Archive of Our Own

“One blisterwort, a cluster of spriggan wood, three stalks of crimson nimroot, and three imp stools?” 

Jisung’s head is spinning terribly fast.

In fact, the world seems to work too quickly for him, entirely too rushed with its spells and all of its cursed artifacts and every little glowing mushroom that sears his eyes when foraging. Jisung is a mage, not a mixologist. He, however, is not about to fail alchemy for a third year in a row.

“Think a little bit simpler, Jisung,” Felix says gently, noting the frustration growing on his best friend’s face, a layer of bright pink settling into his cheeks.

“Leek? Lavender? Nightshade?”

“You’re impressively off. Try again?”

Jisung groans and plunks his head down onto the table, collegiate cloak falling against his back with a pathetic whoosh. He’s going to look the professor dead in the eye and curate a frost-resistant elixir that will send him straight to the medical ward (not that this has ever happened before or anything like that). And despite straight-A student Felix at his side, there is very little hope for the college of restoration student— Han Jisung.

“Felix. Can’t I just take an internship for additional credit and be done with this? I’m going to fail, anyway.”

His best friend shakes his head and tsk tsks. “You’re so close, Jisungie. Try one more time.”

“Garlic?”

Felix sighs and gives up. “Potato. A for effort, however.”

Jisung throws his hands up in exasperation, accidentally knocking the half-completed elixir all over the floor of his alchemy 101 classroom. It hits the ground with a sickening crack as the glass scatters across the glossy wood. He blinks and then collapses into a sob.

“I am cooked.”

“You’re not— well not yet, you aren’t.”

“That does not help, Felix. I’m going to fail this goddamn class and then I’m never going to move up the tome ranks. That greater ward spell? Forget it. And my beloved bane of the undead? Simply unattainable.”

“You are astonishingly jaded, you know,” Felix says, raking comforting fingers through Jisung’s hair. “You know, you could ask your little conjuration prince for help.”

Immediately, Jisung shoots out of his chair with lightning speed, swatting Felix’s hand to the side. “Absolutely not , you will never mention that to me again!”

His best friend giggles and raises an eyebrow. “What, you think he’ll say no?” Felix dodges the pathetic slaps Jisung launches at him, continuing to laugh. “Don’t you remember what he said to you last time? ‘ Jisung, I tutor in the hall of elements. Come by sometime? Maybe just for a cup of mead?’”

“He didn’t mean anything by that!”

“Mead, Jisung! He asked you to join him for a cup of mead! That’s like, exquisite— expensive. Not even a Cyrodiilic Whiskey! He regards you with respect!”

The mage groans, violently rubbing his eyes. “Respect is the only thing relevant here, not romance. Maybe he wants to join forces— a conjuration-restoration duo for a research brigade. Healers are always needed for traversing Nordic tombs, anyway.”

Felix sighs and shakes his head. “You have no faith in yourself. I, however, think that Lee Minho has the hots for a very pessimistic Han Jisung— and that he’d be delighted to help you nail this frost-resistant potion. Maybe he’ll even teach you how to curate a flame-resistant potion,” Felix leans in, dramatically wiggling his brows. 

Jisung glares and shoves him away, dropping to the ground to sweep up the cracked remains of his failed potion, now seeping into the wood and leaving an unpleasant smell of imp stool. He wrinkles his nose and runs the permutations through his mind: maybe, he could ask Bang Chan from the college of illusion to help. Or maybe sweet Jeongin of the college of destruction, he’d always been a joy to have around. But nothing, absolutely nothing could bring him to ask the prince of all princes— the fluffy-haired, perfectly sculpted, pink-lipped Lee Minho. The conjuration master, already a level expert as a second-year graduate student at the College of Winterhold. 

Jisung had seen his beautiful bound weapons: the brandished daggers, trained familiars, reanimated corpses— all spoken into existence with precise hands and a flick of the wrist. Some even considered him to be on the same level of a Dragonborn— if he wasn’t one himself (and maybe he was, yelling shouts into the corridors at night and fucking with the energy in the study halls just for fun).

And while he sulks on the ground, small cuts make their way in-between Jisung’s fingers, making his day infinitely worse. With his right hand, he casts a simple healing spell, watching as the golden dust wraps around his bleeding palms and seals up every little bit of broken skin. Felix watches in awe. 

“Look at you, isn’t that hard to do?”

Jisung sighs. Of course an archer wouldn’t understand the basics of mage science. He haphazardly throws the shards of glass into a sharps-container and uses his apprentice-level spell of telekinesis to toss it into the nearest trash.

“Aren’t you supposed to be running errands for the Jarl?”

“I’m ditching to help my best friend, my very unappreciative bratty little best friend. Besides, the Jarl’s son is in charge today. All Hyunjin does is run off to dance at the castle courtyard. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

Jisung glowers, but doesn’t say anything.

“You know, we could hit the tavern tonight, if you’re feeling stressed. Maybe a tipsy evening is the perfect solution to that jacked up brain of yours. Maybe you’ll get some liquid courage to ask Minho on a date.”

