Work Text:
A sprinkling of rain at this time of year has hardly ever been a surprise, but this 一Jaemin actually thinks that this might be just a little bit much.
The tempest raging outside is salient in his hearing, every droplet making itself known in a clear trickle of sound. There’s serenity in the steadiness, the unrelenting pitter patter, falling from the sky onto the leaves of every tree, before finding a stalemate on the ground in the lush forest soil. The new season has only just begun, and yet the autumn spirit had called in a steady storm一the likes of which Jaemin never really expected from Kun一but either way, Jaemin was never really one to meddle in the affairs between the diwatas of the earth and the heavens.
There are countless objects at the foot of Jaemin’s acacia tree一living or otherwise一only scarcely kept dry by the overhang of branches. It’s always been appropriate, as the deity of life; the living come to him for safety, pray to him for strength. The forest creatures lay on the acacia’s steady roots, settling in beside countless baskets of offerings left there by humans from the nearby village in hopes to appease him. The fruits and fresh flowers attract the living creatures of the land, a perpetual welcome to take refuge in the deity’s resting place. Jaemin’s presence will keep them protected until the storm finally lets up, until the natural calm of a misty daybreak after rain greets the forest and warms up the soil.
Jaemin settles into a cushioned chair in the warm light of his humble abode, a clear view of the evening’s darkness through the small window. He doesn’t choose to make himself visible to humans on this particular night; only the other spirits see through the façade of the acacia tree, and perhaps the occasional sprite or the faeries and the shapeshifters. It isn’t unusual to see them on Jaemin’s side of the river when the spring or autumn spirits awaken, but tonight it seems the rain has kept them all out of sight. The other diwatas and anitos must be stowed away, too, safe in their own dwelling places from the rain.
All things considered, Jaemin expects a fairly peaceful night.
As with most spirit dwellings, his home is more spacious on the inside than it could possibly be from the outside looking in. It still is fairly small; not bound by the tree trunk’s circumference yet still far from disrespectful to its nature. There’s room enough for Jaemin, and perhaps one or two passing travelers一those occasional human wanderers who have no idea the dangers of the wilderness that the spirits call home一and even on nights like tonight, invisible to the physical world, Jaemin knows that the living still can find him if they must. If there’s one thing Jaemin has learned in his thousands of years of existence, it’s that the living will cling to what gives them life; and when they desperately claw at the deity’s doorstep, Jaemin is never so cruel as to turn them away.
So, in hindsight, Jaemin doesn’t know why he expected a peaceful night at all. When he hears the thumps on his door, loud enough that they threaten to unhinge the arching wood from its frame, instinct springs him into action as he prepares to offer a forlorn guest some shelter from the storm.
When he opens the door, however, the sight that greets Jaemin is not of anything he’s grown to expect nor truly prepare for, despite decades and centuries of his timeless existence. On the roots of the acacia tree lies a fully-grown deer一wounded, unconscious, soaked by the rainfall一and when Jaemin lays a hand on its skin, there’s a thrum of energy that surges. Connects. It’s magic, and it’s unmistakable一a shapeshifter, most likely, or an anomaly from the rose garden on the other side of the river. The former is much more plausible when Jaemin considers that, one: this thing is living, or at the very least seems to be so; and two: Taeyong and Jeno would never let the animal spirits from the rose garden out of their sight, much less in these conditions. Regardless, Jaemin makes quick work of bringing the creature inside to heal it properly, remaining wary of the very real possibility of some… darker forces looming from a distance. Someone had to have knocked on Jaemin’s door, left the poor creature there for him to find.
All of it becomes moot as Jaemin clears up space on his wooden table, the surface barely enough for the deer’s size. Jaemin takes in the state of him, the damage much more visible under lamplight than outside in the rain, and scrambles for one of the bottles on the shelf before attempting to rouse the creature awake.
“Hello?” Jaemin tries. “Can you hear me?”
The attempt is fruitless as he feared, but Jaemin does the best he can while flying blind. If he operates on the assumption that this is, indeed, a shapeshifter, then it would have been much easier to heal him in his human form; unfortunately, the creature is literally unconscious , and it isn’t exactly within Jaemin’s abilities to compel him to transform spontaneously. He’ll do the best that he can for now, or summon one of the earth spirits if things go awry.
“I’m going to help you, alright? Hang in there.”
