Work Text:
Silence rings in the air as Jongdae kneads his dough, good ear turned towards the kitchen door. The sunlight that filters in through the window is pale yellow, like the good butter he pulled out of the fridge minutes earlier.
So early in the morning, the bakery is quiet, with only the hum of a fan and the soft squelch of pastry dough between his fingers to accompany the hum of his thoughts.
A sharp tinkle cuts through the mental calculations in Jongdae’s mind and he looks up.
Someone stands in the doorway outside, panting heavily, black coat covered with a fine dusting of white powder that he sheds as he walks to the counter.
“Hello?”
Jongdae scoops up his dough, plopping the ball into a bread basket. Wiping his hands, he exits to see a young man staring back at him.
Brows furrowed and half hidden under jet black hair, he has both hands on the counter, though only one glove is on.
“You do the love breads, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
The harsh tone cuts like a knife, throwing Jongdae off kilter. He wipes his hands again, squinting.
Behind the mask, a pair of bright eyes glints at him, the palest flush tinting his ears.
“Can you do a hate bread?”
Jongdae blinks.
“Pardon?”
“A hate bread. You leave love notes in your bread right? Can you do a ‘fuck you’ one?”
Jongdae cannot help it; he barks out a laugh, nearly dropping his cloth.
“It’s not funny,” the man snaps and Jongdae straightens.
“Whatever you say,” he demurs, even though it is a little funny.
In all his years of running his business, he had never once received a request quite like this once.
“Well, can you do it?”
“Yes. Can the person take spice?”
“He’s American.”
The word is spat out with so much contempt it sparks a little flame of delight in the ice of Jongdae’s heart. He does so love a jilted love.
“Perfect. I’ll do an olive gochu bread then, with extra gochugaru,” he says carefully, trying not to betray his mirth as he scribbles notes on the yellow memo pad he keeps by the counter for these purposes.
“With some rosemary for garnish.”
“Good. He loves olives,” the man sneers.
-
Christmas morning is one of quiet, of solitude. Snow lines the stoop when Jongdae unlocks the bakery’s door, inhaling the smell of the hardwood.
He does not expect customers; most people are too busy with their elaborate Christmas breakfasts and brunches, but he stays open regardless, just in case.
Snow falls gently from the grey sky as he pricks holes in tart shells and stirs up a small batch of vanilla and chocolate swirl custard. Jam is cooling in their jars, metal tops tinkling and popping in a symphony that makes them almost seem alive where they sit upside down by the window.
A tinkle breaks the monotony.
Jongdae is thrown sharply into a sense of deja vu when he looks up to see the man who had demanded his olive gochugaru hate bread shuffle in, dusting snowfall from his padded coat.
“You are open right?” Baekhyun asks when he emerges, fire extinguished.
Even his hair is drooping, as if in response to his emotions.
“Yes. What can I get you?” Jongdae asks, all too aware of how his voice rings in the hollow, silent room.
“Christmas special. And a croissant.”
Baekhyun swipes his card, cocking his head at Jongdae like a puppy.
“Don’t you have anywhere to be on Christmas Day?”
Jongdae smiles blandly and hands Baekhyun his receipt.
“No. My family’s travelling. But I have plans to go see the lights in the town square after it gets dark.”
“Oh.”
The look on Baekhyun’s face tells Jongdae that he very much does not have plans for the day either.
“Do you want to spend it together?” Baekhyun asks, and the forthrightness sends a shiver down Jongdae’s spine.
“Sure,” he says, even though Baekhyun is only half as interesting looking as his previous lover.
When the sun goes down, Jongdae heaves a long sigh. Only a few stragglers had trickled in, looking for last minute Christmas log cakes, sugar cookies and gingerbread. His display has emptied of cookies, leaving only two loaves of bread and a sad cupcake that he hands to Baekhyun as he wraps his scarf around his neck.
The cupcake is gone in two bites.
“I’d say you should sell these,” Baekhyun teases, lips curled.
There are still remnants of snowflakes in his hair; he had popped out earlier for lunch.
“I already do,” Jongdae countered.
He still has not quite grasped human sarcasm, and it shows in the way Baekhyun’s smile slides off his face.
