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The air was unusually humid, even for a day in the middle of the summer after the end of the world. The ground was still cracked and the forests were still empty of noise (they would always be), but the icy frigidity of the air Seokmin had once known well had all but vanished. This, of course, could only mean that they’d moved on. That the energy had swelled under their feet, lifted them from shattered ground and ice to a place where the sun still didn’t shine because it’d blasted itself out of existence a year ago.
Seokmin stands on the edge of a precipice, watching the world die. He’d have thought that after the sun burnt out and the fires ravaged the soil of the Earth, the apocalypse would at least have the decency to be a little colder. Groaning, he peels his coat off - black and fur-lined, he clearly has no use for it now. He stands there for a second longer, letting his eyes take in the shredded remains of a habitat which would serve as his home for as long as the shop permitted it to be. After all, him and Minghao were but weary travellers along for a ride neither of them had consciously signed up for. Now, of course, that doesn’t matter. The world is charred and grey, birds don’t sing, and they only have each other and their travelling bookstore at the end of an empty world. What other choice could there possibly be?
“Hey,” Minghao greets him automatically, not even bothering to look up as Seokmin opens their door with a jingle and a grimace. It’s not like he’d have to be professional, anyway. There isn’t much of a market for post-apocalyptic literature anymore, and customer service skills don’t matter when they’re all ants on a rock hurtling towards an unknown fate. Days like this were just baby steps on a distracted path towards extinction. That’s how Minghao likes to put it, anyway.
Conversely, on days when Seokmin mans the shop while Minghao tinkers around with his crystals, he prefers to tidy up the counter and re-shelve books - just so any wandering soul who falls through their doors might actually find a little corner of home before they’re thrust out into the world again. In fact, the only reason they’ve expanded their shelves at all is because of Seokmin’s badgering. Once upon a time, when nature still bloomed and the sky was still blue, they’d been a shop of morbid curiosities. The mahogany shelves were lined with gnarled chloroform-kept hands and jagged pieces of onyx that seemed to wink temptingly at their conquest for the day, across from every kind of book on the occult that one could possibly imagine. People in the street would whisper about the strange owners of the shop, how the lankier one always had a black cat with uncomfortably intelligent eyes following him around, and how the one with the too-wide smile had something distinctly off about him. At the time, they hadn’t taken offense. Or rather, Minghao hadn’t taken offense; instead, he’d let out a delighted shriek of laughter and whisked Chan off (who’d mewled in protest but went along anyway) to buy racks of dark clothing just to add fuel to fire. But then again, that’s just the kind of person Minghao was - while he let Chan prowl around his legs as he tried on different black overcoats and studded belts with the intent of being as frightening as possible, Seokmin practiced softening his smile in the mirror, pulling the taut muscles in his cheeks if only to get them to seem a little kinder. When that didn’t work, he’d pulled the aging spellbooks off the shelves and replaced them with hardcovers of travel photography, cookbooks, and a tiny corner of secondhand fiction. Anything to make it feel more like something he could belong to without shame, without having to make himself duller.
And for the most part, it’d paid off. Obviously, their customer base is a lot smaller now given that 80% of the population had been wiped out by the whole sun-exploding-in-the-sky thing, but from time to time they still get the occasional visitor. Like Jeon Wonwoo, for example. Seokmin doesn’t remember when exactly it was that the boy had stumbled into their shop, shivering so hard his metal-rimmed spectacles were sliding down his nose with every tremor. He’d been downcast and shivering when he’d fallen at their doorstep in a heap, a threadbare grey shawl wrapped firmly around heaving shoulders that had been burdened for far too long. Seokmin does remember rushing forward, pulling one of his own coats from a hanger and wrapping the boy up in it with fluttering fingers. Usually, Minghao would be the one to engage their unlikely clientele, regaling them with his own stories so that just for a little bit, they could forget the tempest that howled and ripped through the outside world. Alone that day, Seokmin had only bitten his lip nervously and uselessly tried to warm Wonwoo up with his hands - but that had only made him grimace. Seokmin remembers being struck by the uselessness of his own hands and the sensation of falling through his own body. Fortunately, he also remembers the way Wonwoo’s eyes had lit up as soon as he’d laid his gaze upon the haphazardly-stacked paperbacks that littered the floor of the shop. They’d spent the rest of that lonely, lonely day reading quietly and exchanging opinions on the books that lined the shelves. Wonwoo had offered little about himself as he examined the tea leaves at the bottom of his teacup, even declining when Seokmin had offered to read them in hopes of offering his weary traveller some comfort. The only thing Seokmin had managed to coax out of him was a kind of sad smile, and his name. He doesn’t know where Wonwoo is now, but he hopes that the yellowed copy of Le Petit Prince still keeps him warm.