There are three arrows where the deer’s front left leg meets his body, deep enough to have pierced dangerously close to his heart. Jaemin sees that the deer’s antlers seem to have taken a hit, too一the right side extending only half as far out as the other, which was nearly two feet in length. The antlers were still adorned with dried leaves and autumn garlands, pinecones settled in where bone meets bone; per tradition in the nearby human village, the children would always adorn the forest reindeer at the turn of the season to appease the diwatas. Jaemin always found it quite wonderful一it was the pinnacle of innocence, given the majesty of these forest creatures. All the more reason for Jaemin to be quite disappointed that someone had just shot at the creature, and then left him for dead at his acacia一which was the very last place that anyone should even be dying.
“I’ll try not to make this hurt,” Jaemin utters, quiet under his breath. “It’ll only be a second.”
Jaemin brings a hand to one of the arrows, letting the familiar thrum of energy surge through him: from his core down to each fingertip, from his fingertips to every inch of the creature’s wounded skin. The arrow submits without a challenge, weak to the deity’s life-giving touch, and slips out easily with Jaemin’s careful hand. He does the same with the second and third, removing the offending weapons with one hand and then healing the creature with the other, the wound struggling to repair itself with every passing second. The healing magic moves through the deer’s body in short bursts of glowing light, barely able to keep up with the damage’s speed.
This really would have been much easier if Jaemin could just get him to transform.
Nonetheless, Jaemin keeps his composure, his left hand kept steady beside the healing wound. The holes struggle to close themselves up, so Jaemin pops open the potion bottle he grabbed from the shelf earlier, trickles in the light, purple liquid to speed up the process. The effect is miniscule; the deer is still bleeding much faster than Jaemin can fix him, and the wound closest to his heart is starting to open back up一but then there’s a vibration at the base of Jaemin’s palm, low and ragged一and the deer’s eyelids open slowly, one by one, still heavy and weary but awake nevertheless.
“Hey, hey, I’m trying to help you. Are you awake? Could you一”
A bout of deafening thunder comes through before Jaemin could even finish, shaking the acacia’s branches and startling the deer enough to pick up the beating pace of his already-endangered heart. Before Jaemin can even click his tongue and think about having a word with the sky spirit about the storm, the blood pooling below the table becomes more apparent as it drips from one of the arrow wounds, as slow and ominous as the wax dripping from the candle lamps keeping the room alight. It’s then that Jaemin senses it一the chilling shadow lingering around them一and one look out the window is all it takes for him to understand that this has become a race against time, that he had to properly stand his ground.
“No, no, not tonight,” Jaemin mutters, more to himself than for anyone else, hands working on their own but gaze never leaving the unmistakable outline of the figure that looms just a few feet away from his door. “You need to fight for me, okay? You have to—”
But both Jaemin’s words and his movements come to a halt when the figure starts to approach—not at all gradual, and actually almost with an alarming kind of urgency—and Jaemin makes a noise of frustration, leaving the creature’s side with an urgency of his own. This is not the kind of encounter that Jaaemin has on the regular, but he’s on a mission, now that this poor deer was dripping blood into the wood of his floors, to quickly reach the door before the shadow could reach them. And when Jaemin’s hand grips the handle, he doesn’t have any real plan—but he effectively seethes when he flings it open, not paying any other regard to the one standing on the other side of it—venom laced into his usually-mellow voice.
“Stay away from us,” Jaemin says coldly, knowing all too well what this was. Who this was. “I’m not letting you take him.”
The other simply peers up at him, eyes hooded and serious, gloved hands frantically pulling back the hood of his rain-soaked cloak. “I have no intention of doing that. Let me help.”
Jaemin flinches back when he gets a proper glimpse of his face, protectiveness bubbling in his chest as he hisses in contempt.
“Don’t you touch him,” Jaemin warns, blocking his entrance with the span of his arms, looking right into strangely familiar eyes. “I said stay away.”
He doesn’t remember if he’s seen this exact face before—but his aura was unforgettable. Undeniable. Especially this close. It’s the same surge of energy Jaemin felt coursing through the deer, still fighting for its life just inches away. It’s magic. Only this time, Jaemin knows exactly who it belongs to, and so he doesn’t believe for a second any of the lies he’s being fed.
There’s no question about it, even after all these centuries. Jaemin was standing face-to-face with the deity of death.
“I can help you.”
“Liar.”
