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Deep in the mountains, high above the treetops, there sits an empty castle. Empty of life. Of love. Of anything but the taste of ash and the echoing stone. Nothing could survive up there in its dark and endless depths.
Nothing but the witch.
The witch is a horrid creature, cruel and cold. He kills for pleasure, casts curses and sets villages aflame. He requires no food and no sleep. He exists solely on the hearts of children, luring them into his castle and ripping the still-beating organ from their chests. It is their youth, their aliveness, that has kept him going for centuries and will keep him going for centuries more…
Personally, Seokjin’s quite a fan of that last one. The one about children’s hearts. He didn’t have the fortune of being able to start that rumor himself, but it still makes him laugh all the same. Plus, it keeps people from bothering him.
Children’s hearts. Pah. As if! Seokjin lives and breathes just like any human. He eats. He sleeps. He bleeds. And one day, just like everyone else, Seokjin will die.
Today, is not that day. But today is meaningful all the same.
Because today, for the first time in a long time, Seokjin has a visitor.
***
He feels the iron first. From deep within the cold stone halls of his castle, the iron calls to him. It tastes like blood on the back of his tongue, sweet and sharp. It pulls him from the depths, urges him to meet this person who has dared to enter his house.
Seokjin does not get visitors. Sometimes, he has gotten beggars. Sometimes thieves. Often, he has gotten mobs of angry villagers, brandishing pitchforks and torches.
None of them bore iron though.
He waits cautiously in the shadows at the top of the staircase and watches the visitor shove open the heavy doors just wide enough to slip through. There’s a short, sharp knife shaking in his right hand, the gleam of it stinging Seokjin’s eyes.
This knife could kill Seokjin. Logic dictates he should kill the wielder first.
But-
The boy is young. Can’t be more than a teenager, with ragged clothes and tangled hair. His skin is soft and smooth, face set in a fierce scowl that does not disguise the fear in his eyes as they dart from corner to corner, booted feet admirably quiet as they shuffle along the stone floor.
He’s quite cute, really. For a human.
“Can I help you?” Seokjin’s voice rings out, clear and echoing. The boy jumps, spins, and lifts his trembling knife and wide eyes to the stairs where Seokjin is making his descent.
This boy did not come here to kill the witch; he has come to bargain. And Seokjin loves a good bargain.
The boy’s scowl deepens, and his knife slips through the air. “You killed my parents,” he accuses.
“Hm,” Seokjin drawls. “Yes, I did.” He does not remember them. But he believes this young visitor who traveled so far to get here. “Your parents must not have been good people.”
“My parents were great people! They were loving and kind. Something you wouldn’t know anything about, witch.” He spits at Seokjin, angry and bristling. Seokjin loves it; he feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“No, I wouldn’t,” Seokjin agrees. “But I do know about killing. Would you like me to demonstrate? I can show you exactly how your parents died.”
Fear floods the room, the boy at the center, yet the knife stays pointed at Seokjin, and the boy does not back away. There’s a stupidity there that Seokjin detests. There’s a bravery there he admires.
“This knife is iron, yeah? I know a thing or two about killing as well,” the boy says. He lifts his chin, eyes dark and angry.
“Yes, yes, killing is great and all.” Seokjin waves a lazy hand through the air. He grins with too many teeth. “But what are you really here for?”
A shocked breath stutters through a human chest. The boy rocks back on his heels, eyes wide and scared at Seokjin’s sudden nearness, the witch appearing in front of him in the blink of an eye. He towers over the young human, so close he can hear that little heart pounding and feel the steady, shining pulse of magic flowing through his veins.
Seokjin’s grin widens. He knows why the boy has come.
“You’re cursed,” he whispers gleefully. “You came here to bargain. To beg.”
Seokjin likes beggars. Likes the scent of desperation that drags behind them, heady and rich.
“I came here to k-kill you,” the boy tries. He presses the knife to Seokjin’s bare skin, gasping at the whisps of dark pink smoke that rise from its touch.
“Noo,” Seokjin hums. He leans into the sharp edge and revels in the burn and sting of it. “You wouldn’t kill me. Then you’d have no one to break that silly little curse of yours.”
Something like hope rises in those chocolate-brown eyes. The knife pulls back slightly. “You can break it? For real?”
“I can,” Seokjin says. “Now tell me why I should. ”
A fine shiver runs through the boy, the knife dropping all the way to his side. Already, Seokjin’s skin is mending, flower petals and feathers soothing away the hurt.
“I’m a hunter. Best shot in the village. I could bring you food.”
“Yes, but I don’t need food.”
