Archive of Our Own

The cardboard boxes formed a haphazard skyline across the living room floor. Sungho sighed, wiping dust from his hands, while Dongmin inspected the newly assembled coffee table by lying still underneath it. They were officially college freshmen now, navigating the transition from the structured wards of their coven to the unpredictable space of human territory.

Sanghyeok stood in the cramped kitchen, unwrapping ceramic mugs by hand. Peeling bubble wrap took longer without a vanishing spell, but there was a calming senses to the physical labor. He liked the weight of ordinary things.

Sungho reached into a half-empty crate and pulled out a weathered leather-bound notebook. Its edges were frayed, the cover faded from years of handling. “In possession of Lee Sa—Hey, Sanghyeok-ah. Did you pack library ancient archives?” he asked, holding it up.

Dongmin slid out from under the table, his eyes immediately tracking the object. “Let me see that. I bet it’s a diary. Probably full of terrible poetry.”

He swiped at the air, but Sungho smoothly hoisted the notebook higher. A brief scuffle broke out, accompanied by muffled laughter and the squeak of feets against the floor.

Sanghyeok turned away from the sink, wiping his hands on a towel. He couldn't place the notebook immediately, the memory of it buried under newer spells. Raising a hand, he gave a subtle twitch of his fingers. The notebook slipped effortlessly from Sungho’s grip, and it hovered across the room before dropping safely into Sanghyeok’s open palm.

“I mostly forgot what's inside,” Sanghyeok murmured, brushing a layer of dust from the leather.

He flipped the cover open, the pages yielding with a faint crackle. He scanned through sloppy potion ingredients, crossed-out notes, and elementary warding symbols. He was ready to dismiss it as a mere spell log, until the pages fell open naturally to a specific spread in the middle of the book.

The ink here was noticeably darker, pressed into the paper with heavy strokes. The heading read: True Love.

Below it was the configuration. An astrology geek with a deep fascination for the cosmos. The eager, comforting demeanor of a puppy, paired with an irrational fear of real dogs. An observant mind hidden flawlessly behind a class-clown persona. And to seal the impossibility, eyes of different colors—one grey, one endless black.

Sungho stepped closer, peering over Sanghyeok’s shoulder. His brow furrowed as he read the messy scrawl. “Is this some sort of soulmate list?”

Dongmin wandered over, leaning his hip against the counter. He took one look at the absurdly specific traits and snorted. “You can't just build a synthetic human, Hyung. The council will definitely arrest you for illegal alchemy.”

Sungho ignored the joke, his eyes shifting from the faded paper to study Sanghyeok’s expression. “This way too specific traits to be in only one person. You didn't write this to find someone,” Sungho noted, his tone dropping into a realization. “You just wanted to avoid falling in love altogether.”

Sanghyeok’s thumb brushed against the frayed edge of the page, then he snap the notebook shut.

“That was exactly the intention,” Sanghyeok confirmed, the absolute certainty in his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Besides, I could never allow myself to fall for a person who dislikes dogs.” He placed the notebook on the counter, the shadow of an old grief flickering across his features. “My familiar was a dog. That alone makes sure the impossible stays impossible.”

-

Later that night, the hushed solitude of his new bedroom felt expansive. Sanghyeok sat at the edge of his mattress, the leather-bound notebook resting on his lap. Staring at the darkened pages drew him backward, dragging him beneath the surface of his carefully maintained composure.

The memories tasted bitter.

He was ten when he learned that laying his heart bare only invited ridicule. He could still hear the echoing laughter of his childhood crush, the way her words shrank him down, mocking his small stature until he felt invisible. It was a mundane hurt, but it planted the initial seed of caution.

Then came the grief he brought upon himself.

At twelve, while his peers were busy coaxing spirits from the ether to serve as familiars, Sanghyeok had knelt in a damp alleyway, wrapping his jacket around a shivering stray dog. He wanted something real, something that had a heartbeat rather than a spectral pulse. For a year, the dog was his constant shadow, a warm weight leaning against his leg. The accident took it away in a blur of screeching tires. Desperate, he had torn through the coven archives seeking a reversal, only to collide with the irrefutable decree: the dead must remain untouched.

He was left with an empty collar and a hollow chest.

The final fracture did not even belong to him; he merely absorbed the shockwave.

Lee Sangja, his older brother, had loved with a blinding sincerity. When his partner packed their belongings to stand beside a higher-ranking witch, Sangja did not only grieve; he shattered. Sanghyeok watched a brilliant powerful man waste away in his own bed, his magic turning brittle, completely undone by someone else's selfish choice.

Compounded by these layers of loss, a younger Sanghyeok had locked himself in his room, clutching a pen like a weapon. He wove the spell of the imaginary man, pouring every ounce of his dread into the ink. He crafted a paradox to serve as a lock on his own chest, ensuring no one could ever reach inside to break him.

A distant siren pulled him back to the present. Sanghyeok exhaled, shuddering slightly as the heavy memories receded. He set the notebook aside and moved toward his desk, where a shallow ceramic bowl filled with clear water awaited.

Hovering a hand over the surface, his fingertips barely grazed the liquid. Ripples bloomed outward, catching the moonlight before the reflection shifted. The image of the ceiling melted away, replaced by the focused features of his younger brother, Lee Sonjae.

Sonjae was grinding herbs in a mortar, though he paused to flash a teasing grin into the scrying water. “If you want to blend in with ordinary humans so badly, you should really learn to use a cell phone, Hyung. They sell them everywhere.”

A faint smile ghosted across Sanghyeok’s lips. “Old habits die hard. How is he?”

The playful glint vanished from Sonjae's expression, softening into something far more tender. He glanced over his shoulder before looking back down into the bowl. “He’s resting. His magic is stabilizing—slowly, but it’s steady. He even walked out to the garden this morning to feel the sun.”

“Good,” Sanghyeok murmured. The tight knot behind his ribs loosened slightly. “Tell Sangja-hyung I asked about him.”

Without waiting for a farewell, Sanghyeok closed his eyes and whispered a string of melodic syllables. The water in the bowl bloomed with an amber hue. A whispered prayer pushed directly through the magical current, sent to soothe his older brother's recovering soul. The light held for a fleeting second before fading, leaving only the tranquil reflection of his empty room.

Three months slipped away with the ease of a turning page, bringing a comforting rhythm to their new lives. The off-campus apartment, which had initially smelled purely of fresh paint, industrial carpet cleaner, and sterile cardboard, now carried the familiar scent of their shared existence. It smelled of dried rosemary hanging in the kitchen window, dark roasted coffee beans, and the papery aroma of old parchment that Sungho refused to part with.

Sanghyeok had settled into the bland tempo of a college freshman. He memorized complex bus schedules, complained about the overpriced textbooks, and learned to drink iced coffee instead of brewing herbal infusions. It was a comfortable illusion, a constructed normalcy, even if the magical edges of theirs occasionally skewing around at the seams.

Just yesterday, Sungho had absentmindedly summoned a glass of water from the kitchen counter directly into his hand while lounging on the sofa, forgetting that their living room blinds were wide open to the bustling street below. Sanghyeok had to spend ten minutes lecturing him on the vital importance of peripheral awareness.

Dongmin, conversely, barely bothered pretending to be a human being within the confines of their four walls. He preferred the lazy, undisturbed luxury of his feline form, sprawling his black furry body across the warmest patch of the living room rug for hours on end. He only shifted back to a human when he was hungry enough to complain about the lack of decent snacks in the pantry. Sanghyeok would just step over the sleeping cat, shaking his head, but ultimately finding a sense of peace in the predictable chaos of his chosen family.

It was a humid Tuesday afternoon when Sanghyeok returned from a lengthy tedious literature lecture. His legs felt heavy as he pushed through the glass doors of their apartment building lobby, craving nothing more than the blast of the air conditioning unit waiting in his bedroom. However, his path was halted. A bright yellow plastic sign hung precariously over the closed metallic doors of the elevator.

Out of Order.

Sanghyeok let out a long measured breath, dropping his head back to stare at the lobby ceiling. The temptation to snap his fingers and manually reconnect the severed cables in the elevator shaft pulled intensely at his fingertips. It would take a mere second. A harmless little cheat that no one would ever notice.

Before he could manifest the thought into reality, the lobby doors wedged open once more. A stranger backed his way into the building, his arms wrapped awkwardly around a precariously balanced cardboard box.

The young man was clearly struggling, shifting his weight as the box threatened to topple backward. He turned around, blowing a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes, and his shoulders immediately sagged in dramatic defeat at the sight of the yellow maintenance sign.

Deprived of his magical shortcut by the sudden presence of a witness, Sanghyeok resigned himself to the physical toll of the stairs. He adjusted the strap of his canvas messenger bag over his shoulder and started walking toward the stairwell.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the stranger groaned. Surprisingly, there was no real malice in his tone, just a melodramatic sort of disappointment. “The one day I decide to bring half the solar system home with me, the lift decides to give up.”

Sanghyeok offered a polite sympathetic hum, holding the stairwell door open for the guy. “Do you live high up?”

“Fifth floor,” the guy panted slightly as they began the tiresome ascent. He shifted the box again, revealing a glimpse of painted spheres and metal wire. “I'm Myung Jaehyun, by the way. Architecture major, but currently questioning all of my life choices.”

“Lee Sanghyeok,” he replied, keeping his pace steady. “Literature.”

“Oh, a reader! Nice,” Jaehyun beamed, a bright expression that seemed to easily cut through the dim yellowed lighting of the stairwell. He’s having this natural, some kind of overflowing energy, taking up space in the most endearing way possible. “We look about the same age. Are you a freshman at the university down the block, too?”

“Yes. That campus.”

Jaehyun celebrated this minor coincidence enthusiastically, readily spilling up a stream of details about his day, his notoriously strict professors, and the fact that his box was overflowing with delicate planetary props for a massive scale model he was forced to build. He overshared with an open ease that Sanghyeok found oddly refreshing. Most people guarded their words around strangers, but Jaehyun spoke as if they had known each other for years.

By the time they reached the third landing, Jaehyun’s breathing grew audibly labored. His arms were shaking slightly, and the heavy box began slipping dangerously down his torso, the cardboard threatening to collapse under the pressure. Without a single word, Sanghyeok stepped closer, reaching over and firmly gripping the bottom corner of the cardboard. He took a substantial portion of the weight into his own hands, steadying the load between them.

Jaehyun blinked in genuine surprise, staring at Sanghyeok’s hands gripping the box before giving an appreciative toothy grin. “You are a lifesaver, Sanghyeok-ssi. Seriously, my arms were about to detach from my shoulders. I didn't realize papier-mâché and wire could weigh a literal ton. What floor are you heading to?”

“Fourth.”

“No way! We're practically neighbors. That’s amazing. That means I can properly repay you with coffee sometime. Or lunch. Whichever you prefer. There's a great sandwich place near the engineering building.”

They navigated the final set of stairs together, a synchronized pace developing between them to keep the box balanced. They reached the fifth-floor landing, stepping out into the carpeted hallway. Jaehyun turned his head, walking backward slightly to maintain eye contact with Sanghyeok.

“Seriously, thank you so much for the hel—”

A strong collision cut his sentence short.

