Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Growing up, Jeongguk had always loved his home. The neighborhood was loud and bustling with energy. It was in the heart of the city, but it only truly came alive at night. The witches would light their candles and burn their sage, singing songs to bring back memories of a history long forgotten. The humans would stare in awe at the magic that made itself one with the world.

Jeongguk grew up surrounded by the soundtrack of the city: a symphony of life and magic, which he found himself part of time and time again as he grew older. It was the sound of hundreds of thousands of conversations layered over each other, each one equally as important as the next in its own right, the honking and roaring of cars along traffic-jammed streets, shop owners and vendors calling out to attract just one more customer before closing, and, beneath it all, the neverending hum that lingered both somewhere within the air and under the ground – the hum that made itself at home in everyone who possessed magic. Right in the chest, between the ribs, and just under the heart, singing a melody that no one could quite replicate.

He’d loved that town. That home.

Yet he’d always known, deep down, that it wasn’t meant to be his home forever. His magic had always been just a little out of place, just a little uncomfortable. It didn’t settle into the soul of the city, not like his mother’s did. The hum was always there, right in his chest like it was supposed to be, but always felt just a tad bit hollow. Just a little bit too unwelcome. The same hum felt by every witch in the city, yet why did it feel so wrong?

Though, the city did its best to make him feel at home. In the rush of his first time taking off on a broom, his tiny bare feet lifting off of the cement sidewalk as he squealed in pure, young excitement. In his first time finding solace in his magic, when he sang under his breath, half drunk, to the wilting plants in the living room of some high school party and watched them lift themselves back up, high and happy.

Today, standing in the threshold of his childhood home with the moon shining, his hands intertwine tightly with his mother’s. He stands just on the outside of the door, his mother’s feet still grounded in what used to be their home home. His backpack is a heavy weight on his shoulders, filled with as much as he can carry and all his enlargement spell can manage.

“I’m so proud of you, Jeonggukie.” She whispers, squeezing his fingers tightly. Her hair is pulled up into a high bun, grey strands mingling in and shining bright against her natural black color. The skin on her face and hands is the slightest bit wrinkled, calluses from years of hard work gently wrapped around her palms and fingers. “You’re every bit the witch I always knew you would be and more, so much more. Don’t ever doubt yourself.”

He smiles down at her, lips quivering and eyes swimming. “I love you, Ma.”

One of her hands makes its way out of his grip, and lifts to caress his cheek. “You go find yourself a lovely home and do some good with that magic of yours, okay?”

“Of course,” he nods in fierce affirmation. That’s all he wants; to feel at home, explore the world, and… and be someone. Someone who adds something to the world. Someone who isn’t an outsider anymore and is welcomed by those around them – and knows they’re welcomed.

His mother swipes her thumb under his eyes to wipe away all the tiny traces of worry that try to make themselves known, like she used to when he was a boy. “I believe in you.” The gentle pats she leaves on his cheeks are a sweet reassurance that this is what he needs, what he’s wanted for so long. “Now, let me give you one last gift and see you off, alright?”

“Ma, you don’t have to give me anything.” He laughs wetly as he watches her take away her hands and search the pockets of her apron. “Everything you’ve ever given me, ever, is more than enough.” Almost too much , he thinks.

“Well, I’m not going to break the centuries old tradition of our family now, am I?” She frowns down at herself as she searches. “Oh, well, seems like it was here the whole time,” she giggles, just the way she has as long as he can remember, holds up her hand, and wiggles her fingers.

Jeongguk sucks in a deep breath, eyes wide. “Ma, no. I’ve never even seen you come close to taking that off.”

“Every eldest witch in our family, dating back to long, long before my greatest grandparent, has taken possession of this ring the day that they came of age. It’s your turn now, love.” The ring is golden, shining in a way nothing that old should be able to, with a larger, flat golden oval plated onto its center. A bright stone, ever changing in color, rests on the oval, covered in delicate and detailed wires of gold.

From his oldest memories, the ring has always been there, secure on his mother’s right ring finger. Always bright, the colors never the same, and the wires never quite forming the same shape. It has always held its own soul of sorts, felt much more than metal and jewel.

“Today, this ring is yours, and it will remain yours until the day your oldest child, by blood or other, comes of age. The magic of your ancestors will protect you and love you, keep you balanced, and never harm you.” She gently pries the ring from her finger, as Jeongguk watches in awe and lifts his right hand almost mindlessly.

When she slips the ring onto his hand it feels like he’s been surrounded in a new warmth. Everything is the same, yet somehow wrapped in a layer of comfort. Familiarity.

“Th-Thank you, Ma.” His voice is cracking, and he’s startled to realize that his tears are flowing freely from his watery eyes. “I promise I’ll make you proud.”

“I know you will,” she holds his hand one last time before she gently pushes him away. “Now shoo. The whole neighborhood is waiting for you! Don’t forget to call!”

So he whispers one last goodbye and turns. Walks away from his childhood, grabs his broom from where it’s resting against the entrance to the yard, and takes off.

He flies close to the ground, the street of their city block empty of cars. As he slowly lifts himself, both the witches and humans of the neighborhood come out of their homes, watching as he trails up and away from them. He takes one last look, one last deep breath, and dips the tip of his broom forward ever so slightly to speed up.

The chill night winds whip across his face, his hair flying off his forehead. He loves it.

The stars, the moon, and the songs of the owls and crickets greet him with open arms. He can’t help the wide, splitting grin that stretches from ear to ear, making his nose wrinkle and eyes almost close.

He’s happy. Happy and nervous. He takes those little thoughts that tell him no place will want him, no one will need his magic, his magic won’t be good enough, and rolls them up, shoves them somewhere to bother him later. Not now, not when he still has hope.

Jeongguk isn’t quite sure what the feeling is that overtakes him. It both comes from the same place in his chest that the magic of his city did and from the weight of the ring on his finger. It’s a light tugging that pulls him northeast, gentle but so so earnest.

Jeongguk isn’t quite sure what the feeling is, but he lets himself think, just for a second, that it might lead to somewhere he can call home. So he turns his broom a little to the right, until the feeling in his chest strengthens just the slightest in assurance, and flies.

☼

The night sky seems to fade into color around him as he speeds above and between the buildings of the city. The lights blur into lines and streaks in his peripheral vision, winking and sparkling.

Flying has and always will be one of Jeongguk’s favorite things. The rush of knowing you could fall, the trust you put in your broom as you try to go faster than the rest of the world. It’s exhilarating.

Time seems to both slow and speed up. Cars honk, night owls swoop over the streets, twenty-four hours businesses make themselves known with neon lights and open signs. It’s all beautiful to him.

At some point in the night he slows just a bit, puts in his earbuds and brings the night to life with music. He’s tired, a little sluggish as the hours pass, watching buildings turn into sprawling expanses of trees as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. But he’s happy. Happy to be flying towards a future.

That tugging feeling keeps his eyes from fluttering shut, leads him past the blinking towns and villages that crop up here and there. The forest seems to continue forever, even around the little chunks of civilization that interrupt it. The hum in his chest seems to like the forest, just not enough to settle down yet.

Jeongguk himself likes the forest. The greenery of the trees and foliage dwelling in the understory calls to him. The forest itself seems serene, old and hardy in its age. There’s old magic in it, all the way down to the deepest roots of the trees. The crowns of the treetops seem higher and higher as he nears the center of the forest, the trees they belong to more and more ancient.

The intensity of the magic is almost heady in its strength. Jeongguk finds himself feeling more and more awake, even as the sun begins to rise and his body becomes cumbersome with exhaustion.

The scenery beneath him glows in the sunrise, while the plants sing happily in the newfound warmth. At Jeongguk’s left, another gap in the forest can be seen. Speckles of buildings dapple the space, forming a small town. Though the sun has just risen, a few people roam the streets, small as ants from Jeongguk’s perch in the sky.

The pressure in his chest strains, tries to pull him toward it, heart warm and eager as he observes the small town. He’s not sure what it is about the place, but something in him thinks that it feels a little like it could be his home.

The town seems to be in line with the center of the forest, and as Jeongguk scans over the treetops he spots a tiny little cottage, directly in the center of the woods’ ancient magic. No doubt the town and its witches are prosperous due to the richness of the magic, but a place in the middle of it all? It and whoever lives within must be awestriking, he thinks.

He hardly notices that he’s spiraling slowly down toward the small cabin. For the first time, he breaches the crown of the trees and enters the wood, immediately struck with a presence of immense power. It comes from all around him.

From each plant root and blade of grass and tiny mushroom, magic flows into the atmosphere.

He holds his breath and takes out his earbuds when the tendrils of pure green magic caress him, reading his intentions. The plants of the center are a little worn, rough around the edges as though they’ve been through more in their years than Jeongguk could ever imagine. They whisper quietly, a contrast to the cacophony of saplings at the outermost parts of the forest.

It’s ever so gentle, a pressure all around him that’s focused at that point in his chest, just below his heart.

The magic of the wood doesn’t seem to see Jeongguk as a threat, and slowly settles back into its calm resting place. It’s thick and wise, unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Not possessed by a single being, but rather shared throughout the whole forest.

He lands gently, draws his broom up into his arms to let it rest, and steps forward, a little wobbly as he tries to get his land legs back. The forest floor is covered in a soft layer of greenery. There are patches of grass huddled in the spaces where light breaches the trees, hundreds of different kinds of wildflowers bring splashes of color to the green, moss and lichen that drapes across tree roots and stones. The stones themselves aren’t just simple stones. Jeongguk tips one of the smaller ones over with his toes, and crouches down to awe at the crystals that line its side. He’s sure many of the stones must be geodes, hiding wonderful shining worlds within them.

He resists the urge to pocket the stone, the idea of taking from the forest leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Sour. Instead, he begins to carefully pick his way through the trees, crossing the few yards to the cottage while he fidgets with his ring.

The whispers grow louder the closer he comes to the quaint little building. It’s ancient, looks like it could be as old as the very forest itself. A picket fence that might have been white once upon a time borders it, the gate off its hinges and laying abandoned on the grass.

Past where the gate is meant to hang is a little stone path that leads up to the door of the cottage. The cottage shows its age. The once white walls are covered in crawling vines and moss, a few windows cracked and shutters missing, gaping holes in the thatched roof. But even so, Jeongguk thinks it’s beautiful. Just beyond the cottage, a huge mass of vines peek from around the back. They curve up and around, almost like a huge sphere. Their magic is a little different, a little guarded, a little strange.

Alongside the path and filling the yard are a multitude of plants. Some Jeongguk has never seen nor heard of, but others are familiar. The chamomile and lavender question him calmly, while the peppermint’s voice is a bit sharper but still sweet. Between the unknown and common flowers and herbs are a few so rare he has to double take for a moment and then shout excitedly. Their voices are melodic and curious, like they wonder if he’s as rare as they are.

This forest is more than magical , he can’t help but think.

The door opens with a creaking noise when he turns the doorknob, and the plants harp on eagerly.

“I know,” he smiles at the vine of Star Jasmine that climbs the right side of the doorframe, “I’m excited too.”

Inside the cottage the walls are unpainted brick. A rickety table and chairs sit in front of a dusty fireplace, and an assortment of potted plants are set around the room. A connecting doorway leads to a tiny kitchen, cabinets filled with an hundreds of old moldy potion jars and vials.

Jeongguk’s pretty sure that the cottage was well lived in once upon a time, but it seems like no one has stepped foot inside since then. Even though it’s worn down, he sees a charm in it. It feels homey, like with a little bit of love and renovation it could be the place he’s been searching for.

He does another scan of the cottage, making sure no one will jump out and yell at him for trespassing, and releases his broom, lets it wander the cottage curiously. Once he’s double checked that it’s unoccupied, he lets himself smile, so hard that his eyes close and his nose scrunches up once again. This place feels special, the forest around it and the plants within so lively and kind. The aura of the cottage itself one that feels like home. Jeongguk want to be there, repot the wilted flowers, repair the furniture, put up his own decorations, watch the seasons change.

But, that thing in the back. The mass of vines.

At the far end of the cottage is a backdoor, just as weathered and peeling as the front. The knob is slightly rusted over, and when he tries to twist it, it doesn’t budge. He tries again, with two hands, as hard as he can. But it doesn’t move in the slightest. That strange magic buzzes on the other side, and he’s sure this doorway leads into the vines. Jeongguk rests a palm on the cracked surface of the door, draws up a bit of his magic. The wood, long dead, doesn’t respond, and the vines ignore him as he calls out.

Well, if that’s how they want it to be.

And yet - even with whatever it is the cottage is hiding, he thinks maybe he can be happy here.

Make it a home, open a little flower and herb shop. It’s just a small idea that makes his heart feel big.

The broomstick taps its end against the table to make sure it won’t collapse before Jeongguk sets his backpack atop it. His shoulders ache a little from all the hours of carrying the heavy bag (even though he’d enchanted it to fit more and feel lighter, the bag still felt heavy after enough time).

His hand brushes against some blankets when he sticks it into the bag, but he moves past them to search for his coin pouch and wand. His wand is an old thing, still in good condition due to being a magical object. He’d made it when he first became a teenager, like all witches. Sat down on his thirteenth birthday and spent the whole day to carve the thing, eager and excited, and the whole day afterwards wandering the city, searching for the perfect material to bond to the core of the wand.

He’d trudged through the streets, into hole-in-the-wall magic shops, through city parks, until he finally came across a Phoenix, newly reborn and perched quivering on a rusty bench.

It was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

Its dominant color was a vibrant red, mixed with feathers of orange, blue and green. In the light, it almost seemed to glow gold around the edges. After hours of being in awe and talking and singing to the bird, it had kindly offered him one of its most beautiful feathers, right from nape of its neck.

The red feather was long for coming off such a small Phoenix, tipped with a mosaic of colors and edged with gold.

That night he had taken his time with the incantation to bind the feather to the wand, drawing his sigils with steady chalk lines and speaking the words carefully. When the binding was complete, his wand was no longer just a carved stick. The feather was gone, inside the wand, but it was reflected on the outside as well.

Where Jeongguk had carved flowers and vines along the wood, the vines now shone golden and the flowers took on the Phoenix's colors. It was beautiful, more than he could have asked for.

To this day, Jeongguk is proud of it, happily clutching both it and his coin pouch in his hand as he exits the cottage. His broom trails behind him, perking up when he turns to face it.

“Will you take me to the village?” He asks as he trails his fingers along the dark wood. “I want to see if they have supplies to get the cottage fixed up. Plus I need new pots to save those miserable little flowers inside, don’t I? And I need a bed… the mattress in the cottage looked like it had a quite a few rats living in it.”

The broom bobs its tip up and down in understanding, nudging him to hop on. They take a more scenic route, wind through the wood a bit to observe the fauna and flora before they go up up up over the treetops.

Jeongguk stretches himself across the broom, letting his chest rest supported on the wood. “You think they’ll like me?” He asks while he twists his ring. “I wonder if they already have a green witch. One who actually knows what they’re doing.”

The broom shakes itself like it’s trying to tell him off, creaking angrily.

“Okay, okay, I know.” He runs a hand along the smooth wood. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

It’s much brighter now, the sunrise complete and more of the forest coming to life with every minute that passes. All he wants to do is curl up in a soft bed and sleep, tired from his journey, but he knows he won’t be able to sleep with the cottage in such a messy state. For some reason, he’s only accepting of messes he makes himself.

He coasts atop a calm breeze, grinning widely as he waves at a flock of pipits that fly by in perfect formation. They chirp back excitedly before they continue on their way.

The village isn’t too far, and Jeongguk quickly nears it. It’s more lively now that the morning has arrived, many more people walking through the streets. He hovers over the busiest part of the town, what looks like the Square. The people gaze up at him, shocked to see a newcomer in such a hidden place. He’s welcomed warmly, though, greeted by several waves and kind hello’s and good morning’s as he lands.

The village is a quaint thing, each home and store seems carefully built by hand. He looks left and right, in awe at the beauty of the place. The roads are unpaved, just smooth dirt and stone. The buildings of the Town Square seem to all be shops, each with a little stall out front with their goods on display. He spots clothing, pastries, magical items, and much more.

One shop catches his eye, the wooden sign spelling Stone Corner Repair in bold letters. He adjusts his grip on his coin pouch, tucks his wand into his boot, and heads toward the repair shop, broom following closely behind.

On the door, a sign is flipped to read “open,” so Jeongguk gently pushes on the door, lets it swing shut behind him. The shop is filled with shelves of knick knacks, from bicycles to couches to broomsticks. The place, however, seems to be devoid of people, counter and register empty.

“Hello?” Jeongguk calls softly, gently tapping the call bell next to the cash register.

A head pops up from under the counter, hair mussed and smile wide. Their magic is kind, so welcoming, yet tentative, a little scared. “Hello! Sorry about that–I’m Jung Hoseok, how can I help you?”

Jeongguk stares for a moment, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. “Um,” he starts, gazing at the man’s vivid red hair, “I’m new here, and the place I’ve found is falling apart a bit… I was wondering if I could get new furniture? Or fix what’s there?”

“Of course,” Hoseok says happily as Jeongguk takes in the man’s disheveled appearance. He’s dressed in a cream colored tunic, a leather harness of sorts attaching it to his dark trousers. Pouches and tools hang off his belt, and a small crystal choker is wrapped around his neck. “Where is the place you’re moving into?”

“W-Well, I’ve found this nice cottage in the center of the forest, and it seems to be abandoned. I was hoping to fix things up a bit.” Jeongguk says shyly. He smiles gently at the floor and shakes his head nervously, feels his hair get tousled around his ears.

“A cottage in the woods, you say?” Hoseok asks with wide eyes. “I don’t know too much about magic but I’d say you’re rather lucky.” He cranes his neck around to search the shop, calling out a loud “ Joon? ”

A taller man, apparently called Joon, comes out of a door Jeongguk hadn’t even noticed, and joins Hoseok behind the counter. “What’s up, Hobi?”

Hoseok nods his head in Jeongguk’s direction, “This cute little one seems to have moved into the house in the woods.”

Jeongguk’s a little ruffled, not used to being called cute–and he’s eighteen , coming of age as a witch, he’s not little .

Joon looks at Jeongguk with shocked eyes. “Really?” He asks, leaning over the countertop. “I’m Kim Namjoon, an eclectic witch. You’re a witch too, I take it?” He gestures to Jeongguk’s broom that’s wandering the shelves.

Eclectic witch. That makes sense. His magic is all over the place, tapping into all sorts of channels almost like it’s struggling a little to stay put.

“I–Yes, a green witch, why?” Jeongguk asks, confused and nervous at all the excitement.

“Well, no one’s lived in that cottage since our oldest witch has been alive, and the forest doesn’t really let anyone near it.” Namjoon laughs a little, “Not that many try to go near it.”

"I'm surprised someone hasn't tried to move in, it'll be beautiful once it's cleaned up. Why doesn't anyone go near it?"

Hoseok shakes his head and shrugs, "There's all sorts of rumors about the place, and it is rather creepy, being abandoned and run down. People here tend to just stick to their own homes and leave it at that."

Jeongguk smiles. "Well, I'm happy that I'm the one who gets to call it mine. There aren’t any property rights I have to buy, are there?"

Namjoon laughs out loud at that. "Oh, no no. That place is a part of the forest, it can't be bought or sold. It just... chooses when to share its space. And I guess it chose you."

Those words make Jeongguk happy and warm, that space below his heart fluttering just a bit. To know that the forest has rejected so many people for so many years, only to let Jeongguk make himself at home? It makes him feel more than welcomed, special even. The place is magical to its core, and he knows that it's where he must settle down.

Hoseok reaches under the counter and pulls out a tattered notebook and a pen with a chewed cap. "So, what are you looking to get fixed?"

“Well, the bed and sofa are practically taken over by rats, and all the wooden furniture is collapsing, so… pretty much everything.” Jeongguk laughs. “What is it you guys fix, anyway?”

“Just about anything our magic will work on,” Hoseok shrugs. “We’ve tried our best to master repair spells and enchantments, plus ones for longevity.”

“Are you guys from here?”

Namjoon calls out from where he’s wandered to in the store, “Hobi’s from Gwangju and I’m from Ilsan. I came here about three-ish years ago, him about a year before me, I think. This place has called out to quite a few witches, including you now.”

Hoseok waves the other man off. “So, when do you think we can stop by to make the repairs? If the cottage will let us near, that is.”

“Maybe tomorrow? I feel like I need to sleep for about twenty four hours.” Jeongguk smiles. “And I think the cottage will like you two, Hoseok-ssi.”

By the time Jeongguk is out of the repair shop, the sun is almost at its peak and he's more exhausted than ever. He rubs at his eyes blearily, letting the sunlight warm him and the sounds of the village calm him.

The winds are soft, and the clouds part to let the sun shine on him warmly as his broom lifts him up. The flight to the cottage – can he call it home yet? – seems both longer and shorter than the one to town. Sounds from the forest reach all the way up to him in the sky, all the animals that slept through the night now frolicking.

As soon as he steps foot onto the ground he stumbles to the door, legs wobbly from both flying and sleepiness. A place with walls and a roof has never seemed so welcoming as he digs through his backpack for blankets, sets a few onto the floor and pulls the rest over himself when he lays down.

Eyes half closed, he draws his wand from his boot. The words of the protection spell come from memory with a little concentration than normal, buried in all the fuzziness in his mind, but it works nonetheless. Knowing he won’t be waking up face to face with a rat, he falls asleep to the sound of his broom lowering itself to the floor next to him.

☼

Jeongguk wakes at what he’s sure must be night time, but a bright rainbow of light shines in from the windows of the cottage. He rubs his eyes blearily, pushing blankets off of himself. Even after he’s squeezed his eyes closed and opened them, the lights are still there, refracting through the cracked glass onto the floor.

He furrows his brows, pulls himself up to open the door. His broom follows closely behind, a little slow with tiredness. When the door is open the lights poor in with full force. It’s overwhelmingly bright at first to his sleepy eyes, but when they adjust and focus his jaw drops.

All around him the forest has become a new world.

Each and every divot in the bark of each and every tree glows gold, trailing up up up to the leaves that now shine iridescent with the colors of the rainbow like a magical autumn. With one hand still on the doorknob and the other over his mouth, Jeongguk can’t wrap his mind around it fast enough. Where the roots of the trees snake below ground, their golden glow can be seen all the way through to the surface. The moss and lichen and mushrooms that cling to the trees are neon, and the plants of the cottage garden are almost twinkling.

What’s even more beautiful than the lights is the song that the plants sing in harmony. The trees, in their old age and wisdom, are a deep bass, with the most ancient mushrooms almost just as low, and the flowers and herbs ring in sweetly. They’re singing in their own language, the one that Jeongguk knows and loves just as much as his own.

Mind empty of thought and worry, he leaves the door hanging open as he dashes out of the garden and into the wood. He spins, arms out wide, and laughs as the colors swirl around him. As soon as he’s balanced he hops onto his broom. It almost seems to know exactly what he needs, lifting its tip and flying up the height of one of the trees. It comes to a stop at one of the highest branches, where Jeongguk can look down to the forest floor and look up the sea of color that is the rolling tree tops. He steps off onto the thick branch, a thinner one reaching out to balance him when he stumbles. The tree is warm and welcoming as he sits, dangles his legs over the edge and leans a shoulder onto the glowing trunk.