Seokjin does eat, but everything he requires he already has. He pulls back to let the boy try again.
Bargaining is fun.
“I can get gold. Gems. Anything you want!”
“I already have everything I want. Gold and gems are meaningless to a witch like myself.”
“Clothing then? I know a fine seamstress.”
“Witches make their own clothing. There’s no seamstress finer than magic.”
The boy rattles off a few other offers, his desperation growing, but Seokjin has played this game many times before. Sure, most people don’t make it so far--don’t actually get to bargain with Seokjin himself--but he knows how this goes.
Humans will offer anything, anything at all, until eventually- they will offer a life.
Their own. A stranger’s. An enemy’s. A loved one’s. A life is a life in Seokjin’s books. He’ll cherish whatever he’s given.
“I-I can paint! Um, art and shit. I can bring you art.” The boy’s hands twist in the air, nervous and frantic. He eyes the barren walls. “It might liven the place up a little. That would be nice, right?”
And- Seokjin stops. Blinks. Tilts his head curiously at this strange human boy, attempting to smile at him despite his fear. “You would paint for me?” he asks.
“Uh, yes! Yes, I could paint for you. Anything you want.”
It is foolish, what Seokjin is thinking. That doesn’t stop him.
“Okay. I will break your curse then, little human, and you will paint for me.”
Brown eyes widen. “Wait, really? Just like that? I only have to paint for you?”
“Yes, really. You will gather the ingredients I need to break the curse. When you return with each item, you will make me a painting.”
The boy’s brow crinkles. “I have to gather the ingredients? Isn’t that like…making me pay for my own labor?”
Seokjin glowers, leaning in until the boy is forced to take a frightened step back. “You are not paying for the ingredients, boy. You are paying for what I will be doing with them.”
“Okay, yeah, okay. No problem. Ingredients and painting. I can do that.”
“Good.” Seokjin reaches out, trails two fingertips down the edge of a soft jaw. “But first- I need something else.”
“Uh.” The boy gulps, pulse fluttering in his neck. “What is that?”
A wicked grin curves along the witch’s handsome face. He’s enjoying this. The way the fear is so strong it can’t be squashed, even by the hope that grows with every heartbeat.
“First,” says Seokjin. “I need a name.”
***
In the dead of the night, in his castle all alone, Seokjin will whisper that name to himself.
Jungkook.
It’s a great name, really. It sounds like change.
***
The first thing Seokjin asks for is simple: a single qilin scale.
Jungkook shakes his head, hands flapping. “I can’t get that! That’s impossible!”
Seokjin raises a single eyebrow, unimpressed. “You want this curse broken, yes? Then you will find a way.”
Jungkook is angry and disappointed as he leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. Well, as close to slamming as you can get when the door weighs more than you do.
Seokjin, on the other hand, is quite pleased. This little mission should keep the human away for quite some time. It will also, should the boy succeed, prove just how far he is willing to go.
Qilin are sacred creatures, hard to find and even harder to approach. Not only that, but they tend to only show themselves to those who are truly pure of heart.
Jungkook will have to be more than just determined- he will have to be patient. Kind. Just. He will need to impress a creature that is nearly as old as Seokjin himself.
As he goes to bed that night, Seokjin knows there is a very good chance that he will never see Jungkook again. If the boy tries to return without the necessary item, he won’t make it past the wards.
A frown crosses the ancient witch’s face. Why is it, he wonders, that he feels so strongly that Jungkook to succeed?
***
It is because, a tiny voice whispers, you wish so badly for him to return.
***
And indeed: Jungkook does.
Seokjin has no idea how much time has passed, but the boy’s hair is barely an inch longer, his clothes just as ratty, and in his hand: a single qilin scale.
He hates to admit it, but Seokjin is impressed.
“Where did you get this?” he asks, turning the iridescent scale over in his hand. Even in the faint light of the castle hallway, it gleams brightly. It has not darkened or wilted; Seokjin can feel no malice or darkness. This scale was freely given.
“I made a friend,” Jungkook says simply. He does not elaborate.
But that evening, under the flickering light of a fire and the intense gaze of a witch, Jungkok paints.
Tall trees stretching to the clouds, the soft moss-covered ground, the whisps of fur and flame and whiskers. In his painting, Jungkook tells a story, one Seokjin is more than happy to absorb.
There is something special about this boy.
***
Seokjin hangs the painting in the Great Hall.
It is the only spot of color amongst the grey.
***
The next several ingredients are much easier to seek out. Selections of herbs, salts, stones, and roots.
Every time, Jungkook returns, hands full of ingredients and head full of stories.