Jaehyun, distracted by Sanghyeok behind him, was blindly rammed by someone rushing frantically down the hall. The impact knocked the breath out of Jaehyun, sending him stumbling forward. The sudden jolt ripped the cardboard box from their shared grip.

Sanghyeok watched in slow motion as a beautifully painted intricate model of Saturn slipped from his fingers. It hit the floor with a brittle crunch, the rings snapping in half and the sphere cracking straight down the center.

“Hey!” Jaehyun yelled, scrambling to regain his balance before glaring at the clumsy runner. “Kim Donghyun, what the hell! Walk with your eyes open, would you? You ruined my project!”

The young man who had crashed into them—who seems named by Kim Donghyun—barely looked apologetic. His voice carried a resonant depth.that contrasted with his pretty and slightly panicked face. “Hyung, I'm sorry, but did you see Manuel run by here? He just bolted out the door.”

Before Jaehyun could even process the question, another voice echoed from further down the hallway, loud and full of indignation.

“Where is that little demon?” a boy complained, stomping into view while clutching his forearm. “That black cat is an absolute menace! Look at this, he actually made me bleed!”

Donghyun waved a dismissive hand at the approaching boy. “Woonhak-ah, it's just a tiny scratch. You probably provoked him anyway. He was defending himself.”

“I literally just walked past him!” ‘Woonhak’ boy argued, his voice pitching higher.

As the chaotic dispute rapidly escalated into a full-blown shouting match in the middle of the corridor, Sanghyeok tuned them out entirely. His attention remained fixed on the shattered pieces of the planetary prop scattered across the carpet.

He dropped into a crouch, his movements fluid—making sure he’s being ignored by the three arguing boys. Sanghyeok carefully gathered the broken fragments of the painted sphere and the snapped rings into the cup of his hands. His back was slightly turned to block their line of sight. Closing his eyes for a second, he let a familiar warmth pool in the center of his palms. He wove a localized mending spell, pouring the intention of wholeness directly into the broken matter. The jagged cracks sealed themselves together, the paint blending flawlessly until the prop looked exactly as it had before the fall.

Standing back up, Sanghyeok waited for a lull in the argument. When Jaehyun finally pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and turned to assess the damage, Sanghyeok held the perfectly intact planet out to him.

Jaehyun froze, his hand halting mid-air. His brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at the prop, then down at the empty carpet, and finally up at Sanghyeok’s face. “Wait... I could have sworn I heard it break. It sounded like it shattered into a dozen pieces.”

Sanghyeok offered a perfectly innocent, polite smile. “It just slipped out of the box. Luckily, it landed softly on the carpet, so it didn't take any damage at all.”

Jaehyun stared at the model, turning it over in his hands, bewildered by the complete lack of even a single scratch. He opened his mouth to question it further, to point out the impossibility, but Sanghyeok’s unwavering expression effectively shut down the inquiry before it could even begin. Shaking his head, Jaehyun turned back to the other two boys, who had finally stopped bickering to stare curiously at the stranger standing in their hallway.

“Anyway,” Jaehyun cleared his throat, attempting to salvage the social situation. “This is Lee Sanghyeok. He lives right below us on the fourth floor and kindly helped me carry my stuff up here. Sanghyeok-ssi, these walking disasters are Kim Donghyun and Kim Woonhak. We all share the same unit and campus. Donghyun suffer through the exact misery as me, while Woonhak is a business major, though his actual full-time job seems to be testing my limits.”

Sanghyeok offered a brief nod for the lengthy introduction by Jaehyun. The pieces clicking together in his mind.

Roommates, then.

Donghyun and Woonhak blinked, their eyes darting from Sanghyeok to Jaehyun. Suddenly, a simultaneous identical shift occurred in their expressions. The annoyance from their argument melted away instantly, replaced by broad teasing grins.

“Oh,” Woonhak dragged out the syllable, his eyes dancing with mischief as he looked at Jaehyun. “A helper? Didn’t know my self-proclaimed independent-hyung can ask for a favor from someone else.”

Donghyun crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, very neighborly of you. Didn't realize you needed a cute escort just to carry a cardboard box upstairs.”

Jaehyun’s ears instantly flushed a vibrant shade of red. “Shut up, both of you. He was just being nice.”

The playful insinuation hanging in the air made Sanghyeok’s chest tighten. He wasn't used to this kind of unabashed scrutiny from humans, especially regarding romantic implications. Flustered by the sudden attention and the limited quarters of the hallway, he instinctively took a step back toward the stairwell.

“I should really get going,” Sanghyeok interjected abruptly, his words spilling out a little faster. “I have some reading to catch up on for tomorrow.”

“Oh, wait!” Jaehyun started, taking a step forward and reaching a hand out. “Sanghyeok-ssi, do you want to—”

“It was nice meeting you all. Good luck with your project, Jaehyun-ssi.”

Without waiting for a response, Sanghyeok turned and hastily retreated down the stairs, effectively missing whatever parting question Jaehyun had been attempting to ask him.

When he unlocked his own apartment door and stepped inside, the quietness of his unit felt like a physical relief. He closed the steel door behind him, leaning his back against it and letting out a long breath he didn't realize he had been holding. The faint sounds of city traffic drifted through the open balcony window, grounding him back in his reality.

He walked over to the kitchen counter, pouring himself a glass of cold water. He drank it slowly, forcing the cool liquid to settle the nervous energy vibrating in his body. He placed a hand against his chest, feeling the slightly irregular tempo of his heart. An undeniable heat lingered on his skin from the brief proximity in the hallway, and from the way Jaehyun had looked at him with such open, unfiltered appreciation.

Myung Jaehyun was objectively attractive. His slight chubby cheeks, his easy laugh, the way his dark hair fell messily across his forehead—it was a combination designed to draw people in. It was a magnetic sort of charm, the kind that made someone want to lean closer just to bask in the warmth of it.

Sanghyeok closed his eyes, setting the empty glass down on the counter. He took a deep breath, rationalizing the feeling away with clinical precision.

It was fine. It was completely normal.

He was a young man living among humans, experiencing a common biological reaction to an attractive neighbor. People saw pretty faces and felt a flutter in their stomachs, it was simply how human biology functioned. There was nothing magical or dangerous about a simple passing attraction. It was merely an illusion of the ordinary world, a fleeting physical response that would eventually fade away.

It was fine. It was completely normal. Sanghyeok insist on that.

Over the next weeks, the universe seemed intent on throwing Sanghyeok and Jaehyun into the same orbit. Their paths crossed with unpredictable frequency—a brief encounter by the mailboxes in the lobby, a passing glance across the central quad, a shared moment holding the glass doors of the library. Each time, Jaehyun’s behavior leaned into an effortless sort of flirting. It was never forceful; It was just a natural extension of his personality.

A lingering gaze here, a casual brush of shoulders there, an easy compliment woven into typical conversation. It was the action that left Sanghyeok constantly recalibrating his internal defenses.

On a mild Thursday afternoon, Sanghyeok sat at a corner table in a bustling campus cafe with Sungho. They were safely tucked away in the corner booth, partaking in their favorite mundane pastime: observing the bizarre intricacies of human behavior.

“I still don’t understand the concept of small talk,” Sungho muttered, watching two students near the counter engage in a painfully awkward exchange about the impending rain. “It is inefficient. They are just exchanging useless some weathering data.”

“It builds social connection,” Sanghyeok replies, stirring the ice in his tea. “Humans rely on shared trivialities to establish non-threatening intentions. It’s a survival instinct.”

Before Sungho could dissect that theory, a shadow fell over their table.

“Are we plotting world domination, or just aggressively judging people?” Jaehyun asked, dropping his backpack onto the spare chair with a cheerful thud.

Sungho sighed, a deep sound of mild annoyed. They already knew each other, a miserable coincidence stemming from sharing the same grueling architecture classes. “We were having a tolerable afternoon, until you arrived.”

Jaehyun grinned, unfazed by the hostility. He reached across the table, aiming a hand directly for the half-eaten blueberry pastry on Sungho's plate. Sungho reacted with lightning reflexes, pulling the plate out of reach and shooting Jaehyun a deadly glare.

“Buy your own,” Sungho deadpanned. “Or go bother Sanghyeok. He has a known weakness for strays.”

Sanghyeok rolled his eyes at the jab, but dutifully slid his own untouched plate of sliced pound cake toward the center of the table. “You can have this.”

Instead of picking up the fork, Jaehyun leaned his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his palms. He tilted his head, parting his lips slightly in a silent unashamed demand to be fed.

Sanghyeok paused. The bustling noise of the cafe seemed to dial down to a distant hum. Without overthinking the absurdity of the request, he picked up the small silver fork, pierced a piece of the cake, and brought it to Jaehyun's mouth. Jaehyun took the bite, his brown eyes locking onto Sanghyeok's. There was an intense focus in his gaze that contrasted with the childish nature of the act, pinning Sanghyeok in place.

Sungho groaned, dragging a hand down his face in despair. “Please, go get a room. Both of you. It is the middle of the day.”

Jaehyun swallowed, a teasing smirk spreading across his lips. “Why? Are you offering us yours, Sungho-ssi?”

Leaning across the table, Sungho ignored Jaehyun and whispered directly into Sanghyeok’s ear. “I have a vial of nightshade extract in my bag. Just give me the permission, and I will dissolve him into the floorboards.”

A genuine laugh bubbled up from Sanghyeok’s throat. It was an easy sound that earned a curious look from Jaehyun, who seemed suddenly fascinated by a mole under Sanghyeok's eye.

Ten minutes later, Sungho declared he had to finish a structural rendering and abandoned the booth, leaving Sanghyeok alone with the epicenter of his recent anxieties.

With Sungho gone, the chaotic energy radiating from Jaehyun seemed to settle into something different. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting away from Sanghyeok and toward the large glass window facing the street.

“Watch that guy by the traffic light,” Jaehyun murmured. His voice had lost its theatrical bounce, settling into a smooth analytical intonation.

Sanghyeok followed his line of sight to a businessman holding a briefcase and a phone.

“He’s going to check his watch twice, drop his phone trying to switch hands, and completely miss the crossing signal because he’s prioritizing looking at the reflection in the glass to fix his tie,” Jaehyun predicted, resting his chin on his knuckles.

Sanghyeok watched the street. The man checked his wrist. Once. Twice. He fumbled, the phone clattering onto the pavement just as Jaehyun said it would. As the man scrambled to pick it up, the pedestrian light turned green. Instead of crossing, the man stood up, immediately turned to the tinted window of the adjacent building, and adjusted his collar, oblivious to the pedestrian signal flashing red again.

Sanghyeok turned back to the booth, utterly mesmerized. The goofy, overbearing architecture student was gone. In his place sat an observant mind, dissecting the world with precision.

“Jaehyun-hyung!” a loud voice bellowed from the cafe entrance.

The heavy atmosphere broke instantly. Jaehyun snapped his head toward the door, where Donghyun and Woonhak were waving from the ordering counter. In a speed of light, the analytical observer vanished without a trace, and the chaotic boy returned.

“Coming, wait for a bit!” Jaehyun yelled back, grabbing his backpack. He stood up, throwing the strap over his shoulder. He looked down at Sanghyeok, his expression softening into something more tender.

“You should do that more often,” Jaehyun said softly.

Sanghyeok blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“Smile like that. It’s incredibly sweet.”

