Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Stop!” Donghun yells, covering his ears.

“You know it’s true,” he laughs, bitter. “You killed him. Who’ll love you like this, Donghun? When you’re cursed with this magic ? When you have the devil inside you?”

Donghun closes his eyes tighter, ignores the sharp eyes on him, and pants through the overwhelming pain.

“Please,” he begs. “Stop. Stop.”

“You don’t even look like my son anymore. Who are you? What have you done?”

“I’m sorry,” Donghun whispers, broken. “I’m sorry.”

•••

The rain hits the window softly, gentle pattering filling the apartment.

Donghun stirs a pot of barely simmering elixir, gentle, apron tied loosely around his waist, hair pulled back from his face by two bumblebee clips. His apron reads: Kiss the Cook, something Junhee had bought for him from the department store while they were candle shopping.

“And you know what he said, babe?” Junhee’s voice comes from behind him.

Donghun looks over his shoulder, looks at Junhee sat on one of his counters, a rice cake in hand, clothed in Donghun’s ill-fitting tee lettered with New York 1987 in peeling print. He smiles fondly at his boyfriend- quirks an eyebrow in inquiry.

“What did he say?”

“He said,” Junhee pauses to take a bite of his ricecake. “That Jane was being overdramatic. And I said, of course she was dramatic, Michael was the love of her life!”

“Mmm,” Donghun hums in false agreement, turning back to the pot of tea.

Junhee carries on talking to himself, interrupted only by his breaks of faint chewing. While he speaks, Donghun reaches for the jar of leaves on the counter beside. He shoots a glance back to Junhee, encouraging him to continue with his rant, trying to keep him unfocused on what is being added to his tea .

Scattered across the counters are various assortments of herbs, clumsily hidden by too large labels. If Junhee were anyone else, he surely would’ve questioned it at this point. Donghun had half-expected him to, when he first brought Junhee back home, but the other kept his nose out of any business that didn’t concern him. The kitchen, involving all it’s suspicious, witchy substances that Donghun didn’t bother to put away, was an example of that kind of business.

He takes the jar, twists off the lid and rests it with a clatter beside the hob. Another glance back to Junhee’s continued anger towards his goalkeeper’s reaction to Jane The Virgin, and Donghun dips his hand into the jar of leaves, plucks out three vaguely shimmery, navy fronds. Mild sedative. Pain relief. For Junhee’s non-existent sleep schedule and his constant soccer training, that tired him out more than he would ever let on.

He screws the lid back on, gives it a quick shake, and places it back on the counter.

“I always thought Jane should’ve gone with Rafael. He’s the best baby daddy, he’s funny, he’s kind, he’s twice as attractive-”

“More attractive than me?” Donghun jokes, dropping two leaves into the now bubbling tea, giving the pot a swift swirl with his wooden spoon.

“No! Of course not!” Junhee protests. “But he’s really, really attractive.”

Donghun laughs at that, stirring the tea gently and watching as the leaves dissipate into the solution. The colour stays similar despite the addition of the dark leaves. There’s a faint glimmer that Donghun hopes Junhee is too tired to notice. Judging by his rambling, and stumbling over his own words, it’s not too far fetched to assume.

It’s only to fill the silence. They only get a couple hours to themselves, between university and Donghun’s job and Junhee’s training, hours they spend with Junhee filling him in and Donghun listening to him with a cup of tea clutched in between his hands and a smile on his face.

If Donghun spent less hours at the shop, brewing elixirs and selling ingredients to ungrateful elders, maybe he would have more time with his boyfriend.

“Can you get two mugs?” he asks.

Junhee follows the instruction immediately, hopping off the counter, leaving his discarded ricecake wrapper behind, and filing through Donghun’s cabinets.

Donghun smiles at him fondly. He looks small , in Donghun’s t-shirt, some sweatpants and pink socks with cactus print on them. Even the recent growth of his hair, so it was just brushing the space in between his eyebrows and his eyes, left him looking like home wrapped up in a person.

He would’ve never suspected that the sweaty soccer player asking for his number in freshman year could be the same person as this sleepy, quiet Junhee bringing two cups over to him.

He places the two mugs gently on the counter beside Donghun. He’s stopped talking now, and only the buzz of heating and hum of online electronics fills the apartment, accompanied by the slowing thrumming of rain against Donghun’s skylight.

“You okay?” Donghun says, gentle.

Junhee just hums, leans into the curve of Donghun’s back face-first. His arms find their way to hook around his waist, nose pressed against the thin material, and he breathes in, deep and tired.

“I miss you,” Junhee whispers, voice muffled.

His arms tighten around Donghun’s middle. Even his grip is soft, and his arms are loose around Donghun’s waist.

“I miss you too,” he replies. “How was practice?”

Donghun takes the mugs, one by one, into his hands, and fills them.

“It was okay, apart from the idiot I was telling you about.” They both laugh, intertwined together, Donghun slowly filling the mugs. “My legs hurt pretty bad.”

“This’ll help,” Donghun says, finally, freeing himself from Junhee’s grip by turning, and handing a mug to him.

“It smells nice,” Junhee comments, cupping his hands around the tea.

“It’ll help you sleep, too,” Donghun says, as he turns to cover the pot with a lid. It immediately fogs over, obscuring the liquid from sight.

