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Choi Hyeonjun hadn’t even realized he’d gained a tail until Sanghyeok pointed it out.
He was used to five, alright? Honestly, he’d been stuck at five for a good few decades now, and had almost thought that maybe five was all he’d ever get.
Which would be fine.
Contrary to popular belief, nine tails aren’t necessary for a gumiho. Most do very well for themselves with three or four—of course, Hyeonjun can’t help but be a little more ambitious, considering Sanghyeok has nine.
Hyeonjun had almost started to believe that nine-tailed gumiho were just a myth, that foxes these days capped out at something like seven. Then he ran into Sanghyeok, counted one, two… five… eight… yep, that’s nine right there.
Sanghyeok doesn’t really act how Hyeonjun had envisioned a full-fledged nine-tailed fox, but he’s a lovely friend all the same, and Hyeonjun appreciates the company in his quiet glade, his little cottage, tucked soundly away in the heart of the forest.
Quiet as it might be, Hyeonjun truly loves his home. Five tails means he has more than enough magic to keep himself well protected, and his hidden corner of the forest is thriving.
It was still a bit surprising when Sanghyeok showed up with the sunrise one morning, and started talking about mates.
“Well, you have six tails now,” Sanghyeok points out, casual as ever, nodding all placid and unconcerned as he leans up against the doorway. Hyeonjun cranes his neck to peer over his shoulder, blinking blearily at the fluffy mass of tails behind him.
“Four, five… oh? Six.”
“Six isn’t a bad number,” Sanghyeok muses. “Nice and even. Not as good as nine.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Sanghyeok smiles at him, pats his head sweetly as he wanders past, and Hyeonjun drags himself up off the soft cushions of his couch to make them some coffee. Seriously, Sanghyeok wakes up way too early, and he seems to only ever want to read in Hyeonjun’s living room.
Hyeonjun knows Sanghyeok has a couch of his own. He’s not sure what’s wrong with it, considering it’s never in use, but he supposes he should take these morning visits from Sanghyeok as a compliment—his house must not be a complete mess, if Sanghyeok’s willing to visit him this often.
At six in the morning.
When he’s consumed enough caffeine to make his foxfire spark irritably around his head, fluffy fox ears twitching with every little pop of magic, Sanghyeok finally speaks again.
“Well, be on the lookout.”
Hyeonjun reluctantly settles his coffee back onto the table, peering mournfully at the near-empty cup. “Lookout? For what?”
“Six tails,” Sanghyeok says wisely, book clicking closed as he rests his chin on one elegant hand, foxfire a scarlet gleam at his fingertips. “Hyeonjun-ah, that’s quite a lot of magic.”
“Hyung, you have nine,” Hyeonjun points out, glancing at the nine massive tails sprawled out over the couch.
Sanghyeok presses his lips together thoughtfully, nodding slowly, as if Hyeonjun’s said anything remotely remarkable. “I have more, yes. But I’ve had them for ages. I know how to hide it.”
“Hide it?” Hyeonjun asks, bewildered. “Why would I have to hide it? No one ever walks in these parts of the woods.”
“Yet,” Sanghyeok remarks.
Hyeonjun blinks hard, squints his eyes so firmly shut that his vision blurs when he reopens them, and Sanghyeok’s mouth twitches in a slight smile at his obvious confusion.
At this point, Hyeonjun’s worried he might really still be asleep. Sanghyeok’s somehow acting even more cryptic than usual. “Be careful, that’s all. All sorts of creatures are drawn to magic like yours.”
“Magic like—huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“For one, you’re practically broadcasting to the entire forest that you’re looking for a mate,” Sanghyeok says airily, offering Hyeonjun a dismissive shrug. “Which is fine, of course. Good luck in your search.”
“I—”
Hyeonjun pauses. He has no idea what Sanghyeok could possibly mean about broadcasting, but he’s not completely opposed to the whole idea of a mate. He’s been out and about for nearly two hundred years at this point, and only recently settled into this specific section of the forest.
He hadn’t planned to stay long either, was thinking of a temporary den, a warm nest for the winter, and then the brownies trotted in one night looking for chores.
Hyeonjun had no chores for them because he had no house, and the little spirits bobbed in anxious circles around him until he finally agreed to move in.
It only took the brownies a month or two to build him a cottage, and he could have sworn he only requested one bedroom—naturally, he ended up with two. Fortunately, they hadn’t charged him any extra, just chirped happily as he handed them their gold, waving as they toddled away to the deeper woods.
Maybe that’s a sign.
Maybe it’s time to settle down with someone else, too.
He’d feel a bit bad kicking Sanghyeok out of the spare room is all, but the older fox has a perfectly nice home of his own, even if it’s rarely in use.
“I’ll leave you to it.” Sanghyeok nods, head bobbing steadily as Hyeonjun sits in the silence for a beat too long.
“Ok, hyung,” Hyeonjun responds distractedly, tails swaying behind him as he walks Sanghyeok to the door. “See you around?”
Sanghyeok lifts his hand in acknowledgement as he strolls towards the deeper woods, shifting into fox form as he goes, and his tails fan out around him as he leaps into the bushes.
