Chapter Text
Gongsang isn’t necessarily boring — the minute village, located in the depths of Korea’s many forests, is quite lovable. The Monday markets, diurnal greetings as he passes townspeople at the break of dawn, kids running along the riverbank: are only a few of the things Jisung finds himself loving about his hometown. However, this built a sense of routine for the 19-year-old around his typical life in Gongsang. While he isn’t as omniscient as the village gossips who seem to know everything about any and everyone — he still manages to notice when something’s at odds.
In a relentless effort to irritate the local librarian, Jisung sings, “Morning Hyung!” as he steps into his second home. Jisung’s more than just acquainted himself with the bookstore bell’s chime before he lifts his gaze and is met with a very different sight to what he’s used to. “Oh—” his volume just about bisects before he nearly chokes on his words. “Sorry I thought you’d be Changbin-Hyung.”
Normally Jisung wouldn’t be so caught off guard and mute — but the boy that replaced Changbin being a stranger was unconventional.
The unperturbed, novel boy standing behind his friend’s bookstore counter chuckles lightly, “your Hyung told me to watch for the store for a few minutes while he went out and grabbed breakfast, sorry to waste your time...” He taps his pointer finger on the counter a few times before speaking up once more, “I’ve got no idea what I’m doing, to be honest, Changbin just left me here with no instructions.”
At that, Jisung finds himself smiling, finally snapping out of his daze. With a shrug of his shoulders, he says, “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for him to get back. I’m Jisung.” He lets his hand out for the latter.
The few moments it takes for the other to acknowledge his introduction are only slightly disheartening. “Minho,” he answers, reflecting Jisung’s formality.
Jisung subtly bows, rapidly thinking of impromptu ways of making the conversation less awkward, perhaps mainly to save his dignity. Contrary to popular belief, Jisung isn’t some unearthly avatar at socializing — he thanks his lifelong relations with everyone in the village for being the reason he’s capable of being so outgoing and talkative. Even if he hasn’t always been like that. However, that makes meeting new people feel like hell on Earth.
“Are you new to the village because I’ve never seen you around?” he stops. “Oh my, is that rude? I’m sorry I’m bad at this. I probably made a horrible first impression— “
“Jisung-ah,”
“Yes…” He hesitantly responds, gulping away the dryness in his throat. It’s embarrassing in itself that he can feel his cheeks warming up, but the slight smile displayed on Minho’s face is somewhat reassuring.
The few moments they spend in silence are enough for Jisung to get a look at the stand-in employee of his friend’s bookstore. Maybe the embarrassment is getting to Jisung’s head, but there’s something unusual about the boy’s eyes, it almost looks as if they were becoming a soft yellow, an unusual glow consorted with it — it wasn’t offputting, just different . . .
“Jisung, you menace! I told you to tell me if you’re passing by early!” The very tone of Changbin’s voice completely parallels the previous state of the room, much less of a library.
Jisung inwardly reassures himself such that his blood pressure declines when he realizes Changbin is back, “I did! You were probably too preoccupied sorting your precious new Cinderella collection, for the sixth time this month,” he endeavors to add his final jeer.
Changbin glares at his friend to pipe down, already knowing the younger will talk back, “This is my library, I can be loud because I own this place,” he takes a breath, “plus, those were antiques.”
Suppressing the urge to jovially curse out his friend’s hypocrisy, Jisung glances back at the counter — finally realizing the spot Minho once stood is vacant. “Hyung, am I seeing things, or was someone standing there a minute ago?”
The distress on the younger’s face cracks the latter up, “he probably just had to go get something.” He walks behind the counter, their current whereabouts feeling more familiar.
As Changbin places the paper bag under the counter Jisung presumes now was a good time to ask, “Who’s Minho?” He tries to keep his voice down, not wanting to seem rude to his new acquaintance who may possibly overhear them.
“My brother, he was born here too but he travels so much I can’t remember the last time he came back and stayed for a bit.” He explains taking a generous bite of his bread.
Jisung hums in acknowledgment, only slightly shocked to learn he has a brother. He’s fairly certain the older has mentioned it at least once, “it makes sense then that I’ve never met him.” He mindlessly drags himself away from the counter and skims his eyes along the shelf where Changbin places all the new arrivals. He stops as the spine of one sparks his interest, he pulls it out, examining its peculiar cover and title: ‘Gongsang Witches — wicked or misunderstood?’ By Lee Know.
