Archive of Our Own ^beta

The forest smells like petrichor, but just barely. Mingyu isn’t sure if it’s because the rain has long since receded or if even his sense of smell is going.

His paws ache as he drags his feet aimlessly and he barely has enough energy to wince when his tails scrape against a stray tree branch. The pain is a grounding force; the only thing reminding him he’s alive, but just barely.

This was a terrible place to run away to. He’s not even sure where he is, but he hasn’t seen a single soul besides the low-level spirits he’s been relying on for sustenance since he found himself here. Even those are running short and his hunger is a persistent, aching feeling inside of him that isn’t just emotional anymore. It’s not a realization that comes with a sudden start, but rather a pitiful admittance of his fate—he’s going to die here.

Mingyu is going to die in this strange forest with cuts on his paws and his fur matted with dirt and rain and all of his bones aching and he’s going to die alone.

He doesn’t expect to cry. He cried out all of his tears weeks ago. Maybe months, he doesn’t know anymore.

He’s a hair away from giving up, collapsing and fading away, until he senses it. Faint, distant, but growing closer. The scar on the back of his neck aches.

A witch.

A powerful one, at that, their magic radiating off of them from a great distance away. If Mingyu could only get a taste of it, it might last him a lifetime. 

It’s his last chance. It’s a stupid idea, the stupidest one he’s ever had, but what’s the worst that could happen? He may be skin and bones and desperation, but it means he has nothing left to lose.

The witch comes into view, their long black robes flowing in the gentle breeze. They lean down in front of a patch of herbs, completely oblivious to the starved gumiho behind them. Mingyu would usually aim for the throat to subdue before eating their heart, but theirs is concealed by dark hair. Mingyu doesn’t consider this an obstacle. A chance is a chance.

Using the remaining strength he has, fueled by hunger and desperation, Mingyu rears back and lunges, jaw open, teeth ready to strike—

and lets out a pathetic yip as he’s snatched up in a magical snare, an invisible force crackling in the air around him. His scar burns where he’s grabbed and he scrabbles at it like it’s going to alleviate the searing pain.

The witch stands up tall and turns to Mingyu. Maybe with his life on the line isn’t the best time to notice that he’s beautiful, even with some of his face obscured by his large hat. He crosses his arms and looks at Mingyu curiously.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Mingyu opens his mouth once, twice, trying to remember how to speak. He hasn’t used his voice ever since he left and it comes out rough and hoarse, mouth dry.

“I-I’m sorry. I won’t attack you again, just—just please let me go.” His voice pitches higher at the end. He sounds pathetic. His head droops in shame but the witch tips his chin back up with a finger and Mingyu flinches aggressively.

“You’re hurt," the witch says lightly.

Mingyu tenses up like it’ll protect him. He knows how he looks, from wobbly reflections in dirty puddles and small lakes. His white fur is covered in grime, matted and tangled, all nine of his once-fluffy tails curl uselessly around his underside to hide both his exposed belly and visible ribs.

To his surprise, he’s placed down on the ground again, gently. He winces when his raw paws touch the soil again and when he looks up at the witch hesitantly, he’s frowning. Oh no. What did he do wrong? Did Mingyu mess up again somehow? Not again —

The witch squats down and opens his arms.

“Come here. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Mingyu blinks and shrinks back, hackles raised, ears pressed flat against his head. What is he going to do to him? Is he going to hurt him? He can’t trust a witch.

But the witch is looking at him expectantly, motioning for Mingyu to come into his arms. He doesn’t know what will happen to him if he disobeys. After weighing his options, Mingyu tentatively walks forward and the witch scoops him up with ease. It’s probably not hard. Despite being notably larger than an adult fox, Mingyu probably doesn’t weigh much more than a medium sized rock, he thinks shamefully.

“Where are we going?” Mingyu asks, voice small and creaky.

“Home,” the witch responds simply. It’s soothing, but that only puts him more on edge. He’s probably waiting for Mingyu to lower his guard and do something terrible to him. His scar throbs. He can feel the witch’s eyes on it and he curls into himself tightly, hoping he might disappear if he does.

The air shifts and bends and a gentle hum fills the air before a sudden flash of purple light appears in front of them, forcing Mingyu to shield his eyes. He feels his bones move and shift, his fur standing up on its ends as the witch steps through the portal and the air around them changes.

It’s not cold anymore, is the first thing he notices. It’s warm, with the scent of herbs and citrus gently wafting in the air. It’s like Mingyu’s sense of smell immediately returns and he instinctively breathes in the earthy, woody scent he’s found himself surrounded in.

“We’re home,” the witch announces. Mingyu lifts his gaze to take in the sight around him—they’re in what appears to be the hollowed-out trunk of an extraordinarily large tree with a living room, a kitchen with a large cauldron, and a winding staircase leading to a second story. The large windows and skylight are only letting in moonlight, so the only lighting present is flickering purple flames in the fireplace and sprawling glowing moss clinging artfully to the walls.

“You live here?”

“Yup! Built it a long time ago with the help of some friends. Cozy, right?”

Mingyu can only manage a timid nod. Even though he’s not meant to disagree, it’s true. He didn’t know a home could look like this.

“Let’s get you into a bath.”

The witch slips off his heeled shoes, their clacking noise echoing in the open space around them, while still trying to hold Mingyu carefully. He readjusts Mingyu in his arms before ascending the stairs and opening the door to a bathroom.

He places Mingyu down gently into the smooth marble bathtub on his side, taking care to arrange his legs so his chafed paws aren’t pressing against the stone.

“Can you stay put while I grab some things?” The witch asks, moving to get up.

Mingyu immediately tenses again, eyes widening. The witch seems to notice and kneels back down, running a hand across Mingyu’s head, making him freeze. His fingers stop at the base of his skull, just barely about to brush his scar. Even the threat of a witch making contact with it makes it absolutely burn.

“I’m just getting some salves and stuff. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

After a moment, Mingyu nods jerkily, even though he knows it’s a lie. Witches always do.

The witch pats him again and gets back up. He doesn’t shut the door behind him, and Mingyu can hear his footsteps getting more distant.

In the ensuing silence, Mingyu finally feels like he can breathe, just a little. He stares at the polished wood wall and runs through the very confusing sequence of events he just experienced.

Less than an hour ago, Mingyu was convinced he was going to die. His hunger pains resurface then, persistently reminding him that he hasn’t eaten in so long that he took the risk of attacking a witch of all people, one whose power rivaled that of his old one at that.

He shrinks into himself at the reminder of her. His scar aches.

And despite the fact Mingyu tried to attack and kill him, the mystery witch…saved him? Took him, a gumiho, into his home and left him unattended, door open? Mingyu could come running out at any moment, try to kill the witch again, but—it’s not like Mingyu would have posed a threat anyway.

He peers down at his ribs and the way all of his limbs are gently shaking before averting his eyes in shame. His fangs ache in his jaws. He’s sure he’s completely depleted of magic, too. Even his pitiful attempts at shifting just leave his bones aching. If anything, Mingyu is the one in danger, body tense and eyes darting around to gauge how safe he is, what might happen to him.

He’s in a stranger’s home. A witch’s home, his dwelling. One Mingyu doesn’t know the location of, considering the portal they took to get here. He’s at his weakest, and he has no idea what the witch is capable of. There’s no place for him to escape, and even if he managed the strength too, there’s no guarantee the witch wouldn’t come after him. Even then, it’s not like he would survive for much longer anyway.

He curls up in the bathtub and is unable to weep.

Some time later, Mingyu’s ears perk up faintly at the gentle thud of footsteps approaching before pressing down on his head in instinctive fear, accompanied by the sound of some glass bottles clinking against each other. His nose twitches.

“Hello,” the witch says softly as he kneels by the bathtub, gently placing a number of glass containers with an array of different colored-substances in them down on the ground. His oversized hat is gone and Mingyu stares at his long, dark hair, tracing it to the way it curls around the edges of his neck. It exposes pointy ears, complemented by silver earrings. “I’m back. Would you like a snack?”

The witch holds out a small package and Mingyu’s attention immediately shifts. He can barely hear the sound of the paper package rustling open over the sound of his stomach growling. It’s a decently sized chunk of rabbit meat, neatly cut, even though Mingyu would eat a whole rabbit if it was offered to him, bones and all.

“Can—” Mingyu swallows. “Can I?”

The witch holds out the slab of rabbit to Mingyu, but he knows better.

“Can I? Please?”

“Yeah. It’s for you.”

“Thank you,” Mingyu barely manages to say before diving in. The fibers rip and tear between each violent bite, sharp teeth gnashing as he shreds the meat offered to him in a harrowing amount of time. It’s delicious. It’s divine. He drags his long tongue along his lips to clean the juices from his meal and doesn’t even have the presence of mind to stop himself from lapping at the remains on the paper as well.

He’s panting by the time he finishes, feeling so sated he could pass away on the spot happy. He quickly snaps back to reality when he sees the witch smiling at him.

“Sorry—thank you. Thank you.”

“You sure say thank you a lot.”

Mingyu cowers a little.

“I should always be thankful for what’s given to me,” he recites. His scar throbs.

The witch hums. Mingyu doesn’t know what that means.

“I’m gonna run some warm water for you and put some salves on your wounds, is that okay?”

Mingyu blinks. Why is he being asked that?

“Okay.”

The tap shimmers purple with the witch’s magic and burbles to life, slowly filling the bathtub with perfectly warm water as the witch unscrews a jar of green liquid, gently pouring it into the bath. Mingyu flinches away from where it’s spreading into the water, unsure what will happen if it touches him. The water murmurs softly, carrying the scent of sage and lavender with a gentle shimmer to its surface. He doesn’t get away, obviously, but to his surprise, Mingyu’s muscles—what’s left of them, anyway—immediately relax as the warm water engulfs him.

“This one is for your muscles and bones,” the witch explains as he finishes pouring out the bottle. “And then I’m going to use some shampoo on your fur and I have some salves for your wounds and your paws, okay?”

The witch looks at him expectantly, holding up the jars as he speaks.

“Oh. Um, okay.”

The witch holds his hand out, one jar of orange goo in the other.

“Can I see your paws please?”

Hesitantly, he places his front paws in the witch’s hand, but the moment the witch moves, Mingyu tenses. The witch stops.

“Are you okay?”

“Why do you keep asking that?” Mingyu blurts out. The witch furrows his eyebrows.

“Asking what?”

“If I’m okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why does it matter?”

The water stops. The witch’s eyebrows knit tighter. Mingyu’s instinct is to apologize, but the witch interrupts before Mingyu can open his mouth to say sorry, I shouldn’t have questioned you, please forgive me.

“Of course it matters. Can I continue?”

Mingyu has never been more confused in his life. What does this witch want from him? Or is he going to hold this over Mingyu in exchange for something? What does he want? What does he want from Mingyu? What’s going to happen to him?

Instead, Mingyu nods.

“Thank you,” the witch says for some reason. A witch, thanking Mingyu. That might be the strangest part of all.

The tap runs again and the witch gently dips Mingyu’s paws into the water, swishing them around a little. Mingyu expects it to burn with the movement because these sorts of herbs always do, but to his surprise, it’s only soothing. The witch pulls his paws out of the water and pats them dry with a towel, shushing Mingyu’s hiss of pain from the contact on his raw paw pads gently before popping the cork on the orange goo and slathering it on Mingyu’s paws like he’s fragile. The effect is immediate—the raw sting that he’s been experiencing for who knows how long is immediately eased, the concoction cooling and warm at the same time, and Mingyu purrs before catching himself. If he was in his human form right now, he would be blushing. Before he can apologize, the witch smiles brightly.

“Does it feel good?”

Mingyu nods, ears flattened against his head and staring resolutely at the edge of the bathtub. 

He continues the process for all four of Mingyu’s paws and places them back into the water, which stopped as soon as it almost filled the tub.

“I’m going to clean out all the dirt from your fur now, okay? Then I’ll tend to the rest of your wounds.”

Mingyu nods and watches the witch carefully as he uncorks another bottle and drizzles it on Mingyu’s fur. It lathers when the witch works his fingers into all the tangles in his fur and his gentle touch kneads all of the tension out of Mingyu’s body.

“What’s your name?” The witch finally asks.

“Mingyu.”

“Mingyu,” the witch repeats. His tone catches Mingyu off guard. It’s the first time his name has ever been said with gentleness. “It’s nice to meet you, Mingyu. I’m Minghao.”

“Hello Minghao,” Mingyu replies, trying to mirror the same gentleness Minghao held his name with. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Where did you come from? Are you feral?”

Minghao is looking at Mingyu curiously, but Mingyu quickly averts his gaze, scar throbbing.

“No.”

Minghao seems to wait for him to say something else, explain why he was weak and alone in a vacant forest, but the words are stuck in his mouth the same way grime has clung to his fur for weeks. He tries to keep his tails from swishing in the water.

“Okay,” Minghao says gently, refocusing his gaze on Mingyu’s body as he continues to wash him off delicately. Mingyu doesn’t know what to do with the unfamiliar treatment. “You don’t have to tell me.”

The silence that follows doesn’t linger, quickly filled by the soft notes of Minghao’s voice as he sings a song Mingyu doesn’t recognize. The combination of senses is dangerous—Minghao’s singing, the warm water he sinks into, the herbal aroma surrounding him, Minghao’s nimble fingers working their way through the mats in his coat, the remains of meat on his teeth he lazily licks out.

Mingyu falls asleep into a peaceful bliss.

When Mingyu wakes, he’s in an unfamiliar environment.

Blind panic seizes his body when he realizes he’s not in the forest anymore—it’s too warm, it doesn’t smell like dull rain and dirt, it’s too bright. What happened? Where is he? How did he get here? His fur bristles, a low growl builds in his throat, his tails thrash, and he digs his claws into…cloth?

The confusion quickly gives way to memories of when he was last conscious as he takes in his surroundings. The room is small, cozy. A nightstand, a dresser, and a tall mirror framed by vines where he can see part of his reflection: he’s clean now, but still gaunt and gloomy-looking. How pathetic.

He looks away.

There’s a bookshelf filled with tomes on various subjects, and what’s perhaps a closet next to the bed Mingyu is laying in. The same glowing moss from the living room replaces any light that would be shining in from the large window next to the bed, so it doesn’t seem like much time has passed since he fell asleep while Minghao was bathing him. How embarrassing.

Mingyu tenses at the sound of footsteps heading rapidly upstairs. He’s sure he’s made a commotion. He needs to apologize immediately.

“Mingyu?” Minghao asks as he enters the room, holding a tray with two bowls and a bottle.

“I’m sorry!” Mingyu says the moment he sees Minghao.

“For what?”

“For making noise.” What else? Well, there are plenty of other things to apologize for, he’s sure. “For disturbing you.”

“No, not at all,” Minghao soothes, setting the tray down on the nightstand and sitting on a wooden stool next to the bed. “I was just making dinner is all.”

In the bowls are what appear to be some sort of stew. One has noticeably more chunks of meat than the other and Mingyu tries not to let his mouth water, or to want. It’s Minghao’s choice which one to give Mingyu, of course.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. I made us dinner.” Minghao picks up the bottle, a light blue concoction shimmering inside of it. “First, you should drink this potion. I’ve never met a gumiho before, so I hope this is strong enough to give you back some magic. Your signature was really faint when I first met you, but you were strong, weren’t you?”

Mingyu dips his head. Not strong enough, the sudden ache of his scar reminds him. He doesn’t reply.

“Can you open your mouth for me?”

Is it going to hurt? Mingyu wants to ask. There’s no point. Asking if the sky is blue would give a more variable response.

Hesitantly, Mingyu does so. He tries not to flinch when Minghao gently tilts his head up and places the bottle up to Mingyu’s mouth, slowly pouring it in. It’s cold, but otherwise goes down easy and smooth, not much thicker than water but much more refreshing. He shivers as he feels some magic course through his body again, tingling down to each of his toes and the tips of his tails. It must have been made with very mild ingredients if he didn’t feel any pain. It's kind of nice, having a potion or spell that doesn't hurt.

“Oh, it looks like it’s working! Do you feel better?” 

Mingyu flexes all of his muscles, the magical energy flowing through every inch of him feeling like stretching after a long day’s work. He nods, pleased.

“It didn’t hurt at all,” he comments absently, closing his eyes and relishing in the feeling of magic rushing through him again. It’s not much, but he feels so much more alive again. When he opens them again, Minghao is looking at him with an expression of concern. “...is something wrong?”

Minghao keeps looking at him for a moment or two, making Mingyu shrink into himself. Did he do something wrong again?

“It’s nothing,” he says, tone unrecognizable. He picks up a bowl and hands it to Mingyu. It’s the one with more meat in it. Mingyu stares at the spoon. “Sorry, I didn’t know how to plate it. Maybe it would have been better if I just got you some plain meat?”

“It’s okay! I can transform again.”

The return of this ability makes him wonderfully eager. His gumiho form is convenient at times and of course he doesn’t hate it; it’s who he is after all, but opposable thumbs and long legs aren’t so bad either. It almost hurts a little, but it's not like pain is foreign to him anyway. Mingyu hasn’t had the magic to be able to shift in a while, so the transformation takes a moment longer than it normally does, bones changing and muscles shifting. He stretches indulgently, now sitting upright on the bed, wiggling all of his extremities again, popping joints he hasn’t had in weeks. His ears twitch on his head, getting used to being surrounded by thick black hair again and he sways his tails eagerly, adjusting to being on a different part of his body.

When he sees Minghao looking at him with an expression of surprise, he quickly cowers. 

“Sorry, I should have asked before I—”

“You’re very handsome,” Minghao interrupts with a pleased smile, taking Mingyu aback. He’s too stunned to reply you’re devastatingly pretty. “And you’ve still got your ears and tails.” He raises a hand to Mingyu’s head. “May I touch?”

Minghao asks permission for so many things. It’s strange. Mingyu nods anyway.

With an unfamiliarly gentle hand, Minghao pinches one of Mingyu’s ears, rubbing the edge between his fingers lightly before brushing behind it.

“You’re purring,” Minghao says, a smile in his voice. Mingyu snaps his eyes open, not sure when he closed them, and fixes his mouth back into a firm line. “It’s cute. You’re very cute.”

“I’m a gumiho,” Mingyu murmurs instead. “I eat people.” He pauses, guilt washing over him. His ears droop but Minghao doesn’t let go. “...I tried to eat you.”

This fact does not seem important to Minghao, who simply hums and continues stroking Mingyu’s ear.

“You were hungry. If I feed you, will you still try to eat me?” He teases.

“No!” Mingyu yells, devastated at the idea that he might try to kill Minghao in any right state of mind. “Of course not.” He swallows. “Thank you for helping me. For everything. And I'm sorry for raising my voice.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Minghao replies like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Minghao hands Mingyu his bowl, who wraps both hands around it, basking in the warmth it exudes and tapping his new fingers against it. It smells delicious and he refrains from letting his tails swish. But he’s good. He can control himself. He watches Minghao expectantly as Minghao picks up his own bowl, but he only looks at Mingyu back.

“What are you waiting for?” Minghao asks.

“For you to eat first.”

Minghao gives him a slightly confused look.

“I made it for you. You should eat first. I hope you like it.”

Like it? It matters to Minghao that Mingyu enjoys it? Mingyu furrows his brows.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Eat before it gets cold.”