Before Sanghyeok could process the weight of the words, Jaehyun was jogging toward his roommates, leaving a trail of energetic chaos in his wake. Sanghyeok sat frozen in the booth, slowly lifting a hand to touch his own face.

He had not even realized he was smiling.

The night air on the rooftop felt crisp, carrying the faint gasoline scent of the sprawling city below. Sanghyeok sat near the edge of the concrete expanse, tracing the final invisible lines of a lunar alignment over the surface of a small polished moonstone. He murmured the closing syllable under his breath, watching a brief perceptible glow fade from the gem.

He was just slipping the stone back into his pocket when metallic clatter echoed from the stairwell.

Panic ignited instantly in Sanghyeok’s chest. He froze, his muscles tensing as he prepared to cast a concealment ward over himself. The metal door pushed open, and a figure stumbled out onto the roof, struggling to balance a cumbersome tripod and a sleek white tube.

It was Jaehyun. He was oblivious to Sanghyeok's momentary panic, softly cursing at a tangled strap catching on the door hinge. He had clearly just arrived, dragging his equipment upward to observe the night sky.

“Jaehyun-ssi?” Sanghyeok called out softly, keeping his voice steady to hide the residual panic.

Jaehyun startled, nearly dropping the tripod before his gaze found Sanghyeok sitting in the shadows. A broad relieved grin broke across his face. “Sanghyeok-ssi! You scared me. What are you doing up here in the dark?”

“Just clearing my head,” Sanghyeok replied smoothly, standing up and brushing dust from his jeans. “What’s all that?”

“Oh, this?” Jaehyun hauled the equipment toward the center of the roof, his movements filled with enthusiasm. “This is my baby. It’s a perfectly clear night, so I brought my telescope up. The atmospheric distortion is so low today.”

Sanghyeok walked closer, watching as Jaehyun extended the tripod legs and mounted the optical tube. The clumsy, chaotic boy from the hallway was completely replaced by someone treating the machinery with intense, practiced reverence.

“So, you were really interested in astronomy, then. I thought it was just for your project,” Sanghyeok noted, crossing his arms loosely to fend off the chill.

“Interested? I’m obsessed,” Jaehyun admitted freely, adjusting a dial on the side of the mount. His eyes were wide, reflecting the ambient city light. “Space, astrology, the entire mechanics of the cosmos. Did you know that the light we see from the Andromeda galaxy is actually two and a half million years old? We are literally looking into the past. It is like the universe's ultimate archive.”

Sanghyeok swallowed hard, the chill in the air suddenly feeling much colder.

“Here, look,” Jaehyun urged, stepping aside and gesturing to the eyepiece. “I have it focused on the Pleiades cluster. It’s beautiful tonight.”

Sanghyeok hesitated, then stepped up to the instrument. He leaned over, pressing his eye to the lens. Against the pitch-black canvas, a brilliant, tightly knit group of blue-white stars burned with startling clarity.

“Do you see the faint haze around them?” Jaehyun asked.

The voice was too close. Sanghyeok realized Jaehyun had stepped in right beside him to adjust the focus knob. Their arms brushed. The physical distance between them had vanished, replaced by the radiating heat of Jaehyun's body and the faint scent of laundry detergent and cedarwood.

“Yes,” Sanghyeok breathed out, though he was no longer really looking at the stars.

He pulled back from the eyepiece, turning his head. Jaehyun was already looking at him. The atmosphere on the roof shifted, growing heavy and delicate all at once. Jaehyun’s gaze dropped to Sanghyeok’s lips, lingering there for a weighted second. He tilted his face closer, the space between them narrowing to a mere sliver.

Sanghyeok did not pull away. He found himself paralyzed by the gravity pulling him in.

Then, a jarring electronic melody shattered the tension.

Sanghyeok flinched violently, taking a rapid step backward. His phone was ringing in his jacket pocket, the sound piercing the fragile bubble that had formed around them. Jaehyun blinked rapidly, clearing his throat and stepping back, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in flustered motion.

Pulling the phone out with shaky fingers, Sanghyeok accepted the call. “Hello?”

“I’m at the convenience store down the street,” Sungho's voice echoed through the speaker, blissfully unaware of the moment he had just destroyed. “Dongmin wants fish cakes. Do you want anything before I head back up?”

“No,” Sanghyeok managed to say, his voice sounding too breathless. “No, I’m fine, Sungho-yah. Thank you.”

He hung up, slipping the device back into his pocket. The air between him and Jaehyun was now thick with an awkward energy.

“I should go,” Sanghyeok stammered, avoiding Jaehyun's gaze. He pointed a thumb toward the stairwell door. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun replied softly, offering a slightly embarrassed smile. “Goodnight, Sanghyeok-ssi.”

Sanghyeok turned, his hand reaching for the metal handle of the door.

“Wait. Sanghyeok-ssi,” Jaehyun called out softly.

The voice cut through the night air, halting Sanghyeok in his tracks. He glanced back over his shoulder.

Jaehyun was rubbing the back of his neck again, the flustered energy returning, but it carried a hopeful edge. “Since we are practically neighbors... and we keep running into each other. Do you think we could drop the formalities? We are the same age. You can just speak comfortably with me. Without the '-ssi'.”

Sanghyeok’s heart executed painful stutter. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat, giving a faint nod. “Okay. Goodnight, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun's smile widened instantly, a radiant expression that seemed to easily outshine the artificial city lights below. “Goodnight, Sanghyeok-ah.”

Sanghyeok practically fled down the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the safety of his apartment. He walked straight past a sleeping Dongmin and shut his bedroom door, leaning his full weight against it.

His heart hammered relentlessly, refusing to slow down. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to rationalize the pull he felt on that roof.

It was just an attractive guy. It was just a moment.

Opening his eyes, he walked toward his desk. He stopped dead in his tracks.

There, resting in the center of his wooden desk, was his leather-bound notebook. He had remembered left it closed inside his drawer. Yet, it lay completely open, the worn pages bathed in the moonlight filtering through the blinds.

Sanghyeok stepped closer, his blood turning to ice. The book had mysteriously flipped open to the exact center. The “True Love” incantation stared up at him in bold ink.

He reread the list. A space-nerd. An astrology geek. An observant mind hiding behind a clownish exterior.

A seed of pure dread began to sprout in his chest, taking unshakeable root. He reached out with trembling fingertips, touching the faded paper, realizing that his constructed defense line was starting to look like what his attractive neighbor doing lately.

Sanghyeok closed the leather cover, sliding the notebook to the very back of his desk drawer and turning a small brass key. He blamed an errant draft from the window. He blamed residual magical energy from the scrying bowl. He absolutely refused to entertain the implication that his own spell was actively working against him.

“If we stay inside this apartment for another hour, I’m going to turn Dongmin into a footstool,” Sungho’s muffled voice filtered through the wood as he was knock against Sanghyeok’s bedroom the next day, his tone dripping with dry boredom. “We are going to the weekend night market. Put your shoes on.”

Desperate to escape the overpowering realization caused by the ink-stained paper locked inside his desk drawer, Sanghyeok agreed without a single protest.

The night market was a sensory overload of sizzling oil, caramelized sugar, and overlapping chatter. Strings of incandescent bulbs zigzagged overhead, casting a golden haze over the crowded aisles.

It was supposed to be a simple distraction, a chance to blend into the mundane tide of humanity. Naturally, the universe possessed a wicked sense of humor.

They had not made it past the third row of food stalls before running directly into Jaehyun, Donghyun, and Woonhak.

The two trios seamlessly collapsed into a single group of six. Woonhak immediately dragged Dongmin toward a stall selling questionable fried seafood, while Sungho engaged Donghyun in a remarkably dry conversation about urban planning. That left Sanghyeok exactly where he had been trying not to be: standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Myung Jaehyun.

The carnival games lining the back edge of the market became their immediate focus. Sanghyeok approached a stall with stacked wooden blocks, paying the vendor and taking three weighted fabric balls. He threw with hair-rising precision, knocking the entire pyramid off the pedestal in a single strike.

Jaehyun gasped dramatically, grabbing Sanghyeok’s shoulder and shaking him with excitement. He cheered loud enough for people turn their heads, hyping Sanghyeok up with an exaggerated shower of praise that made the vendor chuckle and hand over a ridiculously large plush bear.

“My turn,” Jaehyun declared confidently, rolling up his sleeves.

He was terrible. His first throw went laughably wide, bouncing off the canvas backdrop. His second throw hit the edge of the table. Jaehyun’s shoulders slumped, a tragic pout forming on his lips as he prepared for his final doomed attempt.

Standing a few steps back, Sanghyeok watched Jaehyun’s crestfallen expression. Without meaning to, Sanghyeok let a tiny pulse of intention roll down his fingers.

Jaehyun threw. The ball sailed through the air, clearly heading too far to the left, before it caught unnatural gust of wind, curved inward, and slammed directly into the center block. The pyramid collapsed.

Jaehyun threw his hands in the air, yelling in triumph. Beside Sanghyeok, Sungho let out a snorts while Dongmin merely shook his head. They both caught the magical interference immediately, sharing a look of disappointment that lacked any actual surprise.

For the rest of the evening, Jaehyun trailed after Sanghyeok with an endearing adherence. He offered to carry the giant plush bear, bought them matching skewers of grilled meat, and practically vibrated with golden-retriever energy every time Sanghyeok pointed out a new stall.

They were waiting near a vendor selling crushed ice drinks when the anomaly happened.

A couple walked past, leading a large, heavily panting Malamute on a thick leash. The dog barked once—a loud booming sound that cut through the market noise.

In a fraction of a second, the tall energetic boy vanished. Jaehyun let out a short high-pitched shriek, shrinking in on himself and darting directly behind Sanghyeok’s back. He gripped the fabric of Sanghyeok’s jacket tightly, using the shorter man as a physical shield until the dog was out of sight.

Sanghyeok stood perfectly still, his blood running cold.

The eager, comforting demeanor of a puppy, paired with an irrational fear of real dogs.

The faded ink from his notebook flashed violently in his mind's eye. It was not just a coincidence anymore. It was a terrifying manifestation.

“Sorry,” Jaehyun mumbled sheepishly, stepping out from behind Sanghyeok and brushing off his jacket. A dark flush crept up his neck. “I have this weird phobia of dogs. They just... have too many teeth.”

Before Sanghyeok could figure out how to process the crumbling remains of his sanity, Donghyun stomped over to them. The younger architecture student looked thunderous, a dark cloud hanging over his features. He stood next to Jaehyun but glared across the aisle, where Dongmin was currently laughing at something Woonhak had said.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jaehyun asked, bumping his shoulder against Donghyun's. “You look like someone stepped on your blueprints.”

Donghyun did not answer Jaehyun. Instead, he turned his head and bowed slightly toward Sanghyeok. “Sorry, Sanghyeok-hyung, but I really dislike your friend,” Donghyun stated bluntly, his voice leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Without offering any further context, Donghyun spun on his heel and marched aggressively toward a brightly lit cotton candy stand. Jaehyun watched him storm off, a knowing amused smirk replacing his previous embarrassment. He leaned down, lowering his head until his mouth was hovering just beside Sanghyeok’s ear.

