Chapter Text
Jeongin lunged at another mushroom, elbows scraping against the rough bark, soil staining the cotton of his shirt. Alarmed, it ran into the underbrush, squeaking.
Missed. Again.
He sighed, staring despondently into the pathetic emptiness of his bag. He had ventured into the forest during the later hours of the evening in hopes of tracking down enough mushrooms to make a stew. In principle, the task was simple enough, but when an event concerns an Enchanted Forest, nothing is ever made easy. The mushrooms kept slipping out of his grasp like a wet bar of soap, and Jeongin had collected a grand total of zero little guys.
At this point, Jeongin would rather just head home and order McDonalds. It was getting dark, and he was already toeing danger’s line by staying out so late. His fries wouldn’t try to run away, at the very least.
As Jeongin was debating the pros and cons of take-out as opposed to fantastical fungi, an abrupt, banshee-scream rattled through the forest, trees and mushrooms alike tilling all soil in their path to rush away. He clasped his hands over his ears tightly, face scrunched up in discomfort. As quickly as it came, it ended.
What the hell was that?
He whipped his head around, frantically, trying to locate the source of the sound. Another scream, this one more frantic than its predecessor. Fireflies zipped past him, and animals scurried off into the darkness of the forest.
Jeongin swears he’s about to burn down this entire damned forest. Sentient mushrooms with legs was one thing; horror-movie shrieks in mystical, abandoned woods at night was another. He guessed it was some kind of animal fight, but he really didn’t want to stick around to witness the aftermath of that.
Jeongin was about to turn around and get the actual Hell out of there, but the following screech stopped him cold in his tracks. That wasn’t an animal. That was a person. A person who sounded like they were in unimaginable agony, and Jeongin couldn’t just leave knowing that someone’s life could potentially be on the line.
At the dawn of the third scream, Jeongin ran. Against the tide of scuttling foxes and darting owls, he tripped over usurped roots and withering leaves. His path was lit by slivers of moonlight, guiding him to the source of the noise. He clawed at his ears vivaciously, desperately trying to block out the shrieks.
The fifth scream reverberated in his skull like a gong.
The sixth forced its ugly prickle under his skin, embedding itself into the marrow of his bones.
The seventh brought him to tears.
So much pain, so much agony was encapsulated in the tremor of each wail for help, in the raw scraping of a voice against the frosted night. It was so awful Jeongin could practically feel it too, in tandem with the mystery screeches.
Forever couldn’t have ended sooner, Jeongin believed, as he was met with a wall of Aspen trees, their coal-like eyes eerily watching his every move.
“Hey, could you— move, please?” He asked in between hastily-taken lungfuls of air. “I— I’m trying to help whoever’s on the other side.”
For a moment, the Aspen remained unresponsive, their mockery of human eyes blinking at him lazily. Eventually, they shifted their trunks and ruffled apart constricting branches to reveal a grassy, moonlit clearing. What caught Jeongin’s attention most, though, was the strikingly familiar, yet unknown boy in front of him.
Ink-black runes poured the length of his sunflower skin in waves, parting around the atomies of his face, grappling with the expanse of his muscular arms and bare hip bones. Twisted and whetted, his claws were digging into the soil ardently. He took in a deep breath, letting out another ear-shattering cry. His blue hair shone, and Jeongin saw pearly fangs glint under the moon.
A memory, as faint as a forgotten dream, resurfaced.
“Grandma,” Jeongin said, swinging his legs back and forth from where he was seated on their wooden porch. “What are elves like?”
His grandmother was cracking open peanuts, chewing on them boredly. “They’re nothing like the stories, for one.” Jeongin turned to look at her questioningly.
“The legends will tell you that they’re wonderful and lovely, full of magic and enchantment. And they’re right. But elves are not what you’d expect.”
Jeongin frowned. “I don’t get what you’re saying, grandma.”
Humming in thought, she replied, “Let me tell you a story, Jeongin. A long, long time ago, there used to be two friends. An elf, and a fairy. They used to love each other greatly, and were inseparable. But one day, the elf had lost the fairy’s favorite necklace. Angered, the fairy cursed the elf so that she’d have sharp, ugly claws, and teeth like a lion’s. This curse covered the elf’s skin in black rune marks, and made her a horrid monster.”
“Ever since then, all elves have looked like beasts, and fairies and elves haven’t got along very well.”