Apprehensive, Mingyu scoops up a spoonful of stew and blows on it gently, but it seems to already be the perfect temperature. He takes a small bite and he lights up immediately, losing all sense of decorum as he inhales the stew at record speed. It’s rich, creamy, flavorful, spices and magic tingling on his tongue and tender meat melting in his mouth. It’s the best thing he’s ever had and he abandons using the spoon, pressing it to the side of the bowl, in favor of drinking it straight out of the bowl.

It’s only when he places it down to indulge in a particularly large chunk of meat that he notices Minghao staring at him with a soft smile, his own stew untouched. He flushes, embarrassed, reluctantly placing the spoon back into the bowl like a civilized gumiho.

“I’m sorry. That was impolite of me.”

“No, not at all. I’m just happy that you enjoy it. I can make it more often if you’d like.”

Mingyu furrows his eyebrows and looks down at his near-empty bowl, sharp nails anxiously scraping the sides of the bowl.

“...how should I repay you?” Mingyu asks nervously. He got so caught up in how well Minghao treated him that he didn’t even consider what he could give Minghao back. Stupid, selfish.

“Repay me?” Minghao echoes quizzically. “You don’t have to repay me.”

Mingyu snaps his head up in a panic.

“I should, I really should, you’ve done so much for me but I’ve taken up so much of your time and generosity and I don’t know what to do for you—”

“In that case, will you stay with me?”

“...stay with you?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind some company,” Minghao says with a soft smile.

“You just want my company?” Mingyu repeats hesitantly.

“I do. Let’s be friends, Mingyu.”

“...you really don’t want me to do anything for you?”

That’s not how it works with these things. Getting begets giving. Everything received has to be deserved. His place is to be earned.

Even so, Minghao repeats,

“I want you to be my friend.”

Mingyu shifts nervously. He’s not sure what to do about that. If that’s what Minghao wants, then Mingyu is obligated to.

“Okay,” Mingyu replies, making Minghao smile wider. “We can…be friends.”

Minghao beams.

“Come on, finish your dinner. You can have seconds, if you want.”

‘Being friends’ is not exactly in Mingyu’s lexicon. He’s not even really sure what that entails, so he defaults to the only thing he knows how to do.

He wakes up in Minghao’s guest bedroom just before the sun rises as he always does and instinctively begins cataloguing simple tasks that he can do before Minghao can assign more complex or specific ones for him. He sifts through what he remembers of Minghao’s house after he did a tour last night when they finished dinner.

Sorry, Minghao said. It’s still a little messy from last time my friends came over.

Mingyu could only nod, unsure why it was Minghao that was the one apologizing.

He’ll clean up around the house today, he decides, tugging on his simple hanbok to an acceptable degree. At least the benefit of spending time in his gumiho form meant that his clothes stayed more or less clean while he was in the forest.

Cleaning is the most basic task that Mingyu can do right now without any direction, but he doesn’t plan on moving things around too much or else Minghao might get mad at him for putting things in the wrong place. He pads downstairs quietly, minimizing his presence, and opens one of the small storage rooms, poking around until he finds a broom, a cloth, and a bucket. He hopes Minghao doesn’t mind. He fills the bucket with some warm water from the tap, observing his surroundings as it fills slowly, quietly.

Minghao’s abode is somehow even homier when the morning sun filters through the large windows, bathing the open space in a warm, golden glow. His ears twitch when he feels the warmth wash over him and he tamps down the urge to shift into his gumiho form and rest in a large sunbeam. No rest for him until he gets his work done and Minghao is satisfied, he reminds himself as he hauls the bucket out of the sink.

Meticulously, Mingyu moves from area to area systematically, making sure he gets everything, from the top of the cabinets to underneath the rugs, clearing out the magical embers in the fireplace, washing the dishes until there are no spots left, scrubbing metal until it gleams.

Her voice echoes in his head as he works, his scar throbbing with every word.

You’re missing too many spots. You didn’t dust thoroughly enough here. Did you spill something? I can’t believe you can’t even do these simple things. What good is there in keeping you around?

Mingyu tightens his grip on the broom.

He makes sure to get every corner, grabbing a wet cloth to polish even the edges of the bookshelves to their best possible appearance, claws threatening to rip through the fabric with the tightness of his hold.

“Mingyu?”

Mingyu startles from where he’s dusting underneath the couch, smacking his head on it loudly in the process of trying to look up.

“Ow—!”

“Heavens, are you okay?” Minghao frets, rushing over and kneeling by Mingyu’s side. Mingyu holds his head where he hit himself, wincing with his ears pressed tight against his head.

“I’m sorry, I just got startled for a second.”

“Sorry, let me help.” Minghao gently removes Mingyu’s hand from where it lays on the back of his head and a soothing aura washes over the area immediately. Mingyu’s shoulders drop, his ears relax, and he sighs.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, that was clumsy of me.”

“No, I’m sorry for startling you.”

A witch apologizing to Mingyu. How strange.

“What are you doing up so early anyway?” Minghao asks, like it isn’t obvious.

“Cleaning?”

“I see that.” Minghao looks around and Mingyu waits nervously for his evaluation. “But why?”

“Well…I had to do something,” Mingyu explains, confused and a little scared since Minghao isn’t commenting on his work. “...Did I mess up something? I didn’t reorganize your books or anything and I’m pretty sure I put all of your dishes back where they belong but—”

“No, no, it’s wonderful. I don’t think it’s looked this clean in a while. You did a good job.”

Mingyu’s ears perk up and he has to stop his tails from wagging. Praise. He got praise!

“Really?”

Minghao smiles.

“Really. Thank you. But you didn’t have to. Have you eaten yet?”

As if on cue, Mingyu’s stomach grumbles. He looks down in shame.

“I’m not supposed to eat before I finish my morning work,” he reminds Minghao, trying to not let the sudden throb of his scar show on his face.

After a few moments of terrifying silence, Mingyu looks up at Minghao who looks far too worried about someone like Mingyu.

“What?”

Mingyu is just as confused as Minghao sounds. Doesn’t he know?

“A familiar should work before eating,” Mingyu prompts. How could Minghao forget? “Have you never had one?”

Minghao continues staring at Mingyu. Mingyu squirms under the scrutiny. Is he wrong? Is Minghao upset?

“I’ve never had one,” Minghao says finally, slowly. “But none of my friends have ever treated their familiars that way.”

He’s not sure what to do. His old witch could never be wrong. Maybe Minghao’s friends are just too easy on their familiars? How else could Minghao not know about this rule?

“You’ve done enough work for today,” Minghao says, interrupting Mingyu’s spiral, standing up and brushing invisible dust off of his knees. He holds out a hand to Mingyu. “Let’s eat.”

Unsurely, Mingyu takes Minghao’s hand and lets Minghao help tug him to his feet.

“Should I cook something?”

“You should rest and enjoy some food,” Minghao says, making his way over to his cauldron. “You can sit at the table over there.”

“I should finish cleaning first,” Mingyu insists.

“You can finish cleaning later if you really want, but we’re eating first. I can’t let you go hungry.”

Mingyu casts one last glance at his abandoned cleaning supplies, a pang of guilt seeing the broom just lying on the floor, but Minghao said no. At least he got to put the bucket away. He pads over to the dining table, sitting down hesitantly, hands resting on the table.

He waits patiently, well-behaved as he should be. Minghao is humming to himself again as he boils something and only stops to ask Mingyu if he wants meat in his congee.

“I only have chicken on hand, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, please,” Mingyu nods enthusiastically before reining himself in. “Thank you.”

Mingyu has to stop his tails from thumping against the back of his chair when he sees Minghao pull out a sizeable chunk of meat.

After a few more minutes of Minghao humming and cooking, he sets down two bowls of congee on the table, one in front of Mingyu. It’s steaming and looks delicious.

“You can eat,” Minghao says before Mingyu can wait for Minghao to eat first. “You don’t ever have to wait for me. You can eat as soon as we sit down.”

Instead of speaking, because Mingyu doesn’t have a single idea what to say to that, he obeys and takes a bite and takes great effort to not repeat last night’s eating behavior.

“Good?”

Mingyu nods eagerly and his heart stutters a little at Minghao’s warm smile. It’s savory, tasty, seasoned to perfection.

When he’s halfway through his breakfast, Mingyu takes the initiative to ask,

“What should I do today?”

Minghao’s spoon stops halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he puts it down, fixing his attention on Mingyu.

“What do you want to do?” He asks instead.

What does he want to do? Mingyu blinks, paralyzed by the unfamiliar question.

“I want to help you.”

Minghao sighs and Mingyu tenses.

“You know you don’t have to earn your keep here, right?” Minghao asks gently.

Mingyu shuffles in his seat, not sure what to say. He has to. He’s never known how to do anything else.

“But I want to do something.”

Minghao fixes Mingyu with a look that makes Mingyu feel like he’s being looked directly into and he shrinks into himself, not wanting to be seen. Not deserving of being seen.

“Would you like to help me harvest some herbs this afternoon then?”

Mingyu perks up, confident now that he’s finally receiving direction.

“Of course!”

Mingyu was very confident in his herb-identifying and harvesting skills. It’s one of the few things that his former witch would rarely have to scold him for.

Past tense, of course, because this confidence all but dissipates when faced with Minghao’s sprawling garden; almost its own ecosystem, filled with familiar and unfamiliar flora. Despite its overwhelming size, Mingyu quickly notices that the garden is organized with purpose, herbs, flowers, vegetables all neatly squared away. The scent of mint and basil hangs in the air over thicker notes of dirt and fertilizer, earthy and grounding. In the center of it all, led into by a stone path illuminated by small orbs of golden light, is a large pond. There are frogs croaking noisily on gigantic glowing lilypads, fish splashing around enthusiastically next to brightly-colored lotus flowers.

It’s made with love, with care, with passion. It’s beautiful.

Minghao’s laugh breaks Mingyu out of his reverie.

“Do you want me to show you the greenhouse next?”

Mingyu balks. How does one person manage all of this?

“You do this all on your own?”

Minghao nods proudly.

“Mostly. It’s not like I do it all at once, everything has different growth cycles and sometimes I need some of them harvested at certain maturity stages. My friend Jihoon taught me a simple irrigation spell too, but I do all of the harvesting by hand to maintain the purity of my ingredients. It’s almost a full time job, but it’s one I love.”

There’s a fondness in Minghao’s voice when he talks about his garden, a soft smile on his face as he observes the scene around him. Mingyu has never seen a witch so passionate about their craft. It’s clear Minghao is wonderfully proud of what he’s cultivated, and the wisps of light illuminate his smile with a gentle glow.

He’s beautiful.

“Would you like to help me?” Minghao asks, grinning. Mingyu blinks, swallows. He braces himself.

“I…don’t know how to handle most of these plants. I’ve never seen them before.” He clenches his fists and bows his head, staring down at the carved stone beneath his feet, preparing to be scolded or worse. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Mingyu can sense Minghao getting closer and he grits his teeth—

A gentle hand ruffles the hair between Mingyu’s ears. Mingyu opens his eyes hesitantly, confused. Minghao bends down so he can look at Mingyu from below and smiles.

“We’re doing this together. I’ll teach you, okay?”

Mingyu nods slowly, the tension slowly, slowly seeping out of his body. The word together rings in his mind as he tries to make sense of it.

Minghao grabs a basket from next to the entrance and holds it out to Mingyu, who takes it dutifully. When he picks up another one, Mingyu holds his free hand out for that one as well. Minghao doesn’t hand it over.

“This one is for me,” Minghao explains, fixing Mingyu with a soft smile. “We’re doing this together.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Mingyu follows Minghao around closely, listening attentively to his every explanation. He watches Minghao harvest certain plants and repeats the motions carefully, exactly the way Minghao instructs him to.

He never raises his voice. He never yells.

“It’s okay,” Minghao tells Mingyu before he can say sorry for pulling a rosemary plant almost clean out of the pot. In fact, he tugs the rest out and places it in his own basket. “We can use the roots, too. When harvesting rosemary, we pluck more gently, like this.”

Minghao shows him and puts another pot in front of Mingyu.

“Here. Let’s try again.”

Minghao doesn’t scold him. Mingyu can’t figure out why.

After a few hours, Mingyu starts getting tired. He wipes sweat off of his brow and tries to shake off the exhaustion and keep going.

“Are you tired?” Minghao asks.

“No, I’m okay! I can keep going,” Mingyu reassures with a grin.

Minghao frowns. Mingyu feels his heart seize.

“Give me your basket and you can go sit down over there, okay?” Minghao points at a small patio setup just a few yards away.

“I can keep going, I promise, don’t worry about me!”

Minghao puts a hand on his hip and observes Mingyu for a terrifying second before stretching and yawning.

“Well, I’m tired. Let’s take a break.”

Mingyu can’t argue with that, even though he wants to insist that he can still be helpful. He’s trying. He always does.

Obediently, Mingyu hands over his basket.

“Do you like lemonade?”

Mingyu draws a blank.

“I’ve never had it.”

Minghao raises his eyebrows.

“Go sit. I’ll be right back.”

Obediently, Mingyu takes a seat at the wrought iron table and watches Minghao leave, boots clacking on the stone pathway. He returns a few minutes later, holding a single drink, a sprig of their freshly-picked mint sitting pretty in the glass, ice cubes clinking around. Minghao hands it to Mingyu, who takes it hesitantly.

“...where’s yours?”

“Mine? I don’t drink cold drinks.”

Concern etches itself onto Mingyu’s face. He can’t take this. That’s too selfish of him. How can he have anything that Minghao hasn’t had first? That’s not fair. That’s not right.

“I made it for you,” Minghao explains before Mingyu can protest. “I want you to enjoy it, so at least try it, okay?”

Still worried, Mingyu takes a sip anyway, hands clutched around the cold glass. Oh. It’s sour, it’s sweet, it’s cold and refreshing. Oh, it’s wonderful.

“Do you like it?”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically.

“Mm! It’s good!”

“Good,” Minghao replies with a self-satisfied smile. “I’ll make you some after we do our work.”

“‘Our’?” Mingyu echoes.

“Yeah, our work. You think I’m gonna make you do all of this on your own?”

Yes. I always do it on my own.

“Why else would you teach me?” Mingyu asks instead.

“I wanted to share with you. I want you to learn to do this together with me.”

That word again. Together.

They sit in silence for a bit, surrounded by the sounds of croaking, splashing, and melting ice cubes clinking around in Mingyu’s glass.

“I’m predominantly a plant witch,” Minghao explains suddenly. He sweeps an arm over the vast garden. “I like nature, so most of my practice is working with plants. I think that was the best choice I’ve ever made. Even when the snake vines try to bite me,” he says with a laugh.

A choice. Has Mingyu ever been allowed to make a choice?

As if he can read Mingyu’s mind, Minghao stands up, stretches, and extends a hand to Mingyu.

“What would you like to learn about next?”

“Whatever you want to teach me,” Mingyu says obediently. Minghao pouts.

“Pick one. Any one.”

Mingyu freezes. Him? Choose? What is he supposed to pick? What if he picks the wrong one? What if Minghao gets upset if he chooses the wrong thing? Is he gonna get in trouble? His scar stings.

“Should we do dandelion or chamomile next?” Minghao offers. Mingyu swallows. There’s no way out of this, it seems, even though his heart feels like it’s going to come out of his throat. He figures he might as well take the first option.

“We can…we can do dandelions?” Mingyu responds weakly, shaking nervously. “...If that’s okay. If you're alright with that.”

Minghao beams. It’s radiant. Mingyu can’t help but smile back.

“Okay! Let’s go!”

Minghao uses magic like he breathes.

Mingyu sits downstairs at the dining table, hands politely on the table, waiting for Minghao to come downstairs and tell him what to do for today. Minghao doesn’t take long today, squinting when the morning light hits him in full.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“For my chores,” Mingyu replies obediently. Minghao’s eyebrows furrow and Mingyu feels his anxiety seize him. “What should I do today?”

“You should sit there and wait for me to make us some breakfast, okay?”

Mingyu is no stranger to waiting. He is a stranger to waiting for someone to do something for him.

“I can help—”

“I want you to relax for a bit, okay?”

Mingyu? Relax? Is that okay? Is that really allowed?

“...is that alright?”

“Of course it is. You worked so hard yesterday,” Minghao says with a beautiful smile. “What would you like?”

Mingyu is completely stock still, frozen in place. Why is he being complimented? Why is he being asked what he wants? How does he make choices? What is he supposed to say?

“What about lavender pancakes? Is that okay with you?”

Mingyu nods automatically. Minghao frowns.

“Would you enjoy that?”

Mingyu doesn’t nod immediately this time. Is he allowed to enjoy something? Something that someone else is making for him?

“If you would.”

“I’ll make anything you want. Just say the word.”

Want? What does Mingyu want?

What did he normally have for breakfast?

Leftovers. Scraps. If anything at all. He winces when his scar stings with every memory. Bad foxes don’t get to sit at the table.

“...anything is okay with me.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Is that not right? Was that the wrong answer? He should have said something else. He made a mistake. That was the wrong thing to say, of course it was, he needs to apologize—

“Okay. We’ll have lavender pancakes with blueberry sauce today. You did such a good job harvesting them yesterday, after all.”

Mingyu isn’t sure what to say to that. He shuffles in his seat and stares down at the table.

He listens to Minghao humming, cabinets opening and closing on their own, mixing ingredients, pancake batter sizzling and blueberry sauce boiling over purple flames simultaneously. Minghao moves around with elegance, multitasking with his magic like it’s an extension of himself.

It’s a strange kind of peace Mingyu isn’t sure how to handle, like a bubble that could pop at any moment, a silence that could be snatched away any second without a single warning, as it always does, usually because Mingyu made another mistake. A witch being quiet is a precursor to a storm.

He sits quietly, stock still, willing his claws to not dig into the table.

Minghao seems to glow, and it isn’t just his magic. His demeanor is easy, relaxed, aura gentle and calming. A stark difference to the witch that makes his scar ache.

Mingyu doesn’t realize he’s lost himself in simply watching Minghao until he turns around, two plates with pancakes piled high in each hand and a small bowl of blueberry sauce and a bundle of utensils hovering next to him. There’s a proud smile on his face that makes Mingyu shuffle nervously in his seat.

“It’s time to eat!” He announces happily, gently placing one of the plates and a fork and knife in front of Mingyu. His nose twitches, taking in the unique and refreshing scents wafting around him.

“Thank you very much,” Mingyu says softly. His hands are still flat on the table while Minghao looks at him expectantly. Minghao motions to the plate in front of him.

“Eat up,” Minghao says gently. Mingyu freezes before recalling Minghao’s words. You don’t ever have to wait for me. Is that really okay?

When Minghao doesn’t say anything else, Mingyu nods.

“Thank you,” he repeats before taking a small bite. His ears perk up excitedly as the flavor hits his tongue. The pancakes are sweet, fluffy, vanilla and lavender complementing each other wonderfully. He didn’t know food could taste this way. Minghao is smiling brightly when Mingyu looks up at him.

“Try some of the sauce,” he says, pushing the bowl over to Mingyu. Mingyu nods and puts a small amount on his pancakes, but Minghao takes the spoon as soon as Mingyu puts it back and spreads more on. “Have as much as you want.”

Mingyu nods in a way he hopes says thank you because he isn’t going a second without having more food in his mouth. The blueberry sauce is sweet and tart, a heavy and bold flavor that still doesn’t overwhelm the lightness of the pancakes.

