Chapter Text
Winter solstice was drawing closer and the nights had gotten longer. The town wound around the basin of the valley, lit up by small lanterns swaying against the prevailing wind. The river gurgled through the darkness and patches of ice began to form where it pooled against the banks.
Since his town had begun to grow as the market became a key outpost for the merchants that trudged with their carts from the ocean to the innerlands, more trees nearby had been cleared to make way for homes and farmland. A slow bank of snow began to drift into heaps along the cobbled streets and into the newly-completed dirt roads where new, wooden beamed homes stood aglow. It piled on top of the roofs and clogged up window panes as the night drew on.
Woodland spirits had begun to emerge in the long nights. Business was poor because people had started staying at home more, hoping for snow to drive them off. No-one came to knock on Yoongi’s door.
It had been a tiresome day and Yoongi felt frustrated. After coming home wet and cold, he’d boiled water on the stove and poured tea. But the hot nettle drink didn’t soothe him one bit. His mind kept wandering back to the forest, to the gate where he’d pinned a warding spell in a vague hope it’d work. He’d been pacing around all day trying to put up talismans in the right spots, using his intuition - otherwise known as guessing - that the spirits would appear in certain places. Hoping they’d be content with his offerings of berries and seeds that they could plant in time for the next season.
He put the mug down and walked to the hallway, shook off his duffel coat and hung up the scarf he’d flung down so it would dry. The berries would be covered in snow by now. Tomorrow, he’d have to build a proper shrine to cover the offerings so they wouldn’t get frozen over.
Yoongi picked up the hot cup and wandered into the sitting room, lit the bewitched sun oil lamp for the plants on the bookshelf, and settled at his rickety desk. He opened the draw, which slid unwillingly toward him, and pulled out a favourite notebook to spread his hand across a new, blank page. The handmade paper felt warm and dry under his palm. He dipped a quill into indigo ink and began to sketch out a new divination layout. He had to come up with an idea good enough to both ward off the spirits before winter solstice hit the town and get paid well for it. He drew the quill down in a decisive stroke, but the ink quivered under his uncertain hand. He could tell the line wanted to run away from him as he curled another line across the page.
Yoongi sighed and pushed the book away where it sagged against the desk in relief.
***
When the fairy slipped under the bedroom door, all he could see was a muss of grey hair peeking out of the bed sheets.
Jimin couldn’t help but inspect the room a little before setting to work on his spells. Bedrooms usually say a lot about a person - they’re so personal and private. Jimin relished the privilege of being able to see people and their homes this way. It’s why he never did business in inns.
However, Jimin felt confused about this man. At first glance he wasn’t a very lavish person. The bedding was a plain sky blue. He had white-washed walls and a simple wooden bed frame. There were a lot of plants in different coloured pots, terracotta planters, even hanging from the ceiling. There weren’t any pictures and there wasn’t really much furniture, except the bed, a mismatched wooden clothes rail, and Jimin noticed a big well-worn wicker basket at the foot of the mattress.
But, above the bed hung a large ornate mirror with a golden frame and little golden ivy decorations curled around the edge of the glass. The sleep fairy thought it was beautiful, but it didn’t seem to belong in such a plain bedroom. It didn’t sit right but he couldn’t place why it reminded him of something.
He retrieved the spell needle from his gold linen pocket and settled on the wicker basket in his tiny form, turning his head from needle to sleeping form and back a few times, thinking.
If I could just get this dream right… he thought, as he stuck his tongue in the corner of his lip and threaded the eye.
Jimin knew he’d struck gold. Dreams for complex people always sold for the highest rate on the black market. Intelligent, deep people always had dissatisfying nights. They worked too much, they were unhappy with their lives, they had difficult love lives and friendships, or they just despaired at the world. And night was no respite for them. So Jimin’s dreams were always so satisfying when tailored to their unusual needs. Plus, it meant the fairy made a tidy packet out of it. The whole thing was illegal, immoral, invasive - after all, he’d set a person up with a nice dream based on their private desires and vulnerability, extract it quickly and send in a horrible nightmare instead to distract them from the sudden switch up. But times were tough. He had to do what he had to do.
Jimin didn’t realise his mistake until he’d already sent the tiny pinprick into the man’s neck.
He drew back and noticed it: the man’s ears were pointed. How had he not seen that? Under all that hair? He was magical!
The sleep fairy plopped on the pillow and eyed the needle poking into the man’s neck. He wondered if he was a witch, wizard or something else, because he hadn’t sensed any magic in his aura. Maybe he wasn’t that magical, because magicals had always sensed his presence before he could get into the house.
The dream began to swirl above the man’s head but he didn’t move an inch. Jimin admired how the patterns in his dream were charming. Perhaps there was a chance he’d get away with this.
He steeled his nerves and peeped over the edge of the covers. Oh my, he was really pretty. His mouth was small and curved, his nose snub and cheeks puffed a little. Still deep asleep.
Jimin watched the dream swirl on. He had to wait until it was almost finished before extracting it with the needle. I can do this, he thought. The dream began to reach its climax - Jimin couldn’t see exactly what it was but its colours told him enough - and he set to work gently withdrawing the needle. The swirl began to darken above them, and the magical man frowned. Even frowning, Jimin admired his pretty face.
But the man suddenly groaned and violently rolled over, flinging Jimin over the mattress, hitting the door with a thud.
Jimin’s head swam and his vision danced as he tried to regain his senses quickly. He shook his head. His back ached from the sudden hit and he reached down to rub it, trying not to groan. He froze when he noticed the man shake his head and fumble to light the oil lamp on the bedside table. He had to get away, needle or no needle. Silently cursing, Jimin drew his pouch toward him from where it lay on the wooden floor just an arm’s reach away, crouched and slipped through the crack under the door.