Junhee has moved from the middle of the kitchen into Donghun’s living room, slowly padding through in Donghun’s old rabbit slippers. He’s slumped over slightly, hands cupped around the mug to retain all it’s warmth. Even the way he falls, heavy, against the sofa, and brings his legs up to his chest, is entirely lovable.

Very, very different from who Donghun thought he would be. With the slicked back, sweaty hair and muddy knee-high socks, and who laid down his coat for Donghun on the first date. This Junhee, who Donghun brews elixirs for every night to put him to sleep, so he won’t wake up on the cusp of paralysis, is so, so far away from who he could’ve imagined.

He says this. (Without the mention of anything vaguely magical.)

Junhee looks up at him, smiling, from where he’s sat on the sofa. His hair is splayed out against the leather, and the bags under his eyes are illuminated from the dim lighting.

“Did you think I was cool because I play soccer?” Junhee chuckles, voice already drowsing.

“I thought you were a loser,” Donghun laughs, and reaches forward to brush Jun’s fringe out of his eyes. “Like most college athletes are.”

Junhee’s eyes are already closed, now, eyelashes fanned out against the tips of his cheekbones. The tension in his shoulders has fallen, and his breathing begins to shallow out, disturbed only by the soft giggle that passes his lips.

“Mm,” Junhee says softly, leans his head against the sofa, fingers relaxing around the handle of the mug. It begins to droop out of his clutch, his fingers losing their grip.

“Ah-” Donghun protests, reaching forward sharply to take the cup of out of his hands, placing it on the coffee table beside them. “ Fuck .”

He stares at the cup for a second, sitting on the glass table- fogging up the surface with condensation.

One sip.

That meant he put too many leaves in. Or he didn’t stir properly. Or he put the wrong plant in, from his mislabelled jars and bad guessing.

He couldn’t do this one thing right, the one thing he had to do right. It could’ve hurt Junhee. It only takes one mistake, from a badly trained witch, from a stupid boyfriend, to hurt him. He could’ve-

“Hyung,” Junhee whines. “Where’s my tea?” His fingers flex around the empty space where his cup was once clutched.

Donghun exhales shakily.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, placing his tea besides Junhee’s, the clatter against glass eliciting another sleepy whine from his boyfriend.

He stands up, and tries hooking himself under Junhee’s armpits.

“Not tired,” Junhee exhales in Donghun’s face. He rises unsteadily to his feet, tripping against Donghun’s chest, face planted into his shoulder.

“Okay, let’s go,” Donghun says, resolute.

Slowly, and using all his upper body strength, Donghun drags an on-the-verge-of-passing-out Junhee to his room.

It’s difficult when the younger man is grumbling and whining against his chest, weakened feet trying to move of their own accord. Donghun can only whisper sweet nothings, pull harder a very heavy Junhee against the friction-inducing carpet.

Once they arrive, he lets Junhee fall face-first into the sheets of the bed. He stays there, still, for a moment, and Donghun’s breath catches in his throat.

No sound.

Fuck, Donghun thinks- as he strides forward to his boyfriend’s side, fingers already-

Groaning, Junhee flips himself over, movements slow and lethargic. Donghun pauses where he stands, lets out another small exhale of relief, as Junhee throws his arm over his head and sighs.

He’s still wearing slippers, which Donghun pulls off of him, and reaches for a tissue to wipe the rice cake crumbs from around his lips.

Junhee is looking up at him through barely parted eyelids, mouth already dropping open with exhaustion. Donghun feels his heart pound against his ribs, like a bird beating it’s wings inside his chest.

You could’ve hurt him. You could’ve hurt him.

Junhee groans, and Donghun’s eyes refocus on his sprawled-out figure.

“’re sleep?”

“Yeah,” Donghun says. “Just sleep here. I’ll get another blanket for us.”

Donghun heads toward the door, ready to leave Junhee by himself to get a spare duvet from the guest room. A thousand thoughts, all about elixirs and potions and herbs and those goddamn jars he needs to learn how to distinguish- are racing through his mind as he walks towards the doorway.

“Hyung?”

He turns his head over his shoulder. Junhee smiles faintly at him from where he’s laying.

“I- love you.”

Donghun kind of feels like crying, because this shouldn’t be the first time Junhee says it to him. Not here, not now, not when Donghun has sedated him to the point of not being able to form proper sentences.

“Cold.” Junhee mumbles, bringing his knees to his chest, falling onto his side.

Donghun blinks away tears, shakes his head. You’re good. You’re good.

He heads out of the room, shooting one final glance at his sleeping boyfriend.

•••

“Donghun?”

Donghun opens one eye lazily, looks down at his boyfriend nestled into his side. His eyes are drooping, blinking away sleep that clings to his eyelashes.

“Yeah?” he croaks in response.

Moonlight comes faintly through the window, highlighting half of Junhee’s face in it’s pale candescence.

“When did we-? Sleep?” His voice still seems strained.

“We had tea. Then you fell asleep, and I carried you here.”

Not too far from the truth.

“Okay,” Junhee breathes. “That’s fine.”

He readjusts his head so Donghun can lift up his arm to make room. He nuzzles into the space provided, one arm thrown over Donghun’s stomach, and sighs deeply. Tufts of hair brush against Donghun’s forearm, but his brain is too sleep-addled to care.