It’s not leftovers. It’s not scraps. It’s wonderful.

Before he knows it, he’s tearing up. He quickly tries to wipe them away with his sleeve, but Minghao is by his side in an instant, running a soothing hand up and down his back, making Mingyu flinch for a moment.

“Sorry—I—I’m s-sorry,” Mingyu hiccups, trying to contain his sobs.

“Are you okay?” He says in a soft tone that Mingyu has never known. Mingyu nods, even as he sniffles. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re good,” Mingyu chokes out. “They’re really good.”

Mingyu hears the scraping of his plate draw closer to him, the sound making him flinch.

“Have as much as you want, Mingyu. Always.”

He doesn’t know what else to do, so he nods. He hears Minghao walk back to his seat and composes himself.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says weakly.

“There’s no need to apologize. You’re allowed to feel.”

Mingyu nods again from an absence of a response he could possibly have to that.

Despite worrying that he ruined the mood or made Minghao upset, the silence that blankets itself over them is still calm. Minghao’s presence is a soothing remedy, a far cry from the only thing Mingyu has ever known. He is so warm, like a sunbeam Mingyu wants to curl up in and take a long, long nap.

Mingyu finishes his food first and patiently waits for Minghao to finish his so he can do the dishes, but the moment Minghao takes his last bite, all of the empty dishes levitate out of Mingyu’s reach in a purple aura, gently floating their way into the sink, filling with warm water immediately. 

“I’m going to make some tea,” Minghao announces, getting up. “Do you have any preferences?”

Mingyu shakes his head. Minghao smiles anyway.

A kettle begins to boil as Minghao sifts through his cabinets, pulling out container after container of herbs and flowers, fresh and dried, all labeled neatly. Again, Mingyu is mesmerized with the ease Minghao moves and commands his magic with, watching in almost a daze as Minghao prepares two cups of tea, both visibly different in their cups and contents.

“I made this one just for you,” Minghao tells Mingyu, sliding a mug of gently steaming liquid before him. “Normally I’d make tea before breakfast, but I wanted to make sure you got something to eat first.”

“Are you sure?” Mingyu asks, voice small. How awful. He made Minghao upend his normal schedule just for him.

“Of course,” Minghao replies with a smile, bringing his own cup to his mouth and taking a sip, sighing contentedly afterwards. “It’s a lavender tea with lemon balm and passionflower. I hope you like it.”

Mingyu still doesn’t understand. Why does it matter to Minghao so much what he likes?

“Thank you,” Mingyu replies quietly before lifting the mug to his mouth. The moment he takes his first sip, his shoulders relax immediately. The calming scent of lavender leads into a surprisingly refreshing acidity layered with grassy undertones. Before he can control himself, a long, satisfied purr leaves him. His ears fall flat on his head contentedly and his tails swish lazily. After a long moment, he sets the mug back down, hands wrapped firmly around the mug. His eyes widen and his ears stand at attention again, tails falling limp once he realizes how he looks. Before he can apologize for moving his tails, he finds Minghao smiling broadly.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. He pretends the warmness on his face is from the tea.

“...thank you.”

They drink together in silence as morning sunlight drips through the large windows and Mingyu has to restrain his tails from thumping on the ground. He hasn’t felt so relaxed in his life. It’s bliss.

“I have some more work to do in the garden today,” Minghao says after they’re both done. Mingyu reaches for the cups, but Minghao swipes them up in a purple aura before Mingyu can. “Would you like to join me?”

Mingyu nods affirmatively, ready to start his tasks for the day.

So scratch that. Minghao doesn’t just use magic, he is magic. It exudes from his very presence, a strong aura that emanates from him that even Mingyu can feel, despite his now-dull sense for the magic of others. For his own magic.

Mingyu stops briefly in his own herb sorting to watch Minghao do his. Mingyu’s basket is less full than Minghao’s, sifting through them at a slower pace— slow, so slow, so useless— because Minghao is not only more experienced, he uses his magic like it’s just another part of himself, sorting multiple herbs at once with ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Mingyu stares down at his own hands. He’s barely magic anymore. He might as well just be a fox.

The rustling noises in front of Mingyu stop, which startles Mingyu into snapping back into work again. 

“Is everything okay?”

Mingyu pushes his mouth into a smile.

“Of course!”

Minghao fixes his attention on Mingyu fully and he shrinks into himself under his scrutiny, terrified that Minghao might find that Mingyu is wanting.

“You can tell me anything. I want you to know that.”

Mingyu stares down at the rosemary in his basket like it’ll hold the answers, as if it’ll tell him what to do.

“You do magic so easily,” he blurts out instead.

Minghao hums thoughtfully.

“Is magic difficult for you?”

Mingyu doesn’t want to elaborate, he’s already said too much, but he’s already started speaking and it would be both impolite and annoying for him to not finish his train of thought. He picks the most simple and least revealing explanation.

“I haven’t done it in a long time. It feels…like a river that’s run dry.”

Minghao taps his fingers against the wood table and Mingyu flinches. The tapping stops immediately.

“What kind of magic do you do?”

“Um, I used to do illusion magic, primarily. Foxfire should be extremely simple, but…” He doesn’t want to state the obvious. “All I have is my shapeshifting now.”

Minghao hums and leans back in his seat, all of their herbs forgotten.

“I can’t say I’m an expert on either of those, but I can tell you that generally, magic is directly linked to your mental state and how often you use it, obviously. It’s like a muscle you need to use or else it deteriorates. Does that make sense?”

Too much sense. Mingyu nods.

“Let’s visit my library. I’ll see if I have anything on illusion magic and we’ll do a few rituals to try to reconnect you with your magical roots, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Mingyu protests. Minghao holds a hand up and Mingyu settles immediately.

“I want to. Let’s do this together.”

They spend the rest of the evening poring over books and scrolls together, Minghao asking what looks familiar to Mingyu, carefully marking what Mingyu thinks he can already do and the things Mingyu probably doesn’t, but wants to try.

Mingyu stands in the middle of Minghao’s living room, surrounded by tomes and the scent of herbs meant to connect him with his magic. He finishes up his last swig of the potion Minghao made him, magic tingling on his tongue and something warm in his heart.

“What do you want to try first?”

Mingyu shifts his weight from foot to foot. Another choice.

“We can try to conjure a scent,” Minghao suggests when Mingyu doesn’t respond, rude as that is. “Maybe something that will dull the cinnamon a little bit? How about that?”

Mingyu nods and focuses deep within himself, inhaling all of the scents around him and concentrating on the cinnamon scent, imagining a deeper, smokier smell floating in the air around them. The magic builds in his veins, a flame flickering to life—and then stops.

“It didn’t work, did it?” Mingyu asks, even though he can tell it didn’t. His ears droop on his head.

“It’s okay,” Minghao reassures. “Let’s try something else.”

They go through a few more illusions Mingyu could conjure, simple things to start with that only weigh heavier and heavier on him when they fail, again and again. Minghao cuts him off from apologizing for his failures every time, even though the words sit heavy on his tongue.

“Maybe something that affects yourself will work best? If you’re more familiar with yourself than your surroundings.”

Mingyu takes a deep breath and nods, ready to give it one more shot before giving up forever and crying himself to sleep. You can’t even do this one simple thing, her voice echoes in his head.

“You can do it,” Minghao says with a smile, his gentle and encouraging tone cutting off the memories of Mingyu’s old witch’s voice. “I believe in you.”

Minghao believes in him. Mingyu isn’t sure if that’s really that true, but he doesn’t want to let Minghao down. Not after he worked so hard just to get Mingyu here in the first place, surrounded by runes and mugwort, waiting hours and hours just to see Mingyu fail.

He closes his eyes and concentrates again.

What part of himself should he choose? What does he pick?

He thinks back to his first night with Minghao, where Minghao asked to touch his ears before doing so for some reason. His gentle fingers rubbing along the shell of them was both a sort of anxiety and relief he’d never experienced of the sort before, but the strange fondness of the memory tugs shyly at his lips.

“Whoa!” 

Mingyu opens his eyes in a panic. What? What happened? Did he mess up? Did he do something wrong?

Minghao looks like he’s trying with minimal success to not laugh, making Mingyu more confused than anything.

“I’m sorry, your—your ears are huge .”

Mingyu’s eyebrows furrow and he moves to touch his ears. They’re normal, as far as he’s concerned. He turns to look at himself in the reflection of a window and for a quick second, they are huge. Comically, in fact, each one as big as his own head, and he has to resist the urge to laugh too. His grasp on the illusion fades almost immediately, much to Mingyu’s disappointment, but Minghao yells,

“You did it! You did it all by yourself, Mingyu!”

Minghao is right. It was just a flicker, a flash of thunder in a storm, but it happened. It really happened. He did it. He did it, and he did it by himself, without a witch’s connection, without a chain around his neck. It’s the first time he’s done magic by himself, been allowed to do magic by himself. For himself.

He stares at his reflection in the window, like if he blinks then the memory of his ears, illusioned to be startlingly massive, will disappear. 

For another few seconds, this time longer, his ears are the size of cat ears in the blink of an eye, despite not actually having changed size on his head. Mingyu hears Minghao laugh off to the side, the sound clear and golden, and it fizzles through his veins not unlike the magic he can now feel thrumming under his skin, even if still only faintly.

He owns his magic now, Mingyu thinks dazedly. He gets to be himself, own himself for the first time.

Minghao is grinning at him brightly as if this is his own greatest achievement.

Yes , Mingyu ventures to think, dangerous hope lighting up his mind. He might get to own himself.

“Would you like to help me with the greenhouse today?” Minghao asks, taking their cups before Mingyu can. Again. It’s been almost a month and Mingyu still can’t figure out why.

“Yes, of course,” Mingyu replies immediately, tails gently thumping on the wooden floor. He likes the way Minghao smiles fondly when it happens. “What should I do?”

(“You don’t have to apologize or hold yourself back,” Minghao comments when he sees Mingyu quickly stop his movements, controlling himself. “It’s part of who you are.” He smiles. “It’s cute.”

Mingyu flushed, started down at the table, and his tails started thumping against the ground again; slowly, hesitantly. Minghao laughs, a gentle, twinkling thing, and it doesn’t sound like it’s at Mingyu’s expense. His heart flutters.

Minghao says it makes him happy. Mingyu wants to trust him. He really does.)

“What we’ll be doing together today is moving most of the outdoor plants to the greenhouse. A lot of them can survive the cold because it doesn’t get too chilly in this part of the woods, but most of them will still need to be somewhere warmer. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” comes the automatic reply.

“You can always say no,” Minghao reminds him, voice gentle but clear over the running of the kitchen sink as he rinses out their cups. Like it’s easy. Like it’s possible. Mingyu isn’t sure yet.

“I want to help.”

As soon as he says the words out loud, he realizes that it’s true. He wants to. While the feeling of obligation still weighs heavy at his core, there’s a truth there—that he wants to help Minghao.

“What are you smiling about?” Minghao asks when he turns around to face Mingyu.

“I want to help,” Mingyu smiles shyly, ears perked up happily.

Minghao smiles back.

“Okay. Let’s do this then.”

Minghao’s greenhouse isn’t as big as his garden, but it certainly doesn’t feel less impressive. The air is humid, as is to be expected, and it makes his tails feel heavier and he sweats a little in his hanbok. He doesn’t complain. He barely has enough attention to pay to his discomfort as he takes in the greenhouse, an enormous home of even more unidentifiable flora along the edges of the greenhouse, some shelves accommodating strangely colored leaves and twisting vines. There’s a large pond as a centerpiece here, too, empty of animals but with the same aquatic plants as the ones outdoors. If only Mingyu wasn’t so heavy, he would entertain the fantasy of taking a nap on one of the massive lilypads as a gumiho, bathed in sunlight and specks of magical light. There are a number of empty spaces, presumably for the plants they’ll be taking indoors, like they’re waiting to come back for the winter.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically.

“Come on. Let’s transfer some plants to some pots and either place them on shelves or replant them for the season. I’ll teach you.”

Mingyu nods again, following Minghao closely.

He watches and mimes Minghao’s movements, listening carefully to Minghao explaining the best way to repot everything and repeating all of them with diligence and care, knowing how important all of Minghao’s plants are to him. The way Minghao smiles at him when they’ve finished another set of pots together helps a little too.

Minghao brushes off dirt from his hands and stretches. He turns to Mingyu with a pleased smile.

“Our first batch is done. Can you help me carry these to the greenhouse, please?”

Mingyu stares at all of the potted plants they’ve lined up next to the entrance. The greenhouse is much further away than the garden to the garden’s entrance. His hands feel sweaty.

“Oh. Um, I don’t know if I…”

The self-doubt creeps in, layered with familiar words.

You’re so clumsy! You always knock things over, drop things—why do I even keep you around?!

It could be the searing pain from his scar or the memory that almost makes Mingyu tear up. He’s not sure.

“I’m sure you can. If you need help, just ask, okay?”

Mingyu, allowed to ask for help? The idea is almost as confusing as Minghao working with him instead of telling him to work on his own. He nods tentatively anyway, not wanting to disappoint, picking up a pot of rosemary with care.

They make the first few trips to the greenhouse just fine, Mingyu cradling each pot like a newborn kit.

But of course, because he always messes something up over something stupid, he loses his grip on the pot of basil he’s carrying when he lets go with one hand to open the greenhouse door, and it smashes on the ground with a loud crumbling noise.

Minghao whips his head around at the noise, eyes wide.

“Heavens, are you okay?”

Mingyu stares wide-eyed at the broken pot laying at his feet, basil with its roots out and soil splattered all over the stone path, alarmed. He looks at it like it's a corpse, a murder he's responsible for. Minghao loves his plants so much and Mingyu—he—

His breath is caught in his throat and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest and he feels like he might start shaking and he tries not to collapse onto his knees and beg Minghao for forgiveness with his blood ice cold in his veins.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Accidents happen, it’s okay.”

“I broke the pot, your plants, I messed it up again, I’m so sorry—” Mingyu has to stop himself from bursting into tears right then and there, swallowing thickly and covering his eyes with his hands, unable to look at his own disaster, his breaths starting to come fast. Not again, not again, not again, why is he always like this, so clumsy, he can’t even do this one thing right, always knocking things over and dropping things, there’s no reason for Minghao to keep him around—

“It’s okay,” Minghao’s soothing voice cutting through Mingyu’s spiral. “We can fix it, see?”

Mingyu slowly removes his hands from his face and watches, eyes prickling with tears, as Minghao grabs an empty pot from nearby and levitates some of the soil into the new pot, replanting the basil with gentle hands, patting down the rest of the dirt around it. He holds it up to Mingyu and smiles.

“See? No harm done.”

Mingyu’s chest is tight and he feels like he can barely breathe. His lower lip wobbles even as all of the other muscles in his body are locked up.

“Oh, your clothes!” Minghao exclaims, worry tinting his words. Mingyu looks down, the hem of his white hanbok now splattered with dirt. “Oh, heavens.”

He squats down and tries to brush the dirt from Mingyu’s hanbok as Mingyu stiffens further. Why is Minghao at Mingyu’s feet? This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. There shouldn’t be a witch that’s doing something for Mingyu, that Mingyu is looking down at. This is wrong, this is all wrong. Why is he doing this?

“This isn’t coming out very well…I’ll wash it when we go inside, okay?” Mingyu doesn’t respond, still paralyzed. Minghao continues anyway. “You don’t have anything else, do you? How about we get you some new clothes?”

Mingyu tenses. Him? Get something? Something that’s his?

He manages to unstick his mouth to admit quietly, “I don’t…have money.” He casts his eyes down to his shoes, which are also covered in dirt.

“Who said you’re paying?”

Mingyu snaps his gaze to Minghao in a panic.

“No, you can’t pay for me, I—”

“Why not?”

Why not? Isn’t it obvious?

“I…don’t deserve it.”

“Why not?” Minghao repeats.

Mingyu tries to hide the way he winces when his scar stings. Why does he deserve good things when he’s been bad? When he messed up? When it was his fault. She looked down on him.

He was so, so small.

Minghao looks up at him, right in the eyes.

“I think you do. Let me get you a gift, okay? You’ve been doing so well practicing your magic.”

Mingyu doesn’t know how to protest there. So he doesn’t.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for just offering. Just the big things that really matter, okay?”

Mingyu nods, even though he wants to say everything you do matters to me.

Mingyu didn't go into town very often. Maybe once or twice a month, if his former witch needed someone to hold her bags for her. She was always the one leading him around, yanking on his magical collar if he accidentally strayed too far behind. His neck feels light in this unfamiliar town, with Minghao here with him. Gentle, warm Minghao. He smooths down his hanbok, cleaner than it's ever been in his life, crisp and smelling faintly of lavender, thanks to Minghao’s tender care of it. He almost feels like a brand new gumiho.

“Since winter is coming, I think we should get you something warm. Maybe a sweater or a jacket? Which would you prefer?”

“What do you think would be best for me?”

“Would you prefer something that you have to pull over or just zip up? Would your ears get uncomfortable if you had to pull them through a sweater?” Minghao frets. Mingyu still can’t get a handle on why his comfort matters so much to Minghao. 

“I think either would be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Minghao says with a frown.

No.

“Yeah,” Mingyu nods.

“We’ll find whatever looks good then. Tell me if you see something you like, okay?”

Mingyu nods again, meek.

He follows Minghao around town hiding behind his back, always dropping his eyes before he can make eye contact with strangers. Never seen, never heard.

Minghao suddenly turns to his left, then his right, then behind him with a confused look.

“Heavens, I thought you disappeared. Why are you behind me?”

Mingyu doesn’t know how to explain the obvious, words failing to explain a natural phenomenon. Basil grows when it’s warm, the moon rises in the east, Mingyu’s place is behind someone superior, not to be seen.

“Walk with me. I can’t be losing you in the middle of town.”

Hesitantly, Mingyu joins Minghao’s side. It feels weird, not being in someone’s shadow, but almost like a companion.

Mingyu’s heart rate picks up. A companion.

…he likes that.

“Here, how does this shop look?” Minghao asks, pointing at a clothing store with a wide array of mannequins in the window. They’re wearing all sorts of winter clothing, stylish things Mingyu would never get to wear. He looks at them with a yearning he thought he long since buried.

“I don’t think those clothes…suit me very well.”

“Why not?” Minghao asks with a frown. “I think we could find lots of things that could fit you well in there. Unless you really don’t want to, of course. We can always go somewhere else.”

A crossroad of choices, again.

Minghao is looking at him with genuine curiosity and concern in his eyes, waiting patiently for Mingyu to make a decision. It’s a comfort that’s uncomfortable in its foreignness.

He would hate for Minghao to waste any more time on him, he decides.

“Here is fine.”

“Great! We’ll see if we can find something that suits you here but if not, we can try every other store in town. The next one over, even.”

Mingyu can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but Minghao has already turned around.

He opens the door before Mingyu can reach for it to open it for Minghao, then he just…stands next to the open door. Is there someone behind Mingyu?

“After you,” Minghao urges with a smile. Mingyu blinks, trying to comprehend. He feels rooted to the spot, feeling very much like he’s not physically capable of going through a door before Minghao does, with Minghao opening it for him instead of the other way around.

“Okay,” he says after a moment, moving on purpose. “Thank you.”

Minghao closes the door behind them and Mingyu turns to him for direction. Minghao looks back at him quizzically.