“But how could you curse your closest friend just because they lost something!” He squawked indignantly. “That’s so stupid!”
His grandmother shrugged. “Most old wives’ tales are stupid, Jeongin. The fairy could have just gotten a new necklace, but in the end, she chose jewelry over her friend.” She leaned close to him, almost conspiratorially, and whispered, “between you and me, I don’t think they were very close friends to begin with.”
“I don’t think so either, grandma. If I meet an elf, I'll be their best friend, and I won't ever, ever betray them!” he said confidently.
She laughed. “Elves are wonderful, Jeongin. They have a lot to teach you about forests and rivers and life, but that doesn’t mean that they’re nice.
“Elves are bad.”
An elf caught in a scissors-snare.
Two slender rods haloed the moon on a twisted, metal pedestal, piercing delicate flesh. Crimson, as deep as field-born poppy, stained the serenity of the forest. It was everywhere. Streaked across the grass, cascading from the elf's atrophied leg, splattered across the hunter’s trap – iron on iron. It had cut into his sinew, mutilating his thighs and skewing it into the firm earth. Jeongin felt bile rise up his throat at the gory sight.
He stared at the elf, unable to tear his eyes away. Howls echoed into the moon-drenched night, nothing but a sorrowfully indifferent sky answering his pleas. Jeongin couldn’t help him. He was an elf, and nothing good ever came from helping an elf.
Elves are bad.
You don’t help elves.
But something in Jeongin beseeched him, begged him to aid the boy. Maybe it was the way that even in such dire and vexed straits, he still avoided crushing the wildflowers that bloomed beneath his fingers; or maybe it was the way tears rolled down his cheeks like flushing rivers, relentless in their flow – it was too human for Jeongin’s liking.
Maybe he could just quickly dismantle the snare and run home? Surely with a wound that severe, the elf wouldn't chase after him. Then again, elves can heal as fast as bullet trains, so maybe–
A branch came down on this head with a large thwack. "Ow! What did you do that for?" Jeongin asked the offending tree angrily. The Aspen trilled indignantly and shoved him forward. The elf had noticed him now.
"Uh," Jeongin said. He looked to the trees for back-up, only to watch them turn tail and run like cowards. Traitors. He stepped forward, halted by the feral growl of the elf. "Don't come closer," he threatened. Definitely an elf, then.
Though, to be fair, said elf was in an extremely stressful and anguished situation at the moment, so he supposed that sort of reaction was excusable. Jeongin put his hands up, fingers splayed out in the universally-accepted ‘I come in peace’ gesture. He tip-toed toward him despite the elf’s earlier warnings, because really, what is he even capable of given the circumstances?
He crouched low in front of the elf, steadily inching closer. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said softly. “I’m just gonna get you free, okay?” Jeongin steadied his feet, clutching the poles in a vice-grip. He poured every ounce of strength he had into his arms, grunting and heaving the rusting poles out of the earth. They creaked and groaned, vehemently grasping the ground, stubbornly staying put.
Jeongin fell back, panting heavily. The elf mirrored him, his breaths shallow and heavy, whimpers escaping his lips as he clawed gushing wounds into the skin of his arm to alleviate the pain.
“Hey, wait, no,” Jeongin said. “Don’t do that! You’ll lose more blood.” He didn’t respond. Oh God, that’s bad, Jeongin thought. I need to get him out of here quick.
He whipped his head around, searching for anything to dismantle the snare. The forest offered nothing but aging wood and chipped flint, neither of which would do much against iron. Then, his eyes caught the gleam of the hinges. The hinges seemed different from the rest of the trap; it was streaky in the light it reflected, darker and rougher. Tracing his fingers across the lined and uneven surface of, he realized that they were made of lead.
Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb went off above Jeongin’s head. He hurried across the small field to the flint he had spotted earlier. He snatched up a random rock on the ground, praying to whichever deity was willing to listen that it had at least some carbon, and rushed to the elf. Harshly, he struck the flint against the stone, sunset-sparks flickering in and out of existence. Again, this time more frantic and forceful.
He repeated, hoping against hope that a derelict piece of flint and a rock with an unknown carbon count would light on fire. Come on, just a little more… there!
With a final, violent rake, the sparks burned hot and bright enough to catch onto the lead. Ablaze, the lead began to melt and drip to the ground.
