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Being a witch or wizard in the twenty-first century is, frankly, a disappointment.
In fact, Minho’s pretty sure that the stories of summoning circles raising the dead and spells that allow teleportation are actually just propagated by real wizards in an attempt to make themselves feel cooler. In the modern world, magical bloodlines have become so diluted that it’s less of a superpower and more of a quirky medical condition, like having double-jointed thumbs or two different coloured eyes. Hell, the most exciting thing the Lee family bloodline lets him do is give people mild static shocks when he’s stressed.
Basically, it’s mostly useless. A party trick at best. It's something he hides not because he’s scared of pitchfork-wielding mobs, but because it’s embarrassing to explain that yes, he’s technically a wizard, but no, he can’t really do magic, so please stop asking.
Tonight, however, the mediocrity of his heritage is going to change.
Minho sits cross-legged on the floor of his darkened dorm room, carefully drawing a circle on the carpet with a piece of water-soluble white chalk he bought online. Thankfully, bonding circles don’t require candles, otherwise he might’ve actually had to do this outside in the dirt for fire safety.
“Stay still,” Minho whispers, dropping another handful of cat treats in the middle of the circle. “Do you want to be spiritually bonded to me or not?”
Soonie yawns, looking unimpressed, but he plonks his furry butt back down and starts crunching the treats.
Minho checks his phone. It’s 2:13am. The dorm is silent. Chan is probably passed out in the studio, and the other two are asleep. Perfect. According to the grimoire his grandmother left him—or rather, the pictures of its disintegrating pages stored in a hidden folder of his phone—a Familiar Bond is low-level magic. All it requires is a simple geometric anchor, a willing (or at least present) animal, and a ‘pure’ intent.
Anchor, tick. Animal, tick. As for intent, Minho doesn’t want power or anything like that. He just wants to know, with absolute certainty, if Soonie actually hates the smell of convenience store coffee or if he just pushes paper cups off the table for fun. He wants to feel that little mental tug that means I love you or I want churu or Get your hand off my stomach. That’s gotta be pure enough, right?
“Okay,” Minho breathes, squinting at his phone one last time. “Here goes nothing.”
He places one palm flat against the chalk line and the other on the back of Soonie’s neck, feeling the vibration of Soonie’s jaw as he munches. Minho closes his eyes. He exhales slowly, imagining the air flowing out and condensing, tugging outwards from the warm pool of energy in his gut and extending towards Soonie.
The pressure in the room seems to drop, pressing in on his eardrums. He focuses everything on the fur under his fingers. Go. Bond. Connect.
The doorknob clicks.
Minho’s eyes fly open just as the door creaks and a figure slips in.
“Hyung? Sorry, I had a nightmare, can I come sleep with—”
It happens in slow motion.
Jisung stumbles forwards, wearing rumpled pyjamas with his hair flattened on one side, groping blindly for the bedframe. The sudden flurry of movement is too much for Soonie. The cat launches himself out of the circle, his claws leaving a stinging scratch on Minho’s arm as he bolts under the bed.
“Wait!” Minho hisses, but the magic is already cresting, rushing out of him uncontrollably at the now-empty space.
Jisung, yelping in surprise as Soonie darts past his feet, trips over the foot of the bed.
“Ah, fuck—”
Instinctively, Minho’s arms fly forwards to catch him.
Connect.
The magic latches onto the nearest heartbeat with a violent thud, the invisible line from Minho’s chest jerking taut and burying the hook deep into the soul in front of him. It’s nothing like the small, crackly pop he expected. It feels like a lightning strike.
The air pressure in the room instantly snaps back to normal.
Minho gasps, his hands still gripping Jisung’s pyjama top. His heart is hammering frantically against his ribs—but then, to his horror, he feels a second, more sluggish rhythm fluttering in the back of his mind. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Shit. Shitshitshitshit.
“Whoa,” Jisung mumbles, swaying slightly and blinking at Minho with a glazed expression. “Did I pass out? Why‘m I dizzy?”
Minho stares at him. He stares at the empty spot where Soonie was. He looks at the smudged chalk line that Jisung’s knee has completely destroyed.