“Don’t you wanna take a look around?”

“Oh.” He pauses. “I don’t know where to start.”

There’s a thrill in his chest he can’t tamp down, butterfly wings in his ribcage when he looks around them, clothes in all sorts of styles and colors he was never allowed to look at for too long. He looks, he looks, and he looks, a giddy smile slowly growing on his face as he just gets to observe to his heart’s content for the first time in his life. There’s no collar heavy around his neck and even heavier words to stop him from taking it all in, as much as he likes.

When he manages to tear his gaze away, Minghao has a finger on his chin, a hand on his hip, considering Mingyu closely. He squirms a little at the scrutiny. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Minghao speaks up.

“Do you have any color preferences? I’m thinking you’re a deep winter.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what that means. He shakes his head. Minghao probably knows best anyway.

“How about navy? Maybe…plum? Or maybe we should go with a style preference first. Something lighter or heavier? And the fabric as well…”

Minghao seems to muse to himself for a moment.

“What do you think? What should we look for first? Color, style, or fabric?”

Mingyu wracks his brain for the best option. What’s the easiest one for Minghao to find? What should he be looking for? What’s the best decision?

“There’s no right answer. It’s up to you.”

No right answer. That makes Mingyu nervous. Is there really a decision that Mingyu can make that doesn’t have potential consequences?

Minghao is looking at him like there is.

“Fabric,” Mingyu finally answers. He decides it’s the right answer when Minghao smiles.

“Good choice.”

Mingyu can’t stop his ears from twitching in satisfaction.

He soon loses himself in exploring all of his options, excitement blooming with every look and touch he’s allowed. Minghao explains to him all of the fabrics there are, the wide selection making Mingyu’s head spin, but he soaks in all of the information. Velvet, suede, leather, cotton, anything and everything in between. He gently pinches at all of the new textures, reveling in the novelty of it all, the new world that’s suddenly unfolding in front of him.

Finally, he sees it: a blue—cerulean, Mingyu recalls Minghao explaining—sweater. It’s simple, a knit blue cotton sweater with nothing particularly flashy about it. It’s perfect.

Mingyu turns to Minghao, who’s been following him as he explores the shop, taking it gently off the rack and holding it up to himself.

“Do you like this one?”

Mingyu nods enthusiastically, tails swishing.

“Can I?” Mingyu asks, the need to ask for permission taking over again suddenly when he remembers it’s ultimately Minghao’s choice what he’ll buy.

“Of course,” Minghao says breezily. “Let’s get this to the checkout.”

Mingyu is about to hand the sweater over for Minghao to take, but Minghao has already turned around, leading the way to the register.

“Just this, please,” Minghao says, stepping aside for Mingyu to place the sweater on the counter. He does so obediently. He’s barely present for the rest of the transaction, completely focused on his— his —new sweater, only snapping back into the moment when Minghao hands it over to him with a smile. Mingyu bows to the cashier before they walk out, side by side.

Minghao stops just outside the store and motions at Mingyu’s new sweater.

“Do you want to try it on?”

Mingyu nods so eagerly it almost makes his head hurt and immediately tosses it on. It’s a little bigger on him than he thought it would be, even over his hanbok, but there’s enough room for his tails to poke out from under the hem, so he figures it’s alright. 

His cheeks hurt from smiling and he’s sure he looks a bit silly with a sweater layered over his hanbok, but when he looks to Minghao for approval, he looks just as happy as Mingyu feels.

“It looks great on you,” Minghao beams. Mingyu curls in on himself, shy suddenly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“Anything you want, Mingyu,” Minghao replies softly, running a hand down the back of Mingyu’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. “Just say the word.”

Anything he wants, huh.

“Okay,” he whispers, ears twitching. “Okay.”

They settle into something of a routine that Mingyu learns how to feel calm in.

Mingyu still wakes up before Minghao in the morning, feeling very much like when Minghao comes downstairs it’s him casting a warm glow in the house and not the sun, Minghao brews them both cups of tea for the day, they have breakfast together, then decide on a task to do together for the day. They take a break, have lunch, take a nap, do some more work (only if Minghao allows them), have dinner, and bid each other goodnight, after which Mingyu dreams about Minghao’s soft laugh and fond smile when he sings to his plants, cuddling his pillow close and smiling into it.

Simple things like that.

Today, Mingyu gets to make breakfast, a privilege he earned last night by making his best puppy dog eyes at Minghao. His face had melted in a way that made Mingyu want to do it again and again. He’s equally excited to show Minghao that he can give back too and terrified he’ll mess it up, the idea of seeing disappointment on Minghao’s face after only fondness after these weeks being only just a little bit extremely devastating.

He’d prepared everything the night before, hoping to have breakfast ready before Minghao woke up. The rising sun is warm on his back as he grabs the chicken stock he made last night and strikes a match. He still hasn’t gotten his foxfire back, feeling like it’s still buried deep inside of him, a bitter feeling that rises when he sets alight the firewood beneath the cauldron. Not his concern right now anyway, he wants to make sure he can make something nice and warm for Minghao when he wakes up.

His scar throbs when he considers his situation—waking up early, cooking for someone else, hoping beyond all possibility that they like it.

It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, because he isn’t cooking because it’s required of him anymore. He doesn’t hope Minghao will like it because he’ll get in trouble otherwise. He hopes Minghao likes it because Mingyu wants him to smile. Wants Minghao to be proud of him. He simply wants to, more than anything.

He hopes that’s okay.

Carefully, he measures out all of the seasonings, making sure he gets the exact amounts when he adds them to the broth. He tastes it a few times thoughtfully. Minghao doesn’t like his food too salty, but it still needs that depth of flavor he enjoys, Mingyu thinks as he adds in a little more sesame oil.

He stirs in his cornstarch slurry and lets the broth simmer as he beats the eggs lightly. When he mixes the broth a little, it’s too thin, so he turns around and basks in the morning sun streaming indulgently through the tall windows.

It’s moving past the height of winter now, but a thick layer of snow still coats every surface outside. It’s lucky that they moved the outdoor plants to the greenhouse as early as they did, inches of snow piling on top of bushes and tree branches. He’s happy for the birds that have long since migrated to somewhere much warmer, but a little disappointed because he enjoyed running after them in his gumiho form when Minghao wasn’t looking. How unlucky for them though, he thinks while tugging on the sleeves of his sweater, that they don’t have warm and comfy clothes like him. Mingyu smiles at the memory and his tails sway happily behind him, tucking himself deeper into his sweater. He got new pants too, just a week or so ago. Thoughtfully, Minghao carefully sewed a hole in the back just the right size for Mingyu’s tails to fit through and smiled warmly when they wagged enthusiastically.

After a few minutes, he turns around and checks on the broth again. He stirs it for a moment and decides it’s ready, stirring it while he slowly drizzles in the eggs.

With one final taste test, he decides it’s done and extinguishes the fire before ladling the broth into two bowls, Minghao’s much fuller. He really needs to eat more.

Mingyu places the bowls on the table with respective spoons and his tails swish eagerly behind him, proud of his work and hoping very much that Minghao likes it.

While he’s cleaning up from his cooking, he hears Minghao’s gentle footsteps coming down the stairs. His ears perk up and quickly finishes up so he can greet Minghao face to face.

Minghao gives Mingyu a sleepy smile that makes Mingyu’s heart do something silly. There’s something about this soft Minghao, more so than he is normally, that makes Mingyu feel like he’s privileged to see it. He thinks he is.

“Good morning,” Mingyu greets him, controlling his tone, but not the wagging of his tails. Minghao’s smile grows wider.

“Good morning. Something smells good.”

“Yes! I made breakfast for you—for us!” He motions to the table and pulls out Minghao’s chair for him. “It’s egg drop soup. I hope you like it.”

“Thank you,” Minghao says gratefully, sitting down. “It smells delicious.”

“I tried to make it to your liking. What I thought you’d like, anyway.”

He stands next to Minghao, eagerly awaiting his verdict.

“Sit down first,” Minghao says with a small laugh. Mingyu startles for a moment and nods, quickly sitting down in his own chair.

“You should eat first,” Mingyu urges. “I made it with you in mind, so I want you to try it first.”

Minghao gives him a smile that’s so, so fond Mingyu barely knows what to do with himself. Without another word, he lifts his spoon to his mouth and has a taste. His eyes light up immediately. Mingyu has to try to not knock himself out of his chair with his tails.

“Is it good? Is it?”

Minghao beams.

“Mm! It’s excellent. You’re such a good chef, Mingyu,” Minghao praises, reaching across the table to ruffle Mingyu’s hair between his ears. Mingyu preens happily. He was always best at cooking, but at this moment, he realizes he never knew how much better it was to be complimented for it. For his work not just to be expected, but appreciated. He wants to do it for Minghao forever.

“I’m so glad. I tried to reduce the amount of salt so it wouldn’t be too salty for you and I added a little more sesame oil because I thought you’d like it like that.”

“Thank you,” Minghao says fondly, a smile creasing his eyes. “You’re so considerate.”

I’m so glad I could do something for you.

Mingyu’s ears twitch happily and they eat together in companionable silence.

Today, Mingyu’s tea is lime tree leaf and orange peel. It’s bright, citrusy, and has a touch of sweetness and a subtle floral quality that make even the moments between sips both relaxing and rejuvenating. Minghao keeps looking at him and somehow, it doesn’t make him scared anymore, only shy.

“What should we do today?” Minghao asks.

Mingyu thinks about it, wracking his mind for the tasks he remembers Minghao talking about throughout the week, remembering a letter he got from his best friend a few days ago, asking for a few potions and charms.

“You have some things to make for Junhui, right? Should we work on those?”

Minghao nods approvingly. Mingyu smiles brightly.

They spend the morning together preparing a number of potions and charm for Junhui, Mingyu fetching Minghao ingredients from his apothecary, trips briefly broken up when Minghao stops Mingyu to explain what item he’s making at the moment. Mingyu listens eagerly because Minghao is just so lovely when he’s passionate about something, but Mingyu always listens to anything Minghao says, even if it’s just his grocery list.

“The healing brew is next?” Mingyu asks, a basket with rosemary, sage, thyme, and cinnamon that Minghao requested on his arm. Minghao beams and Mingyu’s tails wag.

“You’re learning so well!” Minghao exclaims, patting him between the ears when Mingyu sets down the basket next to the cauldron, making them flick happily. He takes care not to knock anything over with his overeager tails. “Come, watch.”

Mingyu agrees easily, watching attentively as Minghao grinds the herbs and ladles enchanted water into a small blue bottle, corking it up neatly.

“Can you place this in the basket, please?”

Minghao always asks so politely, even though Mingyu would do anything he wanted just to see him happy. Mingyu takes the potion and makes the short distance to the large basket filled with today’s creations for them to bring to Junhui tomorrow. Mingyu hasn’t seen him more than a handful of times in the weeks he’s known Minghao, but he loves spending time with him and Wonwoo, Junhui’s purple fox familiar. He enjoys the sound of Junhui and Minghao’s quiet chattering over tea while he and Wonwoo take turns chasing and grooming each other in their fox forms, so his excitement seeps into his work, humming brightly in his veins.

Just before he can place it in the basket, a sudden illusion flickers before him, a rabbit with its edges blurred quickly hopping past him before dissolving into mist, startling Mingyu into dropping the potion in his hands. The terror hits Mingyu before the bottle hits the ground.

The glass shatters, pieces smashing all over the floor, the concoction splashing all over the ground, ground herbs and water spilling everywhere. Panic, guilt, regret, searing pain all mix together strike him like a lightning bolt as Mingyu blurts out,

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my magic, it—it's so useless—I saw a rabbit and—and—”

Mingyu drops down to his knees, about to pick up the shards of glass with shaky hands. He’s forced to stop when all of the pieces levitate in the air and watches helplessly as they float into a small pile on the counter in a purple haze. He can’t even pick up the pieces himself.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Minghao says gently. Mingyu doesn’t respond, only tries to wipe the ground with the sleeve of his own hanbok instead so he can do something about his mistake, but a towel dabs itself on the wood floor and absorbs the spill quickly. Instinctively, he braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut, preparing for anything that might happen to him.

“It’s no problem, it’s okay. And your magic isn’t useless, because it’s yours.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to do with forgiveness. It feels ill-deserved, tangling more guilty knots inside of him.

He untenses just a little and opens his eyes, but is still stiff, hands balled into fists. His sleeve lies on the ground uselessly. It’s not true. Just because it’s Mingyu’s doesn’t mean anything. Any gumiho could do it, better than him, in fact. What’s the point of his magic if he can’t even control it or do anything useful with it? He’s so, so ashamed.

“The frogs are getting sad because it’s so cold,” Minghao says suddenly. “Could you help me, please?”

Mingyu looks up, only slightly. What can he possibly do, when he can’t even put a potion in a basket? He had one job, and his stupid magic messed it all up.

No, not his magic. It was him. It’s always his fault.

“With what?” He asks, voice small. “You can do a better job than me.”

He doesn’t mean it in a passive aggressive way. It’s true. Minghao has much better control of his magic, it’s been part of him for all of his life when Mingyu had never been able to exercise his without permission and never for himself. What an embarrassment, a grown gumiho who can’t control his magic all the time or even summon foxfire anymore.

“Only you can do this,” Minghao says mysteriously, holding out a hand. Mingyu hesitates for a moment before he takes it, not even sure he’s allowed to touch Minghao. Minghao pulls him to his feet gently and motions for Mingyu to follow him, which he does with his head low, only seeing the trailing hem of Minghao’s robes as he walks.

Minghao leads Mingyu into the greenhouse, and even in this emotional state Mingyu still has to admire the living, breathing ecosystem Minghao has created here with magic woven into every corner and every leaf.

Sure enough, in the pond in the middle, the frogs aren’t croaking or hopping energetically like they used to. It saddens Mingyu a little because he knows how much those frogs mean to Minghao, and his heart aches more when he sees the forlorn look on Minghao’s face.

They make their way over to the pond and Minghao leans down, looking at one of the frogs in the eye.

“Hello,” he greets the frog quietly. “It’s quiet, isn’t it?”

The frog croaks slowly, almost sadly. Minghao nods in solemn understanding. The gentle care Minghao has for all of his creatures makes Mingyu feel something particularly fond. He turns to Mingyu.

“My frogs are very social,” Minghao explains. “But since all of the animals have migrated for the winter, they only have themselves and the fish to keep them company. Could you help with that?”

Mingyu points at himself, confused. What can he possibly do? Minghao nods.

“Could you make some friends for them?” Minghao’s tone turns a little teasing, but not unkind. Never unkind. “Maybe some swallows? I’m sure you know what they look like.”

Mingyu blinks before flushing in embarrassment, covering his face. Minghao giggles.

“You were watching,” he mumbles dejectedly through his hands.

“It was cute. I like seeing you like that.”

Mingyu blushes harder and presses his hands firmer on his face. Minghao has no idea what he does to Mingyu.

He takes a moment to compose himself before taking a deep breath and uncovering his face, only to find Minghao smiling at him. Mingyu swallows and nods resolutely.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he begins to imagine a flock of swallows—bright blue feathers, flapping wings, noisy chirps. He sees them flying around, scattering as he bounds after them with no malice, only for lighthearted entertainment. The magic courses through his veins, like a gentle river rushing through him. He focuses and focuses until it crashes into a wave and opens his eyes when he hears their twittering outside of his imagination. 

There aren’t a lot, only about three of them with some fuzzier than others, but the frogs in the pond immediately start croaking loudly and excitedly. The swallow illusions tweet back and fly close to the frogs, who hop and bounce after them energetically. Mingyu turns to Minghao to check if this is satisfactory. From the bright smile on his face, he can hope it is.

When Minghao looks at Mingyu, his smile softens but doesn’t lose any of its brightness. Maybe Mingyu just thinks Minghao is like that all the time.

“It’s wonderful. Thank you. You’ve done something so lovely for them.”

For you.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu apologizes again, voice almost lost under excited croaking and twittering. “For breaking the potion. You worked so hard.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Minghao reassures, putting a hand on Mingyu’s cheek gently. “It’s okay to make mistakes. It doesn’t mean you’re bad, and it doesn’t mean you’re worthless. I promise.”

Mingyu can’t stop himself from leaning into Minghao’s touch. He can’t stop himself from believing Minghao, just a little.

One of the many things Mingyu has catalogued about Minghao over time is that he really seems to enjoy Mingyu’s gumiho features.

It’s never in an objectifying way, never like Mingyu is some specimen that needs to be observed, but seems like a genuine curiosity. Fondness, even.

It started with the night Minghao first touched his ears, with a gentleness completely foreign to Mingyu. It wasn’t the last time, either. Sometimes, in quiet moments, Minghao will reach to touch them, always asking if it’s okay, Mingyu always allowing, and then rubbing them with care. He brushes his fingers along the back of them, gently rubs his inner ears, and sometimes brushes his fingers past the inner fur, smiling when Mingyu giggles about it being ticklish.

Whenever Minghao rubs his head for a job well done, his hand always bumps into his ears, which Mingyu has come to realize is very much on purpose. When he runs his hand down the back of Mingyu’s head, he often starts at the soft fur on the back of his ears. He always eyes them with a soft look whenever they twitch involuntarily, whether it be over sudden noises or simple excitement.

In his gumiho form, Minghao seems to also take small joy in tapping Mingyu’s nose. 

“It’s wet,” he giggled after touching it for the first time.

“Is that a bad thing?” Mingyu asks, snout twitching.

“Of course not,” Minghao says, rubbing it gently. “It’s just another part of you.”

Minghao is also enamored by his teeth, one of other his vulpine features that stay with him when he’s a human. 

“Can I take a look at your teeth?” Minghao asked before bed one night.

“Uh,” Mingyu replied smartly.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to. You have your fox teeth even when you’re in your human form, and I kind of wanted to take a closer look, if that’s alright.”

Mingyu nods slowly. Minghao beams.

“Wonderful! Come, let’s sit on the couch.”

Minghao is still smiling when they sit down together, legs crossed and facing each other.

“Say ‘aah’,” Minghao instructs.

“Aah,” Mingyu repeats dutifully, mouth hanging open somewhat, just so the sharp points of his canines are visible. His eyes widen in shock when Minghao gently pries his mouth open further so it’s open all the way, inspecting his teeth with a truly strange amount of curiosity. Nobody has ever bothered to look at him before, much less this closely. Mingyu has never been more glad he brushes his teeth early.

Mingyu stays perfectly still, not sure how to react as Minghao runs his fingers delicately along the sharp points of all of his teeth, even the ones in the back of his mouth. He hums thoughtfully every once in a while, rubbing at his canines. Even if he had anything to say, how could he deny Minghao when his eyes are sparkling like that?

When he’s done, what feels like an eternity later, Minghao removes his hands from Mingyu’s mouth and taps his jaw closed by the chin. Seemingly oblivious to Mingyu’s embarrassment, Minghao beams at him.

“Thank you,” Minghao says appreciatively.

“Um. You’re…welcome…?”

Mingyu did not sleep for several hours afterwards.

Most of all, Minghao seems to like Mingyu’s tails.

It used to be bothersome. They took up too much space, if they moved too much it was annoying to look at. He never managed to work his instincts out of his system completely, but Minghao seems to relish in it.

“I like the way they’re so expressive,” Minghao commented one day. “I like that it’s so easy to tell when you’re happy.”