Dreams begin coming back to him in pieces, images of him and Junhee and dogs and venus fly traps-

“Donghun.”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

Donghun stiffens a little, at that, the three words waking him up as if Junhee had screamed them.

Junhee seems to notice, and tilts his head up to face Donghun- small smile sitting delicately across his features. Night-time looks good on him, face cast in blue, like saxe porcelain, each feature shadowed and illuminated respectively by the gentle light filtering in through the curtains.

I love you, he wants to say.

But he doesn’t.

“You don’t have to reply.”

He wants to.

“Okay,” Donghun mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of Junhee’s head.

But he doesn’t.

•••

“It’s not as serious as you think it is, hyung,” Chan says, blowing at his coffee to cool it down.

His long fingers are curled around the handle, the base of the hot cup, bringing it close to his face. Sehyoon has set down his half-empty cup long ago, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded.

“What if he had taken a bigger sip?”

“Then he would be more tired,” Sehyoon says.

“What if I put another leaf in?”

“But you didn’t,” Chan groans, and sets down his cup with a clatter, froth spilling over the side.

Without a second thought, he makes a shooing motion, and the crumpled napkin Donghun is nursing shoots out of his hand and mops up the coffee, seemingly of its own accord.

Donghun looks up, tries to see if anyone is watching, but the shop is filled to the brim with young, macbook-hosting students who seem all too preoccupied to concern themselves with anything magical happening at their table.

“You need to stop panicking,” Chan says, and Donghun redirects his gaze to him. His eyes are soft, eyebrows raised a little, hands reached out for Donghun’s. “It’s fine. You give him tea to help him sleep, to make him hurt less. You’re not drugging him, you’re not a bad boyfriend, and you’re not a bad witch if you put one too many leaves in.”

Donghun bites his lip, rolls it in between his teeth anxiously.

“What if I hurt him?”

“Stop.”

There’s silence, Sehyoon having finally spoken after nearly an hour of staying quiet. Both Yuchan and Donghun turn to look at him, eyes widened a little by his presence.

“You’re lying to him,” Sehyoon says, perfectly motionless in his seat, arms still crossed. “If you did hurt him-” Donghun winces. “You’d have to explain that you’d been lying, and weren’t planning on telling him.”

“ Hyung ,” Chan hisses.

“So I tell him I’m- a fucking witch?” Donghun says, voice low and desperate. “Then what? He thinks I’m insane and kicks me out his apartment? Do you hear yourself?”

“He’ll find out sooner or later,” Sehyoon lifts up his tea delicately, sipping at it with his eyes still focused on Donghun.

Donghun opens his mouth to speak again, to protest, to pose a million different scenarios in which Junhee undergoes a wild personality change and throws himself out of a window when he hears about Donghun’s magic.

As if on cue, he’s interrupted by his phone vibrating against the table, loud in the mild chatter of the cafe.

Chan gives him that look, and Donghun can only sigh.

Hesitantly, he swipes answer and raises it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Donghun,” Junhee replies, in a sing song voice. “Where are you?”

“Coffee. With Chan and Sehyoon.” Donghun says, clipped, giving the two witches a solid glare.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” he whines. “It’s nearly seven now, babe. What am I supposed to do with this takeout by myself?”

Donghun closes his eyes and bites his lip. Of course . He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“Sorry. Lost track of time. Coming now. See you.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear, and even as Junhee begins to start another sentence, he hangs up. Across the table, in perfect synchronisation, Sehyoon and Chan both raise their eyebrows.

Sehyoon in a perfectly poised “ I told you so ,”, and Chan in a softer  “ Is there something you need to tell us? ”. Donghun hates that he can read the two of them so clearly.

He drops the phone on the table, and gives the both of them an even stare. They stay silent, sipping at their coffee, waiting.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

“I don’t know whether I can date him anymore.”

Yuchan chokes on his coffee, ending up spurting out frothy remains across the table. Sehyoon’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and there’s even a twitch at the corner of his mouth - which counts as an extreme reaction, from him, anyways.

There’s a moment where everything is suspended in disbelieving silence, and Donghun can only look down at his hands, the way his fingers tug nervously at dry skin and scratch at the surface of his nails. (He let Junhee paint them, imperfect and uneven, a mismatch of colours.)

“Aren’t you-” Yuchan pauses, and furrows his eyebrows. “Happy?”

Happy. Donghun inhales at the word, and swallows back the ball coiled in his throat. The answer is obvious; so, so obvious. He couldn’t say otherwise even if he wanted to.

“Of course,” he says, voice coming out thick, tangled. “Of course I’m happy.”

His vision is becoming blurry, glazed over with tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He looks down at the wooden table, at the mug he has clutched between his hands.

“He,” Donghun mumbles, intakes a sharp breath to counter the sob in his voice. “Said he loved me.”

“Did you say it back?” Chan asks.

“No,” he almost-laughs. “Because I don’t know whether he’ll love me when he finds out what I am.”

It feels as if the entire coffee shop is staring at him now, a grown man in a sweater three sizes too big, crying into his hot chocolate. As if he wasn’t already enough of a spectacle. Even Yuchan and Sehyoon are looking at him as if they can’t quite believe it’s actually happening - which is stupid, because they saw him cry enough about his ex.