“Delusional. You’re delusional. And I’m cooked, so cooked.”

Felix throws his head back and laughs, linking his arm with Jisung’s. “Maybe we head to alchemy 505? I know they’re having a workshop. Last ditch study sesh?”

Jisung groans. “You know I hate being perceived by grad kids.”

“It’ll help you in the long run, right? Face those big bad mages and impress them with your cute golden dust and circles of protection.”

“Restoration is barely considered a magic class, Felix. I’m in the fucking trenches.”

“You’ll dig yourself deeper if you don’t pass this damn class.”

“Sleep with one eye open tonight, you tasteless bitch.”

Rolling his eyes, Felix drags his best friend down the hallways and towards a few classrooms over, where the graduate students are hosting a workshop for struggling peers. Though it’s not directed at undergraduates, they’re still free to join (sometimes for extra credit). Even if he’s regarded as the friendly, top-of-his-class student, Jisung wants anything but to be seen on campus— not with his terrible case of social awkwardness and inferiority complex. But nevertheless, he steps into the purple-lighted classroom complete with a mini sanctuary boasting all kinds of potion ingredients growing amongst the walls. It’s intimidating, and he can’t seem to grasp the idea that these people have a solid knowledge on what any of these things mean.

“Whoa…it’s like a whole new world in here.”

“We should not be in here,” Jisung hisses.

“Shut up, these people are like two years older than us. Lift that head up, king.”

“I hate you.”

As if on cue, a friendly figure steps up to greet the two, a steaming green potion in one hand and a handful of gleamblossom in the other. He’s terrifying, but with a charming smile.

“Hiya. Are you here for the workshop?” Bang Chan says, setting the potion down and outstretching a hand.

Felix shakes it, and nudges Jisung to do the same. “We are, matter of fact. Jisungie here is about to fail alchemy as a senior and I’m trying to save him from being a lost cause.”

Jisung’s jaw drops as his best friend smirks. “Rude. You are rude for that.”

And being the wonderful man he is, Bang Chan can only laugh. He motions for the two to follow him further into the massive classroom. He makes his way to a huge table, spanning the length of an entire tavern. There’s a beautiful, color-coordinated arrangement of all types of high-level ingredients: dragon’s tongue, tundra cotton, elves ears, creep clusters, burnt spriggan wood. It sends a shutter down Jisung’s spine, scaring him half to death. He figures at least one of those ingredients could kill him.

“What are you struggling with?” He asks, resting his head on his fist.

Jisung sighs and plops down next to him, defeated. “Resist frost. Like, basic resist frost.”

“No shame in that! Do you know how many times I screwed up my resist magicka? Sometimes I forget there are multiple recipes for the same potion.”

“W-what?!”

Chan giggles, an incredulous look on his face. “You didn’t know that?”

“ I didn’t even know that,” Felix mutters under his breath.

“Look,” Chan says, pulling out a drawer and grabbing a handful of purple mountain flowers and three thistle branches. “Actually, you could just use these two,” he says, grinding the ingredients together and feeding them into the alchemic blender. Jisung watches as the colors swirl round and round, melting into a bright purplish blue. The simplicity makes him want to scream.

“What the hell.”

“Easy, right? Ten times more simple than the potato recipe, or whatever that is.”

Jisung’s insides curl in embarrassment. “Yeah haha…I knew that.”

“He most certainly did not, by the way,” Felix laughs, receiving a smack right after.

For the next ten minutes, Chan walks Jisung through the basics of beginning potions: the resist frost, resist flame, cure disease, fortify stamina, fortify enchanting, and all things the younger had never really learned how to properly execute. Chan is a good teacher, and Jisung refuses to admit his best friend was probably right. And though he could handle the friendly graduate student, he certainly couldn’t handle who proceeded to walk through the door.

Properly clad in his blue College of Winterhold cloak and complete with an under-shirt that revealed a sliver of his collarbones, is none other than Lee Minho, the conjuration prince— with disheveled hair and a light dust of pink over his cheeks. He’s slightly sweaty, and Jisung thinks he might die at the sight.

“Christ, did he just run a marathon?” Felix asks and gently nudges his best friend.

“If you say shit I’m going to tip your bow handle with goddamn frostbite.”

“Shut up, he’s coming this way.”

And he is, to Jisung’s great misfortune, making his way towards them. In a failed attempt to be nonchalant, the two boys go back to incessantly grinding away at gourds and giant lichen. Chan doesn’t seem to notice the panic rising within Jisung’s chest, mindlessly gathering armfuls of amanita mushrooms. Jisung’s heartbeat gets about ten times worse when his royal crush approaches them.

“Jisung? I didn’t expect to see you here,” his voice is honeyed, made up of all things Jisung dreams about. He’s hypothetically drooling, struggling to keep his eyes on the pink potion before him.

“What brings you here?” He leans in a bit too close, pressing his palms against the table where Jisung’s fingers are just inches away.

“Uh. I, uh.”