The stars shine down with happy eyes, winking alongside the moon. The colors reach out as far as the oldest trees of the center grow, and melt into the newest parts of the forest. The less ancient trees don’t seem to possess the same magic as the ones Jeongguk sits among, and he wonders how long these original trees have stood by themselves.

Nocturnal creatures, unlike the typical squirrels and bluebirds of the city’s daytime, wander the forest and sky. There are thrummingbirds: hummingbirds with tiny, tiny antlers, feathers glowing as they play fight and feed from the brightest of flowers. Owls hoot from perches that Jeongguk can’t quite see, and when one finally passes in his line of sight he’s almost certain it has the face of an old woman. They’re wizens , he recalls.

When the forest is at its quietest, a herd of deer with beautiful golden antlers walk under him, on a path between the trees that only they know. Hundreds of different birds ride on the broad antlers, and when Jeongguk looks closely he can make out giant wings, tucked at the sides of each deer.

The biggest of the herd, what seems to be a doe, stops, the herd following their queen. She looks up at Jeongguk for a just a moment, assessing this new creature. With a polite bow of her head that Jeongguk returns with respect, the queen and her herd continue their journey.

They’re all ancient magical creatures, ones he’s never been able to see at his old home in the city, only hearing about them from books or word of mouth.

A soft noise sounds from somewhere to his side, and when he turns he comes face to face with a black cat. The small feline is sat with poise, with big golden eyes that watch the witch intently. A moment after their eyes meet the cat cocks its head to the side, before it prances along the branch to settle itself next to Jeongguk. Together, they observe the nightlife of the forest.

“Hello,” he extends a hand for the cat to sniff, “my name is Jeongguk. I’m a little new here.”

The cat bumps the top of its head against Jeongguk’s palm, the witch giggling a little before taking the invitation and scratching beneath its chin. Jeongguk doesn’t think it’s a stray, the creature’s fur is soft and clean, and it shows no hostility.

“Do you belong to anyone, kitty? Or are you just on your own?” The cat wears no collar, no marking to suggest an owner.

He’s not sure what time it is – the lights and the song of the forest make everything seem timeless and ethereal. He finds that he doesn’t mind though, quite liking this beauty that the forest is letting him enjoy. His broom weaves through the glowing leaves and branches as it explores on its own. It comes up for a moment to circle the cat, warily letting the animal sniff the straw of its brush.

The cat sneezes at the straw, face scrunching cutely, tail sticking straight up, and Jeongguk throws his head back in a laugh. Wide eyes stare at him when he stops laughing, the feline’s head tilted to the side curiously.

“What?” Jeongguk asks with a smile. “Something wrong with my face?”

The cat huffs a little, turning its head to look back at the ground.

“I’m just teasing,” Jeongguk giggles. “Well, I guess I’ll be going. I need some more sleep to be ready for all the cleaning I’ll have to do tomorrow.”

He clambers onto his hands and knees before he carefully steps onto his broom and plants himself firmly in front of the brush.

“Would you like to come?”

He turns to face the black cat once more, but it’s already disappeared into the glowing trees.

☼

Jeongguk slept restlessly after that, mind racing with color and wonder. There is so much more to the forest than he knows, and all he wants is to run between the trees and discover their secrets.

After waking, he drags himself onto his broom and takes off toward the town. He’s not sure what he needs from the place, but he wants to explore all the shops of the Square.

Although the forest is no longer alight with color and fantastical creatures, it’s still just as mesmerizing. It’s voices speak languidly, and are carried away in the morning winds. He garners less looks this time as he lands, and it’s comforting to feel a little more welcome. Not as out of place.

The Square is bustling with activity, witches and humans alike all walking with purpose. The sun rests high above them, washing everything in gold.

A sharp smell cuts through the early morning lull of the Square. It's sweet, like syrup and cinnamon, with a tangy lemon scent that balances it out nicely. Jeongguk looks down, surprised to hear his stomach growl. When he thinks about it, he hasn't eaten more than the freeze dried fruit he’d packed since he had left on his journey, too fervent with excitement to even think about stopping to go find more.

A nudge on his hip knocks him out of his thoughts, his broom eagerly pushing him forward.

"Alright, alright," Jeongguk waves his broom off. "Where are we going?"

The broom whizzes across the Square excitedly, leaving Jeongguk to chase after it. " Shit – sorry, sorry!" He shoots rapid fire apologies as he dodges person after person. When he comes to a stop, his broom is happily circling a display stall. Sometimes Jeongguk wonders if that thing was a dog in its past life. He could certainly imagine it, tongue lolling as it wags its tail.

The stall has bakery display cases installed on each of its longest sides, seemingly lit and warmed with magic, with a short marble ledge that an employee has a mug of coffee balanced on. Said employee is looking at Jeongguk with a small smile. Jeongguk finds himself dazed for a second at how pretty he is, hair soft and voluminous, features symmetrical and sweet.

"Hello, stranger," he says with a wave and a charming smile. His appearance is calming, and yet Jeongguk can hardly sense his magic, even though he can tell he’s a witch. It’s more like… he’s cutting it off, almost. "I'm Kim Seokjin, kitchen witch and bakery owner – and you are?"

"I-I'm Jeongguk – Jeon Jeongguk - green witch." he waves back shyly and tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. "I'm... new here, more or less. And really hungry."

Seokjin nods with a slight worried frown, "Well, let’s head on inside. I'm just here to be eye candy for a bit before I go in and work on a few more batches. I’ll make sure you aren’t hungry for much longer." He beckons Jeongguk to follow before waving a hand over the stall, the display lights flickering off. Jeongguk’s broom has flown off somewhere to explore.

“So, Jeongguk,” he starts as the door opens for them, “what brings you to our town?”

“Well…” Jeongguk begins, admiring the inside of the cafe and bakery.

Most of the walls are painted an off white, but the wall behind the display counter and cash register seems to be one big, magical chalk board, only interrupted by a pair of white swinging doors. Another employee is dutifully serving customers while a mop and duster have at the messes left on abandoned tables. There are bar stools at the breakfast counter in front of the displayed goods, sofas covered in hand sewn pillows, and coffee tables lit with tiny balls of light and centered with pots of flowers. A few bigger orbs of light float along the ceiling, and even though Jeongguk has just met Seokjin, he can tell that the place mirrors the man.

“I’ve just turned eighteen, come of age, you know. And this place feels like it could be a home for me. I think I might be able to do some good here,” He’s talking more to the hardwood floor than anything, fidgeting with his ring and letting his hair fall into his eyes.

“You’re just a kid, huh? I’m your hyung.” Seokjin smiles in warm understanding as he steps behind the counter and nudges the cashier with his shoulder. “I was born and raised here, but this place has always been a home to me. I don’t think I could find any other like it.”

The other man behind the counter is just as handsome as Seokjin, with long dark hair pulled back into a bun. He beams at Jeongguk as he fills a mug with warm tea, “Hi! I don’t think I’ve seen you before, and I like to think I know everyone in town. I’m Kim Taehyung, siren witch. And you?”

“Jeon Jeongguk – green witch,” He’ll admit, even just speaking Taehyung’s voice is soothing, and so is his magic. It’s rich and deep, like honey, without the sickening sweetness and with all of the soothing rich qualities.

“So, Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung leans forward onto the counter to set his elbow down and let his hand cup his cheek, “what would you like to eat?”

Seokjin walks out from behind the counter and pushes open the doors to the kitchen. “The menu is all up there,” he’s halfway through the doors as he points at the chalkboard wall. “Not everything we serve is on display!” He disappears into the kitchen with a smile, and calls out behind himself, “I’m taking over in the back, Jiminie will be out on eye candy duty in a few!”

There’s a calm feeling about the place, something that instantly makes Jeongguk feel at home. The back wall is covered in different handwritings. A few stray erasers and pieces of chalk float around to fix any mistakes. The menu is almost a little overwhelming, ranging from ordinary pumpkin pies to to herbal teas that claim to cure hangnails.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it? It changes with what seems to be popular, but Seokjin is good at knowing what you need.”A sweet voice calls out, and Jeongguk whips his head to the side, face warm at how he was caught staring so emptily at the wall. “ Oh , you’re new!”

Jeongguk’s left stunned at the man. He’s beautiful, shorter than Jeongguk, but with welcoming brown eyes, full lips pulled into a pretty smile, blond hair, and freckles that spread over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The magic that floats around him and under his skin feels a little like standing under the sun on a cold day. Jeongguk coughs a little, “I – uh, yes?”

“You don’t seem so sure,” he laughs, eyes curving into crescents. “Well, if Jinnie-hyung doesn’t get to you first, I’d recommend some Witch’s Brew coffee and maybe some of our special fruit tart. I’m sure it’ll wake you right up.”

Jeongguk coughs into his hand, and a strange tingling sensation travels down his spine. He brushes it off and tries to quell the heat that is rushing to his cheeks. “That sounds really good, thank you.”

The man smiles a little as he looks at the floor, “I’ll go get that, you wait here. Oh, and I’m Park Jimin. Pretty flowers, by the way.”

“What?” Jeongguk tries to ask, but Jimin is already halfway into the kitchen.

“Look at the floor and the tables, Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung shoots a Cheshire cat grin from his perch at the register.

Out of the hardwood floor, little trumpet vines curl up and towards Jeongguk’s feet, the flowers a pretty pastel orange and in the trumpet shape of their namesake. The small potted plants, all easy to raise flowers like sweet peas and poppies, have opened into an even bigger bloom, stems lengthened and new blossoms formed.

Jeongguk’s pretty sure all the blood in his body has risen to his face and neck, even heating the tips of his ears.

“I-I, um. Fuck!” He crouches down and pulls tugs at his hair. Taehyung is watching with a kind smile, which Jeongguk thinks is a little unfair. How come he’s the only one embarrassing himself? “I can fix this. I just…need a second?”

He moves from his crouch onto his knees, the floor cold and hard against his bone. The trumpet vines lift towards him, stretching to touch his legs. “Hi, hi, yes. Look at you, Jimin was right, you’re very pretty. But you can’t live on the floor here. People will step on you.” He speaks in a whisper, and strokes the petals of one of the flowers. Their voice is stubborn and energetic as they ask to stay.

“If I leave you here, you’ll grow so fast that you’ll take the whole place over in no time, huh?” He’s more than aware of Taehyung watching him speak to the vines, thankfully no other customers in the cafe. The thought of someone him watching as he tries to fix such a stupid mistake — making flowers bloom just because he saw a cute boy? — makes even more blood rush to his cheeks, until he wonders if he might pass out from embarrassment. The vines crow in disappointment, try to promise that they won’t overgrow the bakery.

One big breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. He needs to calm down. It would be worse if Jimin were to come out to the vines still there. Taehyung seems nice, like he’s just happy to be there, not one to judge.

Jeongguk places both hands above the vines, closes his eyes, and sings. He sings both in his and the plants’ language, not reciting any particular incantation or words. After all, green magic isn’t about spells. It’s about the connection to the earth and the green itself. So Jeongguk sings quietly. He sings of sleep and rest and youth, and encourages the vines back into the wood, the dirt, the earth.

When he opens his eyes, the floor is empty of vines, and he lets himself smile before the notices the two feet standing before him. He jerks his head up, and – oh . Jimin is still pretty from this angle, still with that ridiculous smile and now holding a cloth wrapped parcel and a to-go coffee cup.

He clambers onto his feet, a little dizzy from standing so fast on an empty stomach. Jimin holds the package and cup out to Jeongguk. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, so much.” Jeongguk takes them carefully. “Here, I have some money. How much is—?”

“Oh, no, no,” Jimin waves both hands frantically with a shy smile. Jeongguk thinks it’s unnecessarily cute at how his small fingers peek out from his sleeves. “You’re new here. It’s on the house. Jin-hyung and I say so.”

Jeongguk stares with wide eyes. “No, let me pay, I know you guys work hard to make this stuff, I shouldn’t just take it.”

“There’s no arguing with us,” Taehyung agrees with Jimin. “It’s for you, Jeon Jeongguk. We’d be more insulted if you turned it down. Right, Jiminnie?”

Jimin nods his head, hair bouncing. His eyes are wide and his bottom lip juts out just the slightest. Fuck . “Okay, but next time I’m paying.” He really just can’t say no, especially when Jimin hands it over with a bright smile. “Tell Seokjin-ssi I said thank you.”

“Will do.”

As he walks out the door of the bakery, Jimin walks with him, steps light and airy in a way that suits his personality just right. They both stop at the bakery’s stall, Jimin waving a hand to turn on the lights as Jeongguk’s broom comes flying towards them. Jeongguk hangs the parcel onto the end of his broom, using the string that holds the cloth together.

He bites his lip, wishing he could spin his ring without his drink spilling. “Thank you, again. And I’m sorry. For the flowers. I’m not a very good witch.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Jimin laughs with a wink. “I moved here with Taehyung-ah two years ago, and if someone ate anything magical I cooked they would puke slugs for a week. And don’t tell Tae that I told you, but if he so much as raised his voice people would pass out.”

Jeongguk looks down to where a small daisy has bloomed at his feet, “I just – flowers. When I’m nervous.”

“It’s cute,” the shorter man bends down to delicately pluck the flower. “Better than slug puke.”

“Right,” Jeongguk’s smile is a little lopsided. “Much better.”

They wave their goodbyes before Jeongguk takes off toward the cottage, one hand wrapped around the cup and the other balancing him on the broomstick. His heart is beating way too fast to be normal, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the embarrassment or the sight of such a beautiful person. Probably both.

He resists the urge to look back, tries to ignore how each time he looked at Jimin that space under his heart lurched forward, but when he does turn, Jimin is staring straight at him as he drifts further and further away. His chest tugs just a bit more.

His broom drops him rather harshly in front of the broken gate, and Jeongguk shoots it a fond glare. “Be careful of the package,” he scolds as he removes it from the broom handle.

The parcel is rather large, and Jeongguk looks at it curiously. When turning the coffee cup in his hands he finds Witch’s Brew for Jeongguk-ssi written in a flowy handwriting that he recognizes from the chalkboard and a small drawing of a flower. It brings a goofy smile to his face, one he doesn’t bother to wipe away.

He brings it up to his nose, and, well, it doesn’t smell like anything, but–oh. When he tastes it, it tastes like home. Not the city he lived in just a few nights prior, but rather all of the small things that felt like home. Cinnamon and honey, and the freshness of Ma’s home cooked bread. The taro boba tea from his old local vendor. The crisp floral of lemon verbena tea. All of that and more, yet somehow it tastes good , and not like a mess of flavors.

It makes him feel a little giddy, yet still curious about how Jimin had created such a thing, even with magic. Jeongguk stops abruptly at the door, hardly registering his broom bumping into the base of his spine. There, right at his door, sits the black cat from his midnight walk, licking its paw intently.

“Oh, hello again, kitty.” He gets a short meow in return.

It pads into the cottage behind the broom, nipping the straw playfully. His broom stops to let the cat run directly into the straw, sneezing. Jeongguk giggles a little as he sets the cup and parcel down onto the rickety table, which wobbles just the slightest when the cat jumps up to sit beside the food.

He unties the string that holds the cloth together and lets the cloth fall to the table. Within, there’s a tiny wicker basket of saran wrapped pastries. A beautiful fruit tart, macarons, croissants, scones, bread; it’s all enough to keep him fed for days. He frowns a little at all the hard work the men at the bakery put into it all, only to give it to him for free. But thinking of Jimin’s happy smile when Jeongguk had accepted eases his guilt.

He’s breaking off a small piece of croissant to feed to the cat when a knock sounds at the door. To be honest, he’d almost forgotten that the repair witches were scheduled to come, but it brought a smile to his face.

“Come in!” He passes the bread piece to the cat and puts a bigger one into his own mouth.

“The forest actually let us in!” Namjoon exclaims as soon as he’s past the door frame.

“Told you it would like you,” He circles a finger and the basket of pastries floats up a bit. “I have some food if you’d like? It’s from the bakery in the Square.”

Hoseok plucks up a macaron, “Seokjin-hyung’s?”

“Mhm,” now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t even caught the name of the place.

“Their stuff is the best,” Namjoon rings in from where he’s assessing the inside of the cottage. “This place really is run down, huh?”

Jeongguk nods with a frown, “All I can do is help the plants. I don’t know much in the way of repair spells.”

Hoseok nudges him reassuringly, “That’s what we’re here for.”

The duo works in a smooth tandem, laying out candles in the four corners of each room. They tell him they don’t have to sage the place, the forest already keeps the energy so pure that their magic can work just as well, if not better.

“Pure energy is always the best for fixing, unless you want your spells to fall empty or incomplete,” Namjoon snaps his fingers and each of the candle wicks begin to burn.

“What’s with this door?” Hoseok calls.

“It just… doesn’t open. The cottage won’t let anyone in.” Jeongguk waves his broom out the door, going to look for the cat only to find its spot on the table empty. “I’ll go out in the front so that you can do your thing.”

The greenery within the fence is practically overflowing. It’s all beautiful nonetheless, yet there are weeds galore and each different flower and herb is growing into one another. Jeongguk gets to work pulling out the weeds that sneak between the stones of the pathway, making sure to leave little droplets of magic behind to kill off the remaining roots.

The plants of the garden are quite mix-matched, from those that need infrequent watering to those that need almost constant water. The chamomile needs a bit of mulch in its soil, and all of them need to be pruned, even though it’s the wrong season.

The sun shines high, beating down onto his back. It’s nice though, to be caring for a garden he could have never had in the city.

Jeongguk prunes the lavender first, a tap of his finger encouraging the dead stems to fall with a neat slice. The lavender is content with his meddling, a little stuck up but much calmer than the peppermint. The mint chastises him for touching, and he bounces an argument back and forth with it the whole time he cuts its neighboring sage.

He’s not quite sure how to approach the mystery plants. He’s familiar with most herbs and flowers, but foreign and rare plants are out of his area of knowledge. A few old leather bound books are somewhere at the very bottom of his backpack, field guides and illustrated flower collections created by long dead green witches. He itches to run inside and grab it, but he resists the urge. He’d rather not barge into the cottage like a forgetful teenager (even though he is) and interrupt Hoseok and Namjoon. Their work is a lot more important and arduous than Jeongguk’s anyway. No doubt they’d rather have him out of their hair, right?

The trees watch him curiously as they speak amongst themselves. For such old things, they’re rather chatty.

The mint continues its pestering the whole time he removes its withered leaves, even as the pruned members of the garden harp on about how much better they feel.

“I don’t even know how you’ve made it this long,” Jeongguk ponders with a frown. “You’ve been alone for forever, you should be gone by now.”

They give off a mildly offended air at that, asking to be given a bit more credit, before they are chorusing a name.

Miss Heeyeon, Miss Heeyeon, Miss Heeyeon , they sing. Miss Heeyeon protected us .

“Miss Heeyeon? Was she who lived here before me?”

Miss Heeyeon, Miss Heeyeon, Miss Heeyeon , is all they say. Miss Heeyeon left us .

☼

The forest has been happy lately.

Spring rains have been falling nearly every night, not too much and not too little, leaving the greenery buzzing. Jeongguk learns that, even through the rain, the lights of the forest still shine just as bright, if not stronger. Fewer animals walk their paths, but it’s still beautiful in that otherworldly way.

Since he’d thoroughly pruned his garden those couple weeks back, the plants were now happy and healthy. He’s only been able to find a few of the mystery flowers within his books, even with

the power of the internet and phoning his mother, but he’s determined to find the names to all of them.

He’s avoided going into town as much as possible, except to purchase a few groceries, gardening tools, and Seokjin’s fruit tarts that he’s become inexplicably in love with. Even so, he’s still been unable to completely avoid Jimin, resulting in an abundance of tulips and one giant sunflower.

Jeongguk is sure Jimin is more than aware of his little infatuation, but he’s been kind enough not to mention it.

The cottage looks more and more like home with each passing day, the peeling paint, broken furniture, and lack of lights all fixed by Namjoon and Hoseok. It seems that the more Jeongguk cares for the plants, both potted and in the garden, the more the cottage seems to perk up and glow. Even the forest’s song has seemed happier, like it’s welcoming an old friend.

The forest is very happy at the moment. The trees gossip and bicker all in good fun, while all of the mushrooms and flowers and smaller plants hum a sweet tune. Jeongguk stretches his hands out to gently brush against the trees as he flies past. It’s become a routine to explore the forest, and each and every time he discovers something even more magical than the last.

He hums a bit as he flies, a sweet song that sounds almost like the one that the trees sing at night. He trusts his broom enough that he closes his eyes and relaxes his grip, letting it pull him along on its own path. It’s nice, to feel the wind on his face, the crisp scent of the forest, the sweet voices of the plants, and the chirping of the wildlife.

If he let himself, he could fall asleep like this: wrapped in the thick folds of the forest’s magic.

But—

A sharp scream cuts through the peacefulness, the trees cease their conversations, and Jeongguk startles so hard he tumbles off of his broom down to the forest floor. There’s a dull pain in his back as he wipes grass from his overalls, but he focuses, tries to hear what the trees are whispering, tries to keep an ear out for another scream. No more shouts come, but he can hear the faint sounds of a struggle as he hops back onto his broom.

Branches lift to avoid him as he whizzes toward the noise, hands clenched tight around the broom handle. Is it a stupid idea to fly right towards the sounds of screams? Yes, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind being a little stupid sometimes.

The flowers yell at him for disturbing them, but all he can concentrate on is the words of the trees.

The witch is stuck… the vines have got him…

Jeongguk finds himself in a small section of the forest that he hasn’t come across yet. The trees are half taken over by some sort of parasitic ivy, the only thing keeping the putrid green tendrils from sapping the life from the trees being the sheer magic that the forest possesses. Aside from the overwhelming vines, this section of the wood still stands out. Speckling the branches of the trees are huge bundles of flowers. Their petals gleam like pearls, and each flower is a slightly different color. Individually, they’re tiny, but they come together to form hypnotizing orbs.

A muffled grunt tears his eyes away from the treetops. When he squints he can make out a blurry form a few yards away, tangled in a knot of vines. He tilts the tip of his broom forward to speed up, and swings his legs over to land beside the struggling witch.

Arms and legs flail as the witch curses up a storm, and Jeongguk can’t help the small giggle he lets out. The struggling stops for a moment, and dark brown eyes peer at him from a mask of furled ivy.

“Give me just a moment,” Jeongguk pats the ivy. The thick ropes argue back at him, beg him to let them have just a bit of fun, please, they weren’t going to kill the witch all the way. With a sharp flick of his wand they slither off, and Jeongguk finally gets a good look at the strange witch.

His arms are covered mesmerizing tattoos, and Jeongguk thinks he might be going crazy for a moment when he sees a dotwork mermaid swim from bicep to collar bone. His features are sharp, yet hold a soft demeanor. Jeongguk’s heart does a strange little thing, even as the witch extends his hand and a pretty black wand flies right into the curve of his palm.

