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Twenty years ago, Johnny fell ill.
Nineteen years ago, Doyoung failed. He failed, and maybe if he hadn't, Johnny wouldn't have had to leave.
Nineteen years ago, when the moon reached its peak, Doyoung buried the one thing that made him a person in its light.
Three nights later, Doyoung felt a tugging in his chest.
A month later, fourty-four days after that, sixty-eight days after that, and fifty-eight days after that, he felt the same. It increased each time, more and more painful, and Doyoung knew exactly what it meant.
He knew them, and one day, they would know him.
Two-hundred nights after he had buried his lifeline, he pulled out his shovel and, when the moon reached its peak, Doyoung once again felt the thump of his own beating heart.
Doyoung falls back into the habit of taking care of Johnny.
He tries to feed him, although he knows it’ll go nowhere. He tries to do the things they used to do; he takes Johnny on the walks they used to love, does all the cheesy things Johnny had failed to coerce him into. He takes him dancing as the sun sets, feeds him macarons, tells him he loves him.
Doyoung speaks to him, always. Johnny never responds, but it’s okay.
Doyoung remembers the times when he would, when they could hold a conversation for hours on end, when they would talk until the sun set and until it rose once again, but it’s okay.
Doyoung remembers Johnny. No one else does, but it’s okay.
Sometimes, though, it’s frustrating.
“Why don't you say it back?” Doyoung says, curled into Johnny’s side. He’s wrapped in hand-stitched floral fabrics, and he runs his fingers over the daisy Johnny had embroidered into his shirt. Flowers bloom around them, colours painting over their bleak surroundings, as they do throughout the whole house.
(Doyoung likes flowers. They're so full of life; he wonders, maybe, if he has enough, it’ll become infectious. At night, when the world sleeps, he, against all of his principles, prays that it will.)
Johnny doesn't respond.
His favourite pot of chrysanthemums begins to wilt.
(It’s okay.)
Eventually, he gives up pretending.
He manoeuvres Johnny into a wheelchair and wheels him to the graveyard, careful to avoid the headstone bearing names he can barely remember, and most importantly, the unnervingly emerald grass that almost glows under the light of the moon. (The grass really is greener on the other side. Doyoung hates it.)
Witchcraft isn't a moral activity, by any means. It is dark, and it is light; It is bad, and it is good; It is everything, and it is nothing. It’s beyond this realm, so Doyoung doesn't see the harm in breaking one of the few rules his profession places. Especially not for Johnny.
He draws runes with practised ease, into the earth that glows with a purple light. Doyoung kneels carefully outside them, while Johnny sits, motionless inside the circle.
He breathes in and holds his breath.
Flowers of all kinds begin to grow.
They grow in Johnny, in the gaps between his ribs, wrapping around his spine, filling in the empty space. Where his heart once was, a daffodil blooms.
He breathes out and the flowers begin to die.
The life bleeding out of them is visible. It appears as a green hue that envelopes Johnny’s bones, one that lights up the area around him. Doyoung mutters something in a lonely language, one that only he knows.
(There’s movement in the corner of his eye, just for a second, before it disappears.)
The green sinks into Johnny’s bones and the surroundings plunge into darkness. A cold wind brushes past him, laughing. Doyoung knows exactly what has happened.
Doyoung knows a lot of things. He knows exactly how much eye of newt to put into a curry, he knows the names of thousands of plants.
He knows the consequences of a failed resurrection.
As he looks up towards the moon, he feels a wave rolling over him. It’s heavy, sticky. He feels like he’s underwater, but breathing just fine. When he reaches up to touch his face, it’s dry, and it’s cold.
The moon pulses once, twice. It’s a signal. They’ll be coming soon, na i ve and so dangerously curious, and Doyoung will welcome them.
He knows them, and soon, they will know him too.
The hallucinations begin with the rising of the sun.
One minute, Johnny is motionless next to Doyoung; the next, he’s smiling and trying to pry Doyoung’s tea from his hand.
In his head, Doyoung knows it’s not real. Johnny is next to him, as ivory and still as ever.
But his heart is weak, forgetful, and loves to love. It’s a punishment.
The ceramic shatters. Doyoung flinches, and then Johnny is gone. Or, rather, he’s back to normal. Doyoung stares at the bones, at the pristine ivory, the glimmering hints of magic that holds each joint together like a string prison, wonders aloud if this puppet is really all he has left.
He doesn't get an answer; his heart takes the silence as a chance to hope.
(the answer is yes, Doyoung knows. His heart is more reluctant.)