“He’s going to fail alchemy 101,” Felix says as a matter of fact, followed by Jisung’s horrified expression.

Jisung’s pride caves inwards, any kind of confidence he had dissipating away from his body. But instead of teasing him, Lee Minho proceeds to laugh. A sweet, hearty laugh that rivals the tunes the Bards play at the taverns. It lodges itself into Jisung’s memories, and he wants to inject it into his veins.

“Chan is helping me not fail. Felix is a dick, by the way.”

“Looking out for you though, no? I’m a little sad you didn’t come to me first. That mead isn’t going to drink itself, you know,” Minho’s voice is flirty, too flirty.

“Well uh— you know, school and all…and all that…school,” he stammers under Minho’s burning gaze, cowering away at the eye contact. Minho never drops it.

“Yeah? Too many Legion soldiers to heal?” 

Jisung gulps. “Something like that.”

“No fun. Chan, how about I take over for now?” He looks towards his friend, raising an eyebrow. A smile creeps onto Chan’s face as he steps away, mouthing, “he’s all yours.”

“Where are you at?” Minho asks, effortlessly sliding next to the shuddering Jisung. Felix takes one look at the two and wiggles his eyebrows, opting to sit as far away as possible (to Jisung’s disdain).

“Uh resist— I mean, regenerate magicka?”

“Oh, a fun one. Have you tried using taproot instead of salmon roe? It’s much easier and much more accessible. But a bit hard to get into a fine powder. Here, watch me,” he says with a smile, bunching up the rock-hard taproot pulled from a nearby drawer and feeding it into the blender. “Add water, makes the process much faster.”

Jisung watches as Minho’s fingers work with the ingredients— albeit he’s mostly paying attention to the veins on his crush’s hands. He’s trying to focus on the science of it all, but the process is negligible.

“Got it?”

“Y-yes?”

Minho only giggles and motions for Jisung to try his own hand at it. And with uncertainty, Jisung does just that, fingers pathetically fumbling. But before he can even put the taproot into the blender, Minho stops him. 

“May I?” He asks, holding out his palm. Jisung only nods in curiosity. 

His heart travels to his throat when Minho gently grasps his shaky hands, wrapping his own fingers around them. He glides Jisung’s hand over the taproot, rolling it against the table.

“This is for aromatics. Do this before blending. It smells wonderful, doesn’t it?” He asks, tilting his head as Jisung’s cheeks heat up. He can see Felix smirking from his peripheral and does his best not to scowl. 

Minho’s hands are ridiculously soft, even for a conjuration major. Smoothed over, absent of calluses, warm and strong. Jisung revels in the feeling and looks over to Minho, inches away from his face.

“L-like this?”

“Just like this. You’re doing perfect,” Minho whispers in an impossibly sweet tone, the hairs on Jisung’s arms rising at every word. “Not hard, right? Right, Jisungie?”

Feral, panicked, absolutely awestruck— Jisung can’t quite put into words how he feels about the man standing directly behind him, helping him knead the roots. The nickname isn’t helping, either. And even when the plant is perfectly ready to be blended, Minho hesitates to let go. 

“Well done. Maybe we have a drink to celebrate?” 

Jisung freezes and throws a glance at Felix who only shrugs at him. “Uh. Sure?”

“In a state of perpetual confusion, how cute,” Minho says, brushing innocent fingers over Jisung’s wrist. 

“Actually Minho— do you have something that’s a little less…a little bit less alcoholic?” 

Minho cocks his head, inching in a bit closer. “You don’t want a drink?”

“Ah, I don’t think I can handle that right now.”

A small smile plays on Minho’s lips as he finds Chan in the crowd of students. He eyes the line of potions in the cabinet near him— labeled, “ Lee Minho’s Elixirs.” 

“Do you ever take stress potions? Like, just straight yellow mountain flowers and sparkling water?”

“I…I’m too afraid to mix them myself. But yes, I buy them in Whiterun. Why?”

“I made some fresh ones this evening, if you want any. I swear they’re safe and sound— just mountain flowers and some snowberry-flavored soda. You wanna just grab one and head to the tavern for some Bard music?” He asks, hope laced within his tone.

And of course, Jisung is delighted to say yes, even if he doesn’t quite believe his ears. “I’d like nothing more than that, actually.”

And so Minho makes his way over to Chan, whispering something in his ear before pulling out a bright red elixir with sparkles swirling around the glass. It’s a peculiarly shaped bottle, more rounded than the standard ones and two times smaller. It's cute, and Jisung loves the idea of it being crafted from Minho’s fingers. 

“Here. It tastes like fresh snowberries, straight from the Shalidor district.”

Jisung smiles and throws it back, reveling in the sweet fruity taste and the tingle on his throat. It's delicious, and he wants more of them. Minho watches Jisung intently and offers his arm after he finishes off the drink.

“Tavern? We can ditch Felix, since he’s so mean to you.”

Jisung nods enthusiastically, trying to hide his wide smile. They make their way out of the classroom and Jisung throws a final glare at his best friend.