The metal handle of the bakery door freezes against his palm as he shuts it, twisting his key in the locks at the base of the door.
“Are we driving?” Baekhyun asks, bouncing on his heels.
His breath mists in the air as he sticks his hands in his pockets, and he blows out, like a dragon puffing steam.
“Walking,” Jongdae says. “It’s only a little ways.”
Baekhyun shrugs, and Jongdae thinks he wants to stay out as long as possible, if the story he told him about kicking the ex out was to be believed.
He steps around Baekhyun, so that he is on the inside of the pavement and pretends not to see the questioning glance shot his way. Thankfully, Baekhyun asks no questions.
The square is already half lit when they arrive, a wash of warm orange light staining the cobblestone. Red, blue and white fairy lights wink on one by one, forming intricate designs of snowflakes on the arches they have been arranged on, almost too bright to look at as the sky dims.
The Christmas tree is as impressive as Jongdae remembers, towering over the square in all its splendor. Glittering lights sparkle in the night, illuminating the pine branches, carving out its shape in shadow. Snow dusts gently onto the needles, the ornaments, and the pine needles shimmer, as if coated in dew.
He can hear Baekhyun breathing softly beside him, hear the soft crunch of his boots on the snow covered ground as he steps forward and touches the nearest bauble.
“It’s beautiful,” he says softly, and there is a catch in his voice.
“Yeah,” Jongdae nods.
Baekhyun points, brushing a hand over his eye.
“I was going to propose right there.”
Melancholy drips from his tone like rain off roof gutters and Jongdae finds himself moving closer, speaking louder.
They find a restaurant still open, and clink glasses of soju over steaming bowls of kimchi stew that fills the room with its fragrance.
Baekhyun turns the colour of a rose after two shots and it is a bad idea to take him home. But responsibility for this man has seeped like the cold into his bones and he gets into a cab with Baekhyun clinging onto his arm, blood hot from the alcohol, a strange sensation shivering up his spine.
Baekhyun leans over and his breath blows over Jongdae’s cheek.
He is so close that one turn of his head, and Jongdae will feel the warmth of his lips on his cold ones. So he keeps his eyes resolutely ahead, even when Baekhyun kisses his neck.
One thing leads to another and the next thing Jongdae knows, he is fumbling to open the door of Baekhyun’s apartment, Baekhyun’s hand up his shirt. He groans when Baekhyun shoves him aside and unlocks the door roughly, before his mouth is back on his, kissing so hungrily he feels as if he may be devoured at any moment.
There are very few humans who make him lose control in such a way, and he cannot decide if he likes it. But the human seems to enjoy being in charge and Jongdae has no desire to chase away a warm body.
They tumble to bed in a shower of clothes and curses, until they end with Jongdae on his back, Baekhyun perched on his hips triumphantly.
Jongdae has seen many beautiful people in his lifetime, but in that moment, no one compares to the feral beauty of Baekhyun lurching over him, fingers tangling into his hair with all the fiery passion of a demon escaping hell.
The logical part of Jongdae’s brain is wiped clean when Baekhyun kisses him again, and he feels heat branding against his thigh, his stomach.
Night dissolves into muffled moans, the music of Baekhyun’s voice singing in his one good ear, the flames he leaves in his wake with every touch.
Jongdae wakes to phantom brushes of lips over his ear.
He rolls over, sighing when Baekhyun only groans, shuffling to the other side of the bed.
Slowly, he climbs off.
Nothing good will come of him sleeping with a man only looking for a rebound.
By the time Baekhyun stumbles into the kitchen, there is French toast on the table gone cold, and a bit of paper that reads:
I know leaving before you wake up is a dick move, but so is fucking out your pain. Don’t come to me again, unless you’re looking for bread.
-
Maybe Jongdae is a masochist, the way his brother always said he was, for they fall into bed again, despite his reservations. But warm bodies grow fewer and fewer, and lesser still are bodies Jongdae wishes to share his bed with.
So it is easy to relent when Baekhyun shows up with his boxy smile and a promise that they will only share a bottle of red wine together.
“I’ll leave when the bottle’s empty,” he says, and every time, the bottle is still a quarter full by the time they tumble into the sheets.