He guesses that it’s just different with Junhee.

“Donghun-”

“I should go,” he says, rising suddenly.

He knocks his chair backwards in the process- but by this time, he’s too caught up in whatever the hell he’s feeling to really give much of a damn. The customers surrounding him are actually staring now, but with a mumbled sorry and a flick of his wrist the chair is straightened again, and in another breath he has already left the cafe, the bell ringing loudly in his ears on his exit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Junhee.

Are you on your way? We can cancel tonight if you don’t want to~

The cafe is only a few blocks away from Junhee’s apartment, but the walk there feels like the longest Donghun has ever taken. He finds himself pacing the front of the apartment for a few minutes, just thinking to himself about how he’ll confront his too-good boyfriend about wanting to break up.

He seems to just be going through the motions on the way up to Junhee’s apartment. Even as he knocks on the door and Junhee opens it, wide smile on his face, not disrupted at all by Donghun’s lateness or, even, the very obvious frown on his face. He pulls Donghun in for a hug, the smell of aftershave and shampoo filling Donghun’s nostrils briefly, before they both end up inside the apartment, door shut behind the both of them.

Junhee helps Donghun shrug his coat off, hang it up beside the door like they always do. Although, the apartment seems different- lights a little dimmer, table even laid out, Junhee holding a fresh bouquet of flowers-

“Donghun,” Junhee says, placing both hands on Donghun’s chest, the flowers pinned against him. “Happy half-anniversary.”

What?

“What?”

“Did you forget?” Junhee teases, laughing a little, running his hands up to Donghun’s shoulders. “I guessed.”

He kisses Donghun softly - chaste, sweet - and unravels himself from around his shoulders.

“Six months?” Donghun asks dumbly.

Six months of lying, Sehyoon’s voice echoes in his head.

“Yeah,” Junhee laughs, turning to gesture at the sofa draped with blankets, the takeout arranged across the coffee table, a bottle of wine standing tall amongst it all. “I bought- wine. But I still can’t cook. So there’s no surprise lobster. Unfortunately.”

“It’s- good,” Donghun chokes out.

Junhee’s hand falls down to meet his own, fingers threading through each other, and he smiles sweetly up at Donghun.

“I missed you,” he says, quiet.

He hasn’t done his hair, but it’s freshly washed, falling in damp curls over his eyes. He smells of apple shampoo and lemon-moringa shower gel and aftershave, and his hands are soft around Donghun’s and his shoulders are bony when he presses into Donghun for a kiss. He feels so soft, and Donghun is so, so afraid.

“I missed you too.”

Junhee pulls away with a sharp smile, and tugs at Donghun’s hands to come towards the sofa. He does so listlessly, barely following the other man’s footsteps. They fall, together, into the forgiving, slightly dilapidated leather of the sofa - Junhee pulling blankets over the two of them, the broken floor heating of his apartment not doing much for the chill.

Donghun can only stare at Junhee in a velvety dress shirt as he holds a bottle of wine in his tiny hands, bright smile lighting up the entire room.

What if I hurt him?

He’s not a stranger to his power. He knows what he can do with it, how he can hurt and ruin people, how he could do it unintentionally. Junhee is a soccer player, wrapped up in blankets with a pair of chopsticks between his teeth, talking at Donghun. He doesn’t want this.

What if I hurt him?

“Donghun.”

Donghun looks at Junhee, who has come significantly closer to him, who has one hand on his thigh, and who is wearing a concerned expression. His eyebrows are knitted together, lips slightly parted as if he was going to say something else.

“You okay?”

He nods, but once he ducks his head he can’t bring it up again- can’t look at Junhee. Yet, the sight of their hands, linked together in his lap, is enough for a tear to drip down his face.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

Donghun laughs at that word. Babe . It didn’t suit Junhee, but he had made a habit of saying it regardless. It was those types of things, the small things, the way he said babe or wore soccer tees or drank lite beer, that made Donghun realise that they came from completely different worlds.

“‘M fine.”

“Hyung,” Junhee whines, squeezes Donghun’s hand tighter. “Talk to me.”

“Seriously,” Donghun looks up, wipes his tears away with his index finger. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

“You’re still crying,” Junhee says, small smile on his face, wiping away his tears. “Why?”

“You-” Donghun begins.

Make me so happy.

Are the light of my life.

Could be hurt.

He can only choke back those thoughts with a cough, shake his head in a futile attempt to get Junhee to stop staring at him with those puppy-dog eyes.

“Donghun,” Junhee whispers, softer. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His hands cup Donghun’s own, gentle, careful, forehead leaned against Donghun’s, soft, voice low to not make him cry any more. Everything about him is so, so wonderfully delicate, and Donghun is so scared of breaking it.

“I’m scared,” he whispers, tiny, and hopes Junhee doesn’t hear it.

“Of what?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Not being enough. Being too much. Hurting you. Not being able to save you. Dragging you into my mess. Our lives being so far apart.

Donghun pulls away from Junhee, stands up suddenly. Junhee’s eyes follow him, as he gets to his feet, wobbling slightly, and straightens his shirt out.

He needs to get out of here.