⚗️

The tavern is toasty and lively when they arrive.

There’s already a Bard-band there, playing a soft lute tune to the melody of The Dragonborn Comes. Jisung tries his very best to ignore the pounding in his heart, one that’s stronger than it was before. But he doesn’t think much of it, as he attributes it to the grip he has on Minho’s strong arm. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asks, smiling down at Jisung. 

“Ah, no. I want to listen to the song.”

“Very well.”

Without speaking, Minho silently pulls Jisung to the side of him, nestling as close as possible while the cozy fire heats them both up. The trekkage from the college to the tavern was freezing cold, as Winterhold is always in a state of frigid snow. But despite that, Jisung didn’t feel too frozen on the walk, as Minho kept his hands deep within his cloak pockets.

Jisung’s heart rate rapidly increases while the Bard sings, the tune lulling him into a sleepy stupor. And though he’s typically full of nerves around his crush, something is just a bit too off. Thumping ridiculously fast, burning heat across his cheeks, an overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss Minho silly— a desire that’s far heavier than it was before. And maybe it’s just the mood, the fact that Minho is comfortably resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder, or the notion that their hands are intertwined.

Either way, it’s making him dizzy. And Minho, unfortunately, seems to notice.

“Jisung? Are you feeling alright?” He asks, pressing the back of his hand to Jiung’s reddened forehead. “You’re totally burning up. Do we need to step away from the fire for a little bit? Or are you feeling sick?” Minho’s hands travel to the right side of Jisung’s neck. “Jesus christ, Jisung. Your heart rate is through the roof.”

The words don’t register in Jisung’s mind. Instead, he’s staring at Minho’s glossy, full lips. He’s trailing his eyes down the lines of his nose and tightening his grip on his hand. He can’t think straight— his thoughts are clouding with the mage’s perfect teeth, his light-brown hair, his glassy skin. It’s all too much, and he suddenly shoots directly off the bench, nearly stumbling into the fire as his crush stabilizes him upright. 

“M-Minho. I’ve got to go now. Thank you for the elixir, but I’m not feeling well.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you h—”

But it’s too late, Han Jisung is gone.

⚗️

Typically, Bang Chan is a calm, level-headed man. 

A business student of sorts, always there to work out the kinks and all the little problems Lee Minho finds within his life. 

So when he crashes through Minho’s apartment at midnight with a panicked expression, Minho knows it's bad.

“Minho! For the love of fucking christ, do you have any idea what you’ve done?!” He shouts, hunching over to desperately catch his breath.

“Christ, Chan. It’s 12 am! What could I have possibly done for you to trespass?”

“The potion— god , what did you give Jisung to drink earlier?”

Minho goes non-verbal, recalling the moment in which he gifted Jisung one of his precious stress-calmers. A typical, snowberry-flower elixir that’s easy on the stomach and a natural form of melatonin. Safe, sweet, helpful. 

“Calming elixir? Why are you tweaking?”

“No— Minho. That was absolutely not a fucking stress elixir.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I checked the cabinets like thirty minutes ago, you know— filing inventory. You didn’t give him a stress elixir, Minho. You give him a love elixir.”

In a second, panic rises within Minho’s throat. He bolts up from his bed and grasps Chan’s collar with both hands. 

“WHAT?!”

“Minho, I told you! They look identical! We literally went over this last week! Remember when Changbin accidentally took one and was all over Jeongin? He has a boyfriend, for fucks sakes!”

Shocked, Minho does his best to remain collected. “No…no, that isn’t right. I swear it was the right one! He can’t have drunk my love elixir…I worked so hard on that!”

“Well, he did . And now he’s going to be all over you by morning. Which, yeah, I’m sure you’re going to love. But it’s pure deception! And I know you probably didn’t mean it, but he’s going to figure it out sooner than later!”

Minho drops his hands away from Chan’s collar, opting to collapse on his bed instead. Jisung— his perfect, sweet, lovely, enchanting Jisung. Raging, burning crush— a bundle of joy and an amalgamation of everything he’s ever wanted. Playing it cool won’t work anymore, Minho’s ready to fall apart at the mere sight of him. His long curly hair, the boba-eyes, the puffy cheeks. He wants to drop to his knees and gift him his life.

“This cannot be happening. I did…I did not . Are you absolutely sure that he drank the wrong one?”

“Yes! You forgot to fucking label both of them!”

Minho slaps his hands over his face and drags them down, groaning into them. He’s finally done it— finally ruined his chance with the restoration prince. Poor Jisung, fooled into loving him without putting in the work.

“I’m doomed. I’m going to hell, the Daedric Princes are going to curse me from above. Chan, what the hell do I do now?”

“Tell him the truth?!”

“He’ll be blinded by the potion! I saw how Changbin was!”

“Good god, you’re cooked,” Chan says, joining Minho on the couch with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe it didn’t work? Maybe he won’t feel the effects?”

“The only way he wouldn’t feel the effects is if he was into me. Which, he is not , by the way— judging from the amount of times he’s dodged my date requests.”