Taking note of how a book about witches is labeled as non-fiction, Jisung chuckles to himself. Changbin must really be staying up late labeling these, he thinks.
“This one for today Hyung!” Jisung sing-songs, handing it to the older and not missing the slight lift of Changbin’s commissure. “Why are you smiling like that?”
He quickly shakes his head, “no reason,” he scribbles down the return date, “just reminded me of your fairy phase, maybe witches will be your next obsession.” Changbin’s eyes drift over to the door of the library’s backroom, his simper growing.
Jisung sees what he presumes is Minho in his peripheral vision, the younger glares at his friend as he snatches the book, “I’ll feed your vintage Snow White book to Chan-Hyung’s dog,” he grumbles, making his swift escape. Despite his displeasure in potentially being outed as a fairy tale lover to a boy he just met, Jisung doesn’t forget to ‘quietly’ thank his friend for the book as he speed walks off.
Changbin hums as he hears the door chime fade, indicating Jisung was far enough now, “if someone like Jisung can make you even slightly happy by just talking, I really can’t fathom how you haven’t been outed during your travels.” He directs at Minho, knowing he can hear him from the back. “I’m surprised he didn’t notice.”
“They didn’t even get that bright, don't be dramatic,” Minho mumbles, emerging from the back room. The stress practically absconds his body until he remembers Jisung rushed away with his book. “Why would you let him borrow that?”
Changbin watches as the pale yellow of the older’s eyes fade, and he can’t help but hate seeing his brother’s joy quite literally dissolve into one of his many unreadable and typical emotions. He shrugs, “I know he’d enjoy it, plus it isn’t as if he’ll actually believe any of it.” He says matter-a-factly, nonchalantly offering a piece of bread to the other, who takes it with a roll of his eyes.
“He better not,” he bleats, looking down toward the ground as he gives a short huff. He finds himself recalling the slight reddening of Jisung’s cheeks when Changbin revealed his little secret.
Changbin catches a slight yellow glint that reflects off Minho’s rings onto the glass cabinet sitting upon the counter, “would you like to fill me in on what has got you so smiley?” he teases when he realizes Minho’s eyes are switching again.
“No.”
. . .
Jisung wasn’t expecting to get home so early but his mental list of ‘things to do’ ticked off far quicker than anticipated. But who is he to complain, he lets out a pleased sigh as he opens the cottage door.
Placing the book onto the counter as he stretches. “Welcome home, Jisungie!” he says to himself childishly. It’s then he realizes needs to find some more friends, truly.
He cracks his neck, relieving the tension that built on his trip back from the town square. Humming to himself as he goes to make himself some tea. While he has no problem with tea, he would much prefer himself a cup of coffee. But the conflict between the neighboring city that usually provides said coffee beans may be a reasonable explanation for Gongsang’s current coffee shortage.
Walking through town never fails to make him even the slightest bit miserable. Not at the fault of the people, no, it’s their animals. Each time he finds himself walking through streets surrounded by houses, he always catches a glance at an adorable furry animal. If he wasn’t terrified of either getting yelled at by the town cat lady or accidentally stealing someone’s pet, he’d take one home in an instant.
He decides to put aside his depressing lack of an emotional support cat or dog and moves to grab the discarded book, now also possessing a cup of tea.
He won’t lie, he’s grown a liking to spending his days lazing around at his cottage. Or he enjoys it half the time before he’s plagued with the inevitable feelings of loneliness. He places himself on the rocking chair (designated reading seat as he likes to call it).
The poor boy swears he shivers when he remembers Changbin teasing him about his former love and belief in the magical flying people. Frankly, he isn’t sure how anyone would willingly not want to believe in them, though he puts his inane thoughts aside and finally opens the book to its first page.
He isn’t too sure what drew him to the book, maybe it was just the cover design rather than its actual title. The brunette curses himself for judging it by the cover, he makes an oath to himself that it has to be good to make up for his amateur mistake.