“Any luck with finding food?” Minghao asks hopefully from the desk, lowering his feet.
“No,” Seokmin sighs, dumping his coat onto a chair that whizzes to his side at the snap of his fingers. “It’s barren out there. Same as always.”
“Would a cup of tea make you feel better?” Minghao offers instead, deciding that he won’t press Seokmin on the issue any farther. After all, he knows how much Seokmin hates to be reminded of what he’s lost. He always did like seeking brighter shores. “Maybe afterwards we could take a walk together. It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”
“Minghao, you know we can’t,” Seokmin answers instead, closing his eyes. He doesn’t see the way Minghao’s fists clench, so hard the teacup nearly smashes into smithereens. Chan hops up to paw gently at his hand, nuzzling it with a soft purr. It’s only at this juncture that Seokmin cracks open an eyelid, immediately zoning on the way the skin over Minghaos knuckles is pulled so tight, enough that he might come spilling out of his skin if he isn’t careful. Frowning, he shuffles over to Minghao and wraps his arms around his waist, burying his face in his hair that still somehow smells like freshly-burnt incense. “Honey,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. In his hands, Minghao softens, and Chan lets out a pleased ‘mrow’. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared. This place is so new to us, I’m worried the shop will…”
“I know, I know,” Minghao interrupts, but his voice lacks its usual bite, distinctly separate the way it usually sounds when they’re arguing. Instead, he just sounds defeated. “I’m just tired of being cooped up here. Alone. I mean Chan’s great company, but he’s a cat now, and he has been for a while.” At this, Seokmin hangs his head, pressing his forehead into the rise of Minghao’s shoulder which shudders at the heat of all the things that go unspoken between them. Things like how at the beginning of their world they were just Seokmin and Minghao, two boys too full of magic and mischief who needed something to do with their hands so they wouldn’t set the whole place on fire. Along the way, they became SeokminandMinghao, inseparable in their laughter and their scheming as they made the shop their own instead of just another project to be picked up and abandoned with their waning fancy. But when the streets uprooted themselves and the world went quiet, they realised they would and could only ever be SeokminandMinghao, because who was left but them and the scraps of the existence they once knew. And even those ashes would blow away soon - they’d managed to save Chan, put his soul into the loyalty needed of a familiar, but when people like Wonwoo come and go, it’s hard to not be reminded of the life they’d lost before it’d even started. They don’t love each other in a way that others might understand, but it’s also hard to think of love in a world so empty of things that can be loved. They don’t resent each other, but it’s hard to live when you know the way things are now are they way they’ll go on forever, in a distracted but ever-aching path towards extinction.
“I’ll stay with you tomorrow,” Seokmin finds himself saying, now rocking back and forth slowly, drawing Minghao away from the counter. The other boy smiles sadly at this, turning in Seokmin’s arms so that they’re nose to nose.
“And the day after that?” Minghao asks, but his tone lacks hope and the same glassy sadness casts a veil over his eyes that Seokmin no longer has the privilege of seeing past.
“And the day after that,” Seokmin echoes as a promise, even though they both know he’s lying. But at least he knows to lie, and for that Minghao presses a kiss to the tiny scar on his eyebrow, the one he’d gotten when they’d brewed their very first potion together and a beetle leg had gone exploding out of the cauldron. Automatically, Seokmin leans into his touch - because whether or not he stays put in the moment, they both know he’ll come circling back to Minghao eventually. After all, what else was there to do? They’re two boys trying very hard to love each other in a world that imploded through the sheer force of its own hate; it’s a framework problem, this circling back to what you know. Sometimes the world hates and hates until there’s nothing left, and other times you love so fiercely that when the spark goes out, you still think that you see the phantom outline of a flame burnt into the back of your eyelids.
Seokmin doesn’t leave the shop for 3 days after that.