Every time, when evening comes, Seokjin stokes the fire, and Jungkook paints his journey onto the canvas the witch has waiting.
Little adventures, just for Seokjin. Just for Seokjin’s walls. With each one hung, the hall gets a little more life breathed into it.
***
“Monkshood? You mean wolfsbane?”
“Perfect, you’ve heard of it. Off you go then.”
“But- it’s poisonous.”
“Hmm, yes it is. I would suggest gloves.”
“...great.”
***
At some point, Seokjin asks for the hind paw of a black cat. Jungkook delivers it, of course, but he doesn’t just bring a hind paw. He brings the whole cat.
“I couldn’t kill him,” Jungkook says. “If you want his paw, you’ll have to get it yourself.”
He’s squatting on the floor, cat fur all over his shirt as he scratches the little guy beneath the chin. A strange rumbling noise is coming from the animal.
“It’s purring, Seokjin.” When had he told Jungkook his name? “That means he’s happy.”
Right. Well.
Seokjin has a cat now.
***
Jungkook says the cat’s name is Sugar--“For the irony!”--which is, in Seokjin’s expert opinion, a terrible name. He calls it Gloss.
“That’s so much worse!”
“It is not!”
Gloss is a terrible roommate. He pisses on the rugs, scratches the furniture, and bites Seokjin whenever he tries to pet him. For some reason, he loves Jungkook though. He’ll curl up on the human’s lap whenever he sits down to paint.
“You’ve got to earn his trust.”
“He’s a cat!”
Seokjin gives Gloss his own room. His fingers twist in the air, wrapped in rosy flames, as he builds trees and platforms and scratching posts. Soft nests and clean bowls and small toys. There is life, in this room. Seokjin plans to keep it that way.
***
Sometimes, Jungkook’s paintings are so vivid, so detailed, Seokjin has to resist the urge to reach out to them, to try and feel the warmth of the sun and the scratch of the grass on his own skin for once.
It’s been so long. Since Seokjin has felt so alive.
***
“I had to travel far and wide for this one!” Jungkook brandishes the pot of honey proudly.
“Don’t you sell honey in your village?” Seokjin asks, highly unimpressed.
“How would you know? You’ve never been to my village before!” Jungkook laughs and shakes his head at Seokjin. He hands him the honeypot.
Seokjin does not tell him the truth. That he has seen Jungkook’s village more times than he can count, through eyes that are never his own. Instead, he just smiles, and waves a hand to urge the boy to continue his story.
Now is not the time for such candor. Now is the time for tea- with an extra spoonful of sweetness.
***
The truth: Seokjin has never made tea for a human before. It spreads warmth through his bones, the honey even sweeter than magic.
***
It takes Jungkook longer, the next couple of times, to find what he needs. A tuft of silver werewolf fur, a tiny bottle of vampire venom, the golden feather of a bongwhang. But always, he comes back.
He sits by the fireplace with his paintbrush in hand, and he tells Seokjin stories. Of the places he went, the people he met, the friends he made. Seokjin tucks his ingredients into separate little bottles and marvels at the way each one shines with generosity.
A werewolf. A vampire. A bongwhang. Each one freely given. Each one a new friend Jungkook has made.
***
“You’ll have to give it grass or something. That’s what deer eat.”
Seokjin eyes the newest addition to the castle, tiny antlers poking out from behind solemn dark eyes. The young deer pokes his nose along the courtyard wall, hooves scraping against stone and more stone.
Grass. Right. Seokjin can do that.
It’s been decades since Seokjin has felt the itch of green blades beneath his bare feet. It reminds him of Jungkook’s paintings. He stays outside for days, perhaps weeks. Him and the deer and Gloss.
Seokjin’s fingers flick and dance, pink flames pulling bushes and trees and a tiny pond into existence. He knows that time must have passed when he looks up and sees Gloss chasing after a bird. There’s an ant crawling over his hand and a butterfly flits from flower to flower.
Life. There is so much life within these walls. Seokjin holds his breath and doesn’t dare to look away.
***
At one point, Jungkok comes stumbling into the castle looking exhausted, his hair one big snarl and a bruise gracing his lower jaw. Multiple scratches slash across his bare arms.
He won’t tell Seokjin what happened, waving it off like it’s no big deal. The witch fights the oddly human urge to fidget, an awkward pressure in his chest as he struggles to find his words.
“You could- stay. Not just to paint. I know how hard a journey it is to head back to the village.”
So Jungkook stays. Lets Seokjin slide a brush through his tangled hair, long enough now to reach his shoulders, and accepts the offer of a couch and a warm blanket.