“He doesn’t have much time.”
“You would know,” Jaemin spits out.
“I— Who exactly do you think brought him here?”
Jaemin is taken aback by that question, arms loosening up just enough for the other deity to try and push past him, feisty as he remembers, Jaemin just barely regaining his ground enough to continue barring his entrance. Before he can protest, the other deity speaks again.
”Nice meeting you again, by the way. Really seems like it shouldn’t have taken this long, but you haven’t crossed to my side of the river in over a thousand years.”
“Why would I—” Jaemin tries, stunned, a little in awe that the other would choose to bring this up now. “You know what? Now is not the time—”
“So are you going to let me in?”
Jaemin takes another look at him now, more intently this time, seeing what seems to be real concern in those dark, coffee brown eyes. Jaemin finds his arms coming down on their own will before his thoughts have any chance of stopping him, the other now walking past him easily without any need for more cutting words.
Before Jaemin can even close the door behind him, the other deity is in a hurry to shed his coat and remove his gloves, each piece carelessly thrown on the floor as he stands beside the creature on the table. The staff in his hand gets propped up against the wall as well, the threatening, twisting spindles a cruel parallel to the arrows twisted into the deer’s flesh just moments ago. “What have you tried?”
Jaemin simply stands there, defensive, mild apprehension still present at being confined with him in such a small space. With the cloak off, Jaemin can see more—cedar brown hair, soft features, delicate hands—and yet despite it, some part of him is still ready to attack, if need be. “I don’t trust you.”
“You have no choice,” the other counters firmly, gesturing with urgency at the dying deer—unconscious once again—daring Jaemin to try and contradict him again. “What have you tried?”
Jaemin sucks it up when he takes another look, reluctantly pointing to the half-empty potion bottle he had left on the table. “A potion. One of Chenle’s. Lavender.”
“Lavender,” he responds, taking the bottle with his small hands, assessing the situation. Jaemin isn’t completely clueless—he hasn’t seen this deity in years, nor known him—but he knows of the others that do. Chenle, the spring spirit, is one of those others. It should be enough for them both to know how dire the situation is if the medicine was only helping a miniscule amount. True enough, they both seem to be on the same page. “Lavender… should work on his human form. I can transform him.”
He and Jaemin stare each other down for a few, agonizing seconds, Jaemin still apprehensive at the mere idea of the spirit of death ’s magic coming anywhere near this poor, suffering creature. But the clock was ticking, and there were no other options, and he would be denying the deer a fighting chance the longer he chooses to wait.
“Are you going to trust me?” The other deity asks hurriedly, hands already in place to follow through, if only Jaemin would be so generous.
But Jaemin shoves down his plight. He only has a vague memory of the other’s powers, doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth—but if he doesn’t at least try, the creature’s dead anyway. Reluctantly, he gives in. “What do you need me to do?”
The smaller deity lets out a bitten down scoff. Jaemin tries to pay it no mind. “Stop looking at me like I’m going to kill him,” he rolls his eyes. “And maybe bring a cloth to cover him up.”
Jaemin moves immediately, now that they were in this, skirting around the other deity to do as he was told. Searching carefully through his cabinets, rain still pouring torrentially outside, Jaemin asks, “Does he have a name?”
And Jaemin finds that the other has already started when he looks back, delicate hands already hovering above the creature’s skin, the shimmery thrum of his magic a quiet, dark blur in the space between. He simply sighs, eyes shut in focus. “Sungchan. Now shut up and let me focus.”
Jaemin bites down his protest, finding himself somehow bound to that order by his own will regardless. He obediently shuts his mouth, bouncing the creature’s name around in his head. Sungchan. Impossibly, it only gets Jaemin more concerned, more attached. Absently, Jaemin watches as the deity before him slowly wields his power, wondering what name he goes by now, too. The deities don’t really have any need for it amongst themselves, but living in the midst of humans has fittingly become easier with their human names, their human forms. In a striking parallel, Jaemin also watches now as the deer transforms under the nameless deity’s hands, inch by inch from deerskin into pale, human flesh. The severity of the wound still makes itself known, blood and torn muscle on Sungchan’s shoulder and chest—but it seems much more fixable now, so Jaemin moves quick.