“Thanks,” the stranger says a little breathlessly. His eyes are sharp and his black hair is tousled in all directions. “Are you a green witch?”

“I–yes.” Jeongguk scratches the back of his head. “I heard you screaming, so I just…flew over.”

“Could’ve been a bad idea, but I’m glad you did. One second I’m standing under a tree and the next I’ve got a mouthful of whatever these are.”

“Zidar.” The green witch recites without thinking. “Magical subspecies of kudzu.”

The man stares at him for a moment and Jeongguk blushes a heavy maroon.

“Are you Jeon Jeongguk?”

“Yes?”

“Everyone in Seokjin-hyung’s bakery’s been talking about you. Haven’t shut up about how cute you are, ‘ The pretty new green witch who lives in the old cottage .’”

Jeongguk sputters, “I’m not–I. I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard of you?”

The man grins, all teeth and gums and unbridled joy. Jeongguk wonders if he’ll notice the small baby’s breath that begin to peak from between the leaves of ivy. “Wouldn’t doubt that. But my name’s Yoongi. I’m a sigil witch.”

He extends a hand, and when Jeongguk shakes it gently the butterfly inked on the its back flutters its wings.

“How did you end up like–” Jeongguk draws his hand back from where it’s held Yoongi’s for a moment too long and gestures at the mass of vines at their feet, “like that?”

A pretty red color spreads over the sigil witch’s cheeks, and he bites down on his lip. “It’s, um, nothing.”

Jeongguk cocks his head to the side, eyes wide, “Okay.”

Yoongi’s eyes roam over the green witch’s face for a moment–so quick Jeongguk wonders if it’s all his imagination – before he glares pointedly at the ground with a sigh.

“I was trying to get one of those flowers,” he waves a hand up at the trees even as he continues to talk down at his feet, “and out of nowhere the vines just shot out at me. I dropped my wand and couldn’t even call it back to me with the grip the stupid things had on my hands.”

There’s a little smile that puts itself on Jeongguk’s face, just a hint of one. The trees had already been observing the two witches, and with a gentle tap from the tip of Jeongguk’s wand, the tree closest to them reaches out a branch. He carefully plucks off a bundle of the small flowers, and the tree draws its branch back.

Yoongi’s giving him a funny look, eyes the sort of wide that’s both cute and comical, and his camellia pink lips are parted just the slightest. Jeongguk bites down on his lip nervously, fidgets a little with his ring as he tries to build up his courage. It shouldn’t take a lot, but Jeongguk is

Jeongguk, and sometimes it feels like he needs ten times as much courage as anyone else.

He pulls Yoongi’s hand from where it rests limp at his side, and gently sets the flowers onto the palm of his hand. They seem to like him, though they are a bit sad at being picked.

“I’m not quite sure what they are. Maybe hydrangeas? But I’ve only ever seen those on bushes, and never so–so magical.” Jeongguk winces a little as he cuts of his own ramble. Yoongi’s hand is still held in his own, and he pulls away much too fast to look ordinary.

Yoongi admires the little bushel of color in his palm before directing his gaze up to Jeongguk.

“Thank you.” It’s almost a whisper, but it feels a lot louder than that. Jeongguk feels a little dizzy, a little warm.

“Oh! No, no.” His chest feels kind of funny. Right between his ribs. Just below his heart. It tugs, hard, just like with Jimin. “It really isn’t much. Us green witches could do that in our sleep, even me, and I’m not very good.”

Yoongi frowns, and Jeongguk finds he likes the man’s smile much more. “I don’t know anything about plants, but I can tell you’re a great witch. Your magic is kind and powerful. Even the forest likes it.”

The green witch fiddles with the ring on his finger, face red. He’s not sure what to reply to that. He’s only ever been told those kinds of things by his mother, and that’s what moms are supposed to do. “Thank you, Yoongi-ssi.”

“You can call me hyung,” a monochrome wolf prowls down his forearm. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

And when they part ways, they both ignore the thick layer of baby’s breath that now blankets the forest floor.

☼

Somehow, within the month and a half that has flown by, Jeongguk has found Taehyung in his cottage more often than not. It started with an invitation. Well, really, it started with Taehyung inviting himself over one day while Jeongguk was visiting the bakery. The second time though, and each after, Taehyung would just show up. One time in Jeongguk’s bed, one time on the kitchen counter, and another in the bathtub.

He didn’t really mind though, and strangely enough he found himself enjoying Taehyung’s company. The siren witch kept up the conversation, not too overbearing, but just enough to where Jeongguk didn’t feel like his own silence was suffocating the place.

Taehyung’s magic is a fluid one, constantly moving about within and around him. Sometimes it reaches out to brush against Jeongguk’s, like it’s making sure it’s still there.

Jeongguk would almost call them friends, and that makes him happy.

“Are we friends, hyung?” He asks as he braids rosebuds into Taehyung’s hair with deft fingers.

He’s taken a liking to playing with the man’s long hair.

Taehyung sends a wide eyed gaze over his shoulder. “Of course we’re friends. I thought we’ve been friends since the first time I came over.”

“Even though I didn’t talk?”

“Of course. Not everyone feels the need to put themselves out there, even with one person, and I’m okay with that.”

Jeongguk ties off the end of the braid. “Thank you, hyung.” He whispers a little now. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“I’m glad you’re my friend, Jeon Jeongguk.” He pushes himself off of the floor to stand. “So, you’re almost ready to open shop, huh?”

Jeongguk nods happily, “The garden is doing really well. I’ve dried herbs, planted more fruits and vegetables, and found a lot of mushrooms out in the forest that are great for potions.”

“A lot of the witches in town have to get their own supplies, and our only green witches mostly sell produce,” Taehyung calls from where he has wandered into the kitchen. “I have a good feeling about your shop. Everyone already loves you.”

I doubt it , he thinks. “I hope so,” he says.

“Hey, is this yours?” Something thumps in the kitchen. “It looks really fucking old.”

The green witch pushes himself up to head toward his friend, black cat trailing behind him lazily. “What is it?”

Taehyung leans against the counter with enough familiarity to look at home. His eyebrows are raised as he runs a finger down the spine of a worn, leather bound book. “No idea, looks like a Book of Shadows, but it was all the way in the back of one of the cabinets. I was just looking for a mug.”

The leather of the front cover is embellished with a thin plate of bronze. Vines and flowers are painted in a chipping gold, winding across the sheet and wrapping around a big English letter H .

“It’s definitely not mine, I keep it in my room,” Jeongguk flips the cover open and frowns, “and you should definitely know where the mugs are, you’re in this kitchen more than I am!”

“It’s not my fault I’m forgetful, now what does the Book say?”

The letters on the first page are written in messy Hangul.

Ahn Heeyeon – Green Witch – 1886 – Book of Shadows.

“Heeyeon…” Jeongguk whispers the name, and the potted plants around him shiver a bit. Miss Heeyeon, Miss Heeyeon , they call.

Miss Heeyeon left us , he remembers. It leaves a strange taste in his mouth.

The cover thumps shut with a small flick of his finger, “I’ll look at it later.” He pulls it into his arms and heads toward his room. “I have… no idea where it came from.”

“Must be from the old owner,” Taehyung pulls himself up onto the counter as he sends a mug to be filled at the coffee pot. “I wonder who Ahn Heeyeon was.”

“Me too,” the green witch sighs as he places the book beneath his bed, “me too.”

His room is his favorite place in the cottage, many of the flowers he likes most potted and held in pretty macrame hangers. Tiny orbs of light hang in drooping lines around the tops of the walls, and they slowly fade from color to color with his mood. A plethora of papers are pinned to the walls, every inch of the sheets covered in sketches and notes of all the flowers, herbs, mushrooms, and trees he’s seen in the forest.

He casts one last wary look at the H emblazoned on the cover, and shuts the door tightly. A cup of warm coffee floats into his hand after he’s pulled himself up onto the countertop, and the siren leans their shoulders together. The marble is cold on his thighs, his friend is warm pressed alongside him, and his lap is full with the purring black cat that’s somehow weaseled her way into his life. With a low hum from Jeongguk, the rosebuds in his friend’s hair unfurl, spreading their pretty pink petals.

It’s nice.

But as soon as Taehyung has left, broom carrying him off above the trees, a pressure is lifted from Jeongguk’s shoulders—only to be doubled as he settles cross-legged on his bed with the Book of Shadows in his lap. The pressure wasn’t and isn’t from Taehyung. No, it was from from the looming thought of what lingered in the pages of Heeyeon’s book, and now knowing that he must read it.

He nudges the cover open and flips past the first page. The ink is smeared in places, paper scratched from the sharp tip of a dip pen. A pretty rendition of a lilac blooms at the page’s corner. It’s well done, yet a little sloppy, like it was done by a skilled child. There’s a hint of magic that lingers on it. Old, powerful, but smooth.

It is my first week as apprentice. I like it here. Teacher has given me one assignment: to begin journaling, or just note-taking in my Book of Shadows. So, I am here. The cottage is very pretty and lively, so many people are always here I hardly know what to do. Teacher will help me, though. I’m excited to work with the Spirit of the Forest.

“Spirit of the Forest?” Jeongguk skims through the rest of the page, but it’s all notes on how to care for magical snapdragons.

The next few are much like those on his wall, drawings and annotations of the plants of the forest. Nothing that addresses the Spirit of the Forest. Jeongguk closes the journal with a shaky exhale, only truly able to breathe when the thing is back under the bed. His cat leaps nimbly from the floor to his lap, circling herself into the right position. Her paws pressing rhythmically into his thigh is comforting, and he lets himself fall back onto his pillows with an arm thrown over his face.

The lights that float through his room are a muddy color. An ugly mess of purples, blues, yellows, greens.

Confused.

☼

As it grows closer and closer to opening his own shop, he pushes the thought of the journal to the farthest corner of his mind. Even though it will just be him, selling his plants from home, it’s enough to make him lay in bed in the mornings for hours too many. It makes him leave the cottage only to see the night lights and the way Jimin’s freckles are multiplying from the warming weather. It makes him wonder if his shop will even be worth anything to the town.

It won’t be like Seokjin and Jimin, with everything they create tailored just right to put even the smallest of smiles on a face. Or Taehyung, whose voice could calm a feral wolf. Or Namjoon, who helps so willingly and happily, because he doesn’t want to keep his skills to himself. Or Hoseok, who can fix anything, and make people feel like they’re special .

Jeongguk will just be… selling plants. But it’s all he can do. And the moments when he loses himself in the garden, bickering fondly with the herbs–the moments where he’s happy and oblivious–those are what keep him going.

It’s a Monday when he flips the sign (a gift from Hoseok) on his front door to open. There’s no rush of people or anything, but he can’t quite quell the smile that grows on his face. The Star Jasmine curling around the door is happy too. He and his magic feel a little happier, the rush of the moment quelling the anxiety at least for the time being.

His living room is set up in a way that doubles as his store. Shelves line each wall, filled with jars of dried herbs, small potions, and everything else he has been preparing. The sofa is soft and welcoming as he lets himself fall into it, and resists the urge to toss his feet onto the little coffee table. After all, he won’t be the only one using it anymore.

For a moment he just sits there, takes it all in. He has his own shop. Who knows if anyone will even show, but he did it . He lets himself feel proud for a moment.

Small bell shaped flowers ring happily from their perch above the door as it swings open. Jeongguk stands as fast as he can. His hands swing at his sides limply, not knowing what to do, until he settles with spinning his ring.

Through the door comes Taehyung, and Namjoon, and the rest of the six witches that he is familiar with.

His mouth gapes for a moment, “Guys! Um, hi?” At the end of the line trails Jimin and Yoongi. They both look ethereal enough separately, but together they’re almost too much. That space in his chest tugs so hard that it’s all he can do to stay where he is. “I–What’re you doing here?”

Taehyung grins, all wide and boxy. “Of course I’d be here for my best friend’s big day. And everyone else wanted to come too when I told them about it.”

Jeongguk’s cheeks burn hot as he clutches his apron in his fists, “Th–Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“We know,” Namjoon ruffles the green witch’s hair, “but we want to be here for you.”

“This place looks great now,” Hoseok remarks as his eyes wander the cabinets. “A lot different than before.”

That draws a smile out of Jeongguk, “Yeah, it’s really thanks to you and Namjoon-hyung. Me and Tae-hyung have spent a lot of time decorating too, though!”

Taehyung nods as he throws an arm over Jeongguk’s shoulder, “Mhm, and you’ve practically been losing hair with all that stress you keep brewing.”

Jeongguk ducks his head, embarrassed, “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“Speaking of brewing,” Jimin holds out a familiar to-go coffee cup, “Me and Jinnie-hyung brought you some…not housewarming gifts, but–shopwarming?”

“We all brought gifts, actually.” Namjoon sets down a crudely wrapped package.

There’s a basket clutched in Seokjin’s hands that he hadn’t even noticed, and he thanks them profusely as he takes the gifts. “I don’t have anything to give you–unless you see anything on the shelves you’d like?”

All the magic in the small room is a little dizzying, but exciting. It rubs against his own comfortingly, some more familiar than others. Namjoon and Seokjin’s magics are tightly woven, in a way that Jeongguk has never noticed before. He’s never really seen the two together, now that he thinks about it, only separately.

He sets the basket down onto the table and gently holds the cup in his hands. “Witch’s Brew?” He asks hopefully.

“Of course,” Seokjin unwraps the cloth that covers the food within the basket, “it’s your favorite, right? Jimin-ah says you order it all the time.”

Jimin’s cheeks blush a pretty pink under his freckles as Jeongguk nods. “It reminds me of the city and my mom. It’s really, really nice. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s Jimin’s recipe,” Yoongi speaks for the first time. “I had to drink all the test batches.”

The kitchen witch slaps the other’s arm, “Shut up.”

Jeongguk dims just a little at how their magic is wrapped up together, like Seokjin and Namjoon’s, “Does it…does it taste different for everyone?”

Jimin nods excitedly, hands now wrapped around Yoongi’s arm. “My goal was for it to taste like anyone’s favorite things. But before I couldn’t quite get down the trick to make it custom and adaptable to each person, and then I had to make it so that all the different flavors taste good together. Yoongi-hyung was a lot of help.” He looks at the sigil witch with eyes so fond it makes Jeongguk’s heart hurt.

A soft pat-pat-pat comes from the short hallway, and Jeongguk relaxes as his cat climbs onto his shoulder with a soft mewl.

“Who’s this little guy?” Yoongi’s expression melts into joy when he steps forwards, Jimin still on his arm.

“She’s my cat. Maybe even my familiar soon, if she’d like.” Her tail swings side to side as she examines the newcomers.

“What’s her name?” Namjoon holds a calloused hand out for her to sniff warily.

“She…doesn’t have one, yet.” Jeongguk admits with a blush.

“You should name her after a flower!” Hoseok rubs circles around her ears and she purrs contentedly.

Jeongguk looks at the soft yellow-blond of the younger kitchen witch’s hair. The strands glow pretty colors from the little mood lights that float about. “Maybe… Freesia?”

“Freesia,” Seokjin echoes as he passes out pastries. “Pretty.”

“Why don’t you all sit down?” Jeongguk pats a couch cushion. “I’ll get drinks?”

Six heads bob in unison. Hoseok, Taehyung, and Seokjin plop onto the couch, Namjoon on the floor between Seokjin’s knees. Yoongi and Jimin sit beside each other on the opposite side of the table.

In the kitchen, Jeongguk brings some water with camellia sinensis to a boil, picking and choosing between the different tea flowers and herbs that sit in jars on his countertop. He divides the water through a strainer into seven mugs with a low swing of his hand. Each cup gets different leaves in flowers in its diffuser, chosen just for each witch.

He gives Taehyung a rich chai, Namjoon a sharp mint with honey. In Yoongi’s mug is a slightly sweetened black tea, Jimin’s a lovely passionflower. Seokjin seems like a refreshing lemongrass, and Hoseok a calm lavender. Jeongguk makes a second mint and honey for himself, lets the bags steep for a moment, and calls the six steaming mugs to follow him into the living room as he holds his own.

The teas float to their owners, who take appreciative sips. Jeongguk stands a bit awkwardly, not knowing where to sit. He taps his yellow-painted nails on the hard clay of his mug. Before he can take a seat the flowers above the door chime again, and he grins wide at the young man that walks in.

“Hi, how can I help you?” He lets his mug take itself to rest at the table.

“Oh, hi! I’m Yanan, one of the other green witches in town,” he stands a few inches taller than Jeongguk. “I just wanted to check everything out and say hi.”

His face is open and friendly, magic familiar in the way that all green witches are with each other.

“Well, I’m Jeongguk,” he waves shyly. “Feel free to look around!”

The six other witches talk amongst themselves, not-so-secretly watching the green witches’ interaction over their cups. It’s a cute gesture, that little bit of protectiveness they try to hide, and it warms Jeongguk to his toes.

“Your garden in the front is awesome,” Yanan speaks cheerily as he plucks a couple of indigo milk cap mushrooms from their shadowed bed of soil. “You’ve got some really rare stuff.”

“Most of it was already there, but wilting.” Jeongguk tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. “I’ve just been taking care of them.”

“Give yourself some more credit,” Yanan counts out enough coins to pay for the mushrooms. “Some of them are really hard to maintain.”

“Thank you,” everyone waves as the other green witch makes to leave. “Please come again sometime.”

He can’t quite explain how happy it all makes him. To feel validated by another green witch. To have sold something from his shop for the first time. To feel accomplished. To have friends supporting him.

It makes his heart feel heavy, in the best way possible.

As soon as he’s sat down, a pile of gifts is in front of him. There’s the open basket of warm treats

“Oh, I can’t.” He insists, warm and tingly and not knowing how to accept so much affection.

“We want to,” Yoongi’s lips pull up at the corners as he pushes forward a package wrapped in a soft yellow cloth. “This one’s from me and Jimin.”

Yoongi’s black hair is a bit wavy from the humidity, earrings gleaming, and tattoos wandering a bit slowly, almost sleepily. It doesn’t slip past Jeongguk, the way the gift is from the both of them.

A little piece of chocolate croissant hangs from his lips as he peels the cloth back. Inside is a small, mechanical bunny. Its cogs and machinery are a pretty gold, all the way to its wind-up key. When he twists it, the bunny shakes itself to life and hops across the table, a little trail of white gold shimmering behind it. Freesia sways her tail excitedly, and pounces after the small toy.

“It reminded us of you,” Jimin leans his head onto Yoongi’s shoulder. “It seemed right. Fitting.”

The wind-up comes undone, and Jeongguk gently wraps the bunny once again, to keep it safe from Freesia’s claws. “I love it,” his voice is almost a whisper, and he’s not sure why.

When Hoseok gives Jeongguk his gift, tells him to wait to open it, the green witch can’t help but catch the strange, longing look Taehyung shoots at the elder. It’s sad and resigned, and it echoes in his magic a bit as well, makes it feel a bit dull.

Seokjin and Namjoon share a gift as well, besides the baked goods, and Jeongguk is more than curious. No doubt they’re together, but does that mean Yoongi and Jimin are as well?

Taehyung gives a set of paper and pencils, to add to the papers in the bedroom. It all means so much, just to be thought of. It’s a new, strange feeling. One that’s not unwelcome.

“Thank you so much,” he repeats, hands clenched in his lap as he wishes he could articulate just

how much it all means.

“Anytime,” Seokjin sends his empty mug toward the sink. The lights in the room are a warm, content pink-orange.

They all finish off their teas, carrying on a calm and pointless conversation. Their magic has settled a bit, now comfortable in the new environment, cozy against one another. Freesia sits happily in Jimin’s lap, reaching her soft paws out to bat his big dangling earrings.

The duo that is Jimin and Yoongi is just… something else.

They touch in the tiniest of ways, like they’re just reassuring themselves of the other’s presence. But it’s their magic that really gives it away.

Magic is a very personal thing. So tied to one’s soul and person that it’s more unique than a fingerprint. Apart, their magics are distinguishable. Jimin’s a stubborn yet sweet presence, while Yoongi’s is mindful and calm. Yet together, they’re practically one entity. They meld so completely that there are no gaps for Jeongguk to fill with his hopes. So he ties them down, tosses them somewhere adjacent to the tugging that pulls him toward the two.

Namjoon and Seokjin’s magics are just as entwined, if not more so. Now that he’s seeing them together, he realizes that in some ways their magics are similar. They’re both fiercely loyal and reliant, in a way that shocks Jeongguk just a bit, because he knows that they could be loyal to him .

“I didn’t know you were all friends,” Jeongguk fiddles with his ring in the absence of a mug to tap. The six all look amongst themselves fondly, no doubt holding memories that he wishes he were a part of.

“It just sort of happened, as each of us arrived here.” Namjoon curls his fingers between Seokjin’s.

“I’ve always lived here,” Seokjin traces the callouses on the other’s hand. “I saw all these fools come flying in, young and dumb. Yoongi first, with that green hair and no tattoos, then Namjoon and Hoseok, then Jimin and Taehyung, and now you. But you’re much less dumb than them, so don’t worry.”

“You had green hair, hyung?” Jeongguk asks Yoongi with big eyes. Imagining Yoongi with that kind of look makes him start to sweat.

The sigil witch blushes a bright pink, and the butterfly wings on his hand flap heavily. “I was shit at sigils back in the day. I always made things change color or form by accident,” he sighs while he reminisces. “My hair, more than anything.”

“Even mine a few times,” Namjoon hurries to add.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, “That was on purpose. You deserved it.”

It goes on like this.

They bicker, with that teasing tone that goes between close friends. Jeongguk joins in, but with a little bit of a tightness to his shoulders that gives away how out of place he feels. The two couples share just a little more closeness, with Hoseok pointedly ignoring how Taehyung’s magic leans toward his own, and Jeongguk just observes.

Even Freesia fits, in her own way. And it hurts a little, to feel out of place when all he’s been looking for is to feel like a part of something.

Seokjin curls his fingers through Namjoon’s silvery brown locks. “I think the purple was my favorite.”

“You’re just saying that because that’s what it was when we got married,” Namjoon teases with a pretty smile, takes his husband’s hand out of his hair and intertwines it with his own. And it just. Hits Jeongguk all at once.

“When did you get married?” Jeongguk tries to keep the shock out of his voice.

The kitchen witch speaks while looking at the hands that rest in his lap, “Just a little over a year ago, now.”

“Is anyone else secretly married?”

“Yoongi-hyung and Jimin pretty much are,” Hoseok laughs that heart-shaped laugh of his. Jeongguk kind of feels like there’s a foot on his chest, pressing and pressing and never finishing the job.

“But,” Jimin adds with a strange look on his face, “we aren’t.”

“Might as well be,” Taehyung shrugs.

Jimin whispers so low, Jeongguk thinks he must be the only one that hears it. “But we aren’t .” His voice is a little rough, paper thin, frustrated. Yoongi’s face shows the same feelings as Jimin’s voice. He doesn’t sound like he’s upset that they aren’t married, but rather like he doesn’t want others to assume it…or pressure it?

