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Thomas has cast this spell half a dozen times in the past few years, Minho the other half.
It’s more draining each time, and he can’t figure out why.
“It should work this time,” He tells Minho, “We’ve double-checked the runes, the incantation, everything. We’re going to get it right this time.”
Thomas doesn’t exactly know what’s supposed to happen if they do get it right–no one will tell them, it’s one of those spells they’re just supposed to figure out on their own.
“We could always try casting with other people.” Minho suggests, his face twisted up like the very thought hurts him.
“No! No, why would we do that? We do this together.”
“See you on the other side, then.” Minho nods, and Thomas has to roll his eyes.
They’re not even on separate sides of the ritual circle for this.
Thomas begins his incantation, the words steady on his tongue after so much practice. He’ll be casting this in his sleep for sure.
The runes begin to glow, slowly burning away, the circle heating up rapidly.
Thomas’s shirt collar is soaked through quickly, though he has to ignore the sensation. He can’t pause for a second; he doesn’t know how the circle would react.
The runes catch on fire, a glorious blue and green flame arcing up toward the ceiling as he finishes speaking.
The rune closest to him catches him across the chest, but Minho’s there, yanking him backward and ripping his shirt off before it can do too much damage.
Minho’s always there. Thomas doesn’t know how to thank him for that.
“Shit, Thomas,” Minho breathes, right before the runes send another pulse of fire into the air.
Even across the room, Thomas can feel the magical backlash starting, the air thinning, a chill settling into his bones.
“Min–”
The flames burn impossibly higher, impossibly brighter, until they’re all Thomas can see.
The world whites out, and Thomas is grateful that Minho’s name was the last thing on his lips.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Minho?”
“No, I’m not Minho.” Thomas doesn’t open his eyes–he doesn’t want to see anyone if it’s not Minho. It’s not worth the energy.
They have to figure out where they went wrong.
“Okay, you dumbass, I’ll tell you while you pretend to sleep then. You’ve got mild burns on your chest, there was a brief concern you might be blind but they don’t think that anymore, and you’re not allowed to do any magic for the next several weeks.”
“What–no, we have to figure this out!”
“Knew that would work.” Teresa smirks at him when he tries to sit up. “You’re down for the count, Thomas. Finally earned yourself that magical exhaustion diagnosis you’ve been after since you were like two.”
“I have not been after it,” Thomas mumbles. He can feel it now, though–he’s no stranger to mild magical exhaustion, the way it starts in his xiphoid process and travels up his sternum, easing into his ribs and then around into his spine.
There’s empty space in all of his bones, now. Something’s been carved out of them, and he can’t refill it.
“Teresa…”
“You’re gonna be fine. It’ll be a while, but you’ll be okay.” She says. “Minho’s in the next room. He’s a little better off than you, since he wasn’t casting this time.”
Not quite the same level of magical exhaustion. Minho’s manifests differently–he feels it in his teeth the most.
“Needs to ice his jaw,” Thomas mutters.
“Why?”
“Teeth.”
“You,” Teresa seems too delighted about whatever she’s about to say, “Are so out of it. You’re not making any sense. Maybe this time will finally knock some sense into you. The rest of us all figured it out.”
“Not Sonya and Harriet,”
“They haven’t been at it as long as you have yet, they’re fine. And they’ll get it before you.”
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“That’s cheating, Thomas.”
Thomas closes his eyes–everything aches, all of his bones are hollow, and he just wants to figure out what went wrong this time.
“He wake up yet?” That sounds like… a person he knows. Thomas can’t be arsed to figure it out right now.
“Yeah. Said something about Minho’s jaw, not making a lot of sense.”
“They’re idiots. What if it kills them one day?”
“It’s not supposed to.”
“Magic has a way of doing whatever it wants.”
“I know.”
Thomas wants to demand they tell him the secret, or bring him to Minho, but he can’t make his eyes open again, and talking is even harder–nothing but sharp breaths escape when he tries.
“Hey, Thomas,” Minho! Minho’s here, and he’s talking, which means maybe his teeth aren’t too bad.
Thomas tries to sit up before his eyes are all the way open, but he doesn’t get very far.
“Minho.”
“We’re okay. I think Teresa already told you that.”
“Yeah.” Thomas stares at him for a minute, making sure he’s really alright–no swelling in his jaw, no sign that his teeth tried to explode out of his head.
“I’m not allowed to cast for a month,” Minho says, when Thomas doesn’t say anything else. “I’m not even allowed to walk right now, but I’ll be moving in the next day or so.”
“How long–”
“I’m not sure. They haven’t told me much about you. Looks like it’ll be a while, though.”
“Hollow bones,” Thomas mutters, “They’re empty.”
Minho winces at that. “Just means we’ll have more time to figure out what went wrong, yeah?”
“I guess.” Thomas doesn’t stay awake long–he doesn’t manage more than two hours awake, total, over the next few days, something he only learns long after the fact.
He’s still shaky on his feet when Sonya comes to him for advice after she and Harriet’s own attempt goes wrong, though not nearly as poorly as his and Minho’s.
Thomas doesn’t think he’s all that helpful–he’s still not allowed to cast anything, though most of his bones don’t feel hollow anymore.
Casting wouldn’t help him get back on his feet, anyway. Someone is always watching him, right now–usually Minho, because they live together. Alby and Newt call once a day, way more than their typically weekly check-in. Teresa and Brenda are always in the mood to harass him and Minho, so of course they’re around.
Frypan even makes them fancy bread, which is something he saves for special events. Magical exhaustion shouldn’t count, but Thomas isn’t going to complain. Frypan’s regular bread is good, but the various additions he makes to his fancy bread–tailored to the people receiving it–make it the best thing he’s ever tasted every time.
