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The moon peeks from behind lilac clouds, and the stars follow one by one in the sky that’s fading into indigo. Its daytime chatter lulling into a hush, the occasional cricket chirping. A pretty maze that draws one into it, even if you aren’t well-versed in its paths. It is peaceful, secretive even, in the forest.
Tattered cloak and near-empty rucksack on his back, holding up a burning torch almost at its last flame, Jeongguk pushes through, disturbing that peace. His legs ache, almost at their limit, and his stomach rumbles angrily when he presses a hand against it.
“Hold on,” he grumbles, scanning his surroundings for anything he can forage. Some wild fruit, some variety of leaf, grass even. But he’s been trudging along on dark soil for days on end, the forest beautiful and unfamiliar in its vegetation; the creatures nimble and clever, easily escaping him. His strength, running thinner with each sunset.
“Come on,” he sighs, eventually sitting at the base of a tree. With luck, his water-skin has just enough for the measly mouthful he gulps down. He’ll rest his legs for a bit, and then continue onwards— yes , that’s a viable plan. “There has to be something I can recognise in this place.”
He has been a traveler his whole life, after all. Foraging is nothing new to him, his brain chock-full of facts and images to go with his do eat, don’t (ever) eat list.
The crickets grow louder, the sky a lot dimmer and Jeongguk wants to cry . He needs to get up and get going, or at least find a spot more suited to sleep in.
“Please,” he implores to the moon and the stars, leaning back against the tree. “Just a morsel? Of anything. C’mon, moon goddess, do your thing.”
Of course, he says this half-jokingly, half out of pure hunger. He prepares to push himself back up again, palm flat against the ground by his side—but oh, this isn’t soil. Jeongguk looks down to find white, bulbous shapes below his hand; they are in clusters, growing from near the tree's base.
“Mushrooms?” he wonders aloud, hardly believing his eyes. Jeongguk hastens to bring his torch to the cluster—it’s almost finished burning, nearly at its end. “Oh, wow,” he marvels, holding the flames closer to the white growth. A common forest mushroom, very much grown, and very much edible. And Jeongguk, the exhausted and sleepy man he is, forgets to pull away the flame, only realising when the mushrooms begin to blacken under the heat.
Shrieking, he sticks his torch into the ground, the flame snuffing out and leaving him only in faint moonlight. He should have thought that through; he has two more torches left, but his tinder-box is long-emptied.
No. No, that’s a problem for later , he decides.
Right now, his main concern is eating the mushrooms that he had not so cleverly singed. Or perhaps, he is a genius, actually—raw mushrooms are not the best choice for anyone’s stomach. He feels around for the mushrooms again, letting out a triumphant hiss when a few pull away from the tree cleanly, still warm where burned. The moonlight does little to help, but he ends up picking nearly the whole cluster, munching down on them ravenously.
(They are not good, not even properly cooked; but at least he isn’t starving.)
The atmosphere is odd though, out of place, like there is something watching him, waiting for something to happen. Jeongguk blinks, hunger satiated but his exhaustion leaving his brain void of proper thought.
“Ah,” he vocalises, loud enough for whatever may lurk, “I’m sorry for doubting you, moon goddess. Please don’t be mad.”
The feeling doesn’t dissipate, and the night only grows darker, and his tinder-box remains empty. Jeongguk wonders if he’s just imagining it when the plants around him begin to glow softly—perhaps a nap would do him some good. He just needs to move to a spot that is safer to—
And his eyelids, they droop heavily, brain going fuzzy as the cicadas’ thrums begins to sound less like chirps and more like a hushed lullaby; the forest’s orchestra singing him into slumber.
Jeongguk wakes up well-rested and strangely heavy. As though he slept so well that his body refuses to leave this napping spot. He thinks he’s subconsciously cutting himself some slack, a rare moment of not hurrying to get off the unfamiliar floor until he realises;
He actually cannot leave—physically, his limbs feel glued in place, paralysed into the tree, save for his head. He is putting up a struggle that doesn’t seem to translate into his actions.