Chan purses his lips together. “Didn’t you go on a date today?”

“Yes, and he left after twenty minutes. I think I made him sick to his stomach,” Minho flops face first onto the bedding, pounding his fist against the mattress. “I’m evil, I’m so evil. The six planets are in retrograde, and I’m going to be dropped from my internship.”

“We can fix this— I mean, we can certainly try. Jisung is a nice kid, isn’t he? I can discreetly talk to Felix,” Chan says, running a comforting hand over his best friend’s back.

“It’s no use. That potion will last for at least a month.”

Chan’s mouth hangs agape, but he does his best to hide the concern. “First thing tomorrow, I’m pulling Felix aside.”

“And if he kills me, tell Jisung I would’ve died for him anyway.”

⚗️

Jisung feels fine. 

Well, as fine as he could possibly feel. Yes, he wakes up with the image of Minho brandished upon his thoughts, and yes he pretends to roll over and nuzzle into Minho’s comforting arms. He’s fine — Minho is clouding his thoughts like he usually does, painting his fantasies. And although he’d do anything to deny it, there’s something in him that burns stronger, a blue flame replacing an orange one. And after last night, the ghost of Minho’s fingers still leaves an imprint on his hands. 

He’s losing his mind, actually. 

And when his best friend comes barreling through his dorm hall, he pretends to not be alarmed.

“Jisung. You’ll never fucking believe this,” Felix pants, clutching his chest as it heaves.

“If it’s not about Minho, I don’t want to hear it. You nearly fumbled my chances yesterday.”

“Shut up, it is about Minho. Whatever he gave you to drink Jisungie— that wasn’t a stress reliever.”

“Come again?”

“It was a love elixir, Jisung. A fucking love potion. Lee Minho, the valedictorian of the college of conjuration, unknowingly fed you a love potion.”

Staring blankly, Jisung’s jaw drops. His hand travels over his heart, the soft beats nothing out of the ordinary. Love potion? He feels fine— he feels like he always does: thinking about Lee Minho, yearning for Lee Minho, wanting to join the Stormcloak Rebellion for Lee Minho.

Fine— normalcy sprinkled with a little bit of extra feral energy at the asscrack of dawn.

“How…how could you possibly know this?”

“Chan! He told me this morning. Told me not to tell you but screw that, of course I’m going to tell you. That deceptive little mink— I should have known better than to leave him with you!”

“But…it wasn’t on purpose, was it?”

“How are you so calm about this?!”

“Because, Felix, I feel fine!”

And truly, he’s not lying. Jisung knows what the symptoms of love potions are, he saw the way Seo Changbin fought for his everloving life last summer. Hot, feverish thoughts, bright red ears, clouded and painfully mushy desires, initiation of physical contact at every second— all things that Jisung doesn’t seem to feel. It’s perplexing, but he knows exactly why this is.

“It won’t work on me, Felix. Come on, you passed alchemy, didn’t you?” His voice is shockingly low, too calm for someone hopped up on a sparkly pink chalice of ardor. Felix’s hands fall to his sides as he plops down in front of his best friend.

“What? Why aren’t you barking? Like— shouldn’t you be drooling or something?”

“For christ’s sake Felix, the potion doesn’t do shit when the target is already whipped!” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. Felix’s mouth drops just a slight bit, eyebrows furrowing.

“Wh– shouldn’t the effects just get more intense?”

“No, not in the way you think. I definitely felt it last night, but it could have just been attributed to us sitting so close together. If the potion had truly worked, I would have been all over him in a matter of minutes. Right now, I just feel like I want him more than usual, but nothing out of my control.”

“Oh,” Felix whispers. “Then what now? Do you think Minho knows what he’s done?”

The sentence sends nervous shivers down Jisung’s spine, his mind racing with the onslaught of possibilities. Jisung knows that there are only a handful of options he can choose from: a, he pretends that nothing ever happened, b, he confronts Minho about the potion or c, he plays into the potion in an effort to convince Minho that he never had prior feelings for the older.

“There is no way Chan didn’t tell him.”

“So what, now it's just a game of pretending nothing happened between you two?”

Jisung wants to sob. Truly, the most embarrassing thing he could possibly do is pretend he’s sickly in love— but at the same time, it’s the most viable option available. He can’t let Minho know his true feelings, not when they’ve just hung out together.

“I’m going to have to pretend,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes impossibly shut and gripping onto the bedsheets with sheer force. “I’m going to have to pretend that Lee Minho is the only thing I live, breathe, and eat.”

“Like it already isn’t?” Felix says, earning a smack from Jisung.

“I’m serious, Lix! If I pretend that nothing happened it’s going to give it away immediately!” 

Felix purses his lips together. “You’re right…you’re right.”

Jisung slips off his bed and stares at himself in the mirror, sweat still sticking to his forehead from deep sleep. “Do you have any potions for confidence?”

“I don’t think you should be drinking any potions right now, Jisungie.”

With a sigh, Jisung slaps both hands on the reflective glass and drags them down.