There’s a group of teens that live down the road. Doyoung knows them. They don't know him.
(It’s okay.)
Doyoung knows that they are special. He also knows about the warnings they have been given since they were born.
“Never talk to the Witch up the road.”
It’s been a mantra for as long as they've ever known, passed down generations. Skipped one - Johnny’s fault. Now, it’s back and more far-fetched than ever. (Doyoung does not eat children and he does not seduce men to offer as a sacrifice. Sacrifice is so primitive, just grab a handful of geodes and you’re set. Dumb humans and their dumb tall tales.)
Doyoung knows them, so he doesn't blame them for their curiosity.
The youngest, Yangyang, is the first to knock. Doyoung appreciates the courtesy, although he was already waiting.
They all jump back as the door swings open. Gosh, Doyoung definitely should have checked his appearance before all this. But, that would have meant fighting with the plants that have grown over the few mirrors in the house, and Doyoung knows just how futile that is. He imagines he looks something like the stereotypical ‘witch’: unkempt hair, tattered clothes that, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he scrutinised over them, never seemed to match. In short - he was a mess.
A voice interrupts him from where he was inspecting his wrist, mourning over how the bone was almost visible through taught, pale skin.
“Sorry to interrupt--” Jaemin says-- “but are you the witch?”
“I am, and you’re Na Jaemin.” Doyoung notices how their faces pale, but decides to ignore it as he doesn’t quite know how to respond. Nineteen years of solidarity does a number on one’s social skills, to put it lightly.
Renjun furrows his brows, stepping forward. “How do you-”
“You’re Huang Renjun.”
“Do you know us all?”
Doyoung nods, expression neutral. Somewhat because he doesn't know what expression to make in such a situation, and somewhat because of the look Donghyuck is giving him. “I do, Lee Donghyuck.”
“That’s kinda creepy… ” Jeno spares a glance behind him. He doesn't find much - with the five of them on the front porch, the plants are quick to return to their usual, uncontrolled selves. Jeno notices how they have grown over the path they entered through and pales even more. He’s beginning to look a bit like a sheet of paper, and Doyoung knows that is never good.
“Such is life, as a witch, Lee Jeno,” Doyoung says hastily and steps to the side. “Would you like to come in? I don't bite.”
They enter with less hesitation than any self-preserving people should; nothing more than a few glances spared at each other before Yangyang enters and the rest follow. Doyoung doesn't think much of it. Likely, they can feel it, just like he can, but don't know exactly how to place it.
“I could make tea? I have rose, if you’d like some, Liu Yangyang.” Doyoung passes them and enters the kitchen, already placing the kettle on the stove. Hopefully, some calming tea will help them to not look like they’re about to pass out. It’ll take some convincing (some more than others), but Doyoung is more than sure they’d warm up to him eventually. There’s no need to rush.
Yangyang stiffens where the group of them are loitering outside and whispers. “They know me too?”
“Of course I do. I know all of you. You don't think it’s a coincidence that you’re all here, do you? That would be foolish.”
Renjun, ever the brave one, steps forward once again. Doyoung begins to think it’s supposed to be an intimidation tactic, but his stature makes it just a bit underwhelming. “Why are we here, then?”
“Dude,” Jeno says. “You don't actually believe that, right?”
“You should, for your sake more than mine.” Doyoung shrugs and Jeno shrinks slightly. Doyoung takes one look at him and shakes his head, feeling apologetic. Organising the mugs seems like a good way to distract from his internal debate of how the hell do I deal with people, so he does just that. They were all mismatching; Johnny’s choice. “Sorry, that must seem foreboding. I promise you’re perfectly safe.” The words come out stiff, unpractised. Johnny always told him to sound genuine, though it was far more difficult than he had made it seem. Bloody Johnny and his bloody gifted-at-everything self. He made Doyoung look like a dimwit. Still does, apparently.
“You’re really not good with people, huh.” Donghyuck’s posture relaxes at Doyoung’s blundering.
“I knew you were a perceptive one, Donghyuck.” Doyoung turns on his heel as the kettle begins to squeal. Always so noisy - he should have a chat with it later.
“I have a tip: maybe don't do the whole ‘I know you’ thing with other people.” Donghyuck grimaces. “It’s off-putting.”
Doyoung exhales something like a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though, it’s only you five that I have this connection with.”
“Why?” Jaemin asks.
“Yeah, why?” Yangyang repeats.
Jeno’s eyes widen and he points an accusatory finger towards Doyoung. “Are you a stalker?”
Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Jeno, they’re a witch.”
"Right." Jeno nods, as though seriously considering the information. "Are you a magical stalker?”