Freesia softly presses the underside of her paw to Jimin’s chin, and he smiles down at her. His smile is warm, soft, melting away the previous anger that rested heavy on his brows. Jeongguk wishes he could do the same. Both comfort Jimin, and be comforted.

It’s strange. To know that the two people that make him and his magic feel so full already have each other. They fill in their own empty spaces, with no room for a mess like him. And he knows he’s being selfish, wanting them both so badly.

He just...wants to hold their hands. Stand his few inches taller than them, feel safe and at home, with either of them.

It goes on like this.

Jeongguk confused, mad at himself for feeling all these things that he isn’t entitled to feel. The other six witches chatting happily after they shake off a last bit of awkwardness. Hardly batting an eye each time Jeongguk gets up to help a customer, but giving him small smiles of congratulations when he sits back down.

In their own strange bubble, time passes quickly.

When they slowly begin to trickle out of his cottage with reluctant goodbye, he doesn't know how to feel. Hoseok is last, still with that big grin as he carries the gift he had brought.

Jeongguk follows close behind. The older witch takes the gift he’s holding and hands it back. Under his watchful gaze, Jeongguk peels the wrappings back. It’s a sign, handmade, wooden, with Bloom: Flower & Herbs carved in pretty English and then Hangul.

Gently, Hoseok takes it and sticks it into the ground in front of the cottage. It’s a small thing. The stick only a few inches tall, and sign itself just a few inches on each side. But as soon as it strikes the dirt, it grows, up up up, until it’s almost as tall as Jeongguk.

“Hyung…” he gapes, “Thank you so much.”

Hoseok spreads his arms, and Jeongguk falls willingly into a tight hug. Hoseok’s just as warm and comforting like this, and somehow that brings a smile to the green witch’s lips.

“It’s nothing,” Hoseok pats his back. “You deserve it. It’s your big day, people should know where they’re going.”

“It – it means a lot.” And it really does. The elder had remembered the one word name that Jeongguk had whispered to him all those nights in one of the slow hours at the repair shop. He had used his free time to carefully carve the sign and enchant it. It means more than a lot. “Thank you, thank you.”

They exchange one last hug and goodbye before Hoseok leaves on his red-orange broom (Japanese maple, no doubt expensive). And when Jeongguk’s curled up in his blankets, Freesia tucked at his feet, lights a dull blue-brown, he just feels confused. He’s always confused.

In his kitchen is a basket of fresh pastries. On his desk rests a pad of paper and a roll of pencils. Before his home is a name to all he’s been working for. Right on his nightstand, poised and elegant, sits a golden rabbit.

Chapter Text

Business is slow, but steady.

Witches come for ingredients for potions or spells or things like sage, and humans come for pretty flowers and herbs and spices. Jeongguk thinks of it like a game: looking at a person and trying to discern what they need from his shop.

Every time Taehyung visits he leaves with a different bouquet of flowers. Jeongguk is pretty sure they’re for Hoseok, but he can never quite bring himself to ask.

The forest isn’t as happy as before. Flowers don’t bloom as fast, the trees don’t glow quite as bright, and even the hardiest mushrooms seem to die quicker. Trees don’t gossip as happily and freely. Since living in the middle of it all, he’s become familiar with it, knows all the in’s and out’s and inbetweens.

It’s a strange lull that’s taken over everything. Flooded through every vein of every leaf and burrowed down down down into the deepest roots. Jeongguk’s not sure what it is, exactly. Maybe just – the forest being sad? Feeling down?
When he sings to the flowers they don’t lift and open and chirp as excitedly. When they sing, even that special song of theirs, it’s more subdued. Less saturated with magic.

Everything is just. Dull.

Dull, dull, dull. Even Jeongguk feels dull.

He tries to convince himself that there’s still some color to it all. Some liveliness. And there is. There’s the way he now notices how in love Namjoon and Seokjin are. The way he sees Yoongi look at Jimin when he’s serving customers that both makes his heart pang and flutter. Not in a bad way. Maybe a missing out way?

But – Yoongi looks at Jimin the same way Jeongguk wants to be able to look openly at both of them.

He tries to remember all the color that the forest has.

That he has.

So he stays up late late late, until the rainbow glow of the trees fades into one big blur painted on the backs of his eyelids and his dreams melt into a mess of mismatched hues. He sketches the creatures that wander the wood, from squirrels to Wizens. He purchases a few tubes of paint, brushes, and a canvas from a cute little shop. Paints half without looking, until he realizes that the two hands he’s drawing are Yoongi and Jimin’s, intertwined and full of all that color he doesn’t feel like he has.

And Jeongguk’s tired. Tired of feeling so muddy and monochrome.

It doesn’t take much thought to get him sitting at the breakfast bar in Seokjin’s cafe, a bright-eyed Taehyung in front of him, propped up on bare elbows.

Loose strands of hair fall from the siren witch’s ponytail and into his his face. “Are you okay?” he asks, tucking a piece behind his ear. “You look sad. Blue.”

Jeongguk forces an unconvincing smile. “No, I’m okay. More like – grey?”

Grey is fitting. It works. Grey, but not pretty. The kind of grey that comes from too much of something not good.

“I understand. I feel like… like a disgusting green.”

Taehyung is frowning, in a way he hardly ever does.

“A jealous green?”

“No. Yes. Sort of?” It sounds too much like a question.

“Then what kind of green?” Jeongguk asks, takes a sip of the Witch’s Brew Taehyung has made that doesn’t quite taste the same as Jimin’s. Tastes a little less like the best parts of the city, and more like plain coffee. The flavors just a bit jumbled.

“A green where I’m sad. And really really really in like with someone and they don’t want anything to do with me. And I am jealous. Jealous of the people who can be friends with him. Because I would be his friend, or just be able to have a conversation with him, at the very least. If I could.”

Jeongguk doesn’t have to ask to know that ‘he’ is Hoseok. “Why won’t he talk to you?”

“I wish I knew,” Taehyung reluctantly scrubs clean a mug to seem busy. “It’s like he can tell I want to be close to him, and he’s making sure that is doesn’t happen.”

“He sounds scared, almost.” The younger furrows his brows.

Taehyung hums, stacks a clean mug and picks up a dirty one. The pure melancholy in that flat hum almost makes Jeongguk tear up. “I know, but. It makes me wonder if he’s scared of me? Did I do something? Or am I – is something wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Jeongguk curls his fingers into a tight fist. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, hyung. I love you, a lot. You’re an amazing friend. And if he can’t see that, then – then he’s just stupid.”

The smallest of smiles pulls at the corner of Taehyung’s begonia-pink lips, and—it’s nothing compared to his big boxy grin, but it’s something. It’s something, and it’s still beautiful, to see a hint of happy under all that sadness. Jeongguk smiles back, as full bodied as he can manage. He tries to give some of his own happy away, even though he’s running low.

“I won’t stop trying though,” he gives up on the cups and rests his arms beside the cash register. “Of course I haven’t been rude to him, or annoying, I don’t think. I’ve just been leaving him flowers.”

“Maybe I need to do better with my bouquet arrangements?”

The siren witch giggles, “Your arrangements are beautiful, Jeon Jeongguk. No need to change for my hopeless romance.”

“It’s not hopeless,” Jeongguk sniffs angrily, stomps his foot hard enough that a small dayflower sprouts through the wood. “Hoseok is just dumb. I hate to say it, but maybe you just need to move on?”

“Ever since I met him, he’s stood out.” Taehyung mumbles. “His personality is one of a kind, at least until he started to catch onto me wanting to be more than friends. He’s just become farther and farther away since then. But I can tell he doesn’t hate me.”

All of the emotions Taehyung feels for Hoseok, they leak out into his magic. Cloyingly sweet and frighteningly genuine. They’re pure in a childish way, all feelings that you wouldn’t expect to find in the hardness of an adult. And Jeongguk hopes, for them, that they can work it out. Because feelings like those deserve a place to stay, and a love like that deserves to be felt.

And, Hoseok is a nice guy. He’s kind, and sweet, and is more than willing to fill all the gaps Jeongguk makes in conversations. There’s no way he’d ignore someone for no reason, unless Jeongguk misjudged him, but he likes to think he’s a good judge of character.

“I don’t think he could hate anyone if he tried,” Jeongguk takes Taehyung’s hand in his. “You just need to get him to actually talk to you, find out what’s wrong. Maybe Namjoon-hyung could help?”

“Maybe. I think I’ll let it be, for now.” A strand of hair falls from behind his ear, drapes over his forehead.

“I wish you luck,” he gently picks the dayflower from the floor. “Here,” he smiles big, “for you.”

It’s only when he’s left the coffee shop, flying toward home, that the sadness hits him again. It’s all so silly, to be so in like with two people. It’s all so selfish. So something Jeongguk would do, get in over his head like this.

He takes a deep breath. In. Out. In. Ties up all that sadness, and tries to ignore it. It niggles at the back of his thoughts, anxious and stubborn. He knows it’s unhealthy, stuffing it all away, exactly like his therapist in the city had told him not to, but, at the moment, it’s all he feels like he can do.

As he nears the cottage he squints a bit, confused. The plants of the garden are wilting, almost like when he had first arrived all those weeks back. The flower petals are curled shut, leaves tinged brown, stems bent.
He lands hard, practically throws himself off his broom.

“What the hell,” he breathes, crouching down level with the plants. Even the succulents are almost dying, wrinkled and brown.

Their voices are low, quiet murmurs, hardly understandable.

Jeongguk places his hand on the soil, curls his fingers, and closes his eyes. The old, old magic of the forest is hollow almost, drained. Its movement through the veins of each plant is slow, sluggish, tired. He frowns in concentration. The soil is dry and rough, even though the rains have been near constant. It’s all – not natural.

Under his breath, he hums a soft melody: the song that the forest itself sings when it glows in the night. Leaves unfurl just the slightest, flowers open back up to reveal their faces. A bit of moisture returns to the soil, until everything looks right once more. And yet, it still doesn’t feel right. Not at all.

☼

Jeongguk avoids it.

It haunts him, a bit. Holds a much bigger presence than it should because, after all it’s just a journal. At yet the thought of it having answers, or not having any at all, makes him nervous nervous nervous, all the way down to his stomach.

So, he avoids it.

He makes sure to check in on his garden regularly, makes sure that no leaves start to brown or flowers start to wilt. And it’s okay for a while. He can deal with the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind. At least for a little, but not forever. He lasts about a week, until he’s yanking the journal out from under the bed and curling under the blankets with Freesia as soon as his work day has ended.

They tent over his head, fuzz up his hair. The book is heavy and cold in his hands, and opens with a soft rustling sound. Jeongguk summons a small ball of light to his fingertip, lets it disconnect and float about the small blanket tent. It glows a faint purple-pink-orange sunset and reflects on Freesia’s soft black fur. Pretty.

He flips past the first few pages that he has already read, and comes to a stop at a charcoal sketch, smudged and faded. It’s two the backs of silhouettes. One is small, maybe a child, with long hair, and the other much taller with hair cropped short. They sit on a tree branch, with a crudely drawn forest spread at their feet. Beneath it, Heeyeon’s name is signed, alongside a short caption.

The strangest part of living here is the way the other people treat me and teacher. They’re so kind, it’s almost fake. They bring us nice things and ask our blessing, and leave. It’s strange. Teacher says I have to become used to it though, since I am their apprentice now.

The next few pages are more doodles, notes, and little blurbs about her stay in the cottage. She had documented so many little things, like the creak in the back door (not that Jeongguk would know), the one stubborn peppermint plant, the glowing in the night.

It’s the night that makes this small place truly come alive. The Spirit of the Forest is so bright, glowing, once the sun sets. Teacher says that the Spirit rests during the day, and that it needs the sun, but the night makes the magic stronger. It’s amazing and beautiful. I think I really love it here.

It feels weird, to read the life of someone who lived in this same place, so many years ago. Heeyeon’s life was so different. So full and busy. She was constantly a part of something, sleeping in the day and waking with the lights, keeping the same schedule as the Spirit of the Forest.

And Jeongguk is… Jeongguk. He sleeps the same as anyone else, runs his little shop, tends his garden, explores the Forest, and visits town. There’s nothing special to him. He just loves, like anyone else. There’s nothing wrong with it, working and living plainly. But everyone hopes to be a part of something bigger sometimes.

And maybe it’s childish, to wish and hope that he can be more than the owner of a flower shop, pining after two boys, and living in the shadow of a great witch, but it’s all he can hope for.

Sometimes when he talks to Ma over the phone, he’ll tell her about Taehyung and his other almost-friends. Sometimes even Yoongi and Jimin. But, he doesn’t know how to speak about them. They’re not quite something that can voiced.

In a world full of magic, being a person in lo-like isn’t a pressing concern, but being a person who like two boys just the same?

He doesn’t know.

Sometimes he talks to his old therapist on the phone, and she’s still wonderful. But it’s easier to leave out things when he doesn’t have to look her in the eye, face to face.

He knows that everyone probably is more than aware of his infatuation with the couple, and that’s even more embarrassing. He’s just a clumsy teenage witch, really really in like with two boys who already have each other.

Taehyung teases him sometimes, light hearted and friendly, but it’s still a bit jarring. He shouldn’t be surprised that he’s obvious—after all, he loses control of his magic anytime he lays eyes on one of the two.

So, he’s just himself, while he wonders what it would be like to be a person who is worth the space they take up, like Heeyeon was.

As the journal progresses, Heeyeon’s drawings improve more and more, and the entries grow in length. She documents her life, from the cottage to places in the forest Jeongguk has never even been.

If you close your eyes, let your magic reach out and search for it, you can feel the part of the wood that is practically entirely mushroom forest now. They’re huge! Almost as big as some of the trees. There’s so many kinds, from glowing flor de coco to beautiful blue Indian milk cap. They sing a most wonderful song, though they have a bit of a sour attitude. I think they have started to like me, though. It may just be wishful thinking, perhaps.

Jeongguk reads about a forest that’s almost completely different to what he knows today. The creatures that he’s only seen in the night used to roam during all hours of the day, even visiting the town itself. The people of the town, humans and witches alike, would hold celebrations and festivals during the night glow, give gifts and well wishes to the Forest Spirit.

Today I finally took over as the official Keeper of the Forest. I underwent the initiation ceremony and finally donned the maroon locks of the Keepers. It’s strange, all of this responsibility. And yet, I see this bright red of my future here and I feel… happy.

He remembers what Namjoon had said all that time ago, the first time they’d ever met: how no one had lived in the cottage in years and years.

Past the middle of the thick journal, when Heeyeon starts to write about how she misses her teacher, and it’s hard to live alone after all those years, the entries grow short once again. Like they were written in a hurry.

During the last entries, her handwriting is shaky and fragile, a bit smudged. She wrote of far off places and other forests she wished to visit, and the very last entry is a goodbye. A goodbye to the cottage, the forest, the Spirit.

I am going to be leaving now. My time with the Spirit of the Forest has come to an end, I have not trained a successor, but I know one will come along. I wish in my last days to see these other beautiful places of magic in the world, so that is what I will do. I am a disappointment, to not have trained someone to take my place. The next will have to learn on their own, and for that I am sorry. But it seems that the next was just not destined to be born in my time.
Goodbye,
Heeyeon

Jeongguk closes the book gently, peels the blanket off from his sweat damp hair. The little orb of light floats to join the others around the room, changing to match their light blue color. This time he sets the journal on his nightstand, where it doesn’t have to hide from his foolish fears.

Honestly, it had given him more questions than answers, but he still feels as though he’s learned something. At the very least, he now knows some of the history of this place. It’s even older than he had thought, though, by hundreds and hundreds of years.

Back then, Namjoon had mentioned that the cottage had been empty since the town’s oldest witch has been alive, but… maybe. Maybe there’s a chance that they could still remember Heeyeon. Even the littlest thing.

Jeongguk slips on his high-tops, tucks his wand away, and his broom sidles up beside him happily. He unzips his backpack, now free of its enlargement spell, and lets Freesia sit, content, on the small blanket inside. Her tiny head and ears peek out where he leaves an opening. At first she had been hesitant to go on broom rides, but after awhile she grew to love it. Sometimes he even finds her curled in a corner where his broom is leaned against the wall, head rested on the straw brush.

Heeyeon’s Book of Shadows hasn’t given him the answer he is looking for: What the hell is going on with the forest? His garden is practically dead by the end of every few days, and the book had only given him more questions. The strange rot has even started to spread outside of the garden, to mushrooms, flowers, and trees just outside the cottage.

He pushes his broom faster than normal, leans into it, but, even so, the flight seems to drag on on on as the sun dips down toward the horizon.

Freesia’s content purring reaches his ears, lulls at a steady hum alongside the whispers of the winds and forest. She meows a little as they land with a thump, and pulls herself up to perch on his shoulder.

The people of the town, for such a small place, are very diverse. Everyone is attracted to different kinds of magic that different places exude, but smaller towns tend to stay with the same families for years and years, without many newcomers. But, the Forest here is special, and Jeongguk wouldn’t doubt that its unique magic is what draws in so many foreigners. There are the Americans that teach English at the local schools, the Moroccan women with an adopted Korean daughter, who all happily run a potions shop, and a small Indonesian family that specialize in talismans and rare magical objects.

With all of the diverse familial magics, it makes that of the forest practically a haven for witches. Even humans can feel it.

And yet, even with all these people and shops, Jeongguk has no idea where to start in his search for answers. He assumes that the oldest witch in town is most likely to be Korean, but who knows, honestly.

Several of the shops are shrouded in older magic, but almost all of the exteriors look relatively new, maintained by their owners enchantments and care. Jeongguk focuses, searches past the bustle of the crowd around him.

Freesia’s cold nose presses comfortingly against the skin of his neck, nudging him gently to turn left. At the opposite end of the square sits a squat little building, two storeys stacked precariously atop each other. It looks a bit more run down than the others around it, even though it doesn’t seem quite as old. Its magic isn’t so much ancient as it is… raw. Powerful.

Jeongguk finds himself drawn to it, and it almost feels familiar, somehow. A chipped wooden sign that hangs above the door reads SMERALDO NEW + USED BOOKS in pretty English lettering. It’s almost a little difficult for Jeongguk to read, with the swirls and loops that form into each letter and word.

The door opens with a swift jingle of bells, and the sweet sound of a piano flows around him. The song is nothing he’s ever heard before. It’s… sad almost. Each press of a key sounds out distinctly, low and wrought with emotion. The inside of the store suits its title as a bookstore, packed from wall to wall with shelves of both hardcovers and paperbacks. It’s practically a maze.

Each book has its own little fingerprints of magic on it. They echo with the lingering fragments of faint witchcraft from either their creators or past readers.

Nothing seems to be organized, to say the least. A few college textbooks, marked down from hundreds of thousands of won to just tens, are shelved alongside copies of Attack on Titan and And Then There Were None. Freesia sniffs at the air curiously. All Jeongguk can smell is that crisp scent of old paper, the kind that makes you feel nostalgic and warm and fuzzy.

The aura of the place is calm and soothing. Jeongguk likes it, a lot, and, outside of the strange urgency he feels at the moment, he thinks that this is definitely a place he would love to spend time in. Curl up with a good book in one hand, a mug of something steaming warm in the other, and just – relax.

“Hi, welcome to Smeraldo, how can I – Jeongguk-ah?”

At the sound of his name, the siren witch spins on his heel, cat teetering precariously on his shoulder.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, “What’d I tell you? Call me hyung.” His lithe frame is fitted in loose, comfortable clothes, like always, but these are just the slightest bit more uniform-esque. Jeongguk’s come to find that no one in the town shops wears nametags. After all, everyone here already knows everyone else.

“Okay, Yoongi-hyung,” he smiles, past all the stress that’s weighing down each of his muscles into a frown. “I… didn’t know you worked here. Thought you just did freelance sigil magic.”

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “This was my first job when I moved here. After the old owner who hired me passed away last year, I’ve sort of taken it over, I guess.” He speaks of the old owner with lips tugged down sad and wistful.

“That’s,” Yoongi pets underneath Freesia’s chin as Jeongguk speaks, “really sweet of you.”

“Nah, that old man did a lot for me, and I love this place. It’s the least I can do.”

Past all of the shelves, in the center of the shop, is a section of open floor. It’s littered with mismatched tables and beanbag chairs. And it all looks cozy – the whole place feels that way. The soft, shy lilt of of Yoongi’s magic courses thick and comforting through every inch of it all, mixed with the cacophony of magics that the books ooze out.

“So,” Yoongi plops down heavily onto a desk tucked against the only open space of wall, crosses his legs, “what brings you here?” An owl sits at the edge of the desk. It’s feathers are a soft grey and the whole thing is almost ridiculously small.

“Is that your familiar?” He forgets Yoongi’s question for a moment.

Yoongi grins and the owl flaps onto the sigil witch’s thigh, “Yes, this is my familiar, Cae.”

“Hello, Cae,” Jeongguk smiles and waves his fingers at the tiny little creature who hoots in response.

Jeongguk stands awkwardly for a moment, only just realizing he’s the only one standing at all, before (as calmly as possible) scrambling to pull up a beanbag chair. He sinks into it, pulls his legs up close to chest, and lets Freesia pull herself off of his shoulder to wander the bookstore all while secretly staring at Cae. When he goes to respond to Yoongi he has to tilt his head back, look up.

“Oh!” He remembers Yoongi’s earlier question,“What I was saying is that, um, I wanna… wanna try to find out more about my cottage, and who used to live there.”

Yoongi nods in understanding, “Honestly, I don’t know hardly anything about the place. People have talked about it, especially ‘cause someone is living there after so long, but it seems like no one truly knows how it got there. Just that it’s been there as long as they can remember.”

“When I met Hoseok- and Namjoon-hyung for the very first time,” Jeongguk fiddles with his ring, blushes a little under the weight of the sigil witch’s gaze, “they said that no one has lived there in the time the oldest witch in town has been alive. But, I was wondering if any of the elders might know, well, anything at all?”

He hums a bit, tongue coming out to run across his lower lip. “I’m not sure, but I do know our eldest witch.”
Jeongguk perks up, excited, “Really? Do you think I can talk to them?”

“Mm, well, considering our eldest is Jiminie’s grandmother, I don’t see why not.” When Yoongi grins, it’s all teeth and gums, a pretty thing that makes a small stalk of foxglove sprout through the carpet between them. Jeongguk frowns at it, wills it to go away, but. The flowers never do listen well when they sprout around Yoongi or Jimin, most especially the foxglove. It’s always been rowdier than the others, cocky and mean just because of the poison it carries. He puts on a smile though.

“Really? I never would’ve thought!”

Thankfully enough, the flowers always go away eventually, and Yoongi doesn’t say anything about them. Just nods, smiles a bit brighter, and the buds bloom: unfurl to show the speckled insides of their petals.

“Where – Where can I find her?”

“She’s at the Park’s old family house. She’s the only one that lives there anymore, but since it’s Jiminie’s day off, he’s probably keeping her company.”

