonhee, who’d taken up residence on Youngjo’s bunk, speaks to an intricate handheld mirror made of polished silver. By no means an oracle, the ornate object still holds value as a personal assistant much like Woong’s brushes do. “How’s my coverage look?” The tall blue-haired witch turns his head every which way to allow the spirited mirror to get a good look.

“Your makeup coverage is excellent, Master Keonhee. However, you forgot to set it,” A high-pitched voice answers from the object.

“Thank you,” Keonhee grins.

It’s always like this when they get ready together. There are a lot of crossing conversations and fine adjustments. To an outsider, they probably appear horribly vain (not that Hwanwoong gives a crap what any outsider thinks). To them, it’s a bonding activity, a calm before the disperse into a storm of social activity. Image consciousness is actually highly encouraged at Rouge Shadow (well, was, when it existed). Their Head Witch set the precedent for taking pride in one’s appearance.

“It’s the first impression you’ll make on someone, and no matter what your character is, it’s that very impression that will stick to the forefront of one’s mind lastingly.” He once said at an assembly. Sure, it was in regard to aligning with the dress code, but the way he presents himself shows it’s something he values in personal life, too. Someone like him - sharp and impeccable - appears completely unshakeable, and Hwanwoong aspires to that level of coolheaded confidence. They all do.

“Okay,” Dongju nods to himself, “Okay this is it. I’ll do red.” He nods to his reflection. “Wait. No. No. With my hair, it’s too much.”

“Why don’t you try silver,” Youngjo suggests, “Make it pop.”

“That’s… Not bad. I just don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Hey, you think my muscles will rip this shirt?” Geonhak asks, flexing in the silky shirt he chose for himself.

Hwanwoong snorts, “No.”

“In your dreams,” Keonhee adds, kicking the other from his spot on the bed.

“I’m serious,” Geonhak sulks. “It’s- It’s tight- Look at it-”

“I can cast a clothes-ripping jinx for you if you want the full effect,” Their eldest snarks.

“How anime,” Dongju laughs. “Wait- Speaking of anime, where the hell is-”

A faint knock on the door alerts the coven to the arrival of their last member. With a flick of the finger and mental incantation, Youngjo opens the door for the other.

“Hey guys, sorry,” Seoho says sheepishly as he enters. “Got caught up in a game of- whoa. You all look so nice.”

“ Just nice?” Youngjo fake-pouts.

“Yeah, damn. I feel kind of underdressed. But I did wear my-”

Hwanwoong glances down from his spot above his bunk and gasps, “Seoho, you are not .”

“I- I’m not what?”

“Seoho.”

“What?”

“ Seoho .”

“I- It’s- This is my favorite sweater vest!”

Geonhak snorts at that.

“But- Look, it’s got a little embroidered squirrel- See!” Seoho points to it, and the dark brown engravement begins shuffling around across the knit fabric, wringing its tiny paws. 

“Oh, nevermind,” Youngjo says sarcastically. “It’s got a squirrel. We’re set.”

“Shut up- it’s gonna get cold later at night. Don’t you wanna be warm?” Seoho pouts. “It’s practical.”

“Practical for what purpose? Celibacy?”

“It’s cozy! And it matches my socks!”

“Oh for fuck’s- Woongie, we’ve got a code red!”

Hwanwoong laughs, floating down from his perch lazily. He and Youngjo grab Seoho by one arm and sit him down on the bottom bunk (forcing Keonhee to move his freakishly long legs). 

“Seoho, what would you do without us?” Youngjo smirks. With a snap of his fingers, the fabric wrapped around Seoho’s body begins to shift and split in places. Hwanwoong joins the other’s effort, summoning his makeup brushes over to help the cause. Sure, all they’re doing is crashing some backwoods warlock party, but there’s no reason they can’t be dressed to kill while doing it.

Mingi rolls around on his bed lazily. The grog from his too-long nap stubbornly sticks to his eyes, weighing them down and making it difficult to open them. The afternoon was a blur. There were classes, clubs and then… Sleep. If not for the incessant dinging of his phone, he’d probably have completely forgotten they had plans that night.

“Hey, Mingi, can you smell this?” Wooyoung, who’d invaded his room along with half of his friend group, shoves a bundle of fabric into his face without further ceremony.

“Wha-?”

“Smells okay, right?”

The red-haired witch slowly blinks his eyes open so he can give the other an adequately forlorn expression. How could he possibly run out of clean clothes already? They’ve only been there a week, and they wear uniforms .

“Uh- Guess?” Mingi grunts, still half-asleep. 

“Sick,” The blur that Mingi knows to be Wooyoung smiles (or, at least, Mingi thinks he’s smiling) and throws what appears to be a colorful t-shirt over his head. 

“Why’d everyone come to my room again?” Mingi starts sitting up, wiping a hand over his face. He mumbles an incantation to bring his contacts over. He envies the rich folk who can afford the eye elixirs or correction procedures. Instead, he’s stuck with poking his eye like a sad mortal.

“Because we love you!” Woo answers.

“Where’s Hong?”

“Iunno. He’ll turn up.”

Mingi nonchalantly stuffs his contact lenses into his eyes, blinking a few times so he can see clearly. With clear vision, he can count the heads invading his little dorm room. Wooyoung’s by his bed pulling his shirt on. San’s trying to angle his phone to take a selfie with Yeosang and Jongho. Music plays across the room from someone’s phone. Judging by the woefully bland guitar-pop sound, it’s Wooyoung’s pick. Yunho’s got his head in Seonghwa’s lap in the bed opposite Mingi’s. He makes yarping puppy noises which Seonghwa indulges with pets.

Pretty standard stuff for the gang.

All that’s missing is the leader of the misfit warlock posse: Hongjoong. Mingi slides out of bed and stretches languidly. He’d fallen asleep in an oversized shirt and sweats. The shirt isn’t too wrinkled, so it stays. With another sleepy utterance, Mingi’s sweats swap out for jeans.

There. Ready.

“Seonghwa,” Mingi nods to the eldest. “Where’s your husband?”

“I dunno, probably cheating on me somewhere,” Hwa answers flatly.

“Already?”

Yeosang pouts, leaning his head heavily on San’s shoulder, “You know, we don’t have to go.”

“Shut up, Yeosang, we’re going,” Woo dismisses his longtime friend. The two - unlike most of them - go back to primary school. “We got invited by Johnny’s own mouth. We can’t miss it…! Also, we were gonna go anyway.”

“I wish Johnny would shut his own mouth.”

“I can think of a few things he could do with that mouth,” And in comes the ringleader of their circus, Hongjoong. 

Mingi’s brows raise with surprise at the sight of the other. Unlike the rest of them who went for comfort, Hongjoong is dressed to kill. If looks could kill, the redhead’s fairly certain he’d have died on the spot. Though he has no attraction to his leader, even he feels a bit weak in the knees seeing him. Hongjoong walks in with a confident swagger. His fitted black shirt shows his body off nicely, and his jeans fit sinfully well. Silvery chains dangle from his neck, catching the fading sunlight filtering in through the window. The leather jacket he paired with it complements the entire outfit, making him appear a lot more badass than he is.  His slicked-back hair adds to the effect, showing off his undercut.

The redheaded warlock is lucky none of his friends are good at mind reading. Otherwise, they’d be able to tell that - at that moment - he hates Hongjoong. Just a little. The guy is so good at life. He’s so handsome and while he and Mingi have the same interests, Hongjoong just does everything better. It’s not real, toxic jealousy. Just envy is all. But, seeing Hongjoong looking like that, knowing he’d look like a jackass even attempting something similar, Mingi feels it spike just a tiny bit.

“Husband!” Seonghwa exclaims excitedly with his arms open.

Hongjoong pointedly ignores him, walking past and wrapping his arms loosely around San, “So, anyway, we all ready or what?”

The group exchanges glances of appraisal. Pants? Check. Shirt? Check. Shoes? Mingi needs shoes. He rectifies this by sliding his feet into a pair of sneakers under his bed. He remembers toeing them off just hours earlier and leaving them right by his bed.

“So, nobody’s gonna talk about how Hongjoong looks like a greaser?” Yeosang laughs.

“Hm.” “No.” “Nah.” “It looks good.” A chorus of unimpressed responses come out. 

“Right on. Right on,” Yeosang nods.

“Wait-!” Hongjoong halts, “What is our contribution? We can’t go empty-handed.”