Hyeonjun misses him almost immediately—he should have asked more questions. Namely, what exactly could be making its way through his woods, and how soon should he expect them?
It’s nearly a full week before Hyeonjun finally has a visitor, and he had almost forgotten about Sanghyeok’s strange warnings.
He’s just finishing up dinner when the knock sounds at his door, and he scrambles to answer it.
Dessert could wait. Only for a minute, though. The pie he’d baked earlier was just about cooled down, and he was itching for something sweet.
It had taken him all morning—he had even woken up early to gather blackberries from the nearby bushes and spent over an hour flipping through worn-down cookbooks looking for the recipe, only for the page to be sitting loose on his counter next to him the entire time.
All this to say, he’s starving for some sugar.
Hopefully Sanghyeok would enjoy a bite, too.
The man at the door is decidedly not Sanghyeok.
For one, he’s missing about seven tails. Two, his ears look… strange.
Hyeonjun stares for way too long, and the man offers him a cheeky little smile, eyes squinting into little crescents. “Something on my face?”
“No,” Hyeonjun responds, eyes flicking to his tails. They’re quite sleek, at least for fox standards, and he’s only got two.
Hyeonjun figures he must be young, but he’s still strikingly beautiful.
“Oh, good. Wait. Is that pie?”
Hyeonjun watches the man’s pupils dilate as he peers over Hyeonjun’s shoulders, nose twitching, eyes blown fully black.
“Ah—would you like some? You can come in,” Hyeonjun nods, waving the man forward. What is he, if not a good host? He’s happy to have a visitor.
The stranger’s name is Jihoon, and he seems to have an insatiable appetite. If Hyeonjun isn’t careful, there won’t be any pie left for Sanghyeok.
Still, he enjoys the company, even if Jihoon is just about the weirdest fox he’s ever met.
“Lots of dead things under here,” Jihoon notes, pupils widening and narrowing as Hyeonjun stares at him.
It’s somewhat hypnotizing.
Wait, dead?
“Dead?” Hyeonjun questions, tearing his gaze from Jihoon’s strangely golden eyes and giving his head a quick shake.
Jihoon smiles, tongue poking out from between his teeth, swiping over little fangs. His ears—short, cute, vividly orange against the dark tone of his hair—twitch back and forth as Hyeonjun watches. “Yep! Dead. Want me to grab them up? I’d do it for you, Hyeonjunie hyung.”
“Maybe next time,” Hyeonjun says, somewhat queasy at the thought of nameless dead things, apparently directly under his cottage. “I’ve never met a fox like you before.”
Jihoon pauses at that, hand hovered awkwardly by his mouth, almost like he was about to start licking at his fingers. “I’m… unique, yes? And a fox, yes. Next time… mmm, yes.”
Next time… maybe not, actually. Hyeonjun might officially be too weirded out, regardless of Jihoon’s startling attractiveness.
“Yes,” he responds weakly, leaning away from Jihoon as the strange fox slides out of his seat to prowl around the kitchen, fingers poking at his mugs like he’s ready to knock them right over.
When another knock at the door rings through the house he does knock one over, and it crashes to the floor with a loud crack against the tiles.
Jihoon’s delighted grin aside, Hyeonjun would like to believe it wasn’t on purpose.
The door swings open before Hyeonjun can even leave his seat.
“Sanghyeok hyung?” Hyeonjun asks, confused.
It’s already past sunset. Why isn’t Sanghyeok asleep?
“Sanghyeok hyung?” Jihoon parrots, blinking owlishly at the other gumiho. “Oh, great.”
“It’s getting late,” Sanghyeok says smoothly, barely acknowledging Hyeonjun, and his eyes lock on Jihoon. “Maybe you should go, now.”
“I mean—it’s fine? Hyung, he’s nice.” Hyeonjun glances at Jihoon, who lets out an alarmingly loud hiss at his words, teeth flashing as he inspects Sanghyeok carefully.
“I’m very nice.”
Sanghyeok scrunches up his nose, skeptical. “You’re waking up the dead things. That’s all.”
“Dead things?” Hyeonjun’s starting to get concerned. No one's ever informed him about dead things before.
Sanghyeok nods, wordless, and Jihoon squints down at the floors like he can see right through them, searching for mysterious dead things as his fingers flex at his sides and Hyeonjun’s coffee cups rattle in their holders.
Sanghyeok pokes at them absent-mindedly, and Jihoon makes a triumphant noise, a little aha, and the coffee cups go quiet.
“Got it!” Jihoon beams at them then, light and sunny, and it feels like all the air rushes back into the room at once, Sanghyeok’s tails relaxing back to the floor at the sweet smile Jihoon offers. “Oops. Hyeonjun hyung, I really like you, kay? But we can’t be mates. Sorry.”
“Huh?”
“I know,” Jihoon nods, almost sadly, and the rough pads of his fingers are gentle on Hyeonjun’s face as he darts forward and leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Good luck, though.”
“Shoo, please,” Sanghyeok says quickly, hand waving at the little orange cat on Hyeonjun’s table, its two slender tails curving together in a heart—wait.
A cat?
The cat speaks. “Sanghyeokie hyung, if you wanted a kiss too, you should’ve said something earlier!”