He can’t move . At all .
“What in the world,” he mutters, looking around frantically. For what? No passing animals would understand him, and the chances of meeting another human are scarce. But he cannot stay stuck here for who knows how long, especially not with how the sun has risen high, and he has begun to feel its heat. As silly as it may be, he inhales deep, and opens his mouth, ready to call out.
“Help! Anyone out there! Help —”
His yells are suddenly muffled, green in his line of vision, hurried whispers in his ears.
“Stop screaming, you’ll scare the creatures!”
It takes him a few moments to focus on the source of the voice. The man crouched before him is unlike anyone he has ever met, and Jeongguk has met many people from across many lands. His features are—sappy as this may sound—inhumanly pretty, cherubic almost, but his expression is one of distaste, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. Clothed in shades that echo the forest, he presses his palm over Jeongguk’s parted mouth, and from the corner of his eye, he catches the glint of sharp nails from under moss-hued sleeves. Clawlike, daring him to scream once more if he is brave enough. He’s got some sort of hat on, leafy in its shape, pink hair hidden just underneath, pointed ears peeking through.
Pointed ears?
Jeongguk’s eyes widen in recognition, and the stranger’s expression softens when he notices the shift.
“If you promise to stay quiet, I’ll let go,” he offers, voice so soft, as hushed as the forest itself, a little frown to punctuate the seriousness in his claim. Jeongguk nods, and breathes properly when his face is uncovered. “Do you recognise me, human?”
He thinks he does. These folks are people of myth and fable to him, brought to him through words on paper and in the air of taverns he’s stopped by.
“Are you a fairy?” he guesses, trying to get a better look at something, just to confirm.
“Correct,” he replies, and they raise up from behind him—his wings, gossamer shine in the sun. The fairy stares at him expectantly. “ The fairy of this forest.”
Jeongguk is impressed, and a little confused. “May I know why your forest is holding me hostage?”
The fairy frowns, and Jeongguk can’t help but mirror it.
“I came here to ask you that,” he says, frowning harder, crossing his arms. “What did you do to my forest that it refuses to let you go?”
Jeongguk is still in awe by the winged presence, by the extraordinary way in which the fairy shimmers, but he tries his hardest to remember if he had, in any way, disrespected the surrounding. His stomach makes an odd, gurgling noise and he recalls the mushroom growth he had so enthusiastically plucked away.
“Mushrooms,” he admits, very apologetic, recalling every word he has ever heard about fairy lore. “The mushrooms that were here, I ate them.”
The fairy lets out a sound of disbelief, and then a groan, palms going up to rest on his forehead.
“Ate my mushrooms, ate my mushrooms! ”
Jeongguk raises his hands up in surrender. He is no longer stuck to a supposedly angry tree, and is instead in a very quaint cottage that the fairy had ordered him to enter. The enchantment hadn’t worn off though, as he learns when he almost stumbles over his own feet. He has even been given a cosy seat, the fairy continuing to rant about mushrooms as he paces the room, grumbling to himself.
There are numerous stories outlining the unfortunate fate of those who venture into magical territory, often ending ominously. But looking at this fairy—shimmering dust at every sudden movement he makes, tinkling voice spouting words of absolute disbelief—he wonders if perhaps human records of their kind were severely off track.
“Excuse me, but—”
The fairy stares at him, frown not quite prickled as their initial meeting, but still fed up nonetheless. “But what, silly traveler? Have you finally realised what you did?”
Jeongguk bites the inside of his cheek, allowing the fairy to keep venting.
“You do realise, you ate my food?” His wings flutter just a tad faster whenever he emphasizes on something. “Mushrooms from a garden belonging to a fairy—”
Jeongguk sighs, leaning forward. “And I told you, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they belonged to someone. If there’s anything I could do to apologize, let me know and I’ll do it. Or just kick me out, I promise I won’t step foot in your forest again.”