“I’ve got it covered,” San smirks, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie. Though normal to the naked eye, from what appears to be thin air, he pulls a large bottle with a clear liquid. 

“Ooh.” “Nice.” 

“That’s our gifted potions maker,” Their leader grins with approval. Simulating fermentation with magic is one of the easiest tricks in the book. It’s a basic thing most people nail down by the second year of high school, but doing it well is another story. Most magically accelerated distillations tend to have an off-taste to them. Getting the timing and formula just right is a finicky thing, and it differs with every magic-user. Whether by practice or natural inclination, San’s got a knack for potions. Well, at least, boozy ones. 

Yeosang remarks, “Shouldn’t we wait until the sun goes down?”

“Oh, yeah. Huh. He said ten, didn’t he?” Woo mutters.

“Fuck you’re right. Wouldn’t wanna show up too early,” Yunho adds, “That’d be weird.”

“Then what the fuck do we do until then…?” Joong asks, clearly a bit flustered he’d gotten ready too soon.

Mingi purses his lips in thought. Suddenly, an idea dawns on him. Perhaps not his greatest, but one he thinks worth sharing nonetheless:

“So… Mafia?” He posits. The group exchanges cursory looks of interest.

The smell of damp woods drifts into Mingi’s nose as his group crosses the treeline to the south woods. Unlike the haunted-as-fuck northern woods, the south woods are a lot less dense and significantly less cursed. Pine needles crunch beneath their feet as they pass the threshold of the concealment barrier surrounding the fire.

The Wolfwood Welcome Party is like a torch passed down from one generation of Wolfwood royalty to the next. Mingi isn’t sure when it started, only that it’s been around for a while, and the general format is always the same. There’s a massive bonfire in the same clearing - maybe a quarter-mile into the woods, if that. The savviest among the A-listers cast protection spells to avoid detection - barrier charms, light-blocking fields, sound muting - then everyone steps in and parties. There’s usually drinking games, making out, general merriment and debauchery. It’s the type of affair that Mingi’s usually content to leave early, but with it being Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s fourth year - plus getting the invite from Johnny’s own mouth - he figures they’ll be staying longer.

In spite of being surrounded by friends, Mingi can’t help the chill of anticipatory nerves that comes over him. He’s not certain why, but he’s nervous. Maybe it’s all of the people around. Most of them, he’s known for years - or at least known of. Faces he passed in the hallway are suddenly turned toward him, silently appraising, sizing him up. He fidgets with the hem of the hoodie he threw on before walking out. Even though the sun bakes them during the day, in its absence, the air chills significantly.

Through the trees, they can see the amber light of the fire. The fire’s light paints long, spindly shadows behind the trees surrounding it. Shadowy figures mill about the tower of flames. The sound dampening spells hush what would be raucous merriment to white noise. It isn’t until they reach the clearing that the noise rises to what one would surmise as a normal level. They can hear music in the distance along with the hum of overlapping conversations.

By the time they arrive, the party’s in full swing. Mafia ran a few rounds long and, as always, escalated. Mingi hopes he didn’t get any marks from the roughhousing that ensued. When Hongjoong finally declared enough is enough, the sun had long set, and they all realized it was close to eleven.

Hongjoong takes an exaggeratedly deep breath, a smile blooming across his face, “Last welcome party.” He directs his smile to Seonghwa and, for once, it’s genuine. The two fourth-years exchange melancholic smiles, and for a second, the bittersweet feeling sweeps over all of them. For that moment, they’re all forced to confront the reality that time, that their experience and togetherness, is fleeting, something to be cherished. It won’t last forever, and they need to make the best of it.

“Face-ass! Face-ass!” A loud chanting interrupts the sentimental moment, and people run by in a blur. Mingi’s eyes blow wide open when he catches a glimpse of some poor student who’d gotten hexed to have, well… An ass for a face. The pitiful student’s tormentors run after them, cackling like hyenas.

And, with that, the moment died and abrupt death.

“Yikes.” “Well, that sucks.” A couple of Mingi’s friends chuckle beside him.

“Should we maybe do something about that?” Mingi asks.

“And get my face turned into an ass? No thank you,” Woo balks.

“No, no, he’s right,” Hongjoong replies. “We should do something about that.” He opens his hand, and a flame appears. With little regard for the flammability of the underbrush, he tosses it in the direction of poor face-ass and their tormentors before turning back toward the bonfire. “Handled!”

Mingi hears a faint scream in the distance but chooses to ignore it. He’s glad Hongjoong is on his side.

As they approach more closely, Mingi spots a large cauldron off to the side. A worn ladle stirs the brew slowly, rivulets of steam rising from the concoction. Students approach with mugs probably brought from their own dorm, instructing the charmed object to serve them more. 

“Ohmygod that smells so good.” “Mmmmm~” The group coos as they gravitate toward the drink like moths to a flame.

San deposits his contribution of magically fermented booze into the cauldron. A puff of steam rises from the center, and for an instant, the color changes, a brilliant red glow glimmering from within. The color fades quickly, and soon the homebrew assimilates with the rest of the mixture. Mingi doesn’t know what the upperclassmen put in the damn cauldron, but the potent ingredients always somehow manage to smother the myriad concoctions people pour into it.

Mingi conjures a mug, holding it out and waiting for the enchanted ladle to serve him some stuff. It feels pleasantly hot once filled. The heat seeps from the ceramic of his old mug into his fingers. The “cider” wreaks of cinnamon and cloves - hefty spices put in to smother the taste of alcohol. 

When everyone’s gotten their fill, they step back from the fire and turn to Hongjoong. The leader of the pack gives everyone a large grin.

“What should we drink to, d’you think?” Hongjoong asks.

“To… Health?” Jongho posits.

“To looove ,” San snarks.

Mingi rolls his eyes, “How about to not dying?”

“That’s so morbid,” Seonghwa comments.

“Yeah,” Yeo adds with a laugh, “What about: to not killing anyone.”

“Oh my god, week one and your eyes are already set on murder?” Yunho gasps.

“Yes,” Yeosang answers with a smirk.

“What if we do yes killing but no convictions?” Wooyoung eggs the other on.

“Oh for fuck’s-” “Dark lord.” “You guys are so grim.”

“Okay!” Hongjoong cuts in. “Okay, okay, okay-! Look, let’s just do to…” He lifts a mug up, and the others follow suit. “To a good ass school year, witches be damned.”

The group exchanges nods, and together, they repeat their leader’s words: “And witches be damned!” With that, they all put their mugs to their lips and tip them back. Mingi damn near keels over from the shock to his system. The cider is spicy, the faint apple-ish taste overpowered by cloves and cinnamon. Not to mention the sting of the alcohol. It burns his tongue and leaves a trail of flames down his throat. Normal alcohol takes a while to affect humans, so they say. But, of course, that’s not good enough for teenage warlocks with a questionable sense of self-preservation. With modern advances in potion formulation and bad judgment, the cauldron’s potent swill can make someone lightheaded in seconds. Mingi stumbles slightly. He feels like he’d been slapped in the face. A few mumbles from his friends inform him that they’re in very much the same boat.

“Shitting devils.” “That’s- That’s stuff.” “Oooh- dark lord-” They sputter. 

“Shit- That’s awful,” Hongjoong coughs. 

Mingi recovers from wobbling and laughs, “That’ll keep your little frame going all night, huh?”

“Fuck off. Let’s see if anyone’s playing aeroball or battleshots,” Their leader laughs, heading toward the far side of the clearing where more people are standing.

However, they don’t get too far before a booming voice shouts after them. Well, one of them in particular.

“Yeosang!” The voice of none other than Johnny Suh startles them like a clap of thunder.

Yeosang freezes, and for a second he remains completely still like that - like Johnny is some predator that won’t be able to see him if he doesn’t move.

“Yeosang, bro,” Johnny approaches. The rest of the gang parts, leaving their beloved Yeosang out to dry. Sure, one of them could intervene, pull him away or try to distract Johnny, but that wouldn’t be nearly as hilarious.

Yeosang’s face goes through a veritable journey of emotions as the other approaches.

“Yeosaaaaang-!” The tone of his voice makes it clear that Johnny’s adequately lubricated.

“Hi. Johnny,” Yeosang groans.

“Yeosang. Yeosang- What’s up, my dude? Having fun? You having fun?”

“Just, uh, got here Johnny.”