“Jisung,” Minho says, his voice sounding very far away.
“Mm?” Jisung slumps against Minho’s chest, wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Minho’s neck and sighs contentedly. “You smell reeeally good. Like… like really good stuff. ‘m sleepy.”
Minho closes his eyes.
Breathe.
One. Two. Three.
But when he opens them Jisung is definitely still there, warm and solid in his arms, koala-ed around his torso.
It’s… nice.
Oh, he’s so fucked.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Minho wakes up to a sunbeam directly in his eyes, a stiff neck, and an uncomfortable pressure in his bladder.
Also, a very comfortable pressure on his chest.
For a blissful, hazy second, he considers the possibility that he dreamed the whole thing. Maybe he fell asleep cuddling Soonie. Maybe he just ate some bad takeout and had a vivid fever dream.
Then the weight on his chest shifts. Jisung lets out a soft snore, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin on Minho’s neck.
“Jisung,” Minho croaks.
Jisung hums in his sleep, rubbing his cheek against Minho’s shirt, and snores again.
Well, fuck. It wasn’t a dream.
Minho slowly lifts his head. Jisung’s legs are still sprawled in the chalk circle, now smeared beyond recognition. A steady, warm beat is still pulsing in the back of Minho’s mind, which means the surge of magic he felt yesterday wasn’t just the spell being interrupted.
Technically, Minho’s panicked brain supplies, humans are mammals.
The text didn’t specify ‘cat’ or ‘dog’. It just said a creature of the earth and sentient breath. Biologically, Jisung fits that description. He is a creature. He breathes. He is arguably sentient on most days.
Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
The alarm, a hysterically mundane sound, snaps Minho out of it. Okay. Okay, one problem at a time.
“Jisung,” Minho whispers, trying to inch out of his grip. “Hey, wake up. We have class.”
“Nooo,” Jisung whines immediately. He doesn’t wake up. Instead, he throws a leg over Minho’s thighs, effectively full-body pinning him to the floor. “Mine. Stay.”
Minho freezes. A shiver that has absolutely nothing to do with the drool cooling on his chest and everything to do with being a weak, touch-starved idiot shoots up his spine.
Mine.
It’s the bond speaking. It has to be. Familiars are territorial. They crave the wizard’s energy. Everyone knows that. Jisung doesn’t know what he’s saying, so don’t you dare get delusional.
“Get off,” Minho says weakly. His hands hover over Jisung’s back, unsure whether to push or pull. He settles, guiltily, for resting his palm between Jisung’s shoulder blades. God, it feels so right. Not that it ever felt wrong before. No, don’t go down there.
Minho grits his teeth. “Jisung-ah, seriously. I really need to pee and you can’t skip that music theory lecture again.”
Jisung finally cracks a bleary eye open. The moment awareness returns and he seems to register Minho’s words, a look of genuine, unfiltered panic flits across his face.
“Don’t go,” Jisung says, clutching Minho’s shirt so hard his hands shake. “Where are you going?”
“To… the bathroom? And then to make coffee?”
The panic in Jisung’s eyes recedes slightly, though he doesn’t let go. He sits up, dragging Minho up with him, not loosening his grip for a second.
“Okay,” Jisung yawns, his voice thick with sleep. “I’m coming.”
“To the bathroom with me?”
“Yeah.”
“Sungie, that’s weird. Even for us.”
“I don’t care,” Jisung says stubbornly, and he looks like he means it. He looks like the mere idea of Minho being in a room without him is going to send him into a panic attack.
Five minutes later, Minho is trying to brush his teeth with severely limited elbow room as Jisung stands directly behind him, forehead pressed against Minho’s back. If it weren’t for the way his arms are locked around Minho’s waist, Minho would think he’d fallen asleep again.
Minho spits toothpaste into the sink and tries to not look at their reflection. He pulls out his phone with his free hand, opening the PDF he found titled A full guide to familiar bonds.
And under the section headed ‘TETHERING’: The Familiar will experience acute distress if separated from the Witch by more than a few metres during the bond settlement period (8-10 hours).