Success! He cheered. That was, until he realized that the elf’s leg was also directly under the hinges, and the molten metal had dripped onto his open wound as well. He screamed, loud and agonized, the noise viciously scratching against Jeongin's ears. The elf leaped forward, dragging his nails down Jeongin’s face fiercely.
The claws left a burning trail of pain, eating up the peeling and bloodied skin on his countenance. He blinked his eyes open, vision hazy from the sheen of blood that ran down. The elf continued to growl and claw, and Jeongin didn’t think he could take another second of it. Gritting his teeth, he stood up and pried the scissors-snare out of the earth and, consequently, the elf’s leg. He threw the blazed metal to the floor, and the elf, now freed, took the chance to hop away.
Jeongin huffed, heartbeat muffled by adrenaline. He let the fight seep out of his shoulders, and fell backwards onto the field to stare at the clear, night sky. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would leave hunter traps in this forest. To a good majority of the human realm, this forest had nothing but rabbits and foxes and squirrels, most of which were all skin and bones. There wasn’t much living in here to those who didn’t know of magic.
Comically, what wandered into his vision then was a tiny, tittering menagerie of mushrooms. Jeongin wasn’t exactly fluent in the language of fungi, but he could tell that the mushrooms were laughing at him.
If a group of saprophytic bastards were subsequently thrown against a mounting oak and then eaten raw and alive, well. No one was there to judge Jeongin but God anyway.
---
Jeongin was not having a good day.
Post-slightly-traumatic Enchanted Forest incident, Jeongin has been experiencing a string of bad luck so incredibly abysmal it would put A Series of Unfortunate Events to shame.
His first order of business was to head to a hospital, understandably. He neglected calling an ambulance due to the exorbitant costs (courtesy of capitalism) and instead rang up an Uber. It took about five minutes until the Fates turned on him, wherein his driver pulled a gun out of literal thin air. Not too keen on dying that particular night, Jeongin handed the driver his money.
Just as he got booted out of the car, a cement truck crashed into the front of the Toyota, killing the driver. Although the automobile was aflame, Jeongin’s cash and credit cards had miraculously survived; he himself was fortunately well-off considering the accident.
Unfortunately, an ambulance had arrived, medics had shoved him onto gurney and then into the back-door, which cost him an astounding nine-hundred bucks. Then, he was forced to wait in the hospital lobby for the next three hours, holding a wet-wipe to his face to prevent any bleeding. A woman had come in with a paper-cut on her finger and was still treated before him. Praise the healthcare system.
After finally, finally getting his face wrapped up in bandages with gaps left for him to see through, Jeongin trudged home, because he’d rather jump off a bridge than book a cab ever again.
“This night literally can’t get any worse,” he grumbled. Lightning struck. Thunder boomed. It started raining. Somewhere, high above the clouds, Jeongin could hear God laughing.
Sighing, he stomped through the undulating downpour to his house. He lost consciousness for the following six hours once in bed. Waking up to a crick in his neck and sore arms, Jeongin deigned it appropriate to inform his boss he wouldn’t be clocking in for work today.
“Sir,” he started. “I’m afraid I can’t come to work today. I was in a car accident last night and I’m recovering from injuries I sustained.” Not technically a lie.
“I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you recover soon,” his boss said sympathetically. “But you should know that no-one can come to work today, anyway.”
“What, why?”
He sighed. “A helicopter crashed into the office building. I have to apply for an insurance premium due to unpredictable events; I’ll notify you when you can return.” His boss cut the call. Jeongin stared at his phone screen, stunned into silence. He couldn’t tell if he was lucky to have survived the past twelve hours or unlucky to have it happen to him in the first place.
His stomach gurgled so he went to make breakfast. Jeongin’s life was so utterly dismal at this point that he won’t even try to explain what happened next. All he will say, if anyone asks, is that his kitchen –— despite having no windows —– now has a lovely view of the outside world, and that Jeongin has lost both his toaster and his sanity.
At the moment, Jeongin was in the woods. He figured that everything that happened can be ascribed to the occurrences of the previous night, and if saving an elf really did curse him, perhaps breaking that boy’s other leg will cancel out his misfortune.
