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“Good morning!” the man behind the counter chirps, perking up the moment he hears the door opening. “Welcome to Ace’s Arcana! Are you looking for anything in particular?”
His hair is a stylish kind of choppy, black and soft and thick and falling into his eyes. His eyes are brilliant with excitement, full lips pulled into a bright smile. His glasses are thick, his earrings dangling, his light gray sweater oversized and falling over his palms where they press into the edge of the counter.
In the doorway, San speaks for the pair of them. Yeosang is silent behind him. He remains upright, steady, but San can feel the thrum of where he wants to curl into himself. He always does, when they’re in front of people like this, even though there are only a handful of men scattered about the room. Three of them take up corners, their backs turned to them, but that doesn’t help as much as it should. They’re still people. The threat of attention is still there. “Yeah, actually! We were hoping you might have some myrrh? We were working on a tincture and realized we were running low!”
He knows he’s overexplaining, feels Yeosang shuffle just slightly, repressing the urge to scold him. The man behind the counter doesn’t notice, nodding enthusiastically. “We sure do! Junhee can help take care of you.”
There’s a man who was standing behind a small table placed in the corner of the room, flipping through a stack of papers placed on top. As soon as he hears that name, he stands, straightens up the hem of his button-down, and makes his way towards them. His hair is black and fluffy, parted down the middle. His skin is warm, his eyes round, his features high and princely, his earrings little gold hoops. His smile is kind, as he stops in front of them.
“Are you necromancers?”
San laughs quietly, jabs at Yeosang with his elbow. He’s begun to sneak behind him, to try to hide in his shadow. But there’s tension to it, like he’s trying to keep himself from doing so. “He is! I just help him out sometimes. Sorry, he’s shy!”
But he feels him stepping out from behind him, as soon as the focus is on him. He can feel tension prickling off of him, buzzing around him, pinging off of him like a pinball and then sticking to San like he’s made of flypaper.
But his eyes are cold, calculating. Certain. He looks aloof, more than shy, and San holds back a roll of his eyes.
“We’ve heard your products are high quality,” he says simply, husky voice hushed.
“Now, that we can assure you of!” Junhee smiles at them, bright, then turns on his heels and beckons for them to follow. “We have a nice assortment of oils and blends, but if you’re making your own tincture, I’m sure you’ll want the resin.” He kneels beside a waist-high counter of white wood that seems to pulse slightly as they get closer. San blinks too quickly and swears that it turns a throbbing red, just for a split second.
Junhee doesn’t pause in speaking, but he does reach forward, stroke over the ornate carving of the cabinet in front of him with his palm, before opening it. “Obviously finer pieces will dissolve more easily. We do carry powder, but if you want to extend the shelflife, it’s better to buy whole and grind it yourself.”
They know all of this very well, but San doesn’t interrupt, and Yeosang’s fingers simply twitch silently by his side. He can’t tell if he’s holding himself back from commenting or if he wants it held… So he smiles to himself, reaching sideways and grabbing at it, weaving their fingers together without looking away from Junhee. Yeosang’s shoulders tense in a manner that says that that wasn’t what he was asking for, but he doesn’t pull away, and San considers that a win.
As Junhee continues to look through the cabinet, San spares a look over his shoulder. The shop is small enough that he can see the two men behind him clearly. The closer sits on the edge of a counter in the corner, light-wash jeans covering legs that cross over each other loosely, his feet clad in dark high tops. His hair is pale gray, fluffy and falling into his eyes in soft waves. He wears an oversized black hoodie, small white print across the front scrawling something that San can’t make out. His lips are almost comically plush, his features soft and approachable, with a wide nose and sweetly upturned eyes, dolled up in smoky makeup. His nails are painted baby blue, fingers curled around the edges of a Switch. But those eyes peer up at San in return. His expression is muted, thoughtful - his gaze drops back to his game as soon as their eyes meet.
The other, San can’t see clearly, his back turned to them as he looks at something in the opposite corner of the room. He can only make out deep brown hair and a black leather jacket, falling over plain jeans.