Jongdae loses count of the number of times he invites Baekhyun home, watches him set the table when he is in the kitchen ladling out stew and rice.
It is such a sham, when they both know what he is there for.
Still Jongdae lets him.
Baekhyun is like a non-Newtonian liquid, slowly flowing into the crevice that has been left empty in Jongdae.
It gets easier and easier to go along with him, the longer December drags on, and the number of customers dwindle.
Storm clouds loom over the horizon, a sense of impending doom slowly seeping into the hardwood of the bakery, permeating into its walls until Jongdae feels it in his bones, a chill that never really leaves.
He kneads cookie dough into the shape of skeletons even though it is nowhere near Halloween.
Baekhyun comes in during one of these sessions, creeping behind the counter and into the kitchen. Jongdae’s bad side is to him, and he does not hear him call out until a gentle hand touches his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Jongdae says, over the movement of Baekhyun’s lips.
“-been calling you for the past five minutes,” Baekhyun grumbles. “We should go to dinner.”
Jongdae smiles thinly, brittle like a wafer biscuit.
“A little backwards, aren’t we?” he says. “You don’t need to woo me.”
Baekhyun blinks, before his lips spread into that alluring boxy smile.
“Who says I’m paying?”
“Baek-.”
Jongdae’s words stopper in his throat when the bell tinkles outside.
The chill that sweeps in is unlike anything he has ever felt before, and he shudders, gripping the edge of the kitchen table.
“Jongdae.”
Frost coats the windows, the city outside covered in a blanket of white. It is January, Korea’s coldest month.
But the cold bites, like a wolf on its prey and blue frost spreads across the floor, over the counters.
Jongdae does not even have to turn to know who it is.
“Uh, Dae-.”
“Hyung,” Jongdae bites out, whirling around.
In one motion, he pushes Baekhyun behind him as the frost blooms into the kitchen.
“You’re killing my ovens.”
“Good. You’ll have no need of them,” the man says crisply.
His eyes narrow at Baekhyun behind Jongdae’s back before he chooses to ignore him, ringed fingers fluttering into the air.
“Time to come home, Jongdae yah.”
“Is it time already?” Jongdae demurs, dropping his head.
“Father is dead.”
Ice slices through the room and freezes the air between them.
“Um. Maybe I should go.”
Baekhyun’s voice is fuzzy behind him.
“And who are you?”
“Nobody,” Jongdae says before Baekhyun can answer.
Baekhyun flinches, hurt.
But Jongdae is too preoccupied by the two men standing behind his brother, bearing long lances tipped with ice to notice. He hates the idea of despoiling his kitchen which he has come to adore with human blood, as Ryeowook is so fond of spilling.
“If so, he won’t have a problem with you leaving,” Ryeowook says, eyes turning crafty.
Jongdae shrugs.
Ryeowook will think what he wants, and nothing Jongdae says will convince him otherwise.
“Uh, leaving where?” Baekhyun asks, very foolishly.
“Nowhere you need to know, human,”Ryeowook says, dismissive. “Now, say your goodbyes, Jongdae. I will wait outside.”
His eyes flash.
“And don’t try to run. I’d hate to have to blind you this time.”
It is a reflex that Jongdae touches his deaf ear, gritting his teeth as Ryeowook steps out of the bakery, flanked by the soldiers.
“That’s your hyung?” Baekhyun’s voice is tinny, growing in volume when Jongdae turns towards him.
“He’s terrifying.”
“He is,” Jongdae agrees.
“So, you’re going with him?” Baekhyun asks when Jongdae steps around him. “When are you getting back?”
Jongdae snorts.
“Never, if Ryeowook hyung gets his way.”
“What?”
Baekhyun’s voice is coated in shock, and sadness on its edges, something Jongdae does not expect.
Baekhyun grabs his hands and he starts.
“What about the bakery?”
“It’ll get sold,” Jongdae shrugs. “Ryeowook hyung will take care of it.”
“But-.”
“I’ve got to go, alright? You take care.”
“I thought we were more than that.”