“Right. Fair, fair. Well, you-” He points right at Yeosang, “You have fun.” He winks and a massive grin spreads across his face. He strides away, quickly distracted by someone else around the fire. 

“I hate him,” Yeosang announces just seconds later.

“Oh my god !” “He seems nice.”

“He’s, like, the nicest cool guy ever!” Yunho laughs.

“I hate it,” Yeosang gripes.

“Psh,” Mingi takes a tiny sip of his cider, face scrunching when it hits his tongue. “I’ll trade you partners. I take Johnny and you get tiny witch brat from my phys ed class.”

“The one who exploded the goblet?”

“It was a crystal orb, actually, but yes.” Just the thought of the incident makes Mingi almost consider drinking more, but the persistent burning in this throat stops him. Everything about it makes him want to positively die. Disappointing his favorite teacher, making himself look inferior to the patronizing witch, drawing the eye of everyone in the class. 

“Fuck, yeah, I’ll trade,” Yeo replies.

“Take him. He can’t be that heavy, the guy’s like five feet tall.”

“Damn.” “Ouch.”

“Wha- It’s true. He’s in dance club, too. Contemporary side.”

“Ugh that’s right,” Wooyoung takes another gulp, his face pinching. “He talked shit about my freestyling.”

“What?” “Seriously?”

Hongjoong’s brows knit, “Wait is this the same one that…”

“Yeah, he was with the goons that dumped Yunho in the forest,” Wooyoung huffs. “The dude’s a fuckin’ muppet. I said what I said.”

Mingi snorts at that, “Aw, come on. He’s just...”

“A muppet?”

“High strung. I was gonna say high strung.” Mingi’s mind goes back to their weird walk through the forest. The memory of the eerie place brings a chill to his spine; he drowns it out with another swig of cider and immediately regrets it. “Can we not, like, talk about him? I’m drinking to forget, not to remember.”

“Not like you guys aren’t the only ones with Rouge Shadow bitches in your club,” Hongjoong huffs. His grip around his mug tightens. 

“Oh right, the fashion club,” Mingi frowns, leaning over to squeeze his senior’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Hongie.” He makes an exaggerated kissy face.

The fourth-year warlock sneers, “I’m sorry, too. I mean, we’re all fucked, though, aren’t we? Did any club get out unscathed?” The lot of them exchange puzzled looks and then conclude that, no, none of them got out unscathed.

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Yunho - lovely, optimistic, bright Yunho - says sheepishly.

“You keep saying that,” Hongjoong responds. “But you’ve got it the worst- unless…?”

“What? Unless what?”

“Yunho, don’t tell me you’ve got a big, fat crush on one of them already.”

“What? Shut up.”

“Well, do you?”

“I don’t. Why does romance have to be involved for me to, like, not hate being around them?”

“I definitely never said romance.”

“Hong!” “Fucking hell.” “Shut up!” A few others chastise their leader.

Yunho turns to Seonghwa with a smirk, “Why can’t you control your husband?”

“He’s insatiable,” Seonghwa comments dryly. “A wild mustang, untameable. And that-” He tips his mug, “-is why I drink.”

“I don’t think this is a healthy model for marriage,” Jongho jokes with a fake pout.

“Eh,” Hongjoong shrugs, “Fuck healthy. I think they’re playing battleshots over there. Battleshots?”

“Fuck it.” “To battleshots!” “I dunno if we should drink that much…”

In spite of their better judgment, the gaggle of babbling warlocks follow their leader across the clearing. The stress of classes and cohabitating with RS witches quickly gets forgotten. They shed their worries in favor of ill-advised drinking games and the company of their favorite people - one another.

Baekhyun frowns, melting into the massive leather chair in the lounge. The faculty residences - much like the rest of Wolfwood campus - got a massive update. Originally, staff would teleport in from home or take up residence in the old towers which had been nurses’ quarters in the past. Half of the floors had gotten relegated to storage, but with the addition of Rouge Shadow staff, they completely rearranged the spaces. Both towers were given a modern overhaul, making them resemble those posh industrial apartments that are all the rage in urban centers now. 

While many of Rouge Shadow’s faculty still prefer to teleport in, a surprising amount of Wolfwood’s have taken up residence in the towers. If Baekhyun had to guess, he’d say it was because the newly remodeled spaces are nicer than their permanent homes. At least, that’s his reason. They include features like polished concrete flooring and full-sized cauldron hearths. Baek’s pretty sure he hasn’t lived in a home with a soaking tub since childhood, and the idea of taking a bath without shrinking himself to fit in the sink thrills himself more than it ought to. The loft apartments (or, as Baek regards them: grown-up dorms) seamlessly weave the luxuries of modern design with considerations for technology and magical needs.

Hence, he finds himself enjoying one of the many extra perks of the place - a lounge. Unsurprisingly, it’s empty. While nice and spacious, the Head Warlock doesn’t see his cohorts having much use for the place. Many have families to visit or friends to see. A fireplace on the far wall warms him as he nods off. His tablet plays a VOD of a pro-gaming match he’d missed earlier that week. Even though he’s literally the Headmister of Wolfwood, he still can’t help the little twinge of paranoid guilt that strikes him. He keeps thinking: what if I get caught ?

Technology, while happily adopted by younger generations, is still a bit frowned upon in magical society. Traditional households bar it altogether. Unlike humankind, supernatural society doesn’t need to depend on it in day to day life. But… Baekhyun concedes it is kind of nice. It’s convenient and effortless - unlike magic which always involves some transference and expenditure of energy. Things that take materials, incantations and magical power can be accomplished with the tap of a button. Baekhyun isn’t ashamed of it or anything. He just hopes that nobody walks by and secretly judges him.

Baekhyun yawns, reaching out for the glass of wine floating nearby. It’s just shy of midnight, and he already feels his eyelids drooping heavily. The past week somehow managed to be incredibly long and lightning-quick at the same time. Just as he contemplates heading back up to his flat, someone steps into the lobby.

Baek scrambles, stuffing his tablet into his oversized sweatshirt in a desperate, reflexive attempt to hide - like he’d been caught watching something naughty. His gaze shoots to the entrant with wide eyes. He’s met with a rather amused gaze and pique of the eyebrows.

“Oh, hey Jongin,” Baekhyun greets the other sheepishly.

“You, uh, you good?” Jongin laughs, approaching the other. His skin glows with a sheen of sweat and he’s got a towel slung over his shoulder.

“What? Yeah. I’m fine. I’m-” The Head Warlock slowly pulls his tablet back out of his sweatshirt. He’s got nothing to hide with the other. “I’m good.”

“Watching VODs again?”

“This is mid-season for them, this is a crucial time, and they’re playing with subbing out my guy- anyway, why’re you so sweaty this late?”

“Working,” Jongin shrugs.

“You know we’re salaried, right? I mean, I’d pay you more if I could.”

“I know. Just going through some possible songs and ideas for Samhain. Two months is not a long time.”

“You’ll do amazing. You always do. They always do.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never had to split studio time with another club. Me and Yixing still have to come to an agreement. I think we wanna do a merged thing as well.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Hip-hop and contemporary.”

“Aw. Your old wheelhouse, right?”

“Old? Psh, I would still murder a contemporary number.”

“Oh- Well, okay then.” 

“Of course, from what I overhear, Yixing runs everything by the Head Witch.”

“Oh. Oh- Do you think he’ll want you, to-”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe not for us, but the combined thing… I mean, might as well,” Jongin shrugs.

The mere thought of going to Taemin with choreography terrifies Baekhyun. He can imagine the other taking the sheet and marking it up with his ridiculously expensive phoenix-feather quill. Baekhyun takes a hearty gulp of wine to recover from the brief stress spike.

“Hey, Jongin, how’s it been? Like, merging cultures and everything?” Baekhyun asks, fingering the edge of his wine glass idly.

“Hm?” The other warlock leans against a chair nearby and glances up in thought. “I guess I haven’t noticed much.”

“Really? But with the clubs- don’t you teach a merged class, too?”

“Oh, yes,” Jongin chuckles. “There have been some… Incidents. Or, well, maybe an accident is the word.”

“Accident?” Baek’s eyes widen.

“Nothing serious, of course. Just- well, there’s a lot of tension in the students. I’m hoping they can loosen up.”