“Out you go,” Sanghyeok grumbles, and the cat’s sly cackle rings through Hyeonjun’s cottage as the tiny feline leaps into the air, bobbing and spinning towards the window, twin tails curving over his paws as he sails out into the night sky.
“What. The fuck. Just happened?”
Sanghyeok sighs, adjusting his own nine tails over the chairs as he takes Jihoon’s abandoned seat and sniffs curiously at the last slices of pie. “That’s just Jihoon. He’s a yokai. He means well, I think.”
“He’s not a fox,” Hyeonjun says, wisely.
Sanghyeok raises an eyebrow, but hums in delight as he takes a nibble of the pie crust. “You couldn’t tell?”
“I didn’t think he’d be a cat? I didn’t think anyone would actually show up here, either,” Hyeonjun protests, and Sanghyeok shrugs helplessly, cheeks round and full as he practically inhales the remainder of Hyeonjun’s dessert, mumbling something that vaguely sounds like an I told you so.
Unsurprisingly, Sanghyeok was right, and Hyeonjun finds himself with new visitors practically on a daily basis.
Unfortunately, some of the birds have started chattering just a bit too loud, and it seems like a good chunk of the forest now knows his house is open, that if you stop by you might end up with a taste of magic, the coveted company of a good-natured fox.
At the very least, you’ll end up with a mouthful of whatever baked good Hyeonjun’s trying his hand at on the day.
Hyeonjun might be getting a little tired of it all, but the visitors don’t stay for long, leaving far before dusk approaches, seemingly aware that Hyeonjun just isn’t quite interested enough to keep them around. They bow politely to him as they go, murmuring their thanks as they melt back into the trees, and Hyeonjun enjoys the quiet as the sky darkens above him.
Hyeonjun’s slowly becoming a bit of a morning person—against his will, he’d like to add. He just has to get up early to let Sanghyeok in, even though he’s reasonably certain the older fox doesn’t actually need the door to be unlocked to find his way inside. Consequently, he finds he’s not too interested in staying up much past sunset.
Naturally, Dohyeon’s a bit of a problem.
“Sorry,” the vampire says, and he sounds sincere enough that Hyeonjun waves him off, jaw cracking in a yawn as he shuffles towards the kitchen to make tea, hands fumbling against the walls to flip on the lights.
Hyeonjun didn’t know vampires lived anywhere near this side of the forest, and blood aside, he’s not well versed on their other dietary habits. No garlic, he thinks, squinting at his tea selection. Garlic tea, yuck.
“I didn’t mean to come here.” Dohyeon frowns at his tea, staring so deeply into the cup that Hyeonjun worries he might’ve offended him.
Did vampires like peppermint?
Not that it really matters, since Hyeonjun doesn’t exactly have easy access to human blood at any point in the day, much less at midnight.
“I just needed a second,” Dohyeon grumbles, and Hyeonjun nods with what he hopes looks more like sympathy and less like sleep deprivation.
“I lost something my maker gave me, so I went to go look, right?” The vampire continues, unblinking eyes boring holes in Hyeonjun’s table. “And then I got lost too, and… ah, Wangho hyung’s gonna be upset.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hyeonjun offers weakly, and Dohyeon groans, gulping down the tea in one smooth motion.
“You don’t happen to have any blood, right?”
“It’s in my body, if that’s what you mean,” Hyeonjun says, but he cringes back as Dohyeon’s eyes snap to his neck. “I– but it’s all being used. I need it.”
“I guess you can keep it, then.” Dohyeon frowns again as he nudges the empty cup back towards Hyeonjun, fingers scratching anxiously over the bare skin of his wrist.
Hyeonjun is way too tired for the clearly depressed vampire at his dining room table. He wants to help, really, but he doesn’t even have anything baked to offer after Sanghyeok ate every last one of his cookies.
Fortunately, he’s saved by a knock at the door, and blearily calls out for the person to come in, before remembering all of a sudden that he’s dealing with vampires here, and maybe inviting another complete stranger into his home isn’t the smartest idea.
The stranger doesn’t actually come in, just lets the door swing open and hovers outside as Hyeonjun watches, fingers playing over some small object—some kind of bracelet—and Dohyeon bolts up from the table.
“You found it,” Dohyeon says, clearly relieved, and Hyeonjun assumes this is his maker—Wangho, he had called him.
“Found you, darling.” Wangho stretches out a hand, and Hyeonjun doesn’t miss how Dohyeon’s eyes light up when he hears the gentle call. “Time to come home, Dohyeonie.”
“Sorry, Hyeonjun.”
Hyeonjun pulls his eyes from Wangho, from the vampire standing just outside the door, pale and cold in the moonlight, so still and perfect he could have been carved from marble. “For what?”
“I can’t be your mate,” Dohyeon says, gaze downcast, and Hyeonjun hears Wangho suck in a quick breath, a quiet sort of gasp, startlingly human for such an otherworldly creature.
Hyeonjun scrambles to reply, hands waving frantically as he tries to console the forlorn vampire. “No, don’t apologize! It’s really ok. You– uh, our sleep schedules are too different. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dohyeon sighs, and Wangho takes the opportunity to slide forward, to curl his fingers loose around Dohyeon’s wrist and tug the other back towards him.