The fairy groans, like he’s said something very stupid. “Don’t you see? You can’t leave. Eating a fairy’s food will bind you to them.” He lets out an annoyed huff. “And now I’m stuck with you.”
Jeongguk’s jaw slackens, suddenly remembering all the tales of people venturing into fairy lands, never to be heard from again. He has no idea what is in store for him—all his thoughts are based on gruesome rumours and morbid speculation amongst other humans. He nervously rubs his hands together. “So… what now? Are you going to kill me? Are you going to rip my heart out and eat it?”
The fairy looks at him oddly, seemingly offended.
“ No .” The flap-flap-flap of his wings seem upset too. “By the light of the Moon—why would I want to do that?”
Jeongguk’s brows raise so high that the fairy begins to look concerned. “Is—is that not what you lured me in for? To eat my heart?”
There is a scoff, and then a tinkling laugh. “I’m a garden fairy, it isn’t within my interest at all to feast on a human.” Then he frowns again, pointing at Jeongguk. “What do you mean lured you in? You’re the one walking through my perfectly peaceful forest.”
Then his shoulders sag, soft frustration breezing past his mouth. He looks at Jeongguk with something very reminiscent of pity. “You’re right though, there are man-eating fairy folk out there—you’re very lucky you’re stuck with me. But.” He shrugs, wings drooped. “But now, like I said, you're stuck . And the forest speaks of you with much hostility.”
Jeongguk blinks in surprise. He holds out a hand, which the fairy regards with confusion.
“What are you doing?” he questions. Jeongguk reaches out further, and his hand is taken, the hold firm but untrusting. He supposes he deserves that, after stealing said person’s mushrooms.
“Jeongguk,” he introduces himself, shaking in what he hopes to be a jovial manner. “If we’re stuck, I figure we should know each other’s names at least.”
The fairy drops the wary expression, curiosity sprouting as he returns the hand-shake. His eyes are more rounded now; gentle, amiable perhaps. Maybe this won’t be so bad, maybe Jeongguk will make a new friend.
And then he smiles ; the sunlight through the windows seems a tad brighter, and Jeongguk wonders what kind of fairy magic this is.
“You can call me Jimin.”
As it turns out, Jimin isn’t very scary when he isn’t interrogating you for stealing mushrooms.
“By fairy law, you’re bound to me, so I shouldn’t let you sit idle like a toadstool.”
He ponders two days later, when the lead-like heaviness has worn off Jeongguk’s body. He has been a surprisingly sweet host until then, even teetering into friendly banter by now. Sometimes, he does look at him with an odd sheen of pity in his eyes, like he’s sorry about the situation despite Jeongguk being the one guilty of accidental theft.
(His eyes—they’re the prettiest Jeongguk has ever seen, though he supposes it could be the magical charm of being a fairy. But unintentional enchantment or not, Jeongguk thinks they’re just lovely .)
This morning, he has given Jeongguk a plate of something for breakfast; cake-like and sugary and like nothing he’s ever seen in human cooking. He claps his hands in triumph. “You’re on foraging duty.”
“Huh?”
Jeongguk stares, cheeks full of something vaguely floral.
“I’ll give you a list of things you need to find,” Jimin explains, reaching for one of the cups in front of him—a teal crystalline concoction that almost glows. Jeongguk wonders if accepting this food from Jimin will only strengthen the magic by which he’s bound. Then he decides he’s too hungry to care, especially if the food is so pleasant. “Seeing as you knew the mushrooms were safe to eat—”
“Jimin, let it go .”
“—you’re probably familiar with edible plants. Maybe not some of the rarer ones fairies know, but oh well, I guess if I teach you, we can prevent any future garden-thievery.”
“Jimin, if you point me to the nearest human village I’ll buy mushrooms and reimburse your loss.”
Jimin ignores him, makes a point of it by snapping his fingers and bringing forth a leafy piece of parchment and some sort of writing utensil. He’s still getting used to this, having casual magic always around him, and the practiced ease by which Jimin manifests it.
“Here… we… go.”