Baekhyun wouldn’t mind if Taemin loosened up a bit. He doesn’t say that, though. He feels guilty for the thought afterward, realizing that he, too, would be a bit high strung if his school got burned down. Of course, the warlock can’t imagine things being remotely similar if the situations were reversed. He’s fairly certain he would get laughed at if he asked for his students to attend the swanky monument to academic excellence.

“You look stressed,” Jongin breaks Baekhyun out of his reverie.

“Hm? Do I?”

“Is it the Head Witch?” He hit the nail on the head which Baekhyun does not appreciate. Talking about their sort-of coworkers like this isn’t professional!

“Shh!” Baek shushes him harshly.

“What? Seriously? You think he’s got a bug on us?”

“No-! I just-”

“Just the mention of him makes you jumpy. I was kidding, but now I wonder…”

“Jongin, stop. Let me enjoy me free-time in peace, without being reminded of… Work.”

“Work, huh?”

“Yes. Work… Stresses me out.”

“Aw, I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t share an office with him. I mean- Work!”

Jongin laughs mirthfully and pats Baekhyun on the head, “Have a good night, Head Warlock .”

“You, too.”

Baekhyun sighs as the other’s footsteps fade toward the lift. He can’t wait for things to settle slightly. Maybe then he’ll have more energy to do things on a Friday night - instead of melting into a lounge chair and watching VODs. Or maybe he’ll just stay inside anyway. But at least it would be by choice! And not due to lack of energy! He eagerly anticipates that day. Until then, he’s plenty to catch up on and a cushiony, far too expensive chair to melt into.

Laughter echoes across the small crowd of warlocks gathered in the corner of the clearing. A tiny crystal bottle flies toward Mingi, and his clumsy hands scarcely manage to take hold of it. If not for his intervention with magic, surely he’d have dropped it. And what a shame that would’ve been given its contents.

A happy, warm buzz swims through his veins, making him feel like his entire body is floating. It isn’t - something he’s checked multiple times because occasionally one does float inadvertently. The redheaded warlock scrunches his nose and uncorks the little bottle. Even from the tiny opening, the potion’s smell is potent and sharp. Before he can second guess himself too much, Mingi parts his lips, tipping the bottle and pouring in the slightest splash onto his tongue. He nearly coughs, his tongue and sinuses assaulted by the taste of grass, underlined with something sour. Sputtering, Mingi recaps the bottle and tosses it aside, letting it float on to the next participant.

Never Have I Ever is a staple game at parties where people have alcohol and few other ideas as to what they’re doing. Obviously, possessing supernatural powers inclines warlocks to up the ante a teeny bit.

Mingi blinks rapidly, eyes watering from the arresting taste of the truth potion. It lingers stubbornly on his tongue, and he’s fairly certain not even the spiced cider can top it in potency. 

A few others in the cluster they’d found themselves in take the potion before it begins. Mingi sort-of recognizes the girl who starts, instructing everyone to put their hands up - five fingers. He obliges, along with the rest of his friends, and they begin. Laughter rumbles out of his chest seemingly of its own volition. He can’t help it - everything is funny, laced with the ticklish warmth that pleasantly bakes his insides.

“Okay-” It’s Wooyoung’s turn - it’s Wooyoung’s turn? Mingi doesn’t remember when that happened. He must have missed a round or two. Nobody called him on it, though.

Woo giggles as he waves his hand (only four fingers up at this point), “Never have I ever… Sucked toes.”

A few laughs and gasps sound out across the crowd. Everyone watches one another pointedly, waiting for fingers to go down. Mingi’s jaw drops when he sees Seonghwa put his finger down, face alight.

“What the-” “Oh my god.” “Seonghwa?!”

“Who?!” Hongjoong, who’d been sitting cross-legged next to him, demands. He bumps shoulders roughly. “Who?!” 

Seonghwa welds his lips shut, body visibly shaking with the urge to confess. Wooyoung cackles evilly like he knew prior. The evil bastard. 

“Your turn,” His evilness himself, Wooyoung, tells Mingi.

“What? Oh, shit. Uh… Okay,” Mingi presses his lips together as he thinks. In spite of knowing damn well that he’d have to come up with one eventually, he’s still not ready. “Hmm… Hmm…”

Mingi glances around - like that’ll help. Unsurprisingly, he gleans little inspirations from the trees or the shadows cast behind them by the fire’s light. He sees clusters of students here and there, chattering and running around. Someone strums guitar idly, and a few crowd around the person, drunkenly nodding their heads.

“Never have I ever…” Mingi starts, still scanning the clearing. “Never have I ever… Is that the five foot witch I hate?”

That’s definitely not what he meant to say. Instead of putting out a hypothetical, his loosened lips blurted out the first thing that came to mind upon seeing, well, him . A few of the others snicker, initially confused. One by one, their gazes follow that of Mingi’s.

“What the fuck?” “Shit.” “Huh?” “Hold up- Do I know them…” A few mutter. The utterances surrounding him sound muted to Mingi. Maybe it’s the blood pulsing through his veins that’s drowning their sound out. Maybe it’s his own thoughts. Whatever it is, something mutes the world around him, and for a second, all he can focus on is them.

Much like the first time he ever set eyes on Rouge Shadow witches, they appear to move in slow motion. Is it the booze? Or is it a spell executed by their intention? 

Led by their dark-haired ringleader, the very same clique of witches who tormented Yunho stride in. They walk across the pine and underbrush like it’s a runway. Their shadowy eyes sweep across the clearing, obviously unimpressed. Right beside the black-haired Ravn is none other than the tiny demon himself: Yeo Hwanwoong. Well, sure, perhaps demon is an exaggeration. Mingi doesn’t hate the guy. He thinks. He could certainly hate him more. But he doesn’t like him, either. When he’s drunk, it’s really hard to discern one emotion from another, so he’s happy to just categorize it as hate.

“Damn.” “They’re kinda hot.” “Why the fuck are they dressed like they’re goin’ to the opera?” A few others in his clique murmur.

“Yeo,” Hongjoong scrambles out of his perch to shuffle over to Yeosang, “Yeo, did Johnny invite those guys?”

Yeosang tilts his head up to regard the other, “Uh, Iunno all the peoples he invited.” He shrugs, the movement exaggerated by the sheer amount of alcohol in his system. The brunette then leans forward and starts hugging Hongjoong’s arm. Yup. He’s there.

“Seriously?”

“He’s all about loving everyone. I think he said somethin’ about witches. Like. He didn’t not invite the RS people.”

“Ugh. They’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

“I think- D’you think they noticed us?” Mingi asks.

“I’ll make sure they do,” Hongjoong snarls.

“You’ll what?!”

Without further elaboration, Hongjoong puffs his chest out and starts striding across the clearing. His flushed face and surliness make Mingi realize just how drunk the other is. The others scramble to follow at their leader’s heels, some a tad more clumsy than others. Mingi tries to ignore the way the edges of his vision distorts. As buzzed as he is, he knows for Hongjoong it’s got to be twelve times worse. He has the lowest tolerance of all of them.

All too soon they’re just paces away from the coven, and Mingi isn’t sure if the knots in his stomachs are from the booze, the potion, or the witches. He swallows nervously as he attempts to formulate some sort of de-escalation tactic in his drunk head. Unfortunately, his brain is slower than Hongjoong’s quick-witted temper.

The unofficial warlock leader strides right up to the black-haired one - Ravn, that’s what he’s called. The witches had just finished filling crystal cups with the cauldron brew when Joong barges in. While Mingi is all for defending Yunho’s honor (and assuring what they did will never happen again) this certainly isn’t how he’d go about it.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Hongjoong snarls, steam practically coming out of his ears.

Ravn’s eyes meet Hongjoong’s, and the witch takes a prolonged sip of his beverage as if to nonverbally say: “I’ll get back to you in just a moment, when I care to.” When the witch is finally done, he heaves a dramatic sigh of satisfaction and grins.

“I could ask you the same thing. Though I see you wore your Sunday best. Cute jacket,” Ravn responds coolly. The smile he wears makes him look like the cat that ate the canary. His black, wavy hair even resembles cat ears - so much that, for a second, Mingi’s drunk mind hallucinates the tufted fur points twitching with interest. 

“Aren’t you people ‘too good for this’ or some shit? You sure as fuck are dressed like it. Take a wrong turn on your way to the opera?”

“That’s not very Wolfwood Welcoming of you,” The other snarks. “Isn’t this party for people who are relevant?”