“Thank you for taking care of him,” Wangho says to Hyeonjun, eyes like an eclipse, voice sweet and distant. “Tell Sanghyeokie hyung we say hello.”
Hyeonjun is not yet awake enough to question why Sanghyeok seems to know every single creature in about a five hundred mile radius, so he just nods.
Dohyeon waves as he leaves and Hyeonjun smiles back, hand raised in farewell.
Dohyeon turns back towards the forest as he goes, but he only really looks at Wangho, and Hyeonjun feels his foxfire surge in his chest at the way they move together, familiar and easy, undead hearts in perfect sync.
Hyeonjun would like to think nothing can surprise him anymore, after having just about every magical creature this side of the world poke their heads around his home in the span of just a few months.
Still, even for magical standards, Geonwoo’s quite unique.
Quite bloody, too.
Not outwardly, but Hyeonjun can sense it, rippling under the surface, and if he were to slice against Geonwoo’s knives with his claws, pierce through the metal to the soul of the blade, he’s sure he’d be cleaning crimson out of his carpets for ages.
“They’re not actually sentient,” Geonwoo explains, spinning the blades expertly, weighing them in his palms. “They’re relics, that’s all.”
Hyeonjun lets his teeth worry gently at his lip as he stretches a finger out towards the curved weapons. The knife hisses at him. Not audibly, but the ghost of all the blood it ever tasted is clearly distrusting of Hyeonjun as it pulses through the metal. “They feel pretty alive.”
“Aw,” Geonwoo coos, smiling endearingly at his vaguely feral knives. “I think they like you!”
“I think they don’t,” Hyeonjun says feebly, and Geonwoo blinks up at him, boyish grin faint on his face.
“Seriously, this is nothing. You should meet my partner. Seonghoon hyung’s got a sword.”
“A sword,” Hyeonjun repeats, and Geonwoo leans forward conspiratorially, scarlet sparking in his eyes.
“It’s massive.”
“That’s nice,” Hyeonjun says, inching back as Geonwoo slides a finger lovingly along the flat of his blade, knives humming in his grip.
If Hyeonjun wasn’t a gumiho, he’d probably have run for the hills by now. Fortunately, Geonwoo’s bloodlust seems to be contained well enough, and while his knives sing for carnage, the boy himself seems to be very civilized. He even offers to slice up the cake Hyeonjun had baked that morning, gushing all the while that he just loves oranges.
“I guess he’s in the woods, too,” Geonwoo says abruptly, fingers pausing as he looks back up towards Hyeonjun. “Seonghoon hyung. I- I forgot about that. I don’t know how I could’ve forgotten. He said he’d scout ahead.”
Hyeonjun is handling the knives perfectly well. He’s managing it. He’ll just sit back and let Geonwoo keep carving away at his cake, heart-shaped slices appearing as he works, and pray that the somewhat sentient homicidal weapons don’t transfer the taste of blood to his dessert.
Mmm, blood… taking blood orange to a whole new level.
That being said, a sword might be pushing things. Hyeonjun would like to deal with one assassin at a time, please.
“Maybe you should find him. I’m sure he misses you.”
Geonwoo tilts his head thoughtfully. “He might. But I’ll miss you if I leave. And… cake.”
“You can take some with you,” Hyeonjun suggests, nudging the plate towards Geonwoo. “Take lots, so your Seonghoon hyung can try it.”
“I don’t even know where he is,” Geonwoo sighs, and the glow of his knives seems to dull as he slides them through the frosting again. “Maybe I should just stay. Hyeonjun hyung, do you make cakes often?”
Hyeonjun wouldn’t mind for him to stay, but Sanghyeok was supposed to come by in the morning, and things might get awkward if he sees all these knives—honestly, Sanghyeok barely even tolerates Hyeonjun’s kitchen knives.
The metal’s all wrong, he’d complain, prodding suspiciously at Hyeonjun as he chopped potatoes for their breakfast. We have claws for a reason.
So Hyeonjun let him cook once, ended up with half-shredded vegetables and mangled fruits splattered over his countertops, and firmly declared that the kitchen knives were staying.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Geonwoo sighs again, jolting Hyeonjun out of his thoughts. “Hyeonjun hyung, it’d be nice to be your mate. Do you ever think it’s a bit too peaceful, though?”
Hyeonjun drops his eyes to the table, feels the knives shiver in response, their burning desire reaching out, searching for long-buried violence in his chest—he shakes his head. “No. Geonwoo-yah, I’m not cut out for any more excitement than this.”
Geonwoo pouts at him, arms crossing in a huff. “You used to fight. I can tell.”
“Used to,” Hyeonjun emphasizes, clicking his tongue dismissively as Geonwoo tosses cake into his mouth and flicks his blades clean of the frosting. “All young foxes do.”
“Oh,” Geonwoo grins at him, cheeky, mouth full as he wiggles his chair back. “I see. You’re just too old now.”
“I’m not- hey!”
Geonwoo bounds towards the door, knives twirling in his hands, cake forgotten on the table. “Thanks for the food, hyung. And sorry I can’t be your mate.”