“He isn't actually angry,” Jaehyun whispered, the warm breath making an electric heat bloomed at the base of Sanghyeok’s neck. “He’s just terribly flustered. Your friend Dongmin seems to know him a little too well, and it’s driving Donghyun crazy.”

Sanghyeok frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Dongmin barely talk to him tonight.”

“He doesn't have to,” Jaehyun hummed, entirely too observant. “Watch, Dongmin will constantly seeking him out.”

Sanghyeok cast a glance across the aisle. Right on cue, Dongmin’s head swiveled. His eyes bypassed the food stalls and the crowds, tracking with laser precision to where Donghyun was standing in line for cotton candy. Dongmin watched him for a long moment.

Then, Dongmin seemed to feel the weight of someone looking at him. He caught Sanghyeok’s gaze. Panic flashed across Dongmin's face, and he immediately whipped his head around, initiating a confusing conversation about marine biology with a confused Woonhak and Sungho.

Jaehyun chuckled softly beside him. Sanghyeok stared at Jaehyun's profile, feeling the invisible walls of his protection spell cracking straight down the middle.

It took a few days for the chaos of the night market to settle into a more observant clarity. With his own romantic dread simmering just beneath the surface, Sanghyeok found distraction in analyzing the strange behavior of his covenmates. He noticed the silver-clasped amulet resting perpetually against Dongmin’s collarbone. Usually, transformation tokens were kept carefully tucked away in velvet pouches or wooden drawers, only worn during specific rituals. Yet, Dongmin wore his like a second skin, completely inseparable from the enchanted leather cord since they live here.

Furthermore, Sanghyeok happened to glance at a crumpled copy of the younger witch’s course schedule left abandoned on the kitchen island. Dongmin's afternoon lectures concluded by three, yet he rarely pushed through the apartment door before the sun dipped below the horizon.

But, that disparate threads finally pulled tight on a humid evening.

Sanghyeok stepped into the apartment elevator, finding Donghyun already leaning against the mirrored wall. Cradled securely in Donghyun’s arms was a bulky colored bag of premium cat kibble.

“I didn’t know you guys having pets,” Sanghyeok remarked casually as the metallic doors slid shut.

Donghyun adjusted his grip on the heavy bag, a gentle smile softening his usually blank features. “We don't actually own pets. A stray black cat just started showing up at my bedroom window one day. I let him in, and now we spend every afternoon together until the sun goes down.”

Sanghyeok tilted his head, feigning mild curiosity while his analytical mind began to churn. “A stray? You mean it doesn’t have an owner searching for them?”

“No ID tag,” Donghyun answered, watching the illuminated floor numbers tick upward. “He just wears this thick leather collar with a silver clasp. I decided to call him Manuel. It sounds foreign and cool, don't you think?”

Sanghyeok blinked, the description of the collar was far too specific and familiar. “Since when has Manuel been visiting you?”

Donghyun hummed thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly as he calculated the timeline. “About six months, maybe, I’m not really sure,”

Sanghyeok offered a polite nod, masking the gears rapidly turning behind his neutral expression. Six months. He quickly did the math in his head. The length was roughly the same when their coven had signed the lease and moved into the building.

The elevator chimed, signaling the fourth floor. Before the doors parted entirely, Donghyun shifted his weight. “People always say black cats are terrible omens. But they are wrong. Manuel doesn't bring bad luck at all. Whenever he’s around, I feel very lucky.”

Sanghyeok let out a hum of agreement, stepping out into his hallway while desperately trying to mask the amusement threatening to break across his face.

Later that night, the coven gathered around the low coffee table in the living room, sharing a large bowl of seasoned potato chips. The television droned in the background, showing a meaningless wash of color and sound to fill the empty spaces.

Dongmin sat cross-legged on the woven rug, blindly reaching for a handful of chips. The silver clasp of his amulet caught the light from the screen, gleaming brightly against his dark t-shirt. Sanghyeok leaned back against the sofa cushions, crossing his arms over his chest, watched the younger witch chew a chip.

“Manuel,” Sanghyeok stated aloud. The tone was conversational, devoid of any underlying accusation.

Dongmin’s hand froze mid-air, a singular chip caught securely between his thumb and index finger. His entire body went rigidly still, the chewing motion halting abruptly.

Sungho, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, frowned in confusion. He looked at Sanghyeok, then at the television broadcast, trying to find the context. “Who’s Manuel? What’s Manuel?”

Sanghyeok did not break eye contact with the paralyzed younger witch. He raised a hand and pointed a single finger directly at Dongmin’s horrified expression. “He’s Manuel.”

Sungho’s frown deepened, his gaze swinging toward Dongmin. “What do you mean? Why would Dongmin be a ‘Manuel’?”

The weight of the exposure was too much to bear. Dongmin dropped the chip back into the bowl and buried his face in his palms, letting out a muffled pathetic groan.

“He spends every afternoon in his cat form,” Sanghyeok explained, picking up his own chip and inspecting the seasoning. “Hanging out in Donghyun's bedroom until sunset. Donghyun calls him Manuel, and apparently, he is Donghyun's personal lucky charm.”

A beat of stunned silence descended upon the living room as Sungho processed Sanghyeok explanation. Then, a booming laugh erupted from Sungho’s chest. The oldest witch doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed at the absurdity of a powerful young shapeshifter witch reducing himself to a pampered housecat just to be near a crush.

Dongmin curled tighter into a ball of humiliation on the rug, refusing to look at either of them, his ears burning a furious shade of red.

“Wait,” A horrifying thought suddenly struck Sanghyeok, his face contorting into a grimace. “So... do you eat the cat food, too? Because Donghyun was just carrying a bag of kibble upstairs.”

Dongmin peeked out from behind his hands, shrugging with a miserable sort of defensiveness. “It’s actually kind of tasty after the third time.”

Sanghyeok let out a visceral noise of disgust, his nose wrinkling, while Sungho made a loud gagging sound.

“I’m serious!” Dongmin argued, dropping his hands, though his face remained bright red. “Besides, you guys should see his face. He pulls this sad face... it looks like.. it looks… I don't even know what it looks like. But, you just have to see his eyes when he pours it into the bowl. I can't just refuse it and break his heart!”

“It’s still absolutely disgusting,” Sungho retorted, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

The university library on a Monday afternoon buzzing with a muted energy. The scent of aging paper and binding glue offered a comfort air, wrapping around the towering wooden shelves. Sanghyeok navigated the narrow aisles, a list of obscure literature references clutched in one hand, his gaze scanning the laden spines.

He turned the corner of the European History section and abruptly halted.

Sitting alone at a secluded oak table near windows was Jaehyun. The overflowing energy that usually accompanied the architecture student was entirely absent. Instead, Jaehyun was totally absorbed in a massive dense textbook. A yellow pencil was tucked securely behind his ear, and his brow was furrowed in intense concentration as he rapidly matching calculations from the textbook into his spiral notebook.

It was a mesmerizing sight. Sanghyeok lingered a moment too long, caught in the display of Jaehyun’s focused intelligence.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Jaehyun looked up from his notes. The intense concentration instantly dissolved, replaced by a slow warm smile that reached all the way to his eyes. He’s point out the empty wooden chair across from him with his pencil, a clear unspoken invitation.

Sanghyeok walked over, pulling the chair out silently and taking a seat. He placed his list of references on the table.

“Taking a break from saving the world?” Jaehyun whispered, leaning forward over his textbook, a teasing lilt lacing his hushed tone.

“Just searching for a tragic hero to analyze for my assignment,” Sanghyeok murmured back, resting his arms on the cool wood of the table.

Jaehyun’s smile widened, taking on a dangerously flirty edge. He rested his chin on his folded hands, his gaze locking directly onto Sanghyeok. “Tragic? Well, I could easily play the part of a lovestruck fool if you ever need a muse.”

A sudden heat bloomed high on Sanghyeok’s cheekbones. He looked down at his list, though the words had blurred together. “I need someone fictional, Jaehyun-ah. You are too real.”

“Am I?” Jaehyun whispered back, the tone sending an involuntary flutter traveled down his spine.

Before the tension could stretch any further, Jaehyun let out a heavy sigh, breaking the spell. He sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. “Staring at these structural diagrams is ruining my vision. My head is pounding.”

Reaching into his laden backpack, Jaehyun pulled out a small plastic lens case and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He opened the case, leaning closer to the small desk lamp illuminating their table. With practiced careful movements, he pinched the colored contact lenses from his eyes, dropping them into the saline solution. He blinked rapidly, clearing his vision before unfolding the glasses and sliding them onto his face.

Sanghyeok looked up, preparing to offer a sympathetic remark about studying too hard. The words died instantly in his throat.

The glow of the library lamp fell directly across Jaehyun’s face, illuminating the irises behind the glass lenses. They were no longer the uniform brown Sanghyeok had grown accustomed to.

One eye was a striking, tempestuous grey, resembling a dense storm cloud. The other was a bottomless, ink-like black.

The air vanished from Sanghyeok’s lungs. He stared, fully stupefied, his heart missing a crucial beat before accelerating into a frantic rhythm.

“Your eyes,” Sanghyeok breathed out, the words slipping past his lips before he could stop them.

Jaehyun instantly dropped his gaze, flush of embarrassment coloring his neck and cheeks. He looked down at his hands, his fingers nervously picking at the spiral binding of his notebook. The flirter was gone, replaced by a vulnerable person.

“I know, it looks hideous,” Jaehyun muttered, his voice dropping even lower. “I was born with it. Heterochromia. I usually just keep the brown contacts in so people don’t stare or ask uncomfortable questions.”

Sanghyeok’s chest ached. The instinct to soothe the younger man battled violently against the terror rising in his own blood.

“It isn't a flaw, Jaehyun-ah,” Sanghyeok assured him softly, his voice wavering slightly despite his best efforts to keep it grounded. “They are beautiful. Your eyes are incredibly beautiful.”

Jaehyun looked up through his lashes, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

But Sanghyeok was no longer present in the moment. Behind his ribs, his constructed internal world was collapsing. The final piece of the puzzle had just slammed perfectly into place.

A space-nerd with an undying fascination for the cosmos. The eager, comforting demeanor of a puppy, hiding a crippling fear of actual dogs. An observant mind masking itself flawlessly behind a class-clown persona. And now, the impossibility. One grey eye. One black.

A suffocating montage tore through Sanghyeok’s mind. Jaehyun pointing at the stars. Jaehyun hiding behind him at the night market. Jaehyun predicting the stranger's movements with clinical precision.

The spell he had woven years ago—the impenetrable fortress he had built around his own heart—flashed before his eyes. It was never meant to be a map to a person. It was meant to be an unachievable paradox.

Yet, here he was. Sitting directly across the table. Breathing, smiling, and looking at Sanghyeok with an affection that felt terrifyingly genuine.

-

Sanghyeok having no memory of the walk back home from the university library. The extensive campus, the busy intersections, the humid afternoon air—it all dissolved into a meaningless blur. His mind was consumed by the deafening roar of his own panic.

He burst through the steel door of their apartment, his chest heaving as if he had sprinted the entire distance.

Sungho was standing at the kitchen island, meticulously grinding dried lavender in the stone mortar. He paused, the pestle hovering in mid-air as he took in Sanghyeok’s pale appearance.