Yunho - blessed, sweet Yunho - tries to cut in, cheeks flushed and lips stretched into a strained smile, “H-Hey, Hong, maybe let’s just- just reintroduce ourselves. Start off on the right foot.”

“Oh we know each other,” Ravn smirks.

Yunho’s brows raise with surprise, and Hongjoong’s nose scrunches in disgust.

“Yeah, it’s a real fucking treat seeing you across the room at fashion club. As if ruining that isn’t enough, you’ve gotta show up here, too?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at here,” The witch chuckles. “Do you really expect us to up and leave?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Or… Or what?”

Mingi’s eyes widen. Oh no. That sounds like a challenge. Challenging Kim Hongjoong is a bad idea. Challenging a drunk, angry Kim Hongjoong could very well be a death sentence. One time, one of his teachers found a poem he handed in unsatisfactory. They asked him to revise it. He wrote a two-hundred-page epic overnight out of sheer spite. It got perfect marks, no doubt giving the teacher hours of extra work. That instructor was gone by the time Mingi arrived the next year.

Mingi’s mind meanders, gaze sweeping across the coven opposite them. Their expressions range from disinterested to annoyed. The little one, Hwanwoong, stands close to Ravn, posture coiled up tight and eyes down. Maybe he’s embarrassed by his friend, too. Mingi would love to leave their issues behind. However, it seems like half of his group doesn’t agree. He supposes that it’s a bit more difficult given that they have to share clubs and even classes with the witches. He considers that just letting it go might be unrealistic.

After all, Yunho never got a real apology.

“We could do another little ‘reenactment’,” Hongjoong growls, stepping forward. His fist clenches tight, a faint glow illuminating bones and skin an orange tone. 

“Like I’d let you catch me off guard again.”

“Okay,” Seonghwa steps forward, taking Hongjoong’s arm. Ah, yes, the voice of reason. If anyone can talk Hongjoong down it would be him. Maybe. “Let’s not.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Another witch, Keonhee, responds. He approaches Ravn’s side and leans against the other affectionately. “Let’s not start a fight with witches. Good choice.”

“I just don’t get- why are you here?” Hongjoong insists irately. “This is a Wolfwood tradition.”

Ravn answers sarcastically, “We did it just to piss you off. You specifically. And it worked.”

“Great. Mission accomplished. So, leave?” 

“And give you the satisfaction of watching this sweet ass walk away? I don’t think so.”

Hongjoong grimaces. Just as he’s about to fire off a retort, a loud voice booms across the clearing.

“Hey! Hey! Everybody! Attention!” Johnny, dangerously close to the bonfire, hollers, “Attention- I’m talking to you- yes, you Yeri, put it down- put the baby bat down-!” He snorts.

“Oh,” Hwanwoong raises his brows, “I didn’t know there was free entertainment.”

“A court jester, perhaps?” Redheaded Xion adds.

Mingi rolls his eyes. He watches Johnny giggle as he floats around, demanding people in the clearing pay attention to him. In spite of how very obviously drunk he is, people still stop and pay attention. Mingi envies the guy. He can do just about anything and people will smile, laugh and go along. Mingi’s fairly certain that, if he did the same stuff, people would throw fruit at him or film him being an idiot so they could laugh with their friends later. Pays to be popular, he supposes.

“Okay!” Johnny shouts, voice amplified by a sound spell. “Okay, okay, okay-! Listen! First of all I wanna thank you all for coming to our humble little shindig out here-”

“Oh brother,” Yeosang groans.

Johnny continues, “-now many of you know that the welcome bonfire is, like, one of Wolfwood’s most old and tried and true traditions and shit. Yeah?” People actually respond and nod. The power this man holds, it awes Mingi. “But! Some of you actually don’t know! That’s okay, that’s okay. That is why I - and we - are here.”

Mingi glances around, just to make sure he’s not the only one confused. Thankfully, he’s not. Hongjoong is looking at Johnny with an expression of faint disgust. Yeosang appears to be contemplating death while Wooyoung, San and Yunho lean against one another for balance.

Johnny continues, “Every year, it is a tradition, at this esteemed institution, that we engage in some amicable hor-horseplay-” He giggles because apparently the word “horseplay” is hilarious to him. “Horseplay. Anyway. The games have varied over the years, but through my tenure at this… Great. Institution. Our game has been as such-” Johnny waves his hand in an arc in front of him, and two orbs begin to glow in front of him, one red, one blue.

“Two beacons, two teams. Your goal is to capture the enemy team’s beacon and bring it into the radius of your own veil of safety- or, as one might crudely put it: your base. It’s capture the flag.” He chuckles. A few excited murmurs sound out across the clusters of cliques around the fire and at the treeline. “But!” Johnny claps, his sound spell amplifying the spell to thunderous levels. Mingi flinches as the other continues his little speech. “Since we have some special… Special guests and company, this year, the division of teams will be different. In the spirit of good, lighthearted fun, we’re going to go witches versus warlocks.”

“Figures,” Hongjoong rolls his eyes.

San laughs to their group, “I, for one, welcome the sanctioned excuse to pound one of those assholes.”

“Mm- Phrasing, San,” Seonghwa responds with distaste.

“I didn’t fucking stutter.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Mingi laughs. San shrugs it off, either entirely oblivious or uncaring.

“A game?” Ravn gasps dramatically. “Sounds fun .”

“Haven’t you shit on Wolfwood enough?” Hongjoong groans. “Why don’t you just go party? We can all forget about this shitshow and pretend that we don’t know each other. How about that?”

“Aw, he’s scared we’ll beat him,” The black-haired witch lilts. The others snicker among themselves.

“If I recall, last time we were in the woods you ran out screaming with piss running down your leg. You sure you’re up for this, big guy?”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting. C’mon, any game that requires an ounce of wit, strategy or skill- well, it’s obvious we’ll win.”

“You know what. Fine. Be our guest, then. Have a good time running around the woods with your little coven. It’ll be fun to see the look on your face when you lose to a bunch of ‘lowly warlocks’.”

“Why don’t we bet on it? Oh, wait- you don’t own anything worth wagering.”

Hongjoong opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted before he can retort.

“So!” Johnny claps again, making everyone within the vicinity wince from the loudness. “Your bases will be… Well, that way-” He waves to his right, and the red orb bounds in the direction he’d pointed, disappearing into the woods. “-aaaaand, that way!” He repeats the motion, sending the blue orb in the opposite direction.

“Wolfwood is blue, Rouge Shadow is red- fitting, right?” He sounds so damn pleased with himself. “Okay you have- hm, let’s say, like, ten minutes to get to your positions- ha- and then the beacons will activate- it’ll be game time. We’ll go- hmmm, three rounds. So, like, if you’re not feeling it now or whatever, just go next round. That clear enough for everyone?”

The herd of tipsy students holler back with a chorus of yeah’s and okay’s. It’s simple enough, straightforward and familiar. Still, Mingi’s stomach knots with nervousness. Usually, it’s a pretty lighthearted game, but, even among Wolfwood students, things can escalate. Inevitably people get rough, a few fights break out, and stuff can get rowdy. It’s always been in the name of fun. However, with the Rouge Shadow witches involved, Mingi isn’t sure that he feels as secure. He doesn’t entirely trust the newcomers to respect the sanctity of the game.

“Okay. Well. Go!” Johnny waves at everyone down below. “Go already! Go! What are you waiting for? I said go!” He did send out the beacons, after all. “You’ve got ten minutes, you silly little truffles.” The drunk fourth-year laughs indulgently at his own dumb joke as the others disperse.

At first, Mingi didn’t notice a lot of Rouge Shadow witches at the party, but a surprising amount of people head off in the other direction. The sight of conspiratorial witches scurrying into the woods does nothing for the mounting nervousness in his stomach. Hongjoong waves Mingi and the others into the woods, and a sizeable crowd of participating warlocks head in.

The third-year Mark ends up being their unofficially elected captain. He gestures to beckon the Wolfwood troops inward, finding a clearing big enough to house the dozen who decided to participate. Everyone ambles in, the majority of the crowd still drunk. 

Mark closes his hand into a small fist. Yellow-orange light glimmers from within, and when he opens his hand, a tiny light beacon of his own emerges. He sends it to the clearing in order to give everyone light to see. In the illumination of the little orb, Mingi can see the slight flush on the third-year’s cheeks. He grins ear to ear, clearly indicating he’s a giggly drunk.