Okay, no, Jeongin wasn’t actually going to break someone’s leg (although he did consider it). The real reason he’s here is because he’s scouring every nook and cranny he can to find and conquer any and all hunter traps. It didn’t matter that his vision was not at its best, he was out for vengeance. So far he had destroyed one scissors-snare, a bear trap, five deadfalls and two leg-holds. He’s on a killing spree.
Jeongin hummed a mindless tune to keep him company as he roamed. The quiet chirrupings of woodland birds permeated the still forest air. He had just shoved another snare into his cloth sack when a glimmer of fragile purple caught his eye.
From the rain-washed Earth, breaking through the rich black mulch, was the gaily dance of a violet hyacinth, soil crumbling on the tips of its petals. They held entire worlds within them, from ocean waves on a solstice night to dim neon lights of a run-down pub. An elegant stem, sleek and dark, shifted slightly in the breeze.
He gazed, ensorcelled, at the marvelous beauty of a freshly-born hyacinth. Hyacinths were rebellious by nature, blooming on rocky mountain-tops and hilly jungles. The odds of finding one in a plains-bound forest were nigh impossible.
A light variation of dirt vied for his attention. Jeongin recast his eyes to what could only be described as a literal miracle. Another hyacinth, this one perhaps even more beautiful than the last, skipped every stage of germination and blithely bloomed within the span of seconds before his very eyes. Right behind it, sprouted another one. And another.
The hyacinths were very obviously creating a trail going deeper into the forest. Jeongin, like any self-respecting person who once dreamed of traveling to far-off, magical lands as a child, followed the flowers.
He trailed the hyacinths to a place where the grass was blue and the sky was resplendent with a mellow sun that he couldn’t see. Hyacinths blossomed in the grass he had stepped in barefoot, a cavalcade of flourishing lilacs and violets left in his wake.
They led him to a river that gleamed with a mystical sort of pageantry; the hurried water, no matter how fretful, made no more noise than the gentle fall of dewdrops on brick roofs. The river seemed to glow, lighting the surrounding air with a tranquility Jeongin hadn’t ever felt before.
He stepped further toward the river, where the hyacinths went, and kneeled at the riverbank. Jeongin looked at his hidden face in the wavering water. It trembled and juddered, much of a contrast to his still and composed figure. Slowly, although he could not tell why he decided to do so, Jeongin unraveled the bandages covering his face and dropped it beside him. He leaned down and dunked his head underwater.
Immediately, relief flooded him. The searing pain of the claw marks subsided, and he could feel the crusted skin around them falling away. He stayed there for a minute or so, occasionally returning to the surface to intake air, before pulling his face out of the water. Where he expected to see a pool of diluted blood, Jeongin saw his own reflection, clean and scar-free.
He stared, transfixed, at his previously marred face. Reaching a hand up, he traced the outline of where the gashes should have been, feeling nothing but clear and even skin.
There’s a magical healing river in this forest, he marvelled. How has no one noticed this? It circumvents the laws of physics like some kind of anti-Newton! What the heck?
“I was hoping you’d come again,” said a voice behind him.
Jeongin yelped, nearly tumbling face first into the river were it not for the steadying hands that gripped his waist. He snapped his head around, meeting doe-eyes and a sheepish half-smile.
“It’s you!” He shouted.
The elf let go of Jeongin, steadily inching backwards. “Yeah. I’m Jisung, nice to meet you.”
He blinked at the sudden change in topic, but responded in kind. “Oh— uh, Jeongin.” As he said so, his eyes naturally shifted to the elf’s… not mutilated leg? It was completely fine! No blood, gore, maimed sinew or cut-up muscle; not even minor scarring!
It was then that Jeongin remembered that they were currently sitting on the banks of a lawless, enchanted river, and that Jisung definitely knew of its existence and probably hobbled here immediately after his liberation.
An awkward silence ensued, neither of the two knowing what to say. Eventually, Jisung’s gaze drifted to the trap-filled satchel slung on Jeongin’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Traps,” Jeongin said simply. “Some hunters set them up all around the forest so I’m dismantling them.” Jisung said nothing for a bit, just observing the slight bulge of his satchel. There seemed to be something sorrowful in his expression, burdened and pained, as if he was regretting every decision he had ever made.
Without warning, Jisung shifted his weight onto his knees; hands hovering above Jeongin's body. He tugged Jeongin's shirt up, pressing his claws to the space between his hip-bone and stomach whilst softly mumbling.