“How do you dismantle a binding weave?” Sanghyeok demanded, his voice lacking its usual measured calm. He slammed the door shut, dropping his canvas bag onto the floor. “A self-inflicted curse. A manifestation tether. How do I unravel it?”

Sungho frowned, setting the pestle down and wiping his hands on a nearby towel. “A dismantling incantation? Sanghyeok-ah, you know the curriculum as well as I do. We haven't been taught reversal magic yet. Unraveling a rooted manifestation requires elder-level clearance and at least three anchors.”

“I need to break it now,” Sanghyeok insisted, pacing the short length of the living room. His hands tugged anxiously at the hem of his jacket. “It’s happening. The list, Sungho. It’s all manifesting perfectly. The astronomy obsession, the crippling fear of dogs wrapped in a golden-retriever personality, the observant mind. Jaehyun has it. And today—today he took out his contacts. He has this... this straight person eyes or no gay mia or something—”

“Heterochromia,” a dry voice echoed from the shadows of the hallway.

Dongmin peeled himself away from the wall, where he had been eavesdropping in the dim light. He crossed his arms, looking unimpressed by the butchering of the medical term.

Sanghyeok did not acknowledge the younger witch’s correction. His legs suddenly felt like jelly, unable to bear the weight of his own dread. He collapsed onto one of the wooden dining chairs, burying his face in his hands.

Sungho flicked his wrist. The faucet turned on, filling a clear glass with cold water, which then glided smoothly through the air until it pressed against Sanghyeok’s knuckles.

Sanghyeok lowered his hands, taking the chilled glass. The cold condensation grounded him, pulling him back from the edge of a complete spiral. He took a slow sip. The apartment was completely still, both of his covenmates watching him with mounting concern.

“I can’t do this,” Sanghyeok whispered, the devastation in his voice fracturing the silence. He stared blank at the rippling surface of the water. “I’ve already fallen for him, Sungho. I fell for him, and I dragged him into it. I bound him to a synthetic attraction.”

Sungho leaned against the counter, his expression softening into empathy. “Sanghyeok-ah, magic is a living current, but it can’t manufacture a soul. If you’ve fallen for him, and he’s looking at you the way he does, why are you so determined to destroy it? Just embrace it. Let the universe give you something good.”

“Because it’s not real for him!” Sanghyeok argued, his voice cracking. He set the glass down harder than intended, the water sloshing over the rim. “And even if it was, I know exactly how this story ends. I have seen the aftermath. I’m fucking exhausted by the mere concept of pain. I refuse to be shattered.”

Before Sungho could offer another piece of infuriatingly optimistic advice, Sanghyeok stood up. He walked down the hall, slipping into his bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind him. The hard click of the metal lock echoed through the apartment, a physical barrier mirroring the one he was desperately trying to rebuild around his heart.

What followed over the next several days was a brutal self-inflicted phase of distancing.

The natural magnetism Sanghyeok had previously allowed to draw him toward Jaehyun was forcibly severed. The moment he stepped out of his apartment building, he was constantly on high alert, his gaze scanning the sidewalks and the campus quad for any sign of dark messy hair and a bright oversized smile.

On Wednesday, he spotted Jaehyun sitting on a bench near the humanities building, sketching in a notebook. Without a second thought, Sanghyeok pivoted sharply on his heel, taking a big detoured route through the engineering block just to avoid walking past him.

On Friday morning, the universe decided to test his resolve. Sanghyeok stepped into the lobby elevator, prepared for a solitary ride, only for the doors to slide open and reveal Jaehyun standing inside.

There was nowhere to run. The metal doors clamped shut, sealing them in a claustrophobic tense box.

“Hey,” Jaehyun greeted, the brightness in his voice faltering slightly. His eyes immediately sought Sanghyeok’s, searching for the familiar warmth they had shared just days ago in the library.

Sanghyeok stiffened, stepping to the furthest opposite corner of the small cab. He stared intensely at the illuminated floor numbers, locking his jaw. “Hi.”

The greeting back sounds clinical, like two strangers forced to share a waiting room.

Jaehyun shifted his weight, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. He opened his mouth, clearly wanting to ask what had shifted, what he had done wrong to warrant this sudden freezing isolation. Sanghyeok could see the confusion radiating from the younger man in his peripheral vision, the subtle dimming of his usually boundless energy.

It physically ached. Every instinct in Sanghyeok’s chest screamed at him to close the distance, to apologize, to reach out and smooth the tension away.

But Jaehyun decides to swallowed his questions, looking down at his sneakers as the elevator chimed at the ground floor. When the doors opened, Jaehyun stepped aside, offering Sanghyeok a tight smile. “Have a good times in class, Sanghyeok-ah.”

Sanghyeok merely nodded, walking past him and out into the bustling street without looking back. He let Jaehyun go, convinced that the coldness in his chest was better than the inevitable damage of a fabricated love.

The sprawling penthouse apartment—which being accommodated with lavish party hosted by a wealthy architecture senior—thrummed with a heavy bass that vibrated straight through the soles of Sanghyeok’s shoes. Amber lighting spilled across velvet lounge chairs, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and spilled champagne.

Sungho, entirely in his element, had abandoned them within the first ten minutes. He was currently standing near the grand piano, effortlessly networking with a group of older students, spreading charming smiles and weaving himself seamlessly into the human social hierarchy.

Sanghyeok and Dongmin, however, remained anchored near a towering marble pillar on the periphery of the room, safely out of the immediate crush of dancing bodies.

Sanghyeok took a slow sip of his sparkling water, his eyes scanning the crowd. He paused when his gaze landed on the far wall of the living room, which was dominated by a massive built-in saltwater aquarium.

Bathing in the ethereal blue glow of the tank stood Donghyun.

The younger man looked out of place amidst the celebration. He was brooding heavily, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his frown reflecting against the glass. A cheerful girl with a glittery dress approached him, offering a plastic cup and a bright smile. Donghyun barely looked at her. He took a deliberate step backward, muttering something brief that caused the girl’s smile to falter before she awkwardly retreated into the crowd.

Sanghyeok frowned, shifting his weight. “He looks miserable. Let’s go say hello.”

He just about took half a step before a hand clamped firmly around his wrist.

Sanghyeok turned, surprised by the almost bruising grip. Dongmin was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. His other hand was unconsciously wrapped around the silver clasp of his transformation amulet, hidden beneath his t-shirt.

“Don't,” Dongmin muttered, his voice barely rising above the thumping music.

“Dongmin, he’s our neighbor,” Sanghyeok reasoned, stepping closer so the younger witch didn't have to shout. “And he looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.”

“I stopped going lately,” Dongmin confessed. He finally looked up, his eyes glassy with a festering insecurity. “I haven't visited his window in three days. Not as Manuel. Not at all.”

Sanghyeok softened his stance, letting his own arm drop to his side. “Why?”

Dongmin let out a bitter smile. “Because he loves the cat, Hyung. He talks to the cat, he smiles at the cat, he buys expensive treats for the cat. If I walk over there right now as a human, he’s just going to glare at me. He dislikes me. He made that clear at the night market.”

The vulnerability in Dongmin’s confession tugged at Sanghyeok’s chest. It was a mirror of his own fears, slightly distorted but carrying the same foundational terror of rejection. But looking at Dongmin, Sanghyeok saw exactly what the younger boy was blinding himself to.

“Dongmin-ah,” Sanghyeok began, his tone steady and grounding. He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Dongmin’s arm. “We didn’t relocate to this apartment, deal with broken elevators, and sit through agonizingly boring lectures just to hide. The entire goal of coming here was to blend in. To become human.”

Dongmin swallowed hard, his gaze darting nervously back toward the blue glow of the aquarium.

“He likes the company,” Sanghyeok pushed gently, giving the boy’s arm a squeeze. “He likes the presence you give him. Now you just have to be brave enough to let him fall for the true version of it. Make him like the human.”

Dongmin remained still for a long moment. The thumping bass of the music seemed to dictate the pounding of his heart. Then, very slowly, Dongmin nodded. He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. Releasing his death grip on his amulet, Dongmin finally stepped away from the marble pillar, weaving his way through the crowd directly toward the glowing blue tank.

Feeling a strange mixture of pride and drain, Sanghyeok turned away. He needed a distraction.

He navigated his way toward the beverage table draped in white linen. Setting his empty cup down, he reached for a crystal pitcher of iced lime water.

“You look like you would rather be literally anywhere else in the world,” a smooth voice noted from his right.

Sanghyeok turned his head. A stranger was leaning against the edge of the table, holding a half-empty cup of dark liquor. He was handsome in a very polished way, his dark hair slicked back perfectly, a confident smirk playing on his lips.

“Is it that obvious?” Sanghyeok replied politely, pouring his drink.

“Only to someone paying very close attention,” the stranger taking a step closer to bridge the gap between them. “I'm Sung Youngbae. I don't think I've ever seen you at the architecture mixers.”

“Lee Sanghyeok, I study literature. My architecture friend forced me to come here,” he answered, maintaining a courteous expression.

For the next five minutes, Sanghyeok mindlessly took sips of his water, nodding along as Youngbae launched into a mildly amusing anecdote about a professor they both supposedly knew. Sanghyeok let his gaze drift absently over the rim of his glass, scanning the chaotic sea of dancing bodies in the center of the room.

The movement stopped abruptly.

Directly across the crowded living room, standing near an arched doorway, was Jaehyun.

The air vanished from Sanghyeok’s lungs. Jaehyun was not smiling. He was not surrounded by his usual chaotic orbit of friends. He was standing there in a dark button-down shirt, a plastic cup forgotten in his hand, looking straight across the room. Directly at Sanghyeok.

The distance between them was easily fifty feet, obstructed by flashing lights and dozens of moving people, but the eye contact was utterly devastating. Jaehyun’s expression was layered with a raw, undeniable ache.

A spike of defensive panic drove itself directly into Sanghyeok’s chest. Sanghyeok tore his gaze away from the doorway, violently snapping his attention back to the stranger standing beside him. Youngbae was just finishing the punchline of his story.

Sanghyeok let out a twinkling laugh. He tilted his head back, letting his eyes curve into a strained crescent. He shifted his weight, closing the physical distance between himself and Youngbae until they were standing intimately close.

“That is so, very unfair to the professor,” Sanghyeok purred, his voice adopting a syrupy cadence. He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of Youngbae's bicep, letting his hand stay there just for a second too long.

Youngbae's eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise at the sudden receptive shift in energy. He leaned in eagerly, captivated by the blinding persona Sanghyeok was forcing outward.

Sanghyeok maintained the brilliant smile, forcing himself to hold Youngbae’s gaze, to lean into the stranger's space, to laugh at every mediocre comment. His stomach churned with a sickening guilt. Every fiber of his being hated the agonizing charade, but he kept the performance up, intensely aware of the line of sight from the arched doorway.

He waited two full minutes. When he finally allowed his smile to drop into something more neutral, stepping slightly back from the bewildered Youngbae, Sanghyeok dared to cast a fleeting glance back across the crowded room.

The arched doorway was empty.

There was only a gap in the crowd where Jaehyun had been standing, swallowed by the shifting bodies. Sanghyeok stared at the empty space, the crushing weight of his success settling into his bones.

He did not see Myung Jaehyun for the rest of the night.