“Alright, everyone! Here’s the plan!” He claps before tittering. In spite of being buzzed, Mark delivers their strategy with clarity. It’s a relatively simple approach.

The Wolfwood warlocks opt to have aggressors and defenders. The roles are self-explanatory. Aggressors breach the Rouge Shadow territory with the intent of capturing their beacon. The defenders take posts in the woods in order to guard their beacon. Mark proposes that they station people at varying radiuses surrounding their own blue beacon.

“So, who wants to be an agg- oh! Okay, so- so many volunteers,” Mark laughs. Unsurprisingly, San, Hongjoong and Wooyoung stepped forward. Hongjoong is competitive as hell, and San’s always an ag during these games - he’s part of the martial arts club, after all. And, wherever San goes, Wooyoung often follows. 

Mingi does not consider himself terribly violent. Though he is competitive, he tends to keep that part of him in. Overall, he’s a team player, and being defense sounds way less scary. The last thing he wants is to walk out of the party with seaweed for hair or something. Once the aggressors are decided, they break off into their own little group to plan their attack. Mark volunteered himself to be in that group, delegating a girl named Lucy to be their leader.

Lucy makes a little mockup of the forest with simple light magic, mapping out little circles centering around their beacon. Mingi stares dazedly, brain still abuzz with booze, tipsiness underlined with tension. He leans against Yunho as Lucy delegates roles.

“What about you?” She asks. It takes Mingi a second to realize the question is directed at him.

“Oh- Um-” He looks to Yunho and Seonghwa - the two nearest friends. 

“Why don’t you put him on the point?” Seonghwa suggests softly with a knowing smile. Knowing what , Mingi can’t figure out. He sort of lacks the brainpower and goes with it. Lucy nods, conjuring “Mingi” written in light script. The chatter continues, and Mingi stares at his newly assigned post. He’s “on point” as Seonghwa said, right by the beacon. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? It could be a lot of pressure, but it could also be boring as hell.

“Attention!” Johnny’s voice booms through the clearing, making half the warlocks there jump. Johnny isn’t actually there, he’d just cast a spell to address everyone. “Your ten minutes are up, so start running, my little pretties.” He cackles wildly before the spell wears off and his voice peters out.

“Okay!” Mark claps happily, “Let’s go!” He points toward where the red beacon had dispersed, and the aggressors run off, some taking to the air while others ran by foot.

“Everyone on your marks. Fast!” Lucy echoes the other’s gesture, pointing into the woods. The defenders oblige, each disappearing to take their own post. Mingi double-checks her map before hopping into the air and floating toward his spot. He waves down to Seonghwa and Yunho on the ground before disappearing into the woods.

The further he ventures in, the fewer warlocks there are. They littered the outermost perimeter with the most. As the witches approach the beacon, the fewer there will be. In hindsight, Mingi wonders if he should’ve given some input on the strategy. Doesn’t it make more sense to defend the beacon with more fortitude? 

He shrugs the doubts off, not all that committed to the game in the first place. He’s more invested in the idea of sticking it to Rouge Shadow snobs than playing the game. Soon, the glimmering beacon appears in Mingi’s sight. He floats toward it almost lazily before touching down next to a tree nearby.

An indiscernible amount of time passes quietly. Two minutes, five - maybe ten? The warlock can’t tell. He doesn’t care much, either.

Mingi teeters, the blur at the edges of his vision gradually subsiding. The thing with enchanted spirits (well, the alcoholic ones) is that they tend not to be long-lasting. At least, not the ones brewed by unskilled hands. Rumors and hearsay tell stories of magical elixirs that simulate the ecstasy of drunkenness for hours on end with little damage. However, most homebrews or enhancers perform more like fireworks. They’re fast-acting, not long-lasting. The redhead is fine with it, though. Though the pleasant buzz subsides, his restored senses ultimately make him better as a player.

The redhead clings to a tree, glancing across the horizon. The southern woods are far less dense than those up north which makes for easier sightlines. Silver moonlight illuminates the trees, casting long, thin shadows across the forest. Occasionally, the breeze will jostle a few, making Mingi think something is there. Of course, it’s nothing. Just a trick of the light and his imagination. Normally, Mingi doesn’t give a shit about sense-enhancing spells, but now he wishes he had some sort of see-through or sonic hearing spell in his arsenal.

Mingi sighs, leaning against the tall alder he’d stationed himself under. With the absence of company and dwindling buzz, his mood starts to go down again. He wonders if he’d been sent there on purpose. Maybe his friends really just wanted him out of the way. After all, it’s not like he’s very useful in these games. He’s not particularly coordinated or canny in stuff like this. He doesn’t consider himself particularly canny at anything, really. Insecurities that would normally be quite little pronounce themselves more prominently than they normally would. He feels like he’s looking over the edge of a steep hill, and he can feel the tug of gravity threatening to bring him down. The redhead bites down on his lip as he adamantly tries to fight the proverbial gravity tugging on his mood. He reminds himself that, no, his friends do like him and that this is all a stupid game anyway.

“Please, somebody capture a flag already,” He mutters. The warlock sighs, glancing back at the glimmering blue orb behind him. Its blue light glimmers, ominous and haunting in the forest setting.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Mingi’s neck stand up. He shivers, overcome by the strange sensation. He writes it off as a chill at first. Maybe a stiff breeze had blown through. But, the sensation persists.

“What the…” His legs carry him toward the beacon. Though he can’t intuit what, he can sense something… Off. Mingi narrows his eyes as he approaches the beacon. The blue orb appears undisturbed.

A soft shuffling noise sounds out behind Mingi. His head whips around and his eyes widen. He scans the horizon, but there’s nothing. No birds, no rustling branches, not even a woodland creature. Mingi leans against the tree again and huffs. He’s starting to get bored and antsy. Part of him wants to abandon the post completely, but given that he’s closest to the beacon, him leaving would create a gaping hole in their defense. (More importantly, it would royally piss everyone off - and Mingi cannot handle having that much drunk animosity directed at him.)

Something rustles nearby, drawing Mingi’s attention back to the orb.

Mingi steps closer and glances around. He scratches at his nape, unable to shake the unsettling sensation. The warlock stills. He doesn’t hear a sound. It’s dead silent. No gentle rustling of the branches in the breeze, no critters.

It’s too quiet.

A muting spell, Mingi thinks.

The warlock steps closer to the orb, scanning his surrounding with more careful discernment. He doesn’t hear anything, but something does shift in his vision. It isn’t something so explicit as a silhouette or a shape. It’s more vague, an insinuation of a shift, a blurring of lines. A cloak.

Mingi wracks his brain for charms or enchantments he could cast to take away concealments. He knows disenchantment spells and revelations are important - but it’s higher level stuff, and school’s barely started. As he’s contemplating what to do, the air around him shifts. It’s subtle - something he probably wouldn’t notice normally - but with nothing but the company of a beacon, he notices the atmospheric changes more easily.

Where there had been no breeze before, the most gentle one passes by him. It isn’t natural, though. The “breeze” carries the faint scent of perfume. Mingi gasps. He doesn’t hesitate to reach out in the direction of the invisible invader. Cloaking is a clever tactic, but a glib one, too. It’s an incredibly imperfect disguise, easily seen through by anyone with a discerning eye. Especially when the caster is a young, inexperienced student. A person can only cover up so much with camouflage.

Mingi grasps blindly in the general direction of the perfumed person. Though he fully suspected that someone was walking by, for some reason his jaw drops with shock when he grabs onto something. Smooth, silky fabric slides between his fingers. A soft gasp sounds out, and the person immediately pulls away. The warlock balls up more of the fabric in his hand to get a better hold. The person struggles against the grip, but Mingi has enough brute strength to hold them fairly well.

“Give it up,” Mingi chuckles. “I’ve got you.”

The person lets out an exhale that sounds almost peeved. They wiggle around futilely, in response to which the warlock rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure there are rules about this kind of stuff. Don’t they have to go back to their base or something? Somehow, he manages to forget the technicalities every year.

During his brief lapse of distraction, the silken fabric beneath his hand begins to move and shift. It goes limp, sliding down, and Mingi realizes the witch’s ploy. They’re trying to shed the outer layer and make a break for it.