“It just isn’t- a good time, I’ll come back later,” Donghun clears his throat. “I should go. I’ll- call you.”

As he heads towards the door, he hears the scuffle of blankets and socks against carpet as Junhe struggles to beat him towards the entrance. He’s not surprised when Junhee throws himself against the door, panting, holding the flowers in one hand- another pressed to hold the door shut behind him.

“Here,” he offers, breathless, extending the bouquet out to Donghun. “If you’re leaving- at least, take these.”

“Thank you,” Donghun mumbles, takes the flowers out of Junhee’s hand and into his own grip.

Another beat of silence, with Junhee leaning against the door, blocking the exit, and Donghun standing perfectly still- flowers crinkled in his fist. They both look at each other, not knowing quite what to say.

“I know-” Junhee says, evenly. “That you’ve been avoiding me.”

Donghun thinks back to the cancelled dates, the night shift he offered to take, the way he had stopped dropping off food to Junhee’s afternoon practices. Those things, no matter how small they were, insignificant, were part of their routine. Of course Junhee would realise he stopped, how stupid could he be.

“We should talk about it-” he starts.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Donghun cuts off, with a sharp smile. “And I’m not avoiding you, I’m just busy, and- tired.”

“Donghun,” Junhee exhales softly. “You just cried on my sofa.”

“And I said-” Donghun reiterates, with extra emphasis, and less of a smile on his features. “That there’s nothing to talk about.”

Silence.

“Do you want to break up with me?”

Junhee looks small when he says it. Not in the same way he usually does, like he’s been drowned out by Donghun’s clothes or he’s trying to act like an adult. He looks… almost powerless, which is a strange colour to see on him - at least, in Donghun’s eyes - because Junhee is almost the exact opposite. He’s confident to a fault. He would tell God the meaning of the universe while looking him straight in the eye.

“No,” Donghun says, forcing a laugh. “We’re not breaking up.”

“Then you need to tell me what’s wrong,” Junhee insists.

His hands are tucked behind his back now, mouth pulled into a pout. Donghun knows what he’s doing, even if it’s purely habitual.

“I don’t need to tell you anything.”

Junhee looks hurt by that. He swallows thickly, lets a shaky smile cross his face.

“Donghun-”

“Just let me go, okay?” Donghun says, gently. “Everything’s okay. I’m just not in a good mood.”

He can feel something bubbling inside him, at the tips of his fingers and burning his eyes. He needs to get out of here. He squeezes the flowers tighter, and tries to move past Junhee- who pushes him back with a careful hand.

“You’ve been in a bad mood for the past month,” Junhee says, louder. “Even when you’re here it feels like you’re not.”

“I-”

“You can break up with me, hyung. It’s fine. You don’t need to make yourself sad. If you don’t- you don’t- feel the same way, it’s fine. You can leave. But tell me if you want to. You can’t just leave.” Junhee is rambling, words choppy and sentences ill-phrased, obviously caught up in himself.

“I’m not…” Donghun trails off mid-sentence, can’t form the words to express what he feels.

He clenches his jaw, closes his eyes, and exhales deeply, shakily.

You need to get out of here.

“Tell me, hyung!” Junhee says, louder now, desperate. “You can’t just pretend like it’s fine!”

Donghun stands there, dazed. He’s never seen Junhee look like this, act like this, be so desperate. It feels as if he’s entered an alternate dimension.

“I love you,” he says, broken, and Donghun feels those words coil in the back of his throat, in the centre of his chest, begging to leave. He can’t. Not when he’s like this.

“Junhee, everything’s okay. I’ll stay-” he tries to reassure, shaking hand extended outwards, but Junhee just shakes his head, wiping fingers at his eyes.

“No- it’s… not okay,” Junhee says. “You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Donghun can feel the flowers crumpling under his grip, and he attempts to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’re hurting him.

You need to get out of here.

“Junhee-”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Fuck.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong!” Donghun yells.

And suddenly, he’s a child again.

A woman stands at the end of the darkened alleyway. She’s down on her knees, hands frantically clasping the boy’s head, which lolls lifelessly against her thighs.

Donghun shivers with the chill of the wind blowing past, his dad’s grip firm on his shoulders, long fingers stretched over bare skin - exposed through torn clothes. His dad apologises, something about a troubled child and psychological help, but it falls on deaf ears.

As a stream of blood flows down Donghun’s cheek, he can only scream.

The lightbulbs over their heads shatter.

They scatter glass across Junhee’s carpeting, hitting the walls in every direction. The entire apartment is immediately masked in murky blue darkness. Junhee yelps, ducks to the floor, covers his head with both his hands.

There’s a beat of silence, of shock, of disbelief. Nothing moves, and Donghun’s sight clears- sparks of gold and orange fading.

It takes him another moment to realise what he’s done.

Donghun lets out a breath, hopeless, and falls to his knees besides Junhee.

“Oh my god, Jun-” Donghun chokes back a sob, grabs at Junhee’s wrist to pull it away, see the damage he’s done.

A ribbon of blood snakes it’s way down Junhee’s cheek, curls around his chin and drips ominously onto his clothes. He’s wincing and his free hand is touching the wound, careful.

Donghun can’t move. Junhee’s wrist is in his hand, and he’s staring open mouthed, crouched, in the middle of a pile of glass.