Truthfully, he wasn’t expecting it to be written in the first person, he makes an educated guess that it was the narrative perspective that made Changbin label it as non-fiction by mistake.
It’s unlike anything Jisung’s read before and he’s read a lot of books. He was the type of kid who would read books during recess instead of playing with the others. Sad, but he never found anything wrong with it, sometimes books really are more interesting than people. Or he’s just never really met anyone worth wasting precious reading time over.
As he got older he did slowly learn to be somewhat more social, gradually introducing himself to the locals before he became a fairly recognizable face. Even so, he never fails to leave several hours of his day dedicated to getting his head stuck in a good book.
Jisung has to stop himself for a moment, flipping back to the front to read the author's name: Lee Know is what it said, he’s never heard the name. It’s more than just perplexing because the way he writes is so incredibly genuine.
The way he describes his feelings and how no matter how many times he tries to help, all he receives is anger and hatred — solely because he’s a witch.
It seems the brunette should’ve set himself some sort of time limit to the hours spent reading because the next thing he knew he was getting up for the first time in hours to light a candle. Wholly for the sake of being able to read in the depth of the night.
At this point, Jisung’s convinced himself he’s an expert when it comes to the occultists. From how they live their everyday lives to what herbs they use for different elixirs. Despite only just being halfway through the book he’s fairly certain he could write his own book on witches. A foolish thought on his part but he enjoys striving for the unreachable.
However, much to his dismay (or not since he doesn’t realize), exhaustion pushes him into a deep slumber. If his back could talk it’d most definitely curse him out in the morning for falling asleep in such an awkward place and position.
. . .
“Good? Good!” Jisung’s expression resembles that of a fish, “you’re asking me if I thought the book was good? It’s amazing Hyung, you have to read it— ”
Changbin is quick (sadly not quick enough) to quell his friend’s excitement as he tries to pry the book from the elated brunette.
Unfortunately, his effort turns out to be a withered attempt since Jisung easily snatches it back and nearly shoves it into his face.
“It’s in my bookstore, what makes you think I haven’t read it?”
He makes a good point, Jisung giving a look of accepted defeat, “then you have to promise me you’ll tell Minho-Hyung to read it.”
Changbin’s brows furrow as if he thought he misheard him, “Minho-Hyung?” he repeats as though he thinks Jisung sounds dumb. “As in, the Minho you met for the first time yesterday for probably 5 minutes?”
“It’s compensation for my horrid introduction, plus I might as well get to know him,” he says, tracing the swirly patterns on his beloved book’s cover.
Changbin just hums in response, finishing off his tea and sitting up. “Well I’ve got to get back to the shop, do you mind giving this to Minho?” he flips open the small novel he was carrying around, pulling out a small paper envelope. “I think he said he was going down to the river to look for something.”
The younger listens as Changbin incoherently mutters something to himself, “I think he was also asking me to grab him some thy…” The rest of whatever he says ebbs with his mumbles.
Anyway, Jisung can’t hide his eagerness, happily taking the neatly sealed envelope and bidding his friend goodbye. Truthfully, Jisung’s just happy he actually has something to do. There isn’t much else he can find to do on his usual monotonous Wednesdays after his tea dates with Changbin. Plus, he did say he wanted to get to know the other.
He makes an effort to not hurry his way there, not wanting to leave himself too much extra time to end up doing nothing. Even so, no matter how slow he may have wanted to be, the river’s expanse doesn’t leave much room for land.
Jisung glances around, walking closer to the riverbank as he did so. It's a familiar yet comforting sight: the few patches of dead, grey grass on the mostly green terrain that borders the clean, glistening stream, curved gently through the land. You might catch a branch or two on the surface of the water, perhaps see rocks being skimmed along the peacefully flowing top by the children at the riverbank.
Sometimes Jisung forgets how truly beautiful some of the small details of his village are, instead, caught up on all the negatives and his own occasional solitude. The flickering on the surface glittered in a way that drew Jisung’s attention, causing him to move his eyes toward a hooded figure who was kneeling at the edge of the river, leaning forward with their hand extended as though they were trying to grab something. It was almost instinctive when he noticed the person's slight difficulty retrieving whatever it was.