Jimin scribbles names along the paper and then folds it, pushing it to Jeongguk’s side of the table. “If there’s something on there that you can’t recognise, don’t worry, we’ll find it together.” He pauses, as if he didn’t mean to say that. “So that you don’t need my help later, of course.”
Seeing as he can’t really stray far from Jimin—and in turn, the forest that still seems to have it out for him—not to mention the festering guilt for their little mishap, he doesn’t really have much of a choice than to help. It is different from foraging whilst on a journey, with pointers to spots with familiar growth and the lookout for paths forged by Jimin over the years.
“Don’t worry,” Jimin murmurs, a lot less sour than he has been all this time, and those apologetic eyes are back again. That melted look, golden sheen over polished black stone. “Don’t worry, you’re not eternally bound or anything—just until I tell the forest to let you go.”
Jeongguk pauses, berries bursting in his fingers as he presses a tad too hard. “You mean, you could’ve let me go all this time?”
Jimin sighs, looking conflicted. He takes the basket from Jeongguk’s hands, in case he drops their findings. “I mean, technically , yes. As fairy of the forest, I can tell her to obey my every command.”
It’s not that he is upset or anything, he just feels tricked perhaps, and above all, more curious, so he questions, “Right, so why didn’t you?”
“Listen, I know you’re a good human, and your intentions were innocent—foolish, as humans are, but innocent.” Jimin bites his lip, continues to pick more berries. “But I think it’s not me whose forgiveness you should be aiming for. The forest is as alive as we are, Jeongguk.”
And what lives also feels hurt, this Jeongguk knows much too well.
Jimin’s smile is so subtle that you’d almost miss it, hidden away behind the glare of the setting sun. “She’s still hurt, still untrusting. And I think, once you guys make your peace, I’d be more than happy to let you take your leave.”
He thinks it’s such a profound way to treat nature, something most humans don’t give much thought to. Fairies are a lot more gentle than he’d expected—which was to say, not at all.
“Then I’ll try my best to show her I’m sorry,” he replies, taking the basket back with a steady grip. For once, they share a smile, not one born of banter or snark, but of a mild sort of feeling—something respectful almost, but warmer at its centre.
Jeongguk’s eyes widen just a bit.
Of friendship .
He does have Jeongguk working his hardest over the next few days, teaching him all sorts of tricks one could never normally learn from another human. Species of plant that he’d normally forego, dismissing it as poisonous when it is merely of magical nature—humans have never been good at digesting magic, after all.
“I’ve never seen this kind of mushroom before, and they don’t look edible…”
Jimin stares like he’d spouted bizarre nonsense, tilts his head in confusion. It is a cloudy day, and his wings glimmer like a temporary sun amidst the strangely misty forest.
“They’re not for eating, silly,” he explains, plucking a few with a cautious touch. He puts them in a small glass bottle and hands it to Jeongguk. “But if you dry them out, crush them and mix them with water from a moon pond, you’ll have a fast cure for the common flu. If it isn’t too severe of course.”
“The—the what? Moon?” Jeongguk blinks at him in wonder, tucking the bottle into a satchel Jimin had given him that morning.
He gets a smile in return, rose-flushed cheeks and pearly teeth. The pointed tips of Jimin’s ears seem to glow. “Moon pond? Humans never seem to see them, you’re right. It would be my pleasure to let you be the first, perhaps.”
Jeongguk groans, putting down the tool to wipe at his brow.
“You can levitate things mid-air but you can’t find a magical way to de-weed your garden?
He sighs, stretching out his legs from where he has been squatting. He glares at the pile of unearthed weeds on his left. “You guys need to innovate, I’m sorry. This is too much.” He finds that Jimin’s pile is much faster growing than his own. “Jimin, how are you doing this so fast?" Be honest, are you using magic?”
Jimin makes a noise of disdain. “First of all, it’s called weeding, and secondly, it hurts. A delicate hand is needed so the forest feels as little pain as possible—something levitation can’t achieve yet.” He grins a little proud of himself. “All garden fairies are born with this skill, and we hone it over the years with so much practice—which is why you humans are so slow at it.”