The sentence stops Jongdae cold. Already, more frost is creeping in from under the door, covering the floor in blue. Something creaks and an earsplitting crack snaps through the air. The wooden floorboard throws up dust, a mouth yawning open, right in the middle of the room.
“No, we weren’t,” Jongdae says, his tone icy, his eyes fixed on the split in the wood. “We’re nothing, Baek.”
Breath rushes out of him in a spool of mist as he snatches up his bag.
“Wait- your phone!”
Jongdae snatches the device out of Baekhyun’s hand; there is not enough time to tell him he does not need it where he is going. There is no cell service in the Realm of Snow.
Ryeowook is smirking when Jongdae jangles out of the bakery, snowflakes fluttering from his fingers. He blows a kiss as Jongdae joins him, and Jongdae turns to see Baekhyun staring out after him, brows furrowed.
“Cute. For a human,” Ryeowook murmurs, flicking his wrist. “Come now. The carriage is waiting.”
-
Rescuing someone from a realm he does not even know the existence of proves to be quite the challenge, even for someone as talented as Baekhyun.
He meets the only non-human person he knows, because of course, Baekhyun has a faerie contact.
Chanyeol is more elf than faerie, as he likes to differentiate, but he is the only one who can tell Baekhyun more about realms that exist outside their purview.
“Sounds like a prince from the Realm of Snow,” Chanyeol says, rolling a daisy between long fingers.
Baekhyun tries not to be distracted, but it proves difficult when Chanyeol makes more flowers pop from the single stem even though it should be quite impossible.
“They’re usually frosty as hell. Pun intended.”
“How does one travel to this Realm of Snow or something?” Baekhyun frowns.
“I thought you said he’s just a casual fuck,” Chanyeol says, licking his lips when a particularly attractive young man passes their table.
“Well- if he’s in trouble, I want to help. He’s a friend,” Baekhyun mumbles.
“One doesn’t go to the Realm of Snow for just friends,” Chanyeol says, flicking his fingers.
Ivy sprouts between the floorboards and the bartender looks over, glaring.
“Oops,” Chanyeol mumbles.
“Don’t get us kicked out,” Baekhyun implores. “At least not before I’ve had enough drinks.”
“As I was saying,” Chanyeol continues as the ivy retreats to wherever it came from, tickling Baekhyun’s calf as it does so. “Not many people come back from the Realm of Snow.”
“Jongdae did. He fled once.”
Chanyeol snorts, shaking his head.
“His hyung likely let him go. Someone like Kim Ryeowook- you have no idea how much power he holds in the palm of his hand. Especially after his father passed. Power is cyclical, you know. When one generation dies, it flows into the next.”
“How do you know so much again?”
Baekhyun downs his fruity cocktail and taps the glass, blinking at the bartender until he comes over.
“I served in the court once,” Chanyeol says absently, brushing a lock of Baekhyun’s hair behind his ear. “Should we get out of here? You’re looking pink.”
“I’ve only had one,” Baekhyun complains.
But Chanyeol drags him out anyway, his arms sturdy as the branches on an oak tree.
They end up on Chanyeol’s couch, a green velvet monstrosity that Baekhyun jokes about fucking on.
The whole apartment is decorated like they are in the middle of a forest glade, the walls a dark hunter green with strands of climbing plants spiraling across the corners. The curtains are also green velvet with gold brocade trim that Chanyeol swears he stole from a treasure vault in a fae court.
“You know,” Baekhyun starts, pulling the curtains apart. “You could get some proper light in here once in a while.”
Old fashioned lamps sit on the shelves, glowing with orange light. Even the lamp that Chanyeol sits under radiates warm light, casting strange shadows on his features.
“Hurts my eyes, you know that,” Chanyeol says, sticking a cigarette between his lips.
He jerks his head at the side table and Baekhyun makes a disgusted sound.
“Get your own light,” he says, even as he moves to grab the silver lighter.
Chanyeol smirks as he lights his cigarette, the heady smell of ash and newspapers filling the room.
“You’ll need a warlock to get you in,” Chanyeol says, twirling his cigarette between elegant fingers.
He blows a puff of smoke into the air and Baekhyun wrinkles his nose, opening a window.
“If you’re still serious about going, of course.”