“Let me help you,” he stumbles towards them, kneeling down and immediately reaching his hand out. He pauses when they turn their head towards him, the hood no longer hiding their face, “Minho-Hyung?” he stammers out.
“J...Jisung— ” he can barely finish before he loses balance. Unfortunately, his legs aren’t of much use, being numb from staying in the same position for so long.
Jisung curses, quickly rushing to his aid trying to pull the both of them up. Harshly biting his lip to subdue the need to groan at the pain in his back. Finally, his poor choice to sleep on a wooden rocking chair for the night bites back.
Minho’s temporary inability to use his legs doesn’t make the rescue any easier, instead completely backfiring and sending the both of them for an unforeseen swim. The mishap is more than just unexpected, the older’s eyes widen as he tries to process what’s actually happening, Minho desperately tries to push himself out of the water with his trembling limbs. Breathing quickening when he can’t see Jisung, he momentarily relaxes when Jisung’s head pops out the water.
“Give me your hand— ” he chokes out before he accidentally gets a mouthful of water whilst reaching out for the older. It doesn’t take an expert to figure out Minho can’t swim but Jisung can’t find any reason to condemn him for it, especially not in his current position.
Jisung uses his one-time experience, during his teenage years, helping a villager’s brother out of the lake after he accidentally fell in — Jung? Jeong? Yang . . . he tries to recall the name of the boy, but quickly realizes now is not the time. It doesn’t take much effort to drag the both of them up, not with the water being as still as a church mouse and not nearly deep enough for either of them to actually drown.
The slight quivering of the older instantly makes Jisung react, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and offering the soaked garment to the latter.
“Jisung-ah, I thank you for the offer but…” He stifles an amused laugh.
The same light flush grows on the younger’s cheeks as his offering hand comically drops to his side. “Hyung, just let me live my heroic fantasies!” he protests before his shoulders unpromptedly shake. Jisung parallels Minho’s laughter, eyes bright and laughing above tight and withholding lips.
The lightness between them despite the events of a mere few minutes ago make the older somewhat less sheepish for his insolence. Minho tries to collect himself, looking up at the younger, whose eyes look to have formed crescents. There’s a foreign warmth that builds within Minho’s chest as he looks at the latter, the unfamiliarity of the feeling making him swallow hard.
“Oh no, I've probably ruined them,” Jisung suddenly ceases his hysterics, unfolding his fist to reveal a crumpled bunch of light pink petals, “I grabbed these when we fell in, I hope these are the ones you were trying to get... “ he trails off. “Sorry, they’re not in the best condition.” His gaze remains down at the crushed flowers.
Minho only smiles, shaking his head, “They’re perfect,” he carefully picks them up. “Thank you, Jisung-ah. Sorry for ruining your otherwise peaceful time down by the river.”
The younger looks up, tilting his head, “what? I came down here to give you something —” His mouth suddenly gapes open, “oh my gosh Hyung I’m so sorry, Changbin sent me to give you this envelope and it’s probably completely ruined.” He frantically rustles through his pockets, pulling out a now saturated envelope, the edges crinkled and not nearly as pristine as they were when Changbin handed it over.
A crease forms between Minho’s brows as he carefully takes it and easily tears it open, pulling out its contents. He scoffs, “So he did find some…”
Jisung raises a questioning brow to which Minho shows him what he’s holding, a near-exact replica of the petals Minho risked his dryness (and potentially life considering his not so great aquatic skill) for. The younger groaned, “I’m so sorry I should’ve looked first,” he mentally punishes himself.
“No it’s alright, honestly I’m surprised you didn’t just look,” he laughs, “if anything, the more the merrier.” He carefully gathers up the petals, trying to put them as neatly as possible back into the ruined envelope. “Are you coming to Changbin’s anytime soon?”
Jisung responds in the negative, “Changbin-Hyung and I are close but I usually just pass by to get books and our weekly tea breaks.” He answers regretfully, “I should let you go, you’re probably freezing!”
“You’re shirtless, Jisung.”
His cheeks warm at the sudden reminder, perhaps the cool breeze against his half bare, spindly body is getting to his head. “Fine I digress, maybe I am cold! I swear your eyes are changing colors. I'm starting to hallucinate…”
“What?”