“Did you- you’re leaving now?”
“Seonghoon hyung will be waiting for me! Wish you could’ve met him, but trust me, he doesn’t deserve cake.”
Geonwoo’s gone before Hyeonjun really even realizes it, and the phantom hunger of his knives drifts away with him, leaving Hyeonjun back in the sudden quiet, the still and steady silence of home.
He can appreciate Geonwoo’s liveliness, but he’s had his fill of adventures.
Hyeonjun gazes at the cake on his table, at the hearts drawn in his frosting, and lets his breath whoosh out of his chest in one long exhale.
At least there’s some left for Sanghyeok.
As long as another hungry guest doesn’t show up before that.
Countless visitors in, and Hyeonjun is officially losing his mind. If a suitable mate doesn’t show up soon, he’s committing himself to a vow of chastity.
An oath of singleness, perhaps.
A no-romance diet. Forever.
The most recent visitor was at the very least much quieter than the rest, if not a bit presumptive.
There’s barely a knock at his door before the handle is already turning, sliding open, and Hyeonjun leaps off the couch, frantically tidying up the pillows.
His visitor doesn’t feel alive in the slightest, but Hyeonjun’s pretty sure he still hears a heart beating.
This one is quite a bit shorter than the others, eyes dark and round under his glasses, unblinking as he stands in Hyeonjun’s doorway, fingers curled around a large wooden staff.
It’s almost taller than him.
“Hello. Can I come in?”
Hyeonjun gawks at him, confused beyond belief, and the stranger seems to take that as a yes as he slides the door shut and walks briskly past Hyeonjun.
“Yeah? I’m, uh. I’m Hyeonjun,” he says hesitantly, trailing after the stranger as he pokes his head into the kitchen.
The man hums, noncommittal. “I’m looking for my cat. Have you seen him?”
“You– your cat.”
“I’m Kiin,” the visitor adds, almost like an afterthought. “You live over dead things.”
“I’ve been told that before,” Hyeonjun mutters, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his neck. All these random visits are starting to give him a headache.
Kiin pauses, staff rotating in his hands as he rolls it between his palms. “By who?”
“Some random guy. Jihoon, or something. He popped by a while ago,” Hyeonjun explains, and Kiin’s neutral expression doesn’t shift in the slightest. “I thought he was a fox.”
Kiin scoffs, head tilting a fraction. “A fox? You can’t be serious.”
“He said he was,” Hyeonjun mumbles, and Kiin clicks his tongue, disapproving.
“Well, he’s my cat.”
“Huh?”
“Jihoonie,” Kiin says slowly, the name vibrating through Hyeonjun’s house, bouncing off the walls. “Is my cat. I’ve been looking for him.”
Hyeonjun has certifiably gone insane. That’s the only reasonable explanation, because all of a sudden the number of people in his house doubles, and Hyeonjun was really prepared for a restful night’s sleep—alone.
“Eh? Kiin hyung!” Jihoon’s cheerful meow echoes from outside the window, and the familiar orange cat sails in through the glass, drifting through the cottage’s walls like they don’t even exist, paws batting at empty air. “Kiin hyung. Kiin hyung. Kiinie hyung-”
“Found you,” Kiin mutters, and his hand closes firm around the back of Jihoon’s neck, the little cat screeching in sudden panic.
“Interesting,” Sanghyeok remarks, and Hyeonjun’s similar panicked screech sounds through the living room.
Sanghyeok jumps, eyes wide as he turns to look at Hyeonjun. “Oh, sorry.”
“Why…” Hyeonjun gets out, head starting to spin. Yes, it’s nearly 9pm. Yes, he desperately needs a coffee. Or something stronger. “What…”
“Sorry,” Kiin repeats, the little orange cat flailing wildly in his grip. “I knew he’d be around here somewhere. He likes corpses.”
“You like corpses!” Jihoon howls, and Kiin bends down to whisper harshly in his ear. Hyeonjun can’t quite make out the words, but it sounds vaguely like a threat—something about frogs—and Jihoon squeaks in alarm before going still as a statue.
“I’ll be going now,” Kiin says blandly, nodding to Sanghyeok as he strides towards the front door. “Also… um. Sorry I can’t be your mate, Hyeonjun-ah. You’ll find someone.”
“Sorry I can’t be your mate,” Jihoon echoes him, paws coming up to give a little wave to Hyeonjun as he’s carted away. “You’re cute, though. Looking at you makes me wanna laugh. Kiss, kiss~”
Kiin tosses him straight out the door, and Jihoon’s affronted yowl fades in the air as he floats off into the sky.
Hyeonjun’s jaw is practically on the floor.
“Your dead things should all go back to rest now, too,” Kiin adds before he leaves, glancing at Sanghyeok somewhat apologetically. “Have a good night.”
“Well, glad that’s all settled. It’s quite late, isn’t it?”
Hyeonjun sinks back onto his couch, pillows clutched to his chest as he glances up at Sanghyeok pitifully. “I need a drink.”
“No, you don’t,” Sanghyeok responds easily, sliding down onto the couch next to him and flattening his hand over Hyeonjun’s back. “Sit straight. Shoulders back. Feet on the floor.”