Mingyu couldn’t control the way they wagged a little harder at the compliment. He couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed when Minghao smiled.

Today, Mingyu wakes from his afternoon nap slowly, slowly soaking in the sunbeam he lies curled up in.

When he blinks his eyes open completely, he finds Minghao already awake and looking at him.

(Minghao used to sleep in his own bed, he explained, but when he saw how comfortable Mingyu was sleeping in the sunbeams streaming through the large windows, he wanted to be there too. Mingyu pawed at his ear and didn’t trust himself to say anything.)

“Hello,” Minghao whispers.

“Hello,” Mingyu murmurs back, tails wrapping around himself, shy.

Minghao sits upright on the couch and stretches leisurely, but fixes his gaze on Mingyu again.

“Does your fur ever get matted?” Minghao asks, eyeing Mingyu’s tails. Mingyu looks back at them, flicking about like they have minds of their own.

“I try to keep myself well-groomed,” Mingyu replies vaguely. “But there’s a lot of fur, so it’s not always perfect.” He flusters suddenly at the realization Minghao might think negatively of him. “Sorry, does it look bad? I don’t know if—”

“No, it doesn’t look bad at all! Your fur is very pretty.” Minghao’s lower lip sticks out, just slightly. “Why have I never seen you groom yourself before?”

If it weren’t for his gumiho form, Mingyu would be flushing.

“Well, I…I don’t really want you to see me licking and nibbling myself.”

Minghao hums in thought. Sometimes, Mingyu really doesn’t know what’s going through his head.

“Is it fun? Being groomed by someone else?”

Is it fun? Mingyu never really thought about it that way. He’s only had one other fox groom him and it was Wonwoo, who taught him fox behaviors. He hopes, but doubts, Wonwoo didn’t notice he wasn’t socialized with other foxes. Wonwoo taught him patiently regardless.

“I guess? It’s kind of like a bonding activity, more than anything. I enjoy it.”

Minghao furrows his eyebrows and hums again.

“Would you let me groom you?”

Mingyu’s brain short circuits.

“...how?” Is the only question he can conjure. Surely he wouldn’t…

“With a comb,” Minghao explains. “Or something,” he tacks on. “Give you a bath or something. Brush your tails.”

Thank heavens Minghao can’t see him blushing right now.

“Okay. Yeah.”

“You sure that’s okay?” Minghao confirms. Mingyu nods, which earns him a scratch to the chin that he immediately melts into.

“Okay! I’ll run a bath,” Minghao declares after a minute, getting up. Mingyu immediately snaps out of his chin scratching trance and is a little disappointed at the loss.

“Right now?”

“Do you not want to right now?”

“No, right now is fine.”

Minghao smiles and motions for Mingyu to come with him and he follows dutifully.

When they get into the bathroom, Mingyu clambers into the marble tub and paces around inside of it before settling down and getting comfy. The tap comes alive in a haze of purple magic, reminding Mingyu distinctly of the day they met. There’s a dull throb at the back of his neck that feels more like a sad memory than any physical pain.

“I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna grab a few things.”

Mingyu nods and makes himself comfortable in the warm water, splashing around gently and eagerly waits for Minghao’s return.

When Mingyu hears excited footsteps pattering closer, his ears perk up and he hangs his paws off the edge of the bathtub, sitting up to see Minghao, who has a few bottles and an unfamiliar comb in his possession. He places all of them down on the ground in favor of grabbing Mingyu’s paws and gently squishing his paw pads, making Mingyu giggle a little.

“Tickles?” Minghao asks brightly, squishing them more enthusiastically. Mingyu nods and tries not to laugh more. Minghao smiles fondly and removes his hands so he can splash water on Mingyu’s fur, getting him sopping wet. Mingyu wants to whine.

Humming a familiar but brighter tune, Minghao pours the contents of one of the bottles onto Mingyu’s fur, carefully lathering it in, brushing his fingers through his fur, already silky smooth. Mingyu relaxes into the touch and the moment.

Minghao gets to his tails last, washing each of them individually with great care as Mingyu rests his jaw on the edge of the bathtub, eyes closed and relishing the moment, ears limp on his head. He only opens them when he hears a clatter of Minghao picking something up after rinsing all of the suds out of his fur.

“Where did you get a comb like this?” Mingyu asks curiously, pawing at it gently so he can take a better look. It’s not one that Mingyu has ever seen before, carved out of wood and weighty, with wide teeth on one end and fine teeth on the other.

“I, uh,” Minghao starts. “I borrowed it from Junhui.”

Mingyu feels relentlessly fond.

He hums, appeased, and lets Minghao work it through his coat, paying special attention again to all nine of his tails, the whole process almost meditative. It’s perfect peace, until the self-doubt starts to creep in like thorny vines.

“Do you like me just because I’m a gumiho?” Mingyu asks in a moment of sudden self-consciousness, breaking the spell. A magical creature. Just a receptacle of magic. That’s all he was to her.

“Of course not,” Minghao says simply, his very tone soothing. “I like you because you’re Mingyu. Do you not want me to pay too much attention to your gumiho features?”

Mingyu shakes his head.

“No, it’s…it’s okay. I just didn’t know if…”

Minghao stops his ministrations and sets down the comb to hold Mingyu’s face in his wet hands, thumbs brushing the fine fur under Mingyu’s eyes but careful not to get any water in them. Mingyu averts his gaze.

“Human or gumiho, or anything in between, I like you,” Minghao reassures. “There are a million gumihos, but there’s only one Mingyu. And I like Mingyu, gumiho or otherwise.”

Mingyu nods and leans into Minghao’s touch, heart beating so fast he’s afraid it might explode. How can Minghao just say things like this?

He thinks he likes this. He thinks he likes being seen if it’s with this kind of affection, accepted for who he is.

His tails, once an inconvenience, a bother, an annoyance, are now treated with care and interest. They flick happily.

“Agh—you’re getting water on me—!”

Mingyu giggles.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, not feeling very sorry at all when Minghao is pouting indignantly but so, so cutely.

Minghao picks the comb back up and resumes his task, but not before giving Mingyu a dramatic huff, making Mingyu smile fondly.

Once he’s done, he drains the tub, leaving Mingyu feeling a little cold—which he really does whine at this time—but Minghao quickly rectifies this by draping a soft, warm towel over him and beginning to dry him off with care.

“Done,” Minghao declares. Mingyu stretches languidly, his fur never feeling softer and fresher. He shakes himself to get rid of any remaining water, but finds himself already perfectly dry.

“How do you feel?” Minghao asks, sitting back and admiring his work. Mingyu looks back at his tails, which have never looked so clean and fluffy. He sways all of them gently, relishing in the lightness.

“Clean,” Mingyu says after a moment of deliberation. After a second more, “Comfortable. Happy.”

“Good,” Minghao affirms. “I want you to always feel this way.”

I think I might with you, Mingyu thinks shyly.

Minghao looks at Mingyu’s scar often.

It’s always a subtle thing, a curious glance, and his eyes never linger. Still, Mingyu feels the weight of his gaze like pressing on a bruise. He doesn’t blame Minghao, of course. It’s a strange, uncomfortable looking thing, a sort of thing Minghao has probably—hopefully—never seen before. Mingyu has never seen the scar for himself because of its location on the back of his neck, but he’s touched it enough times with both paws and fingers like a sort of self-harm that he knows roughly what it looks like.

It’s obvious it’s not a normal scar. It’s an old sigil, a brand, the remains of a chain that once kept him tethered, abruptly and carelessly torn off. Mingyu is sure the violence in it is clear, with no gentleness in the separation the same as there was no gentleness in the connection. There’s a phantom tightness around his throat when he remembers the feeling of being collared so tightly he thought he’d choke some days. The skin is rough when he touches it, like it never healed properly. Mingyu supposes it hasn’t.

It’s a part of him, he understands, but it’s a bleeding wound that’s scabbing over. It doesn’t hurt as much these days, only the occasional stab of pain from old waking nightmares seeping through the cracks of his new domestic life, where it has no reason to ache anymore aside from lingering phantom pains that may never go away. And maybe that’s okay, because he knows there will be no reason for there to be a fresh cut to have to learn to heal from.

Minghao may look at it here and there, but it’s when Mingyu is cooking dinner for them, when they wake up from their afternoon nap together, when they’re out shopping, side by side.

Sometimes, when Mingyu pats his head and runs his hand down the back of his hand, his hand always stops before brushing it, like a silent understanding it’s not his to know. Mingyu appreciates that Minghao never asks.

Another day, another glance. They’re working in the greenhouse today again, harvesting some herbs for a request from Jihoon, Minghao’s elemental witch friend. Mingyu is learning how to get along with Soonyoung, Jihoon’s tiger familiar, because Soonyoung is still pouty about the time Mingyu illusioned him to look like a hamster. He knew he didn’t regret it the moment he heard Minghao’s laughter.

“You look at my scar a lot,” Mingyu murmurs, checking all of the cloves he’s put in his basket. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged it, and as always, Minghao takes it in stride. Doesn’t treat him with disdain, doesn’t look at him with disgust. He never has. He never will, Mingyu is starting to trust.

“Would you prefer me to not?”

“...I don’t mind,” Mingyu decides after a moment. Minghao hums. “You’re not going to ask about it?”

“I want to know everything about you but nothing you don’t want to tell me,” Minghao says like it’s the simplest thing in the world, carefully inspecting the trees for any remaining harvestable cloves.

Mingyu stares at him for a second, not sure what to say.

“Come on,” Minghao says with a soft smile, finally turning to him. “Let’s go harvest the wood ears now.”

Winter is dissolving into its last few frosts, but it doesn’t stop Mingyu and Minghao from spending time in front of the fireplace still, lavender-infused hot chocolate with cinnamon in their hands. Mingyu is pillowed on Mingyu’s soft tails after their weekly brushing session that Minghao insisted on, and some days, Mingyu hopes winter never leaves. He likes it when Minghao takes comfort in him like this.

(Minghao always treats him so gently. Mingyu wants to treat him even better.)

“Would you like to hear?” Mingyu whispers, like it’ll break the calm spell they’re under. It might.

“If you would like to tell me.”

Mingyu finishes his hot chocolate with a final sip, thinking of how to say it as he’s crunching the cinnamon stick Minghao added for him between his teeth just because he knows Mingyu likes chewing on it. It’s a story he’s never had the chance to tell anyone before, one he never expected to. He’s not sure if he’s ready to tell the full story yet, but he hopes he’ll have the time to someday. Minghao waits patiently.

“You asked me when we first met if I was feral,” Mingyu starts, preparing himself. “I don’t remember if I ever was. I grew up with a witch that made me her familiar early.”

His fingers itch to touch the back of his neck, like he’s making sure it’s real. A collar. A chain. He swallows.

“She treated me so cruelly. It felt like I was never good enough at anything, so she’d…she’d always yell at me or hit me or—or punish me by taking away food or blankets.” He stares down at his hands, his empty cup, the cinnamon stick that’s been chewed up and spat out. He curls up into himself for comfort or to hide from the memory. He doesn’t know. His throat is tight, but he continues. “That stew you made me was the first real meal I’d ever had. It was scraps otherwise.

“I was her servant. Her pet. And because she was the only person I ever knew, I thought every witch was like that. That being treated like that was normal and that she was right, everything was always my fault. I didn’t realize that was wrong until I met you.” Mingyu doesn’t look at Minghao, too scared to look at his face, as if he’d find anything but kindness there.

“The reason I wasn’t in tune with my magic was because she was in control of it. I was only allowed to use it with her, or not at all. She was in control of every part of me.” He swallows thickly, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “I was property. I thought that’s just how it went.”

He takes a deep breath for what might be the worst part of his story.

“Eventually she decided I wasn’t worth keeping around anymore.” He brushes his fingers against the back of his neck absently and immediately flinches at the touch. “Too many mistakes. Too few reasons to keep me. I didn’t do enough to assist in her magic. So she severed our bond. Kicked me out. I’m not sure how long I was in that forest for, but I thought I was going to die there.”

Mingyu’s claws absently scrape along the sides of his cup, the one that's since become designated just for him.

“...I’m sorry for assuming you were like her. Thank you for saving me.”

There’s silence for a long moment before Minghao leans closer into Mingyu.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. Nobody can blame you for thinking that way. You went through a lot, but I wish you never did. More than anyone, you deserve to be treated well. You’re not a creature or a servant. You deserve to have choice, agency. Freedom.” His voice lowers. “I want to give that to you. If you’ll let me.”

Mingyu finally looks at Minghao, who’s looking at him with fond and not pitying eyes, unsure what to say. He didn’t know what response he expected, but it wasn’t to be told he deserved to be treated well, even though Minghao has done nothing but ever since the day they met. Minghao sounds honest, because Mingyu doesn’t think Minghao could be anything but. He relaxes into Minghao’s side, not trusting himself to say anything.

“Thank you for telling me,” Minghao says.

“Thank you for listening,” Mingyu replies. “Thank you for being kind.”

Minghao smiles at him, something soft.

“You never have to thank me for that.”

“You didn’t have to pick me up that day in the woods,” Mingyu says absently, a thought that’s never left his mind. He doesn’t know if he should ask why yet. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t,” Minghao agrees. “But I’m glad I did. Thank you for staying.”

“Why are you thanking me?”

“Because I like having you here,” Minghao says bluntly. “You’re very important to me.”

Mingyu’s tails pull Minghao closer. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“...you’re very important to me too. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let a handsome gumiho go right back into the forest alone,” Minghao teases, reaching up to pinch Mingyu’s cheek. He blushes.

“Thanks,” Mingyu replies, instead of telling Minghao that not only did he give Mingyu a new life but that there’s no other life he wants to live, he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever met, there could never be anyone like Minghao for him.

“What, are we just in a competition to say ‘thank you’ the most now?” Minghao asks with a cheeky smile.

“I’d win,” Mingyu insists. “I owe you a lot.”

“You don’t owe me anything. You never will.”

“...okay.”

Mingyu is learning how to believe it.

They return to a comfortable silence for a bit before Minghao speaks up again.

“Would you consider becoming someone else’s familiar someday?” Minghao asks quietly. At Mingyu’s ensuing silence, he quickly amends his statement. “Unless that’s not something you’d rather think about. It’s understandable if you don’t, or even don’t want to think about it at all.”

The truth is, Mingyu has considered it. Yours.

Minghao has almost singlehandedly turned on its head Mingyu’s perception of witches. He only knew one personally all his life, so he assumed every witch was like her until meeting Minghao, reinforced by all of Minghao’s friends, their bonds with their familiars kind and deep, made of mutual understanding and respect. How blessed is he to know he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Where she was sharp, Minghao is soft. Where she was cold, controlling, cruel, Minghao is warm, permissive, endlessly kind. He’s the sun that melts the snow for the swallows, the magical salve to paws rubbed raw, lavender cleanser on a dirty hanbok. He is beauty, care, and love personified.

“Maybe,” Mingyu says, unable to keep a fond smile out of his tone. “Maybe one day.”

Minghao’s hand comes up to grip the sleeve of Mingyu’s sweater. With a nervous hand, Mingyu places his own over Minghao’s.

Minghao hums contently. Mingyu decides he never wants to leave.

As spring blooms in full, Mingyu slowly becomes magic again, too.

Today, it’s his turn to make breakfast. He’s in high spirits this morning, still buzzing with the joy of seeing Minghao’s—and now his!—friends again last night, diviner Joshua and chaos witch Jeonghan. They were overjoyed seeing Mingyu’s illusion magic grow stronger, not just for him, but because it was entertaining for themselves, too. Jeonghan’s favorite was Mingyu cloning him six times and making Joshua guess which one was the original. They had thanked Mingyu for indulging them with bright smiles on their faces and both pet him between the ears in appreciation and praise.

His magic, bringing joy to people. Isn’t that really something?

Mingyu’s tails swish happily and a blush colors his cheeks when he recalls Joshua predicting he and Minghao would have a very happy future together with a mischievous wink while Minghao wasn’t looking.

He hums to himself, tails swaying to the tune of the one Minghao was humming last night when he made dinner.

A few weeks ago, Mingyu had prepared some kimchi, all with ingredients from Minghao’s garden. When Mingyu mentioned he wanted to make kimchi, Minghao immediately asked for a list of ingredients then took Mingyu by the hand, leading them out to the garden and harvesting everything that they needed.

Minghao insisted that he help Mingyu, who told Minghao that he could rest but quickly fell victim to Minghao’s pout. So together, they salted their cabbage, chopped their vegetables, and made and applied their paste. Mingyu did not get any into his eye—he didn’t. And Minghao didn’t laugh and have to wash out his eye with cold moon water, and Mingyu didn’t almost cry not just because of the paste he didn’t get into his eye, but because of the gentleness Minghao treated him with.

(Maybe that did happen. And maybe Mingyu thinks fondly of Minghao’s hand on his cheek and his delicate touch, shushing Mingyu gently as he whimpered, not to ignore his pain but to soothe it. And maybe he’d never felt more loved in his life when Minghao smiled at him when he was done and asked if he was okay.)

(It did. He does. He hadn’t.)

Their hands were sticky and red by the end and Mingyu reached out to Minghao with a mischievous smile, pretending like he was going to wipe his kimchi-stained hands on Minghao’s robes, who shrieked and almost jumped away. They washed their hands off in the sink, side by side even though they could have just gone one after the other, arms brushing where they’d rolled up their sleeves.

So Mingyu smiles now as he opens the jar of kimchi they made together, with home grown ingredients infused with magic and love. He feels the same. He reaches for the box of matches Minghao keeps around for Mingyu when he cooks, when a small blue flicker of fire appears over the firewood from the corner of his eye. Mingyu freezes.

Slowly, he turns around. There’s another flicker, a larger one now. He blinks once. Twice. It’s there. It’s there.

Mingyu widens his eyes and his heart rate picks up, sparking another light blue flame. As the excitement, the relief, the unadulterated joy in his body picks up, the flame grows more steady. It’s a small thing that occasionally fizzles out, but it’s there. It’s really there.

“Minghao!” Mingyu yells excitedly, eyes locked on the fire, trying to keep it consistent. Minghao’s footsteps are quick down the stairs.

“Mingyu?! Is everything o—” He stops in his tracks when he sees the blue fire flickering steadily under the pan and a grin quickly overtakes his face. “Is that your—?”

“My foxfire! It’s back!” The fire dances and grows as Mingyu feeds off of Minghao’s happiness for him, filling his heart, warming his veins. In one quick movement, Minghao leaps into Mingyu’s arms, almost knocking them both over onto the ground if Mingyu didn’t steady them in time.

“You did it! Heavens, you did it!” Minghao pulls back, arms still looped around Mingyu’s neck and grinning in a way Mingyu has never seen before. The warmth in his heart isn’t from the foxfire. “You did it.”

“I did,” Mingyu manages, feeling choked up. “It’s finally back.”

Despite his best attempts, Mingyu begins to tear up and Minghao looks at him fondly, cradling his face in both hands like he’s something precious. The softness in his eyes is what finally makes the emotions spill over.

He thinks he almost feels whole again.

Minghao shushes him quietly, pulling Mingyu’s head onto his shoulder gently, letting Mingyu sob quietly into the crook of his neck. He runs his hand down the backs of Mingyu’s ears and head in soothing motions, never once touching his scar.