He reaches over to pat Jeongguk’s shoulder, staining his shirt green. “But you’ll learn, as you go.”
Jeongguk isn’t used to this. Staying in one place for too long, knowing familiar views and having a place to come back to.
His limbs, ever so used to walking free and not retracing their steps, don’t feel quite right. They long to explore, they feel coiled up, ready to spring apart at any moment.
But his heart? It begs to tell another tale, growing strangely content in this little part of the forest, getting a little too cosy in this cottage.
Jimin’s presence and his routines and his life’s worth of knowledge about magical wildlife are steadily wrapping around him, ivy twisting around his arteries in a sweet hello.
Sometimes he forgets Jimin is a fairy of all things, until the fact hits him as suddenly as an icy winter breeze. Most of these times, Jimin is using his wings.
Today, he’s seated near a window where light is abundant, wings folded slightly forward—Jeongguk had no idea they were this flexible. He supposes he has much to learn about fairies.
“What’ve you got there?” he asks, sitting across from him at the window nook. He has some sort of brush made of thin hairs, and a vial. Jimin runs the brush gently along a wing, as far as he can.
“Polishing,” he explains, and the light catches on them, a little shinier than they were moments ago. “Need to keep them clean, y’know. But I can’t get them wet all the time—they’ll take ages to dry.”
Jeongguk nods, turning the bottle over in his hands. It’s wooden, and the liquid inside doesn’t shimmer or lustre like one might expect a bottle of wing polish to, not till the moment it is painted across a wing. It is like magic—he supposes, to some extent, it is. To the human mind, atleast. Jimin twists and turns, trying to get every single gauzy inch of his wings.
“Do you need help?” Jeongguk offers, gesturing to the bottle. “For the parts you can’t reach.”
Jimin stills very noticeably, looks down at the brush. Jeongguk wonders if he said something rude, readies himself to apologise—he has yet to learn fairy etiquette.
“Are you saying my arms are short?” Jimin grumbles under his breath, not looking at him. He then laughs awkwardly, waving his hand. “No no, I’ve got this. There’s no need for that, human.”
His ears are glowing again, his cheeks match the pink of the peonies at his doorstep. Jeongguk wonders what that means.
“Silly human,” he sighs, fluttering down to the ground, where Jeongguk lies curled up into a ball, holding his arm. “You’re like a little rosebud, yet to bloom—must I do everything around here?”
Jeongguk’s forearm has begun to turn a peculiar greenish colour.
“She bit me!” he yelps, as Jimin rummages through the little pouch strapped to his waist. He pulls out a miniscule vial—how many of these does he have—filled with liquid, navy in its hue. “With tiny fangs or something, she bit me, Jimin!”
Jimin exhales, shaking the vial, counting silently. The liquid turns a warm pink and Jimin removes the stopper, holding it to Jeongguk’s lips. “Drink this, you big seedling.”
Jeongguk downs it without any questions. It tastes horrid, and his eyes sting, but his arm feels better—or is it simply going numb?
“I thought pixies would be nice—aren’t you guys like, cousins or something?”
Jimin flicks his forehead, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance. “Fairies and pixies are similar, yes—but they’re much more annoying and far less courteous. For moonlight’s sake, why did you peek into her hiding hole? Of course she felt threatened.”
Jeongguk feels himself begin to get drowsy. He feels Jimin dab at the bite-mark on his arm with something wet, probably some sort of enchanted potion that he’ll cover with some leaf. Jeongguk will probably ask him if the leaf is also enchanted and Jimin will look at him like he’s nuts, and shake his head, securing the foliage over the injury.
They’ve done this before this week, albeit not because of a pixie. But he knows how this exchange goes.
“How was I supposed to know she would be inside the hiding hole?” Jeongguk argues, yawning.