But as Jaemin drapes a thin blanket over the boy now bleeding on his table, he keeps his eyes on the other deity in the room, seemingly spent from such a tall endeavor. Jaemin lets his guard down a little, convinced enough now that the creature on his table was just a wounded man—a boy, even—his features sharp but youthful, eyes peacefully closed. It mirrors the mystery cloaked around this other person in the room, his magic now evidently more than what Jaemin thought was just a shadow of death.
Tangentially, Jaemin’s mind wanders. He doesn’t quite know anymore what’s different and what has remained the same since the last time they were together, this close. There seems to be much about the deity of death that Jaemin needs to rethink, after so many centuries away.
“Don’t just stand there,” he says, snapping Jaemin out of his trance. “Heal him.”
Jaemin gets to doing that immediately, springing into action and reminding himself to stow all those other thoughts away. He can feel the other deity watching him with hawk-like eyes, likely observing Jaemin much in the same way that Jaemin was ogling him just moments ago. It doesn’t faze him too much when he gets into the groove of things again, hands easily finding another bottle of the potion he had used earlier when another pair of hands moves in to hold the blanket up for him. Jaemin works smoothly while the other deity stands off to the side, holding Sungchan’s hand, carefully removing the garlands that were previously draped on the branches of his antlers. Something about it is frighteningly soothing. Calm. Comforting amidst the looming darkness, the strength of the storm.
Jaemin makes good use of the potion this time, his other hand carefully bestowing the magic of his healing touch—and unlike earlier, both of them in the room can see how Sungchan slowly heals. No more blood adds to the pool on the table, dripping on the floor, and Jaemin doesn’t stop exerting his own energy even when the wound closes—not until he sees some color returning to the shapeshifter’s lips and face. It’s a lot, but he’s done it before. He’s confident his magic will get him through again.
But then—right as Jaemin feels his energy start to dwindle—there’s a feather-light touch on his shoulder, an unfamiliar surge of magic suddenly shared with his own. He sees that the other deity had left Sungchan’s side, and Jaemin turns his head to find him now standing beside him, expression solemn and touch barely-there, making all of Jaemin’s instinctive protests die right before they can slip past his parted lips. Only Jaemin’s magic heals—that much, he knows—but this new kind of touch makes him stronger, keeps him going when, even as a deity, his powers start to grow weak. The downpour outside is not any less strong, but the atmosphere inside the acacia is now devoid of earlier’s frantic worry; only soft sparks of light now flowing around and between them as time goes on.
It lasts like that, almost seemingly with no end—until Jaemin feels someone grab him by the wrist, urging him to preserve the energy still within him, and telling him softly to let go.
Jaemin does, and he opens his eyes, not realizing they were shut until the orange light of his lamps and lanterns brings him back to the scene around them. The other deity withdraws his touch, Jaemin resists the unexplainable urge to implore him not to—but most importantly, Jaemin sees the sight of Sungchan on the table, still asleep but definitely more alive. Jaemin smiles proudly at the result of all his efforts— their efforts—brushing black hair out of the shapeshifter’s face gently, before turning back to the now more-salient elephant in the room.
Jaemin takes in the state of him yet again, now that the urgency of the situation had died down, paying closer attention to his rain-soaked clothes, the pile of shed cloak and his gloves on the floor. But he turns away immediately when he catches himself staring, yet again denying himself a proper look instead of a bashful once-over. He turns back again instead to Sungchan on the table before saying his next words, gesturing with his head to the unused chair on the other side of the room.
“I’ll put him into my bed for now,” Jaemin declares, eyes pointed anywhere but at the one he was speaking to. “Make yourself at home. Don’t go anywhere. I don’t think Kun’s stopping with the rain anytime soon.”
It doesn’t get Jaemin a response besides a quiet huff, bordering on a chuckle but not quite. He takes it as an affirmative—at the very least a forfeit of hostility—and he simply gets started on moving Sungchan as he said he would. They both move wordlessly around the small space, nothing but the rain and thunder and moving furniture to underscore the silence.
Jaemin lets his mind finally wander now that they were done—a healing shapeshifter in his bed and the literal deity of death in his kitchen.
As strange as his existence already was—this is certainly one of the last places Jaemin expected himself to be.
“You’re not opposed to hot chocolate, I hope.”
Jaemin fills the silence nonchalantly, milk already boiling over the fire regardless. Things had settled down after he had carried Sungchan over to rest in the bedroom, with no help whatsoever from the other deity in his house. It was fine—Jaemin did say to make himself at home—and despite how tall the shapeshifter was compared to Jaemin’s human form, he’d say he managed the task decently well.