---
And in this way, they dance around each other. They’re always volatile after an almost-confrontation, made worse by the fact that they never really do get a chance to explode because this is the last thing they have left to destroy, and neither of them think they can handle it. Instead, they resort to stolen glances and hurried swallows - Seokmin’s eyes hungrily roving the sliver of skin between the cuff of Minghao’s pants and the start of his shoe, Minghao letting himself fall into the dip of Seokmin’s collarbones. It’s like exploring the most familiar parts of each other from a satellite, forcibly removed until one of them deems it’s safe to make contact again.
For 3 days, this goes on. Seokmin thinks that these are the longest 3 days of his life, even worse than the time when he and Minghao bickered over who was to take which patrol. He remembers the way Minghao's eyes hardened when he'd insisted on doing multiple night watches in a row, coupled with daytime explorations while Seokmin manned the fort. Even now, he shivers at the memory of their magic coming to a crescendo when they're at odds like that, the way everything thrums with an electricity that can only burn. Although, he muses as he sits atop the barstool at the counter, this is similar. The two of them have never been great at this, this compromising thing, always feeling the need to take special care of the other. Minghao thinks Seokmin is soft-hearted and delicate, always needing his protection when it came to the outside world. Before, it was almost endearing. Minghao would take special care to card his hands gently through Seokmin’s hair as they lay sprawled on one of the shop’s couches, listening to the sound of the world go by. Now, Minghao just clenches his jaw every time he sees Seokmin packing for yet another day’s patrol, kisses him especially hard when he leaves, and doesn’t utter a single word.
Seokmin, on the other hand, knows that Minghao wants more than this kind of life for himself, wanted greener pastures that he would never be able to give him now that every single flower in the world had withered. In the old world, he had made special efforts to take Minghao on elaborate dates; the vintage record store and an expensive bottle of wine, premium tickets to an art gallery, a projector-based cinema filled with paraphernalia of films he knew Minghao adored. All it did then was put a strain on his wallet, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix with a few extra shifts. Now, given that jobs don’t matter and money couldn’t buy you anything in the world no matter how hard you try, he runs himself dry trying to find a place that they can call home. It’s the only thing he can think of Minghao wanting, really. But of course, he’ll never admit this to the other boy. He knows the frown that’ll settle itself onto Minghao’s features, knows how he will gather Seokmin in his arms and tell him that he’s enough, that there’s nothing more that he could possibly want. Seokmin will nuzzle the crook of Minghao’s shoulder, and understand that he’s being lied to, but sometimes you need lies to make the world just that much more bearable.
It’s at the peak of his self-deprecating spiral that Chan hops up onto the counter, flicking his tail around Seokmin’s wrist as he settles himself onto the counter. He blinks up at Seokmin with eyes the same shade of brown they’d been when he was nothing more than an innocent boy caught in the crossfire of a world he didn’t understand. In the sickly grey light of the new day, though, Chan’s eyes still sparkle with a fire Seokmin knows has long died in his own heart. They’re like pools of honey, still, alive and thrumming with energy - so different from everything else that surrounds him.
“Yes?” Seokmin asks wearily, raising an eyebrow. “Do you have something to say to me?”
“Mrow,” Chan offers helpfully, still looking knowingly at Seokmin. He lets out a frustrated sigh, letting his head fall into his folded hands. Chan is Minghao’s familiar, so he’s the only witch that can actually understand him whenever he has these moments of serene reflection that require immediate engagement. That’s another thing that hasn’t changed along with his form - he still loves to talk.
“What am I gonna do?” Seokmin whines at Chan instead, letting his fringe fall into his eyes as his forehead hits the counter-top with a smack.
“About what?” a new voice suddenly interrupts him, sending his head whipping upwards to stare accusingly at Chan, who’s still perched innocently on the counter.
“Did you just..speak to me?” Seokmin whispers to him, wide-eyed as he pushes his face closer to the cat. Chan only hisses in alarm, batting at his face harmlessly with a paw in a desperate attempt to get Seokmin to please, look at the doorway you fool. A bout of rumbling, embarrassed laughter has him spinning to face the open doorway of the litter bookstore, the blush already creeping up his cheeks.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise we had a visitor,” Seokmin fumbles, sliding off the barstool and dusting himself off.
“It’s okay,” the stranger says with a smile - or at least, what Seokmin thinks is a smile. As far as he can see, the man at the door has a head of black hair and a pair of twinkling brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he speaks. The lower half of his face is covered by a thin black cloth that’s knotted at the back of his head, blending in seamlessly with the high-necked black cloak that he dons.