“Great,” Minho mutters under his breath. “Fantastic.”
“What?” Jisung murmurs into his back.
“Nothing,” Minho says, quickly locking his phone. “Just… reading the news.” He should fix this. He should be looking up the counter-spell right now.
But then Jisung sighs, and squeezes him tighter.
“You’re so warm today, hyung,” Jisung mumbles. “I could hug you forever.”
Minho stares at himself in the mirror. He watches the tips of his own ears turn a traitorous shade of pink.
Just one day, the selfish, dark part of his brain whispers. I’ll fix it tonight. Just let me have this for one day.
“We’re going to be late for class,” Minho says, but he doesn’t pry Jisung’s arms off. “Come on, you need to change too.”
Jisung groans. “Fiiine.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Turns out, negotiating with a magically-bound Han Jisung is a lot like negotiating with a toddler.
“If you don’t let go of my waist, we can’t fit through the door at the same time,” Minho says, much more calmly than he feels.
“We can if we turn sideways,” Jisung insists, his chin digging into Minho’s shoulder blade.
“No, that’s—just hold my hand, okay? Take it or I leave you here at home. I’m not skipping this lecture.”
Jisung considers this for a moment before grumbling and sliding his hand down to interlace their fingers. He grips Minho’s hand so tight it actually hurts a bit, but Minho counts it as a win.
They shuffle down the hallway a little awkwardly, since Jisung is now just pressed firmly against his side instead of his back. Chan’s room is predictably empty, but Hyunjin is standing at the counter when they get to the kitchen, aggressively shaking a protein smoothie.
Right. Coffee is cancelled. They need to get out before Hyunjin notices something’s wrong.
But before Minho can pull Jisung out the door, Hyunjin looks up, his eyes dropping to their joined hands then back up to Minho’s face. Minho braces himself.
Hyunjin just shrugs, taking a sip of his sludge. “I finished the milk, by the way. Can you guys grab some more later?”
Minho blinks. “Oh. Sure.”
He drags Jisung out before Hyunjin can say anything else.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
By the time they reach the edge of campus, they’re coming up to hour eight of the ‘settlement period’—assuming, of course, that Jisung operates on the same time scale as cats and frogs. He’s still walking close enough that they brush shoulders with every step, but he’s stopped tightening the death grip if Minho looks away.
Actually, he’s walking with a weird amount of confidence.
Walking with Jisung is usually a hazard. He regularly trips over cracks in the pavement and walks into poles because he’s busy talking, but today, he’s moving… smoothly.
“So,” Jisung says, swinging their hands between them. “I think I slept so well last night that I’m enlightened now. Like it feels like I had ten redbulls but I’m somehow also super zen at the same time. Does that make sense?”
“Sure,” Minho says weakly. He tries to focus on the pavement in front of him, stepping to the left to dodge a snail chilling on the concrete. Dammit, people hold hands platonically all the time. Hell, they hold hands all the time, so why should this time be different?
Who is he kidding. Of course he knows why. How can it not feel different when Jisung holds his hand while looking at him like that, in the way that makes Minho feel stupidly giddy and disgusted at the same time because it’s just the magic and how dare he enjoy it when he’s basically manipulated Jisung into being close to him and—
“Watch out!”
Before Minho’s brain can even register the whir of wheels, Jisung is yanking him back with a strength Minho didn’t know he possessed, pivoting them both out of the path of the speeding electric scooter with inches to spare.
The scooter zooms past. The rider yells a rushed apology over his shoulder.
“Damn,” Jisung laughs breathlessly, staring wondrously at his own hands. “Did you see that? That was so cool! I’m like Spider-Man. My spidey-senses were tingling.”
A cold drop of sweat slides down Minho’s back. You’re like a Familiar with the primary instinct to protect your Witch, he thinks grimly.
“You got lucky,” Minho says, pushing down the growing feeling of nausea and managing a slight grin. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
They make it to the lecture hall with five minutes to spare. Minho slides into a seat near the back and Jisung drops into his usual chair right next to him, hooking their ankles together under the table. Jisung leans back, stretching his arms over his head luxuriously. The motion pulls his shirt up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, and he looks… soft. Happy. Like he belongs exactly here, with Minho.