“Of course. I’m not going to grumble over what I’m offered in someone else’s home.”
Jaemin makes no response to that unreadable remark, their shiny, polished surface of politeness. He breaks some chocolate bars into the pot instead, back still turned to the figure sitting at his table. He often gets baskets of these confections as offerings during the start of winter, and Jaemin is sure there isn’t a deity on his side of the forest that doesn’t sometimes choose to enjoy the pleasures of the human world. He stands in silence as he lets the mixture boil, two wooden cups already set up to pour into. The storm still hasn’t let up, so he hopes the drink will be sufficiently warm, pleasant—satisfyingly sweet with just the right amount of spice. It doesn’t take long until the fireplace transforms it into a thick, chocolate liquid, and Jaemin smiles contentedly before removing the pot from the flame.
“It’s done,” Jaemin declares to the room, saucepot out of the fire and mixture poured directly into two cups, enough to perfectly fill both. Jaemin stands up to set them both down on the table, sitting down across from his companion with a mildly appraisive glance. “Enjoy.”
The deity across from him politely obeys. He brings the cup to his lips, gently blows on the steam, takes a second to breathe in the aroma—and then, with the smallest, most inconspicuous little smile—he drinks.
Jaemin doesn’t do the same with his own cup in front of him. There’s no looming sense of urgency this time, and now… now, Jaemin can take a proper look. There’s time and warmth enough in this little space for him to really think about all the unusual things about the person before him, the most unexpected little details that he’d never have known if they never got the opportunity to be this close. For centuries, Jaemin’s avoided him; for what reason, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t remember. All he ever was to Jaemin was a shadow of darkness, impending doom—but then he waltzed into Jaemin’s home and helped him save a creature’s life, spared it instead of taking it for his own. Even if his presence made Jaemin afraid—his magic made him strong. Stronger, he should say. This was not the same image of the spirit of death that Jaemin had kept for years in his memory.
As he sees him now, Jaemin can clearly observe the barely-there rays of soft light. Where Jaemin had only remembered a dark figure cloaked in black, always rowing the boat on the river to the afterlife—he sees now a silken garment of midnight blue, the deep pigment of which Jaemin could never truly discern from afar. It’s the same shade as the cloak that he had since hung up on the door—not quite the pitch black that Jaemin had imagined to ward off any semblance of life and light. His eyes were the complement to that shade of blue—dark brown but catching fire when they met the glow of the oil lamps around them—matched with a gaze that was warm and welcoming, instead of menacing or cold. The curls falling into his face were an auburn shade, an ode to the autumnal breeze, and despite being the deity of death—Jaemin is intrigued to find that he looks bright, almost. That he looks alive.
Even the staff usually held in his hand was now transformed, curling spindles completely gone as the deity before him uses his magic to transform it into a spoon, small and quite innocent and nothing at all like what Jaemin had imagined him to be. What was once an ominous symbol of his power was now being dipped into sweet, chocolate liquid, made to mix froth around into its body when it begins to pool at the surface. Jaemin still hasn’t taken a single sip of his, too engrossed in his blatant observance of the counterpart he’d neglected to lay eyes on for so long. It’s been long enough that Jaemin can’t honestly remember a time that he knew him—if there even was one. As deities, they were connected. They always have been. But in every other aspect, Jaemin knows nothing. They’ve always known of each other—and yet they had never really met.
“Long time no see,” Jaemin’s counterpart speaks, melodic voice flowing gracefully into the silence as if mirroring the sentiments of Jaemin’s thoughts.
“Yeah,” Jaemin replies simply. Curiosity gets the better of him when he finally looks up, locks their eyes for the first time since he sat down. “Do you go by a name now?”
He smirks. It makes Jaemin nervous, for some reason. The deity of death didn’t seem at all deadly, and it was chipping away at everything Jaemin thought he knew. “The same one. Can you remember it?”
Jaemin takes in a breath. Obviously, and unluckily, he does not. He doesn’t remember referring to him as anything other than what he was. Or referring to him at all. “Only if you remember mine.”
“Nice try, Jaemin.” He looks down into his cup, face only a little solemn, voice only a little soft. “It’s Renjun.”
