Archive of Our Own

Beautiful eyes watch entranced as Seungmin takes his hand off the drink that isn’t his. Where the man’s gaze lingers, tenebrous and vibrant like the liquid, ice crystals start to envelope the glass. They spread from where the tips of Seungmin’s fingers had touched the glass, breaking and reflecting the gloomy light in the bar.

Seungmin watches the man’s soft, delicate features contort into an expression of reverence. Awe sparks light behind his down-turned lashes, and fear begins to pale him save for the imperial red of his tempting lips. Dark hair frames his face and a pearl of sweat runs down the side of his smooth neck, mirror to the condensing air slipping down his glass of whiskey, now untouched on the rosewood counter.

The silence between them is broken only by distant, muffled chatter. A high-pitched laughter somewhere behind them. A different world altogether.

Lips parting, the man takes in a sharp breath, and Seungmin feels his own breath wrung from his lungs. Magic thrums beneath his skin, rattling it. Yet, looking at the man across from him, he’s never felt more human. More mundane. His skin pricks from the profanity of it.

Within the brown liquid, now two perfectly shaped ice cubes revolve around each other like two objects in space. Propelled by an invisible force, their vapor curls delicately in the air, spicy and crisp a like winter’s breeze.

Seungmin’s eyes flash magma-coloured before he moves the whiskey glass towards the man in front of him, doing so with nothing but a sage-scented puff of air. The ice cubes clink sharply, and the liquid’s surface ripples.

“You wanted whiskey on ice, no?”

Another intake of breath. Shocked, as if he hadn’t expected Seungmin to possess a voice. The man looks at him for the first time.

“How did you–”

“You should drink it, before all the ice has melted and the whiskey tastes like rotten water,” he says. “Not that whiskey doesn’t already taste like that, but we each like different things, I suppose.”

Beneath his lashes, Seungmin’s eyes light up again. He meets the man’s gaze. Inadvertent curiosity carves deep creases into his features, the human epigraph.

Seungmin admits that he likes this part just a little bit.

The man takes his drink, though cautious, and swirls the liquid around. Where his warm skin touches the glass, the crystal layer melts in the shape of his fingertips. His fingers are long and elegant, but so is his entire figure. His body slouched despite its regal shape, one shiny leather-clad foot canted on the stool’s footrest, the other’s pointed tip bracing him against the floor as he leans forward, swaying as he examines his drink and then Seungmin.

He must know by now what Seungmin is. After all, people like him are rare but not so rare. Yet, or maybe that’s precisely why, he remains hesitant as he raises the glass to his awaiting lips. Taking a sip, his eyes briefly close.

“Is it good?” Seungmin asks nonchalantly, and he returns to his own gin & tonic. Botanical.

The man’s eyes narrow as he takes a second sip, then a third, and a fourth, until nothing remains in his glass but melting ice. He appears shocked by his own eagerness, a little abashed by how quickly he emptied all. An alcohol-induced flush returns to his neck, creeping up his sculpted face. He sits the glass back down on the counter and clears his throat, willingly coated in Seungmin’s magic.

“This tastes… different. With the ice, it– I’ve never tasted whiskey like this before.”

His voice is cinnamon-sweet.

“Different how?” Seungmin inquires.

“Herbal. But good.”

“Mhh.” Satisfied, he nods.

“But how did you… the taste and… and the ice. You… you have magic.”

Whether it’s the fresh alcohol in his body or the curiosity he’s been harbouring ever since Seungmin fixed the barkeeper’s faux pas, the man’s gaze finds Seungmin’s again. He dares to keep it even as Seungmin sparks another flash of magic in his eyes. The man clutches his glass tightly, and the ice cubes continue to melt.

Seungmin empties his gin & tonic with fervour, then leaves a banknote on the counter large enough to cover both of their drinks and a rather small tip. (After all, they did forget the ice.)

He slides off his seat. His admittantly feigned attempt at leaving is pleasantly slowed by the thrilling burn of the man’s stare at the back of his neck, a lingering enjoyment brief but impactful that he allows himself. Seungmin senses the man’s deliberation; the erratic pulsing of his heart, the gathering of courage, and something he is cautious to call want. The longer he lingers, the more it threatens to lick through his skin and saturate his flesh.