Having found his apartment devoid of breakfast supplies the next morning, Sanghyeok sat motionless at the narrow counter of the local convenience store. His chin rested in his palm as he stared blankly out the large glass windows, watching the early commuters hurry down the pavement. Behind him, the low hum of the store's microwave counted down the seconds to his heated pastry.

A chair scraped against the tiled floor right beside him.

Sanghyeok did not need to turn his head to know who had just sat down. The familiar scent of cedarwood drifted into his space. His chest tightened instantly. He braced himself, preparing for the inevitable interrogation, the justified anger regarding his sudden coldness and the blatant avoidance at the penthouse.

Instead, Jaehyun leaned his elbows on the counter, mimicking Sanghyeok's posture and staring out the window. “The woman with the red umbrella,” Jaehyun murmured.

Sanghyeok blinked, thrown entirely off balance. He cautiously turned his head. Jaehyun looked exhausted, his dark hair delightfully messy, wearing a simple oversized hoodie that swallowed his frame.

“She’s holding the umbrella,” Jaehyun continued, his voice deeper and softer than usual, raspy with the early hour. “But it isn't raining. And she keeps checking the reflection in the puddles. She’s using it to hide from someone she is hoping not to run into.”

Sanghyeok looked through the glass. The woman was indeed using the umbrella as a shield, peeking nervously around the bright fabric. Sanghyeok allowed himself to engage, falling into the familiar game. “Or she bought it specifically to match her shoes, and she is disappointed the weather cleared up.”

A soft breath of a laugh escaped Jaehyun. The microwave beeped behind them, but neither of them moved to retrieve the food. Minutes ticked by, measured only by the passing cars outside.

“Did you just come from his place?” Jaehyun asked. The question was delivered so casually it almost blended into the buzz from the street outside.

Sanghyeok frowned, genuinely confused. “Whose place?”

Jaehyun finally turned his head, his eyes locking onto Sanghyeok's profile. “The guy from the party. The one you were laughing with instead of acknowledging me.”

The statement hung heavily in the air. Sanghyeok felt a pang of guilt. He shook his head slowly, matching Jaehyun's subdued tone. “No. I barely remember his name, let alone the conversation. I left shortly after I spoke to him.”

Jaehyun watched him keenly, searching his features for any trace of deception. Finding none, he shifted slightly closer. “Sanghyeok-ah... What’s your ideal type, then?”

Sanghyeok’s mind instantly summoned the exact criteria woven into his leather-bound notebook. A man obsessed with the cosmos. A brilliant mind playing the fool. A paradox with mismatched eyes. He was looking directly at a flawless mirror image of his own cursed creation.

Sanghyeok swallowed the rising panic. He maintained eye contact, offering the only safe truth he can let out. “Not like the guy from last night.”

An undisguised sigh of relief slipped past Jaehyun's lips. The storm clouds hovering over his expression gradually vanished, replaced by the radiance Sanghyeok had missed so desperately over the past few days.

The subject was dropped as quickly as it had been raised. The invisible wall Sanghyeok had tried so hard to construct crumbled under the weight of Jaehyun's easy smile. They slipped back into their shared rhythm without missing a beat, trading inside jokes and absurd observations about the passing pedestrians.

Sanghyeok finally stood up to retrieve his pastry and a bag of chips, bringing them back to the counter. As they talked, Jaehyun seamlessly closed the physical gap between them until their knees brushed under the narrow table. When Sanghyeok opened the bag of chips, he absentmindedly picked one up and offered it outward. Jaehyun leaned in naturally, taking the snack directly from his fingers, his gaze warm and lingering.

-

The ambient glow of the city streetlights was blocked out by the curtains drawn across Sanghyeok's bedroom window. He sat at his wooden desk, hovering a hand over the ceramic bowl of clear water. A whispered incantation sent a singular ripple across the surface, pulling the fabric of distance apart.

The water illuminated from within, shifting from the stagnant reflection of the ceiling to the dimly lit workbench of his family's coven home.

Sonjae was immediately in the frame, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, aggressively crushing dried roots into the stone mortar. A thick purple smoke was beginning to billow ominously from a nearby brass cauldron.

“You’re adding too much crushed asphodel,” Sanghyeok murmured, resting his chin on his palms. “The ratio is three to one, Sonjae-yah. Unless you’re trying to melt the cauldron down to the floorboards.”

Sonjae jumped slightly, peering into his own scrying surface. He offered a sheepish grin, immediately grabbing a handful of neutralized chalk dust to throw into the bubbling mixture. The aggressive purple smoke instantly settled into a mild silver. “I was just experimenting, Hyung. Textbooks are restrictive to the creative process.”

“Textbooks prevent you from losing your eyebrows,” Sanghyeok countered smoothly, slipping into the familiar role of the responsible older brother.

Before Sonjae could offer a witty rebuttal, a deeper resonant voice echoed from the background of the workshop. “Are you lecturing him again, Sanghyeok-ah?”

Sanghyeok’s posture straightened instantly. Sonjae stepped aside, wiping his chalk-dusted hands on his canvas apron, and allowed Sangja to take his place in front of the magical connection.

The change in their older brother was drastic. The hollow pallor that had haunted Sangja’s features for three years was entirely gone. His skin held a vibrant warmth, and the brittle energy that used to crackle around him had smoothed into a comforting hum. He looked like himself again—the brilliant, compassionate man Sanghyeok had always admired.

“You look well, Hyung,” Sanghyeok breathed out, a sense of relief washing over his chest, loosening a knot he hadn't realized he was carrying.

Sangja let out a knowing smile. He leaned closer to the scrying surface, his dark eyes tracing the tension visibly weighing down Sanghyeok's shoulders. “I feel well. The garden is blooming again, and my magic responds when I call it. But you look incredibly tired, Sanghyeok-ah.”

“Just college,” Sanghyeok deflected, avoiding his brother's piercing gaze by focusing on the swirling silver smoke in the background. “Midterms are approaching.”

Sangja did not push the lie. He held a quiet patience, born from navigating his own destruction. He let the silence stretch for a moment, the bubbling sound of Sonjae’s corrected potion serving as a gentle background.

“I owe you an apology,” Sangja said suddenly, his tone dropping into something more empathetic.

Sanghyeok frowned, his chest tightening in defense. “You owe me nothing.”

“I terrified you,” Sangja corrected, slowly shaking his head. “I let my heartbreak consume me, and I know exactly how much that scared you. You watched me fall apart, and it made you scared of the very concept of falling.”

Sanghyeok gripped the hem of his sweater, the memory of his cursed leather-bound notebook burning a hole through his consciousness. He wanted to deny it, to claim he was being practical, but lying to Sangja always felt impossible.

Sangja leaned in, his gaze locking directly onto Sanghyeok’s through the watery tether, bridging the physical miles between them with emotional gravity. “But I need you to know something. Even at my absolute lowest, even when it felt like my chest was caving in... I do not regret it.”

The words struck Sanghyeok like a thunder in the branch. He stared at his brother, utterly bewildered. “He abandoned you, Hyung.”

“He did,” Sangja agreed, his expression remains peaceful, devoid of resentment. “But the joy I experienced before the end, the brilliance of letting someone into my heart... it was worth the devastation. I would not trade the memory of that happiness just to spare myself the grief. Don’t lock yourself away in the dark just because you are afraid the sun might eventually set, Sanghyeok-ah.”

The surface of the water began to waver, the magical connection reaching the end of its limit.

“Take care of yourself,” Sangja whispered, his smiling image blurring at the edges. “Let good things happen to you.”

The light glow faded instantly, leaving Sanghyeok staring at the stagnant reflection of his own tired face. The heavy stillness of his bedroom pressed in on him, Sangja's truth echoing relentlessly against the iron walls of his defenses, demanding to be let in.

Late afternoon spilled through the living room blinds, painting the floorboards in horizontal bars of amber light. Sanghyeok sat cross-legged on the rug, methodically rolling a wooden bead between his fingers as he chanted a low incantation. The repetitive syllables were meant to ground his erratic energy, serving as a desperate attempt to drown out the echoes of Sangja’s advice from yesterday.

At the kitchen island, Sungho was precisely measuring crushed dried roots into a simmering brass pot, the steam carrying scents of damp earth and cinnamon.

The tranquil atmosphere of the apartment shattered the moment a black blur bolted through the narrow opening of the sliding balcony door.

Dongmin, trapped in his feline form, paced frantically across the rug. His dark tail lashed back and forth in agitated, jerky motions, and he let out a series of highly distressed loud yowls, circling the coffee table.

Sungho paused his brewing, resting his hands on the counter as he looked down at the hysterical cat. A long exhausted sigh escaped his lips.

“He left the amulet,” Sungho translated, his tone flat, completely unbothered by the feline meltdown happening at his feet. “He was visiting Donghyun’s room, shifted to jump out the window, and forgot to take the leather cord with him. It’s currently sitting on Donghyun's nightstand and now, his room is locked. He’s stays in that form until he physically touches the silver clasp.”

Sanghyeok stopped his chant, dropping the wooden bead into his palm. He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache beginning to form. He can do a spatial retrieval weave—a specific trick of pulling a misplaced object through solid barriers without leaving a trace—better than Sungho, but the magic relied on physical proximity.

“I need to be within two meters of the target room for the tether to reach,” Sanghyeok muttered, pushing himself up from the floor and dusting off his jeans. “Keep an eye on him. If he starts scratching the furniture in panic, put him in the bathroom.”

Sanghyeok took the stairwell to the fifth floor, his heart accelerating with every upward step. The plan was simple: stand in the hallway right outside unit 563, cast the weave, catch the falling amulet, and retreat. A flawless, invisible theft.

However, just as his foot hit the final carpeted landing, door to the upstairs apartment swung open. Jaehyun stepped out into the corridor, holding a large tied-off plastic trash bag. He froze instantly, nearly colliding with Sanghyeok.

“Sanghyeok?” Jaehyun asked, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. He was wearing faded shorts and a loose worn-out black t-shirt, his hair attractively messy. He looked domestic, causing Sanghyeok’s lungs to seize.

Caught off guard, Sanghyeok’s meticulously planned magical heist evaporated into thin air. His mind scrambled for a plausible excuse for loitering in the hallway.

“I... I think I dropped something,” Sanghyeok stammered, the lie tumbling out before his brain could filter it. “My small flash drive. I think it might have accidentally slipped into your open bag when we were sitting at the convenience store.”

Jaehyun blinked. A flicker of doubt crossed Jaehyun’s features, his brow furrowing as he studied the rigid tension tightening Sanghyeok's jaw. Despite the obvious fictitious, Jaehyun did not press for the truth. Jaehyun simply shifted the trash bag to his other hand and used his foot to push the apartment door wider.

“My canvas bag is hanging on the back of the kitchen chair,” Jaehyun said softly. He stepped around Sanghyeok, heading toward the incinerator chute down the hall. “Go ahead and look inside. I’ll be right back.”

Sanghyeok swallowed hard, nodding mutely.

The moment the front door clicked shut, sealing him inside, Sanghyeok forced himself to focus. He closed his eyes, attempting to tune out the overwhelming scent of cedarwood and laundry detergent that saturated the apartment. He raised his right hand, trying to envision the layout of the adjacent unit to pinpoint the exact coordinates of Donghyun’s nightstand.