No. This isn’t real. You’re breaking the bond tonight. Don’t get used to it.
Minho opens his laptop, trying to ignore the warm weight of Jisung’s leg against his own. It’s a futile effort. He can’t help it. All he can think is, this is what they could have. But Minho isn’t a complete idiot. Nothing in the world is worth ruining their friendship.
“Where did it go…” Jisung mutters, using Minho’s leg for leverage as he leans down to rummage for a pen.
Minho watches the back of his messy hair disappear under the desk. Despite the guilt gnawing at his gut, a wave of fondness washes over him. God, it hurts, but it hurts so good. It shouldn’t be possible to like someone this much.
THUD.
There’s a loud crack of skull meeting solid wood.
“Ow!”
Jisung shoots up from under the desk, clutching the back of his head with one hand and holding a ballpoint pen in the other.
Minho flinches sympathetically. “Ouch. Graceful as always, Sungie.”
But Jisung doesn’t whine for sympathy. Instead, he stares at Minho with a startled expression, his eyes round.
“Did you say something?” Jisung squeaks.
Minho raises an eyebrow. “I said you’re graceful. Did you hit your head that hard?”
“No, it was—nevermind. Just hearing things.” Jisung rubs the sore spot on his head, refusing to meet Minho’s eyes.
“Hearing voices from the concussion already?” Minho teases, reaching over to ruffle Jisung’s hair. “You’ve got a thick skull, you’ll be fine.”
“Hey!” Jisung says indignantly. He flops against Minho’s arm, voice muffled by Minho’s hoodie. “Well, since I’m injured, I’m gonna recover down here. I’m borrowing your notes later.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Lunch is a logistical nightmare.
Minho steers them into the cafeteria, keeping a firm grip on Jisung’s sleeve to prevent him from getting sucked into the crowd or, god forbid, hold everyone up by hugging him in the middle of the corridor. He deposits Jisung at an empty table.
“Wait for me here,” Minho says.
Jisung blinks up at him, pupils blown wide. “Okay.”
“I’m going to get us food. Don’t move. Don’t wander off with anyone.”
“Why would I do that?” Jisung asks, looking genuinely offended. “I’m waiting for you.”
Minho suppresses the urge to combust on the spot (a feeling that’s become familiar over the past few hours) and sprints to the counter. He buys two salmon onigiri and two cartons of banana milk, then rushes back before the bond’s separation anxiety can kick in.
Once Jisung is happily unwrapping his rice triangle—tearing into the packaging with a feral intensity that reminds Minho uncomfortably of Soonie with a churu stick—Minho pulls out his phone.
He turns on a VPN and navigates to The Hex-Files, an old forum on the deep web with an interface that hasn’t been updated since 2004. He types frantically into the search bar.
accidental human familiar
recorded cases of human familiars
how to unbind mammal familiars
The results are… not encouraging.
Wand-erlust0329
Lmao rip OP. The council is gonna have your ass.
Herb-Your-Enthusiasm
Ethical implications aside, it’s impossible to sustain. The higher cognitive development of humans leads to more extreme codependency, territorial aggression, and insane emotional bleed-through.
MagicMaster
Damn, lowkey impressive tho ngl. Don’t human souls need basically perfect resonance to link or some shit? Lol ‘accident’ my ass.
Minho chokes on his spit.
“You good?” Jisung asks, pausing mid-chew. There’s a grain of rice stuck to his cheek.
“Fine,” Minho manages. “Just… swallowed the wrong way.”
He scrolls further down.
Thisisme80
Familiars, especially mammalian familiars, burn calories faster to maintain the psychic link. DO NOT let them run out of energy.
Minho looks at Jisung’s half-eaten onigiri and empty carton of banana milk. Wordlessly, he slides his own unopened onigiri across the table.
“Eat this too,” Minho says.
Jisung’s eyes light up. “Really, hyung? You’re not hungry?”
“Nah.”