Donghyuck elbows him in the ribs and he winces, hissing. Doyoung doesn't pay much attention to the exchange, just hands them each a mug and ushers them into the living room. They sit in the midst of Doyoung’s many plants. Doyoung sits in a wicker chair with about as many plants woven into the weave as wood, piled high with cushions, as per Johnny’s request. The sofa that the five teens settled onto was also one of Johnny’s finds; as was the adjacent loveseat. An ancient television sits on top of a chest of drawers, untouched for years and with a 1996 VHS tape of Toy Story still lodged inside.
It’s all to make the house feel more welcoming - as if anyone had the guts to visit them, even when Johnny had been there, hence the layer of dust that covers the majority of it. Stepping into a witch’s home wasn't something just anyone could do. Johnny had been the first that the plants had allowed past the gates, and the five sitting before him, the second.
Doyoung turns to them, gaze calculating. They're still young, not yet settled in their ways, much as Doyoung was when his mentor took him under his wing. (He knows better than to go searching, but Doyoung found himself wondering what Taeil was up to, these days. Better than him, probably.)
“I’m not a stalker, nor am I a magical one.“I am a witch, and as a witch, I have apprentices. I am made aware of when those apprentices are born, and I know how they grow. You are those apprentices.” He watches their expressions, trying desperately to remember what fear looks like. He finds that imagining them to be the wild rabbits he sometimes comes across helps immensely. They keep their backs facing away from him, but their pupils aren’t blown out and nothing seems to be shaking, so Doyoung concludes they’re more wary than anything.
“You know how we grow? Like, everything?” Yangyang leans forward so far, Doyoung thinks he might topple over. He doesn't, thankfully. Doyoung has no idea how to deal with an injured child, though he supposed that'll have to change, considering the risks that come with this power. Also, his house is full of pointy objects; someone is definitely going to impale themself on something, and Doyoung wants to be as prepared as possible. He thinks, maybe he should pay a visit to the library, but quickly remembers his library card is almost thirty years old and definitely outdated.
He shakes his head, willing himself to focus. “Most things, yes. Like the time you kept a cactus alive for eight years while your other plants died, only to discover it was plastic.”
“Holy shit." Yangyang's eyes light up with mischief, and the others immediately lean away from him, not even reacting to the story. Renjun is slightly slower. Yangyang sees him first. "Do Renjun, I want the goss.”
Despite Renjun's protests, Doyoung decides to indulge his soon-to-be apprentices. “Renjun… well, you once tried to summon a demon and it has since been following you around. Its name is Chenle, by the way. He’s the one that knocked over your paints on the twelfth of April, 2014.”
Renjun’s eyes widen. “Son of a bitch!” His head whips around in every direction, searching for the demon (Chenle is hidden behind Doyoung’s chair, giggling into his ear. Doyoung can't see him, but he can most definitely feel him. For such a young demon, he has a shockingly large presence.) until Jeno clears his throat, lips threatening to break into a smile. Renjun sighs. “Sorry I blamed you, Jeno.”
Jeno grins. “I think I believe you now, witch person.”
“Alright, so… what do you mean, we’re your apprentices?” Jaemin asks, placing his mug on the coffee table, untouched. A vine wraps around the handle and he gasps, pointing to it. Doyoung clears his throat, glaring as it retracts.
“Damned impudence, those vines,” Doyoung mutters.
“That’s so cool, what the--” Donghyuck’s jaw snaps shut-- “wait, what’s your name?”
Yangyang gasps. “Oh my god, how did we not think of that...”
“The dumbass jumped out,” Renjun sighs, dark hair swaying as he shakes his head. Chenle materialises behind him, reaching out to pull on the longer strands around his nape, but Doyoung clears his throat and gives him a pointed glance. Pouting, Chenle fizzles out of tangibility.
Renjun peers over his shoulder after noticing Doyoung’s gaze, but Doyound draws his attention back before he can spot the obviously demonic burning dust Chenle had left behind. “My name is Dongyoung. Doyoung, if it’s easier. And-”
“Hold on, Doyoung.” Jaemin holds up his palm. “Can we get some pronouns up in here?”
“Uh, ‘me’?”
A stunned silence follows, with Jeno being the first to snap out of it. “No, like, gender,” He says. “‘Her’, ‘they’, ‘him’?”
“Oh! You humans have finally stopped assuming? I must tell the roses, they’ll be delighted!” Clasping his hands together, Doyoung does what feels like a smile, but one can never be too sure.