He hurt him. He hurt him.

His heart falls to his stomach.

“I’m- sorry,” he apologises, and scrambles back onto his feet, falls into the wall behind him, clattering against Junhee’s shelf.

Junhee follows , taking a couple of comforting steps towards Donghun, hands against his cheek, chuckle in his voice. Slits of mustard streetlight come in through hastily drawn blinds, and cast strange shadows against his face, marring his profile in their ugly, distorted glow.

“No, it’s fine, I-”

“I’m sorry,” Donghun whispers, one hand covering his mouth, the other gripped deathly tight around the flowers, stems snapping under his hands. He’s trying not to cry at the smear of blood on his boyfriend’s face. Because of him .  “I’m so sorry.”

“Donghun,” Junhee is half-laughing now. “It’s not your fault-”

It’s your fault.

He needs to get out of here.

It’s easy, then, to push past Junhee- broken glass crunching beneath his feet, and throw himself out into the corridor. He hears Junhee yelling his name, but his feet are moving without him telling them to- they’re running - he’s running - far, and fast, the complex around him a blur as he races his way down the staircase.

It’s only when he’s ran his way to the middle of nowhere, away from the bright lights of Junhee’s apartment complex, that he realises he’s still holding the flowers.

Crumpled, destroyed, and wilting under the constant stream of rain.

•••

“He’s dead!” She screams, clawing her fingers into her son’s clothes, tears streaming down her face. “He’s dead! He’s dead!”

Donghun can only stare on in shock, feeling the cool droplets of blood from his cheek drip down against his neck. The warm touch of his dad, through the scratches and tears of his clothes, is barely comforting- instead tight, controlling.

“I’m sorry, we’ll pay for everything,” His dad says, hold around Donghun’s shoulders tightening.

“Can your son bring him back? Can you pay him back to life? Can you?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m sorry, my son- he’s not like this,”

“He is,” she cries, shaking her head. “He killed my son. He’s a killer. Your son needs help- he needs help- he’s a killer. You’re raising a killer.”

Donghun swallows, opens his mouth helplessly. The woman is sobbing harder, looking tearily towards Donghun and his dad.

A killer.

He’s a killer.

•••

Donghun is rearranging the shelves, each and every plant being watered, spun around, petals plucked and put in the different buckets in Donghun’s tray. Spindly fronds litter the floor, creating spines of plant across the tile, creating a homely effect, scenting the shop with their flowery fragrance.

“Donghun. You can’t avoid me.”

Donghun turns, faces Sehyoon sitting cross-legged on one of the stools Byeongkwan uses to reach the nightshade on the highest shelf. He looks the least pleased out of everyone in the room, and there are some pretty mean venus fly traps lining the storefront.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says, forcing a smile to himself. He waves his watering can a little, for good measure. “Just busy.”

“That has some deja-vu.” Yuchan pipes up.

He’s standing across the room, just in front of the entrance to the storage, picking at some deadly nightshade with his plastic-gloved hands. He looks vaguely disgusted by it all. (Yuchan was never a potions kind-of witch.)

“Did you come here just to annoy me?”

“You’re the one who invited us,” Chan reminds him, comes over to where he’s standing with his empty watering can dangling out of one hand. “Because you felt lonely .”

“A problem with an easy solution,” Sehyoon says plainly.

Donghun sighs, flexes his fingers around the can before going towards the counter to rest it against the wood. The shop is pretty quiet during the evening, the sun just hovering across the horizon of skyscrapers, so Donghun doesn’t reach out to stop Yuchan when he walks over to the OPEN sign and flicks it to CLOSED.

The light comes in, faded, through the windows of the store, shadows against the tile, spanning across the thorny stems of plants. Donghun is looking everywhere but his two friends, who are undoubtedly staring at him with pity in their eyes.

“I hurt him,” Donghun whispers quietly, and hopes neither of them hear it.

There’s a brief moment of silence, just the hum of the air conditioning filling the room.

“Because you were keeping things from him,” Sehyoon says in reply. “Not because of any other reason.”

“He was bleeding.”

“Because you were hiding ,” Yuchan sighs, and comes towards Donghun with open hands. He locks their fingers together and looks him in the eye, softly. “If you tell him… you’ll have no secrets.”

“Or… I could never speak to him again,” Donghun says, pulling away from Yuchan. “That’s a good alternative.”

Yuchan turns to him, desperation obvious in his eyes.

“He makes you happy, hyung.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, okay?” Donghun says, loud, and hates how his voice cracks on the last word. He clears his throat, straightens his posture, in an attempt to be more adult. “He- he’s a fucking, soccer player, Chan. I’m a witch. He calls me babe and buys me flowers and I give him sleeping potions that could kill him ,”

“Donghun.”

He looks up, and meets Sehyoon’s eyes. It’s almost refreshing to have someone look at him verging on anger - not just pity.

“You’re hurting him more by lying to him, by avoiding him, by leaving him more than you ever could with a piece of broken glass.”

He remembers Junhee’s face - the small, betrayed smile; the glimmer of a tear in his eye; how pathetic he felt right down to the bottom of his soul when Junhee breathed his name. The yelling was loud and painful, the yelling was what made his magic seep out of him, but the look Junhee gave him was all the more gut-wrenching.

But.