“Aren’t you warm in that?” Seokmin ventures instead, startled by the strangers suffocating attire and the size of his form. He’s...huge, to say the least.
“Very,” he admits almost shyly, bringing his hands up to untie the mask. Unfortunately, he stops short, then lets out a little embarrassed snort which sends Seokmin’s heart pounding away. “If it isn’t too much, could you help me untie this? I can’t seem to undo the knot…”
“Sure!” Seokmin replies, almost too quickly. Wiping his already-sweaty palms on his jeans, he steps behind the stranger deftly to hide the blush that’s steadily creeping up his neck. The man smells a little like spices - odd, given that he’d most likely been wandering the barren wasteland outdoors with no discernable sources of cleanliness. Regardless, Seokmin isn’t complaining; he’d much prefer this oddity to smelling someone’s unwashed hair. Yuck.
But of course, in getting caught up with his thoughts, he hasn’t made any progress on the too-tight knot, still staring at him defiantly. No matter how much he pulls, it simply won’t come undone. Growling in frustration, he drops his hands, ready to just use magic to undo the troublesome thing - but before he gets the chance, Minghao is shuffling into the store from their room in the back, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
“Seokmin,” he greets quietly. And then, raising an eyebrow at the mystery man in interest disguised as apathy, “Who’s this?”
“Uh,” Seokmin starts, already bracing himself for a lecture on stranger danger and being too trusting and-
“The name’s Mingyu,” the stranger - Mingyu - offers, extending a hand towards Minghao. Shooting Seokmin a raised eyebrow, Minghao takes Mingyu’s hand and shakes it lightly.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he drawls, gesturing towards Seokmin, who’s all too happy to take his place by Minghao’s side, going as far as to wrap a hand around his waist like it’s always belonged there. He doesn’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes follow it in surprise, although he’s endlessly grateful to see no maliciousness in his gaze. In fact, the twinkles in his eyes seem to dance as he eyes the pair before him, and Seokmin can't help but feel a little rush of protective affection for their newest customer. Maybe it's because he hasn't been looked at that way in a long, long time. Maybe it's because his hand around Minghao's waist isn't being shrugged away. Or maybe it's because it just feels nice to have someone else to share this little corner of their lives with, someone that's new and smells like spices rather than the now-familiar scorched earth of the outdoors - even if it's only for an instant.
“You too,” Mingyu agrees warmly, and then his face crumbles again. “Sorry to ask this again, but could you help me get this off? Your...friend couldn’t do it, and neither could I honestly,” he admits, pointing to the mask that’s still very much wrapped around his face.
“Of course,” Minghao agrees easily, although his expression does a complete 180 when he realises the knot won’t budge. He shoots Seokmin a panicked look over Mingyu’s hulking shoulder, and mouths a string of words that have his lips moving too quickly for Seokmin to even begin deciphering. In response, he shrugs helplessly, having to hold back a giggle as Minghao pinches the bridge of his nose in exaggerated annoyance. As far as they were concerned, it seems like things had gone back to normal - the way they always did.
After tugging on the knot for another minute or so, Minghao finally purses his lips to examine the damage. Then, winking at Seokmin, he presses a palm to the stubborn piece of cloth, which immediately falls away in a small shower of deep purple sparks. Mingyu, thankfully, doesn’t notice. He simply offers both men a wide grin and a muttered “thanks”, displaying a perfect set of pearly white teeth and an unmarked expanse of tan skin. Seokmin doesn't think twice about it in the moment, too caught up in the way his gut twists at the sight of a smile so earnest; something he hasn't seen in too long, accustomed to the rubber-band tight smiles him and Minghao would give each other as the passing days wore them down more and more.
“What is this place?” Mingyu wonders next, craning his neck to look at the shelves that span up and up and up. “It doesn’t look even half as big on the outside. How does it all fit?”
“Um,” Minghao offers intelligently this time, clearly panicking just a little bit. As with most strangers, it’s impossible to automatically tell whether they’re on your side or not. In the old world, most people were accepting of magic, but there were more than a fair share who thought of it as demonic witchcraft. Seokmin decides Mingyu isn’t one of those people.
“It’s magic,” he explains helpfully, ignoring Minghao’s gaping mouth. “The space expands according to the force of our magical abilities,” he adds on when Mingyu doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at him because he’s still too captivated by all the shelves and their hidden secrets.