Oh. Renjun. In some strange, comforting way, the name feels right bouncing around in Jaemin’s mind. Familiar when he tries to imagine it in his own voice, on his own lips.
But Jaemin only imagines, wills himself to keep silent. The air feels thicker, and taking his first sip of lukewarm hot chocolate doesn’t help.
“Have you always looked like that?” Jaemin can’t help but ask, curiosity getting the best of him. It seems to put a smile on his… Renjun’s face, though, eyebrow quirking up in what seems to be mild amusement.
“Maybe, maybe not. Can’t remember either?”
Jaemin laughs lightly, rolling his eyes. “Stop playing games.”
Renjun laughs with him, tone a little more light as he freely explains. “I take different forms. Depends on what’s comfortable.”
“Oh,” Jaemin answers dumbly, unable to help the way he stares, again. “So… does that mean— How do I call you? Man, woman, neither—?”
“Any. All. Depends on the day,” Renjun answers, taking another sip of his drink. “We’re deities, you know.”
Jaemin tilts his head. As if that changed the fact that they took human forms. “Lots of us still have forms we’re more comfortable in than others, though.”
Renjun nods. This time, he gives Jaemin a bigger smile. “I know. I didn’t mean to say that wasn’t true. It just never was for me, at least.”
“That can happen,” Jaemin finds himself smiling back, words tumbling out of his mouth before his initial instinct can protest. “You look good.”
Renjun misses a beat for a second, and Jaemin can’t tell if he’s blushing or if it's just the dancing light of the fireplace shining on his skin. Confused, he answers, “...Thank you?”
Jaemin laughs awkwardly. “...Yeah.”
“You look…” Renjun tries, eyes suddenly directed once again down at his cup as he tries to come up with something to say. Eventually, he settles on, “You look the same way I remember you.”
Jaemin sits there, stunned in silence at the utterance, Renjun’s eyes still refusing to meet his own.
You remember me?
…is what he thinks, deep in his mind. What he says is, “Yeah, I… guess I do.”
And those are the words that plunge them once again into strange silence, rain still strong as it was earlier, but the quiet between them so deafening that they can almost hear the sound of Sungchan’s breathing from the other room. Despite the tension-thick air, Renjun still seems to be at ease around Jaemin, and it fills the latter with an unfamiliar sense of guilt for avoiding him without reason all these years. He can still feel Renjun’s energy in their proximity, could connect to it again if he wanted to; and somewhere in a deeper, truer part of his consciousness, Jaemin remembers exactly how it felt. And he remembers, more specifically, exactly how it felt like no other magic he’d felt before.
“So, are we going to talk about it?” Renjun asks out of the blue, an amused smirk still playing on his face.
Renjun leans forward on the table, ever so slowly. “About what?”
“About why we haven’t spoken in centuries.”
Jaemin purses his lips, and it’s as if Renjun could read his mind. And after the kind of connection that their magic had achieved earlier, Jaemin might not even be surprised if he could. What stops him is not anything to do, somehow, with their existence as spirits of life and death—it’s something a little more shallow and yet simultaneously more complex. A little more human, if Jaemin could call it that. Though, after tonight, he isn’t quite so sure of anything about Renjun anymore, much less the two of them in relation to each other.
“I can answer that,” is what Jaemin says, mostly to try and deflect. “I’m more curious about why we’re suddenly speaking again now.”
Renjun raises a brow at him, and Jaemin honestly can’t blame him for it. For all intents and purposes, Jaemin was spewing half-truths. After all, it was Jaemin who chose not to speak to Renjun all those centuries—refused to even approach, or invite, and never crossed to the other side of the river—all on a fickle, unspecific armor of superficial belief.
“I came here to bring you Sungchan, obviously,” Renjun responds. “He’s a friend. I’d say I get around more than you do.”
Jaemin nods in agreement. For what it’s worth, Jaemin would think that that was true of every other deity and spirit that lived here, whichever side of the forest they come from. Jaemin wasn’t a complete hermit, by any means—he fraternized plenty with the ones who dwelled on his side, all those deities closer to the human village. But the side past the bridge—lush with balete trees and rose bushes where Renjun makes his dwelling—is a place to which Jaemin doesn’t venture. Nor do any of the humans from the quaint, nearby village. There, Renjun is the only deity— the rest of its inhabitants being anitos: either the souls of the dead, or the more powerful ones who shepherd and guide them. Jaemin simply thought it in his nature to be wary of such a place; nevermind that when any of its dwellers crossed over to him, he had found them to be, more often than not, peaceful. Even quite kind.