It’s new: the idea of someone else sleeping in this castle, the soft sound of Jungkook’s breaths filling the room. The warm room, where Seokjin refuses to let the fire die out.
(And the way Jungkook had smiled softly, whispered a small: “Thanks, hyung”?
Well- that had been new too.)
***
After that, Jungkook staying for a few extra days becomes rather commonplace. He explores the castle, plays with Gloss, and admires the garden Seokjin is attempting to grow by hand.
“Everything’s dead.”
“I said attempting, not succeeding.”
“You’re an eons old magical being with infinite power…and you can’t grow tomatoes.”
It used to be the iron that alerted Seokjin to Jungkook’s presence. Now, it is just Jungkook, his warmth and light and life that pulls Seokjin to the door.
He stopped bringing the knife many trips ago.
***
“Twelve lunar tears. You have no idea how hard these are to find!”
Jungkook grins, wiping sweat off his brow as he drops the crate at Seokjin’s feet. The witch doesn’t even bother trying to lift it, just flicks a finger and lets it be wrapped in pink flames, whisked off to the room where all the other ingredients have been stored.
Jungkook blinks and it’s gone. “Whoa,” he says. His brow twitches, and he gulps nervously. Seokojin watches carefully, wondering what he’s thinking. It’s been a while since he’s shown off like that. Perhaps…Jungkook had forgotten who he was.
A witch. A villain.
But he should’ve known better than to underestimate Jungkook. It is not fear in his eyes when he looks up at Seokjin. It is awe.
***
By the time Jungkook works up the courage to kiss Seokjin, it really shouldn’t be a surprise,
It still is.
Seokjin is surprised,
Very surprised,
Then he kisses back.
***
Seokjin had created this castle by himself many years ago. Lifetimes ago, really, and he was quite pleased with how it turned out.
Sure, it was cold. Empty. Lifeless. But it was his. That was his signature and his power in every piece of stone down to the smallest pebble in the courtyard. It was foreboding. Frightening. Tall and sharp and dark. People could see it perched atop its mountain from miles in every direction.
(They knew who sat at the top of their world.)
It was everything a young Seokjin had wanted. He’d wanted to be admired and feared. He wanted to be able to see people climbing the cliffs to reach his door, desperate and hungry. He wanted to fill his home with shadows and sharp things, things that made human hearts race and fresh blood spill.
He’d loved it. He really had.
Or- he thought he had.
Now, though, the castle looks a little different. The gate stands open, the door unlocked. The grey walls are warm with the light of the fire and the colors of paint. The courtyard sings with the call of songbirds and the twitter of insects and the tapping hooves of a strong buck.
Somewhere, a cat lays in patches of sun, purring contentedly.
There is life in the castle. There is warmth and softness.
There is even…. love.
***
Time is confusing for someone who lives as long as Seokjin has. But he knows that it is passing. Jungkook gets more desperate with every new ingredient. Even his paintings are starting to change, sloppier with the shaking of nervous hands and darker with the hopelessness that is rising the longer Seokjin makes the boy wait.
And- he’s not much of a boy anymore. Jungkook smells of aging, and Seokjin begins to worry.
***
The truth: Seokjin didn’t need a single ingredient to break this curse. All he’d ever wanted were the stories.
***
Another truth: Seokjin broke the curse the night of their first kiss. Jungkook was a free man….and Seokjin had been too much of a coward to tell him.
***
Over the next few visits, Jungkook grows more suspicious. He starts to challenge Seokjin. Question the new items Seokjin requests. He eyes him warily, a growing distrust in those golden-brown orbs.
Late at night, in the shadows of his room, Seokjin worries. He is not...good, Seokjin. He is not a good person.
Seokjin is a liar and a killer and a thief who never expected Jungkook to keep coming back, to be so relentless and determined. He thought he’d get some good stories, some decent art, and a fun and entertaining way to pass the time. This- this isn’t what he had wanted.
He hadn’t wanted Jungkook to so completely invade and upturn his life. And he certainly hadn’t wanted to be so impressed by the young human that he ended up catching feelings for him.
What had gotten into him? This wasn’t Seokjin. This wasn’t the witch that people feared so much they whispered stories of in the dark. Seokjin wasn’t soft or good or kind.
He could’ve never befriended a qilin. He could’ve never won over a bongwhang.
(He could’ve never changed the heart of an evil old witch.)
Seokjin wasn’t like Jungkook. And one day, Jungkook was going to realize that.
Seokjin worried that that day was coming soon.
***
“I’ve heard the stories you know. Of the people who came before me.” Jungkook’s eyes won’t meet Seokjin’s; they stay fixed on the loose string he has tugged from his shirt.