⚗️

Jisung is reeling with horror. 

He sees his target outside the hall of elements, handsome and sleek, dressed in his iconic blue cloak complete with an amulet of Arkay’s health around his neck. Menacing, smiling, lovely, enchanting— Jisung runs out of adjectives to describe the mage. He doesn’t get to think of more, however, as Lee Minho catches his eyes and widens his own. 

In a stalemate of sorts, they stare at each other from across the yard. Jisung has an awful, sinking feeling that they both know exactly what’s going on. And within seconds, he kicks into overdrive.

“Minhooooo-yahhhh.”

Pain. His insides are curdling into something sour, making him impossibly ill. Jisung feels like he’s withering away, amulet of Kynareth’s stamina doing absolutely nothing but slowing him down. One heavy foot after another, trekking through the snow to a frozen Minho, lost in thoughts Jisung wishes he knew.

“Minho? Hi!” He says with the peppiest voice he can, fighting the urge to break down into a sobbing mess as Minho stares at him with widened eyes. “Minho…I–I…I missed you,” he cringes, nails digging into his back as he suffers through the humiliating interaction. 

“J-Jisung?” Minho’s voice is dripping with concern, hand reaching out to press against Jisung’s glowing red forehead. “Jisung, listen, I—”

The sentence doesn’t get a chance to leave his lips, Jisung already has the older’s hand caught within his grasp. With incredible agony, he nuzzles against the soft skin, closing his eyes as his inside thoughts screech with anguish. Small, cat-like nuzzles that he tries not to enjoy, tries not to notice that Minho is blushing along with him.

He’s ready to pull away when Minho splays his fingers over the heat of Jisung’s cheeks, swiping his thumb over the blush. And for a second, Jisung’s front almost falters. His mouth falls agape, trying desperately to push away the shock. But Minho takes his free hand to close his dropped lips, adding a smile right after.

“Actually…Jisung…I think I really, really need to come clean about something. Yesterday when—”

“Minho-yah, why don’t we go do something fun?” Jisung interjects, throwing Minho’s hand away as panic rises within his chest. “I want to go to the tavern again, will you go to the tavern with me?” He pleads, eyes sparkling and hopeful (but incredibly deceitful).

Minho seems to be in a trance, looking onwards with a certain degree of fear. He gulps, and squeezes his eyes shut. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Perfect! Jisungie can’t wait to sit with Minho again.”

Cringe, third-person speech— it’s his best bet to get Minho to believe the act. Last year, Changbin went around saying things like “Changbinnie just loves the way Jeongin smiles in class,” or “Changbinnie wants nothing more than Jeongin’s kisses.” Horrific, straight out of a Nordic tomb. And after the effects wore off, Changbin spent a month and a half apologizing to Hyunjin, the Jarl’s son and Jeongin’s fuming boyfriend.

With a forced skip in his step, Jisung slips his hand through Minho’s arms and begins dragging him to the local tavern. He can hear Felix snickering in the back of his mind, taunting him with all kinds of things. “Maybe you should use this opportunity to do all the things you’d want to do with him,” he had said, Jisung rejecting this notion with fervor. He would not be using this situation for evil.

“Did you miss me, Minho?” His eyes are impossibly cute, lips jutting out a little bit too far. He’s watching Minho’s concerned expression.

“Actually Jisung, I think—”

“You didn’t miss Jisungie?” The restoration mage pouts, biting his tongue as the words leave his lips. Respectfully, he wants to die.

“Ah…Jisung. I’ll always uh— miss you? But seriously, can we talk ab—”

“Oh look! Lady Yeji is playing the lute in the courtyard, can we listen?”

“Ah, sure Jisung…we’ll talk after, I guess,” he says, defeated. Without skipping a beat, Jisung drags his love victim to the front row of Yeji’s beautiful tunes. But despite the song, neither of them are paying attention.

Instead, Jisung is zeroed in on Minho’s lips, a little bit of tint rubbed into them. Without thinking, he reaches up to swipe an innocent thumb against them, coral-rose transferring onto the pads of his finger. “Pretty,” he whispers, before dragging the left-over pink over his own lips.

“Now I’ve indirectly kissed Lee Minho, haven’t I?”

His insides are aflame— lit with both misery and an inexplicable amount of yearning. Jisung cannot believe what he’s just done.

“Jisung, oh my god, I—”

He can’t speak, not when Jisung is reaching up to pinch his cheeks, soft with warmth and glowing with embarrassment. Yeji’s performance is tossed to the side, Jisung only focusing on shutting his crush up. 

“Jisung,” Minho whispers lowly, hands traveling towards Jisung’s waist, gently pulling him closer as the lute drones on in the background. “Jisung… please.”

“Is Jisung making you flustered? Why don’t we just kiss for r—”

Minho laces his fingers with Jisung’s and drags him away from the crowd of people, eyes lingering on the two of them as they sprint over the Winterhold bridge. The snow barely slows them down, too weak for the plight of powerful mages exchanging heart-thumping forms of intimacy. The grad student pulls Jisung behind a large pillar and gently presses him against the brick, condensation flowing from his ragged breaths.