“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Chanyeol stubs out his cigarette in his hand, and Baekhyun flinches, as if he felt the spark of heat go out.
“Ok. I’m going with you.”
“What.”
“I know a warlock who owes me a favour. I can get you in.”
“But you said it’s dangerous.”
“For someone like you, going into an unfamiliar realm? You’ll get lost and never find your way out again. What kind of friend would I be if I opened the door and didn’t show you the way?”
Chanyeol lights another cigarette and Baekhyun points at the balcony immediately.
“Smoke out there, asshole. Not in the house.”
Chanyeol snickers; the apartment already reeks of cigarette smoke, sickly sweet and ashy.
“You like it when I smoke,” he purrs and Baekhyun groans quietly.
He knows he does.
But elves are complicated about feelings and fucking, and Baekhyun knows better than to roll around in bed with one. Especially one like Chanyeol, who is all big eyes and earnest when he is not trying to flirt.
“When do we go?” he asks, settling on the farthest end of the couch.
Chanyeol shrugs.
“Whenever you want.”
-
The silence that rings in the air when they enter the warlock’s lair is deafening. He does not speak even a word, only sighs when he spots them on his doorstep.
“Kyuhyun hyung,” Chanyeol says brightly. “We need you to get us into the Realm of Snow.”
The man’s eyes widen and he makes a gesture with his hands that Baekhyun recognises as sign language, though he does not understand it.
“I know the risks. We’re still going. You owe me,” Chanyeol says, pushing his way into the room. “He won’t know you’re involved, hyung. I swear it.”
Kyuhyun makes a gesture that even Baekhyun understands as a rude one, before scuttling behind his wooden counter like a very large crab. He is tall, but Chanyeol is taller.
And quicker, for he grabs Kyuhyun’s arm before he can sketch a spell in the air.
“Hyung. You owe me. I don’t want to make you.”
The air goes still in the very small hut, and Baekhyun feels it, tension snaking through the air as they communicate with their eyes.
Kyuhyun’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, wrenching his arm out of Chanyeol’s grasp.
Turning back to the apothecary drawers that line the wall behind him, he removes a glass vial that contains some white powder that Baekhyun cannot identify.
“No tricks, hyung,” Chanyeol warns when Kyuhyun reaches for another drawer.
Kyuhyun glares, hissing at him like an angry cat.
He makes another rude gesture before drawing a cloak from the drawer and handing it to Baekhyun.
“For the human. I pity anyone you drag into your schemes,” he signs.
“Hey. This is his hare brained idea,” Chanyeol interjects and Kyuhyun’s eyes widen.
“He wants to rescue Kim Ryeowook’s wayward brother.”
If it was not large enough, Kyuhyun’s eyes round. He shakes his head, grasping Baekhyun’s hand in a way that Baekhyun can only interpret as pleading.
“Leave him for dead.”
“He’s not dead,” Baekhyun snaps. “And I love him.”
Kyuhyun shakes his head.
“It’s not love you feel. It’s fascination.”
He points at his face, then at his lips before opening his mouth.
Baekhyun recoils.
“This Ryeowook is a freak,” he mumbles.
For behind the pale pink lips, is the yawning absence of a tongue.
Kyuhyun nods, lips scrunching in a plea.
Baekhyun shakes his head despite the chill that shivers through him. The resolve has been cemented within him, though he has no clue what he sees in Jongdae; he is nothing like the men he usually goes for.
“If you are sure then,” Kyuhyun signs, shaking his head. “And Chanyeol is willing to waste his one favour on such an endeavour.”
-
The doors open on a snowy day, which perhaps should have been a sign to Baekhyun. He wears the cloak Kyuhyun has given him and still shivers. Chanyeol on the other hand, appears in a getup he has never seen before.
“What’s with- that?” Baekhyun asks, waving his hand at Chanyeol’s all-black, leather outfit. “You look like a horribly proportioned ninja.”
Chanyeol rests an elbow on the very full pack that sits just above his hip and flips him the middle finger.
“Crass.”
Kyuhyun appears out of nowhere, also huddled in a thick woolen cloak. He moves like a criminal, glancing from side to side before he tosses a handful of white powder into the air.