As San turns back around, Junhee rises back to his feet, holding a little sac, wrapped in something clear - something that looks like plastic but is too thin, looks too light. "This is the best quality resin we have. I can get you a less expensive cut if you need to save the money, but this is the purest form, and I can guarantee that there aren't any fillers. It's 30,000 won a kilo, and each package is about a quarter kilo, but we can adjust, if necessary."
"No, that's a good price. We'll take a kilo, please." Yeosang's words are simple, straightforward.
San squeezes his hand, a soft smile on his lips. He's just pleased that they got what they came for, that it was so nice and easy.
"Great!" Junhee's voice is chipper, as he kneels again, pulls out three more baggies. "Apologies for how long that took - we don't get many necromancers around here."
Yeosang simply hums, quiet. "That's understandable. We don't live in town, so we don't know many people around. But... I have heard that it's mostly eclectic and kitchen witches around here."
He makes a small noise of agreement, nods. "There are a lot of green witches, as well... Most live closer to the outskirts of town, of course, but there's plenty of green space throughout the town to work with. There are several elemental witches that visit our shop, too, though there aren't actually that many in the town. Now, that being said, is there anything else that I can help you with?"
Yeosang falls quiet for a moment, hesitant. San almost asks for him, when he prods forward. He can feel him tense, but his expression is unphased, as he asks, "Do you have any lobelia?"
"Oh!" Junhee's smile brightens, as he looks over their shoulders. "Speaking of green witches. Yuchan! Can you help these two, please?"
"Oh, sure!"
The voice comes from their left, and San twists to look over his shoulder, sees another man nearly skipping towards them. He's slender, with deep brown hair and thick bangs and features that just look... boyish. San wonders how old he is, because his lips are plush and his face looks soft and his eyes scrunch up cutely as he grins at them and he just looks... young . his dark red sweater is much too big on him, falling loose around his waist, but even taking that into account, he still just looks small .
"Did you say lobelia?" His dangly cross earrings jingle against his cheeks as he bounces. "I don't get many necromancers asking for lobelia! I... don't get many people asking for lobelia at all because it's toxic in high quantities, but we do have some! Follow me, please!"
He turns on his heels and Yeosang's mouth stutters close from where he was about to say something. San just smiles and follows, Yeosang pressed close behind him. Yuchan leads them out of a clouded glass backdoor and into a yard.
Not a yard. A garden, overflowing with thick greenness that is interrupted by bright pops of big red flowers, and tiny purple clusters, and puffy layers of yellow petals. He leads them right down a row, and then across through three, until they're in front of a small cluster of flat flowers, in indigos and violets and whites. "Here we are! Do you have any color preference? You're welcome to pick your favorites."
There's a breath of silence. "I use them to help with trance states." It's clear that that's what he wanted to say, before. "Color doesn't matter."
"Oh, you're sure?" He blinks at them twice. "I know that it doesn't matter for spells, but there's no reason not to go for aesthetics."
Yeosang's fingers curl harder into San's, and he responds with a light squeeze. "I... like the blue. If you don't mind. They all look great, so I don't know which to choose."
Yuchan just smiles at them, bright and warm. "Oh, that's fine! Let me pick some of the best." He gets down on his knees, reaches out, runs his fingers through the bountiful clusters of flowers. They seem to respond, to lean closer, to try to curl around his wrist. He whispers something San can't quite make out, and then he's sitting back on his heels, pulling something metal and plastic out of his pocket. He reaches into the fold, clips a handful of bright blue flowers with sharp shears, and then turns back to them. "Oh, right! How many do you want? They're 2,000 won each, but I figured that if you're using them for trances, you must use them often..."
Yeosang pauses, nods. "Twenty, please. We'll dry some of them out tonight."
"Oh, okay!" He looks over the blooms again, and gets back to work. San has no idea where he pulled his little straw basket from, but he fills it carefully, steady rather than slow. Soon enough, he's getting to his feet and turning towards them. "And here's your order! Can I get you anything else?"
There’s a silence that edges on too long, tense and shaky, before Yeosang asks, “Do you have any passionflower?”
Yuchan blinks twice, then grins. “Well, I don’t have a lot of necromancers asking for that, either, but yeah! Follow me this way, please!” He turns on his heels, bouncing slightly as he leads them down a few more rows, until they stop in front of a bunch of strange-looking flowers, covered in frills and odd, twisting anthers and stigmas, in colors from white to blue to deep, blood red, with every pink and purple in between. “Here we are! Is there a color you’d like?”