Mingyu has his illusion magic again. He has his foxfire again. He has a home, a place he wants to be, someone he wants to help, the freedom to come and go and do and be whatever he wants, with someone he loves by his side to encourage him to be his own.

Mingyu gets to be himself for the first time.

He holds onto Minghao’s robes tight. Minghao holds on too.

It must be a few good minutes before Mingyu settles down, sobs dying down into something manageable. He pulls away and looks at Minghao with watery eyes, who smiles when he sees Mingyu beam.

“Okay. I’ll finish cooking now.”

“Do you need any help?”

Mingyu shakes his head.

“Today is just kimchi fried rice. I’ll be quick!”

Minghao nods and Mingyu can’t help but feel a little sad when they pull apart and Minghao walks away to sit at the kitchen table, his absence in Mingyu’s arms noticeable. Bravely, he shakes it off and returns to his cooking, tails wagging excitedly.

He checks the temperature of his— his! —foxfire by bending down and immediately pulling back. Yeah, that’s hot enough.

Mingyu quickly gets back into the rhythm of things, bouncing eagerly in place as he doles out a heaping serving of kimchi and stir frying it. The spicy scent tingles his nose when it sizzles in the pan and he hums to the knocking of the wooden spoon against the pan as he stirs his rice, kimchi juice, water, and gochujang. He can’t quite figure out a way to extinguish his foxfire, still happily flickering around (although he’d feel a little heartbroken if he did so anyway), so he just pulls the pan aside to add his garnishes and divides the fried rice into bowls. More in Minghao’s, as usual.

When Mingyu goes to set their bowls down at the table, Minghao is looking at Mingyu with a fond, fond smile.

“What?”

“Your ears are so cute.”

Mingyu places their bowls down, reaches up to touch them and sure enough, they’re flicking energetically. He laughs nervously.

“Thank you.”

Their meal is quiet, but the space between them is filled with sparks of joy that Mingyu can feel dancing about. His tails wag.

“Tell me about your foxfire,” Minghao requests suddenly, even though Mingyu has seen the books about gumihos he borrowed from Junhui lying about in his study with colorful tabs marking certain pages.

“I don’t really know what foxfire is supposed to be like,” Mingyu starts. Minghao shakes his head.

“Not foxfire in general. Yours.”

“Ah,” Mingyu replies smartly, blushing and staring into his rice. “I never got to experiment with it a lot. I wasn’t allowed to. I just know I used to—” he corrects himself, wagging his tails. “ can make it and that I can control the temperature, so it can be used as regular fire or just lighting. I never got to make particularly big ones, but I know that they can manifest subconsciously. I didn’t mean to make the ones today and I didn’t know it could get that big.”

“It’s very pretty,” Minghao comments fondly, chin propped up in his hand, admiring the small flames that still linger under the stovetop.

“Thank you,” Mingyu murmurs shyly. “I probably don’t have as much control over it as I want right now.”

“Let’s practice then.”

Mingyu looks up in surprise.

“Didn’t we have potions to make today?”

“The potions can wait. I want to do this with you.”

Mingyu beams.

“Okay!”

Mingyu’s tea for today has carnations and marigolds. Good for enhancing magical powers, he tells Mingyu. Mingyu obliges happily, tails wagging as he sips on it enthusiastically. It’s strong, floral, and a little sweet, with some additional magic tingling on his tongue.

“How should we get started?” Mingyu asks excitedly, sitting politely on Minghao’s couch.

“Ah, let’s see. Just a moment.”

Minghao leaves for a minute and returns from his study with an armful of books. He places them down on the coffee table triumphantly.

Mingyu can read a few of the spines, the ones that have titles on them: Transformation of the Gumiho, Classic of Mountains and Seas, Ecological Studies of Gumihos, Gumihos: History and Culture. They have more bookmarks in them than Mingyu remembers.

“I borrowed these from Junhui some time ago. Hopefully they help.”

Minghao picks up the history and culture book and thumbs through the tabs quickly.

“I know,” Mingyu blurts out with a fond edge.

Minghao’s face reddens immediately.

“What about it?”

“I think it’s nice,” Mingyu says quietly, smile still soft on his face. Minghao doesn’t answer, instead burying his nose further into the book, even though there’s no way he can actually read it at that distance. His ears are still visible from this angle, burning red.

This might be love, Mingyu thinks briefly, tails flicking about and heart warming. This might be love.

“Okay!” Minghao says suddenly, taking a seat next to Mingyu and holding the book open to a section about foxfire, settling into the plush fur of Mingyu’s tails. He tilts his entire body so Mingyu can see what’s on the pages clear as day. “So let’s see. ‘Foxfire is one of the primary and innate skills found in gumihos…’”

Mingyu listens to him read, following along with all of the words, learning new ones he’s never heard before while also indulging in Minghao’s soothing voice. The one that always tells him he’s safe, he’s allowed, he’s wanted.

“Where should we start?” Minghao asks after he’s finished reading the section, looking at Mingyu expectantly.

“Probably with making it consciously. Or maybe controlling it? I think the fire over there is still lit.” He turns and checks. It’s small, but it’s there. Mingyu can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in him again, and he perks up at the flame growing a little with his surging emotions.

“It’s up to you.”

And that doesn’t scare him anymore.

By the time the sun is fully awake, Minghao becomes sleepy and Mingyu watches him yawn with endearment. It takes a few tries, but he manages to extinguish the flame that he’s been working on controlling for the past few hours.

“Is it nap time?” Mingyu asks, kneeling in front of the couch where Minghao has been sitting, poring over his books, clapping when Mingyu did something successfully and reassuring him when he didn’t.

Minghao is already dozing off, blinking a little blearily.

“You don’t want to practice anymore?”

“I think we should get in our nap,” Mingyu suggests fondly. He hopes in his sleepy state Minghao can’t hear the affection that seeps into Mingyu’s voice. Minghao nods sleepily, curling up to one of the pillows on the couch. 

Before slipping into unconsciousness, Minghao murmurs quietly,

“Did you know there are light motes around you when you’re happy?”

Mingyu looks around himself in surprise, finding that Minghao is right—there are little specks of sunshine around him, identical to the ones in Minghao’s garden. He swipes a hand through them, going right through. An illusion.

“They’re pretty.”

The compliment makes Mingyu feel soft, like he’s glowing from the inside. He can see more specks of light dancing around him, but he doesn’t mind. He wants Minghao to know he makes Mingyu happy.

It’s brighter than any afternoon sun, more beautiful than any light mote.

“Thank you,” Mingyu whispers.

“Goodnight,” Minghao mumbles finally, giving Mingyu a sleepy smile before dozing off. Mingyu strokes his hair.

“Goodnight.”

Mingyu watches Minghao for a few more moments, the way his hair falls into his eyes, the slightest pout on his lips. With reverence, he brushes some of Minghao’s hair aside. It doesn’t stay, but that wasn’t his intention anyway.

Finally, he shifts into his gumiho form, stretching and settling into his fox bones and muscles with a yawn. He curls up into a compact little ball, snuggling into his tails, and falls asleep in the sunbeam closest to the couch.

He dreams of carnations blooming in dearly-loved gardens, blue fire and brown eyes.

The height of spring is when some herbs begin to grow in the forest Minghao’s home resides in. He has some in his garden, but he explains to Mingyu there are certain qualities to wild ones he wants to make use of.

“The alecost I need is best picked on the day of the full moon, but I also need to prepare for this ritual tonight…” Minghao muses after breakfast, brows pinched together in thought as he goes through some tomes and his own hand-written notes.

“Let me help,” Mingyu offers eagerly, placing the last dish back into the cabinet before scurrying over to Minghao, leaning against the back of the couch and looking over his shoulder at the spellbook he has open. It’s extremely complex, esoteric runes and sigils staring back at him surrounded by words he doesn’t understand. “I want to help you with the ritual. Please?”

Minghao turns around to face Mingyu, who’s giving Minghao his best puppy dog eyes.

“Can you help me harvest the herbs while I get the spell set up?”

Mingyu pouts.

“You don’t want me to help with the ritual?”

Minghao smiles fondly and pats Mingyu on the head.

“I’ll be okay. I’m sure the herbs will be easy for you to find with your sense of smell, too.”

Mingyu is conflicted between pouting more versus preening under Minghao’s compliments, but he falls prey to the latter. No matter how much Minghao praises him (which is very often), Mingyu still can’t help but feel like he’s blooming when Minghao says something nice about him.

He weighs the options in his mind: he wants to accept Minghao’s compliment and make him proud by finding the herbs he wants, but he really doesn’t like being away from him for more than strictly necessary. It makes him anxious and antsy when he knows that Minghao is somewhere he can’t go to right away, which is something he hasn’t verbally disclosed to Minghao, but is sure he knows from how much Mingyu clings to him after they’re separated for more than a few hours at a time. He’s never complained.

“Fine,” Mingyu finally acquiesces, ears drooping. Either way, he helps Minghao, so he’ll make do. “I can harvest the herbs. I’ll be quick.”

“I know you will,” Minghao says with a smile, ruffling Mingyu’s hair again. His ears flick. “You always do such a good job.”

Minghao tears a piece of paper out of his notebook and scribbles some notes onto it, handing it to Mingyu. Mingyu observes it carefully: in Minghao’s scrawling handwriting are the visual, tactile, and olfactory descriptors of wild alecost along with a quick sketch and location. Mingyu has half a mind to run upstairs and pin it to the wall of his room.

Instead, he clutches it in his hands like it’s precious and nuzzles into the side of Minghao’s neck for a few moments; a behavior he picked up from who knows where lately. The first time it happened, it was instinctual, while Minghao was reading to Mingyu on the couch. He’d immediately flushed in embarrassment before Minghao giggled and nosed at Mingyu’s neck in response.

He does it again now, tenderly, the same way he treats Mingyu in all other aspects of their lives. Mingyu’s tails wag and he beams, slightly more ready to face the world without Minghao nearby.

“I’ll be home soon,” he promises.

“I’ll be waiting,” Minghao responds with a smile.

Alecost has a balsamic sort of scent. It’s faint to most people, but Mingyu picks up the smell quickly, nose twitching as it leads the way when he gets into the part of the forest Minghao wrote of its location. Gingerly, he leans down to the bush and picks the best looking leaves and flowers, placing them in his basket. He checks Minghao’s note again, making sure he has the right amount. He considers before picking a little more, just to make absolutely sure Minghao has enough.

The sun is setting on his way home. Despite the itch under his skin that insists he go home to Minghao as soon as possible, he hopes he can find some other herbs that he thinks Minghao would need or like. He spots a few bluebells and lights up, scurrying to pick the prettiest ones and add them to his basket, on top of all of the other seasonal plants and flowers he’s gathered. He’s sure Minghao will love these, Mingyu thinks excitedly.

Light motes dance around him as he sees Minghao’s home, jogging a little to get home just a moment or two faster. Mindful not to disrupt Minghao during his ritual, he opens the door carefully, only to be hit by the scent of overburnt sage and lemongrass, an acrid and smoky smell making him recoil and furrow his eyebrows.

He opens the door all the way, ears at attention—

“ Minghao! ”

Mingyu’s basket tumbles to the ground, alecost, daffodils, and bluebells scattering all over the floor unceremoniously, the sound of petals separating from pistils onto the wooden ground muffled by Mingyu’s racing heartbeat.

Minghao is unconscious in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by ashes and salt.

Dimly, Mingyu hopes nothing bad happens when he scatters the salt even more, nearly sprinting to get to Minghao’s side. His blood is ice cold in his veins and his breathing picks up, heart pounding and vision zeroed in on Minghao’s prone body.

With shaky arms, he picks Minghao up and presses his trembling fingers to Minghao’s neck, anxiety abating only a shred when he feels his heartbeat still there, slow but erratic. Minghao’s parted lips let out shallow, unsteady breaths. When Mingyu brushes his hair away from his eyes, there’s sweat beading on his hairline.

“Minghao. Minghao. Can you—can you hear me? Minghao?”

Mingyu pats Minghao’s cheek, hands shaking uncontrollably. Mingyu’s throat is tight, his breathing rapid, and the tears spill immediately when Minghao doesn’t give any response, hot and fast down his cheeks.

“Minghao. Hey, Minghao. Wh-what happened? Hey, what’s wrong? Come on, talk to me, please, Minghao, please—” His breath catches in his throat, a lump too heavy to choke out.

Silence. No movement. The air is heavy with the scent and appearance of smoke even while he’s trying to keep his eyes on Minghao as clearly as possible, neither of which dissipate when Mingyu waves his hand through them frantically. Illusions.

“Damn it. Damn it all. Shit.”

His head spins. What does he do? What is he supposed to do? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a single damned thing he can do. His mind races, his breaths come fast and heavy, and for all he thought he knew, he learned, all he draws are blanks. What the hell is he supposed to do? Minghao is unconscious for heaven’s sake and Mingyu can’t do a single damn thing about it, about Minghao, beautiful, sweet, lovely Minghao, being unconscious in Mingyu’s arms, not a single thing Mingyu can do for him. Useless, useless, always so damn useless.

His tears drop onto Minghao’s pallid cheeks. After everything Minghao has done for him, made him feel safe, told him he was allowed, showed him all the ways he could be himself, saved his life , and all Mingyu can do is hold him and cry and hope to something, something, somewhere that Minghao will be okay, while Mingyu is doing nothing, not a single damn thing, because he’s always so useless.

He can’t do a single thing for the man who saved his life, for the man he would do anything for—he just didn’t account for the fact that he can’t. He can’t do anything.

Mingyu presses a hand to Minghao’s forehead, which he suddenly realizes is burning up. Water. Cold water. He can do that.

Trembling but gently, Mingyu lays Minghao down on the nearest couch, which Minghao likely pushed away for the ritual.

“S-stay here, okay?” Mingyu laughs shakily at his own absurdity. He staggers to his feet, shaky legs taking him to the kitchen sink, where he wets the nearest dish towel he can get his hands on. The running water sounds like it’s a million yards away despite staring at it unblinking, eyes both focused and unfocused, trembling hands barely feeling the cold. He wrings out the excess water after running the tap for far too long, trying to get a handle on his breathing before starting to stumble his way back to Minghao.

Something catches his eye through imaginary smoke, next to where Minghao was lying when Mingyu first found him but hadn’t noticed before in his haze of panic.

Surrounded by sigils and offerings sits a protective ward, a statue carved out of crystal.

Mingyu’s throat tightens before he lets out a sob , choked directly from his heart. His entire body shakes violently with the force of his sudden onslaught of sobs and he has to fight to stand upright, even as his vision blurs harder from his tears.

A gumiho.

His heart clenches in his chest so hard it hurts. He can’t stop himself from taking a few moments to cry and cry and cry before finally collapsing to his knees next to the couch with a loud thud.

Pressing the cold, damp cloth to Minghao’s forehead, Mingyu goes through all of the ways he could have prevented this. He could have begged Minghao to stay, insisted that he help him with the ritual, he could have gotten the herbs Minghao asked for and come right back home, he could have avoided getting distracted so he got home in time to prevent whatever happened. He feels sick. All of these foolish decisions that he made because he’s always so stupid, always so useless, and now Minghao is unconscious and it’s Mingyu’s fault because he could have prevented it but he didn’t because he was stupid and useless and so stupid—

“Please be okay,” Mingyu croaks out. “Please be okay.”

Mingyu sobs into the crook of Minghao’s neck, grasping onto his robes tightly like if he lets go, Minghao will disappear for real.

“Please don’t leave me…”

If he does, then what will Mingyu do?

He’s not sure how long he waits, on his knees, by Minghao’s side, ears pressed to Minghao’s pulse and holding onto him tight, punctuated only by occasionally remembering to switch out damp towels. Every time, he stops to stare at the statue.

It’s an intricately carved thing, clear crystal quartz into the detailed shape of a gumiho, sitting on a base of green calcite.

It’s beautiful. He hates it.

The smoke in the air has yet to dissipate, maybe even intensifying with each passing minute, each passing hour that Minghao won’t wake up. The adrenaline has left his body, but the looming dread sitting in the back of his throat and pit of his stomach hasn’t. Not a moment has passed that Mingyu hasn’t blamed himself for his mistake or begged Minghao to wake up.

But what if he—?

No. No. Absolutely not. Mingyu banishes the thought every time it comes up with a frustrated shake of his head, refusing to even consider entertaining that possibility, even though the dark insistence becomes louder as minutes melt away into hours.

He presses his ears closer to Minghao’s pulse point, his face closer into his neck. His heart still beats. Slowly, but steadily now. Any moment. It has to be any moment now. Mingyu knows it, he knows it, Minghao is going to wake up any moment. He will. He will. He has to. He has to.

Heavens, please. He has to.

A groan. A soft one that immediately wakes Mingyu from his slumber, even though he’s not sure when he fell asleep. His head snaps up to look at Minghao’s face, ears alert for any additional sound.

“Minghao?” He asks quickly, shakily. Please. Please. Please.

There’s silence. Mingyu’s ears flop back down before he sees Minghao’s eyebrows pinch together as the smoke clears.

“Minghao. Minghao.”

Another groan, louder, and Minghao’s eyebrows draw closer, his eyes closing tighter. The smoke completely disperses as Mingyu lets out a sob, even though he thought he didn’t have any more tears to cry. His hands clutch tighter to Minghao’s robes like it’ll prevent him from slipping away again.

“Min…yu…” Minghao rasps out. His eyes open slowly, blearily. He reaches out for Mingyu weakly and Mingyu grabs his hand with both of his, holding it tight, having just enough clarity of mind to not squeeze it too tightly.

“I’m here,” Mingyu replies frantically, stumbling over his syllables. “I’m here.”

There’s a long, terrifying silence before Minghao smiles. A faint thing, but brighter than the sun that’s beginning to rise outside.

“Wel…come…home.”

Mingyu trembles and his tears blur his vision, but he manages to sob out a laugh, both disbelieving and relieved.

“Yeah. I’m home.”

Mingyu helps Minghao sit up on the couch when he’s not feeling so dizzy and disoriented. He waits patiently, even as he sniffles quietly. Minghao’s lips are dry and Mingyu immediately rushes to get him a glass of water, adding in a little bit of lavender honey and helping him drink, sitting by his side vigilantly.

“What are you crying for?” Minghao asks after he’s finished, voice hoarse but smile fond. He sets the cup down on the ground and brushes his shaky fingers across Mingyu’s cheeks, wiping away his tears. Mingyu holds onto his hands and resolves to never let go.

“You…you were…” The sobs build again when he remembers coming home to see Minghao collapsed on the floor, all because Mingyu wasn’t there. 

Minghao pulls Mingyu into his chest, stroking the back of his head gently as Mingyu starts to cry again, hands clenched in Minghao’s robes.

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “I’m okay.”

“I thought—I thought you might never…never wake up again. I th-thought I lost you for good. I would—I would never see you again and it’d be—it’d be all my fault. All my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Mingyu,” Minghao begins softly, full of concern. Mingyu already knows what he’s going to say next. Minghao takes his face between his hands and moves Mingyu to look at him directly. “Why would it be your fault?”

Mingyu tries to avert his eyes, but Minghao taps his face, redirecting him.

“Why would it be your fault?” Minghao repeats. His gaze is scrutinizing, but it’s never cold.