“Oh it’s nothing my eyes are just being all weird and it looks like your eyes are glowing different colors,”
“What.” Minho repeats and Jisung starts to look rather troubled.
“I forgot, I actually—I've got to go.” The older abruptly says, stumbling over his words as he frantically looks anywhere but directly at Jisung. “Changbin, he—uh, I forgot he told me to get back soon… See you whenever I see you Jisung,” Minho gives him a halfhearted smile before rushing off.
“Did I say something?...” Jisung mutters, rubbing his neck before groaning about how unpleasantly sticky his hands are.
The river may not be the cleanest but it’s an easy way of cleaning off, so he can’t find much reason to find the negative in the incident. If anything it was a thrilling kick of adrenaline for his otherwise uneventful day. He rashly jogs down close to the bank once more, kneeling down and splashing the cool water onto his face.
It’s only now that Minho’s gone he registers just how cold he is. Something must truly be getting to Jisung’s head, twice he swears he’s seen Minho’s eyes illuminating. He knows he’s genuinely losing it because they’re a different color this time: a pale pink mixed with a bright yellow.
. . .
“I’m sorry… you what?”
Changbin’s disbelief is uncanny though at the same time he isn’t all that surprised. “I knew you found him amusing but I didn’t think…” He trails off, “do you know which color they were?”
The older scoffs, “I might as well have outright jumped back into the river I left so abruptly, I feel horrible.” Successfully dodging the question.
“Quick pause, are you implying you don’t know what it was you were feeling? And, what is this about jumping into the river?”
Before Minho can even consider giving his brother any explanation for his vague predicament the library bell rings. Changbin morphs into a different being when the customer enters. He’s quick to shoo the older away from the counter, welcoming the stranger.
Minho can only sigh, dragging himself to the back room. He may as well live there (he probably will in light of his brother’s kind hospitality) considering the number of occasions he’s found himself hiding in the tight room and in the mere two days he’s been back at Gongsang.
In truth, he isn’t so sure what it was he felt. If Jisung really did notice his eyes changing he can only presume it was due to the growing elation he felt in his presence. Even after his not so exhilarating yet theatrical near death experience, there was something about how Jisung handled it that was comforting.
Whether it’s a curse or blessing Minho doesn’t know, there’s a slight discomfort in the idea of experiencing feelings you’ve grown impassive to. It isn’t as if Jisung brought him immense, transformative happiness, but even the implication that a person he just met made him feel something he so rarely feels is fascinating.
Directing himself to the small desk tucked away in the corner of the sunless room, he picks up the now shriveled envelope, placing it onto the table before kneeling down to grab something under the desk. He makes a noise of success when he finds a bag stashed into the corner, surrounded by discarded books he presumes are copies of books already on the shelves. Minho shakes his head at his brother’s slovenliness, though he isn’t much better.
He’s very aware he has his own things but he knows if he walks back into the main part of the library, to grab them from under the counter, Changbin will never let him hear the end of it. Perhaps he’s talking from experience — on his first day back, he walked in and asked him a question when he was right in the middle of a conversation with a tricky customer. The outcome wasn’t much more than a few offended gasps and grunts from the middle-aged women and Changbin’s frustration when the lady stormed out.
He sighs, grabbing the worn-out mortar before emptying the contents of the tattered envelope into it. Grinding the petals into a fine powder, he relives the fulfillment he nearly forgot he feels when making his brews. While most of the population may see it as abnormal or frightening, it brings Minho a sense of accomplishment, even if that majority may not agree.
Rummaging through his pocket in search of the glass vial holding the main part of the medicine he’s been preparing for his next journey, his brows furrow as he remains empty-handed. “You can’t be serious.” He mutters, realizing he may have lost it. While he knows it’s a fairly simple concoction to brew up (besides collecting the lotus) he can’t find the energy to mix up a whole new blend.
“You look miserable,” the sudden appearance of a voice that isn’t his own catches the witch off guard.
He looks over at the creaky door, hearing the faint ringing of the entrance bell indicating the customer left. “I am,” he huffs, not bothering to go into detail about his troubles. He stands up, curtly walking past Changbin as he finds his cloak, crumpled under the front counter. “I’ll be back.”