“Wait! Did you–” the man begins, his voice laced with urgency. “Wait, please. Did you… with magic… put something in the ice?”

Seungmin, fastening his coat, reveals a modest smile. “It’s just ice.”

“But… but it tasted different. How?”

In the depths of the man’s eyes, Seungmin watches the ice cubes swirl and disperse his magic into specks of light. Attempting to regain his composure, he smoothes out the wrinkles of the onyx-coloured fabric before fixing his carefully combed hair. He holds out a hand to the gorgeous man in front of him. His other hand, whose right middle finger is adorned with a single silver ring in the shape of a blooming rose, he buries deep in the pocket of his coat.

The man looks up at him, brushing a single strand of hair out of his prism eyes, and takes the offered hand even before Seungmin forms the question lingering at the tip of his tongue.

“Would you like to come with me and find out?”

*

I can feel something change, the rose whispers to another.

How much longer?, the other asks.

Not much.

He’s taking him?

Yes.

You think he’s the one?

We’ve waited for so long, says the third, pressing its blossoms together.

He doesn’t know he did this, says the first.

He feels human, says the second. It’s so magical, isn’t it?

*

Seungmin’s greenhouse is at the top of the skyscraper. The icy wind tousles their hair and bites their skin as they cross the small distance between the backdoor of Seungmin’s crammed rooftop apartment and the entrance to his garden. Perhaps unconsciously, he – Hyunjin – holds on to Seungmin’s arm as they walk.

Seungmin’s eyes are fixed on the glimmering lights illuminating the never-sleeping Seoul beneath their feet. When they return to the man next to him, he acknowledges with a blooming warmth in his chest that instead of watching the world beneath them, Hyunjin is marvelling at the million lights suddenly visible above their heads. Those carefully crafted constellations in the night sky.

Hyunjin would’ve almost walked against the door of the greenhouse if Seungmin didn’t stop him. He blushes, and Seungmin, despite his magic, cannot find the power in him to look away first.

When Hyunjin tears his gaze away, he reads the sign above the garden’s entrance. There, written in hanja it says,

薔薇

“장미. Rose. I like roses.”

Seungmin smiles. “You are like one, I can tell.”

“What does that even mean?”

“See what is says there?” Seungmin asks, pointing to the smaller inscription written in Hangeul just below.

“겨울 정원의 장미.”

“A rose in winter’s garden,” Seungmin repeats. “You’re lucky. These roses only ever grow in winter.”

Seungmin lets Hyunjin step inside first, quietly closing the door behind them. The air inside the greenhouse is warm and humid and drapes itself over their skin like a damp veil. Immediately, the intense smell of herbs fogs up Seungmin’s mind, even after all this time.

From the outside, no one would guess the vastness of Seungmin’s garden; the high ceilings, the iron gallery framing the southern wall, accessible through a winding staircase whose railing mirrors the shape of vines, and the sheer variety of plant species. In every direction one is met with the sight of small- or bigger-sized patches growing mostly herbs or flowers, an amalgam of countless different shapes and shades of petals. Different smells fill the air and mix with each other, giving every corner of the garden its own distinct scent. Scattered trees here and there reach up to the ceiling, almost fully consumed by vines and creepers, providing shade during the day to those plants growing beneath them.

Seungmin takes off his coat and folds it carefully before placing it onto a low stone fence surrounding a small patch of ornamental herbs. He watches with some pride as Hyunjin’s eyes widen at the magical sight, turning slowly on his own axis to take everything in. His lips are parted, forming a silent o, and his face is illuminated not by artificial light but Seungmin’s fluorescent plants, placed at every junction of the narrow paths.

When their eyes meet again, Seungmin nods in the direction of a wide patch growing herbs right next to Hyunjin. “You probably tasted a little bit of these in your drink. I like them the most for drinks. I’m glad you do, too.”

Hyunjin kneels down next to the patch to read the little sign – 타라곤 tarragon – and says, “You lied. You told me it’s just ice.”

“It is,” Seungmin insists, approaching. “The molecules, they’re just H₂O. What you tasted was the matter between them. My magic, if you will.”