“I…I could have—I should have stayed. I should have stayed and helped you with the ritual or I should have come home sooner or I could have helped you prepare for the ritual or I just—I got distracted when I was in the woods because I wanted to make sure you had enough alecost and I also got you baneberry and geraniums and daffodils and bluebells but I—then I couldn’t get to you in time and you—you—” Mingyu chokes up. “When I came home, you…”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says softly. “That must have been hard to see.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?” Mingyu says between sniffles. “I should be the one apologizing to you. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known. There’s no reason for you to blame yourself for something you couldn’t prevent, because you just didn’t know. You shouldn’t apologize for something you had no control over.” Minghao smiles fondly. “I’m actually really happy that you took the time to do something so thoughtful for me. Thank you, Mingyu.”

Minghao nuzzles into Mingyu’s neck gently and it takes everything in Mingyu to not start sobbing again.

He always does this. Minghao always takes Mingyu apart so easily, like it’s the most simple thing in the world, unravels all of his tangled knots with gentle fingers and patient words.

“What happened?” Mingyu finally asks.

“Ah. Well…” Minghao looks away, towards the crystal gumiho statue. “I wanted to make a new protective ward. For us. Something calming. Reduce stress, clear out negative energy, that sort of thing.” He looks at Mingyu with a sincerity Mingyu didn’t know he’d ever see and brushes his cheek with his thumb. “The calcite is for self-forgiveness.”

Mingyu feels miserably choked up and breaks into sobs once again, burying his face in Minghao’s chest.

What has Mingyu done for Minghao in return? Sure, he cooks, he cleans, he helps out in the garden, but it feels like the bare minimum. He didn’t even know what to do when Minghao was unconscious. How is he supposed to show his appreciation for everything Minghao does for him, everything Minghao is to him?

“It took a lot more energy than usual because it’s a much more intensive spell than I would normally cast,” Minghao continues, smoothing the back of Mingyu’s hair down, gentle on his ears as always. “and crystals aren’t really my specialty. So I guess I misjudged how much energy I needed. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

It clicks in Mingyu’s mind. He leans his head back up to look at Minghao, who looks a little confused at the sudden movement and probably at the determination on his face.

“Then please let me be your familiar,” Mingyu begs. “If it’s more energy you need, I can do that, I—I can help.” He swallows. “Please.”

Minghao’s face drops into something pained and it makes Mingyu feel like his heart has tumbled to the ground. Before he can take it back, Minghao speaks.

“I can’t ask that of you, Mingyu,” he explains softly. “I can’t ask you to do something you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to,” Mingyu protests. “I want to more than anything. Please let me. Please…please let me do something for you.”

“I can’t. I can’t make you do something for my sake. That’s the last thing I ever want. You’re more than just a container of magic.”

Mingyu wants to crumple up into a ball and disappear.

“Do you not want me?” He chokes out, tearing up again. Minghao immediately looks alarmed and cups Mingyu’s face again, wiping away tears before they fall. His grip tightens when Mingyu tries to pull away and hide in his tails, but it’s not harsh. It never is.

“No! It’s not that, I do,” Minghao says urgently. “I do, more than anything, I do. But I can’t be selfish. You’ve gone through so much and I can’t reopen your old wounds just to have that. I won’t let you do something just to make me happy.”

“But what if it makes me happy?” Mingyu whispers, ears drooping.

Minghao’s mouth drops open, just a little. He looks visibly lost for a moment in a way Mingyu has never seen.

“Would it?”

“It would,” Mingyu insists. “I want to stay with you. I want to be with you. Wherever you are, I want to be. As long as I’m with you.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything, blinking with wide eyes. Despite the anxiety clogging up his throat, Mingyu forges on, afraid the words may never come out if not now, when he’s already spilling how he feels to Minghao.

“You make me so happy. And—and I want to be with you. Because…” He takes a deep breath and his ears flick nervously, eyes darting around, tapping his claws together. Finally, he looks up at Minghao and tells him the truest words of his life.

“Because I love you. I’m—I’m in love with you. And I hope that’s okay.”

And Minghao just…stares. Mingyu feels like his heart might leap out of his throat, but Minghao’s expression looks almost like awe, like wonder. It looks like the same way he looks at Mingyu when he thinks Mingyu isn’t looking, when it’s early in the morning and they’re not quite awake yet, when Mingyu’s ears flick or his tails wag, when Mingyu suggests what to do for the day, when he grins at Minghao after he’s done brushing his tails, when he paws at Minghao’s robes so they can take their afternoon nap side by side.

It’s the same way he looks at Minghao. It looks like—

“It is,” Minghao blurts out, pulling Minghao into his embrace. “It is okay. I love you too. I love you so much.”

Mingyu lets out a long, visceral sigh of relief, a tidal wave of emotion—love, relief, thankfulness, elation, love, love —before he begins tearing up again, into the crook of Minghao’s neck. Minghao only holds him closer.

“I love you so much,” Minghao whispers, holding Mingyu in a way he hopes Minghao will never let go.

“I love you too,” Mingyu repeats, because no words have ever come out truer or sweeter. “I love you too.”

The moment blankets them silently, the air heavy with relief and affection, light motes dancing around them, steady and bright.

Finally, Mingyu speaks, pulling back so he can look Minghao in the eyes.

“Will you let me?” Mingyu asks again. “Be your familiar?”

Minghao looks at him seriously, but fondly.

“I need to make sure you want this for real,” Minghao says, even though his voice wobbles a little, eyes a little wet. “Not because you feel obligated or like you need to repay me, but because you want it, by yourself. I want this to be you and me, not—” he scrunches his nose in distaste. “not master and servant. Companions. Us, as equals.”

“I do,” Mingyu responds with determination. “I really, really do.”

“You can change your mind at any time,” Minghao continues anxiously. “I just want you to be happy, you know that, right?” He cups Mingyu’s cheeks in gentle hands. “That’s all I want. I can’t have you doing anything just for my sake if it makes you unhappy. You’ve been through so much. I want you to be sure about this, without any pressure from me. Please don’t do anything just for my sake.”

Mingyu holds himself back from sighing dramatically, even though he is so ridiculously in love with how gently, lovingly Minghao treats him, as an individual, as someone allowed to choose on their own.

“Please believe me. I’m not going to change my mind,” Mingyu says with complete conviction. “I’m sure. More than anything I’ve ever been sure about.” He takes a moment to nuzzle into Minghao’s neck gently. “I want to stay with you and make you smile. That would make me the happiest. That’s what I want the most.”

Mingyu wants. He wants this, more than anything. He wants Minghao in all the ways he can have him, in early mornings, in peaceful afternoons, in quiet nights, in all the moments in between.

“Okay,” Minghao says finally, sounding relieved. His smile feels like day breaking through a week’s worth of rain. He is so, so beautiful. “Let’s figure this out then.”

And Minghao gives.

And Mingyu is allowed to have.

A familiar bonding ritual mostly isn’t set in stone, Minghao explains in the days leading up to their ritual. Mingyu can tell that Minghao is still worried about Mingyu’s decision, but also trusts him enough that he allows Mingyu to want. Mingyu, in return, trusts Minghao to take care of him and walk him through their process.

The only requirements are getting their magic to harmonize and manifesting their bond with a sigil on the familiar that will connect them. What they do to harmonize is up to them.

They make their decisions together: Mingyu wants to cook, Minghao wants to have tea. They’ll have a talk about being together and what that means for them, and then comes the sigil.

On the morning of their ritual day, Mingyu wakes up early, morning light barely beginning to stream into his room. He stretches leisurely and joy runs through his veins when he remembers what day it is. Today is the day. The day he feels like his whole life has been leading up to.

Before he gets out of bed, he takes a few minutes to reassess his surroundings. Everything in his room is familiar, but feels new all over again.

On his nightstand is a small dish with some jewelry in it, pieces that Minghao bought for him because he thought they’d look good on Mingyu and a few perfumes also gifted by Minghao. His bookshelf has a few books he’s been reading lately with Minghao, and his dresser and closet are both full of clothes Mingyu has selected for himself over the past few months, pieces that Minghao told Mingyu he looked ‘very handsome’ in. Mingyu puffs up with pride. There are a number of assorted flowers and plants livening up the room that Minghao potted for him, lavender for sleep, bay laurel for protection, red roses just because they were pretty. To Mingyu’s delight, the roses seem to never wilt.

And last, in the mirror, laced with vines and blooming flowers, is a new gumiho.

His reflection no longer shows the malnourished, pathetic, magic-less fox with dull fur that was carried into this room all those months ago, covered with scrapes and a scar aching on the back of his neck.

Now, the Mingyu that looks back at him glows with the light motes floating around him happily, tails well-brushed and shiny, his sleep shirt a size smaller than he’d usually like because it’s Minghao’s—Minghao, who he loves. Minghao, who loves him.

His tails wag and he grins, fangs shiny in the mirror. He feels like he’s blooming too.

Today is going to be a wonderful day.

He chooses to start his day by cleaning around the house a little, just to make sure the space is clear enough for their ritual and getting rid of some stagnant energies. He sweeps and wipes gently, taking care to get every nook and cranny. His ears flutter at Minghao’s phantom head pats and praises that replay in his head. You always do such a good job.

The sun has just fully risen by the time Mingyu hears Minghao’s footsteps pad gently down the stairs.

“Mingyu?”

Brimming with sudden elation from hearing Minghao’s voice, Mingyu manages to smack his head on the underside of the couch where he’s cleaning underneath. He lets out a weak yelp, feeling a strange feeling of deja vu between the sudden pain.

“Oh, heavens—”

Minghao kneels next to Mingyu, pressing a gentle hand to where Mingyu hit his head, an immediate soothing feeling washing over him. Not just over the injured spot, but a feeling of warmth spreading all over his body.

Mingyu looks up at Minghao with an embarrassed smile.

“Good morning,” he says, pulling Minghao to sit down with him on the ground and nuzzling into his neck. “Thank you.”

Minghao noses him back, breaking away with a blinding smile.

“Good morning.”

“Should we finish cleaning or have breakfast first?” Mingyu muses, rubbing his cheek on Minghao’s. “I wanted to finish cleaning and making breakfast for us before you woke up, but you’re earlier than expected.”

“What, you didn’t want to see me?” Minghao pouts.

“No!” Mingyu refutes, immediately tugging Minghao back in. “I want to see you all the time. I just wanted to have everything in order for you first.”

“Which do you think?”

Mingyu considers for a moment, ears flicking in thought.

“I’ll finish cleaning later,” he decides, looking at Minghao again. “I can’t let you go hungry.”

Minghao pinches Mingyu’s nose playfully and Mingyu yips in surprise.

“Let’s do it then.”

Mingyu insists that Minghao sit at the table while he cooks, telling him it’s a surprise. Minghao raises his hands in surrender and takes a seat, propping up his tilted head in one hand. Mingyu can feel his eyes on his back as he simmers his pre-cooked rice slowly and pulls out some chicken they got the other day and wags his tails a little more on purpose.

When he turns around, congee and a spoon each in two bowls, Minghao is still looking at him, fondness dripping from his face. The lights around Mingyu flutter.

“Hi,” Mingyu says, setting down their bowls and sitting down across from Minghao. He opted for more chicken for himself, but a bigger serving for Minghao overall.

“Hello,” Minghao says softly, before looking down at his bowl.

“Oh,” he breathes out.

Minghao seems to have gotten the message, staring down at his porridge. It looks just the same as Minghao’s did all those months ago. Tears are brimming in his eyes when he looks back up at Mingyu, who immediately starts to panic before Minghao laughs and wipes his eyes with his robes.

“You’re so…heavens. I love you.”

Mingyu glows.

They go over their plan for their day, one more time, as Mingyu’s tails wag so hard he worries he might fall out of his chair. Today, more than any other day, is about connection and togetherness. The first step of the rest of their lives, tied together irrevocably by both magic and love.

“Tea, cleaning, nap, talk, sigil,” Mingyu recites obediently. Minghao beams and Mingyu mirrors it right back.

They share the same tea today instead of both of them having individual custom blends. Minghao takes extra care in making it as Mingyu watches with adoration and sets it down on the table. Cinnamon apple, rosebuds, and bay leaves. It’s a little sweet, a little tart, and Mingyu can tell Minghao infused it with more magic than usual today. It’s warm, but that might just be the way Minghao is looking at him.

The rest of the house gets cleaned together, the smell of sage burning in the background, with Minghao singing to himself and Mingyu humming along. Mingyu chooses to “coincidentally” move to clean the same area as Minghao, bumping hips before breaking into giggles and rubbing their noses together before resuming their actual work.

The last thing Minghao does, while Mingyu finds a good sunbeam to rest in, is put out offerings for their protective ward where it gleams in the sun, resting elegantly on a small, intricately carved table. Candles, moon water, with basil and carnation to burn later.

“Only when the ritual is done,” Mingyu insists. He can’t let a repeat of last time happen, knots twisting inside of him at the mere memory. Not if he can help it.

“Of course,” Minghao agrees amicably, smoothing down Mingyu’s hair between his ears. “Promise.”

When he’s done, Minghao lays on the couch, shuffling to get comfortable before holding his arms open. Excitedly, Mingyu shifts into his gumiho form, stretching quickly to get used to the different bones and muscles, and clambers his way up onto the couch as well. Unfortunately, he’s now too big and heavy for Minghao to take all of his weight, but he makes peace with it because Minghao has told him with complete fondness that he’s glad Mingyu is healthy and well-fed now. Instead, he curls up by Minghao’s side, head and paws resting on his chest, Minghao’s long fingers brushing gently through Mingyu’s soft fur, pulling him as close as possible. When his ears tickle Minghao’s chin, Minghao giggles softly.

The sun blankets them gently. Love and sleep fall over Mingyu gently as he drifts off, safe and warm in Minghao’s embrace.

Mingyu wakes slowly, feeling both re-energized and like he’s swimming in warm honey. When he looks up at Minghao, Minghao is already looking at him. Minghao is beautiful from this angle, too.

“Hello,” Minghao whispers.

“Hello,” Mingyu echoes, a little flustered under Minghao’s warm gaze, tails waving a bit.

“Good nap?”

“The best,” Mingyu sighs, nuzzling up into Minghao’s neck. Minghao hums contentedly and pulls Mingyu closer to him, rubbing his cheek between Mingyu’s ears.

They spend a few long, syrupy minutes in silence before Minghao speaks again, cradling Mingyu’s face in his hands, thumbs brushing his fur in soothing motions.

“Are you ready?”

Mingyu nuzzles Minghao’s neck again because he just can’t seem to help himself, ears flicking happily.

“Yes!”

After they manage to get off the couch together, they spend a few minutes outlining a decently-sized salt circle using salt infused with hollyhock and gentian and sit in the circle facing each other, holding hands, knees touching. Raspberry leaf candles, lit with foxfire, burn around them.

“What is it that you want most?” Minghao asks seriously, even though there’s no way he doesn’t know the answer by now. “From this. From us.”

“I want to stay with you,” Mingyu says bluntly, because it’s the absolute truth. It really is that simple, but he continues anyway. “I want you in magic and in life, in any way you’ll have me. I want to be your familiar, I want to help you with your magic, I want to spend my life with you.” He grips Minghao’s hands tightly. “I want you to know I’m in love with you. That I love you more than anything. I really, really do.”

Minghao is tearing up and Mingyu noses at his neck gently, ears brushing Minghao’s cheek, making him giggle wetly.

“I want you too. I want you to know you belong and that you’re loved.” He sniffles. “By me. I love you so much.” Minghao takes a shuddery breath and smiles at Mingyu softly. “I’m so glad you stayed.”

“There was nowhere else for me to go. Even if there was, I would have wanted to stay here. With you.”

Minghao wipes at his tears with his sleeve, even though Mingyu doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

“More than anyone. More than I thought I ever could.” Mingyu rubs his head under Minghao’s chin once more for good measure before finally asking, “Will you let me be yours?”

Minghao’s eyebrows crease for just a moment before he smiles.

“If you’ll let me be yours, too.”

Wanting, giving, having.

It doesn’t scare Mingyu anymore.

“Yes, please.”

Minghao noses at Mingyu’s neck so, so fondly that Mingyu feels like he might melt into a puddle right then and there. Dazedly, he kind of hopes if he does, Minghao will too so they can melt into each other and never be separated.

He realizes it then, the connection that they have. It’s nothing explosive, it doesn’t crackle like fire or strike the earth like lightning. It’s warmth, tenderness, mutually afforded trust, taking and giving and loving. It’s held tight between their hands and settles deep into Mingyu’s bones, a feeling of home that lives under his skin, tree roots that have grown deep inside of him, glowing moss clinging to all of his organs.

Home, who sits in front of him now, and Mingyu can see the depths of his devotion and understanding reflected in his dark brown eyes. Minghao gets it too. He always does.

“Can I kiss you?” Minghao asks gently. Mingyu lights up and his tails thump against the ground loudly. It’s noisy, he knows, but he also knows Minghao doesn’t mind, especially when Minghao smiles at the sound.

“Please.”

While Mingyu would very much like to say that their first kiss was perfect, like puzzle pieces falling into place, it really wasn’t. Both of them turn the same direction so their noses bump into each other, Mingyu leans in a little too eagerly and almost knocks Minghao backwards, but before Mingyu can apologize, Minghao is laughing, hands on Mingyu’s shoulders to steady them both. It’s a joyful, twinkling thing, like stars in the night sky or sparks from a particularly flashy spell. Mingyu laughs too, because when Minghao is happy, he is too.

“Okay,” Minghao says breathlessly, giggles dying down. He puts a hand on Mingyu’s cheek and gently nudges it to one side. “Let’s try this again.”

Mingyu nods eagerly and intertwines his fingers with Minghao’s free hand.

They manage to get the angle right this time, and Minghao’s lips are soft, warm, and curved into a smile. Through his closed eyes, Mingyu can see how bright the light motes he’s manifesting are glowing, but he’s certain it’s no match for how he feels inside.

His tails are thumping against the ground rapidly and he worries in the back of his mind that he may be messing up the salt circle, but he doesn’t care enough when his lips are pressed against Minghao’s and he feels more warm and loved and whole than he’s ever felt before in his life.

The roots of Minghao’s care and affection have been growing and taking firm hold deep inside of Mingyu for a long time, he realizes. The boundaries he allowed Mingyu to have, refusing to have to give Mingyu permission for things because Mingyu was simply permitted, the choices he was encouraged to make, the companionship and not servitude he eased Mingyu into feeling.

He is no longer the gumiho that served a witch who didn’t care about him, who wasn’t allowed to use magic or rest until she decided he was allowed to, a creature that was subject to all of her demands and taking on senseless punishments. A servant tied to her by a collar and chain since the first day he remembers, never allowed to want, never allowed to have, never allowed to be.

He is Mingyu, who is loved and doted on, appreciated and celebrated, the recipient of Minghao’s neverending love and care. He is Minghao’s because he wants to be, tethered by a bond he’s wanted more than anything else in the world.

Minghao, who pulls away and laughs gently at Mingyu’s soft whine.

“We’ll get to do that a lot more if you want. Promise.”

If Mingyu wants, because he’s always been allowed.

He nods so eagerly his ears might fall off his head and his tails brush stray grains of salt, reminding him where they are. Quickly, he turns around to check if the circle is intact—thankfully, it is.

“I made it big enough to accommodate you,” Minghao reassures. Mingyu melts.

“Can we now?” Mingyu asks excitedly. “Do the ritual?”