He needed to weave the spatial tether, grab the amulet, and walk right back out.

However, before the incantation could even form on his tongue, the sheer weight of being in Jaehyun's territory fractured his concentration. He opened his eyes with a frustrated exhale, his magical focus scattered.

That was when his gaze drifted down the short hallway. A single door stood half-open, casting an intriguing shadow across the carpet. Drawn by an irresistible pull that had nothing to do with magic, Sanghyeok lowered his hand. He abandoned his post at the front door and took a hesitant step forward. It wasn't until he pushed the door wider and stepped over the threshold that he realized he had just wandered directly into Jaehyun’s bedroom.

The room was a curated sanctuary of the cosmos. The walls were painted an absorbing navy, adorned with detailed framed star charts and vintage topographical maps of the moon. Suspended from the ceiling were delicate metallic models of planetary systems, catching the afternoon light from the window.

Sitting prominently on the corner desk was the papier-mâché Saturn prop.

Sanghyeok walked closer, mesmerized by the dedication poured into the space. He reached out, his fingertips hovering just millimeters above the painted surface of the ringed planet. He could still feel the residual energy of his own mending magic permanently interwoven with the glue and wire.

“Did you find it?”

Sanghyeok startled, pulling his hand back as he turned around. Jaehyun was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“No,” Sanghyeok lied, he lowered his hand to his side. “It must not have fallen into your bag. I’m sorry for intruding.”

Jaehyun did not move out of the doorway to let him pass. Instead, he pushed off the wooden frame and walked slowly into the room, closing the distance between them until they were standing mere inches apart.

“It’s a projector, actually,” Jaehyun murmured, ignoring the fabricated excuse about the flash drive. He reached past Sanghyeok, his chest brushing lightly against Sanghyeok’s shoulder, and pressed a small hidden button on the base of the Saturn model.

The main bedroom light clicked off automatically, plunging the room into darkness. A second later, the device hummed to life.

A breathtakingly vivid galaxy exploded across the ceiling and the navy walls. Thousands of tiny blue and white pinpricks of light slowly rotated around them, casting the entire bedroom in an ethereal, shifting glow.

“I spent three weeks calibrating the lenses,” Jaehyun explained, his voice a low resonant rumble in the dark. He tilted his head back, watching the artificial stars map their path across the ceiling. “If you look right above us, that is the Cygnus constellation. And over there, trailing toward the window, is Cassiopeia.”

Sanghyeok tried to follow where Jaehyun was pointing, but his focus was staggering. The proximity was intoxicating. The radiating heat of Jaehyun’s body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint hum of the projector—it all completely short-circuited Sanghyeok’s rational mind.

Jaehyun’s explanation trailed off into a heavy silence. The younger man slowly lowered his gaze from the ceiling, turning his head to look down at Sanghyeok.

The starlight reflected beautifully in the mismatched depths of his eyes. The reverence in Jaehyun’s expression was agonizing. He looked at Sanghyeok as if he were observing a science phenomenon far more beautiful than anything the universe had ever created.

Jaehyun swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Slowly, giving Sanghyeok every possible opportunity to step away, Jaehyun raised a hand. His long fingers brushed against Sanghyeok’s neck before his palm gently cupped his jaw. Jaehyun’s thumb stroked the high curve of his cheekbone, a touch so tender it made Sanghyeok’s knees feel weak.

“Tell me to stop,” Jaehyun whispered, his voice shaking. “Please, Sanghyeok-ah. If you don’t want this, tell me to stop right now.”

Sanghyeok couldn't speak. His lungs refused to draw air. He stared up into the eyes of the man he had woven into existence, feeling the collapse of his defenses.

Taking the silence as permission, Jaehyun tilted his face closer. He pressed a fleeting soft kiss to Sanghyeok’s lips. It was a testing touch, entirely hesitant, waiting to gauge the reaction, ready to retreat at the slightest flinch.

Something inside Sanghyeok’s chest shattered.

With an impatient sound, Sanghyeok surged upward. He grabbed the front of Jaehyun’s t-shirt with one hand, pulling him down, while his other hand tangled fiercely into the dark hair at the nape of Jaehyun's neck.

The kiss exploded into something consuming. Jaehyun let out a muffled, startled groan against his mouth before fully surrendering to the collision. It was a bruising clash of teeth and hunger, fueled by weeks of denial. Jaehyun’s arms wrapped securely around Sanghyeok’s waist, hauling him flush against his chest, eliminating whatever tiny space remained between them.

The momentum of their bodies pushed Sanghyeok backward. He stumbled blindly until his spine hit the bedroom wall with a hard thud. The impact forced a gasp from his lips, which Jaehyun immediately swallowed, his tongue mapping the inside of Sanghyeok’s mouth with a dizzying, searing heat.

“Sanghyeok,” Jaehyun gasped, tearing his mouth away to draw a breath. He pressed his lips against the line of Sanghyeok’s jaw, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of his throat. He bit gently at the pulse point, drawing fractured moan from Sanghyeok’s throat.

Jaehyun’s hands dropped lower, sliding past his hips to firmly grip the back of his thighs. With effortless heave, Jaehyun lifted him completely off the floor. Sanghyeok wrapped his legs tightly around Jaehyun’s narrow waist, locking his ankles together to secure his balance. The friction of fabrics grinding sent a blinding jolt of electricity straight to Sanghyeok’s core. He arched his back into the wall, his fingers digging bruisingly into Jaehyun’s shoulders as another messy kiss devoured whatever air was left in the room.

Jaehyun buried his face into the crook of Sanghyeok’s neck. His chest heaved, his breathing ragged against Sanghyeok’s collarbone.

“I’m going crazy,” Jaehyun confessed, his voice vibrating directly into Sanghyeok’s skin, laced with a raw hopelessness. “I want you so bad, Sanghyeok-ah. It hurts. It actually hurts right here.”

Jaehyun grabbed one of Sanghyeok’s hands from his shoulder and pressed it against his own chest. Beneath the thin cotton of the t-shirt, Sanghyeok could feel the hectic beating of Jaehyun’s heart, a physical testament to the pain he was enduring.

The terror that had been haunting Sanghyeok vaporized, forgotten alongside Dongmin's amulet, burned away by the all-consuming fire of Jaehyun’s touch. He surrendered to the gravity of the evening.

“Then take me,” Sanghyeok whispered into Jaehyun’s hair. “Jaehyun, please.”

Jaehyun let out a low guttural sound. Supporting Sanghyeok’s weight with ease, he stepped away from the wall, carrying him the short distance to the center of the room. They collapsed together onto the mattress, instantly tangling in the dark blue sheets beneath the glow of the artificial stars.

Clothes became stifling barriers. Sanghyeok’s hands frantically tugged the hem of Jaehyun’s shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it blindly into the shadows. Jaehyun returned the favor, discarding Sanghyeok’s jacket and shirt with a hurried desperation that only fueled the tension.

When bare skin finally met bare skin, a shudder racked through both of their bodies. Jaehyun bracketed Sanghyeok’s hips, hovering over him, his eyes dilated in the spinning light of the projector.

As they merged, moving together in the shadowed room, the overwhelming devotion pouring out of Jaehyun eclipsed anything Sanghyeok had ever understood. It did not feel like a synthetic reaction to a hastily scribbled spell. It felt onerous, deeply rooted, and far more ancient than simple love. It felt like two celestial bodies finally colliding after thousands of years of orbiting the same solitary sun, permanently altering the fabric of the universe in the process.

-

The artificial galaxy continued its steady rotation, casting a wash of imitation starlight across the tangled navy sheets. It had been an hour after the intercourse. Jaehyun was dead asleep, his breathing even, his face partially buried in the pillows.

Sanghyeok lay completely rigid beside him. The haze of intimacy had evaporated, leaving behind a cold reality. He raised a hand, letting his fingertips hover just a millimeter above the peaceful lines of Jaehyun’s brow, tracing the slope of his nose without daring to make physical contact. The beauty of the moment felt like poison. He was looking at a man stripped of his own agency, bound by a curse Sanghyeok had carelessly woven into existence.

Unable to breathe in the heavy air of the bedroom, Sanghyeok slipped out of the bed.

He pulled his clothes on with frantic movements, abandoning the delicate care he usually took with his surroundings. Stepping out of the apartment, he pulled the front door shut with a muted click. He turned toward the stairwell, intent on disappearing, only to crash directly into two figures stepping out of the elevator.

Donghyun and Woonhak staggered back from the collision. Woonhak immediately opened his mouth, a teasing grin already forming as he prepared to comment on Sanghyeok sneaking out of Jaehyun’s unit. But Donghyun stopped cold. The absolute gloom written across Sanghyeok's pale, bloodless face killed the jest instantly.

“Sanghyeok-hyung?” Donghyun asked, his voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sanghyeok ignored the question. He did not have the capacity to pretend to be a normal human right now. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers. A crackling spark of raw blue magic flared in the dimly lit corridor. The air pressure dropped abruptly. In a blink, a silver amulet materialized directly into Sanghyeok's palm, having phased straight through the solid walls of apartment 563.

Donghyun and Woonhak stared, their mouths hanging open in utter shock, stunned by the impossible physics they had just witnessed. Sanghyeok did not wait for the inevitable barrage of questions. Clutching the leather cord, he bolted for the stairs, fleeing into the shadows.

Bursting into his own apartment on the fourth floor, Sanghyeok found Sungho reclining lazily on the sofa, watching the news broadcast.

“What took you so—” Sungho started, glancing over his shoulder.

The sentence was cut off as the amulet was hurled directly at his chest. Sungho caught it with a confused grunt, sitting up. Sanghyeok was already gone, sprinting down the short hallway and slamming his bedroom door shut before Sungho could even process the anxiety rolling off him.

Sanghyeok tore into his room like a hurricane.

The organized space was destroyed in seconds. Drawers were yanked open and upended onto the rug. Stacks of parchment, old spell logs, and leather-bound grimoires were thrown haphazardly across the floorboards. He was searching blindly for a reversal weave, a dismantling incantation, anything to undo the catastrophic violation of free will he had just committed.

The door burst open. Sungho and Dongmin—the latter fully human again and hastily pulling a dark shirt over his head—rushed inside.

They immediately moved to ground him. Sungho grabbed Sanghyeok’s wrists, forcibly halting the frantic tearing of pages, while Dongmin kicked a heavy tome out of the path.

“Sanghyeok, stop! Breathe!” Sungho commanded, his voice assertive but laced with deep worry.

Sanghyeok was hyperventilating, his chest heaving as he fought weakly against Sungho's grip. “I have to undo it,” Sanghyeok chanted, his voice fracturing into a hollow sob. “I can’t do this to him. I can’t strip him of his choice. None of it is real, Sungho-yah. It’s all a lie. A synthetic magical reaction. I did this to him. I forced him to feel this.”

His knees finally buckled. Sanghyeok collapsed into the debris of scattered pages and overturned boxes, completely undone by the crushing weight of his own guilt.

Before Sungho could offer a word of comfort, a sudden pounding echoed from the front door. It was an urgent knock that vibrated through the floor.

Sungho released Sanghyeok's wrists, exchanging a grave look with Dongmin. Leaving the younger witch to kneel beside Sanghyeok, Sungho hurried out to the living room. The lock clicked, and the front door was pulled open, letting a panicked Jaehyun inside.