Hyeonjun does as he says almost mindlessly, eyebrows still furrowed together. “There are dead people under my house.”
“Dead things,” Sanghyeok corrects him, which is somehow worse. “No frowning. You’re fine, Hyeonjunie.”
Hyeonjun takes a deep breath, fingers squeezing at the cushions. “Maybe I should move.”
“Terrible idea,” Sanghyeok says immediately, but he taps Hyeonjun’s knee comfortingly as he continues to speak. “I know Kiin’s coven well enough. They’re all very clean—bit of a, uh, generational number of necromancers in their ranks, that’s all. Witches drawn to death are drawn to life in nearly equal measure, you know. And you feel very alive.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Hyeonjun mumbles weakly, and Sanghyeok’s hand resumes patting over his leg. “I’m supposed to sleep after that? Dead things are awake, and they’re under my bedroom.”
Sanghyeok sighs, glancing out the window regretfully. It’s completely dark out, clouds blanketing even the pale light of the moon, and Hyeonjun swears he smells rain coming.
“They’re probably not under your bedroom. Not directly.”
“Not helpful,” Hyeonjun whines, and Sanghyeok gives him a soft chuckle, shaking his head fondly.
“I’d be able to tell, ok? Nothing’s waking up down there. It’s nice and quiet.”
“They might wake up later,” Hyeonjun protests, and Sanghyeok considers him for a moment, gaze thoughtful as ever.
“Well, if it’s not a bother, I could stay here and make sure they don’t.”
Hyeonjun perks up. That would be nice. That would be very nice, and Hyeonjun could even bake him something sweet in the morning as a thank you—yes, it’s decided.
Sanghyeok’s not allowed in the spare bedroom, though.
What if the dead things wake up, and he’s all the way on the other side of the house, too slow to get to Hyeonjun before he’s dragged down into the dirt himself?
No, that just won’t do.
Sanghyeok will have to stay closer.
As expected, no dead things crawl out from under Hyeonjun’s house, although he makes Sanghyeok stay for nearly two weeks before he finally accepts that he might be in the clear.
The forest seems to quiet down at least a little after all that, and Hyeonjun tries to return to his solitude.
He still gets visitors, late in the afternoons, when Sanghyeok decides to wander off into the woods and do whatever it is that nine-tailed gumiho do.
Curious fae occasionally drift by his windows to brush slender fingers over his flowers. Skittish water nymphs tend to appear with the rain, eyes deep and unblinking as they flatten webbed hands against glass and slip away when he comes too close. Hyeonjun’s pretty sure a couple dryads are even in the area now, because he’s never heard his plants gossip quite this much.
Still, he manages to shoo away most of his guests before the sun dips below the treetops and spends his nights alone, clinging to his brief moments of peace.
Then, he waits again, for Sanghyeok to show up with the sun.
It’s nearly autumn now, and Hyeonjun’s been thinking—some of the wild apple trees near the cliffs in the woods are probably bearing fruit by this time.
He wonders if Sanghyeok ever travels to them. It’s about a day’s journey on foot, but the older fox has strange habits of just appearing in places he shouldn’t be.
Maybe he’d be able to grab some for Hyeonjun. It’s not that Hyeonjun doesn’t want to make the walk himself, but he’s been a bit lazy lately, summer’s bright energy dwindling down and leaving him with sleepy satisfaction as the leaves shift their colors.
Right on cue, there’s a knock at his door, and Hyeonjun rolls off the couch to wander up to the front.
“Hi, hyung,” he yawns, prodding the door open as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about apples-”
Sanghyeok is not at the door.
It’s a human.
Not just humanoid, either. Forest creatures are very good at mimicking human appearances, but they’re not so experienced with hiding their magic.
Hyeonjun double checks, triple checks, casts out his magic and looks for any response—nope, nothing there. This is a certified, authentic, real-life human.
A tall, somewhat startled looking human, hand outstretched like he was about to knock again, and Hyeonjun’s eyes scan over him—that’s a lot of muscle.
“Oh, hi!” The human says cheerfully, seemingly unfazed by Hyeonjun’s distinctly non-human appearance, and Hyeonjun’s ears twitch in interest. “Sorry, I might be a little lost. Good thing I found someone!”
“Yes,” Hyeonjun agrees carefully, eyes dipping again to sweep over the man’s shoulders. Very broad. Very handsome. Smells…good. “Yes, do come in.”
“Ah, alright,” the man says, grin open and honest across his face. He’s talking about something else as he walks through the doorway—something about the forest, about squirrels and bunnies, how friendly the woods seem, and Hyeonjun finds that he can’t even pay attention.
Hyeonjun had forgotten how loud humans were, and he doesn’t just mean their voices. The man’s heart is beating steadily in his chest, pulsing in Hyeonjun’s sensitive ears, and he reaches out before he can even think twice.
Humans are warm, too, and the man’s emotions drift freely around him—a pastel haze of uncontained curiosity, admiration, some kind of awe, shifting in the air around him—Hyeonjun wonders if they’d taste as sweet as they look.
He doesn’t remember human emotions being this enticing. He’s pretty sure they were typically much more sour, tended to smell all smoky and burnt at the edges, but he’d eat it up anyways, lick the blood from his claws and revel in that vicious energy.