“Of course,” Minghao responds, a bright smile blooming on his face. He squeezes Mingyu’s hands tight. “I think we’ve both waited a long time for this. At least, I wanted this for a long time. I didn’t want to hope for something you didn’t want.”

“But I do,” Mingyu insists, nosing at Minghao’s neck. “I’ve wanted it so bad, for so long. Come on.”

Minghao laughs, returning the gesture. When he quiets, he plays with Mingyu’s hands for a moment before meeting his eyes.

“Where would you like it?”

Mingyu has thought about this a lot, and there was really only ever one conclusion:

“My left hand. I want to be able to see it, always.”

Minghao gives Mingyu this devastatingly loving gaze. And just because he can, he leans in to kiss Minghao on the cheek. He pulls back with a proud grin that widens more when Minghao’s reddened ears are illuminated by the light illusions around them.

“Can I put it on your palm?” Minghao asks, sounding very much like he has an idea. Whatever it is, Mingyu trusts him. He nods.

Gently, as he always is with Mingyu, Minghao flips over Mingyu’s hand so his palm is facing upwards and a strong magical current flows through the air.

Mingyu was very young when he received his first familiar sigil, but old enough to remember a searing, tearing pain burning at the back of his neck.

The mark that Minghao gently traces on his palm now doesn’t hurt at all. Not in the slightest. With every curve, every line, Mingyu feels like he’s changing, and he’s not scared. It sends shivers down his spine and honestly, it tickles a little. Mingyu giggles reflexively and tries not to squirm, and Minghao smiles.

When Minghao is done, he presents Mingyu’s hand to him.

“Do you like it?”

The sigil on his hand is a few shades lighter than Minghao’s magic, although when he traces the looping curves, it glows the same color. Every light brush sends new magic tingling through Mingyu’s veins. It’s beautiful. Inscribed in a perfectly neat circle is a series of fascinating curves and lines Mingyu can’t read and has never seen before, even though he’s seen Minghao poring over tomes and tomes of runes and sigils.

“You made this for me?” Mingyu asks, choked up.

“I did. I wanted it to be something unique to you. To us.”

And that’s what breaks open the floodgates for real.

This ritual is against everything he’s ever known, but made of everything he has now. There is no pain, there is no ache, there is no hiding of what it looks like. The sigil that’s imprinted onto him now is something he’s wanted for so long, something beautiful, something custom made with love. It makes him feel warm, it makes him feel loved.

His ears are pressed flat to his head as he sobs into the crook of Minghao’s neck, rubbing his nose into it like they’ll become inseparable that way. They already are, he thinks. Minghao lets him cry, rubbing soothing motions onto his back and running his hand down the back of Mingyu’s head.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he chokes out. “It doesn’t hurt at all.”

“I’ll never do anything to hurt you,” Minghao murmurs into Mingyu’s hair, voice sounding just a little wavery too.

It’s true. Mingyu knows it.

For a little while, the only sound in the room is Mingyu’s crying, which fills the space completely, but he doesn’t need to hide it anymore. You’re allowed to feel.

When Mingyu’s breathing evens out, they break apart and Minghao takes Mingyu’s hand again.

“Do you feel it?” Minghao whispers, holding Mingyu’s hand tight, pressing his fingers into his new sigil. It invokes a rush of magic Mingyu has never felt in his entire life, faint but undeniably present, the draw to flora and the sense of plant magic thrumming underneath his skin. The smell of magic irrigation floods the living room. He’s not sure if it’s from him or Minghao.

“I do,” Mingyu breathes out.

“I’d like to try something.”

Mingyu tilts his head at Minghao curiously.

“Can you share some of your magic with me?”

Mingyu nods quickly, placing his new sigil on Minghao’s wrist. Without warning, his magic crashes through his veins in waves, its unexpected intensity nearly toppling him over. It never, never felt like that with his old witch.

Suddenly, a number of flowers begin to bloom around them out of nowhere, a sizable field of types that Mingyu has never seen before, even in Minghao’s garden. That one definitely wasn’t him.

Minghao is smiling widely when Mingyu looks at him in surprise.

“The strength of the connection between familiar and witch directly influences the amount of magic they can share,” Minghao explains. It clicks in the back of his head now, why his old witch couldn’t use as much of his magic as she wanted to, why she would get so frustrated that he was so weak. It was never his fault, he realizes. “And we can enhance that bond even more. Would you like to give me a sigil, too?”

Mingyu looks at him with wide eyes, completely bowled over at the request.

“Is that possible?”

“Of course it is. You having my mark means you can share your magic with me, so I can use some of yours to both assist in mine and enhance it. Since we’re bonded, you can still feel my magic, but you can’t use it,” Minghao elaborates. “If I have your sigil, you can use mine the same way, and it’ll strengthen our magical bond overall.”

Mingyu can feel tears welling up in his eyes, a sudden flood of emotions taking him over again. Shock, gratitude, love.

“You would want to be tied to me like that?” He chokes out.

Minghao’s face softens and he cups Mingyu’s cheek with his free hand.

“I’m yours as much as you are mine, remember?”

Mingyu nods rapidly and wipes away some of his tears with his sleeve, chuckling weakly when Minghao coos at him and wipes the rest away with his own.

“W-what should I do?” He asks nervously. Minghao smiles and kisses him on the nose, making Mingyu giggle shyly. “I’m…not that experienced with runes.”

“Focus on your magic and try to gather and condense as much of it into you as possible and imbue it into the sigil you choose, like it’s all directed into it. Because the bond between us is so strong, it probably doesn’t need to invoke any existing ones,” Minghao muses. He smiles at Mingyu. “So it’s anything you want. I’ll love whatever you do.”

“Okay,” Mingyu breathes out, centering himself, feeling his heart fluttering at the idea they’re bound so tightly, they push the realm of known magic altogether. “Let me…let me think.”

Minghao nods in understanding, flipping his hand over in Mingyu’s, showing the palm of his right hand.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?” Mingyu asks, surprised.

“If we can connect our sigils, it’ll make our shared magic even more powerful. I want mine to be in the same place as yours. We’re equals.”

Minghao is smiling at him so fondly Mingyu feels like he might explode with how much love he’s trying to contain for the man in front of him. He tries not to, and instead concentrates on the marking Minghao is trusting him to engrave onto him, permanently.

Mingyu takes a deep, grounding breath, closing his eyes to concentrate. He loves Minghao. He’ll trust his instincts on this one.

He focuses as hard as he can on his magic like Minghao directed him, everything he’s capable of, every passive feeling of magic that flows through him at all times. He visualizes rabbits, swallows, the smell of cinnamon, and light motes. He thinks about how happy Minghao was when Mingyu finally used his illusion magic for the first time, how he was even happier when Mingyu’s foxfire manifested again, his appreciation when he conjured swallows during the winter. How Minghao and even all of their friends take joy in Mingyu’s magic, something he got to use as a part of himself for the first time.

He opens his eyes and begins tracing a circle onto Minghao’s palm with all of the magic concentrated into his touch, foxfire-blue curves lighting up Minghao’s skin.

As he lovingly etches the symbols into the soft skin of Minghao’s palm, he can’t help but think of everything else, too. Warm stew, lavender pancakes, custom blends of tea, dirt between his fingers, brand new clothes, Minghao’s smile.

After a few moments, he realizes he’s smiling absently. It happens a lot when he’s around Minghao.

“There,” he whispers, as if speaking too loudly will break the moment. His magic disperses, circulating in his body steadily again. He can’t help but admire it: it’s a little messy. The circle isn’t perfect and some of the lines are a little shaky, but Minghao is looking at it with great reverence.

“It’s beautiful,” Minghao murmurs in awe. A soft smile spreads like honey on his face and he looks up at Mingyu. “It feels like your happiness is carved in here too.”

“It is,” Mingyu replies delicately, nosing Minghao’s neck and leaving a kiss on his jaw. “It’s how much I love you.”

Minghao’s inhale is sharp and he leans in to kiss Mingyu suddenly, catching him by surprise but no less appreciative.

Minghao was right. It feels like the bond between them is somehow even stronger, like they’ve melded into one heart, one soul, permanently inseparable. It makes Mingyu smile.

When they break apart, Minghao is smiling like he gets it too. Mingyu knows he does.

Wordlessly, Minghao puts their palms together, sigil to sigil, and Mingyu gasps at the sudden rush of magic that floods his veins, fills his entire body with an amount of magic he didn’t know he could possibly contain.

It feels like a new life coursing through his veins, Minghao’s unique purple magic flowing loudly through every nerve ending. It’s a thousand times more intense than when he first felt Minghao’s magic. He feels as though herbs and sprawling vines could grow underneath his skin, flowers blossoming colorful and vibrant near the roots Minghao has taken in his heart. The urge to communicate with flora tingles at his fingertips to the last strands of fur on his tails.

He feels like he’s born anew.

Without warning, the entire living room blooms with plants like an explosion, covering every centimeter of the floor they sit on, vines crawling on walls to impossible heights, even small trees with the perfect harvest of cinnamon, bay laurel, and allspice. To his awe, when Mingyu runs his free hand across the greenery around him, he can actually feel it, not just a visual illusion. He casts his gaze around them, surrounded by rosemary, clover, lavender, sage, thyme, every plant he’s ever seen in his life and then some, leaving not a single spot of wood or salt on the ground. Flowers of every color bloom with an unbelievably gorgeous vibrancy, bright red roses, lively yellow daffodils, variegated zinnias. The thick smell of herbs almost overwhelms Mingyu, and he’s suddenly caught off guard by croaking and twittering.

When Mingyu finally looks back at Minghao, Minghao is looking at him too, mouth dropped open. A delighted laugh bubbles out of him, his smile brighter than Mingyu has ever seen.

Despite the garden they’ve created together, Mingyu still thinks Minghao is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Minghao enthuses, hand still holding tightly to Mingyu’s, still scanning the room in awe. When he looks at Mingyu again, his giddy smile almost blinds him. He grabs Mingyu’s other hand. “This is what we’re capable of. Together.”

“Together,” Mingyu repeats, grinning. “Yeah. We are.”

How wonderful that word is.

By the time the majority of the garden they grew together has vanished, time spent simply soaking in the moment, their presences, the moon has begun rising. Mingyu is a little disappointed as the flowers around them fade away, but Minghao reassures them they can do it anytime.

“I’d like to finish the ward now,” Minghao says, breaking the silence. Mingyu is still a little anxious and wary, but he nods anyway. He can protect Minghao now, he asserts to himself proudly.

To his joy, Minghao doesn’t let go of Mingyu’s hand, even as they step outside the circle and make the very short trek to the ward, kneeling side by side. Moonlight refracts off of it, making it appear almost ethereal.

“Could you light the candles, please?”

Mingyu nods and the candles surrounding the ward quickly flicker with blue fire. He remembers to extinguish the earlier ones, doing so without much thought. He’s rewarded by a loving pat on the head, making him beam.

Carefully, Minghao pours the moon water on the statue, trickling slowly down every precise curve mesmerizingly. Minghao uses a candle to burn the basil and carnation, Mingyu adjusting the temperature just so.

As the smell of burning plants begins to fill the air, Minghao closes his eyes and breathes. Mingyu grips his hand tightly, focusing on flowing his magical energy to Minghao as he meditates in perfect silence, like they’re sitting inside a bubble with just the two of them. It feels like it’s vibrating in the air and almost sends shivers down Mingyu’s spine, unsure how to handle this new type of magic coursing through him. Regardless, he maintains the steady flow of energy he’s sharing with Minghao, making sure he always has enough to draw on as he focuses on the ward.

After a few minutes, Minghao speaks.

“Please protect this forest and all of the living things in it. Please protect this home and everyone who enters.” He squeezes Mingyu’s hand. “Please protect me and the person I love most.”

He breathes on the statue and magic ripples in the air and a feeling of calm falls over the living room, the space suddenly feeling warmer and clearer. Mingyu holds back tears.

When Minghao leans back with a sigh, Mingyu immediately turns to him and pats his free hand on his forehead, cheek, chest, throat until Minghao laughs.

“Are you okay? Are you feeling weak anywhere?” He frets.

Minghao takes Mingyu’s frantic hand and holds it tight, turning to face him. He smiles at Mingyu.

“I’m doing wonderfully. We did great.”

“Okay,” Mingyu breathes out, pressing his forehead to Minghao’s. He leans in briefly to kiss Minghao gently. “Thank heavens.”

“Thank you for helping. I couldn’t have possibly made a ward this strong without you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Mingyu murmurs honestly, nosing at Minghao’s neck.

“I’d do anything for you too,” Minghao says, nuzzling him back.

Mingyu basks in the moment for a second. Peaceful silence, warmth, affection, love. Things he never knew really existed. Things he can’t imagine living without now, because Minghao offered it to him with gentle words and open arms. Being with Minghao, who he can’t imagine living without.

“Why did you rescue me that day?” Mingyu asks finally, feeling like now might be the time.

Minghao releases Mingyu’s hand, looking down at his palm, and lightly taps his fingers against his new sigil, pulsating purple with his magic with every touch, sending pleasant shivers down Mingyu’s spine. Small flowers blossom around them with every tap. He shrugs casually and looks up at Mingyu.

“I just felt a pull. Did you?”

Mingyu doesn’t like thinking back to back then, but he recollects the memory on purpose in its entirety for the first time since then.

The first thing he remembers is hunger: painful, all-consuming, judgment-clouding hunger he was certain would kill him. It came with a terrible fear, desperation that took over every fiber of his body.

But with that hunger came instinct of a different kind. It makes sense when he thinks about it that way. That it wasn’t just physical instinct, starvation and desperation, but maybe it really was something deeper, even if he can’t put it into words. An draw. A tug. A pull.

He smiles.

“I did.”

Summer bleeds into autumn, crunching leaves falling off of trees and illusory swallows twittering happily with the greenhouse frogs when they get lonely, a bright song that plays during afternoon chores.

Mingyu, personally, doesn’t ever feel lonely anymore.

“How does this look on me?” Mingyu asks, striking a few dramatic poses in the fleece-lined leather jacket he’s pulled off the rack.

Minghao claps politely, an approving smile on his face.

“It suits you perfectly. You look very cool,” Minghao praises, ruffling Mingyu’s hair between his ears. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch with a proud smile, ears twitching. “Everyone is gonna love it.”

Mingyu shrugs it off and places it into his basket, rearranging some of the articles of clothing to make room for the new jacket.

“You’re sure it’s okay to buy this many clothes?”

“Of course I am. You’ve been seeing how well our potions and charms have been selling, right? I couldn’t have done it without you.” Minghao rubs his nose against Mingyu’s, making him giggle. “And you’re so stylish. It’d be a shame to stop you from looking so handsome.”

Mingyu flushes and his ears flick.

“I didn’t know a bond could make someone’s magic that much more potent,” Mingyu muses, largely to himself.

“Not just any bond,” Minghao corrects. “Our bond.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu agrees excitedly. “Our bond.”

Light motes brighten around them.

It takes them more than a few minutes to check out, but the clerk thanks them happily for their continued patronage, eyes crinkled happily behind their round glasses.

Minghao holds the door open for Mingyu on the way out, who thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Wow, it’s about to get dark out already,” he comments, staring directly into the sun and regretting it immediately.

“Aiyah,” Minghao scolds affectionately from behind him. “Just because it’s about to get dark doesn’t mean you can just look right at the sun like that. Are you alright?”

Mingyu blinks away the spots in his vision, opening his eyes to a smiling Minghao.

“I’m okay,” he reassures, still blinking, even though he’s trying really hard to stop. Minghao looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “Let’s go home.”

Over the months, they’ve collected more than a few sets of handcrafted matching jewelry, Minghao picking up every piece from the jewelry dish they made together and inspecting it on Mingyu.

He presses a silver necklace to Mingyu’s collarbones and lets out a thoughtful hum. He holds it out for Mingyu to see.

“How does this look? Is it ‘Jeonghan’s autumn solstice party-worthy’?”

Mingyu considers it for a moment. It’s a silver chain with a small pendant of amber that’s shaped a little like a heart. Minghao has his own dangling from his wrist. In each is a small leaf they picked for each other during a walk a few weeks ago. Minghao suggested encasing them in amber, and Mingyu suggested they get them made into matching necklaces. He got a very loving kiss for that.

“I think it’s perfect,” Mingyu confirms with a nod. Minghao nods back and steps behind Mingyu to connect the clasp in the back. His long fingers brush against the back of his neck, carefully avoiding his scar.

“I can’t believe it’s already been a year,” Mingyu murmurs absently, just a hint of sadness under his voice. He can’t believe that he wasn’t always living like this, surrounded by warmth and love day in and day out.

The scar hasn’t gone away. It never will. But a part of Mingyu doesn’t think he’d mind if Minghao touched it, because Minghao has never touched him with anything less than care, never with the intent to harm. It hasn’t hurt in a very long time.

Mingyu still struggles. Not every day is perfect, because the echoes of his past still linger in his head, even though the searing pain is but a distant, haunting memory. Some days, he still worries he isn’t enough. He’s not doing enough, he’s not doing a good job, or he’s taking too much.

He’s not sure if it’ll ever stop completely, but that might be okay, because Minghao is still there. Minghao, who is understanding. Minghao, who is patient. He’ll never hesitate to reassure Mingyu that he is enough, he always has been and he always will be, he’s so wonderful and amazing and does so well, and he can have anything he wants.

“How do you feel about it?” Minghao asks softly, stepping back around to look at Mingyu.

“Thankful,” Mingyu says after a moment of deliberation. He noses Minghao’s neck gently. “Loved. Life isn’t scary anymore.”

“Good,” Minghao whispers, nuzzling Mingyu back. “You should always feel loved and never scared.”

“...I can’t believe I got here so fast.”

It’s a weird insecurity of his, that if it only took a few months to shake off most of a lifetime’s worth of agony and develop the personhood stolen from him before he could become his own, did it ever really mean that much in the first place? Did he ever really suffer? The scar lingers, but did it ever hurt that much at all if it doesn’t hurt anymore?

Minghao, of course, disagrees.

“I think you were built to love. To trust. That was taken advantage of and you didn’t deserve a moment of the abuse, but I think that love and trust is part of who you are. And I love that about you a lot.” Minghao kisses Mingyu's jaw. “You were like a flower that was just waiting to bloom. Now here you are. The most beautiful flower in the world.”

Minghao nuzzles Mingyu's neck before moving back, making Mingyu whine a little, grabbing Minghao by the shirt. He giggles.

“Just putting on my necklace.”

Mingyu touches his own reflexively. The clasp is sitting on his scar, but the necklace isn’t tight around his neck. It’s light and sits below his collarbones gently, and he can take it off whenever he wants. It’s not a collar. He has no chain.

Minghao pulls Mingyu to his side and observes them in the mirror. Their matching necklaces glimmer with the setting sun.

Mingyu looks at Minghao in the mirror, beaming proudly at the outfits they’ve put together with each other’s help.

There he is.

His witch. His companion. His partner in life. His sun.

Mingyu wants. He has. He gives. He loves, and he is loved.

He is wanted, and he belongs.

Minghao takes Mingyu’s hand in his, sigil-to-sigil.

“Are you ready to go?” Minghao asks, looking at him with a soft smile, squeezing his hand.

Mingyu’s ears perk up. Magic flows between them and flowers bloom at his feet.

“Yeah!”