Hyunjin looks up at him questioningly, almost mockingly. “What, like, dark energy?”

“Physicists call it dark energy, warlocks call it dark magic, I usually just call it magic, or whatever I want to call it.”

Hyunjin huffs. “And magic tastes of tarragon?”

“My magic tastes like whatever I taste like.” Seungmin notices another fuchsia-coloured blush creeping up Hyunjin’s tinted cheeks at his choice of words. “It’s my magic, it’s a part of me. I’ve spent my whole life studying plants and herbs, especially medically, but also culinary.”

Hyunjin looks at him questioningly. His head cocked to the side, he’s clearly curious to hear more. Seungmin waits a breath to see if he’ll ask. He doesn’t. Hyunjin is a paradox, he thinks. Will take a drink infused by a magical stranger but is too shy to ask how the magic happened in the first place. Or maybe he’s just too embarrassed to admit out loud he swallowed a part of Seungmin down his throat before he’s so much as said a word to him.

“Just look at magic like a tool used for a craft. The tool shapes the matter, but the matter also shapes the tool if you use it long enough. The more us magicians use our magic, the more it develops an individual form or characteristic. Now, the shape of my magic is that you can literally taste it.”

Slowly, Hyunjin gets up from the floor. There’s dirt on the tips of his fingers from where he’d touched the stone fence, and Seungmin feels the urge to take his hand and brush it off.

“Is there anything else about your magic I should know?” Hyunjin whispers. The low tone of his voice makes goosebumps rise on Seungmin’s skin.

“Well, ever since I started growing plants with the help of magic, I could never make my roses fully bloom. As you can see, they grow, but their blossoms stay closed until summer when they wilt and wither. It’s almost like a curse. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

For a moment, he watches Hyunjin contemplate his words. Trying to grasp the concepts of magic with a worldly education is almost impossible, but Seungmin can still enjoy the different thoughts shaping the expressions on Hyunjin’s delicate face as he tries.

“Well, maybe, Seungmin, your magic isn’t shaped for them. If magic is like a tool, and what you use it on is the material, then it wouldn’t work to use a screwdriver to carve stone, would it?”

Seungmin cocks his head. “Are you telling me my roses are nothing more than a piece of rock?”

“No. I’m saying that maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe your magic can do everything when it comes to plants, except that.”

Seungmin smiles. “That’s adorable.”

Hyunjin huffs, defiant like a flower protecting itself by growing thorns. “Oh, what do you even know? Maybe roses just don’t like you. Plants have a mind of their own, too, you know.”

“Clearly, or else it would not have taken me almost a century to get rosemary to grow in here.”

Seungmin watches as Hyunjin fails to hide a small smile at his words. And he’s quiet lovely like this, soft but fierce, in ways that feel familiar to Seungmin. He’s sweet, and expressive, and obviously a hopeless romantic. But he’s also strong-willed, and protective, with sparking eyes that bore into Seungmin’s like thorns. The little voice of reason in the back of Seungmin’s head tells him that if he doesn’t watch himself, he might end up cutting himself on him.

Unconsciously, Seungmin rubs his finger over the silver rose on his hand. The metal is almost as cold as the crystals that had littered Hyunjin’s glass of whiskey merely an hour ago.

“Seungmin?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because you wanted to find out about the ice cubes.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “No, I mean, why did you bring me here? Why… why me? I thought… I always thought people like you liked to stay with their own.”

“Because my magic told me to.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen. “Your magic told you to bring me here?”

Seungmin presses his lips together. He can’t admit to him that the reason he infused his drink with magic had absolutely nothing magical to it, but rather that he’s the most beautiful person Seungmin has ever seen, and it was the most innately human part in him that had drawn him to Hyunjin and made him do so.

Hyunjin takes a step closer, and Seungmin swallows down the instinct telling him to back away. Decades of focussing on his craft have granted him advancements almost unheard of in botanical magic, but they also made him forget about the most primal, human temptations. Until today; until he spotted Hyunjin alone at the bar and was ready to denounce his magic for just one more glance at his beautiful eyes.