“How do spells work if he can’t speak?” Baekhyun whispers, and Chanyeol jabs him in the side rather than answer him.
The air shimmers with the iridescence of snow and begins to spin, spraying white powder into the air, until all Baekhyun can smell is the pure clean scent of frozen water.
He clutches at Chanyeol’s arm, wide eyed.
“The elf will bring you home,” Kyuhyun says. “I wish you luck.”
He shakes his head and Chanyeol is ushering Baekhyun through the literal rip in the fabric between realms. There is a rippling sound, the air turning almost liquid against Baekhyun’s skin, and it is like coming up for air.
Wind whips his face and he burrows unconsciously into Chanyeol’s side, gripping his elbow.
“He put us right where we need to be,” Chanyeol huffs, his breath misting in the air. “The castle’s right over there.”
“That’s suspiciously helpful,” Baekhyun mumbles.
Chanyeol gives a throaty laugh and tugs him along.
Baekhyun’s shoes slip on the snowy path, but thankfully, Chanyeol grabs him before he can face plant.
“You didn’t wear boots?” he asks.
“These are my boots,” Baekhyun grumbles, kicking snow off the tips.
“You need new treads,” Chanyeol says, grasping his elbow.
The trees loom overhead as they pace down the narrow lane, inky silhouettes in the sky. Firm and flat beneath his soles, the ground seems too well-maintained to be part of the wilderness that the forest around them radiates. Baekhyun tugs his cloak closer around him, trying to ignore the sense of foreboding creeping.
“I feel like a Lord of the Rings character,” he whispers, when a gust of wind blows out his cloak, sending the train flapping.
Chanyeol’s lips curl at the corners and he looks away.
His face pales at once and he grabs Baekhyun’s arm, dragging him off the path and into the thicket. Baekhyun splutters as branches dig into his clothes and skin, gasping when Chanyeol clamps a hand over his mouth and hushes him.
A dark shadow swoops over them and Baekhyun’s blood turns to ice.
“Snowy owls,” Chanyeol murmurs, his mouth practically pressed up against Baekhyun’s ear.
His breath is hot and he squirms.
“The crown prince’s owls.”
“Why don’t you call him by name?”Baekhyun asks after the owl has passed and they are walking once more.
Chanyeol took them off the path the second they could walk, wading through thick brush weighed down with sparkling white.
“He’ll hear you,” Chanyeol says, his expression serious. “Names have power here.”
Baekhyun huffs.
“You’re not serious.”
“I am. Don’t ever say his name out loud. And for good measure, don’t ever give him your real name either.”
-
The lake that they have to cross is a frozen one, its surface so shiny that it reflects the sun’s rays, nearly blinding Baekhyun with its brilliance.
He hesitates on the bank, fingers tightening around Chanyeol’s elbow. Warnings about thin ice drift through his mind as he stares across the glittering expanse.
“What?”
“It’ll hold?”
“Yes. It’s frozen year round.” Chanyeol sounds as if he is trying not to laugh. “This is the Realm of Snow after all.”
He holds out his hand and it is warm, solid against Baekhyun’s when he takes it.
“We’ll be okay,” he assures when Baekhyun slips on the ice.
“Until the crown prince catches us,” Baekhyun mutters.
But he clings anyway.
Chanyeol is right that he needs new treads, for he slips every few steps, and needs to hang onto Chanyeol for dear life.
The daft elf keeps laughing at him, so much so that Baekhyun is the one who spots the snowy owl this time, swooping overhead, silent as death.
“Oh shit,” Chanyeol curses.
There is nowhere to hide on the flat plain, and the owl does not seem to care about subterfuge. It drops into a death spiral, talons extended.
With a shout, Chanyeol flings up his arm just in time, tucking Baekhyun behind him. Fabric rips and he yelps, his elbow barely keeping the owl from taking out his eyes.
“How’s it able to see? It’s daylight!”
Baekhyun yelps and Chanyeol shoves him onto the ice.
“Shut up.”
The owl lashes out again, screeching and the ice shakes, trembles like the earth itself has awakened. Chanyeol bites out a curse Baekhyun has never heard before when the air congeals, and all the cold seems to seep into his bones, paralyzing, freezing him to the surface of the lake.