“The roses?” Yangyang says. He spares a glance out the window, where Doyoung knows his roses will be waving around, as they always were. “Nice.”
“Anyway, I use masculine pronouns. And you?”
“All he/him today," Donghyuck says with a glance towards Jeno, who nods his head.
Doyoung will have to ask exactly what that meant, but for now, there are more pressing matters. “Wonderful. Anyway, as I was saying: as you are all my apprentices, I will be teaching you the art of witchcraft. Do you accept?” they look as if they're about to jump out of their seats before Doyoung speaks again. “Be wary; a contract with a witch is nothing to be taken lightly. Please, discuss. Feel free to ask any questions you wish.”
They form a huddle, whispering to each other. Doyoung turns to look through the window at the trees. The branches nod once, twice, and Doyoung knows.
They accept after an onslaught of questions, (“Yes, I will teach you how to turn someone into a frog. No, you can't use it on each other.”) and Doyoung sends them off with a wave and a selection of salves meant to help with the growth of their powers. It’ll start soon, and it won't be pleasant.
Long after their figures disappear past the gate and the bushes grow back in, shutting away the world outside, Doyoung stands, leaning against the doorframe. Social interaction is far more draining than he remembers. He supposes it has something to do with the fact that Johnny has been sitting - motionless, as always - on their bed since the sun had risen as Doyoung had been too anxious about meeting his apprentices to move him.
He knows Johnny hasn't moved. He knows, so why does it hurt so much to see?
*
His day starts with a frantic cleanup.
There are flowers dirtying their petals in order to help him sweep; vines not causing trouble, in fear of what Doyoung would do to them; weeds retracting into the cracks in the floorboards. They'll be back, but Doyoung appreciates the help.
He wouldn't say he considers the plants ‘friends’, but they definitely care for him. And in return, he makes sure they don't get trampled when Yangyang comes barreling into the hall like he’s been here a thousand times.
The others aren't quite as loud, but still enter without hesitation, and Doyoung wonders what he’s done to make them so trusting. There’s a brief moment of panic - would they be like this for any strange person that called themself a witch? Doyoung hasn’t given them much of any reason to trust him so much, has he? Surely they should be more suspicious? - before it is interrupted by Yangyang.
“So, teach, what are we learning today?”
“Let’s start with knocking before entering into a strange witch’s house.”
“You’re not strange, c’mon,” Yangyang says. Doyoung raises an eyebrow and Yangyang purses his lips. “Maybe a little, but, like, good strange.”
Doyoung shakes his head as laughter ripples throughout the group. “Right. Well, what we’re actually learning is the signs of a witch. A real witch. I don't want you falling victim to a trickster.”
“Sounds cool. Can we explore your house after, though?” Donghyuck asks, eyes so bright, Doyoung doesn't think he can say no.
But Doyoung thinks of Johnny, shut away in their bedroom. Their relationship was still too precarious, and his apprentices were not prepared for that. Maybe after a few weeks, months, years. Maybe never. Still, under their anticipating gazes, Doyoung knows he is weak. “Fine, but don't go into the bedroom. It’s the one at the end of the landing, upstairs.”
Donghyuck nods fervently. “Got it.”
A pause.
“So, witchy time?”
Doyoung sighs, but doesn't bother to conceal his smile. “Witchy time.”
They all throw themselves onto the sofa, almost buzzing. Doyoung reaches up to the shelf nearest him, grabs a jar filled with green powder, and talks as he walks to the same wicker chair as before.
“The first and easiest way of identifying a witch is through their knowledge. Second is their energy. Unfortunately, you are all not yet educated nor experienced enough to make judgements based on either of those, so here is the next best thing.” He places the jar on the table. “This powder will make witches - and any magical creature, for that matter - sneeze.”
Jaemin almost chokes in surprise. “It’ll what.”
“Oh my god-” Yangyang mouth hangs agape. (Doyoung sure hopes the venus flytraps are hungry today, or Yangyang is sure to have one hell of a nasty surprise.)
“That’s-” Jeno cuts himself off, struggling to find the words, so Donghyuck takes over.
“Lame as hell but I love it, what the fuck.”
“How?”
“Well, Renjun, like all magical creatures, witches are born different from normal humans. You can't learn magic without already possessing it. Technically, you have all been witches since you were born. Just, really incompitent ones.”
“Can we see? The powder?” Renjun asks.
For once, Doyoung dreads the curiosity.
“I suppose. I need to open the jar to give you each some, anyway. It’s hard to avoid, like a really bad allergy.”
