Chapter Text
The thirteenth month happens in the slip of the silver moon at the dawn of the New Year. They come out then, the dancers, the water lilies, the snow and the air. No one sees them for the rest of the year- just on the thirteenth month.
There are four of them. They wear a male appearance, but delicately so. The features of their face are carved from ice, from rock and bone. Their hair is silver filigree, shining and silken and webbed through with patterns in a bold black. They all have it cropped short, close to their heads, except for the one in the middle who moves like spider legs. His hair brushes the back of his neck, just barely caressing the tops of his shoulders.
They come in white. Their clothes are loose, for ease of movement, but impeccably fitted to their slim frames. The cloth flows like water, like smoke when they move.
They dance on the thirteenth month. If there is music, no one can hear it but them. They call to each other quietly, and it sounds like rain.
“Minghao, brother, take your place.” Minghao is the one with legs like a spider. He moves in impossible ways, and behind every one of his tricks is an inhuman strength.
Always close to Minghao is the one they call Junhui, the one with wide, clear eyes and an innocent face. He is beautiful like the ocean is beautiful, with a dangerous edge lurking beneath his placid mask. His laugh is clear and taunting, and he laughs easily. The children seem to like him when they dance, always clustering around his ankles and tugging at his shirt. Their parents take them away, but not before Junhui can give them a glimmering, silver kiss on the hand.
Chan is the youngest, or at least the shortest. He is harsh, in every possible way. His features are dark and bold, and his dancing is an explosion of power. Despite that, he is gentle and graceful. He talks to his brothers softly, each word chosen with purpose.
“Minghao, Junhui, Chan, we must find them. It is getting late.”
Soonyoung is the leader, the one who comes first through the moon and the one who is the last to stop dancing. People, the ones who see, call him Tiger as well, because of the scars running up his arm. They are the only blemishes on his otherwise perfect figure, but he wears them like honor.
The brothers talk. Whenever they show up, they ask the crowds who gather to see them for names.
“We are looking for our brothers,” Junhui says to the children at his knee. “Their names are Hansol and Wonwoo and Mingyu. Have you seen them?” The children just giggle, offering him their hands. He takes them graciously, but there is a depth of sadness lurking behind his eyes.
“We are looking for our brothers,” Minghao asks the grandmas who offer him food.
“You’re too skinny,” They say, pressing rolls and cheeses into his hands. “Eat.”
“My brothers.” Minghao says firmly. “They are called Jeonghan and Joshua. Have you seen them?”
The old ladies shake their heads with a soft sigh, and smile when Minghao takes their food.
“We are looking for our brothers,” Chan asks of the boys his age. “Their names are Seokmin and Seungkwan. Have you seen them?”
The boys shrug, looking at each other for answers. They have none.
“Please keep an eye out for them,” Chan asks politely, before joining his brothers for their dance. The boys swear to do so among themselves, and then they forget when the moon disappears.
“We are looking for our brothers,” Soonyoung says to the elders, to the people who lead the masses. “I am looking for Seungcheol and Jihoon. If you see them, will you tell me?”
Each year, the dancers come back. They ask after their brothers, and then they dance to the music that only they can hear. As the generations wear on, the stories of the dancers are passed down, as are the names of the brothers. Everyone who sees the dancers knows to look for people like them. There are no people like them.
The dancers come back every year. But something changes. At first, it’s barely noticeable- perhaps Chan seems more tired, perhaps Junhui is quieter and doesn’t smile as brightly at the children. Very quickly, in nearly ten years, the dancers break. Minghao can barely walk, his legs crumpling beneath him like charred wood. Junhui holds him up, but he doesn’t speak to anyone. The children who gather at his knee are dragged away without their kiss. Chan and Soonyoung seem to simmer with a rage that's tempered by exhaustion, both of them fiercely protective over Junhui and Minghao but worn down to their very bones.