"It is literally called a hiding hole,” Jimin laughs, and yes, he is now putting leaves over the affected area. “Pixies are much smaller than us too, Jeongguk.”
He squints at Jimin, whose eyebrows are raised fondly. He holds up his index finger and thumb in front of his eye, pretending to measure Jimin between them.
“I don’t know, you seem like the same size to me.”
He gets a shove to his good arm; Jimin's indignant protests sound like something he’s always known, like something he wants to keep hearing.
Sometimes, Jimin can be awfully ironic.
“What do you mean you can’t help him?”
Jeongguk holds the amphibian in his palms; it is perfectly still, croaking low. He had found it lying miserably a few steps from Jimin’s home, one leg at an awkward angle. Unsure what to do, he’d brought the creature back with him, in hopes that the fairy could help. This turns out to be difficult, when Jimin had scurried a good three feet away from them.
“I just—listen, I respect you guys a lot,” Jimin says, directed at the small creature. He sounds oddly defensive. “But a cottage is no place for a little frog. Don’t you have friends—a pond, I don’t know—”
Jeongguk frowns, taking a step forth. Jimin makes a strangled noise and steps back, subconsciously lifting off the floor, wings stiffly fluttering. He stares at the fairy, mouth parting in realisation.
“Jimin, are you scared of frogs?”
He gets a very upset look in return. “Of course not—why would I be? I live in a forest , with nature and creatures and—why would I be scared, that’s ridiculous.”
Jeongguk sighs, holding the frog closer to himself and petting it gently on its head.
“It’s alright to have fears, y’know,” he tells the fairy. The frog ribbits, as if agreeing. Jimin’s feet touch the floor again, but he keeps his distance. “I’m scared of thunder—fears aren’t silly. It’s part of what makes us huma—people. It’s what makes us people.”
Jimin still looks conflicted, staring back and forth between Jeongguk and then at the amphibian. He adjusts the bottom of his shirt.
(Jeongguk thinks it’s very cute how casual he’s trying to appear—and how terrible a job he’s doing of it.)
“Fine—okay, fine. Yes, I’m a little—uneasy.”
“That’s alright,” Jeongguk promises, letting the frog sit in one hand. He stretches the other out to Jimin, beckoning him closer. “But I think you’d do a much better job at helping him than me, that’s all.”
Jimin walks near enough to take his hand, still eyeing the frog warily. It makes a dejected, croaky noise, staring up with pleading eyes—round and dark as blackberries, shiny as a polished pebble. He can see Jimin’s resolve melting.
“I’ll—I could try ,” he admits, looking away. He has moved closer though, his hand more comfortably in Jeongguk’s—oh, Jimin trusts him. He sighs, shaking his head, staring pitifully at the frog. It reminds Jeongguk of when they had first met, almost a week and a half ago. “I’ll try my best, little guy—but please understand if I’m the jumpy one.”
Jeongguk can’t help the grin that cracks his serious expression. He gives Jimin’s hand a little squeeze. “I’ll help, I promise.”
He doesn’t know how long it’ll take for the frog to heal, but he could stay as long as Jimin needs him to—he brought it in, after all. Jeongguk inhales suddenly at this new feeling.
The feeling of wanting to stay.
True to his word, Jimin does show him a ‘moon pond’ like he had promised.
“I’m very touched you remembered, but you don’t have to.”
Jimin leads him through the forest. It is shadowy, and his only guidance is Jimin’s hand that holds his own, tugging him along in the right direction. Jeongguk offhandedly thinks how cute his hands are, small against his own, pretty even with the little scars from rose thorns and other forest mishaps.
“No no, you’ll love it, Jeongguk!” Jimin insists, and the surrounding doesn’t get any brighter. Jimin is all that glows in the dark—or maybe that is Jeongguk’s vision tunneling in on him. He follows him with full faith, careful not to trip over anything.
And what a sight it is, indeed, when they eventually find one.