Just as he’s about to make his ill-mannered leave, Changbin shouts out, “Minho!” When he sees the older glance back he exhales, “please be careful, not everyone in this village is as accepting as I am…”
Minho smiles faintly nodding before he waves goodbye with a simple opening and close of his hand. He knows that much. Especially after the years of his life he’s spent traveling only to be ridiculed and mocked for only wanting to help. There’s a sort of shame he feels when he recalls every time a person rejected his medicines or remedies.
. . .
Walking along the stone footpath, Minho finds himself noting the quietness, despite nearing the late evening. It’s significantly different in comparison to some of the places he’s been, where no matter the time of the day the streets are bustling and rowdy. In some ways, the quietude of Gongsang is slightly eerie but he presumes it’s better as compared to the defiance of some towns he's visited.
The lonely witch grasps that maybe wearing a black cloak, covering most of his body whilst walking all alone when it’s nearing night may turn out to be slightly uncomfortable in the eyes of the villagers who pass him. Said theory is proven when he distinctly hears several wood doors steadily shut as he passes, he can only suspire in displeasure. It wasn’t as if he isn’t used to it, maybe too much so. The reaction of Gongsang’s townspeople is far better in comparison to the harsh slamming of doors or the unsought profanity thrown at him as he tries to make his way to whatever place he found to reside for the night in housing towns.
A few male voices grow louder as Minho approaches an alleyway: “Leave me alone… hand it over kid… who are — let go you freak!... what’s wrong with you?… we just want the book... ”
The sound of the voices seems to fade causing a sort of weight to lift off his shoulder as he presumes the stranger is alright. Today must really be plagued with bad luck; as he turns the corner he comes to a harsh stop before a brunette comes speeding right into him. The duo comes tumbling down in a startling collision.
The sudden strike is only completely unexpected and painful as he tries to sit up on the rough gravel. Tipping off the edge of a complete outburst he languidly opens his eyes and is met with a not-so-unknown face. That same person clutches a familiar book with an unusual amount of conviction.
You’re kidding, Minho thinks.
“Oh my— Hyung I’m so sorry,” Jisung takes several breaths in between apologizing. He gives a contrite smile, “this is one way of reuniting…”
Minho laughs synthetically, “Mind explaining why you’re running around like some unleashed dog?” he asks, successfully ignoring the throbbing in the palm that caught his fall, with his practiced poker face.
“Um, well,”
There’s a distant yell that cuts him off, “he’s over here!”
The moment Jisung hears the voices he stumbles to his feet, looking as if he’s about to carry on with his marathon. “Sorry, Hyung I’ve got to go—”
“Jisung wait,” Minho says groggily, pulling himself off the ground, using Jisung’s slim wrist as a post. He squints trying to get a better view of the three men trudging in their direction.
“No seriously, I need to,”
“No I’m serious, who are they?” he keeps his voice down, hoping it calms the younger who’s practically vibrating with nerves.
“They’re, um, they told me they’re from a neighboring village. I don’t even know them, but they want my book,” he gulps as they visibly get closer. “Hyung, I’ve actually got to go.”
“Just calm down alright, I’m here.”
Jisung nods hesitantly, before noticing the small cut housing Minho’s palm, “wait, your hand—”
The offending strangers seem to catch a glimpse of Jisung because their attitude instantly grows indignant. “Hey, you! Brown hair, get over here!”
The familiar voices make Jisung want to shrink into nothing, instinctively he tightens his already unusually taut grip on the book.
“What do they want from you?” Minho mutters to the younger, but it seems his question gets to the wrong people.
“We want that repulsive book,” one of the men spit as they jog right up to them, “if you think I’ll just let some little witch-lover spread his insolent beliefs to your poor town, he’s got a thing or two coming.”
Witch lover?
Minho can only glance at Jisung, noticing the tightness of his fits. He’s quick to recognize the book Jisung’s holding — it’s his book. “How does his interests affect you?” The unrealized witch scoffs. “You’re genuinely going to come here and tell me you’ve come just to torment some villager over a book?” the witch gives the man a look from head to toe. “It’s funny how I just know you’d run off trembling in fear when you find out a witch lives here.”
The man laughs indignantly, “You’re only messing with us.”