Jeongin's face went aflame. "What are you doing?" He asked with a slight quiver. Jisung didn't reply, and instead continued to draw invisible patterns on him.
Hunching his neck to peek over, Jeongin had then noticed a strange, rune-like marking on the spot Jisung's hand was on. It looks just like the markings on him.
Under the guidance of Jisung’s muttering, the mark dissipated, leaving no trace. Jisung straightened up, let his shirt fall and met Jeongin’s eyes.
He cleared his throat. “So, I may or may not have cast a curse of bad luck on you—“
“You what?!”
“—But I dispelled it! So it’s all good now,” he said, waving his claws around animatedly. “I grew the hyacinths to lead you here too, since I kind of scratched your face off and that probably hurt— oh, what am I saying of course it hurt, and I sent a goldfinch to keep an eye on you and she told me that you got into a car accident, and a helicopter crashed into your office building and then your house blew up and I’m just really sorry!” Jisung rambled, sounding more remorseful than a thrice-divorced middle-aged man in a pub at four in the morning.
“You grew them?” Jeongin asked, completely ignoring Jisung’s heartfelt apology.
“Huh?” Jisung asked, a little off-put at the obvious dismissal. He answered nevertheless. “Yeah. I’m a Dendric elf, so I can control the forest. Well, kind of. Usually, forests just do whatever the hell they want, but if we ask nicely they might help us out.”
“I didn’t know there were different kinds of elves,” Jeongin said.
“Oh, there are a lot! There are Elysians and Incediums and Stellas — some of my friends are Elysians, actually; one’s even a descendant of the Water Nymphs!”
He talks a lot. It’s annoying. Jeongin’s first braincell decided.
I think it’s kind of cute, argued other braincell.
What part of “feral fairytale elf that tried to turn us into a shish-kebab and won’t stop talking” is cute to you?
Like, the entire part.
Of course you’d sympathize for a homicidal maniac. Of-freaking-course.
He isn’t a homicidal maniac, he’s someone who went through a lot of pain in a high-stress situation and responded as expected, you jerk.
Doesn’t change the fact that my soul is dying from boredom as we speak—
You don’t even have a soul, you heartless miscreant—
Insult me one more time, I fucking dare you—
Oh my god, shut the fuck up, Jeongin thought, shaking his head like a broken etch-n-sketch. Jisung was still going on about every Elven race and their grandmother, and Jeongin listened intently, even though he understood absolutely none of it. The sky changed from light to dark, and still they talked by the running river.
(Later, when Changbin asked him why he sat through every bit of it, Jeongin wouldn’t have an answer. All he knows is that maybe, just maybe, his grandmother wasn’t as accurate about her legends as she thought she was.)
“—and Minho is that Water Nymph descendant I was talking about! Really, I didn’t believe the myths about how beautiful nymphs were until I saw him.”
“You’re beautiful too,” Jeongin blurted, because he’s an idiot.
Pink coloured Jisung’s cheeks, a rosy field rushing to the tips of his ears. He looked away shyly, though his eyes seemed softer; gentler. His wiry azure locks rested like a crown atop his head, cheeks puffed up and runes reflecting a depth Jeongin had never seen in darkness. It was rather uncouth to just abruptly proclaim another’s pulchritude, but Jeongin wasn’t lying. Jisung was so, so beautiful that he thought he might—
Oh.
Oh no.
Forgive me, grandma. He could practically touch the disappointment he felt radiating from his grandmother’s grave as she realized her only grandson was crushing on an elf. He’d have to leave a packet of peanuts on her tombstone to repent or something.
“Oh! I have to go now, Jinnie’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.” Jisung said, hoisting himself onto his feet. He hesitated, though, and turned around to face Jeongin. “Could we… do this, again?”
Jeongin canted his head, “do what?”
“Just talk, I guess?” Jisung said unsurely. “Not many people are willing to sit through my rants, besides my ero— uh, friends. And I like talking to you.” He admitted bashfully.
“Of course.” You’re so sweet I’m gonna die. “Work’s out for at least the next month, so we can hang then.”
Jisung beamed, called out a hurried goodbye and rushed off behind the Aspen, who had been silently watching the entire interaction. Jeongin stood up, walking through the obligating trees to head home for his gourmet dinner of take-out.
He trashed the snares on his way in.
—————
Hyacinth: Please forgive me