“Whoa,” is all he says, craning his neck like it would let him see better. “So you guys hold this up?”
“Not consciously,” Minghao butts in, but Mingyu appears to not even be listening anymore, having gotten distracted by an old locket displayed on one of the corner shelves.
And just like that, the afternoon passes. Mingyu darts around the store like an excited puppy, wanting explanations on the various bits and bobs that lie scattered around the shop. Seokmin and Minghao do their best to keep up, exchanging exasperated glances that neither one of them want to admit are hinging on some kind of affection for their newest friend. As if to make matters worse, Mingyu has the most adorable mannerisms when he’s focused. While Seokmin flings his hands everywhere trying to explain the mechanisms of potion stirring and why they’re so very important, Mingyu scrunches his face and frowns, following his every excited movement. When Minghao gives him a little tidbit of backstory on a witch’s hand they’ve got stocked on the more morbid side of the shelves, Mingyu tilts his head and lets his eyes wander the space eagerly, as if he’s searching for it.
Mingyu, in general, just seems to be humming with life. Despite his arduous journey through the outdoors, he seems to radiate vitality. His smiles come easily, and his shoulders shake with unrestrained laughter as Minghao recounts stories of their mischief when the world still felt like it belonged to them. A few times, Seokmin finds himself catching Mingyu’s eye mid-laugh, as he has his head thrown back. Every time, he ducks his head in embarrassment and fiddles with his teacup, but he doesn’t miss the way that Minghao and Mingyu seem to be doing the same thing.
“There’s just something about him,” they’ll agree in hushed tones later that night, when Seokmin presses his face into Minghao’s chest and wonders idly how Mingyu’s would feel intertwined with them. The other boy had elected to sleep outside - on the mat, no less. He’d vehemently refused Minghao and Seokmin’s repeated offers to transfigure it into a mattress, or at least anything more comfortable than a mat. He’d shaken his head insistently every single time, even pouting once or twice.
“You guys already have to keep your shop up and running,” he explains, gesturing to the expanse of shelves he’d found an eternity's worth of delight in. “I couldn’t possibly inconvenience you more than that.” Minghao and Seokmin had slunk away, but the thought of Mingyu's enormous form sleeping curled up on a little mat is enough to send their hearts breaking all over again.
From next to Seokmin later that night, Minghao mutters “Should I go get him a pillow? He’s probably asleep now, right?”
“Mrrt,” says Chan, who’s curled up on the edge of their bed, lying across Seokmin’s feet.
“Please do,” Seokmin replies groggily, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Then, lazily, he waves a finger in the vague direction of one of their lumpy loveseat cushions, which immediately softens into a plush, goosefeather pillow.
“Thanks, love,” Minghao replies, pressing another hurried kiss to Seokmin’s brow as he tiptoes outside. He doesn’t miss the quiet delight in Minghao’s voice, the way it sounded more alive than it had in months. Secretly, he doesn’t resent it. There’s something odd in the making, a kind of feeling he’s trying to put his finger on but can only call rejuvenation. And apparently, it starts and ends with Kim Mingyu.
---
Unfortunately, when they wake the next morning in a heap of tangled limbs and mussed-up hair, the feeling has disappeared entirely. Instead, their guts are filled with the familiar panging sensation of loss, and the roaring hunger that comes with a diet of tea and expired biscuits. When they amble hurriedly into the front of the store in the light of day already expecting the worst, they can’t say they’re surprised to see an empty spot where Kim Mingyu lay the night before. In his absence, the smell of spices and a dent in the mat remain. Inside Seokmin, it feels a lot like his heart has turned into a stone, doing a free fall through the pit in his stomach. Minghao lets out a frustrated sigh, clenching his fists as he folds up the mat with a scowl - except Seokmin knows him best, and the twist of Minghao's mouth says he's in pain rather than actually annoyed. The stone in Seokmin’s stomach is still falling. He doesn't know where it'll end up.