“Well, well, well. An elf and a human.”
Fragments of ice coalesce into the shape of a man, slender, and heartbreakingly beautiful. His slanted cat eyes glitter as he stalks towards Baekhyun.
“Don’t touch him-.”
Chanyeol flings himself towards Baekhyun, but the man only holds up his hand, and ice crackles across the frozen lake, streaking up Chanyeol’s boots.
“Who- who are you?” Baekhyun dares to ask. “Where’s Jongdae?”
“You seek the king’s brother?”
The man huffs out a laugh, tipping Baekhyun’s chin up. His grin is wicked as he extends both arms, and the snowy owl alights on a pale wrist.
“I’ll take you to him.”
The world blurs into a flurry of snow, so cold that Baekhyun forgets how to breathe. Ice shards pierce his lungs on every inhale, until his vision goes blue.
“What have you brought me?”
A familiar voice sends shivers down Baekhyun’s spine.
“Something to whet your appetite, my king.”
The man kneels before Ryeowook, Ryeowook’s delicate fingers curled beneath his chin. As Baekhyun watches through icicle blurred vision, Ryeowook kisses him, so hard that a drop of blood rolls down the man’s white chin.
“Thank you, Hyukjae,” Ryeowook purrs as he lets Hyukjae go. “This is why you’re my favourite.”
Hyukjae preens as he folds himself to a seated position at the foot of the icicle throne that outshines everything in the room.
Ryeowook clicks his tongue as he turns towards Baekhyun, still frozen in the position he had been when Hyukjae materialised out of thin air.
“Foolish,” Ryeowook says. “Humans aren’t meant to be here.”
Before Baekhyun can speak however, his lips split into a grin that sends chills down Baekhyun’s spine. He twirls, like a little kid.
“Humans are so predictable. Didn’t I say he would show up somehow, Hyukjae?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Hyukjae trills from the throne, eyes curled in mirth.
Abruptly, Ryeowook stops giggling. His eyes glow an icy blue, and he jerks his chin towards Chanyeol, suddenly dismissive.
“And you, leaf eared filth. Who gave you entrance into my realm?”
Chanyeol opens his mouth to answer but Baekhyun cuts in. Kyuhyun’s terrified face swims in his memory and he folds his fingers into the borrowed cloak until the fibers turn stiff and taut.
“No one.”
Ryeowook’s eyebrows raise and he flexes his fingers.
Chanyeol howls when the ice around his legs creep higher and Baekhyun cries out, grasping at his hand.
“Ah, young love,” Ryeowook sighs.
“We’re not in love,” Baekhyun snaps.
“Because you think you’re in love with my brother?”
Ryeowook chuckles, mirth flaring in his eyes once more. He seems to think of Baekhyun as little more than a plaything, nothing more than a puppy.
Baekhyun would usually be infuriated to be underestimated, but even he knows better than to square up with someone like Ryeowook.
His bone structure betrays none of his strength, delicate to the naked eye, almost fragile. When he touches Baekhyun however, he comes close enough for Baekhyun to see past the sheer layers of his tunic to the hidden lines of muscle across his chest.
“Jongdae has very little interest in fraternising with your ilk,” Ryeowook murmurs.
His finger feels like a shard of ice being dragged down Baekhyun’s cheek, sending chills through Baekhyun’s skin.
“He seemed very interested when I climbed into his bed,” Baekhyun mutters sulkily.
Ryeowook bursts out laughing, as if Baekhyun has just told him a very funny joke. On cue, Hyukjae’s arms wind around his waist, his chin hooking around his shoulder.
“Oh, we all partake in pleasures of the flesh, my dear human,” Ryeowook purrs, turning so that Hyukjae’s lips trail over his cheek.
“But humans are so– breakable.”
He kisses Hyukjae’s mouth.
“Unlike my beloved here.”
Hyukjae unfolds himself from around Ryeowook and flits off, Ryeowook’s eyes following him the whole way.
“Perhaps I shall help you see the truth,” Ryeowook says after Hyukjae has vanished from sight.
“No,” Chanyeol pipes up, scaring Baekhyun with the vehemence in his tone.