Jeongguk frowns, a tad confused. “Yoongi-hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought Jimin-hyung moved here from somewhere else, too. But if he did, how come his grandmother is here, in town?”

Yoongi laughs low and sweet, “His mother’s side of the family is from here, but when she came of age she ended up finding a home in a bigger city. Jiminie was born there, but when he finally turned eighteen he was drawn back here: where his grandmother had stayed.”

The store’s bells ring, and Jeongguk’s lips curve into an understanding little ‘O’ as he turns Yoongi’s words over in his head. It does makes sense, though. Jimin’s magic has always resonated well with that of the town and forest, like it is familiar. Like it belongs. Jimin is that kind of person who always seems to belong, but he just feels… perfect, almost, for this tiny village.

(Anyone drawn somewhere by magic belongs, but sometimes, when you don’t feel like you belong, it’s noticeable. But Jimin is Jimin, and even he knows that he belongs in this little hidden piece of paradise.)

“I’ll be closing within the hour, but feel free to stay so I can walk you to Grandma Park’s.” The apples of his cheeks glow a pretty peach-pink. “Or I can just give you the address? I-If you want.”

“That sounds good, hyung. Thank you.”

Yoongi hops off of the counter, twists a strand of his hair between pinched fingers. He opens his mouth as if to speak, before snapping it shut and moving to reshelve new books. Jeongguk pulls his legs tighter against himself, and curls his finger to summon a book. It floats down from a high shelf beside him, cover worn and patched with tape and magic.

Jeongguk has his own copy at home, one he’s been reading and rereading for years. It’s his favorite novel on green magic, a collection of legends and history and documents that never cease to teach him something new, no matter how many times he reads it. This copy seems even older than his own, a gift from his mother when he had first come into his magic.

(He’d been so excited when he was handed the book, the kind of excited that makes little kids jump in place and shout. He had taken it into his stubby youthful fingers and smiled ear to ear, showing off the gap where his big tooth was soon to grow in. Back then, his magic was even more finicky, and as soon as he turned open the cover the pressed oak and wildflower paper sprouted new seedlings. He’d cried and cried and cried big crocodile tears, wishing for his book back because he was just getting good at reading, until his mother had talked him through coaxing the sprouts back into paper.)

☼

The hour passes quickly, a blur of watercolor flowers and the sleep-soft air of Yoongi’s magic. Before he knows it, Yoongi’s lithe fingers are tapping at his shoulder, a quick tap tap.

Yoongi looks a bit winded, flustered almost, like he’s been in a rush. His hair is mussed, with his the high points of his face flushed a pale rose, all the way down his neck. “Shop’s all closed, I’m ready if you are.”

Jeongguk nods, enamored by his hyung’s fairy-like features. (He’s met fairies though, in the city and the Forest. And they’re much tinier and much meaner than his kind, book loving friend.) Freesia has somehow wound herself across the green witch’s shoulders, like a purring neck pillow.

Their brooms follow behind them languidly, as Yoongi locks the doors to Smeraldo and they head out of the Square. The two woods contrast prettily. Yoongi’s is a simple pale birch, next to Jeongguk’s pink ivory.

Jeongguk doesn’t really know what to say. Should he even say anything? Or would it be weirder if they just walked in silence? He isn’t fond of thinking of himself as an awkward person, but, sadly, he is. It’s not like he does it on purpose, but there’s a weight to verbal conversation, one that makes him anxious. Makes him either say nothing or way too much of the wrong things.

And Jeongguk really, really doesn’t want to open his mouth right now. Because he’s ninety percent sure that if he does he’ll end up either rambling about the wonders of herbal healing and its very intriguing origins from fairy culture or how he really really thinks Yoongi’s eyes are quite possibly the prettiest things he’s ever seen.

Thankfully, Yoongi speaks first, successfully preventing Jeongguk from embarrassing himself.

“Just a warning, Grandma Park is kinda crazy. But cute, in that old lady way. Don’t be fooled though - she’s ridiculously smart and powerful.”

“It’s okay,” Jeongguk giggles, “old ladies tend to like me.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.”

The house they stop at is just a little ways outside of the Square. It’s built in that same old-fashioned way of the rest of the town. Some clashing hybrid of American homes and Japanese pagodas. Unlike the other houses on the block though, this one is imbued head to toe in magic.

Not just the standard aura of a family’s presence, but much much more. The colored walls aren’t flat - they’re shades of blues, greens, pinks. The ocean. Pale white sea creatures float atop the colors, almost like Yoongi’s tattoos.

Jeongguk turns to Yoongi in shock, “This is all her magic?”

“She says that the day the fish stop will be the day she dies,” the door swings open for them.

He can’t really wrap his head around the fact that all the magic that possesses the building comes from one little old lady. Holding magic for long bouts of time is exhausting, but to be able to keep steady so much at a constant rate? It isn’t something that he can even imagine being able to do.

They toe off their shoes, and the door shuts itself behind them.

“It’s just me!” Yoongi calls down the hallway.

“I wouldn’t’ve let you in if you weren’t,” a scratchy voice replies.

Inside of the house, the magic is more minimal, casual. A few feather dusters and a vacuum move on their own. The inner walls are lined with shelves, with family photos and knick-knacks that fill them. Even beside the shelves, in the empty bits of wall, more photos are framed and hung. A few tiny, baby Jimin’s crop up, from dressed-up school photos to casual family pictures. Jimin was just as cute then, all chubby cheeks and big, toothless smiles.

Present day Jimin, cheeks less chubby and big smile filled with all the right teeth, is swaddled in blankets, sat next to who Jeongguk assumes is Grandma Park.

“Ah, Yoongi-ah, you’re disturbing my peace again?” the old lady pats Jimin’s thigh as he stands to hug his boyfriend.

“Grandma,” Jimin scolds.

“Of course, Grandma. What else would I be here for?” Yoongi smiles, all gummy.

“To steal my grandson, perhaps.” Grandma grins back. Her white hair is pulled back into a tight braid, which is coiled into a bun. For an older witch, probably over a hundred, she still looks to only be sixty. Her spaghetti-strap sundress reveals tan muscular arms and broad shoulders. Jeongguk knows that she could most definitely beat him to a pulp, his black belt be damned.

“Perhaps,” Yoongi agrees.

“And who is this?” she stands and looks Jeongguk up and down as the two boyfriends exchange hugs. She’s shorter than all of them, but most likely from old age and her hunched posture. “Ah, this must be the new city boy!”

“Mhm, Grandma, this is our new green witch: Jeongguk. Jeongguk this is my Grandma.” Jimin smiles bright as he introduces them, freckles having multiplied in the few days it’s been since they’ve last spoken.

Grandma takes Jeongguk’s hand in a tight shake, her fingers work-worn and calloused against his own. “It’s nice to meet you. And you too,” she scratches beneath Freesia’s chin.

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Grandma. By the way, I love your fish!” He whisper shouts in excitement. Although her arms and sheer power are enough to make him feel intimidated, something about her aura is comforting and… familial.

“Oh, I do love a person who can appreciate beautiful magic and fish when they see some,” she pats his arm and hobbles back to her seat on a large couch, littered with embroidered pillows.

“They are definitely beautiful.”

“Jeonggukie, be careful or you’ll make her head even bigger,” teases Yoongi as Freesia settles on the back of the sofa, just behind their heads.

“You shush,” she wags a finger at both Yoongi and a giggling Jimin and Jeongguk. “My head will get as big as it wants, as long as I’m a more powerful witch than you.”

“Magic just loves you, Grandma.” Jimin adjusts a blanket over all of their laps as they sit, Jeongguk feeling a bit stranded at the far end of the sofa. He sets his bag down at his feet. Though he is beside Yoongi, Jimin is also next to the sigil witch, their hands entwined. Another reminder that Jeongguk is just a little misplaced.

“Sure does.”

With a snap of Jimin’s fingers a few glasses of ice water float from somewhere that must be the kitchen.

“Now, what brings you here, young green witch?”
Jeongguk startles a bit, like a deer in headlights, at the sudden weight of all three gazes. “Um, I – uh.”

“He has some questions,” Yoongi gently starts, giving Jeongguk an encouraging little nudge. “Ones that I didn’t think anyone else couldn’t answer.”

“Is it cause I’m old?”

The youngest blushes up to his ears, “No! Well, kind of, but – not in a bad way, Grandma—.”

“She’s just teasing, Jeonggukie,” Jimin laughs his bell-chime giggle.

“R-Right,” somehow he blushes more.

“So, what are the questions you have for me?” She asks as Jeongguk takes a slow sip of his water.

He adjusts his grip on the cup, wishes he could twist his ring to ease this anxious feeling. But he’s so shaky he doesn’t want to risk holding the glass with only one weak hand.

“I-I want to learn about who lived in the cottage before me. I want to learn about Ahn Heeyeon.”

“Ahn Heeyeon, eh? That name sounds almost familiar. And you live in the forest’s cottage?”

Jeongguk nods.

“Well, you’re the only person that’s lived there since I’ve been around.” Jeongguk deflates a bit as she takes a long drink. “But definitely not the only person to have lived there since before my time. My mother told me about the witches that used to live there. The Keepers of the Forest?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk nods fervently. “I have Heeyeon’s Book of Shadows, and that’s what she called herself. She said she was trained to be a Keeper.”

Grandma Park raises an eyebrow, stark white against her tan skin. “How did you get your hands on a Keeper’s Book of Shadows?”

“It was – it was hidden in my kitchen. Tae-hyung found it.” He’s whispering, almost, the gazes of Yoongi and Jimin heavy heavy heavy in a way that makes him want to be quiet. With a snap of her fingers, the loud whirring of the vacuum ceases.

“Do you have it with you?”

He nods, pulls his hands out from beneath the blanket to dig the book out from his backpack. It’s heavy in his grasp, with both the weight of Heeyeon’s words and the that of everyone’s anticipation. He passes it into Grandma Park’s outstretched hand.

“Let’s see….” She turns the cover open, traces each word with the tip of her forefinger.

She speaks at the same time she skims through Heeyeon’s writing, somehow both forming and processing words. “I only remember so much, since my mother told me these stories when I was young.”

Jimin nods, “A lot of the older witches and even humans like to tell scary stories to their kids to keep them from wandering off into the Forest.”

“It’s all made up, though, thankfully.” Yoongi squeezes his boyfriend’s hand. “No kid-stealing dragons or werewolves that I know of.”

“I think,” Jeongguk starts, sets his cup down on an end table, “that if any little kids were to get lost or wander off, the Forest would help them find the way out.”

“Our Forest is a kind one,” Grandma Park agrees. She licks a finger and turns the page. “My mother told me of the Keepers of the Forest. She said that they watched over the Spirit of the Forest. I only knew of Ahn Hani, but I believe that her true name was Heeyeon. She was around for most of my parents’ lives, and they told me that she left for something… other, out in the world’s far reaches.”

“In her very last entry, Heeyeon wrote that she wanted to explore places of magic.” Jeongguk wonders how the rest of her life passed. If she found what she was looking for. If she died happy.

“There was always a Keeper, and they always trained a successor. I’ve been told that in the days of the Keepers, the Forest thrived, much much more than today. The creatures even wandered the village, side by side with people both magical and non-magical alike. As the Forest was stronger since it was cared for, us witches’ magic was also made stronger.”

“What was about these Keepers that made the Forest so… lively?” Jimin raises his brows in curiosity, and Jeongguk doesn’t know why he finds it so endearing.

“For us witches, wands are our conduits. We can perform base magic and that which aligns with our affinities without them, and some more powerful can accomplish much more on their own. But with a wand much much more can be done. To my understanding, a Keeper was to the Spirit of the Forest as a wand is to a witch.”

“B-but, wands are a part of us. Without them, our magic… loses focus. How has the Forest survived for centuries without a - a conduit like the Keepers?” The green witch can’t wrap his head around it all.

“I’m not sure, Jeongguk-ah.” Grandma Park frowns, swirls a fingertip along the edge of her glass, and the water and ice cubes pull with it.

“What did Heeyeon have to say about the next Keeper? Or if there would even be one?” Yoongi queries.

Yoongi and Jimin have eyes wide and curious as Jeongguk speaks. “In her – her very last entry, she said that there would be another. And she was sorry that she wouldn’t be there to train them.”

Grandma Park rises from the sofa. She draws her wand to her with a snap of her wrist, and twirls it like a baton. As it spins it grows, elongates, until the old woman is holding a staff as tall as she is. The white aspen wood is almost similar to Jeongguk’s wand, but rather than flowers it is covered in carving of sea creatures, crashing waves, and lines of seaweed.

“The answers you’re looking for are quite obvious, Jeongguk-ah, though I don’t have all of them.” She speaks with a smile as she walks to the other side of the room. “For the Forest to have denied so many and then receive you with open arms? There’s no doubt in this old skull of mind that you must be the next Keeper of the Forest.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen so much he thinks they might pop out, and his mouth sputters like a fish. “What? There’s – There’s no way!”

“You are a green witch, are you not?”

“I mean, I am, but I’m no good. Not for something that important.”

Both Yoongi and Jimin’s lips pull down at the corners.

“You’re eighteen,” Jimin starts, voice as stern as Jeongguk has ever heard it, “you’re still coming into your magic. No one’s expecting you to be on par with someone hundreds of years old. But you are powerful. And you have a relationship with this Forest that I can’t even begin to understand.”

“You guys are… no.” Jeongguk shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes. None of that makes sense. He - he loves the Forest, but there’s no reason for him to be the person that the Forest depends on. “That’s crazy.”

Yoongi turns to face him, and, even though they’re all so close, right next to each other, he feels far away. Like his mind is a thousand miles somewhere in the trees, but Yoongi’s face is right there. “Jeongguk,” he speaks gently, a contrast to Jimin’s strict tone. “What else could make sense?”

Thinking about it, trying to be rational through all of the denial racing through his mind, he can’t. Can’t think of any sort of explanation for… any of this. There’s no other reason for the cottage to have accepted him, but. But he’s just a mediocre green witch who summons flowers when he sees pretty boys. Not someone who could be a focal point for an entire magical Forest, filled to the brim with whimsical fauna and flora. He can’t. He can’t be someone like that. Someone important.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, tucks his chin down. “But I can’t be that.”

Grandma Park stands next to one of her several shelves, this one of two that flank a small television. The thin poles that keep it standing are wrapped in a pretty white wicker. With the hand not clutching her staff, she picks up a framed picture. Her back is hunched with old age as she walks back, and she holds the photo out to the youngest witch.

He takes it carefully. Who knows when it was taken, or whether or not with a human camera or old witchcraft. It’s black and white, two women and a man wearing the old style of witch clothing from centuries ago. Big hats and bigger capes that were only worn out of sight of the humans then so dubious of magic.

“This,” Grandma Park points to the woman in the middle, “was Ahn Heeyeon, or to me, and the people of our town: Ahn Hani.”

Her hair in the photo is cut short, to her chin, and her thin bangs come to rest at her eyebrows. She was… extremely beautiful, even in all of her silly witch garb. Her eyes are sharp, and when he tilts the photo side to side her hair glimmers a faint red through the black and white of the old magic. Transferring what’s seen through the lens of the eye to paper. It’s always been finicky, but at least nowadays it’s advanced enough to process color. It seems that just the slightest bit of color is slipping through. The maroon locks of the Keepers, just like Heeyeon has wrote.

“Her – Her hair.”

Jimin and Yoongi peer over his shoulder.

“When my mom told me fake scary stories about the Forest and the Keepers, she did say that they would always have ‘hair the color of blood.’” Jimin traces a finger above the glass of the frame.

“My daughter was right about that,” Grandma Park smiles. “Even though most of the stories and history is muddy, that fact has always remained.”

Jeongguk tugs at a lock of his own hair, “Mine is very, very brown.”

Grandma Park takes back the picture and grins, that same eye smile as her grandson. “Who knows for how long, though.”

“I -” he starts, “Thank you, Yoongi-hyung, for bringing me here. Grandma Park and Jimin, for answering my questions. I just. I’m gonna go.”

When he stands, the blanket falls off of him. He swings his backpack over a shoulder.

“Gguk-ah,” Yoongi calls, face twisted in concern, “just think about it, okay?”

“Please,” Jimin adds.

His nod is stiff, but a confirmation nonetheless. “Thank you, hyungs.”

Freesia trails reluctantly behind him as he walks away, like she’d much rather spend her evening in a lap that isn’t his. He slips his shoes back on, and the door shuts behind him.

It all kind of crushes down on him at once. That incomparable pressure of just knowing he had embarrassed himself. He had focused so hard to wire shut the garden that wanted to bloom beneath his fingertips with each glimpse of Yoongi or Jimin. And it had worked. No flower had sprouted. For the very first time, he had had control.

But only with the payment of being overwhelmed with something else.

He doesn’t want to be someone important. That burden can’t be for him. Someone who can’t handle the simple things certainly can’t handle much more. He’d rather just stick to being friends with the Forest, pining for two boys from afar. Tentatively being friends with a handful of people.

That’s how his life has been for the last eighteen years. Tentative.

☼

The useless feeling of having his emotions out of his own control is a heavy anchor.

Sometimes Jeongguk just wishes he could be confident in himself. Not doubt his every action. He’d like to jump into the role of Keeper of the Forest and wrangle all of his confusion into something that makes sense. More than just a scramble of broken thoughts.

Intrusive thoughts pester him constantly, all of his worries niggling at the nape of his neck. Childish worries, ones that isn’t sure if he should even feel. Or deserves to worry about them. Silly romance and delusions of grandeur. Worry of fitting in. It’s strange, to want to stand out, but still fit in.

Working is monotonous, yet satisfying. A sweet, plain happiness to balance out the hectic of everything else. It’s nice to have a constant when everything else is just a variable.

Little sections of the Forest continue to fall sick.

Jeongguk hunts them down with his magic and does his best to restore the energy and life, yet that bout of sickness always comes back. The parts that fall sick don’t feel like the rest of the Forest. Their colors hardly glow, only emitting a feeble red cast of light. All of the creatures, from the tiny tiny honeybees to the giant tortoises that carry their own microhabitats upon their shells, avoid the ill areas. Thankfully, no animals have fallen under the mysterious rot, though their demeanors seem to be more weary. Sad.

Working and gardening and just functioning make everything feel a bit better.

He buries his nose in the pages of book after book, to identify both the strange plants he finds and the even stranger rot that haunts them. A few of the plants in his garden that were once a mystery pop up in the field guides and journals he thumbs through. They take on their names. Parrot’s beak of the Canary Islands. The Kadupul flower of Sri Lanka.

All that grows in the Forest is special. Magic. Many of the rare flowers that he cultivates seem more mysterious after he identifies them. The Kadupul, the flower from heaven, which is meant to bloom only at midnight and perish before light returns and can only live its short life in specific conditions, bloom night-round. Soaks up the glow of the night, then simply curls its thin white petals back in close rather than withering into nothing.

The Kadupul has a bit of an underlying attitude, like most of the prettiest flowers. It knows its beauty, rareness, and monetary worth. Although, beneath the bit of snarkiness, it’s rather sweet. Jeongguk likes to think that maybe it favors him. It sings in harmony with him as he prunes and deadheads, and lets out just a bit more of its lovely fragrance for him.

Even the peppermint is beginning to warm up to him.

And, as many books as he tucks himself into, the only one that lingers is Heeyeon’s Book of Shadows. It’s a curious aftertaste. Bitter as he thinks of the shoes he might have to fill and wondrous as he thinks of all the spells and plants and knowledge he now has at his fingertips.

Heeyeon documented so much. Like she knew that someone - that Jeongguk - would need it one day. So many enchantments and incantations and potions that he never would have known about otherwise.

He’s eager to test it all out, fingers and magic itching with the urge and excitement. And yet. It feels a little wrong to try to do all these things that a Keeper of the Forest would do when he doesn’t even know if that’s what he’s meant to be. Or if he even wants to be.

Though, just a bit of dabbling in the new green magic won’t hurt, will it?

His old cauldron, a hand-me-down from his mother, is heavy as he pulls it out from its cabinet. It doesn’t get used often. His potions skills are rusty at best, and there’s only a few that are so ingrained in his mind and magic that he can do them enough justice to sell or use. But he’s always been a nerd for magic, especially that which aligns with his affinity and is new. Or, well, hundreds of years old but still new to him.

The Book floats idly alongside him as he wanders his garden, searching for each little ingredient. His broom follows with an excited swing in its flight, Freesia padding just under it and nipping at the straw.

Some of the stranger items he had already purchased from shops in the Square, the ones hidden, squeezed between bigger, brighter buildings. He’d told himself it was just in case he decided to experiment with Heeyeon’s writings. Just in case. (And just to be prepared, he might’ve already been testing some of the more docile spells and magic for the past few weeks.)

He snips off a few sprigs of bear clover (the magic herb, not the flower), pulls petals from a deep purple hyacinth, and sets them in the wicker basket hanging from the crook of his arm. The hyacinths are always a bit melancholy. Echo the sadness of their mythical origin. Beautiful, yet born from the death of a god’s loved one.

Hyacinths have always been one of Jeongguk’s favorites.

He pushes his reading glasses up from where they’ve slipped down the slope of his nose and peers over Heeyeon’s words. One bleeding heart is the last flower it calls for. The bleeding heart vines bloom at the edge of the garden, just against the fence posts, like they had found their own way there rather than being planted. The flowers separate from their stem with a gentle tug.

With the tip of his finger he sifts through the contents of his basket, double checking that he has each ingredient from the list. The Book thuds shut with little more than a thought, and follows him as he winds up the path and back toward the cottage.

Warmth steams up from where the cauldron has been slowly heating a mixture of half well water and half spring water. Jeongguk has never been that great with the elemental magics, aside from the earth of course, so the reasoning between the two waters is beyond him. A ladle stirs the liquids together as he slowly adds each ingredient, mincing and crushing as the instructions say.

The time since he had spoke to Grandmas Park has passed quickly, filled with his worries and doubts. He’d confided in Taehyung as he was braiding his hair, that time with small small baby’s breath. Jeongguk had hoped that Taehyung would tell him that Grandma Park was wrong. That there’s no way he is meant to be the Keeper of the Forest. But he knew that wouldn’t happen, and it didn’t.

“I don’t think I can do it,” the green witch had murmured.

“If there’s anything you can do,” Taehyung had squeezed his hand, “it's taking care of this Forest.”

No, he thought of all the dying trees and wilting flowers, he really can’t take care of it. Not when it’s already hurting and he doesn’t even know why.

He adds in the bleeding hearts and lets the potion simmer. Watches it turn from a murky purple to a Darby Rose pink-orange. It’s a strange little concoction. A mixture ranging from flowers to a crow’s skull. Bubbles float to the surface and pop with a shining of light.

The potion’s magic is bright, just as sparkly as it looks. Waves of happiness and encouragement mingle in the atoms of magic.

Once it has finished boiling, he brings down the flames, strains the mixture into a few small containers. He cools the liquid with a wave of his hands, and corks the tiny glass bottles. He scribbles down a few labels on some spare parchment and places them on each bottle with a strip of light blue washi tape.