And now, their faces are so close he can feel each of Hyunjin’s shaky breaths on the tip of his nose. A flowery scent wafts over to him and it’s new. Seungmin has mapped out the scent of every corner of his garden in his head, so he knows that this one is different. It smells of a type of rose Seungmin has never smelled before. He concludes it must be Hyunjin’s own, and this conclusion does not come without the inkling of a discovery much bigger than anything he’s ever achieved before.

But before he can think on it more, a hand takes his, and as soon as Hyunjin’s skin touches the silver rose on his finger it begins to feel hot and heavy. It hurts a little bit, yet Seungmin doesn’t pull away; doesn’t want Hyunjin to stop holding his hand.

There’s not a fraction of a second in which Hyunjin’s voice wavers when he says, “And what is your magic telling you now?”

There is no magic, Seungmin wants to say. All I feel is you. Instead, Seungmin kisses him.

Instantly, Seungmin reverts his previous thoughts. The thing about magic is that it exists, but not always in the same way. There’s magic like his own, which works on matter. And then there is magic like the one he feels now. Kissing the person he’s been craving to. Feeling like his chest should explode, yet it just doesn’t. Standing in a sea of roses but holding the most precious one close to his body.

Hyunjin’s tongue licking over his lips, his warm hands threading through the short hair at the nape of Seungmin’s neck; all those decades of researching magic for the sake of knowledge, Seungmin had forgotten what magic can do to one’s heart. Now he thinks, There’s magic in you, too, my flower.

When they part, it’s not without another lingering kiss to the corner of Hyunjin’s mouth. He’s breathing heavily, his lips mirroring the colour of red agastache, and Seungmin acknowledges it with a spark of pride. They’re still holding hands, and finally Seungmin turns Hyunjin’s palm up to carefully remove the dirt stuck to his fingertips. It falls to the floor in red, green, purple, orange dust; a pretty sight, but Hyunjin’s gaze is fixed on something else entirely.

“Seungmin…” His name leaves Hyunjin’s lips as no more than a reverent whisper.

Seungmin looks up and follows Hyunjin’s gaze, but he doesn’t need to turn his head to see it.

장미들이 핀다, the garden whispers to him. The roses bloom.

One by one the rose blossoms begin to open, and soon the air is filled with a scent so sweet it makes Seungmin feel heady. Awestruck he watches the pinnacle of his creation; roses infused with magic that mirror human emotion.

It all makes sense now. Just like how Seungmin had managed to create ice cubes carrying the herbal taste of his magic in them, so must he unknowingly have distilled the absence of human connection into his roses. It was only through Hyunjin that Seungmin could feel something outside of magic again, something so distinctly human – and this, in turn, was all his magic roses needed.

Watching it all unfold, Hyunjin squeezes his hand. “Seungmin… your magic… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

It’s remarkable, really; around them a hundred roses of different shapes and colours are showing off their beauty, and yet Seungmin can only keep his eyes on one. He takes off his rose ring, still warm to his touch, and slides it onto Hyunjin’s finger instead.

“I was right. It looks much better on you.”

Turning his head to meet his gaze, a sweet, playful smile pulls at the corners of Hyunjin’s lips. “You know… I prefer daisies actually. Do you happen to have any here?”

In the vast space of the greenhouse, Seungmin’s quiet laugh reverberates. A few of his roses shake their leaves as if they were laughing with him. “You… just… shut up.”

Seungmin feels lightheaded, and he doesn’t think it’s only due to the herbs anymore.

Hyunjin moves closer. Holding up a single finger, he presses it against the pulse point of Seungmin’s neck. “I will. Under one condition.”

When Seungmin speaks, the finger bores into his skin. “I’m listening.”

Leaning in, Hyunjin’s warm breath fans his cheek. “We go back inside your apartment, and you let me have another taste.”

Seungmin’s breath hitches. His magic riots. He’s gotten too close, and now Hyunjin’s thorns have caught onto Seungmin’s skin and tear him open. “A taste of my magic?”

And though Hyunjin possesses no magic in the way Seungmin does, his eyes still flash as he fixes his gaze on Seungmin’s lips and demands, “No. Of your humanity.”