Even the deity of death brought more calm than gloom, sipping hot chocolate at his table right now.
“You make friends with the halflings,” Jaemin observes offhandedly.
Renjun tilts his head, amused expression on his face. “I do. Does that surprise you?”
“It does.” Jaemin answers honestly. But the more that he thinks about it, it’s the shapeshifters and the animals that have free reign of all the forest, after all. And Renjun must be acquainted with the river guardians, too, for how often he rows the boat for lost souls. “A lot about you surprises me, now that you’re here.”
The expression it puts on Renjun’s face is indiscernible. Jaemin feels heat rising to his cheeks, suddenly betrayed by the limits of his human form. He taps on the wood of the table while waiting for a response, filling his lungs with humid air.
“Was it fear, perhaps?” Renjun asks, voice smooth and steady. “You’re wary of the river to the afterlife. You never visit the Haven. Or the Rose Garden. Jeno’s been lonely, you know?”
Jaemin somehow manages to keep a straight face. It’s true; he hasn’t seen Jeno in a while, either. The Haven was a place for restless souls to dwell before they rode on the boat to the afterlife, the anito who guarded it named Ten, with another named Jisung as his right hand. Jeno was that helper for the rose garden’s guardian, Taeyong: where they would shepherd the restless souls of the animals or halflings or any other lost, non-human creatures. Jeno used to cross over the river to meet Jaemin a lot, and they would talk about mundane things under the shade of his acacia tree. It’s a curious thing that Renjun seems to know about their old friendship as well—makes him wonder about the state of the havens after so many years—all while Jaemin had been content to sit idle on the side of the forest where more of the sunlight shines.
“You’re very human,” Renjun says all of a sudden, making Jaemin tilt his head in surprise. “You surprise me, too. Whatever possessed you to believe that a deity of life should have to avoid a deity of death?”
Jaemin tuts. “Is that what you think it was?”
“Was it not?” Renjun leans forward. “Human language loves its dichotomies. Human emotions tangle fear into things as harmless as the dark. You must think I’m an arbiter of nothing but destruction. Chaos. What exactly do you think Ten and Taeyong do for the wandering souls in their havens? Do you think it’s purgatory—?”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Have I?” Renjun smiles cryptically. “You are very human. You fear what you know as death. Most of the other deities do know me as the deity of change. So does every anito. We might have met sooner if you were the same, no?”
“I doubt it,” Jaemin defends weakly. “What’s in a name, and all that.”
“Romeo and Juliet? You’re proving my point.” Renjun laughs sweetly—almost dizzyingly so. “If you had met me long before, you’d know that I’m not evil. We’re two sides of the same coin. You felt it earlier, I know you did. My power complements yours. We save lives together. We always have.”
Jaemin looks at him skeptically, arms crossing over his chest. “Since when have you been concerned with saving lives?”
Renjun rolls his eyes, sighing deeply. Jaemin uncrosses his arms.
“All souls find me at the end of their lives,” Renjun explains. “I know you understand this deep down, Jaemin. You do. Life is a precious thing, and I don’t elect to stand in the way of those who want to fight for it.”
Jaemin looks at him in awe, feels almost pinned down by the impassioned intensity in Renjun’s gaze. The deity of… change. It feels foreign on his tongue. But it seems to fit so much more into this lively, vibrant picture before him now, enigmatic and intriguing and very, entirely new.
“We were never meant to perform our duties here alone. Those who want to live, I send them to you,” Renjun explains. “And the ones who can no longer go on, I send to Jisung. There’s a reason he exists.”
Jaemin exhales as time stands still between them, the pumping of his heartbeat lost to the sound of the rain.
It’s a lot to think about after years of remaining stable in his own simplistic beliefs. He goes back to all the times that he has felt quite lonely, wondering absently to the heavens why the bridge to the other side of the river was one he never felt he should cross. All the other deities had other spirits to connect themselves to, after all; Jaehyun and Jungwoo had each other, the spirits of love and growth. The earth spirits lived peacefully together in the mushroom gardens and the butterlfy grove, the heavenly spirits in the shrine built for them by the humans of the village. Even the anitos were not lonely, Ten and Taeyong with Jisung and Jeno standing loyally at their sides. As far as Jaemin knows, only himself and Renjun were so far distanced from each other, the potential of their power painfully unknown—an energy that Jaemin once thought could be catastrophic, dangerous to its core.