Cheer Up / exp 6 months

The name in Hani’s Book is some long Latin word, so Jeongguk simply writes what he deems fit from a little snippet of the description.

— An herbal potion to promote dopamine production and bring cheer and pep back into the heart. (non-addictive)

A quick series of knocks sounds at the door before it opens. “Just in time,” Jeongguk whispers and pockets one of the vials with a smile.

“Morning,” Taehyung sing-songs, in that siren way that makes you want to stop and listen. “What’re you up to?”

“I made you something,” Jeongguk pulls the vial from his apron pouch.

“Really?” Taehyung beams and takes the glass with careful hands. “What is it?” He holds the bottle closer to his eye and squints, “Cheer Up?”

Jeongguk nods a bit too excitedly, and his bangs fall into his eyes. “It’s… to make you feel a bit happier,” he mumbles his words a bit, tucks his hair behind his ears.

“Jeon Jeongguk,” the siren witch speaks past an enormous smile, “you are the best.”

The younger’s cheeks warm as his friend pulls him into a tight embrace, careful not to hurt the vial. “How does it work?” he asks into Jeongguk’s shoulder.

Taehyung’s hugs are one of Jeongguk’s favorite things. Warm and comforting. It’s like in those little moments he can really accept the fact that Taehyung is his friend. That he has a friend.

They pull apart and Jeongguk feels a little less warm.

“You use just a drop or two,” Jeongguk starts, takes back the vial and drips some onto his fingertips, “and put it where you’d put perfume. Your pulse points.”

The orangey pink liquid sparkles and then melts into Taehyung’s tan skin as Jeongguk rubs it in behind his ears and on the inner part of his wrists. It leaves a bit of a glow behind. Golden.

“I just hope it works,” Jeongguk smiles and scrunches his nose. “It’s a bit of an experiment.”

Taehyung takes the vial back with big eyes. He holds it in the path of a thin beam of sun, twists it and watches its shimmers reflect the light. “Pretty… I’m sure it’ll work, though. After all, you’re the witch who made it.”

Jeongguk hums, tamps down his urge to frown. “My potion skills aren’t the greatest, but. We’ll see.”

The two settle into the sofa, vial safe and tucked into Taehyung’s leather satchel. Freesia circles them before she decides to leap into Taehyung’s lap, a rumble of a purr immediately vibrating from her chest.

“She likes you more than me,” Jeongguk pouts and reaches out to stroke beneath her chin.

“Maybe,” Taehyung grins, “but she likes Yoongi-hyung more than the both of us.”

Which. Is true, actually.

Yoongi is probably her favorite person. She even lets him pet her tail. She bites Jeongguk if he even so much as accidentally touches the length of fur.

Jeongguk nudges Taehyung’s leg with the tips of his toes. “Heading to work soon?”

Taehyung hums, “Yeah. Just had to come say hi to my favorite witch and his familiar.”

“Thanks for visiting. Freesia and I appreciate it. A lot.”

They really do. Or at least, Jeongguk does. Having company is makes him happier than a lot of things these days.

“Oh,” Taehyung raises his brows and his lips part, “I think your potion has started to work.”

“Really?” Jeongguk sits up, excited.

“I hadn’t even noticed, until I started actually thinking about it. It’s not a big difference, but - I feel different. Not super happy or anything, just. Just definitely less unhappy.”

And, Jeongguk can’t help it. His lips part and spread into a big big grin. He laughs a bit, doesn’t know what to say.

“You did good, Jeongguk-ah.” His hyung pulls him into another tight hug.

“Th-Thank you,” Jeongguk squeezes his friend tight. “I’m glad you feel better.”

The hug lasts for just a few seconds more, and when they pull apart Jeongguk gather enough courage to ask the question that’s been resting at the tip of his tongue.

“How is it going with Hoseok-hyung?”

The skin between Taehyung’s dark brows wrinkles, then relaxes. “It’s… the same as always, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods, tucks his hair behind his ears. He almost never leaves it down, but today his dark locks flow freely down the expanse of his back. “I guess.”

“Something has to have happened,” Jeongguk whines and nudges him with an elbow. “Tell me.”

Taehyung sighs, overdramatic and teasing. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

“I asked him why he ignores me, no matter what. And - And he said that it’s because he just doesn’t want to be close to people.”

It hurts Jeongguk, to see his best friend feeling like this. Pure melancholy. So much so that it infuses in his magic. His magic that’s supposed to be so soft and welcoming, clouded over in restlessness and unhappiness.

“But he’s close to Namjoon-hyung, and he’s good friends with everyone else. Even - Even me, I think.”

“I know, but I think it’s because he knows I would like something more than friends.”

“It’s just like we thought, then. He doesn't want to be close. He’s scared.”

Freesia rubs her head against the palm of Taehyung’s hand, like she can sense his distress.

“I know,” Taehyung smiles ruefully. “I can sense the fear and anxiety in his magic when I’m around him. But even though he’s scared, I wish he would acknowledge that I’m scared too. Sad. Is that selfish?” He turns a pair of big brown eyes toward Jeongguk, full of hope and worry.

“You’re not selfish.” Jeongguk shakes his head, stern. “Selfish would be nagging and pestering him even though you know he’s scared. Pursuing him just because of your feelings. You pursue him, but gently. From a distance. You never force anything. You say hi and give flowers and then you go. And then he’s left to think about it. You’re not selfish. Just… hopeful. And hopeful is good. Hopeful is better than giving up.”

“I just - just don’t want to make him uncomfortable. I want him to just tell me something, y’know? It’s an awful feeling, to know you’re making someone uncomfortable when all you want to do is make them happy.” Taehyung sniffles.

Jeongguk wraps an arm around his friend and squeezes, “He either has a really good reason or he’s just a-an idiot.”

“I know.” Taehyung squeezes back, sighs. And even his sighs sound melodic. “I need to head off to work, Jeongguk-ah.”

They share one last crushing hug before Taehyung clambers off of the sofa. He stretches, reaches the tips of his fingers to the sky, shows off a little sliver of his tan belly. “I’ll be going, my bike is probable getting restless by now,” he presses the tips of his fingers to his temples with a goofy smile, “I can sense it.”

He adjusts his satchel over his shoulder and heads toward the door.

“Oh!” He stops just as the door begins to swing open for him. “I’m not sure if you know already, but next week Friday is Market Day in the Square.”

“Market Day?” Jeongguk tilts his head to the side a bit without thinking.

Taehyung nods excitedly, “It’s a yearly celebration, for craftsmen and creators - witches and humans alike. Some even perform, or show things outside of their affinities. You should come! Bring some of your talent for everyone to admire.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk tucks his chin into his chest, already thinking. “Maybe.”

They wave their goodbyes one last time, and then Taehyung is gone. Out the door and no doubt pedaling his bike up into the clouds and towards town. His bike is a strange little thing, possessing a magic part its own and part Taehyung’s. Its personality is even more vivid than that of Jeongguk’s broom, and much more wild.

Market Day sounds… intriguing.

The thought of the Square, packed with sweaty bodies, is much less intriguing though.

But, maybe the rest of his friends will be there. Maybe Jimin and Yoongi will be there. And, well, he’s never seen either of their magics in action. Maybe.

Just maybe.

☼

The euphoric high of having succeeded in Hani’s footsteps (albeit one, very small footstep) leaves him buzzing with the urge to keep trying. What exactly he’s not sure. Experimenting with magic? Making potions? Following Heeyeon’s notes?

All he knows is he wants to try.

Because there’s the tiniest spark of hope inside him that maybe, just maybe, he might actually be able to become the Keeper of the Forest. That he might be able to be someone important.

And so that same excitement that drew him to make Taehyung’s potion urges him into flipping through the Book of Shadows once again. He skims over each potion and spell and enchantment, vague memories of his earlier readings guiding him though. He goes through, focused carefully, and tries each one that piques his interest.

His wand is a familiar weight in the palm of his hand, as he attempts spell after spell. Little ones, merely thoughts, for encouraging growth or for removal of parasite weeds, to bigger ones, for summoning the seeds of long distance flowers or asking one to bloom out of season. Songs and chants flow from his tongue, one after the other.

And yet, nothing works.

Some spark out of his wand, feeble and weak and incomplete, and some songs take on the heavy feel of magic on his tongue until it fades away.

Some he tries again, wills it to work. Hopes.

But still, everything comes out half-baked.

Jeongguk bites down hard on his lip, squeezes his fist tight around his wand before tossing it onto the sofa so that he doesn’t crack it. Not that it would break, it’s too imbued with magic for that, but at the moment, he feels like he might be able to. He wipes his clammy palms against the fabric of his sweatpants and sends the Book of Shadows floating away.

There are other potions listed, ones that he has the ingredients for and ones that he doesn’t. But he would rather not attempt more magic and fail once again.

He sinks into the sofa beside his wand, and Freesia pounces into his lap. He strokes the soft fur of her back as she rubs her head against his stomach. Purs low and delicate.

“I know,” the plants that sit in pots around the room murmur to him as well as he speaks to his familiar. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

She purrs a bit louder in agreement.

He’s not quite sure when it happened. When she went from a stray in the woods, to an occasional visitor, to his familiar with whom he shares his home. Even though he doesn’t know, he’s grateful. Grateful to have someone who he can talk to that recognizes his emotions besides – besides plants. And, don’t get him wrong, he loves plants. Of course he does, he’s a green witch. Flowers and cacti and herbs and green witches, they all have the same essence. They’re all cut from the same magic. The same mana.

He’s closer to the greenery of the world than anything else. But sometimes it feels nicer to talk and be close to something warm. Something like this little black cat that has become his family.

The succulents tease him, albeit lovingly, the mushrooms whisper amongst themselves, and the herbs and flowers speak calm consolations. He hums in acknowledgement.

“It’s okay. I don’t know why I expected to do good.”

His hair is greasy, sweaty when he cards his fingers through it, already disheveled from where he has been constantly tugging at it in frustration.

It’s been days of him holed up in the cottage, hardly leaving even to observe the night lights from his favorite perch in a lone Sequoia tree, high high above the rest of his little world. Days of repeating spells and fumbling through chants. Days of disappointing himself over and over and over again.

He wants to scream, cry, pull out all of his hair, and then cry even more because being bald most definitely would not suit him.

There’s a lilt to some of the plants’ voices however. Out of place. He furrows his brows, focuses on these new sounds. It’s like they’re on a different frequency than the rest. A bit more like the sicker foliage of the Forest. Jeongguk pushes himself off of the comfort of the couch, and follows the noise.

It gets louder quickly, more so than he expected. It’s... close.

He stops, just in front of the mysterious door at the very back of the cottage. The voices are much stronger here, but he can still hardly make out anything through the stream of sound.

Jeongguk, months after having moved in, still has no idea what lies beyond the door, inside the massive walls of vines. The voices within sing a song, almost like that which the Forest sings at night, yet completely different. It’s strange, echoey, and clouded with much thicker magic. He doesn’t know why hasn’t heard it before, or why he’s hearing it now, but he presses his ear to the door, palms flat against the wood where they frame his head.

He can hardly make out anything coherent from the mumble. Even though it is stronger right against the barrier keeping him out, it’s still rather quiet. Just above a whisper.

Miss Heeyeon… So dark… Miss the sunlight….

The occasional words that he can make out through the chatter are filled with melancholy.

These voices don’t belong to the vines and ivy. Those have the quiet, hissing timbre of a long-time smoker, and these are much different. They must belong to plants within. When touching the rough surface of the vines, he could sense that they were hollow, spread out and surrounding a rather large surface area.

Jeongguk has absolutely no idea how any greenery may be surviving within the confines of the climbing plants, but he can hear them. They’re there. Just out of reach.
He sighs, hums along to their little melody for a moment. His head rolls, off of his ear until his forehead is pressed against the cold surface of the door.

There’s a swell of magic in there, just beyond his fingertips.

With little hope, he tries the handle once more.

It doesn't turn.

He’s not surprised.

The sun is beginning to set, dark filtering in that will soon be lit with color. Freesia circles his legs and rubs against the material of his jeans. He reaches down to pet her for a moment before he pushes himself to walk away from the door and whatever may lay behind it. The little black cat follows close behind, paws pitter-pattering across the floor. A little bell jingles at her neck, loose and comfortable, the symbol of a familiar.

Her cherishes her so much, and her connection to his emotions. After all, familiars became such a standard of witch culture to protect witches from themselves. From their desire and sometimes actions to cut themselves off and be alone. Many witches do live alone, like Jeongguk, but never leave to see another face. Their only company is their familiar. And that’s enough for some.

Shades of blue shine through his room, from the small lights that float about the ceiling. Blue is how he feels. Blue is disappointment and self-doubt and the urge to sleep sleep sleep. Blue is accurate.

Hani’s Book of Shadows rests open on his desk, where his magic had taken it away earlier. For a moment he just stands still in front of it, stares at it with a passive face that hides tumultuous emotions behind it.

He breaks his little trance after arguing within himself for a moment, and practically throws himself into his bed. Freesia is quick to follow and begin kneading his chest. The Book feels like an elephant just across the expanse of his room.

If he’s generous to himself, he might say he lasts five minutes. For five minutes he keeps his eyes squeezed shut and pets his familiar robotically. After five minutes, he can’t stop himself anymore. Jeongguk pushes himself out of the comfort of his blankets fast, accidentally spooks Freesia a bit, and stumbles over himself to get to his desk.

The chair is shoved to the side a bit from his weight as he slides into it. He straightens it out and pulls the Book closer. The page it’s opened to is one he’s already seen, but, to be fair, he’s scoured every inch of every page already. He flips past it. Flips past each page that’s just a spell, enchantment, or potion recipe.

Instead, he carefully reads the entries in which Heeyeon spoke of the Forest. All of its little nooks and crannies and secrets. In some entries she wrote of a greenhouse, and even though Jeongguk tries not to get his hopes up, he wonders if that’s what is hidden within the dome of vines.

One entry stands out a bit from the others. Certainly he’s read it before, but most definitely not enough to remember it. It feels like he’s reading it for the first time as he traces each line with the tip of his finger.

Today I visited the Lake for the first time since my teacher has passed. I know I’ve only mentioned the Lake once or twice in passing, only truly going into detail on the first day I was shown it, but I’d like to talk about it more. After all, it seems a bit more special now. It was always teacher’s favorite spot. If you really focus your magic you can feel it. It feels more blue than the green of the Forest. It’s quieter. It’s just very different. Well, at least it’s easy for me to tell. It’s my favorite place in the Forest to focus. To refresh and renew, and feel like a new person.

The image of the Lake is fresh in my mind now. It’s not as beautiful in the daytime, just like the Forest, so I went once the sun sank and moon raised. The lights of the Forest not only reflect off of the waters, but the Lake’s own glow emanates from within. Ocean creatures not meant for freshwater live there somehow, evolved in a way that has synced them with magic.

A small, hesitant smile finds its way onto Jeongguk’s lips, and he closes the Book of Shadows. The chair groans beneath his as he leans back and pushes the Book away. He’s not sure why he never paid much attention to that entry, but it’s at the forefront of his mind now. He closes his eyes for a minute and tries to picture the Lake in his mind.

He imagines big glowing creatures that reflect through the water. Water warm due to the magic that flows through it, but cold at the bottom for its inhabitants that might prefer it.

In the corner of his mind he senses something. It’s tiny, almost like an itch. But when he furrows his brows and focuses on it he gasps. Heeyeon was right. It does feel blue. He had never noticed the green feeling of the Forest, but now that he has something to contrast it with it’s as clear as day.

The Forest’s aura is warm, muggy almost. Thick and old and wise. The Lake feels nearly as ancient, but cooler. Lukewarm. Wild and uncontrolled. Yet at the same time slow and still. It’s strange, just like Heeyeon had said.

Jeongguk doesn’t own any swimwear, but that’s all right. He’s not even sure that he’ll go in, or what creatures live in the Lake. He might just admire the view. Soak in the magic and the moonlight.

When he leaves he doesn’t bring anything with him, not even his wand.

“Are you coming?” He asks the door to stay open for Freesia. She stays firmly planted inside of the cottage, whiskers twitching as she huffs. He huffs right back, “Fine, be like that. Just another cat that doesn’t like water.” Jeongguk sticks his tongue out at her, and she does the same right back.

The smile that breaks out across his face is so big that he almost closes his eyes. The door shuts behind him, and he greets each of his plants as he trails out of the garden.

At the gate, long since remounted by Namjoon, he stops. Focuses back on that sensation from earlier. That of the Lake. It’s still weak, guides him in more of a general direction, but. It’s a start. So he follows it.

Normally he almost always rides his broom through the Forest. It’s a whole other point of view at this level than from above. He feels closer. He likes this better, having his feet on the ground. The Forest’s magic surges up up up through his feet and legs all the way to his ears. He feels steady. Balanced. At place, even though the tips of the trees loom hundreds of feet above him.

Trees greet him with excitement, the lichen as well. A few mushrooms deign to acknowledge him, but most remain stubbornly quiet. Flowers sway their hello’s. A few of the larger geodes are split and cracked open, and the bright crystals within glow as they reflect the colors around them.

The feeling grows stronger as he continues on his invisible path. It begins to take form, thicker.

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking for. It always feels shorter with such a beautiful view. Sometimes the Forest even shortens his trips for him, guides him.

As he nears the Lake, more signs of its existence appear. Aquatic plants and animals. Toads and frogs hop alongside him and quickly pass him. A duck with the bright colors of a peacock crosses his path, followed by a line of tiny ducklings. He coos and waves them along, and receives a chorus of quacks in response.

In the distance, between the thick tree trunks, he can make out the Lake. It shines bright, almost blinding. The rainbow that the Forest emits is reflected in its surface, and it gets bigger and brighter as he draws closer.

Jeongguk squints and blinks hard for a second. When it all comes into focus his jaw drops.

It’s beautiful.

Aquatic plants he’s familiar with, such as lotuses, cattails, and eucharis rim the huge expanse of the waters, alongside some he can’t even begin to recognize. The water itself is a mirage of color. It’s nearly impossible to see through. Several creature wander about as well, some that he hasn’t had the opportunity to observe before in the drier areas he has so far stayed in.

Some of the huge tortoises soak in and drink from the waters. A few aquatic turtles greet their drier relatives and then disappear beneath the slow waves. A herd of the great deer that trail past his cottage walk through some of the shallower areas, and the birds that perch on their horns sleep soundly. Fully trusting in their larger companions.

Practically in a daze, Jeongguk finds himself sitting just outside the reach of the miniature tide, eyes wide as he takes in all of the wonder and magic around him. It’s incredibly strong. A combination of the magic of the creatures and the place itself. The Lake’s spirit is a strong one, no doubt.

He wants to capture this moment forever in his memories.

The Forest’s song takes on more of an echo here. Lighter and thinner than it is in the thick of the foliage. Yet it’s still beautiful, and the plants that grow around and within the water hum along, slow and steady.

He slips off the house slippers that he’d somehow forgotten to change out of, and lets his bare feet sink into the warm earth. The very edge of the lake’s waves lap against his skin. The water is tepid.

Out of all of it though, the most beautiful is the life that glows beneath the water. It all glows blue and bright, a mass of stars trapped beneath the waves of one of Earth’s many lakes. Among it, Jeongguk can make out bioluminescent algae, and maybe, possibly the shapes of small jellyfish.

For a moment he closes his eyes, lets the sound of the music wash over him. A quiet little noise breaks through the song, and he furrows his brows, wonders if he’s just hearing things. But it continues, echoes in from the distance. The noise seems to be shouts, playful yelps and laughter. It gets louder and louder, and Jeongguk finally opens his eyes.

Jeongguk can’t quite see to the opposite ends of the Lake, all hidden by its winding shores and trees. But a few yards away, rounding one of the tree-covered divots where the shore starts further in, are two figures.

When he squints Jeongguk can make them out just the slightest, and for a moment he wants to disappear. They’re quite far, but he can still make out their distinct features. Yoongi and Jimin glow under all of the lights, and the water droplets that roll down their skin shine like small stars. They fit into the Lake’s scenery perfectly.

They don’t notice him at first, just continue to splash one another and take turns diving beneath the surface. Jeongguk ducks his head down, pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his chin atop them. They’re beautiful enough from a distance, he can’t imagine being face to face. If he can just pretend he can’t see them, maybe they won’t notice him. At least he hopes.

Their noise dims down, and that’s when Jeongguk knows he’s been spotted. He cringes, tries to fold himself in tighter.

“Jeongguk-ah?” Jimin’s voice echoes down to him. Jeongguk takes a deep breath, ponders just ignoring them, and then lifts his head off of his knees.

They’ve waded closer to him as he’s stared pointedly away, and the wave at him when he finally looks their way. The water comes up a little bit above their waists, and Jeongguk can sense a water hyacinth blooming at his feet. While Jimin is all soft edges, light curved around him and reflected off of his blond hair, Yoongi is sharper. The supernova of lights glimmer on his skin in a pointed way, like each color is the deliberate stroke of the Forest’s paint brush.

“Jimin-hyung?” Jeongguk frames it like a question, tries to make it seem like he’s not embarrassing and totally didn’t recognize them immediately.

“What’re you doing here?” Yoongi doesn’t have to shout as much. They’re already much closer and the echo carries his voice right to the green witch.

“I-I read about the Lake in Heeyeon’s - Hani’s - Book of Shadows, and wanted to visit. I didn’t expect to see anyone else, though.” Jeongguk’s voice cracks a bit around his words and he cringes.

The water splashes as they step out of the Lake, and their swim shorts drip tiny puddles onto the sand.

Jeongguk was right, up close they’re all the more beautiful. All of their details and features are overwhelming. They sit criss-cross beside him, sand sticking to their wet skin. Jimin rubs his hands over his arms for warmth as he shivers.

“Are you going to swim?” He asks through his chattering teeth. “The water’s nice and warm.”

Jeongguk shakes his head rapidly, “I wasn’t planning to, I didn’t even bring a swimsuit, I—!”

“Hey,” Yoongi hand rests wet against the dry skin of Jeongguk’s arm, “it’ll be fun. And who says you need a swimsuit? Just wear your boxers.”

And, wow, Jeongguk can feel his face flush a bright cherry red. “I-I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” Jimin runs a hand through his wet hair and curls closer into his boyfriend’s side for warmth, “you don’t have to, but I wanna go back in the water where it’s warm!”

The two look at Jeongguk with big dark eyes that reflect all of the brilliant glowing colors around them.

Jeongguk says yes just a bit too fast.

“Alright!” Jimin shouts happily and practically jumps back into the water. Yoongi grins wide, but doesn’t move to follow his boyfriend yet.

“Don’t feel pressured to if you don’t want to.” Once Jimin is distracted by the waves, Yoongi’s wide smile is quickly replaced with a soft expression. “Jiminnie just really loves the Lake, and loves sharing it with others even more.”

“It’s okay, hyung. I like to hang out with you guys, and I love the Lake too.” Jeongguk means it, and he tries to let that filter into his voice.

A hint of another smile appears at the corner of Yoongi’s lips, “Okay, we’ll wait for you.”