“I… like the red,” Yeosang admits, after a brief moment. Shorter than the last one. San smiles a bit at that, toys gently with the other’s fingers. He holds back a laugh when, the moment that Yuchan looks away, Yeosang elbows him in the ribs.
“Red it is!” he chirps, once again gently passing his hands over the vines, twisting their way up a wide trellis. “How many would you like?”
“Ten is fine.”
San finds himself wondering about the price, certain that that’s why Yeosang asked for so few. “How much are they?”
“Oh!” Yuchan is already in the middle of cutting them. “Sorry, geez. They’re 5,000 won each. I hope that’s okay?”
San lets out a breath of relief, swelling into a warm laugh. “Yeah, of course that’s okay. We expected more - don’t they only bloom for one day each?”
Yuchan hums in the affirmative, delicately placing a bloom into the basket with a smile on his lips. “They do! But we sell more as a dried product. And they’re so easy to grow! Oh, and the fruit’s delicious . So we do manage to keep costs down!”
Well, San isn’t going to argue with him. Certainly not when he’s offering such a good price. “Hey, now you’re making me wanna try growing them! Do they grow well around here? Without a greenhouse and garden witch magic?”
He laughs at that, visibly nods. “They do! But it gets a little too cold for them in winter, so you’ll probably want to pot them in a container and bring them inside.”
“Well, we can do that.” A kindhearted laugh in return, absentmindedly giving Yeosang’s hand another squeeze.
Yuchan turns back to them with a grin, his basket slowly filling up with flowers. “I guess who two aren’t making a love potion with this? Looks like you have that covered!”
…
Oh.
Yeosang tenses slightly, his expression twisting into restrained distrust, and San rubs at the back of his hand with the pad of his thumb, like his own chest doesn’t restrict a little bit at the question.
“Oh, no, it’s for trances!” San’s laugh sounds more confident than it is, but Yuchan’s smile flickers, his brow furrowing in concern as he looks between them. “It helps you relax, you know?”
“I… I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” His free hand goes to grasp at the handle of his basket, twitching like a nervous tick. “I wasn’t judging, I… I mean, I didn’t mean to assume, if you aren’t…”
San hates that such an innocent remark can aggravate the chip on his shoulder. He hates more how Yeosang is still locked up next to him, silent.
“Hey, would you mind giving us two more passionflowers? Oh, and do you have any St. John’s wort? That’s the last thing we need, I promise!”
He almost looks ready to protest, hesitating a long moment before smiling with too much tension. “Of course. Um, because St. John’s wort flowers are so small, we sell them by the gram. It’s 5,000 won per 100 grams, so…”
“Oh, we’ll take 200!” San can feel Yeosang’s shoulders easing up just slightly, slowly. He doesn’t know when he pressed up against him, just enough so that he can feel his arm as a gentle weight against his own. It’s a habit. For both of them, he thinks.
A bit more cheer comes back to Yuchan’s voice. San can’t tell how real it is. “Well then, let me get right to that!”
He turns around and clips two more flowers, then leads them over to a bushy patch of thin green leaves and tiny, vibrant yellow flowers. The rest of their shop is quiet, and soon enough, the trio is headed to the counter. Yuchan plops his basket of flowers onto the… marble? It looks like marble, except that the darker layers have an oddly blue tint to them. San gently places his little bags of myrrh beside the basket, either way.
Yuchan passes them, sweeps around the counter, and brushes by the cashier, pausing only for a moment before disappearing behind him.
The cashier looks unphased, taking the basket into his hands and gently placing blooms into separate little paper bags. He places the three of them, along with the myrrh, into a larger fabric bag, before plugging a few things into the register.
“And your total is 100,000 won!”
San stops at that, furrows his brow, thinks about the cost of the myrrh alone. “That’s… I don’t think that’s right. Shouldn’t it be closer to 150?”
“Hm?” There’s an innocent smile on the man’s lips, eyelashes fluttering one too many times. “Well, let’s call it a first-time discount. We hope that you keep coming back, you know?” He laughs gently, but when he looks San in the eyes, there’s something… unyielding.