Frenetic footsteps rushed down the hall. A second later, Jaehyun appeared in the bedroom doorway.

He was breathless, his dark hair wildly disheveled, wearing the same shorts but with a jacket hastily thrown over his bare chest. His mismatched eyes swept over the chaotic ruin of the room before locking onto Sanghyeok sitting amidst the wreckage. The desperation for an explanation radiated from Jaehyun’s trembling frame.

Sensing the fragile, volatile tension of the moment, Sungho and Dongmin exchanged a silent nod. They stepped over the scattered books, exiting the bedroom and gently pulling the door shut behind them, leaving Sanghyeok alone with the fallout.

“Sanghyeok-ah,” Jaehyun breathed out, his voice laced with gentleness. He reached out, his warm palms enveloping Sanghyeok’s ice-cold hands. “What’s happening, baby? Please, just tell me.”

The physical contact broke the remnants of Sanghyeok’s composure. The truth spilled from his lips in a rush.

“I’m a witch,” Sanghyeok confessed, the words tearing at his throat. He looked down at their joined hands, unable to meet the sincerity in Jaehyun's eyes. “The repaired planet model, the things happening around me—it’s all real. I have magic. And I used it in the worst possible way.”

Jaehyun’s thumbs smoothed over Sanghyeok’s knuckles, giving a comforting pressure. He listened, waiting for the rest of the puzzle to fall into place.

“I was so tired of watching people break,” Sanghyeok continued, a hollow sob catching in his chest. “I lost my familiar when I was young. I watched my older brother completely shatter into pieces over a broken heart. I was scared of going through the same dark times. So, years ago, I wrote a binding spell.”

Sanghyeok pulled one hand free, pointing a trembling finger toward the weathered notebook lying discarded near the bed. “I built a configuration to be my true love. I listed traits that were too specific—a man who loved the cosmos, possessed a golden-retriever personality, a observant mind hiding behind a clownish exterior, someone terrified of dogs, someone with heterochromia. You were never supposed to exist, Jaehyun-ah. It was an impossibility designed to ensure I would never fall in love.”

Jaehyun followed the gesture toward the notebook, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the magnitude of the confession.

“But you matched it,” Sanghyeok whispered, the guilt crushing the air from his lungs. “You matched every single trait. And I brought it to life. I bound your heart without your consent. Everything you are feeling right now, the pull between us—it is a synthetic reaction. I hijacked your free will, and I don’t know how to unravel it.”

A weighted silent settled over the room. Sanghyeok squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable disgust, the justified anger, the absolute rejection.

Instead, Jaehyun shifted closer. He reached up, cupping Sanghyeok’s face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear that had managed to escape. The touch was incredibly grounded, lacking the horror Sanghyeok had anticipated.

“What happens if I refuse to be un-spelled?” Jaehyun asked, his deep voice vibrating with an unwavering certainty.

Sanghyeok opened his eyes, staring at Jaehyun in bewilderment. “Jaehyun, you’re not listening to me. It is not real—”

“I’m listening to you,” Jaehyun interrupted, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. “But you need to listen to me. I don’t care if it started from a dusty notebook. Even if these feelings were magically fabricated, they remain the happiest, most vibrant emotions I have ever experienced in my entire life. I’ve never felt this seen, this amazingly understood, by anyone.”

“It’s a lie,” Sanghyeok argued, his voice breaking. “It’s a curse that is going to end in tragedy.”

Jaehyun slowly shook his head, his mismatched eyes burning with a fierce devotion. “Tragedy will always infiltrate our lives, Sanghyeok-ah. People leave, accidents happen, and hearts get broken. That is just the inherent risk of being alive. But joy arrives alongside it. The universe throws good things at us, and we simply have to choose to let them in. You are a good thing. Why are you trying so hard to push it away?”

The purity of the argument struck a resonant chord deep within Sanghyeok’s chest, echoing the exact same sentiment Sangja had offered him through the scrying bowl. The terror began to recede, washed away by the warmth of Jaehyun’s acceptance. Jaehyun leaned in, closing the final gap between them.

Just as their lips were about to brush, three rapid knocks hammered against the bedroom door.

The door swung open before either of them could react. Sungho stood in the threshold, holding a thick official coven grimoire tucked under his arm.

“Come out to the living room. Both of you,” Sungho instructed, his tone remarkably serious. He turned around without waiting for an answer, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

Jaehyun pulled back slightly, looking down at Sanghyeok with a confused expression. Sanghyeok let out a long breath, wiping the last traces of moisture from his eyes. He nodded, letting Jaehyun help him up from the floorboards.

They navigated the mess and walked into the living room. Sungho was standing by the coffee table, the heavy grimoire open to an illustrated diagram of a heart surrounded by iron chains. Dongmin was sitting stiffly on the sofa, watching them with wide, anxious eyes.

“I cross-referenced the root syllables of your incantation with the elder archives,” Sungho explained, gesturing toward the ancient text. He looked directly at Sanghyeok. “You are an idiot, Lee Sanghyeok-ssi.”

Sanghyeok blinked, utterly drained. “Excuse me?”

“You fundamentally misunderstood your own mechanics,” Sungho sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You didn’t cast a projection weave. You cast an internal ward. You cursed your own heart to remain permanently locked unless presented with that exact configuration. It was a shield forged over your own chest.”

Sungho turned his attention to Jaehyun, offering a rare genuine smile. “It was never a leash wrapped around someone else's mind. The magic never once touched his free will.”

The implication settled over the room like a clearing storm. Sanghyeok stared at Sungho, his brain struggling to process the monumental relief washing through his veins.

“Wait,” Jaehyun breathed out, looking between Sungho and Sanghyeok, his eyes widening as the translation clicked perfectly into place. “So... I just actually like Sanghyeok? On my own? For real?”

“Absolutely on your own,” Sungho confirmed.

Overjoyed, Jaehyun let out an unrestrained laugh. He threw his arms around Sanghyeok right there in the middle of the living room, pulling him into a crushing embrace. He buried his face in Sanghyeok’s neck, squeezing him so tightly Sanghyeok could barely breathe, though he had no desire to complain. The suffocating guilt evaporated, replaced by an ecstatic lightness. Sanghyeok wrapped his arms around Jaehyun's broad shoulders, burying his fingers into the messy dark hair.

“Hey!” a highly irritated voice bellowed from the sofa.

Dongmin scowled at the scene unfolding on the rug. “Can you guys take your romantic revelations back to the bedroom? You are ruining the vibes of my living room with all this shouting.”

Sanghyeok did not even lift his head from Jaehyun’s shoulder, he turned his face toward the younger witch. “Shut up, Manuel.”

Jaehyun slowly pulled back, his brow furrowing in perplexity as he looked from Sanghyeok to the offended boy on the couch.

“Wait a second,” Jaehyun muttered, blinking rapidly. “Isn't Manuel the name of Donghyun’s stray cat?”

Sungho lost his composure. The oldest witch doubled over, clutching the edge of the coffee table as a booming laugh erupted from his chest at the sight of Dongmin being viciously silenced.

Several days later, the air inside apartment 563 smelled of melted cheese, spicy instant ramen, and the chaotic energy of six college students cramped into a single living room. Donghyun had brought home a complex strategy board game, promising a civilized and highly intellectual evening. It devolved into an interview shows within twenty minutes.

Woonhak leaned across the cardboard map, his game pieces abandoned. “So, can you fly? Like, with a broom?”

Sungho took a slow sip of his canned soda, answering with an academic deadpan tone. “Brooms are outdated, highly uncomfortable medium. We use localized levitation wards for vertical transit, though taking the city bus is generally much more efficient.”

Dongmin leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, his expression serious. “You know, if we hiccup three times in a row, it snows in the desert. It is an exhausting burden.”

Woonhak gasped, his eyes wide, captivated by the ridiculous lie.

“Sanghyeok-hyung,” Woonhak pleaded, turning his attention across the table. “Can you do the teleporting thing again? Just bring me a cola from the fridge so I don’t have to stand up.”

Jaehyun, who was sitting hip-to-hip with Sanghyeok on the floor cushions, draped an arm over his shoulders. He pulled Sanghyeok securely against his side, give off Woonhak an unimpressed look. “Get your own soda, Woonhak-ah. My boyfriend isn't a birthday clown.”

Sanghyeok’s chest bloomed with soaring warmth at the casual claim. He leaned into Jaehyun's side, perfectly content to let the younger man handle the defense.

Woonhak sighed dramatically, pivoting back to the oldest witch. “Show me something then, Sungho-hyung. Anything.”

Sungho reached into the inner pocket of his dark jacket, pulling out a tiny glass vial filled with a shimmering, iridescent liquid. “How about this? Just one drop of this on your tongue, and you will be able to talk in every language for three days.”

“Absolutely not,” Sanghyeok intervened immediately. He gives a strained smile as he swiftly snatched the vial out of Sungho's hand. “We’re not poisoning the neighbors in their own home.”

Across the table, Donghyun was observing the chaotic exchange with mild amusement. He shifted his gaze toward Dongmin, his deep voice cutting through the banter. “What about you? What’s your specific magical ability?”

Dongmin completely froze. The color drained from his face. His jaw dropped slightly, staring at Donghyun like a deer caught in blinding headlights. Sanghyeok pressed a hand firmly over his mouth, biting his lower lip hard. Beside him, Sungho suddenly developed a wheezing cough to mask his laughter.

Hours drifted by, and the competitive edge of the game dissolved into comfortable exhaustion. Empty snack wrappers and drained cans littered the coffee table. Sungho goes to the bathroom, Woonhak had passed out face-down on the soft rug, while Donghyun leaned back against the sofa, mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Dongmin hovered nervously, trying to gather the nerve to start a conversation.

Jaehyun nudged Sanghyeok’s knee. They stood up smoothly, slipping out through the sliding glass door and stepping onto the narrow balcony.

The night air was cool, carrying the distant hum of the sleeping city. The sky above was clear, a dark velvet canvas sprinkled with little burning lights. Jaehyun leaned his forearms against the metal railing, tilting his head back. He raised a hand, tracing imaginary lines between the constellations, lost in the vastness of his favorite subject.

Sanghyeok watched the gentle curve of Jaehyun’s profile, the starlight reflecting beautifully in his mismatched eyes.

Moving closer, Sanghyeok reached out and took Jaehyun’s raised hand. He turned it over, tracing the long lines of Jaehyun’s palm. With a soft breath, Sanghyeok channeled a tiny piece of his magic. A glittering gold light bloomed from his fingertips. He painted the light directly across Jaehyun’s skin, trailing it over his knuckles and down his wrist, leaving residue that mimicked a miniature galaxy resting right in the palm of his hand.

Jaehyun let out an amazed gasp. He looked down at his glowing hand, mesmerized before turning his gaze back to Sanghyeok. The adoration in his eyes was blinding. Sanghyeok leaned into Jaehyun’s space, pressing his chest gently against the younger man’s arm.

“You are my own star.” Sanghyeok whispered, his voice tender. Jaehyun smiled brightly, a radiant expression that eclipsed the moonlight. He cupped the side of Sanghyeok's face with his faintly glowing hand, tilting his head down to seal the night with a sweet kiss—a perfect earthly collision of two worlds that were always meant to find each other.