Young foxes don’t have the luxury of being picky with their meals.
Now, though, he’s quite a bit older—at his age, he doesn’t need to eat anymore, but a little taste wouldn’t hurt.
Would it?
He really, really wants a bite. Maybe it’d taste like apples, sugary soft like the man’s smile. Maybe it’d be crisp, crunchy, and as he'd take a bite, the restless bones would hum between his teeth.
He can almost taste it already.
Honey-sweet like the stranger’s low voice, bright and tart like the naive delight in his eyes.
Interesting.
Hyeonjun hadn’t realized how hungry he was.
It’s been nearly a century, after all, but it’s lovely to reminisce—to think back on all the vicious lust he’d tear from ribcages, how still-beating hearts would balance delicately on his fingers, hot and heavy on his tongue as he’d sink in sharp teeth, how it’d slide down his throat and settle in his veins like love.
“Hyeonjun.”
Sanghyeok’s sharp voice cuts through the fog, and Hyeonjun recoils away from the man like he’s been burned.
He’s not sure when exactly he had gotten so close. His glamour is in tatters, tails fanned wide, claws out and so razor sharp they had pierced through the man’s shirt where Hyeonjun’s hands had lingered over his heart. Foxfire swirls all around him, and Hyeonjun frantically bats it away as he takes another quick step back.
Him and the stranger respond at the same time. “Yes?”
Sanghyeok pauses, eyes darting between the two of them. “Ah, right. That’s inconvenient.”
“You’re Hyeonjun, too?” The man asks curiously, wholly unconcerned by the rips in his shirt, and Hyeonjun forces his claws to retract.
“I don’t— I almost ate you,” he finally chokes out, horrified gaze lingering on soft, exposed, human skin.
Other Hyunjoon laughs, carefree and dismissive, as if he wasn’t a few seconds away from becoming Hyeonjun’s breakfast. “Take me out to dinner first, yeah, hyung?”
“Moon Hyunjoon,” Sanghyeok orders, finger wagging in his face, tone scolding. “Didn’t I tell you not to leave the forest paths?”
Hyunjoon blinks at him innocently, and Hyeonjun flexes his fingers by his sides, claws barely contained under his skin as he rebuilds his glamour, shoves his magic back down until it’s silent again.
“I didn’t mean to come here. I got lost, really.”
Sanghyeok’s eyes narrow, the fox clearly skeptical. “You’re at least a week’s worth of travel away from your village.”
Hyunjoon scoffs, waving him off. “Hyung, that’s crazy. I just left this morning. Do I look like I’ve traveled for a week?”
“You know each other?” Hyeonjun asks cautiously, and Hyunjoon smiles at him again. This Hyunjoon… he certainly likes to smile.
“Sanghyeokie hyung’s like, the village god. Or something. Personally, I’d say he’s more like a dad.”
Hyeonjun turns to Sanghyeok, voice rising in alarm. “I almost ate your child?”
“Woah, woah,” Hyunjoon interjects, hands raised placatingly. “Not my literal dad. That’d be weird. Also—not a child? We’re probably only a few years apart, other Hyeonjun.”
Not a chance in hell, Hyeonjun thinks, but Sanghyeok clears his throat decisively before he can speak, reaching over to push Hyunjoon towards the door.
“Mhm. Nice to see you again. I’ll visit the village… later.”
“The real kids miss you,” Hyunjoon calls out, feet dragging against the floors as he’s steadily shoved towards the exit. “Minseokie wants forest berries. I keep telling him not to eat the purple ones, he knows they make him sick-”
“That’s nice, Hyunjoonie.”
“Bring other Hyeonjun too, yeah? Other Hyeonjun, nice to meet you. I think I love you.”
Hyeonjun whips his head forward so fast his neck cracks, and he winces as Hyunjoon is unceremoniously thrust out the door. “You what?”
“I definitely love you!” Hyunjoon yells, and Sanghyeok yanks the door closed almost desperately as the human’s voice swells with emotion. “Hyeonjun hyung, please marry me!”
Sanghyeok snaps his fingers with a loud crack, and the fading echoes of Hyunjoon’s voice disappear all at once.
Hyeonjun practically collapses on the couch. It’s been a long morning.
“There we go,” Sanghyeok sighs, trotting over to sit neatly next to him, hands folded prim and proper over his lap. “Put him back in the village. Hyeonjun-ah, I think we should talk.”
Hyeonjun tears his eyes from the door, from the fading purple glow of Hyunjoon’s heartfelt adoration, and stares blankly at Sanghyeok. “About… marriage?”
Sanghyeok’s eyes gleam in interest, foxfire swirling around his tails before he gives them a quick shake, and the magic scatters again. “Well, sure. Listen, Hyeonjunie, I know you want a mate. But screaming it out so loud that even the village humans are popping up at your doorstep might be a little excessive.”
Hyeonjun is, quite honestly, too stunned to speak.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Sanghyeok continues, sincerity clear in his voice. “I was like that too, for a time. Lately you just sound a tiny bit… ah… desperate?”
Hyeonjun can only continue staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish, completely wordless.