Mingi decides to employ the use of his other hand - because, wow, he does have two of those, doesn’t he? He reaches around roughly where he imagines a shoulder to be and gets a hold of the person with ease. Obviously, his goal is not to feel the other person up. However, he does want a good grip, so he slides his hand across the person’s shoulder in a cursory fashion before settling atop a bicep. They’re… Strong. Muscular, but not big. Not big enough to fend off Mingi’s brute strength. Definitely not tall, either. The warlock’s big hands stretch over the other’s shoulders easily.

“Just give it up,” Mingi chuckles. A pleasant rush of satisfaction runs through his veins. He helped! It makes him feel a bit better about being the beacon guard.

The tiny person flails, “Let me go!”

“No, you’re supposed to go back to your base- don’t you know the rules?”

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll hex you!” They huff petulantly. The person’s voice is familiar. Too familiar.

“Wait a minute-” Mingi releases the witch. In doing so, he unintentionally drops them. He wasn’t even aware that he’d lifted them partially off the ground. Holding them the way he did must have taken their feet off of the ground, meaning they really are quite petite. Petite and familiar. “ You .”

The witch stumbles back and releases his cloaking spell. Clumsy and probably a bit tipsy himself, the lilac-haired boy falls onto his ass. He looks at Mingi with a disdainful pout.

“Figures they’d put a brick wall like you at the beacon.”

“What- I am not- actually, that’s…” Kind of a compliment, Mingi thinks. It makes him sound like something formidable and big and immovable.

“That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment,” The witch remarks dryly.

“I know that! I’m just- I’m reclaiming it. So it’s a compliment now. Thank you .”

“You’re like a C-average student, aren’t you?”

“Shouldn’t you be floating your sorry ass back to your base now?”

“What? Are you gonna make me?” Hwanwoong stretches out, making a show of relaxing on the ground (like he hadn’t fallen there out of clumsiness). 

“Uh-” Is he? Mingi considers it for a second. As much as he likes the idea of being intimidating, he’d never dream of using real force on someone. Mingi’s lips clamp shut with the absence of anything to say.

“That’s what I thought.”

Things get awkward fast. The silence is oppressive and makes Mingi think he should do or say something. He’s fairly certain this is when Hongjoong would grab the guy by the collar and throw him out. San would probably use magic to hang him up in the trees or something. For some reason, Mingi can’t bring himself to do it, though. He tries to think of a way to get the other to go away. 

All the while, Yeo Hwanwoong, devil that he is, pretends to check his cuticles under the blue light of the beacon. He’s the picture of cool disinterest. His naturally sultry gaze looks even more disinterested than usual with the smoky makeup he’d applied, and his clothes - even rumpled - appear to drape with deliberateness. Mingi thought he hated the guy before. But now looking at the witch makes sickness fester in his stomach. He’s so little and perfect and calm - basically, everything Mingi is not. The warlock is sort of awestruck at the other’s audacity, really. Mingi wouldn’t dream of dressing to the nines and showing up to a party where he knows people don’t like him. There’s obviously an element of antagonism there, but the warlock wonders if part of them just feel entitled to it, too. Entitled to being there, entitled to taking part in traditions that aren’t theirs. His cheeks heat up with anger the more he agonizes over it.

He hardly notices the glimmering blue beacon moving out of the corner of his eye.

“Wh- Hey! I caught you! Stop moving it!” Mingi yanks the beacon out of the air and holds it protectively.

Hwanwoong snorts, “ Oops .”

“You really think I’m a moron, don’t you?”

“I mean, it did take you a second to notice, didn’t it? I’m surprised it took you that long,” The witch’s eyes shift away from his hands to the warlock’s. Mingi doesn’t like the glimmer of mischief in them, not one bit. “You seem distracted.”

The warlock rolls his eyes and sets the beacon back in its original place, “Why don’t you just go back to your base already?”

“I mean, it was worth a shot.”

“Yeah, well, you lost your shot, so-” Mingi makes a waving motion, “-shoo.”

Hwanwoong finally does what he should’ve done in the first place. He stands up and stretches unhurriedly. For someone who’d gotten caught, he seems far too content. Once he’s all stretched and satiated, instead of leaving, he leans against a nearby tree.

“Uh- What are you doing?” The warlock asks.

The witch grins, “Waiting.”

“For what? A red carpet to get rolled out?”

“For us to win the game- or, well, the round. There are multiple rounds.”

“What makes you think you’re gonna win? We do this every year. I guarantee there’s no tricks you guys can pull that we’ve never seen.”

Hwanwoong chuckles wryly, “Okay, well, first of all, I highly doubt that. We value intellect at my school instead of relying on being, like, six feet tall. And, secondly...” He glances over Mingi’s shoulder, in the distance. “I think he’ll be here soon.”

“What? Who-?”

The answer to Mingi’s question comes in the form of distant footsteps. The warlock turns on his heel, goosebumps pricking his flesh at the sudden intrusion. Unlike Hwanwoong, this person is clearly not using stealth. Their footfalls are heavy and fast - they’re sprinting. How had nobody noticed?

Mingi squints at the darkness. Shifting shapes bound toward the clearing.

“Mingi!” San’s loud voice echoes through the clearing. It turns out that he’s one of the shadows. Occasionally, a beam of moonlight hits the slender warlock as he trails behind the still obscured witch.

Mingi’s eyes widen.

“Mingi, help!” San shouts. The redhead blinks confusedly, his reactions still delayed. The shadowy witch is in the clearing seconds later, his bulky frame illuminated by the blue beacon’s light. Mingi vaguely recognizes him as one of Hwanwoong’s clique. He leaps to intercept the other, hoping to just body block. The witch stumbles with a wide-eyed look, and the two of them end up toppling over.

Mingi gasps with pain as he hits the ground. The other is solidly built, his weight no joke. The warlock vaguely registers the other witch’s giggling and the approach of San’s footsteps. The witch on top of him recovers more quickly, scrambling up and grabbing the beacon.

“Thanks Geo- Leedo!” Hwanwoong titters.

Mingi hoists himself off of the ground in time to see San sprinting toward them. The black-haired warlock dives for the beacon firmly grasped in the other witch- Leedo’s hands. San gets a grip, but the other holds on tight. 

“Mingi-!” San yells, voice strained from exertion.

“Uh- Right-” The redhead squawks. Even though he could probably help using his hands, his brain defaults to magic instead. Mingi tightens his focus for an instant, silently incanting a tried and true tripping hex he’s known since grade school.

The bulky blond witch, too focused on San, doesn’t see it coming. He gasps, falling sideways and ceasing control to San.

San smirks, hopping into the air and floating above the other, “I’ll take that, if you just would go on back to your- Ah!”

Apparently, Leedo hadn’t completely lost grip. His hold on the orb is stubborn. He scrambles up, joining San in the air and tugging on the node.

“I have it,” He says, voice husky. 

San pulls back, “I recommend letting it go.” He smiles mischievously.

“No.”

“Well, if you’re not gonna play nice…” San pulls on the orb, causing the other to pull back in retaliation. The black-haired warlock takes this opportunity to let go, making the other reel back yet again. Vines shoot out of the ground and wrap around his ankles, tugging him down.

“You-!” Leedo grunts in disbelief. He’s quick, though. He manages to keep one hand on the orb - just barely. The rules necessitate contact, otherwise, he’d have to be sent back. Well, technically he’d been “caught” by Mingi, so he should’ve started his trip back already; however, it doesn’t seem like anyone’s keen on the rules. Mingi supposes that’s not too far off from how it normally goes. Even when it’s pure Wolfwood, people twist the rules. Or just disobey them. Actually, it’s expected that people are going to cheat. Mingi supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything else from their rivals.

Leedo is fast. He directs the open palm of his free hand toward the ground and shoots out a stream of fire. The amber light fills the woods. Mingi yelps, scrambling away. The residual heat makes a sweat break out on the redhead’s nape.

San’s vines dissipate immediately, much to the warlocks’ chagrin. San yanks the orb again. Leedo’s reaction is, once again, quick, but it doesn’t look as controlled. Mingi can’t tell if the witch means to jerk his hand and send a fireball straight toward San’s head. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he got caught up in the moment, or maybe his concentration broke. Though Mingi is inclined to think it was an accident, San appears to be of differing opinions.

The warlock gapes with utter disbelief. Mingi can sense the vexation coming off of his friend, radiating bright like blinding sunlight.

That’s not good.