Minho is there all the time, even when they have separate classes. He walks Thomas to and from class, and makes him sit down while he gets their food so he doesn’t get too tired. He’ll even carry Thomas’s bag if he thinks Thomas is getting too tired, which really means that Thomas gets to watch him flex twice as much as usual.
So what if he ‘gets tired’ more than he usually would when Minho’s around? It doesn’t mean anything, no matter what Brenda’s side-eye says.
“You sure you’re ready for classes again?”
“I’ve been in classes the whole time, Min, I just haven’t been able to do anything.” Their school has a long list of policies for students with magical exhaustion, and Thomas doesn’t follow most of them.
“I’m fine. Harriet and Sonya are already going to try the ritual again.” It’s their second attempt since he and Minho were injured by theirs–of course, he’s glad they’re not hurt, but why did they get off so lightly while Thomas had to deal with being hollow for months?
“We’re still waiting.” Minho says, because he knows that Thomas would go again right now if he let him.
“I know.”
“Burns, really?” Thomas teases Sonya when he catches her in the hall, “Trying to copy us now?”
“No, we’re not. I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” Thomas says, because Sonya does follow the magical exhaustion policies–most of the time. And only the ones she likes.
“We’re going to try again next month,” She says, smugly. “And it’s going to work.”
“If you say so.” He’s going to have to talk Minho around to trying again–they can’t let Harriet and Sonya beat them to it.
“I do. Harriet thinks so, too.”
“I’m hoping we’ll manage it by the end of this month, but I don’t know.”
“That might not be a good idea.”
“Trust me, I know. Everyone’s been telling me that.” Thomas likes to run headfirst into his problems to solve them. It just hasn’t worked out so far with this one.
“You’ll get there. Eventually.”
Minho refuses to do any ritual in a shirt with sleeves, so Thomas spends most of the time he’s incanting staring at his back and shoulders in his tank top.
He’s supposed to be watching the runes, but it’s hard when Minho is right there.
… Thomas’s distraction might be the reason they end up in the hospital that time. It’s not nearly as bad–neither of them are burned, and neither of them has more than moderate magical exhaustion–but he can’t help but curse himself for it.
They won’t have a chance to try the ritual again before the end of the school year.
Minho’s graduating their undergrad program this year.
He’s already accepted a role on campus next year, so he and Thomas will still be living together.
Thomas has never lived on campus without Minho–it was a random pairing his first year, but they’ve chosen each other every year since then–and he doesn’t know if he would manage not seeing him every day.
“We’ll try first thing next year,” Minho promises, like it’s going to make Thomas any less miserable.
“Yeah.” But if they don’t get it next year, they’re probably never going to–who knows where Thomas will end up, and Minho might not stay, either.
It doesn’t help that Harriet and Sonya complete the ritual on their next attempt–they’re even sporting match bracelets after.
“You’d think they would help us out, since they started trying after us and got it before us,” Thomas grumbles. It’s tradition, though, not telling anyone the secret.
“We’ll get it, Thomas. We have all summer to study.” Minho says, looking at Thomas through his eyelashes, and it’s enough to make Thomas want to kiss him.
…what?
Thomas doesn’t usually dwell on kissing Minho, because it seems so pointless–he wants to do it, but Minho’s attention is usually on someone else.
Or so he thought.
Minho doesn’t walk anyone else to class, no matter how hurt they are. He doesn’t carry anyone else’s bag. He doesn’t let anyone else put their head in his lap on movie nights.
He’s the one who told Newt and Alby ‘no’ when they asked if they wanted to room with them instead of on their own, Thomas’s second year here.
Thomas realizes that Harriet and Sonya have been holding hands now, when they walk around campus.
He’s such an idiot.
There’s a pattern here, he’s pretty sure–Teresa and Brenda, Newt and Alby, Sonya and Harriet–they all got together shortly before they completed the ritual. Teresa attempted it three times with Rachel after they’d been fighting for a while, and it had worked for them. But they’re not dating, which breaks the pattern.
Thomas rolls over to stare at Minho across the room. He’s lucky they’re not quite done with the year yet–if they were, he’d have to tell Minho this over the phone or wait until they could meet up, and he doesn’t want to do that.
Minho wakes up, like he always does when Thomas is watching him. It’s like he’s got a sense for it.
“Hi, Thomas,” He says, slow and soft.
“I figured it out,” Thomas says, quickly, louder than he should in the middle of the night. “Minho, I got it. I know why it wouldn’t work.”
“Did you?” He smiles, “Come over here and tell me, then.”
“It might be better if I show you.”
“Either works.”
Thomas’s xiphoid process aches when he kisses Minho, but not in the magical exhaustion way–he doesn’t know how to explain it.
It’s better.
Minho doesn’t let go of him for the rest of the night.
They spend their summer getting on trains to visit each other and avoiding their friends as much as possible, though no one will be surprised to learn that they’re spending time together, and preparing to complete the ritual as soon as the school year starts back up.
Compared to every other time, it’s almost too easy. Their runes flash quickly, little green and blue sparks flying up, before they fade away, taking the magic with them.
“Hi,” He whispers, when Minho wraps his arms around him from behind. “We did it.”
“Yeah, we did. Look,” But all Thomas wants to do is look at Minho, so he doesn’t until Minho nudges him forward.
In the center of the ritual circle are two simple necklaces, as if the circle knows neither of them have owned a piece of jewelry before.
It probably does, after all the time they’ve spent here.
“Think Sonya and Harriet will let us crash their wedding?”
“They’re not planning anything yet.” Thomas says–they would have said so, right?
“We’ll ask anyway.”
The answer is yes, though it’s not really crashing in the end; they do half the planning.
Thomas might be biased, but it’s the best wedding he’s ever been to.