The older takes note of the immediate shift in his tone, the slight quiver, and the hesitation in his voice. It’s pathetic, it’s so pathetic how feared his people are — how feared he is.
“I’m not, how else do you think the original copy of Lee Know’s novel got here?” Minho raises a questioning brow. “Because he lives here,” he smiles facetiously.
The man looks uncertain but more petrified than anything, “You—you freak!” All three boys send each other panicked looks, which is more than enough to send them all scurrying off.
Nevertheless, Minho still manages to get tossed several vexed obscenities his way. Minho can’t help but completely forget what or who he was standing up for, much less why he bothered to threaten the young boys. In reality, they were just like the rest, their anger was typical, their fear even more so.
As Minho turns on his heel, about to leave, he feels a cool hand grab his. He doesn’t even have a chance to respond before Jisung leads him off in the very opposite direction of where he wants to go. “Changbin’s library is the other—“
“And my cottage is this way.”
. . .
It’s only now Minho realizes how little time he’s actually taken to think about Jisung’s own life: where he lives, what he does, who he even is in the face of the town.
His cottage isn’t anything grand, the witch wants to think it suits him but he isn’t all that sure what actually suits Jisung.
It isn’t entirely secluded from the rest of the village but enough so he’s never found himself stumbling upon it, even when going far deeper into the forest than your typical villager — much less a visitor like himself.
The modest cottage nests itself in the mirth of grass, peach-colored flowers blossoming from cracks between rocks, painting the house’s edges. The roofs’ brown shingles slightly warped, though the hand-placed bunches of flowers beautifully arranged around the small window on the roof seemed to disguise it.
The younger one doesn't seem to recognize Minho’s slight awe, instead, he looks more troubled as his brows stay knitted together. He pushes the door open, his unsettled expression sustained as he points at a chair in the corner of the room.
For a moment Minho thinks there’s only one massive room in the entire cottage but he soon realizes there’s one smaller room, presumably a bedroom. Even so, the rest of the houses’ contents manage to fit into the single room that spans the rest of the house.
Jisung incoherently mutters something and all the older man manages to deduce is Jisung’s request for him to ‘wait’. The house is a kaleidoscope of novels, several walls housing bookshelves filled to the brim with ill-assorted books.
“Your house is nice,”
Minho’s sudden intrusion on the perpetual silence only slightly petrifies the younger for the next few moments. “Thank you?” It sounds more like a question as he provides his pitiful acknowledgment. “This might sting a bit.”
The older winces when Jisung dabs a dampened cloth on the cut. It’s only marginally embarrassing how the tiniest scratch has his friend giving him personal aid. “About earlier—“
The younger immediately shakes his head as he flicks the cork out of a small vile, filled with a milky liquid. “I don’t understand either why those guys wanted the book, all that matters is that it isn’t ruined.”
Minho frowns, “what I’m confused about is why it means so much to you, I’ll understand if you’re only trying to protect one of Changbin’s books but you were in danger, Jisung.” He suppresses the urge to wince as the latter uses a torn-off piece of fabric to blot yet another unknown liquid onto it. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
The older doesn’t seem to realize he successfully allows the latter to avoid the question. “Not really, it’s a medicine Changbin-Hyung lent to me,” he carefully wraps a cloth around the wound, making sure it’s secure before he sits up and looks at his work with proud eyes. “He said, a friend of his with a magic touch for remedies made it.”
“Magic… touch?”
“It’s an idiom Hyung, I’m sure his friend isn’t literally magical.” He laughs lightly, “but I wouldn’t be all that surprised if they were, their cures work wonders.”
“Are you saying you believe in magic?”
“Well, yes, no... Don’t look at me like that! If you’d read the books I’ve read you’d understand…” He mumbles.
Jisung loves books, it’s his favorite pass-time besides his weekly visits to the theatre performances that are played at the town center every week. But Jisung has never truly found a book worth calling his favorite — when asked the dreaded: ‘what’s your favorite book?’ all one would receive is an elongated hmmm before an insipid shrug.
There’s something so entrancing about the way fairytales and fiction, in general, form their mythical beings.
Minho hides the swelling anxiousness in his chest as he asks, “Is that witch book one of the ones you’re talking about?”