San releases the orb completely and makes a sweeping motion with his arm. In response, the earth shifts and rumbles softly beneath Mingi’s feet. He stumbles a bit, stretching out his arms widely for purchase. 

A massive, thick, winding root emerges from the ground and imitates the warlock’s movement, sweeping across the little clear space. The spindly tree limb aims straight for the witch. Leedo, eyes wide and mouth in a tiny “o” shape, spins out of the way. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t completely clear the large root and gets grazed on the side. Mingi winces when he hears the snapping noise of ripping fabric. 

This escalated.

Even San realizes it, eyes wide and jaw dropped. In the wake of his flare-up, his eyes twinkle with regret. 

The warlock chokes out, “Shit, I’m sorr-” A small ball of fire flies past his face. The orange light illuminates his face for a moment, revealing just how shocked he is. He blinks confusedly - as does Mingi. A breeze blows by, and a second later, the witches are gone.

Mingi gawks, “What the-”

“ Fuck ,” San snarls, turning around in the air. In the distance, the blue light of the beacon zips between trees. Two snickering silhouettes accompany it. “Mingi, let’s go.”

“But I- My post-”

“Your post is flying across the woods.”

“R-right. Duh,” Mingi nods, feeling silly for a second. His feet are barely in the air when San bounds after them.

Mingi clumsily follows the other, weaving between trees and narrowly avoiding branches. They close the distance fairly quickly, taking the witches by surprise. Hwanwoong glances over his shoulder and shoots them a dirty look before gesturing to Leedo. The blond witch turns around, sizing up the warlocks while he flies backward with ease.

“Can you distract the little one?” San asks Mingi.

“Uh- Me? I mean, I guess-”

“Good. The other one’s mine.”

“Uh-”

San raises a hand, coaxing the surrounding trees to reach out. Leedo smirks, deftly dodging them. He’s quiet, but there’s a ferocity in him. Maybe it’d been stoked by alcohol in his system or maybe the guy’s got a competitive streak in him. San sure as hell does. While Mingi really wishes he didn’t have to deal with Hwanwoong, the other witch is…

Yeah, he’ll take on Hwanwoong.

San plants his feet onto a nearby tree and pushes off, propelling himself closer to the other. Mingi watches his friend tangle with the blond witch. Hwanwoong moves to help. Mingi, remembering his one job, tries to think on his toes. The redhead levitates a pebble off of the ground and chucks it in the lilac-haired witch’s direction. It’s far from sophisticated, but it’s perfectly adequate. Hwanwoong flinches when the rock hits him square on the head.

“Wh- Ow!” He turns around and pouts. “What the hell is wrong with you!? Are you trying to give me brain damage?”

“Seems like you’ve got plenty already.” Mingi sasses.

“Oh- that’s rich coming from the likes of you.”

Mingi floats closer, “Well it would explain the developmental issues.” It’s petty, but he gets a tiny rush of satisfaction seeing the other’s pout deepen.

“Going after my height? Again? Very original. Very indicative of your high IQ.”

Mingi rolls his eyes, “Ugh. I don’t need to prove shit to you.”

“Is that what you were doing before? Proving yourself? Because you’re doing a hell of a job.”

“Says the guy who pitched a fit in yoga class.”

“There it is. Let it out. I can tell you’re still pissed. You won’t stop giving me looks during class.”

“Trust me. I try to avoid looking at you, but our sadistic ass teacher decided we’re partners.”

“W-well, try harder. I don’t want you looking at me. Close your eyes.”

“Maybe I will. But-! You do it, too. You keep staring daggers at me.”

“I do not stare at you.”

“Mhm.”

“Wh- How full of yourself can you be? You really think you’re hot shit, huh?”

“Well, ‘hot’ was your word,” Mingi smirks.

“ Ew ,” Hwanwoong glowers. He crosses his arms and makes a point to turn away. “Give a guy height and a waistline and he thinks he’s the dark lord’s gift to the universe.”

Mingi floats around so he can antagonize the other more - it’s weirdly fun, “Just so we’re clear: you are admitting that you think I’m hot?”

“No. I’m saying you think you’re hot. Hell- is it that difficult for you to comprehend?”

“I think I’m comprehending pretty well.” Mingi makes a show of stretching, folding his arms under his head and leaning back - just to be extra annoying.

"I think all that posturing is just you trying to compensate for your dick size."

"Excuse me,” Mingi feigns offense. “My dick is huge and you know it, since you spend so much time staring at it in the yoga class."

“Wh- I nev-”

Before Hwanwoong can finish the sentence, a flash of brilliant orange light strobes in his peripheral vision. Hwanwoong’s head turns in the direction of the light, too. Both of their jaws drop. Initially, it comes toward them in what appears to be slow motion. However, that protracted second quickly passes.

A swell of fire flies past the two, far too close for comfort. Mingi reflexively cowers from the massive fucking fireball, unintentionally clinging to Hwanwoong in the process. Too surprised to care, Hwanwoong pulls the other closer out of altruistic instinct. The blast zooms past them and hits a tree instead.

The witch and warlock both gape and watch the unfortunate aftermath. The tall fire catches quickly. It’s almost impressive just how quickly the fire takes. The flames quickly make their way up the trunk of the tree, eating up the branches and pines. Loud popping and sputtering echoes across the woods as embers spit up from the growing blaze.

“Oh shit,” Mingi murmurs.

“U-Uh- We can… Put it out,” Hwanwoong mutters, eyes still fixed on the fire.

“Yeah, um…” It is then that Mingi realizes he’s still clinging to Hwanwoong like an oversized koala. To make matters worse, the other seems to realize it at the same time. They make eye contact, and the pain of jarring awkwardness stabs Mingi in the chest. The warlock scrambles off of the other sheepishly, straightening his clothes and coughing awkwardly. Neither of them make a comment.

“S-So,” Hwanwoong coughs. “A water spell?”

“Where’s your friend? He’s the one who started this.”

“G- Leedo? I highly doubt that. He’s very precise.” 

“Oh, so you think it was my friend? San wasn’t the one throwing fireballs.”

As if summoned, San hovers toward them and hollers, “Teacher!”

“Huh?” “What?!” The two, confused, yell at the same time.

“Teacher! There’s a teacher coming!” San shouts. “Mingi, we’ve gotta go!”

“What-!? But-”

“They’ll take care of it! Let’s go. Now. Hong’s dorm.”

“Uh-” Mingi looks to Hwanwoong for some reason. The other merely returns his wide-eyed gaze with one of his own. “Bye.” He’s not sure he meant to bid the other farewell, but it’s what came out of his mouth. San waves Mingi over, and the redheaded warlock follows. Not soon after, he catches a glimpse of the one called Leedo floating over to join Hwanwoong. 

“Fucking assholes,” San grumbles. 

There are multiple modes of transportation for the magically gifted. Teleportation is by far the most advanced, but it’s actually an umbrella term. There are different modes - each one varying in difficulty. Short jumps are fairly straightforward, easy things. The longer the distance, the harder. One can choose to scatter their entire being, reconstructing in an instant where they wish to appear. There are also magical devices that can aid the process, acting as beacons, leading a person from one to the other. Thankfully, the two don’t need anything special to teleport to Hong’s dorm. He’s in the same place he’s always been, and for them, it’s as easy as envisioning the walk to his dorm while focusing their magical energy. 

“Let’s go,” San holds out a hand and Mingi takes it. They don’t need to hold hands, but San’s affectionate by nature. He can probably use the support anyway. The night ended up being a whirlwind, nothing at all like they expected.

The two take a deep breath and picture Hongjoong and Yunho’s dorm room. For an instant, Mingi can feel the magic course through him. When it comes to transference it sort of tickles. The energy surging around him, instantaneously taking him apart and repiecing him, sends goosebumps across his skin.

When he opens his eyes, he has to blink a few times, taken aback by the light. It’s infinitely more cramped and much lighter in the dorm room. Blinking to adjust, Mingi starts to make out the figures of his friends leaning against walls or sitting on the beds. The redhead leans heavily against Yunho’s bed. He’s relieved to see the other hitched a ride - he wouldn’t have been able to get there by himself (at least, not by magical means).

Everyone’s accounted for. Everyone’s safe. Everyone’s home. Mingi heaves a sigh, slumping against Yunho’s bed. 

“Well,” Hongjoong sighs heavily. “That fucking sucked.”