“That’s what I thought with- with-” Donghun stammers, losing his breath even thinking about it.

(He remembers his ex-boyfriend, an asshole in college who got off on controlling Donghun’s every movement. When he found out that Donghun had something he couldn’t control, something strange and weird , he didn’t react well.)

He pauses, and takes a deep breath.

“Lying would’ve been better than that. So much better.”

“Junhee isn’t him,” Chan says softly. “Junhee is good.”

Junhee is good. Because he loves children and dogs and sad movies and does volunteer work at an animals shelter and wanted to be a doctor until he found out he was too queasy. He cries at nature documentaries and sobbed when his nephew went home after staying with him. He’s soft, gentle, and so, so good.

He isn't someone who could love Donghun.

“I don’t know if- I’m good. Good enough for him,” he confesses, eyes darting between his two friends.

Yuchan smiles gently.

“He loves you, Donghun,” he says. “That has to be enough.”

•••

The following night, when Junhee opens the door to his apartment to find a soaked-through Donghun with a bouquet of dead flowers, he contemplates shutting it in his face.

Or at least, that’s what his expression gives away to Donghun.

“Donghun?” he says.

It’s a stupid question. Of course it’s him, back after all this time, like a rejected puppy with its tail in between its legs, begging for an apology.

“Hi,” he says, quietly.

Junhee carries on staring for a moment, eyes scanning over Donghun’s damp clothes, dripping umbrella, and careful smile.

“Can I- come in?” he asks, eventually.

“Yeah,” Junhee says, snapping out of his daze, moving away from the doorframe. “Come- come inside.”

The apartment hasn’t changed. Donghun hadn’t expected it to, in the couple of weeks he’d been out of contact with Junhee, but the comfort is there nonetheless. The dishes are out to dry on the drying rack, water dripping into the sink, and the balcony doors are wide open- exposing a clear, spring evening.

The only difference is the neatly folded away blankets, the coffee table cleared of any coffee mugs or cans. It feels uneasy, somehow.

Donghun carries on taking in the apartment, trying to avoid the obvious elephant in the room.

Which is him.

Arriving at his maybe-ex’s apartment with a bouquet of dead flowers that Junhee gave him two weeks ago.  

“Are those- for me?” Junhee asks, trying to hold back a smile.

He reaches forward for the bouquet, but Donghun keeps it close to his chest. He shakes his head.

“I need to- I need to apologise first.”

Junhee stays perfectly still where he is, in the entrance of his apartment. He folds one arm over the other, leans against the wall beside him, and raises an eyebrow at Donghun.

“I- yelled at you. I’m really sorry - really, really sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. But I feel like- I owe you an explanation.”

Junhee squints his eyes a little at that, and straightens up against the wall. He looks at Donghun in anticipation.

“I’m scared of hurting you,” he confesses, setting down the bouquet and plucking a dried rose from the batch. “I’m scared of- being too different from you. Of being too much. And- also- of not being good enough.”

“Why-” Junhee says, eyes soft.” -would you ever think you aren’t good enough?”

“Because I’m a bad person,” he says, laughing a little, twisting the peeling stem in between his hands.

“Hyung,” Junhee says, practically wilting, lips parted. “You’re not a bad person.”

Another pause, silence, where Donghun looks down at the floor, trying to escape the pity that swirls itself in Junhee’s gaze. He doesn’t need it. He came to explain himself, not be looked at as pathetic by the person he cared about the most.

“I’m going to show you something,” Donghun says, looking back up. “Please don’t be scared.”

“I won’t,” Junhee reassures, eyebrows raised only a fraction.

“Good.”

He takes a deep breath, and looks down at the flower in his hands.

Donghun places both of his hands on either end of the rose- one at the base where the stem was trimmed away from the root, and the other covering the bud, with the dried petals. He can feel a couple of them fall in his hand as soon as he touches it, but he presses it all the tighter together in his fist.

He closes his eyes. He focuses entirely on the feeling in his hands, on the rose’s crispness under his touch, on the thorns pressing achingly into his palm. He feels blood begin to bubble at the pressure points beneath his skin, but he doesn’t move. For a few seconds, the apartment is silent and still.

“Donghun?”

He opens his eyes, and for a moment, everything is hazy.

The first person to come back into his vision is Junhee, eyes wide, staring down at Donghun’s hands with his mouth hanging open just a little. His eyes make their way back up to Donghun, wide with shock.

“Here,” Donghun says weakly.

He extends out the slightly bloodied, fully alive rose - all its petals back in place, in full bloom.

“What the fuck-?” Junhee whispers, taking the rose, inspecting it from every angle. His eyes go back up to meet Donghun’s. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry for making your light bulbs burst, too,” he says, and glances towards the ceiling. “You replaced them.”

“Yeah, I-” Junhee pauses, and twists the rose in between his fingers. “You-?”

Donghun is treading on eggshells here. He knows if he says something wrong, moves too suddenly, everything around him could come crashing down. Because it’s the same fear Junhee has in his eyes that everyone else has in theirs, and it’s almost painful to see.

“I can- do this,” he says, running a thumb along his palm. “I can give things energy- bring them to life. Or, I can- I can-”

He stops, and exhales deeply. Junhee’s gaze is steady.