The sigil witch wades back into the waters, and Jimin is quick to try to pull him under with a peal of laughter.
Jeongguk touches the tips of his fingers to his own lips, and is surprised to find a smile there.

When Yoongi and Jimin are turn their eyes away from him as he begins to peel away his clothes he thinks they do it on purpose, to make him feel safer. More comfortable.

He’s grateful.

He leaves his clothes and slippers atop a small boulder, draws in a deep breath and shivers a bit at the old air that brings goosebumps to his skin. Jimin was right though, the water is much much warmer. The little lukewarm wave that had touched his toes earlier wasn’t like this at all. The water isn’t hot, but more so just the perfect temperature. Like a blanket wrapped around him. Like the way a bath filled to the brim and mixed with pretty smelling oils feels.

“It’s really warm,” Jeongguk curls his arms around himself self consciously. Algae covered rocks are slick beneath his feet, and he scrunches his nose at the strange sensation.

“It’s like a giant beautiful hot tub,” Jimin sighs dramatically before bursting into a fit of giggles. Frowns a bit in thought, “Well not hot… just a warm tub?”

Jeongguk smiles big, “I get it.”

The surface of the Lake is dotted with lily pads and speckled with patches of the glowing algae. The lily pads are barren of flowers or bulbs, not quite yet in the proper season for blooming. Still, their decoration atop the myriad of colors in the Lake’s hold is just as beautiful as the rest of the Forest’s wonders. Freckles of green against the blue-toned rainbow of the Lake’s face.

A few thin waterfalls trickle down from a craggy rock face that frames nearly half of the Lake’s side opposite of them. Gleams of light shine off of the surface, where the assortment of colors reflect off of short beautiful crystals that seem to reach out out out and away from that which they are attached.

Jimin disappears beneath the water and quickly shoots back out with a grin that shows off a crooked front tooth. With a shake of his head, his wet hair sends a spray of droplets into both Yoongi and Jeongguk’s faces, and the green witch splutters for a moment.

He wipes the last of the drops from his lashes and opens his eyes to just - take in the sight that is Jimin and Yoongi.

Whenever they’re together they always seem to be smiling. And even when a smile isn’t present upon their lips, one still lingers, just behind their eyes. Like they want to grin simply because they’re with one another.

It makes the corners of Jeongguk’s own lips perk up, just from sensing the happiness and contentedness in their expressions and magic that they don’t bother to veil. Jeongguk can tell that they don’t want to hide it. The love and affection they feel is something that they would rather keep open than anything else.

It’s almost tangible.

Jeongguk wants to run a hand through it, just for a hint of the feeling. But he doesn’t. He keeps his fists close to his sides, even as he tilts his head back and lets the warm water soak through his hair. The water is smooth and comforting against his scalp, and it drips down his face, neck, and back once he’s straightened himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongguk can see Yoongi’s small familiar perched on a tree branch. The owl watches its witch with big round eyes, content and happy.

As far as Jeongguk knows, not many of his friends other than Namjoon and Yoongi have something to call their familiar. After all, it’s rather hard to come across an animal willing to be more than a pet. Willing to become a part of a witch’s magic. Familiars and witches care for one another, and it’s a hard bond to form.

Namjoon’s familiar is a rather young Forest tortoise. So young that it’s world atop its shell hasn’t quite formed much more than a thin layer of dirts and grasses. The tortoise is a kind little thing, just as smart and adept as her witch.

Yoongi’s familiar, Cae, seems happy enough to just watch his witch enjoy himself.

Yoongi follows Jeongguk’s gaze up to the small owl. “Oh.”

The siren witch’s lips curl around words with purpose and a certain... pureness almost. His lips form each consonant and vowel with a pretty pout that contradicts nicely against the deep timbre of his voice. Even the single syllable he speaks feels like more than just a word, simply because he spoke it.

Yoongi’s speaking pout curls into a smile as he waves at his familiar, “Since he’s nocturnal, Cae likes to wander once the sun sets. And on the off chance we decide to spend the night out, he keeps us company.” He lets himself slowly relax backwards into the water, until he’s floating on his back. Eyes on the stars, and their gow reflected off of the water pooled on his skin.

“Freesia refused to come once I told her I wanted to visit a lake.” A strand of damp hair swings low in front of Jeongguk’s eye as he laughs, and he pushes it back to leave his forehead bare.

For a split second he thinks Yoongi’s gaze lingers on the skin the green witch hardly shows, but the thought is gone as soon as it’s formed.

Yoongi’s smile widens, “That’s too bad, I would’ve liked to say hi.”

“Only so you can steal her away,” Jimin chimes in with a giggle from where he runs his fingertips over the algae that blankets the Lake. He makes a face at the slimy texture, and Jeongguk can’t help but laugh.

Jimin sticks his tongue out at the younger, although a smile lingers around the edges of his eyes.

The deer that had earlier soaked themselves now make their way around the edge of the Lake, to resume their passage along their trails. The three witches watch the magnificent creatures in silence for a moment, before Yoongi teasingly splashes the other two.

They sputter for a moment, before diving to return the favor.

The night passes in a blur.

A blur of color and feeling. Jeongguk is grateful that this part of the Forest remains untouched by whatever plagues everything else. Because he wouldn’t trade this night for anything.

Jimin and Yoongi are ethereal at any moment, and in this setting they’re almost intangible. Their magic swells and abades like the tide with the songs of the Lake and Forest. And although Jeongguk talks to them, laughs and shouts with them, he still feels a bit separate.

And it fucking sucks, to know that you feel something for no reason. He doesn’t understand all the - the fondness for them that’s built up in his heart, equally enough for both. Not for one or the other but both.

When they’ve long passed their limits, chests heaving with laughter and the exercise, they reluctantly agree to return to their homes. They sit atop boulders on the small Lake beach for a moment. Bask in the moonlight. Jeongguk almost wishes that water on his skin will dry slower, just so he can have a few more moments.

But all too soon they’re pulling on their clothes and then pulling each other into warm hugs.

Jimin is warm and soft against him, and holds him tight. Yoongi is a tad sharper and just a bit taller, although still not as tall as Jeongguk. He holds a bit looser, yet at the same time like he’s holding on for dear life. Jeongguk tries not to hold too tight. Tries not to be to obvious, although he knows it’s already too late.

When they part, Yoongi whistles for his broom.

“Good night,” Jeongguk waves his fingers.

“Night, Jeongguk-ah,” Jimin calls back from where he sits on the broom, just behind Yoongi and with his arms wrapped around the sigil witch’s waist.

Jeongguk lets himself watch them fly away for just a moment before pointedly turning himself in the direction of the cottage. He feels cold, and he looks down at his hands, expects to find his fingertips pruned and sapphire blue. Yet they’re just fine. The Forest’s song continues loudly around him, all too happy against the strange feelings in Jeongguk’s chest. That place within his chest, just below his heart, which has felt so whole since he arrived in the Forest, aches.

And he feels so so stupid. Stupid for longing for two people already in love. Stupid for feeling such childish emotions. Why can’t he just accept that they already have each other? Why does it hurt so bad to not be a part of what they have?

He laughs a bit at himself as he steps over a thick tree root. The wonderful age of eighteen. The age where you’re not quite an adult, not quite a child, and not quite in control of your emotions. He doesn’t want to tear Yoongi and Jimin apart. Doesn’t want to get in between them. Doesn’t want to do the stupid things that teenagers do in movies. All he wants is a little slice of their love. All he wants is for it to not hurt, the knowing that he won’t get any of that love.

Jeongguk bits down hard on his bottom lip as the gate to the garden and then the front door swing open for him. He tries to ignore the fact that so many more plants were a putrid yellow as he made his way home. Tries to ignore the sad way the garden sings as he passes.

Freesia greets him with a meow, rubs herself against his legs as though trying to cheer him up. He gives her a small smile, and bends down to run his fingers through her thick black fur for a moment.

The lights that float along the ceiling glow a strange blue-grey, and Jeongguk smiles at them ruefully.

His chair creaks as he sinks down into it. He chews the inside of his cheeks as he sits at his desk and just thinks.

There’s a small journal under his desk. One he had bought a long time ago and never used. One he had just bought for the hell of it.

But he decides that today will be the day he puts it to use. It’s far under the desk, buried in crumpled sketch paper and pencil shavings, but he digs it out and spreads it open on the desk. The mason jar that holds his pens and pencils winks reflections of blue light at him, and he takes a simple black pen. It’s light in his palm, and the ink runs smoothly. He bends over the journal, scribbling his words with intention. On the page just after the front cover, in his loopy handwriting, reads:

Jeon Jeongguk — Green Witch — 2018 — Book of Shadows

Chapter Text

Despite the Forest falling sick around them, the people of the town buzz with the approach of Market Day.

Tinged a delicate pink-orange-yellow, it’s a pretty sort of buzz. Weaved in through their magic and their auras and their smiles. Everyone is even warmer than usual. More than the sunshine that normally blankets them. Blankets the whole little town.

As it draws closer to Market Day, the creatures of the Forest begin to make their way out and into the city. They’re tentative at first. Wary of the cars and the people and the loudness of it all. But like every year, just like Jeongguk had been told by Grandma Park, they quickly grow confident and bold even.  A regal line of deer with their crowns of antlers and birds march through the streets. Thrummingbirds speed from house to house and happily sip nectar from flowers planted in window boxes and gardens. A few old wizens lurk on rooftops like feral gargoyles. They’re rather cruel creatures for being so intelligent and almost– almost –human.

When Jeongguk sees the animals during his visits into town, he bows his head in acknowledgement. After all, they already know each other.

The townspeople welcome the fauna with glee, only truly seeing them during the days around Market Day and magical phenoms. Just a very few times a year.

Jeongguk has taken to spending more time holed up in his cottage with work or with plant and soil than not, but he cherishes his visits nonetheless.

It’s easier to be in the company of only himself and his familiar. Freesia and him, curled up in each other as he think-speaks through the mess in his head. The days when friends visit are days he still enjoys, in a different way than he enjoys being alone. It’s strange, warm, nice to have friends. To have friends that carve out time for you. To have friends that you would want to give time to.

All around Jeongguk, the people buzz and the Forest whispers. There’s a tiredness, lethargy, that weighs him down though. Like a rag, limp with murky water and gravity that pulls him down down down. He functions, just like normal, but it’s like he has one eye open. One half of his brain powered down.

The most awake he feels is when he flies over the trees, over town, lands in front of a moving mural of the ocean, and spends hours hours hours with Grandma Park. He’s not quite sure when it started, or if he was even invited, but Jeongguk somehow finds himself curled up on Grandma Park’s sofa at least once a week.

Sometimes Jimin is there already when Jeongguk arrives, with a Witch’s Brew in one hand and, more often than not, Yoongi hanging from the other. Their hands never stray far apart. That little gesture of Jimin not only remembering Jeongguk’s favorite drink but going out of his way to make one and bring it as often as possible makes Jeongguk’s chest clench, tight around that butterflies that flutter through it, all the way down to his stomach.

Even the couple and Grandma Park can’t seem to escape the energy of Market Day. Yoongi’s tattoos shift and dance with excitement, and Jimin’s freckles grow darker with each passing day he spends helping the other shop owners set up their displays outdoors. Although Grandma Park doesn’t own a shop, she often wanders the Square and chats with the other elder witches.

They all seem to glow with anticipation. It brightens their features and spirits and auras.

Jeongguk can feel it within himself, just the slightest. But, still, he feels caught on the edge of what the town is feeling, not quite where they are. He smiles nonetheless, helps Jimin and the shop owners prepare for the Day, and wonders if what he has prepared is worth it. He has weaved all sorts of flower crowns and herb ones, and although it’s hard enough to make money with a small business, the green witch plans to give them away for free.

He’s still caught in this thought, even as he’s sat on his sofa with his eyes closed and Taehyung brushing on a soft layer of powder over Jeongguk’s eyelids. The assortment of makeup that the siren witch had hauled over to the cottage was almost overwhelming once Jeongguk realized that it was for him. Not to just watch Taehyung doll up his own face while they bickered about life and music and plants. Warm and cool toned eyeshadows, a rainbow of lip tints and blushes, and an arsenal of brushes to rival Jeongguk’s own collection of paint brushes.

The gentle touches of the brushes and Taehyung’s fingertips are soothing. They brush golden powder along his nose, cheekbones, and just above his lips where a soft, muted pink-red-orange is blended into them. A small mirror floats before Jeongguk, just to the right of Taehyung’s face, so that he can see each detail that is painted onto his skin.

Now though, his eyes are shut as Taehyung blends in more powders and brushes on a cold line of something just above his lashes.

“Open,” Taehyung commands with a tap to Jeongguk’s chin.

Jeongguk blinks his eyes open, the weight on them curious and new. Before he can steal a glance at his reflection, Taehyung is coating Jeongguk’s eyelashes in a thin layer of… mascara? Yes, mascara. Taehyung loves to talk about makeup, and Jeongguk loves to listen.

“There you go,” Taehyung begins to pack away his brushes and grins. “All done.”

Jeongguk nudges the mirror closer with a thin strand of magic, and gawks at his reflection.

He had watched as Taehyung had applied a few thin spots of concealer — forgoing foundation because “It’s too hot and your spots add character , Gguk!” — but he still wasn’t prepared for the difference that it would all make together. It isn’t a lot. He doesn’t look like a different person, but rather like a brighter, bolder version of himself. His brows are a bit thicker, eyes a bit rounder thanks to pink shadows, brown liner, and curled black lashes. And his skin. His skin glows gold and bright, eye bags heavy with stress now hidden behind concealer. The spots and pimples that mark his cheeks are still there, but Jeongguk doesn’t mind. They’re just bumps.

The corners of his lips twitch, and he can’t stop the big smile and laugh that escapes them.

“Hyung, you’re magic!”

Taehyung pokes out his tongue, “Nope, no magic. Just makeup.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk sends the mirror back to his bedroom and smiles at his friend.

He feels pretty. Not unlike himself, but just a bit more than himself. Not out of place or uncomfortable, but just a little more confident.

Taehyung’s skin glows with powders and creams as well, and a dust of pink stretches from cheek to cheek. His red tinted lips part in a smile. “You ready to head out?”

After all of the anticipation, it almost doesn’t feel real that it is Market Day. But it is .

It’s heavy and thick in the air. The Forest sings and talks to all who will listen, despite its sickness. Everything seems a brighter and more yellow. Market Day sales and businesses thrive during the day, but Jeongguk is told the true excitement begins as the sun sets, when the yellows and oranges paint over the horizon. That’s when the celebration starts.

Jeongguk nods to Taehyung, and grabs his backpack filled to the brim with seeds, flower crowns, and herb wands. Freesia leaps onto his shoulders and drapes her tail across the nape of his neck. He touches one of the small flower buds, a daisy it feels like, that is tucked into his hair, and nudges all of them with his magic, urges them to blossom. Bloom.

He giggles at the puffs of air from Freesia as she sniffs the flowers that adorn his head. The door swings open for them, Taehyung’s bike and Jeongguk’s broom waiting eagerly on the other side.

Taehyung’s bike is a muted yellow at the moment, in sync with the siren witch’s emotions, and just as lively as the broom beside it.

Jeongguk’s heart rate picks up as they near town, more and more yellow streaking across the sky.  It races with excitement and anxiety. He can hear the townspeople’s shouts and laughter from his perch in the sky. The people are waves of tiny tiny ants as they filter out of homes and shops, through winding streets, and into the Square.

Jeongguk and Taehyung fit right in as they land, and let the broom and bicycle leave to wander.

Both witches and humans mingle in the crowd, only distinguishable by the presence of magic or a familiar at their side. All of the magic is amplified by the Day, and the blue moon that flickers between clouds despite the sun’s presence.

It buzzes through Jeongguk’s veins, all the way to his fingertips. Has the flowers parting their petals even further.

Taehyung grasps his hand as they wind through the sea of people, and even though Jeongguk can hardly make out the buildings between bodies he can tell where his friend is pulling him. The unnamed bakery is overflowing with magic, from each little baked good to the witches that work behind the counters and at the outdoor stand.

Seokjin and Jimin flash bright grins and waves before scuttling back to serve the incessant line of customers. Taehyung lets go of Jeongguk’s hand and weaves through the line and around the counter. The smells of sugar and chocolate and coffee waft through the air, and it warms Jeongguk to his toes.

Some witches wear more cultural or traditional clothing, and the bold patterns are a sharp contrast against the more minimal walls of the cafe. Jeongguk leans against the cool countertop and watches as Jimin taps orders into the register. Seokjin mans the stand out front, and Taehyung flits in and out of the kitchen with handfuls of baked goods and drinks.

It’s warm in a comforting and nostalgic way, from the thick magic to the welcoming aura of the employees. Outside, the townspeople socialize and laugh with friends and shop owners. The happy energy in the air has Jeongguk bouncing on his toes.

During the day, the celebrations are just sharing meals and supporting shop owners, but the true magic sets in with nightfall. Jeongguk had spent the morning carefully picking from his garden and tying together herb wands and flower crowns to hand out in the Square. He’s heard lots of excited whispers about the night time happenings, and they bubble up in him like a shaken bottle ready to burst.

He stands in the bakery for a few more moments, builds up the courage to explore on his own, and waves goodbye to Taehyung and Jimin. Seokjin pulls him into a tight hug as he passes the bakery’s stall.

“I’m gonna be busy with sales for most of the night, but you go have enough fun for the both us, alright?” Seokjin pats Jeongguk’s back hard and laughs. “Here,” he pulls a miniature fruit tart from the cold section of the stall, wraps it in a small square of tan wax paper, and places it in the green witch’s palm.

Jeongguk grins down at the little dessert. His favorite. “Thank you, hyung.”

The younger quickly disappears into the crowd, a flash of flowers and a black cat between bodies. It warm, almost muggy, packed in with so many people, but its balanced by the cool night that sets in. As the yellow streaks start to fade and the stars begin to blink awake, witches and humans and familiars alike still and quiet, the only movement that of the last people making their way out of buildings.

A small, makeshift stage painted with the greens, purples, pinks, and blues of the Forest’s night glow stands in the center of the Square. The people flock around it as a line of the town’s elders filters up the stairs and to the edge of the platform. Grandma Park stands at the center, next to other old witches so wrinkly and slouched that they make her seem to be in the prime of her youth. Somehow, even though she is the most ancient of the elders, her magic and power and youth still flow strongest through her veins.

All of the witches and even the humans raise their palms to the rising moon, feel the pulsating energy in the air. Jeongguk joins in, stretches his hands out. Each witch sends up an orb of light, the color of their emotions, and they all float above the buildings, amongst the stars and the brightening light of the Forest. The rainbow of the sky and the plants lights up the town, the buildings, the faces of each familiar and human and witch. The bubbles of feeling bounce off of one another as everyone lowers their arms.

The Forest’s song hums to a start, and from the looks on everyone’s faces Jeongguk can tell that, just for tonight, they can hear the call of the Forest as well. The Square, in the center of the town, is farthest from the border of trees, but the bright plants still loom high up above the people.

The animals slowly make their way out of the  Forest and into the streets. Deer, tortoises, thrummingbirds, wizens, enormous wolves, and more are drawn in by the moon and the magic and the lights. The people finally let themselves speak, albeit at a whisper, and the elders join hands.

“Tonight, the night of Market Day, let us celebrate and honor the fauna and flora that provides our home,” Grandma Park calls out, voice amplified by magic. “Some of our finest witches will perform for everyone, but feel free to roam and support our shop owners and treat our wild guests with respect.”

This feeling. This feeling of being at home, welcome, a part of something. It swells in Jeongguk’s chest, makes his heart clench. The people disperse, eager to chat with friends and gawk at the creatures Jeongguk is so familiar with. Children squeal and run around with soft brown wolves, and the adults bow to the deer and giant tortoises. The birds atop the deer’s antlers chirp along to the tune of the wood, and some even flutter to rest on the shoulders of wandering humans. Freesia curls her lip at a brightly colored thrummingbird that flies to close for her liking.

Jeongguk clicks his tongue at her, “Be nice.”

She sticks her nose up at him. He scrunches his nose back before heading off to try to find his friends. He can make out Seokjin still standing at the bakery stall, the shop behind him now closed so that the other employees can have fun. Namjoon now stands beside his husband, dressed in an apron as he does his best to help. Jeongguk scans the crowd for any head of familiar hair and huffs when he can’t find anything.

He greets all of the familiar people he stumbles across, from the Moroccan couple to the Indonesian talisman sellers, and gifts each of them with either an herb wand or a flower crown for their children. The herb wands are thick bundles of herbs and roses specially chosen for each that Jeongguk had had in mind, tied together with a pale string of twine.

For him, making wands and crowns and even bouquet arrangements is a bit personal, but he feels happy and light as he gifts one after another. For the first time in a while he feels close to normal. Less heavy. Less worn down. Happy, almost.

At the stage, a few humans and witches sing along to the Forest’s music, instruments in hand. Children and adults alike dance on the cobblestone before the stage. Jeongguk can almost make out what seems like Taehyung, twirling to the rhythm of the music.

The musicians slowly wind down their sound, so slowly that Jeongguk doesn’t even notice that they’re stopped playing. Until the crowd falls silent again, and each head turns to watch the new person that has taken the stage.

And—it’s Yoongi.

His skin peeks out from beneath a sheer black top and reflects the rainbow of colors around him. His tattoos swirl faster than Jeongguk has seen before, and Jeongguk can make out the butterfly drifting from the top of Yoongi’s hand to his bicep. All of the tattoos that Jeongguk hadn’t had the chance to admire in the darkness at the Lake are now right where Jeongguk can see them. His heart skips a tiny beat.

He finds himself closer to the stage without even thinking about it, just as Yoongi draws his wand and begins almost… dancing?

It’s just a hint of a dance. More so him moving his body in time with his magic as he takes his wand and draws sigils onto the sky. His dark brows are furrowed as his lithe body forms harsh lines and smooth curls as his hand carves sigils not just onto the air, but inside it. Like he’s slicing it open and placing his magic inside, just where it can still be seen. The sigils vibrate, black edges frayed and smoky.

The melt into thick clouds of black. Almost ink, but not quite. Tangible, visible magic.

The clouds swirl around Yoongi, simultaneously a pulsating, shapeless mass and every shape all at once. Yoongi’s movements slow slow slow until he stops. The cloud of sigils pauses, sits poised before him like a loyal hound.

This time when he moves again it’s both wilder and more contained. The sigils thrum until they take on the images of a story. They tell the stories of young witches, from those that fought for magic users’ rights and those that banished plagues and evils and those that simply fell in love.

Everyone, from human to witch to familiar to Forest creature, stands and watches in awe.

Jeongguk can tell that this must be a yearly occurrence because the children point excitedly at the stage and squeal about “Mr. Yoongi.” But when Yoongi starts spinning out the tale of the Keepers of the Forest - the true tale.

Some of it Jeongguk doesn’t even know, and Yoongi must have scoured the town to learn about. From the very first Keeper that befriended the once wild Forest and built her cottage in the very center to the passing of the title all the way to Ahn Heeyeon. And. And at the end, after all the time that’s passed has blurred into one big swirl of magic and Yoongi, a small figure walks into the sigil Forest. And Jeongguk doesn’t want to make the connection, but he’s so sure.

