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It’s between the glittering emerald leaves and glowing periwinkle flowers that Jongin finds him. Lounging without even a care in the word, singing with the breeze and giggling with the sprites, a stranger; a man with innocent, child-like eyes but a mischievous smirk.
He cannot be human. No human would be blessed enough to have such divine features, a soft but defined face, full, pink lips.
But he’s here, only some miles from Jongin’s small village, and he’s harmonizing gently with too-many-to-count unseen voices. Playing a tune every now and again from the thin, birch flute held in his hand, luring Jongin in like a honeyed trap.
And oh, how he seems to expect Jongin. How he seems to wait patiently, grinning gently even as his eyes are closed, even as he faces where Jongin hides behind the trunk of a tree. It’s too sweet; the music, the man, his voice.
Hypnotizing as well, swirling around Jongin, almost tangible in the air, having him crave more. Dreamy and trance-like the surrounding forest becomes, colors bleeding together and the light glowing like molten honey. A small warning sounds in the back of Jongin’s mind, an old wives’ tale.
Danger! Danger! But it’s all too sweet.
Jongin goes forth from the tree, stumbling and catching himself without a thought, towards the man who is too pure and too tainted all at once. But the man, he smiles, beckons Jongin forward and urges him to sit down.
Time freezes then, for Jongin, stilling the wind and silencing the chirping birds when he locks eyes with this man. Who could he be, but too good of a dream? A soft hand cups his face, and Jongin falls asleep, a song slightly darker but intoxicatingly heavy, bringing him peace.
He’ll awaken soon after, but not without a groggy head, fuzzy memories. In a field, some miles from his small village, surrounded by dead foliage and rotting trees. He is sore but unharmed, an ‘x’ marked into his wrist. Jongin gets a pleasant tingling when he rubs at it.
His journey back is filled with thoughts of full lips and a sweet song.
An invisible rope tightens around his throat, but he doesn’t notice. A too-sweet danger follows, humming, holding the end of the noose.