“Jisung.”

And admittedly, Jisung is absolutely reeling with pure desire from the contact, wanting to kiss Minho right then and there without it being a distraction tactic. Minho looks like he would in battle— eyebrows furrowed in concentration, chest heaving with fatigue, strong arms encapsulating the both of them in the tiny space. It’s cliché, and Jisung wants to drink it in.

“Minho…?” Jisung squeaks out, pretending to be afraid— pretending to not be drowning with attraction. He trails his eyes over Minho’s lips, remembering his terribly embarrassing mission. He presses flat palms against the mage’s beating chest, gently gripping onto the teal blue. 

“Jisung. Listen to me, please?” His eyes fall into desperation rather than seriousness. Jisung makes no effort to release his shaky grip. He doesn’t have to— Minho places his own hands over them.

“The reason you feel like this…the reason you feel in love—” he falters for a second, shifting his eyes on the snowy ground, following the movement of a nearby snowberry bush. “The reason you feel…insatiable…”

“What…what do you mean?” Jisung plays dumb, absolutely dreading the next words that leave Minho’s lips.

“Jisung. I accidentally gave you a potion of Mara, not a potion of Akatosh. It— it was a love elixir, Jisung.”

The gig is up— Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and lets his fingers fall slack against Minho’s chest. Scrambling for the right words to say, he plunks the back of his head against the grey pillar, letting out an exasperated sigh. 

“I’m so sorry, Jisung. I would have never purposefully deceived you like that,” his voice is genuine, regretful. Jisung’s face falls as he locks eye contact once again.

“The reason you feel like this…christ — it’s because of the potion, Jisung. These feelings aren’t real, you don’t like me like that. I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t take the shortcut like that.”

The shortcut like that?

A breath catches within Jisung’s throat, having no idea what Minho could possibly mean by this statement. But either way, he can no longer pretend to be a damsel in distress, collapsing at the foot of Minho’s feet. 

“They’ll go away in about a month. Until then, I’ll stay as far away from you as possible, even if I know what this’ll do to you. It’s wrong, Jisung. You don’t deserve this,” he whispers, sadness falling over his features. And when he goes to pull away, Jisung catches him with record speed.

“Minho, wait!” He’s gripping onto the teal cloak with every fiber of his being, yanking him back so they both stumble into each other. It’s pathetic, Jisung knows this much is true.

“Jisung?”

“Minho, for god’s sakes— I was…” he groans in humiliation. “I was playing it up, Minho. The potion…the potion didn’t work!”

The conjuration mage stares blankly, mouth hanging agape as he stabilizes himself after nearly tripping over Jisung’s grey coat. “Jisung, what?”

If Jisung could crawl into the Saarthal tomb at the west end of Winterhold and face an undead draugr, he absolutely would. He’d take being slashed to bits and pieces by a Nordic warrior composed of bones and whittled down emerald eyes rather than confess his burning secret.

“If I tell you this, you have to promise me you’ll never perceive me again in this lifetime. Even if we have research brigades, you are to never speak to me again.”

“Jisung, no I wouldn’t—”

“You have to promise me, Minho, that this interaction never happened. You have to promise me that.”

Minho’s hands travel to Jisung’s wrists, slowly wrapping around them with soft movements. He purses his lips and steps forward, causing Jisung to once again press against the cold pillar. “Jisung, I don’t want to ignore you like that,” he whispers, running his fingers over Jisung’s silver rings. “I can’t promise you that.”

“You will after I tell you the truth.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, making no attempt to fall back. Jisung doesn’t make an attempt either, allowing his crush to grip onto him.

“The potion didn’t work, Minho. The potion absolutely did not work. In fact, I would have never required a potion to want to kiss you.”

Minho’s hands instantaneously fall away from the grasp they have on Jisung’s wrists, instead drifting to the sides of his body. Jisung already regrets his confession, watching as his burning crush increases the distance between their bodies. He predicted this— the conjuration prince would never take nicely to this confession, would never consider Jisung as a potential lover or a mage equal. Crying won’t do him any good, so he rambles on.

“The potion didn’t work because I already liked you. Every little painful, cringe display of affection I just imposed on you was to cover my ass— which by the way, did not work,” he continues with a sigh. “And how evil would it have been if you had found out later? Like I was using this opportunity for my own pleasure! I couldn’t have kept this up for a month,” he pouts, eyes trailing the ground.

Despite the initial reaction, Jisung is shocked to find that Minho has once again reestablished the closeness between their bodies. There’s a curve to his lips that leads into a giggle— a terribly, awfully, contagious one. And soon he’s laughing, bellowing into the courtyard of their university, placing both his hands on Jisung’s shoulders. 

“No way, I would have never guessed,” he admits, continuing to giggle as Jisung gawks at his reaction. “You played that so well, Jisungie. How cute of you,” he says through a laugh, right hand traveling to Jisung’s cheek to give it a good squeeze. 

