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Summary
Yunho shifts back just enough so that Mingi can turn around and face him, the loose strands moonlight caught in motion as he twists, luminous and cool, a stark contrast to how his face is flushed and blotchy. Patchouli and sandalwood waft off the long locks with the movement.
Yunho’s chest tightens.
The archer’s eyes are bright yet unfocused, pupils blown wide, scanning Yunho’s face as though he may find a possible explanation there. Fear lives in its now darker, golden depths, but so does something both confusingly softer and sharper, something unmistakably pulled towards Yunho despite itself.
“Yunho,” he continues, nostrils flaring, “this isn’t part of the ritual, is it?”
“...No,” Yunho answers softly. Honestly.
With the ghosts of old nightmares chasing his sleep, Mingi seeks Yunho out on a storm-dark Winter night, desperate for a protection braid to shield him from the bad dreams. But Yunho’s soothing touch, guided by Ancient magic and something long repressed, weaves so much more than just protection…