Doyoung collects a handful of smaller jars, ones that could be easily stored, and approaches the jar hesitantly. He pops open the lid - first comes the stench of stale air, and then the worst part.
“Shit--” he sneezes-- “I forgot how--” another sneeze-- “how bad this--” once again, sneeze-- “oh my god.” And with a final sneeze, Doyoung gives up trying.
The teens are unaffected.
“Are you sure it’s not just you that has an allergy? Want an antihistamine?” Jeno offers, not unkindly, but still somewhat condescending.
Doyoung, despite his constant sneezing, rolls his eyes. He reaches into the jar, takes a pinch of the powder and throws it over the teens.
Donghyuck splutters in surprise. “Hey!”
“What-” Jaemin begins but is soon interrupted by a sneeze. Everyone pauses. Renjun soon follows suit, and before long the living room is filled with the sneezes of six witches. Chenle cackles at their misery, before letting out a sneeze of his own. The force of it leaves him visible for a moment, but that was more than enough for Renjun to spot his bright orange hair and start running around, searching. The others follow, though significantly less bothered by the sudden appearance of a demon, and glance at Doyoung for permission. Doyoung doesn't exactly have the coherency to do much of anything, so he waves them off before running to open all the windows he can.
“Lucky buggers,” he groans, half hanging out of the kitchen window, “barely unlocked their magic. I should’ve thought about that, ugh.” He sniffles once and rests his head against the window frame. He knows he’ll have flakes of paint in his hair, but he doesn't particularly care. He never did, even when Johnny teased him for having ‘dandruff’, only for Doyoung to lace his shampoo with flour the next day.
He’s pulled from his reminiscing by a distant voice, so quiet, and yet still managing to make his heart freeze in his chest.
“Doyoung? Why is there a skeleton in your bed?”
His entire body tenses and for a moment, he stops breathing. Panic settles in his bones, under his skin, and suddenly, he can't move.
A second passes.
He regains feeling in his limbs all at once and he sees red.
He throws himself up the stairs, just managing to stop himself from yelling. “I told you, my bedroom is off-limits.”
He’s seething by the time he reaches the doorway to his room but falls silent as he looks inside. Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, Jaemin and Yangyang are crowded around the bed, staring at Johnny and whispering between themselves. The scene strikes a chord in Doyoung’s heart, and suddenly, Johnny isn't just a pile of bones anymore. He is smiling at the kids so fondly, as if he too knows them like Doyoung does, like he will. (A part of him thinks, maybe, one day, he could.)
Doyoung knows that if he blinks, the hallucination will disappear. So he keeps his eyes open, as much as it hurts. Dry air stings his eyes as pressure begins to build up behind them, paired with his heart squeezing so painfully, he wonders if he might die. He holds on.
But when Johnny turns towards him and winks like he always did, Doyoung turns weak, and he lets his eyes fall closed.
A tear falls down, and an uncharacteristically gentle vine wipes it away.
When Renjun turns to him, and his expression is so gentle, Doyoung thinks his apprentice may have entirely misread the situation. “Who are they?” he asks.
“His name is Johnny. He’s my partner.”
“But he’s-”
“Dead, I know. I know. He’s been dead for nineteen years.” At their horrified expressions, Doyoung chuckles. “It had nothing to do with you lot, don't worry. He died in February. Valentine’s day.”
It’s silent for a moment before Jaemin speaks up. “Why is he here?”
Doyoung thinks for a second. About his selfishness, his incompetence. And how his own suffering is merely a punishment for meddling in things outside his bounds. “I missed him. I thought I could bring him back, but--” Doyoung’s eyes flicker to look at Johnny. Bones. Brittle, brittle bones-- “I failed. And I could bear the thought of burying him again, so I didn't.”
Silence becomes a blanket, and Doyoung suffocates under it. He wonders what they must think of him, now that they know. Would they leave? Reduce him down to a crazy man with a plant problem? Even if they did leave, they’d eventually come back, Doyoung knows.
(He had run away once, when it all became too much. Taeil had found him within hours, hunched into himself in the middle of a forest as foliage grew wildly around him. A barrier, from the outside. The bad things, that chased after him like a fox after prey. It’s always been that way, for him.)
That knowledge doesn't stop the claw tightening around his throat. It’s relentless, crushing him in the most painless way, and yet the one that hurts the most. The silence stretches on, unrelenting.
“We’ll help,” Donghyuck says, and Doyoung almost jumps in surprise.
Jaemin’s brows fly up. “We will?” at the collective glares he receives, he corrects himself. “I mean, we will. Yup.”