Biting his bottom lip nervously as he turns, he stops abruptly at the sight of the wildflowers that seem to have sprouted overnight directly from the wood of the table. The wave invitingly at Seokmin, showing off their purple and cream-coloured heads as they sway in the wind that simply isn’t there. He knows this, he does. It's become a fact of life, just like everything else he'd lost - they'd lost - after the end of the world. As much as he loathes himself in admitting this, he often forgets he isn't alone in this. That even though the world has pretty much been emptied except for the stragglers, he isn't actually entirely alone. It's strange how flowers have made him feel this way, their petals winking at him hollowing out his stomach and reminding him of the days that Minghao used to bring him flowers at work even though pollen made him sneeze. It's this glimpse of their old life that has him scurrying over to where Minghao is knelt on the floor, the mat still folded in his hands and pressed to his face. Seokmin gently touches the nape of his neck, grips his shoulders, anything to make Minghao remember that they're still here together, and one more loss won't send them spiralling away from each other. It won't, Seokmin tells himself. I won't let it. Guiding Minghao to the counter, he lets the other boy rest his head on his shoulder as they stop and smell the flowers - for once.
In the evening of that empty day, Minghao comes sprinting into their bedroom, landing on Seokmin in a pile of limbs. Seokmin startles with a squawk, and Chan hops deftly away from them. If he could still speak, he'd definitely be making some snide comment about how they're just as disgustingly in love as they were before, and also could they please not scar his poor adolescent brain with their antics? Instead, he chirps at them and goes to settle on the bedside table, watching them with interested eyes.
"Look what I found," he breathes to Seokmin, shoving a folded-up piece of parchment his way.
"What is it?" Seokmin mumbles with a frown, his eyes widening as he takes in the ink that's been used to scrawl upon the paper, ink that he hasn't seen in a long, long time. It's the same green as the leaves of a forest after a storm, a green that holds within it greys and blues and the distinct sharp smell of a new life. Ink that certainly couldn't have belonged to anyone else but them, given that they were the only ones who knew how to brew it (a deadly combination of beetle legs and pressed flowers that they've let fester on the shelves.) And of course, the bottom of the parchment is signed with a flourish - the name Mingyu twinkles up at him, and he's distinctly reminded of friendly eyes and a goofy smile. "Where did you get this?"
"I found it on the floor under the counter," Minghao explains. "It must've fallen off the desk by the time we woke up but Seokmin, the ink-"
"I know," Seokmin interrupts, but his voice is reverent rather than raged, so Minghao relaxes in his arms. "Was there..any ink on the table?"
"None," Minghao tells him, frowning. "I have no idea where he got it. In the note, he apologises for using it but I don't even remember us keeping extra stock of it because of how quickly it rots..." At this, Seokmin makes a distracted noise of affirmation, still twirling the letter from Mingyu in his hands.
"Minghao," he starts. "Do you think that Mingyu..isn't human?"
"Yes," Minghao replies almost too quickly, like he's been waiting for Seokmin to broach the topic. "I was going to tell you, but I wasn't sure if you'd agree."
"What'd make you think that?"
"Well, I only really figured it out when I used my magic on him. You know how humans always get a little giddy afterwards, but he was completely-"
"No, Hao," Seokmin stops him, his voice now much softer. "I meant why you wouldn't be sure I'd agree. I thought we were a team, especially when it came to our trade." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Minghao gives him another one of his soft, sad smiles, and reaches forward to brush a stray hair out of Seokmin's eyes. Seokmin hums into the touch, closing his eyes for a second if only to enjoy this moment of vulnerability.
"Well," he offers carefully. "We haven't exactly been on the same page recently. And you seemed to like him, so I didn't want to offend you."
"I see," Seokmin voices after a beat of silence, more thoughtful than anything. Ever so slowly, he wraps his arms around Minghao's waist, pulling him into his lap. The other boy doesn't make a noise of protest for once, letting his arms circle Seokmin's neck, and his fingers run over his pulse. "I'm not offended, by the way."
"Good," Minghao murmurs, his hands now going to fiddle with the ends of Seokmin's hair, the way he used to.
"I think he's some kind of spirit," Seokmin voices, breaking the tranquility of the moment. Chan lets out a startled meow, but Minghao meets his gaze head on, silently urging him to continue. "You were saying you felt it too, right? The way his energy didn't feel the same as other humans. No sorrow. He's like--like spring," Seokmin realizes, tripping over his words as his chest swells with the weight of them.
"A seasonal spirit?" Minghao echoes, biting the inside of his cheek nervously. "I thought they were all wiped out."
"What if they weren't?" Seokmin insists, now looking urgently at Minghao. "What if Mingyu's the last one? We could remake the world, Hao." By now, Minghao's mouth has grown tight again, his eyes boiling over with worry as he eyes Seokmin.