“Of course, the way Lee Know portrays himself in his books feels so genuine. It’s obvious that you’ll never really understand a person until you step into their shoes but I don't even have to experience what he has to understand his struggles.” The younger picks up the book he discarded onto the kitchen counter as he came in.
Minho almost forgets the pen name he created for himself. Taking Lee from someone dear to him, somebody he still considers family and Know simply being a play on words with his birth name.
“But witches aren’t real, he isn’t real,” Minho pauses. “Aren’t witches horrifying, wicked, emotionless creatures who bring nothing good to society”
Jisung hums, “Maybe, and you’re right there probably are witches like that but that’s any creature — evil, corrupt humans exist.” He mindlessly flips through the book. “Anything: fairies, witches, even unicorns, they can exist as long as you believe. Besides, if nobody but Lee Know wants to convince society that witches have a chance then I’ll be that other somebody.”
When Minho looks at Jisung, he realizes how different he is. The only other inconsistency in this case is Changbin, and that was simply up to the fate of his family’s previous connections. Your average person may look at Jisung in horror, they may even think a screw or two must be loose for him to defend something as despised as other-worldly entities.
One thing Minho has learned is that humans value safety and security. Yet even after 20 years worth of learning, he’s yet to understand what it is about witches that doesn’t level up to those standards of providing service or protection. If anything Minho’s sure he’s spent his whole life doing just that: trying to protect his family, the ill and practically every injured person in the villages he’s visited.
Yet every time, the moment that first miniscule sign points in the direction of ‘that boy may not be human’ they all run away, cry or yell in fear and rage.
“I just think they’re misunderstood.”
There’s only been a single other person in his life to tell him they think witches are misunderstood. It tugs at Minho’s heart in a way he doesn’t entirely appreciate. The witch isn’t sure what’s wrong when he feels something stuck in his throat. However, in his emotionally-unversed mind, all signs point to the negative.
“I… have got to go,” his gaze is timid and acquainting itself with the ground as he pushes himself off the seat. “Thanks for treating my hand, I… yeah, thanks.”
Jisung can only manage a small smile as he parallels the older’s previous action and tries to head to the door to lead him out. But it seems Minho has his own plans to promptly attend because by the time Jisung reaches the door there’s no sign of him.
He can’t be hallucinating this time either, right?
There’s a slight hurt he feels towards Minho leaving so suddenly. But he doesn’t really know what goes on in his own life and realizes he shouldn’t judge.
It doesn’t take long for him to clean up all the supplies off the table, pushing the chair he brought out for the older back into its place. He exhaled through his nose, admiring his job well done, before the boredom set in.
Yawning, he walks into his room and lazily falls into the sheets. Warm. He basks in the heat for a while before he sits up and picks up the book he discarded onto his bedside table the night prior. Making himself comfortable under the sheets he lights the candle, taking in the sweet cherry aroma.
He tenderly smiles as he remembers his grandma always telling him to keep the flame away from the sheets and to never shake the match when snuffing out the flame. She always swatted his hand away from said matches every time he tried to light them himself. He misses her, though it’s been years he’ll never get used to the loneliness of the nights or the absence of the inviting smell of kimchi jjigae coming from the kitchen when he comes home.
The brunette extinguishes the flame with a swift blow, dipping the dead match’s tip into the small pot of water before placing it onto the table. He flips the book open to where he placed his beloved bookmark.
Just as he did the last time he falls into the dimension of witches just as hard. Learning even more about their extensive knowledge on different herbs and flowers. Also, he finds out that Lee Know frequently likes befriending stray cats and thinks it’s a speciality of his. Though, the author’s yet to find out if it’s something common for witches or just his own particular gift.
Jisung cooes at the little illustration of an endearing feline, softly colored with orange hues in the corner of the page. There’s a small arrow pointing at the illustration that reads ‘My dream cat!’ Jisung’s eyes light up at that.
Slowly, each page draws him further into the alternate reality of this Lee Know existing. His eyes threaten to shut as they flutter, the avid reader trying his best to stay awake. The cool breeze that sneaks in from the tiny crack of the window left open blows the candle’s flame out. Soon enough the room fills with the soft sound of snores.