“You all know nothing about magic and witchcraft.” Doyoung shakes his head. “I’ve been doing this for longer than your great-grandparents have been alive. How do you intend on resurrecting someone that’s been dead for nineteen years?”
“Do we even need to resurrect him? Like, I assume his flesh and--” Jeno shivers, but still ploughs through-- “ insides are all rotten, right? You don't want your boyfriend to be a zombie, do you.”
“Partner,” Doyoung corrects weakly. “What else is there to do?”
It’s Renjun that takes over. “You just wanna bring him back right? So as long as he’s still him , like, personality-wise, the body doesn't matter, does it?”
Doyoung takes a moment to mull it over. Johnny - at least, his essence , or whatnot - is still with the skeleton. At first, Doyoung had been trying to bring him back to life, but what if the key was really- “a new life.”
Renjun and Jeno high-five silently.
(“He looks weird when he’s plotting,” Yangyang says.
“I think it’s kinda cute.” Donghyuck shrugs, crossing his arms loosely and leaning his weight onto one foot.
Jaemin deadpans, “dude, his boyfriend is right there.”
“Not like that- oh my god, Jaemin. I hate you.”)
There’s a ritual. Six amethysts, six emeralds, seven rubies; a rune, complex enough that Taeil hadn't even tried to teach him; three ‘earth days’ of solitude. No food, no water. If he’s lucky, they will freeze time for his body while his consciousness ventures to the panes, if only so he doesn't starve.
It’s dangerous as hell, Doyoung knows. There’s the risk of his physical body suffering, his consciousness getting lost and not returning to his physical body, or death by them. While they can't actually kill him, they can take his power away, which is basically the same thing, at this point. His being and his power are tightly entwined - yin and yang, almost. Take one away, and the whole thing collapses.
It’s dangerous, but it’s his last hope. If he can't bring the real Johnny back, in his real body, then a second-hand one would have to do. It’ll be fragile and unbalanced for a while, but Johnny wouldn't mind. He never did want to die, after all.
They are stubborn, omnipresent, and unforgiving, but Doyoung is also two of those three things.
(Taeil told him once, that they're weak for one thing, and one thing only: love. Eighteen-year-old Doyoung thought it was cheesy and dumb, but one-hundred-and-seven-year-old Doyoung thinks he understands.)
The ritual takes time to prepare, and in that time, Doyoung learns things.
He learns that Jeno is 'gender fluid'. It's an unfamiliar term, but one the roses seem to adore, with the way they gravitate towards Jeno whenever he's near. Jeno makes sure to tell Doyoung which pronouns to use each day, but Doyoung eventually finds he doesn't need to. On the "they" days, Doyoung feels Jeno's energy change - rather than the high tension of the "he" days and low tension if the "she" days, the "they" days are far more muted, something in-between the two, or sometimes something entirely different. It's fascinating, and Doyoung finds he quite anticipates which energy he'll feel today.
His apprentices teach him about the LGBT Community, its history and its present, and how he fits into it. It's a little difficult, as Doyoung barely remembers the last time he had interacted on that level with anyone other than Johnny, but Donghyuck asks him how he feels about the label "pansexual", and Doyoung finds he doesn't mind it. He thinks it sounds a bit funny (Renjun groans at the kitchen utensil he holds up, and the entire room bursts into laughter), but he doesn't mind it.
They teach them things about themselves: some things he already knows, and others he doesn't.
It’s fun, getting to know the kids he’ll be stuck with for the next - at least - decade, but also is a stark reminder of what happens after. One day, they’ll leave, and Doyoung will have to find something else to spend his life doing. With Johnny, it’d be bearable, but if not-
Doyoung had to consider the possibility of this being a failure. Communicating with them is miles away from Doyoung’s expertise; most just left them as they came, too cowardly to challenge them. Not that there was much reason to challenge them. As scary as they were, they were the ones regulating the magic flowing through this universe and every other universe, a balance that only something like them could maintain.
They control the balance of most things. Water and earth, good and bad.
And what Doyoung needs to meddle in - life and death.
There is a fine line, and Doyoung intends to tread directly on it.
Doyoung takes a deep breath in, rolling a ruby in his palm. He turns to his apprentices.
“The foliage should prevent anyone from entering, but on the off chance it fails, I want you to use the powder I gave you. If they are human, scare them off. Empty threats should do just fine. It it is a witch - only then should you break the circle.”
“Will you be okay?” Renjun asks. He’s leading the group, the others being huddled together as they give Doyoung glances that scream, “please don't die” . They look afraid, and Doyoung can't say he isn't feeling the same.