“You can kill things?” he asks, softly.

There is nothing readable in his voice, and Donghun thinks he might just break.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice quivering. Tears brim in his eyes. “ Junhee. ”

Junhee is staring at him, expression completely blank.

“Did you-?”

“Yeah, yeah, I did-” Donghun sobs, and he doesn’t ignore how Junhee’s lip trembles. “When I was younger. A lot younger. If you, search my name and his, it’ll come up. I- he was, he and his group of friends- they attacked me. I couldn’t help it, Junhee. I couldn’t. He would’ve killed me. It was self-defence. The police said the same, but- I-”

Donghun runs out of breath, and has to take a shaky inhale.

“Is this why you think you’re a bad person?” Junhee whispers. “Is this why you’re scared? Of hurting me?”

Donghun nods sharply.

“I’m sorry, I know- I know you won’t believe me-”

“It’s okay,” Junhee sighs, looking down at the rose. “I believe you. It’s okay.”

There isn’t much he can do to stop himself from bursting into tears then and there, with Junhee having so much relief and love in his voice. He crumples into the floor, and brings his hands to his face, feet flat against the ground- back leaned against the wall.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

He can feel Junhee get down beside him, and it doesn’t surprise him much when he brings Donghun into his arms, topples them both over right by the entrance to his apartment. He smells like laundry detergent and aftershave and shampoo, and Donghun leans his head into his shoulder and cries. His sweater is soft, and he’s warm and bony and gangly, wrapped around Donghun with his long arms and gentle hands and everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

They stay there for a few minutes- Junhee gently rocking Donghun into his shoulder, whispering soft words that don’t mean anything, just to fill the silence.

After a while, Junhee takes them Donghun to his feet, and to the kitchen table, only a few steps away.

They sit beside each other- Junhee cross legged even on the chair, facing Donghun, patting delicately at his face with tissues. He dips into his glass of water, left sitting, and dabs away the blood on Donghun’s hands from the rose thorns.

Donghun can only stare at him.

“You believe me?” he asks, after a while.

Junhee pats gently at Donghun’s face for a few more seconds, then places the tissue to one side. Donghun’s eyes follow Junhee as he rests his hands over Donghun’s, fingers threaded through each other.

“I believe you,” Junhee whispers. “It makes sense.”

“What?”

“I-” Junhee cuts himself off with a laugh. “People have said things to me. People on my soccer team, or- their friends. I didn’t believe them but-” His tongue darts out from in between his lips. “Now I do.”

“Aren’t you- afraid?”

Junhee bites his lip, and chuckles in disbelief.

“No, surprisingly,” he mumbles, his hands squeezing against each other. “You’re the- the same person. I know you, I know- you would never hurt anyone, or anything.”

“I’ve told you that isn’t true,” Donghun replies, hoarse.

“Do you-” Junhee clears his throat. “Want to talk about it?”

“The boy?”

Junhee lifts both his hands to turn Donghun’s head to face him, and smiles gently. His thumbs brush against Donghun’s cheekbones.

“You don’t have to.”

Donghun swallows thickly, and laughs bitterly.

“It’s fine, it’s-” He looks back to Junhee. “It’s how my parents, found out I was magic. You know, me and my dad, we had to go through a lot. Court dates and trials and- you know.”

Junhee nods attentively.

“And my mom, she was just scared of me, after that. If I had killed, this boy- and I was only seven… who knows what else I could do. I don’t- blame her.”

He tries to look away from how Junhee’s eyes are softening, how he places a soft hand over Donghun’s own.

“You know, I hurt- hurt them, once or twice. Not on purpose. My magic- it, I- threw dishes, and broke things, ‘cause anger’s a lot harder to control, when-” he lets out a choked laugh, and turns to Junhee. “When you have this thing inside of you. So I ran.”

“Donghun,” Junhee murmurs, almost silent.

“It’s fine...  I found people like me, magic, quickly- I always guessed it was, easier to find things if you’re actually looking. And no-one knew anything about themselves, right? Because it- it’s not something you can research or find out about, we had to survive by ourselves.”

There’s a moment of silence, and he squeezes Junhee’s hand tighter.

“I told my ex that I had magic. And he threw a, fucking- paperweight at me.”

Junhee squeezes his hand tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“No, it’s my fault-” he says, and turns sideways to face Junhee. “I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“I understand why.”

“But still, I’m-I’m sorry, and I’ll tell you more eventually. I just,” he says, looking down at their hands together. “I don’t know.”

“This is a lot, Donghun.”

“I know.”

“But- I trust you. I believe you.”

Donghun looks up to Junhee with his small, sad smile. His eyes are bruised with exhaustion, but he looks earnestly at Donghun, as if everything was okay.

“Why?”

“Because,” Junhee looks at him softly. “I love you.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Donghun says, quiet, voice cracking into tears in the middle.

“You know that’s not true,” Junhee says, lifts his hands up to touch Donghun’s face. “You’re a good person, Lee Donghun. A good, good person.”

Shakily, Donghun raises his hands and cups them around Junhee’s. He feels small. Not weak. Not fragile. Just small, and soft, and with so much love coursing through him. Junhee smiles, gentle, weary, and leans his forehead against Donghun’s.

A good person.

“I love you too,” Donghun whispers.

☾