Mirror-like, free of ripples, it sits perfectly round, adorned by lucent flora at its edges. There are tiny creatures hopping to and fro along the pebbles around it, winged and bell-like in the sounds they make— pixies , he realises, taking care to stay quiet lest they be startled. The flowers that sit along the water are gem-like, radiant; as are the little frogs that perch on their lily-pads.
“Here you go,” Jimin whispers, chuckling at his expression. “It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?”
He glows; Jimin glows. Brighter than the silver pool of supposedly magic water, or anything that adorns it, Jimin glows. Softly at his edges, blindingly in his smile.
Does he really, though? Or is Jeongguk enchanted once more? Can his mere human heart not stand such magic at such a close range? Is that why it beats so fast lately, when their hands interlock, or when he finds himself staring a little too long?
“Yeah–beautiful.”
Dry gulp, swallowing nothing and feeling it course through his lungs. Every thought he has of Jimin floats inside him as a dandelion seed does in the wind.
“I thought you said you couldn’t heal.”
Jimin has a hand on his forehead, laughing at him. The evening sun gives him the loveliest glimmer, beauty surpassing any and all of the plants that flower throughout the area they stroll.
“Frogs, Jeongguk. I can’t heal a frog’s broken leg.”
They stop abruptly at an unfamiliar spot, Jimin perking up and looking around. He lets out an exclamation, pointing to a plant.
“But plants… they’re my specialty. I could even teach you, I think.”
Jeongguk follows him to the plant. Its leaves are droopy, flowers wilted, some browning. “Alright, you put your hands around it, like this.”
Jimin’s hands guide his own, positioning them so that they cradle a flower between them, ever so gently. Jimin’s touch prickles his skin with an odd feeling.
“Now what?” Jeongguk doesn’t dare meet his eyes, focusing on his mouth instead. It curves softly, and his hands softly press against Jeongguk’s. The ivy on his heart coils just a little tighter.
“Now, you think happy thoughts,” Jimin says, like it is simple. “And they’ll feel that.”
Jeongguk’s mind is jumbled, his thoughts are scattering everywhere, blooming in red across his face. The poor flower isn’t getting anything from him.
And yet, he finds that it blooms, vibrant and healthy once more. He blinks in disbelief.
“I’m joking,” Jimin laughs, retracting his hands. Jeongguk cautiously pokes the flower, and Jimin’s eyes curve; they carry the light of a million moon pools. The sun is still out, but he glows brighter . “That was all just me. I can’t actually teach you to do this—humans don’t have magic after all.”
The back of his hands tingle again, the feeling branches up his arms, all along him. It was an excuse , he realises. A simple excuse to hold his hand, to hold onto him.
“So, why did… why—”
Jimin’s laugh freezes the branches in their rapid growth. It flowers right as it reaches his heart.
Perhaps he doesn’t mind being held onto, the gentle tug backwards, the silent plea of please stay .
Jimin lets him go the same way he found him—by the tree, dappled gold in daylight.
“I think you’ve earned her trust,” Jimin concludes, a sunlit smile as he pats Jeongguk’s arm. A gentle breeze passes through, and he thinks if he listens hard enough, the trees echo in a psithurism of agreement. Jimin looks especially fairytale-esque in his beauty today—miniscule blossoms in his hair, his glimmery wings a stained glass memoir Jeongguk is ready to keep in his heart.
Keep, in his memory, because he is leaving. Jimin is letting him go—two weeks of having him in the palm of his hand and Jimin is holding him out into the breeze, telling him you’re free to go . Free to go wherever the wind takes him, like it always has.
“Take care of Clover,” he tells Jimin, and the fairy nods, grinning when they hear a small croak. The frog sits on his shoulder, comfortable and happy, and Jeongguk feels a strange twinge of pride within him. Maybe Jimin will keep him in his heart too, maybe he’ll remember Jeongguk every time he meets another frog.
Perhaps one day he’ll move past thinking of Jimin whenever he sees the moon.