Yeosang has a deep frown on his lips but says nothing, allows San to release his hand to fish around for his wallet. Only when he’s pulling it out does Yeosang speak.
“We’re happy to pay full price.” It’s even, but structured. Not happy, but certain.
The cashier shakes his head. “We insist! After all, you bought so much! We hope that you appreciate our product quality and leave us some great social media reviews! Here, I have a card with all of our sites!”
He rummages for it and slips it across the counter, before looking at them again. He looks expectant, but still… innocent. He’s still smiling warmly.
Yeosang glances at San out of the corner of his eye, still frowning, but remains quiet. San hesitates for only one more moment before filing through his wallet, pulling out a pair of 50,000 won bills. “If you’re sure. Can we at least give a tip?”
The cashier reaches for the bill and then hesitates for a moment, before taking them with a broad smile. “Sure! I don’t see why not, but it really isn’t necessary!”
San looks at his wallet, thinks for a brief moment, before breaking out into a broad grin.
He whips out another 50,000 won bill, slams it on the counter, grabs the bag in one hand, grabs Yeoosang’s hand in the other, turns, and leaves for the door before the cashier can process what happened. “Have a great day!” he calls before they disappear, leaving the man behind the counter stammering slightly and then narrowing his eyes at the door with a pout.
As soon as the door closes, he groans, slumping slightly. He makes himself stuff the bills into the register, before spinning in his chair to face the man now huddling in the corner, playing with his fingers. “Yuchaaan, what did you say?”
He wrinkles his nose at that, makes a face in his direction, before his expression flickers. “I just made a little joke about them being a couple! I didn’t… I mean, they seemed really upset, and I don’t know why.”
Sehyoon sighs, slumps further in his chair. “I dunno. I thought they were cute.”
“Me too!” Yuchan insists, releasing his hands to wave his arms slightly.
Donghun rolls his eyes from where he’s been sorting through a pile of untouched old books in the corner, finally turning to face them. “Maybe they thought that you were making fun of them. You never know what’s going through someone’s head. We’ve been over this. Obviously you can’t watch every little thing you say, but you can at least respect their reactions. And you really need to stop offering discounts to customers because you think they’re cute.”
Yuchan squawks in indignation, before letting out a “hmph!” and crossing his arms. “That’s not why .”
“Besides,” Sehyoon chimes in, his face twisting in distaste. “They paid us 10,000 extra.” He breaks out into a smile, effortless. “Hey, maybe Yuchan should offer discounts more!”
“Don’t tempt him,” Donghun warns, at the same time as Junhee, though the latter says it with a smile on his face, as he sorts back through the haphazard pile of resins and dried flowers in the cabinet beneath the counter.
Byeongkwan snorts from where he’s still perched up on the counter, his Switch ignored between his hands for several minutes now.“Like Yuchan listens to any of us. Besides, the shop liked them. Right, girl?” He sets the console down to press his palm against the wall. There’s a gentle rumble beneath their feet, the walls pulsating blue for the briefest moment.
He grins, wiggling his eyebrows as he looks at the others. “See? Better than the rest of Yuchan’s crushes.”
“Yuchan does not have crushes!” It’s a broken squeak, as he points his finger at him accusingly. “I felt bad for making them feel bad! Go back to your Pokemon.”
Byeongkwan raises a brow at that - slowly, ever so slowly, a clear dare in his eyes. The smile on his lips grows playful. “Oh yeah? You wanna mess with me, plant boy?”
The cash register rattles. A crystal half-buried in the wall trembles, slowly working itself loose.
Junhee groans loudly, throwing his head back dramatically before shutting the cabinet door and getting to his feet. “Oh, here we go again. Alright, let’s get out of the line of fire.”
Donghun shakes his head like he isn’t smiling to himself, and Sehyoon hops right out of his seat and away from the rattling register. He’s grinning, though, and he stops by Yuchan to brush over his arm and whisper something in his ear, like he isn’t already situating himself in front of Byeongkwan, slowly beginning to match his wicked little smile.
“Bring it.”
Fifteen minutes later, scattered thorns and crystal fragments litter the space.
“I’ll get the mop,” Donghun groans, resigned. Succulent gel is a bitch to get out of the floorboards.