“You’re the best!” Jisung beams, ripping open the second wrapper.
Minho opens his banana milk and goes back to his research. He’s just reading a thread about how to perform a simple severance ritual involving mint and ice water when a shadow falls over their table.
“Yo, lovebirds.”
Minho jumps, locking his phone screen instantly. Changbin is standing there, holding a tray of kimchi fried rice and boiled eggs, looking amused.
“Mind if I join? Everywhere else is full.”
“Yeah, go for it,” Minho says, crossing his toes under the table.
Changbin drops into the seat across from them. “You guys are quiet today. It was weird not hearing Jisung yapping from the entrance.” He reaches across the table.
It happens fast.
As Changbin’s hand crosses the invisible centre line of the table, moving towards Minho’s side to grab the napkin box, Jisung moves. He doesn’t hiss—thank god—but he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, his hand snapping out to slap Changbin’s wrist away.
Whap.
Changbin recoils with a yelp. “Ah! What the hell?”
Silence descends on the table. Changbin stares at Jisung. Minho stares at Jisung.
Jisung flushes, looking down at his own hand in confusion. “I… sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I just… didn’t want you reaching over hyung?”
Changbin huffs a laugh. “I was reaching for a tissue, not his throat. Chill out, bodyguard.”
Minho swallows thickly, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Territorial aggression. Check.
“He’s just… stressed,” Minho lies through his teeth, grabbing Jisung’s hand under the table and squeezing. “Midterms. You know how it is. Caffeine jitters.”
“Right,” Changbin says slowly, squinting at the way Jisung leans into Minho. He picks up his chopsticks. “Well, fyi for next time, nobody’s gonna take him from you Jisung.”
Minho sighs, slumping in his chair. The corner of his lip twitches upwards despite himself.
Just a few more hours, he tells himself, ignoring the way his heart sinks at the thought. Let me have this for a few more hours.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The rest of the day passes in a blur of low-level guilt and high-level cuddling.
Minho doesn’t want this day to end.
But time ticks on regardless. Before he knows it, he’s standing at the kitchen counter, crushing fresh mint leaves in his fist and dumping them into a bowl. The stick of chalk feels like lead in his pocket.
The dorm is quiet. Good. It’s only 8pm, but Minho doesn’t trust himself not to lose his nerve if he doesn’t break the bond now. Especially since he and Jisung already have a ritual of watching anime on the sofa together in the evenings. Yeah, no, he wouldn’t survive that.
The clean scent of mint clears his head a little. He scrapes the macerated leaves into a cup he already activated with a chalk hexagon and fills it halfway with ice water from a pitcher. All he needs to do now is take a sip, and get Jisung to take a sip from the same cup.
It’s easy. So easy. It’s just iced tea with an extra step. And it’s not like he’s even losing anything, he’s just resetting something he never should’ve gained.
“Whatcha makin’?”
Minho whips around, nearly knocking the pitcher over. Jisung has padded into the kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy blanket like a human burrito. He looks soft, sleepy, and exhausted. Of course he is. If being a familiar burns calories, being a familiar to a wizard in an acute emotional crisis must burn even more.
“Just some tea,” Minho says, forcing a smile. “For… digestion. My stomach hurts.”
“Oh.” Jisung shuffles closer, extending the blanket to wrap around Minho too as he hugs him from behind, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Does it hurt a lot? Do you want me to run to the convenience store for medicine? I can go. I’m fast.”
Minho freezes.
This is it. This is the instinct. The magic rewriting Jisung’s brain into offering to run errands in the cold when he can barely keep his own eyes open.
“No,” Minho whispers. “No, it’s fine. Stay here.”
“Okay,” Jisung murmurs. He presses his cheek against the side of Minho’s head and squeezes tighter. “I’ll just hug it better, then.”
Minho stares at the crushed mint leaves floating in the water. His vision blurs.
He likes this. God, he likes this so much. He wants to turn around and hug Jisung back. He wants to pour the stupid ice water down the sink and just go to sleep in this warm, stolen cocoon and pretend that Jisung is doing this because he wants to, not because Minho’s bond is forcing him to.