“I guess this is goodbye,” Jimin says, and he can’t help but compare this to their first meeting. Both times, voice hushed, but so different in demeanor. Jimin seems to curl into himself right now, deflating like those plants that turn shy upon touch. “Don’t forget me.”
He says it jokingly, but it hurts him that Jimin would think he’d be forgotten so easily.
“I won’t,” Jeongguk promises, and the expression that falls over Jimin’s face is so delicate, so hard to decipher. He recognises most of it in what he’s feeling now, too. “I won’t forget,” he reassures, and he wants to take Jimin’s hand, but he doesn’t, afraid that he won’t let go.
But he must, it was foolish of him to consider staying—he is a traveler, after all. His home is nowhere and everywhere all at once.
He leaves with a white clover tucked into his pocket, and his dreams full of pink hair.
This is foolish, Jeongguk thinks this is the most foolish thing he has ever done—Jimin would absolutely agree, maybe throw in a few other words just to emphasize.
It’s been three days since Jimin had sent him off. Three days of seeing where fate takes him; of this wanderlust that he’s known all his life. The flower still sits in his shirt pocket, withered and dry; merely a shard of what he longs for, what he’d let go.
But he sneaks through now-familiar paths, and past otherworldly flowers he seems to recognise, feet somehow knowing exactly where to take him—the susurrus of the forest greets him like a quiet friend. Jeongguk is back here again, a little embarrassed and a little hopeful. His torch burns bright, but he’d left his tinderbox behind this time, hoping he will have no need for it. He scours the moonlit ground carefully, exhaling when he finally catches sight of it.
He kneels down to the tree’s base, reaching out. His hesitation is momentary, his heart racing as his fingers tug with ease of practice. He stares at the mushroom in his hand, white and rounded. The ivy around his heart is stirred, as if woken from a deep slumber; they burst into bloom.
“Again, human?”
Jeongguk whirls around at the voice; the one that’s been pulling at his heartstrings little by little whenever he remembers it. Jimin smiles at him, cheeks bunched up. Radiance in his presence, something sweet in how his wings flutter just a tad faster when their eyes meet.
“Do you not learn from your mistakes?” He pauses, drawing closer. Then, like he’d been weighing the phrase on his tongue, he softly adds, “Jeongguk.”
He doesn’t simply say it when he utters Jeongguk’s name, and it leaves him astonished—how softly , how tenderly, how fragile Jimin sounds. Shrivelled petals just moments before they part from their rose; he must catch them all before they fall, Jeongguk must hold them in his palms and sing his love to them, nurse the flower out of its brittle unsurety, just like Jimin had tried to teach him once.
“I think I have, actually,” Jeongguk replies, and Jimin’s much closer now, reaching for his free hand. Jeongguk lets him take it. “My biggest mistake was that I left.”
Jimin frowns a bit at that, his smile paper-thin. Hopeful and unsure. “But—hey, I know you travelers don’t like staying in one place for too long.”
He says it politely, but he’s reaching for Jeongguk, pulling him into the hug they’d both been too wary to share when they last parted. Jeongguk glances at his ears and sees it—Jimin’s feelings growing luminous and rosy through his skin, betraying the nonchalance he tries to feint.
“Well, I simply follow my calling,” he says, and he never wants this first embrace to end. “And for a while, no matter where I went, I was being called back here.”
Jimin laughs; the sound soft, a little more sure of himself this time. “To steal my mushrooms?”
"I did it once, I'd do it again."
This time he laughs harder, nearly knocking them both over with how he lurches. He has missed seeing how Jimin feels joy, how it bubbles up and consumes his entire being; how he beams at what he loves.
(And right now, he beams at Jeongguk, dazzling and beautiful and so relieved.)
Jeongguk grins, considers leaning forward to press his lips against Jimin’s forehead that sits bare tonight. But he has the rest of forever to do that, if he wants. Jeongguk’s heart swells at the thought, and he just stays in their little moment, holding each other dear, the taste of new beginnings in the air, dotted in lunar shine.
Home is where the heart is, after all—and Jimin has his, safe between his gentle hands.