Still - he has to pretend. Three days is a long time for them to be alone, for the house to be alone. Doyoung worries how they’ll fare. The most he can do is give some hope, even if he himself doesn't quite believe it. “I- I couldn't say for sure. I haven’t the best relationship with them, but I do hope they… take pity on me. I promise I will come back. He would never forgive me if I didn't.”
“Johnny?” Donghyuck asks, peering around Renjun.
Doyoung smiles weakly. “Yes. Also my roses. They’ve always been clingy.” He’s delighted to see Yangyang struggling to keep his smile at bay, even when Renjun slaps his arm half-heartedly.
“Why are you acting like he’s gonna die?” Yangyang whines, and though the uncertain edge to his voice is jarring, he plays it off quite well. “Doyoung’s gonna be fine, he’s super strong!”
Doyoung doesn't have the heart to tell him that even the most powerful of witches cannot stand up to them - it’d be like waging war on a god. Instead, he smiles. “Right. Well, you should all go back inside. Chenle was saying something about revealing himself-” (He’s not, but they don't need to know that.)
Renjun shoots up. “Okay, Doyoung knows what he’s doing, so let's go back inside, yeah?”
“Renjun!” Doyoung isn't sure who yells, but he laughs anyway. He hopes it’s reassuring like his books said it should be.
“No, go on. I need to concentrate.”
They leave reluctantly. Even Renjun, despite his prior eagerness.
Jeno and Jaemin linger behind, but, after a series of ments that had Doyoung’s eyes stinging with unshed tears, they turn their backs and leave as well.
(They don't look back. Doyoung appreciates it.)
Silence closes in on him from all sides. He tries to relax, taking deep breaths and leaning more weight onto his heels. It’ll hurt like a bitch once all this is over, but he figures it’ll be worth it if he succeeds.
He’s prepared as much as he can: scoured the content of every book he owns, even asked Jaemin to “Google” it. (Most of those results were just to scam people into buying weird rocks, but he did find a great soup recipe labeled as a ‘transfiguration potion’. Doyoung doesn't know how humans fall for this stuff. Everyone knows transfiguration potions aren’t real - transfiguration is a powder-only event.)
Once he is settled, Doyoung inspects the ruby in his hand one last time, watching the last light of a setting sun pass through it and paint his hand red. It feels like an omen - good or bad, he can't be sure - so he places it down.
The sun sinks below the horizon as he closes his eyes, hands clasped together in front of his chest. Soon, the nothingness engulfs him.
“We know you, Doyoung,” is the first thing Doyoung hears. He doesn't open his eyes, knows there’s no point. There’s nothing here. Nothing but him and a single voice that sounds like a million.
“I know,” he replies. Standard procedure - always answer, never ask. Doyoung trusts his books with his life, he knows they're right. They know that too. They don't comment, but Doyoung knows they’re impressed.
“We know you, Doyoung. We know your mind.”
“I know.”
“Do you, Doyoung?”
He doesn't hesitate. “I do.”
A pause. Doyoung knows they’re not thinking - they know everything already. It’s just for the dramatics, and they suddenly seem far less intimidating. “We know, without the human, you will not teach the five saviours to their full potential.”
Maybe that’s why Doyoung wants to protest. A little bit of bravery, perhaps? He knows they’re right, though. “Yes. I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Very good. And so, we will give you the human.”
It’s a surprise, and Doyoung speaks without thinking-- “Just like that?--” and a sharp pain runs through his body as soon as the last syllable fills the emptiness.
“Do not question us, witch. We will return the human to you, but not in the form he once was.”
Doyoung stays silent, but he nods.
They approve. “Very good. This human’s body is beyond our grasps. It has been taken into the earth, returning to whence it came. Rather, we will give him a body that cannot die, one that will outlast even you. He will continue to roam the earth, even when your remains are a part of the soil he walks on. Will you agree?”
They're not trying to convince him to say no - in fact, it’s the most genuine question Doyoung has been asked since he arrived here. Still, it makes him think. Johnny, eternal? Part of him wonders if it’s cruel. The other wonders if it is too kind. For this earth, the one that took Johnny so ruthlessly, to have his kindness forever brightening the places where its evil strikes? Doyoung didn't think they deserved it.
Regardless, the answer was obvious.
“Of course.”
Doyoung wakes to the sensation of being rattled quite harshly, and for a man whose consciousness had only just re-attached itself to his body, the movement is more than jarring. His vision blurs and his ears ring, but he manages to spot the vague outline of a person in front of him, and catches the tail end of what they were trying to tell him.