“None of your tricks.”
Ryeowook raises a hand, nostrils flaring and Chanyeol’s scream pierces the air.
“Stop it!” Baekhyun gasps. “What truth are you talking about?”
Ryeowook grins, like a child who has been given what he yearned and flicks his fingers lightly.
A shard of ice blooms between white fingertips, no bigger than his pinkie and he sends it spinning, a spark of blue that pierces Baekhyun’s right eye.
A tiny flash of cold burns in his retina before it is gone.
“My gift,” Ryeowook coos.
Baekhyun blinks rapidly, the world on his right spinning in a blur of blue.
“Oh,” he whispers when the colours fade, and he sees the Realm of Snow in its truest form.
The throne room’s ceiling stretches into oblivion, etched staircases spiraling around it, and from one of them, Jongdae stands.
He regards Baekhyun coldly, and it is as if he has been pierced through the heart with a bolt of ice.
“Because I like your fire, human,” Ryeowook purrs. “I’ll give you a second chance. Take the elf and go back where you came from.”
“You’re serious?”
Baekhyun’s heart nearly stops from the relief that floods his chest.
“The fae cannot lie,” Ryeowook says silkily, spreading his hands. “I’ll even let you go without taking any body parts.”
“And you won’t take revenge on– whoever helped us get here?” Baekhyun presses.
Ryeowook smiles, shrugging and snowflakes begin to fall, sprinkling small flecks of chill onto Baekhyun’s cheeks.
“Make him promise,” Chanyeol moans, his eyes glassy.
Ryeowook pouts, and it is a terrifying expression to see on the king of a magical realm.
But Baekhyun holds his ground, levels him with a glare even though his hands are trembling, and his eyes drift for a moment, behind Ryeowook’s ear.
Jongdae’s lips curl into a smirk and he looks so much like his brother in that split second that Baekhyun recoils.
“So it was a trick,” he murmurs.
“Not entirely. My dear brother did try to escape once. Hence the deafness in one ear,” Ryeowook hums.
“But he has learnt his lesson, of course.”
“So the bakery-.”
“Oh, I indulge him. I let him go play house in the human world once in a while. But it is over now. Our father is gone and I will need him. And he is more than happy to stay. Aren’t you, Jongdae yah?”
Jongdae nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on Baekhyun.
“You could stay, you know,” Ryeowook says slowly, looking between Baekhyun and Jongdae.
“Marry my brother. Jongdae has control over the Southern lands. You could holiday there.”
“Baekhyun, don’t,” Chanyeol grits out, snapping the strange haze that has settled over Baekhyun’s mind. “He means to control you.”
“It’s not so bad,” Ryeowook coos, crooking a finger.
The snow begins falling faster, the snowflakes growing larger and somehow, harder, like little pebbles pelting onto Baekhyun’s face.
“You could be the consort of a powerful prince. He would give you power beyond your wildest dreams.”
When Baekhyun turns his head, Jongdae is suddenly by Ryeowook’s side, blinking at him with snowflakes clinging to his lashes.
“Say yes,” he urges, the kitty curl of his lips more alluring than Baekhyun remembers.
“Baek, don’t,” Chanyeol gasps.
“One more word and I’ll turn you into an ice statue,” Ryeowook hisses.
Jongdae’s hand snakes out, covering Baekhyun’s wrist, and when he pulls, Baekhyun goes, transfixed by a single speck of blue in his left eye that he has never noticed before.
“You’ll be a perfect match.”
Cold pierces Baekhyun’s chest and he cries out, ice blooming in his heart, through his bones, turning them brittle. The pain congeals the air in his lungs, and for a moment, he thinks he has been tricked, that he is going to die.
But the pain passes, ebbing away like the sea at low tide and suddenly, Jongdae is more beautiful than he knows. A cold mouth seals over his lips and he melts into the kiss, barely noticing the icy fingers cradling his cheek.
Chanyeol releases a low moan and Ryeowook growls, breaking the moment.
“Go back to your realm, elf,” he snaps. “Consider it a gift that I haven’t killed you.”
Baekhyun does not even see when the portal opens. He is too busy looking into Jongdae’s eyes, into the forever blue.