“If you really do want to marry Hyunjoon, though,” Sanghyeok’s words trail off as he sighs again, mouth downturned in what might be a pout.
Hyeonjun didn’t ever think nine-tailed gumiho would sulk so much.
“I don’t?” Hyeonjun finally replies, words a strangled croak. He coughs, giving his head a quick shake, and tries again. “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t even want a mate at this point!”
Sanghyeok freezes, peering at him almost warily.
“It’s nice. In theory,” Hyeonjun continues, arms crossed firm over his chest as he glowers at the cushions beneath him. “But people keep showing up now, and they’re loud. In my house. People. Always. In my house!”
“Ah… sorry.” Sanghyeok cringes a little, fingers laced together as he fidgets almost nervously on the couch. “I can go.”
“What? Not you, hyung,” Hyeonjun says, baffled. “I like having you here. Everyone else needs to stop. So how do I turn it off?”
Sanghyeok’s eyes glimmer again, but as Hyeonjun watches, he instantly stamps out the little whisper of foxfire that bubbles up at the tips of his tails. “Just, uh. You know. Put it away.”
Classic Sanghyeok. Put what away. Hyeonjun’s pretty certain his magic is already tucked nice and neat under his glamour, but he screws his eyes shut anyways, slowing his breathing and shoving foxfire down until it’s barely a spark in his chest.
“Like that?” Hyeonjun opens his eyes eagerly, and Sanghyeok purses his lips, vaguely amused.
“No. Still there.”
Hyeonjun tosses his arms up, slumping pitifully against the couch. “But I put it away!”
Sanghyeok squints at him, lips still twitched up in that tiny grin. “You certainly tried, yes.”
“If I push it down any more, it’ll be under my house. And then the dead things will wake up again.”
“That’s dramatic,” Sanghyeok mutters, but his grin is steadily widening. “You don’t feel as aggressive about it, at least. Less demanding, more… yearning.”
“Yearning?” Hyeonjun squeaks. “I don’t– I’m not yearning?”
“Of course not,” Sanghyeok says graciously, hand sneaking behind Hyeonjun’s back. “Sit up. Back straight.”
Hyeonjun sits up. “I’m not yearning.”
“You definitely are. I mean, you could start trying to yearn for peace and quiet instead,” Sanghyeok suggests, hand still warm on his back. “Maybe the visitors would stop.”
It’s not the worst idea. If Hyeonjun could figure out what this whole yearning thing even means in the first place.
He must have figured something out, because it's over three weeks before he gets another knock on his door.
Three weeks of Sanghyeok lazing around on his couch. Three weeks of tranquility. Three weeks of every apple dessert in the book, after Sanghyeok managed to deposit an entire tree, branches heavy with ripe golden fruit, right into his front yard.
Hyeonjun had decided he wouldn’t be asking any questions.
The first week, Hyeonjun doesn’t think he even strings together a complete sentence at any point, and Sanghyeok floats around his cottage like a ghost too, footsteps silent as he wanders through the rooms, nose buried in a book.
The second week, Hyeonjun complains that he’s going to die alone. Sanghyeok gives him a thumbs-up, never glancing away from his book, says “that’s called yearning, Hyeonjunie”, but then kindly reminds him that he’ll never truly be alone.
It would’ve been sweet, if Sanghyeok hadn’t proceeded to clarify that he was, in fact, referring to the dead things under his house.
They’ll keep you company, Hyeonjun-ah. They haven’t quite decomposed. So you don’t have to worry about getting lonely.
Thanks, hyung. Super helpful.
Sometime in the third week, Hyeonjun admits that dying alone sounds kind of nice, if it means having this level of quiet for the rest of his life.
Near the end of the fourth week, there’s a knock on his door.
Hyeonjun, sprawled out on the couch, lifts his head sleepily, squinting towards the front of the house.
“Going to answer that?” The pages of Sanghyeok’s book ruffle in Hyeonjun’s ear, and he drops his head again, sighing into the cushions.
“Shh, hyung. I’m yearning for quiet.”
Sanghyeok nearly chokes on his laugh, but his hand squeezes warm at Hyeonjun’s shoulder, tails curled over him like a blanket, and Hyeonjun’s ears twitch as he waits for another knock.
It doesn’t ever come.
Hyeonjun wonders for a second who it might have been—a playful spirit, drawn to the allure of wild magic like a moth to a flame. An eager mercenary, eyes on the horizon, gore and glory burning at his fingertips.
Probably not any kind of vampire—the sun still drifts high in the sky, bright and beaming, even as the days grow shorter.
It could have been a human, young and honest and free with his love, heart all bloody and tempting on his sleeve.
Hyeonjun wonders if it even matters. Then Sanghyeok moves a little closer, closes his book and closes his eyes, and Hyeonjun decides that it doesn't.
This is all he wants.
And if Sanghyeok wants to stay, wants to linger on his couch and wander close at odd hours, wants to twine their tails together and brush his hand over Hyeonjun with that casual familiarity, Hyeonjun would let him.
If Sanghyeok wants to let their comfortable quiet stretch on for an eternity longer, steady by his side in an ever-changing forest, Hyeonjun decides right then that he would never ask for anything more.