“Before I came here, I traveled all over the country. I talked with every single person who knew even the slightest bit about magic. They all said the same thing: that you were the only person who could break it. But also that you never would.”
“Did they tell you I eat the hearts of children?” Seokjin chuckles. He smiles, just a bit, at the idea of Jungkook, young and brave and stupid, facing down an evil witch that he believed ate children's hearts.
“No,” Jungkook disappoints. “They said those rumors were false.”
“Pity. I’ve always liked that one.”
Jungkook picks at the string, tugging and twisting and rubbing. “They said the people who came here--who dared to ask for help--always came back. You never killed them. But they were….changed. They weren’t the same as they were. They never came back the same. They said it was worse than death. Because you erased everything that made them a person.”
The smile falls from Seokjin’s lips. Jungkook’s eyes are deep and aching when he finally lifts them to trap the witch in his gaze. “Please. What did you do to them? What is it you took?”
Seokjin sighs. There is no room for lies anymore. “Their lives,” he whispers. “I took their lives.”
Deep frown lines crease Jungkook’s brow. “But you didn’t kill them.”
“No,” Seokjin says. “I didn’t.”
Human hands clench into fists. “Just tell me. Tell me what you did to them.”
“Do you really want to know?” A firm nod. “Then I don’t need to tell you. I will show you.”
Seokjin stands and shoves down the pang of hurt he feels when Jungkook flinches at the motion, a hint of fear rising in his eyes. It’s been so long since the boy has feared the witch.
With a steadying breath and a sweep of his arm, Seokjin flings pink flames into the air. The pair watches the smoke settle into people, into buildings, into children who run laughing through the streets.
“This- this is my village,” Jungkook says. He moves between the smoky figures, stepping back with a gasp when they change suddenly to show a new scene of a young girl riding a horse.
They change again: a man working steel.
Again: two women eating dinner.
Again.
Again.
Again.
“What are these?” Jungkook breathes.
“Memories,” says Seokjin, the truth bitter on his tongue. “That is what I take, Jungkook. I take their memories, their whole lives.”
“They don’t remember anything?”
“No. Not even their own name.”
“Why- why would you do something like that?!” Jungkook’s hands are trembling, his eyes shiny with tears. He glances at the smoke with sadness; he glares at Seokjin with betrayal.
Do you see? Seokjin wants to ask. Do you see who I really am?
“They gave them to me. It was a bargain.”
“Not a fair one! They wouldn’t even remember what they were bargaining for.”
“They got what they wished for. Every one of them.”
Jungkook’s chest heaves, his breath heavy with anger. “You took away everything they loved. And you took them from everyone they loved. Why?”
How could Seokjin explain? That the memories were what kept him alive all these years? Not physically. He doesn’t need any help with that. But- but mentally, in a way.
Those memories were full of liveliness and youth. Full of laughter and hugs. They had children getting into trouble, adults going on adventures. First kisses and first loves and first times. First heartbreaks. First losses. They were so full of life.
Seokjin had none of that. Seokjin had a castle full of stone. Seokjin had no one.
But how to explain that to Jungkook? What could he possibly say?
“I don’t know,” he whispers instead. It isn’t enough.
Jungkook’s eyes are glossed with tears for people he may not even know. That is how big and pure his heart is. So so so much better than a witch’s. And Seokjin…he just can’t lie anymore.
“Jungkook.” There’s a heavy, aching weight in his chest that he fears will never leave. “I have something I need to tell you.”
***
Seokjin doesn’t remember much of the ensuing screaming, but he’ll never forget the way the tears had shone in Jungkook’s eyes, the way the firelight reflected off the salty tracks on his cheeks.
For the first time in a long time, the heavy old door had slammed shut behind Jungkook’s back.
Time passes. Seokjin counts every single day.
***
“What do you think, Gloss? Will he hate me forever? Will he die with that hatred in his heart? Will I see him before he does?”
. . . .
“...ow.”
***
Jungkook comes back. They both knew he would.
***
“Why me?” Jungkook asks. The first words spoken in three trips. “What made me different?”
Once again, Seokjin thinks of lying. But- he’s really grown to hate the silence. The dark strokes of muddy brown and dreary grey that Jungkook slashes angrily onto the canvas. Having Jungkook back in the castle, sitting in his usual chair, painting in front of the fire: it hurts worse than any hour of waiting.
So. The truth: “I was lonely.” The words cut like iron, the taste of blood thick on Seokjin’s tongue.
Jungkook is silent. The paintbrush dips into bright blue.
***
It’s a start.
***