“I’m so happy today,” Jisung mumbles, his voice slurring slightly with tiredness. “I don’t know why. It’s just… a good day. I wish it was like this more often.”
No, you don’t. That’s not you talking. I’m a monster. Stop. Stopstopstop.
“Stop.” The word tears itself out of Minho’s throat. He jerks away as if he’s been burned, spinning around so fast that Jisung stumbles back, hitting the fridge.
Jisung gasps, wide awake now, looking hurt. “Hyung?”
“Stop—just, stop saying that,” Minho says, his voice shaking. He grips the edge of the counter to steady himself. “You’re just—tired. You should go to bed.”
“I’m not that tired,” Jisung says with a pout. He steps forward, reaching out with the back of his hand to brush Minho’s fringe to the side. “Hyung, seriously, are you okay? Is your stomach getting worse?”
Minho flinches away. The hurt that flashes across Jisung’s face is a gut-punch, and he’s this close to being sick.
Jisung. Sweet, confused, wonderful Jisung, who… wait.
Why is Minho terrified? This is Jisung. Sure, letting him be manipulated by magic is different from shrinking his favourite jumper in the wash, but… he’s been so caught up in his own head that he forgot it’s Jisung. He can tell Jisung anything.
Minho exhales shakily and uncurls his fingers from the counter edge, the tension draining out of him so abruptly it makes him dizzy.
“It’s… not my stomach,” Minho says quietly. “I need to tell you something. And it’s going to sound insane, but I need you to just listen. I promise you can ask questions after.”
Jisung still looks hurt, but he tilts his head. “Okay…?”
“I know this sounds crazy, but… you know the weird feelings you’ve had today? It’s not just you. It’s because of magic.”
Jisung gapes at him. “Magic?”
“Yeah. I’m… technically a wizard.”
There. The first part is out. The world doesn’t end. The ceiling doesn’t collapse.
“I have a tiny bit of magical blood from my family,” Minho continues, watching Jisung’s face carefully. “And last night… I was trying to make Soonie my familiar, but you tripped into the circle at the exact wrong moment and the spell hit you instead. It made you my familiar, Jisung. And I… I’m an idiot and didn’t break it straight away. That’s why you were so happy next to me today. It was just the spell.”
Minho bites his lip and waits. He braces himself for disbelief, or a look of betrayal, or the question of ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner’.
The silence stretches. Minho risks a glance up.
Jisung is staring at him, mouth still hanging open. The blanket flutters out of his grip onto the kitchen floor.
“Wait,” Jisung says slowly. “Back up a second.”
Minho winces. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away and it’s a violation of your autonomy but I’m going to fix it right now, that’s what the water is for, I just—”
“You’re a wizard?” Jisung interrupts, his voice rising an octave.
Minho pauses. “Uh. Yes?”
“Like… actual magic?” Jisung pokes Minho’s arm as if checking he’s real. “Like wands and potions and flying on brooms magic?”
“No wands,” Minho corrects automatically. “And brooms are a stereotype, but—Jisung, did you hear the other part?”
Jisung waves a hand impatiently, dismissing the non-consensual bonding like he’s swiping away a pop-up ad. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. But holy shit, hyung! You’re a wizard! You can do magic!”
“I—what?” Minho splutters. “That’s not the main point here!”
“How long have you been a wizard?” Jisung demands, eyes practically sparkling as he steps closer. “Can you blow stuff up? Can you talk to animals? Is that why Soonie likes you more than everyone else?”
“No! I can’t do any of that!” Minho exclaims, but he can’t help laughing at the look on Jisung’s face, all the remaining tension flooding out of him. “It’s a long story, but my magic is basically useless. I can keep soup warm and turn off lights without getting up. That’s basically it.”
“This is so cool,” Jisung breathes. He grabs Minho’s shoulders and shakes him hard. “My best friend is a wizard. This is the coolest day of my life.”
Minho fights to stop his head flopping back and forth. “Jisung, please, focus.”
Jisung finally seems to register the guilt on Minho’s face. The excitement dims slightly, replaced by a softer look, though he doesn’t let go of Minho’s shoulders.