But now that he feels it, still ever-present and nearly buzzing in the space between them—it’s electric. Though it’s foreign, Jaemin knows it gives him nothing but strength. It’s a little jarring to realize—to begin to accept—that whatever they were… maybe they were never meant to be apart.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
Renjun huffs. “Because for a being so powerful, you seem to understand so little,” Renjun says with a patient expression, hands moving further onto the table, silently asking Jaemin to meet him in the middle. “Because you heal, and for some reason that makes you think that I destroy. I don’t just accompany souls to the afterlife, Jaemin. I also put the autumn spirit to sleep before waking the winter, I guide the sun and moon spirits as they rise. Things don’t just die—they transform. Everything that you bring to life, I keep alive, in so many different ways.”
Reluctant disbelief washes over Jaemin as he stares, gaze pointed at Renjun’s hands, still open at the table. Words cannot form on his lips, so he reaches ever so slowly—if only to give Renjun the courtesy of not dealing him any more baseless rejection—letting their hands slip naturally into each other without restraint. The low thrum of the energy between them becomes more palpable this way, and Jaemin wonders if this was what Renjun intended. It was the undeniable evidence of what could simply not be encapsulated in human words. Power, connection—more than ever, Jaemin knows that it feels right.
“Are you saying you aren’t the deity that deals destruction? Punishment?” Jaemin asks with a nervous chuckle, the last of his challenges for the other. Renjun was right, after all—it seems like Jaemin doesn’t quite understand as much as he would’ve liked to think. “Your power does have a darkness, Renjun. Whatever you might be called.”
Renjun laughs. Gentle, undemanding, still looking at their joined hands.
“Things that merit punishment are created by humans. Their evil is destroyed, but the life you gave them remains pure. Ready to be transformed into something more…” he pauses, looking straight up into Jaemin’s eyes before he adds, almost just a whisper, “...beautiful.”
Jaemin’s fingers twitch in Renjun’s hold upon hearing the word, but Renjun’s touch remains firm, his smile never wavers. Jaemin is lost in every new revelation, the sugary words that had left Renjun’s mouth and the magic still coursing between them, disguised in their human forms as a subtle kind of warmth. The pit in Jaemin’s stomach sinks at the thought of all the wasted time, the thought of what life was for him before this serendipitous encounter, what it might have continued to be like without it. After centuries of turning Renjun away, here they were now—spirits and hands impossibly connected, as if they had never grown apart.
The moment is ruined when something gets knocked over in the other room, and their hands let go of each other in surprise—quiet, amused laughter suddenly bubbling from both their chests.
Renjun speaks first. “You know what they say about the tall and lanky ones.”
“Mmm,” Jaemin hums, hand to his forehead in mock distress. Sungchan, very likely now waking from his sleep, could have knocked over one of his precious flower pots from Jaehyun and Jungwoo’s acacia. They would never forgive him for that. “Clumsy.”
Renjun only peers up at him when he starts to stand up, a little urgently but not in so much of a rush. “Will you go check on him?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Jaemin pauses for a moment before pushing his chair back, staring only for a few more seconds at Renjun’s soft, almost angelic face, whispering back at him with a fond smile. “Okay.”
“Hey.” Renjun interrupts suddenly, right before Jaemin can turn to walk into the other room. “Does this mean I can come to see you again?”
Jaemin, against all odds—he nods. Slowly, at first, and then gradually more assured. “I’d like that.”
“Come with me to the river sometime, then.” Renjun requests, without missing a beat. “The creatures could use a visit from the deity of life.”
Jaemin just stands there for a few seconds, frozen, until another loud thump breaks him out of his trance. “Yes, of course, yes,” he answers in a frenzy, without really much time—but not any need, either—to think. He only stays for a second more to appreciate the satisfied smile Renjun gives him as he waves him off, standing up as well to gather the cups on the table, letting Jaemin go to check on their injured guest.
Jaemin leaves the room, rain still pouring steady outside, the sound of running water in his kitchen and a groggy, but definitely awake Sungchan attempting to flail in his bed.
And the spark of Renjun’s energy gracefully remains, entwining gently into Jaemin’s own—a perfect blanket of warmth throughout the rest of the stormy night.