“W-what?!”

“You know, it’s kind of relieving to discover we were on the same page. I didn’t want to deceive you, either. And like you said— I didn’t want to use this opportunity for my own pleasure. I’ve always liked you Jisung, and I’m shocked you assumed I didn’t,” Minho says, using his other hand to ruffle the younger’s impossibly cute hair.

“And even if I didn’t like you, I’d never want to ignore you like that. But that scenario is unlikely, given I’d actually love to kiss you right now.”

“Y-you like me?!” Jisung is incredulous, the idea of Minho ever liking him has always been put to the back of his mind— stored away along with his neglected spells and alchemy report cards. The word “kiss” doesn’t seem to register in his mind, too outrageous to even have left the lips of his campus prince.

“I could say the same. You liking me? The restoration royalty? You may as well be a Daedric prince. Do you know how hard it was to pretend like I wasn’t enjoying you calling me Minho-yah?”

Jisung can’t quite put into words what he’s feeling right now, too distracted by the pink of Minho’s lips and the sound of his melodic voice. And maybe the potion is working, turning his brain into a vat of mushy mudcrab soup complete with a cup of milk. And Jisung hates being called a milk drinker.

“Wha…Minho? Are you being…serious?” 

“So serious,” Minho grins, snaking one hand around Jisung’s neck and the other to the back of his head. “Instead of that silly little indirect kiss, would you care for a direct kind of kiss?” He smiles deviously, pressing Jisung closer into the pillar. And if Lee Felix could see them now, Jisung would quite literally never hear the end of it.

“A k-kiss? Like, a real one?”

Minho playfully rolls his eyes and ruffles Jisung’s curly hair, leaning in ever so slightly. “What kind of kiss were you thinking of? Cheek kiss? Forehead kiss? Neck kiss? Hand kiss? I can do all of that and more. Maybe I’ll kiss you in the hall of elements or in front of the Temple of Mara…or at the foot of Azura’s Shrine. What do you think, hm?” His voice is dripping with something sweet, something honeyed. Jisung is going through the five stages of grief.

“Kiss me, Jisung?”

And admittedly, Jisung doesn’t really need to be told twice. With a burst of confidence, he’s practically lunging towards Minho, gripping his cloak with incredible force and smashing his lips against Minho’s. And despite the urgency, it’s soft and sugary, gentle and saccharine. Not even the magic from the tip of Jisung’s fingers can match this sweetness. He throws his hands around Minho’s neck, smiling through the kiss and enjoying the feeling of the mage’s hands in his hair.

And within seconds, he forgets every little morsel of humiliation.

⚗️

“Oh my god, you actually passed?” Felix shouts, snatching Jisung’s final exam paper straight out of his hands. There’s a massive stamp of approval at the very top, causing him to shriek with glee. 

“And you said I was a lost cause!”

Felix rolls his eyes. “That’s why I took you to the damn grad students, you moron. You think I didn’t know what I was doing?”

Jisung scowls and wrinkles his nose, rolling the paper into a makeshift weapon and bonking his best friend on the head. “Deceptive little mink,” he growls while Felix laughs.

“Don’t laugh at me— I know you have a crush on chan.”

And like clockwork, Felix immediately shuts up.

They’re standing outside The Arcanaeum, waiting for Minho and Chan to leave their necromancy studies. It’s colder than usual, prompting Jisung to wear a second layer of clothing under his first— Minho’s clothing, of course. He tunes out Felix’s laughter as the classroom doors burst open, a line of upper-level students piling out. 

“Minho!” Jisung grins, darting over to his boyfriend and practically jumping into his arms. It’s been about two months, but Felix still thinks the potion had some sort of lasting effect. His best friend rolls his eyes and steps aside, throwing a nervous smile at Chan. 

“I missed you,” Jisung whispers, nuzzling his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. Smiling, Minho presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I missed you too.”

“You two are insufferable, I’m going to the hall of attainment,” Felix gripes, turning away on his heels.

“Actually Felix, can I join you?” Chan says, causing Minho and Jisung to look at each other with raised eyebrows. 

Felix stammers, but eventually gives in. Chan follows, looking over his shoulder as if to say, “wish me luck.”

And with them gone, the two mages refocus their attention on each other. Minho has both hands on Jisung’s waist, pulling him closer each and every kiss. Jisung mewls into the affection, forgetting that they’re in public, not in the dorm halls.

“Tavern tonight? Or maybe we head to the Eldergleam Sanctuary for a picnic? Or…I give you another potion of Mara?” Minho jokes, pressing an especially long kiss to Jisung’s temple. His boyfriend giggles in response, squeezing Minho’s cheeks.

“You know, I’m really curious to see what would happen if you took the potion.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Like it would change anything?”

Jisung giggles. “We’d just have to try, wouldn’t we?”

And with a quick kiss to Minho’s nose, Jisung takes off down the hall, past the arch-mage headquarters, and directly into the classroom of alchemy.

With a sigh and a wide grin, Minho dashes after him.