“Okay, okay,” Jisung says. “So… this magic is why I’ve felt like human velcro all day.”
“Yeah.”
“And… when you went to the bathroom this morning? And with Changbin at lunch?”
“Yeah. The scooter thing, too,” Minho confirms, feeling his ears heat up at the selfish thrill of Jisung going full possessive mode.
“Oh. I thought that one was just me being cool.” Jisung pouts.
Suddenly, Jisung’s eyes go wide. He drops his hands from Minho’s shoulders and slaps them over his mouth with a squeak.
“Wait,” Jisung squeaks through his fingers.
“What?” Minho says in alarm. “Are you okay? Is the magic doing something?”
Jisung shakes his head rapidly. A violent flush starts at his neck and shoots straight up to his hairline. “Is… is hearing thoughts also a bond thing?” Jisung’s muffled voice asks.
“Uh, I guess it can be?” Minho says slowly. “It’s not well documented though, since you can’t ask animals what they hear. Why?”
Jisung makes a pained noise in the back of his throat, groaning into his palms. “Oh my god. Promise not to laugh,” he mumbles from behind his hands.
“I promise,” Minho says immediately. He squeezes Jisung’s shoulder reassuringly.
Jisung peeks through the gap in his fingers. He looks like he’s about to evaporate.
“So today, um. I heard… voices,” Jisung admits, his voice barely a whisper. “Well, your voice. In my head.”
Oh.
Oh, no.
“I thought I was projecting!” Jisung blurts out, dropping his hands. His face is bright red. “I thought I was hallucinating because I was so desperate for you to like me in that way that my brain just… made it up! I thought I was being delusional!”
The kitchen is suddenly very, very quiet.
Minho’s heart kicks up into turbo gear because fucking hell, did Jisung seriously hear him calling him ‘cute’ and ‘soft’ and ‘I wish I could hold him like this forever’? And… desperate for you to like me in that way?
“You… heard me?” Minho breathes, not daring to unpack the other words.
Jisung nods miserably. “I thought I was just projecting my own feelings onto you.” He looks up at Minho through his eyelashes, looking shy and terrified and hopeful all at once. “But… if that was the bond… then that was actually you thinking that? Right?”
Minho opens his mouth. No sound comes out. He takes a deep breath.
“Yeah,” Minho says, his voice surprisingly steady. “Yeah, that was me. And… for the record, I put off breaking the bond because—because I liked having you close to me. I know that doesn’t make it right, but—oof”
The air is knocked out of Minho’s lungs as Jisung launches himself forwards and collides with his chest.
“Dummy,” Jisung mumbles thickly against Minho’s neck. “Stupid, stupid hyung.”
Minho stumbles back a step, instinctively wrapping his arms around Jisung’s waist to hold him up. “Wha—Jisung?”
“You don’t need magic for that!” Jisung says, pulling back just enough to look Minho in the eye. He looks furious, but in an adorably soft way, eyes wet and mouth wobbling into a smile. “You don’t need a magic bond to keep me close! I’m already clingy! Have you met me?”
Minho gapes, feeling dazed. “Are you… sure you know what you’re saying? I haven’t broken the bond yet.”
“I’m sure,” Jisung huffs, shaking Minho again. “Break the bond. Do it right now, I don’t care. I’ll still be right here. I’ll hug you every single day until you’re sick of me. I’ll be so annoying you’ll wish you had a wand to cast a banishing spell.”
Minho swallows thickly. “You mean it?” he whispers.
“I mean it,” Jisung says firmly. He pulls Minho in, pressing their foreheads together. “Now do your stupid reversal ritual so I can kiss you for real and prove it.”
Minho laughs, a startled, breathless laugh that ruffles Jisung’s fringe. “Okay. We just have to both drink that mint water.”
“Got it.” Jisung grins, reaching for the cup on the counter. “Bottoms up, wizard boy.”
Minho takes the cup. He looks from the cloudy, minty water to Jisung—smiling, wet-eyed, and undeniably his.
“Alright,” Minho says. “Bottoms up.”