“-a magic man in the house and he’s looking for you! Doyoung!”
“Huh?”
“You’re alive!” Yangyang yells. It makes Doyoung’s ears ring louder and he winces. Yangyang finally stops shaking him though, so his vision begins to clear. “There’s some man, the others told me to go- shit! He’s here!”
His legs are numb where they are tucked under him, and he’s in no shape to be doing much of anything, but when he spots the silhouette of a man with the setting sun behind him, instinct takes over and Doyoung pulls Yangyang behind him.
The man gets closer and closer. The plants don't move. No blades of grass slicing at his ankles, no weeds winding around his legs. In fact, they seem to welcome him.
(Sometimes, Doyoung thinks his plants know a lot more than they seem to. More than him, perhaps.)
When the man pauses a few feet away, Doyoung pulls himself shakily to his feet. With his new vantage point, the shroud of shadow covering the man lessens, and Doyoung can just about make out some features. They seem… familiar, almost.
It hits, then, and he stops breathing.
It’s been twenty years, but god, Doyoung could never forget that face. Those eyes, those lips-
That smile.
(It’s okay.)
Johnny holds open his arms and, as the sun rises into a new dawn, Doyoung once again feels the warm embrace of his one true lifeline.
This Johnny isn't human. He’s something more powerful, more dangerous. He can make winds that shake even the oldest of trees to their roots, disputes with him make way for storms that leave Doyoung’s flowers weeping, and clouds part to let the sun shine on his smile. He is not of this world, and yet he is.
The way he meshes into his surroundings with ease; if you aren't trained to see the tells of the inhuman, there is no way to know what he is. He attracts humans, from wandering travellers to those brave enough to see if the rumours about the witch are true, just as he always did. Sometimes, crowds gather at the edge of the foliage, and Doyoung has to ask the giant hogweed to scare them away.
Now though, his charm isn't just charisma. It’s the magic that flows through his veins, his disconnection from this world that makes him so alluring to anyone fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to cross paths with him.
He belongs here just as much as he doesn't. He could go anywhere. And yet, he stays.
Not just for Doyoung, but for his love of this universe. The plants and the people; the songs that travel in the wind, just for him; the water that tried so hard to lure him in, but always failed.
Johnny loves life - it’s only fair to grant it to him, eternally.
Doyoung falls just as hard for him as he did the first time.
The two of them settle, as they did once before. The kids, or ‘ baby witchies’, as Johnny calls them, continue to come for lessons, and Johnny would distract them from work continuously until Doyoung has to banish him to the back garden. There, he battles with the crows, occasionally even a raven, and then proceeds to complain to Doyoung about them trying to kill him. Doyoung finds it funny because he knows Johnny has beaten death, once and for all. Johnny finds it funny because he likes being dramatic. (Doyoung swears he and Donghyuck are related; there was no other way to explain it.)
(He doesn't tell the kids about them being ‘the saviours’, or whatever they had called them. Feels it’d do one of two things: intimidate them into leaving prematurely or inflate their ego to far bigger than Doyoung was willing to deal with. Neither are particularly desireable, so he keeps that information between him and Johnny, for now.)
Johnny disrupts Doyoung while he works on making salves and elixirs to sell, prodding around jars upon jars of things that could have killed him, once. They can't now, but Doyoung still won't let him mess up his stock.
It’s been longer than Doyoung would like to admit since he had last visited the town. Once upon a time, he had happily sold his creations to anyone brave enough to approach him - barely anyone, until Johnny came along. Having someone the townsfolk knew and liked next to him did wonders for business, and they began to fear him just a bit less.
Then Johnny died, and they blamed him.
Since then, Doyoung has not returned. But when he eventually does, with Johnny by his side, a crowd gathers, rambunctious with confused exclamations and tears of joy. They welcome Johnny back, even those too young to have ever known him.
An old lady comes to stand by Doyoung. She smiles as she peers under his cloak’s hood, and says: “Thank you, Doyoung.”
Doyoung did not tell her his name.
Doyoung knows her, and she remembers him.
That night, after selling out his entire stock and spending the money on handfuls of items they definitely did not need, but which Johnny bought just to see the smile on the shop owner’s face, Doyoung slips under the covers and cries.
Johnny coos at him as he does and Doyoung slaps him on the chest. Repeatedly, until Johnny takes hold of his wrist and kisses away his tears, sweet and finite. With a final kiss to his forehead, Johnny gathers Doyoung in his arms and waits until his breathing has levelled out to let himself drift off.
Under the scrutiny of moonlight that seeps in through open windows, Johnny knows.
This is home.