"How do you propose we do that? He could be anywhere by now." Minghao tells him flatly, but the downcast look on his face tells Seokmin all he needs to know - that somewhere, beyond his rationality and his desire to stay tied to the things he knows, he wants to look for Mingyu too.
"We have a travelling bookstore, don't we?" Seokmin exclaims. "What if we found a way to ties its energy to ours? Maybe we could have some agency over where we'd land."
"We've tried that before, Seok," Minghao tells him, already growing tired of going in the same circles.
"I know, but we weren't ourselves then. Come on, tell me you don't feel different now," he challenges, blinking insistently at the other boy. When Minghao remains silent, Seokmin grins. "See? We're a little better now. All we have to do is take this chance." Minghao doesn't reply, just lets his hands run through Seokmin's hair again, like he's afraid to let him go. Instead, Seokmin stops him, bringing their faces closer. "What do we have to lose, Hao?" he breathes against his mouth, struck by the memory of the languid days where kisses came easily and didn't sting.
"Each other," Minghao tells him immediately, his voice brimming with hurt as he pulls away. "What if something happens to you, Seokmin? You expect me to go on alone?" Seokmin flinches at the sudden use of his name in its entirety, trying fruitlessly to bring his hands up to Minghao's sides again, anything to go back to the moment they were living in before. Unfortunately, the time slips away from his fingers like grains of sand, pouring out of his hands uselessly no matter how tightly he tries to cup them.
"Nothing's going to happen to me, Hao," Seokmin pleads, trying to catch his gaze. "I promise."
"You can't promise me anything!" Minghao immediately retorts, his eyes steely. "You have no idea how I feel when you disappear for days on end, when you don't come home and I have to pray and pray that the shop doesn't whisk me away without you! You don't, because you're out there staring at the sky and wishing for something better when it won't ever, ever get better when we're apart," he spits out, breathless and teary by the end of his rant. Seokmin takes Minghao's words in silently, every shred of the new life they could've had now being flung away by a desire to stay put, even if their lives are collapsing around each other.
"The only reason I leave so much is because I can't stand knowing that this isn't what you want," Seokmin finally tells Minghao quietly. "This, with me. It's not what you wanted, but I don't know what else to give-"
"Who said this isn't what I wanted?" Minghao asks, his voice dangerously low. Still, he looks more worried, more weary than angry. "When have I ever said I wanted different from you?"
This catches Seokmin off guard, and Minghao watches him stumble around his words for a solid 2 minutes before he finally takes pity on him and pulls him close. "Was there something that made you think that?"
"No," Seokmin lies, but Minghao flicks him playfully on the forehead as if to tell him the jig is up. "It's silly. And I know we can't go back to the way we used to live before, when it was easy. But sometimes you don't kiss me goodnight, you don't look at me in the morning, and I just-" Here, he interrupts himself, does everything he can to pull the words back into himself so he won't have to look at Minghao and fully know all the ways in which he lacks, in which he is too much and not enough all at once. A choking sob escapes the closed guard of his mouth, and almost automatically, Minghao's arms are circling him, bringing him home.
"You're not happy?" Minghao asks quietly, scratching Seokmin's scalp.
"I am!" Seokmin sniffles through tears, making the other boy let out a humourless laugh. "I just didn't know what I was doing wrong, so I kept trying to make it better."
"I wish you didn't have to try so hard," Minghao tells him quietly. "You make me so happy. And I know we weren't together long before all this happened, but I do still love you. Even if I don't say it enough." Seokmin sniffles at this, sliding down to lay his head in Minghao's lap.
"I love you too," he mumbles, reaching out to tangle his hand with Minghao's free one. "I do still want to find Mingyu though." Beneath him, Minghao stiffens "Hao, really. Think about it. Didn't you just want to bottle up yesterday and hold it close to you forever? Imagine if we were able to see flowers again whenever we wanted, and we wouldn't have to worry about losing each other or him ever again, because we'd all be together in a world that isn't stripped of everything that made it beautiful to begin with."
Minghao remains quiet for a moment more, before he sighs and presses a kiss to Seokmin's temple. "Fine," he concedes. "But if it gets too dangerous, we stop. We settle just like this, someplace else. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Seokmin echoes, and the light that floods back into his eyes as Minghao pulls him in for a kiss is almost enough to bring the world back to the way it used to be.
14 miles due east, Mingyu smiles as a purple wildflower sprouts at his feet.