The little silhouette is him. Jeongguk. Landing in the Forest and meeting the cottage and meeting the village. Meeting Jimin. Yoongi.

And he knows what this suggests, what it means .

Yoongi is showing the whole town - showing Jeongguk - that he believes that he is the next Keeper.

Jeongguk sniffs, tells himself that he refuses to smudge Taehyung’s masterpiece atop his eyelids.

When Yoongi is finished and the black cloud of sigil magic sinks back into his skin, Jeongguk lets out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. That space just beneath his heart throbs.

Yoongi’s chest heaves, breaths heavy with the weight of dancing and performing powerful, drawn out magic. But even through his exhaustion, the biggest of grins pulls from ear to ear. Full of gums and teeth and pure happiness.

The crowd breaks its trance and erupts into applause and Jeongguk shouts along too, claps his hands as hard as he can. The flowers in his hair shiver with excitement, and Jeongguk soothes them. They can’t bloom any bigger with emotion than they already have.

The crowd begins to move once more as the next acts makes its way onto the stage, and Jeongguk tries to push his way up to congratulate the siren witch. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jimin, grin just as big as his boyfriend’s, and —.

Oh.

Yeah.

Now that Jeongguk thinks about it, he’s never seen the two kiss.

But, now, as they do, it’s full of joy and pride and love. The two of them fit together perfectly, from their hearts to their lips. Yoongi holds onto Jimin like he’s holding something precious, and Jimin holds Yoongi as though they’re the only two people in the world.

Jeongguk smiles small, although it hurts in his chest. Because even though there’s no space for him, both them and their love are beautiful, and he still appreciates that.

They break apart as Jeongguk approaches them, but keep their hands clasped together. Jeongguk fiddles with the ring on his finger, “Hyung, that was so amazing.”

“Thank you, Gguk,” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck shyly. The tips of his ears shine red. Jeongguk must be imagining it, but he feels as though Yoongi’s eyes linger on him for a moment longer than usual, and then Jimin’s follow.

“Come on,” Jimin tugs on Yoongi’s palm and gestures for Jeongguk to follow. “Let’s go get something to drink at Jin’s, and everyone can see Yoon.”

The rest of their friends are already waiting outside the bakery, and they immediately crowd Yoongi. A chorus of ‘hyung!’s and a few ‘my dongsaeng!’s from Seokjin echo through the bakery.

“Every year, and yet you never cease to amaze me!” Taehyung pulls everyone into one giant hug.

Their group somehow squeezes onto one of the pillow-covered sofas, while Jimin and Seokjin run to fetch some drinks and sweets. Jeongguk is sat between Hoseok and Yoongi, each of them half on top of his lap. To be fair, with five—now seven as Jimin and Seokjin return with snacks—men piled on a small sofa, everyone is half on top of each other.

It’s hot, with a sweaty Yoongi on one leg and a perpetually warm Hoseok on the other, but Jeongguk can’t pass up the steaming cup of Witch’s Brew Jimin hands to him.

Jimin leans over toward Jeongguk, “You look really pretty. I like the makeup, though I’ve never noticed you wearing it before.”

Jeongguk burns hot, and reaches his fingertips up to his cheeks. “Thank you, um. Taehyung put it on me. This is the first time.”

“It’s not just that,” Jimin shakes his head. “It’s something different. Only you, not the makeup. You just look pretty, ‘s all.”

“Thank you,” Jeongguk lowers his head, lets his bangs fall over his eyes so that he can hide. He spins his ring round and round and round.  

“Hey,” Jimin nudges Jeongguk’s hand, “when we’re done in here there’ll still be a bunch of music going. Wanna dance?”

Jeongguk grins, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

In this little town, in this unnamed bakery, with all of his perfect perfect friends, Jeongguk takes it all in. He looks down the line of men just purely enjoying themselves and smiles. Laughs. He’s the only one laughing, and they glance at him strangely for a moment before everyone bursts into giggles.

Yoongi slaps his arm, “Why the hell are you laughing?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk all but wheezes. “I’m just happy, and this,” he gestures to their dog pile, “is new to me. And funny.”

Jimin reaches out a hand and ruffle the youngest’s hair. “It is pretty dumb, huh?”

They all nod in unison.

“But,” Namjoon speaks through a mouthful of cookie, “it’s worth it. It’s just us, being us.”

And, yeah, Jeongguk gets it.

Taehyung and Hoseok, sitting so close despite their conflict. Namjoon and Seokjin, sitting just apart but still gravitating toward one another without even thinking about it. Jeongguk, sitting just next to the two people who make him so confused and so happy.

It’s just them, being them.

☼

Jeongguk does his best. Tries to breathe and be normal and go about things like any other person would. He calls his therapist, calls Ma, and it’s—it’s nice. Nice to talk to people who know him. Know him outside of the cottage in the wood. Outside of the new green witch in town.

He tries coping skill after coping skill, even though he’s not even sure what he’s trying to cope with. The weight in his chest? The out-of-place-ness he feels just by being? He feels so happy when Yoongi’s teaching him how to play chess; when Jimin stops by for herbs and stays for a little longer than any other customer; when Seokjin talks Jeongguk into magic sparring even though they both know the older will win; when Namjoon shows up at his door at 3 A.M. for the strangest herbs to use in the last potion he dreamed up; when Taehyung learns an enchantment to swap their hair lengths and can’t stand the short hair; when Hoseok teaches Jeongguk how to build a dresser without magic. Jeongguk feels so happy and then so awful and he hates it.

His plants comfort him, sing praises and compliment his singing. They’ve always loved his voice, though he’s not sure if they like the magic of it or the real thing. All of the plants, from the most stubborn of mushrooms and cacti and peppermint, have even taken a liking to all of Jeongguk’s friends.

Most especially Taehyung, whose voice, even when nearly silent, always sounds like song.

To write in his Book of Shadows is liberating, almost. The only coping mechanism that truly helps. Even though he can dull and erase and pick and choose what he tells his mother and therapist, he can never quite hide from the Book. He’s not quite sure if using a Book of Shadows as a journal is appropriate, but the magic that courses through it from cover to cover doesn’t seem to mind.

Unlike the magic within Heeyeon’s Book, which is ancient and quiet, that in his own is bright and energetic. Youthful.

Sometimes he writes about Yoongi and Jimin. Sometimes the Forest. Sometimes a new herb he finds hidden in the hollow of a dead tree. Sometimes the potion recipes he thinks of at unholy hours of the night. Sometimes the potion recipes Namjoon dreams of at unholy hours of the night.

Freesia is a tad fed up with him.

Outside of his robotic routine of visiting town, checking the Forest, running his shop, trying to figure out business tax, and watching the lights, the only part of day that he truly feels grounded – like a person – is when he tends to his garden or is with his friends. And the time that he spends with his familiar is just as comforting.

His hands are caked with drying soil. Dirt lingers beneath his fingernails no matter how hard he scrubs them in his squeaky sink. Freesia circles his feet, brushes against his ankles, until she finally decides to gnaw on the soft part of his calf.

He tsk s at her, shakes his leg a bit, flicks some water from his hands toward her, but she remains stubbornly attached, even as he shuffles from the kitchen to his living room.

“What do you want?” He glares at her with as much faux fury as his love for her will allow.

She looks up at him with huge, kitten eyes, in contrast to the sharp teeth that dig into the meat of his leg.

“ What ?”

She blinks.

Jeongguk blinks back.

A knock sounds at the door.

Freesia releases her grip and trots away from him and his sore leg. Even turns back to look at her witch, waiting for him to trail behind her. He scoffs and flicks a magic-tipped finger to swing the door open.

It’s a Sunday. Jeongguk’s off day, which he reserves for being lazy and wandering the Forest. And yet Namjoon and Hoseok stand at his door, both a little startled at the suddenness of it swinging open.

“Come in,” Jeongguk smiles and stands, brushes invisible dust from the legs of his overalls. They pull him into hugs. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in,” Namjoon releases him from a tight embrace.

They’re out of their more formal work clothing. Most of the Square takes off Sunday. Not for any purpose but to recuperate and prepare for the beginning of a new week. To burn sage and spend time with friends and family. For the children to to forget about child problems and adults to try not to fret over adult worries.

“Oh?” Jeongguk not really used to people just… checking in. Thinking about him. For him.

“You’re sad,” Hoseok declares. “And friends don’t like to see friends sad.”

“I’m not sad—.”

“Sad. Depressed. Angry. Unhappy. Upset. Down.” Hoseok gently rests a hand on the younger’s shoulder. “They’re all negative emotions. And we can’t take them all away! But it doesn’t mean we want to see you with them.”

“If you don’t like seeing me with them, why do you keep giving them to Tae-hyung?” Jeongguk blurts and immediately flinches with the weight and regret he feels fall onto him alongside the hand on his shoulder.

Hoseok hand slips off of Jeongguk and hangs limply at his side. His face is both expressionless and torn, scrunched and twisted.

Namjoon stares with wide eyes, lips parted around a word half formed. He swallows the word back down and moves to scoop up the small black cat.

They both look rather stunned. Jeongguk is sure that he does too. He’s not sure where the words—the aggression—came from. Deep in his stomach, where it’s been brewing and growing with each teary-eyed visit from Taehyung and alongside the fear and anxiety and insecurity of being in love.

“Did you know that, that magic can choose to, like, abandon a witch?” Namjoon cuts in, tries to calm the tense air with one of the many things floating in his mind. “If your magic disproves of you or, or you try to use it for the wrong things it will leave! That’s why dark magic is so bad . A truly evil magic latches onto the witch, or the witch forces their magic to stay and feed their crimes!” The eclectic witch huffs a little, having spewed his words so quickly and with faux energy.

Hoseok cut his coworker a stare. It’s a kind one, almost a little grateful. But it falls a little flat. Because he knows that no amount of rambling can vacuum away the tension in the room.

“I don’t mean to make Taehyung upset,” Hoseok massages the back of his neck as Jeongguk lets himself fall into the sofa. The witch’s voice is desperate, almost. So unlike his usual assured calmness. It cracks a little around each syllable. Jeongguk hadn’t meant to throw a hit at all, let alone one so close to home.

“I know,” Jeongguk chews on the inside of his lip, pushes his words out on an exhale. He wish he could take all the word he’d spoken and push them back down where they had boiled to life.

Hoseok sinks into the couch. He runs the tips of his fingers from his brow to his temples, and all the way down until he’s clenching fistfulls of his shirt. “I don’t mean to, but I still do. I don’t–I don’t know why ? No, no I do know.”

Namjoon sits cross-legged on the floor with a lap full of cat. Through the white noise of panic in his head, Jeongguk wonders if the eclectic witch’s familiar is wandering the garden.

Jeongguk pulls his legs up close to his chest, and rests his chin atop his knees. Curls up small. He’s feels the need to shrink away. Away from this confrontation he’s created. He hopes and hopes that Taehyung won’t be angry with him. Will he be angry? No. No, Taehyung isn’t the type to be angry. He will be disappointed or—or sad. The image of his best friend looking at him with empty, sad eyes wells up from the bottom of his thoughts until it’s practically hanging at the tips of his eyelashes. Just within his field of vision and never quite leaving.

“I’m sorry,” Jeongguk all but murmurs. “I don’t know why I brought it up.”

“It’s - it’s alright.”

“I just—” Jeongguk is desperate to explain himself— “I want Taehyung to be happy.”

“And what about me?” Hoseok furrows his brows.

“I want you to be happy too, hyung! But neither of you can be happy if you—if you just ignore it? You have to tell Taehyung something. Just a yes or no. Anything. Please.” Jeongguk’s voice is as quiet as a mouse. He feels awful, intruding into this thing that he isn’t a part of. And yet all he wants to do is stand up for his best friend.

“I shouldn’t have to talk about anything.” Hoseok cringes at his own words. “No, that came out wrong. I mean I shouldn’t have to talk to anyone except Taehyung, himself.”

“But, but you aren’t talking to him, hyung. And even if you don’t feel the same, you can’t just leave it all unsettled.” The green witch twists a strand of his too-long bangs around a finger, tight tight tight until the the tip of his finger is the slightest bit purple. He lets the hair fall back into place against his forehead. “If it’s still there, no one’s ever going to be happy.”

“I can’t talk to him.” Hoseok speaks to the floor.

“Why?” Jeongguk is confused and Namjoon remains silent. Jeongguk has a feeling that he already knows.

“I just—” Hoseok sighs. “It’s a long story.”

“Store’s not open today, I can listen. I’d like to listen, if you’d like to tell me.”

“Everyone else… knows already. I just don’t like talking about it that much.”

It stings a little to realize Hoseok has been keeping something from him, but Jeongguk gets it. He wouldn't speak his secrets to someone he’d only known for a few months either.

“You don’t know what type of witch I am, do you?”

“Of course I—” Jeongguk stops. He… doesn’t know what type of witch Hoseok is. Hoseok had never told him, had he? No one had. “I don’t know.”

“I’m… a strange kind of witch, I guess.” Hoseok picks at the skin around a nail. “Almost like an eclectic witch, in that it’s not quite specific to any one, true affinity. I guess I’m what you’d call an empathetic witch.”

Jeongguk racks his memories, from books to Wikipedia, as he tries to recall any knowledge of empathetic witchcraft. He comes up almost blank. A few vague memories of random books and websites listing rare affinities. “You’re good with emotions?”

“Yeah, sort of. I can… well, I deal with emotions. I can take a piece of my own and pass them on the someone else. Happiness, excitement, fear, anger. Mine come back eventually. They restore themselves. But after I do it I can get really tired or sick, depending on how much I give.”

Jeongguk furrows his brows. “Couldn’t that be used for bad?”

“It could, but I would never, I’d be arrested and put on trial before the Korean High Coven.” Hoseok shakes his head and wears a look in his eyes that shows just how much thought and fear he’s poured into that possibility.

“I  know you wouldn’t. But what—what does this have to do  with Tae-hyung?”

“He’s a siren witch,” Hoseok says it with a finality as though those four words should hold all the answers. “And… siren witches can coerce you into doing just about anything.”

Jeongguk’s jaw drops as he finally understands.

“Taehyung would never do that to you!” He stops himself from launching off of the sofa.

“I know!” Hoseok shouts back before flinching in on himself. “I know he’s an amazing, kind person that would never so much as hurt a fly, but. But I’m scared.”

Jeongguk clenches a chunk of his own hair in a tight fist. “Your fear doesn’t give you the right to hurt him.”

“I know.” Hoseok’s lip trembles. “It’s irrational and—and selfish.”

“Why would you keep that a secret from him? All he wants to do is make you happy. He thinks you hate him!” Jeongguk hasn’t shouted since he moved into the cottage. Not since long before, even. His anger has always been of the silent variety. And yet now it all bubbles up and over and all over the floor. Until it’s covering every inch of every surface in his house, and he’s the only one that can see it. Blazing red so hot that it turns white.

He closes his eyes.

He forces it back down. Swallows.

Opens his eyes.

Everything’s back to normal. Cool toned. Blue, green, grey, with a burning Hoseok in the center of it all.

Hoseok’s face is curled in and ugly. Not ugly because of appearance, but ugly with all of his guilt and anger and fear painted onto it and laid bare. “I don’t know.”

Jeongguk’s anger fizzles away, down to his toes and out into the earth until it’s gone. Gone gone gone. The witch on the opposite end of the sofa sounds so heartbroken that it it leaks into Jeongguk’s own heart. And for a split second Jeongguk wonders if Hoseok is magically projecting his own emotions, but he shakes the thought away as quickly as it appears. The older witch would never do such a thing.

“I’m awful. And I’m scared. And selfish. And this is all so—so irrational.” The smallest of tears falls onto the sofa, and carries with it the weight of an army. “I feel so bad. I have to tell him, don’t I?”

Both Namjoon and Jeongguk nod. Freesia moves from Namjoon’s lap to Hoseok’s, sensing his distress. She massages his thighs as though she’s kneading dough, but keeps her claws tucked safely away. Jeongguk pouts. She always claws him.

“He’s going to hate me,” Hoseok whimpers.

“No he is not.” Namjoon scoffs, finally speaking. “He’s practically in love with you. You’re going to give him closure, finally! If anything he’ll be sad for a moment, then grateful and sympathetic. Sad for himself and then sad for you.”

“I don’t want him to be sad for me after I hurt him like this.” Hoseok cups his face in his hands. “I don’t deserve any of his energy or emotions.”

“But, Hoseok hyung,” Jeongguk voices the thought that’s been itching at the corner of his brain, “do you love him back?”

Hoseok’s Adam’s apple bobs with the weight of a heavy swallow. “I like him. I like his laugh, and his humor, and his kindness, and how much he cares. But. But I don’t love him. Or like him. I mean, in the ways that means more than a friend. Of course I like him as he is. But—But I think I could? Like him as more than a friend? If I think past the stupid fucking fear in my head, I think I could like him in the way that he likes me.”

A small smile pulls its way onto Jeongguk’s lips. “That’s a start.”

Namjoon agrees, “But you still have to talk to him.”

“I will,” Hoseok nods firmly. Sniffles.

Freesia nudges her forehead against Hoseok’s limp palm, and he strokes beneath her chin: her favorite spot.

She purrs. Jeongguk hadn’t really noticed until now, but Hoseok’s magic has… relaxed. The tension within it had been so constant Jeongguk had missed it completely, until now that it’s gone. The magic flows more freely and relaxed, a sweet pace in comparison to its earlier shaky and hesitant stumble.

Hoseok seems more Hoseok.

Jeongguk lets himself smile bigger. Finally, something feels at least a little bit right.

☼

A potted jade plant rests at the bottom of Jeongguk’s backpack. It’s heavy at the base of his spine, and bounces with the turbulence that occasionally shakes his broom.

Below him the trees seem to take over the entire world. They consume his entire field of vision. Amazing, but not as they used to be.

They’re faded. Not like deciduous autumn leaves turning orange red purple, but a putrid green made from something being wrong . The green flush that conquers the skin of someone who is beyond ill. It makes Jeongguk’s heart twist up and the pit of his stomach ache.

For some reason, the strangeness of the Forest reminds him of the thing that burns in his abdomen. All those different flaming emotions stacked and lined and thrown within him.

He fixes his gaze pointedly at the sunrise, leaving the trees below him just a blur in his peripheral vision. The sky is a canvas filled with all of its morning colors. Pinks and purples and bright bright blues, and when Jeongguk looks at the beauty of it he can almost forget what lingers below him. Almost.

The Forest opens up around the town, and Jeongguk finally lets his gaze lower. The buildings are small specks, wrapped around the Square, now empty of its Market Day decorations. A few early birds wander the streets, and the occasional shop owner preps their stall for the incoming morning rush.

Jeongguk stumbles to a halt before Seokjin’s shop and mutters a curse. He can never quite stick his landings.

His broom rushes off somewhere, probably to hunt down Hoseok’s and cause a ruckus. The lights within the bakery blink at him through the windows, and he smiles at the blur of Taehyung he can make out. The door jingles as he enters. A warm rush of air greets him, heavy with the scent of pastries and comfort.

For a person that loves sleeping in as long as possible, Taehyung somehow manages to be great at opening the place each morning. The siren witch smiles brilliantly at his best friend and they squeeze each other tight.

In the early morning with no customers and no hurry, the bakery almost takes on a magic of its own. A soft melody croons from an invisible source, chalk is sent of to list the day’s menu with a tap of Taehyung’s fingertips, and the lights above pulse warm, soothing colors. The organized chaos of it all is whimsical in itself. Each mismatched pillow, each strange photo pinned to the walls.

Jeongguk smiles, and his happiness tingles all the way down his body. He shifts back and forth from heels to toes to heels.

“I have something for you,” he remembers and rummages through his bag. “Here!”

He pulls out the plant, still beautiful despite the bumpy ride, and sets it into his friend’s outstretched hands.

Taehyung looks at the small thing with wide eyes, brows pulled up in excitement. “For me?”

“Yes,” Jeongguk nods, “well—for all of you, really. The shop. They’re a jade plant, or a money plant. They’re a succulent, so very easy to care for. Little bit of water, little bit of love. Some people say that if you place a jade plant at your door it will bring good luck and wealth.” Jeongguk smiles down at the small thing, listens to its soft voice. “And this one will surely do their best.”

Taehyung grins with his whole body, shoulders drawn up and rocked up onto his toes, and he hugs the pot to his chest gently. “Thank you, Jeongguk-ah.”

He rushes to place the pot near the entrance. A couple of shelves are nailed to the wall on each side of the door, slightly crooked and haphazard, and Taehyung clears a space on one to place the jade. Taehyung presses the tip of his finger to one tiny green leaf and whispers, “Hello. Please bring us good luck.”

Jeongguk startles a bit as the doors to the kitchen swing open. He whips his head around and flushes warm at the sight of Jimin. The kitchen witch’s hair and clothes are rumpled with the motions of being awake at ungodly hours and stained with fingerprints of flour and sugar, yet, despite the sleepiness that lingers in the air around him, Jimin looks wide awake.

Sometimes Jeongguk wonders if Jimin, himself, is made of flour and sugar, to be so kind and so beautiful.

“Oh,” Jimin’s smile is smudged with surprise and tiredness, yet still bright and round. “Good morning, Jeongguk-ah.”

“Good morning, hyung,” Jeongguk stumbles over his words before a yawn catches him off guard.

Taehyung and Jimin giggle as they yawn unwillingly after him. The strong scent of fresh baked bread wafts in from the kitchen.Taehyung attempts to blink the sleep out of his eye before excitedly nudging Jimin to see the jade plant.

The plant croons happily from its perch on the shelf. The humidity of the bakery will be a bit much for the small succulent, but the joy of the place and the comfort of Taehyung’s voice is more than enough to keep it happy.

“It’s beautiful, Gguk,” Jimin practically beams.

“Thanks?” Jeongguk almost cringes at how he says thanks as a question, when all he wanted to say was I grew it myself. I made sure it was beautiful for all of you .

The siren witch glances at one of the many mismatched clocks adorning the walls, and pats the younger on the shoulder. “Gotta get everything ready for opening, and fix up the register. Jimin-hyung will entertain me if you wanna stay.”

Jeongguk gives his friend a wide eyed look at the idea of being alone with Jimin, and Taehyung simply flashes him a sly smile as he hops over the counter.

Jimin hums, and Jeongguk notes that his voice is nearly as beautiful as a siren witch’s.

“Do you know how to bake?” Jimin runs a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Nothing that doesn’t come in a box.”

A small grin cracks open the kitchen witch’s mouth as Jeongguk tosses his backpack onto one of the sofas, “Would you like to learn how to bake something that doesn’t come in a box?”

Jeongguk’s quite sure his heart is beating in his throat. And his stomach. All at once. “I’d love to.”

He places a hand over his chest just to double check that his heart is where it belongs, and is almost shocked to find that, yes, it’s right where it’s supposed to be. Not thumping in his throat or his stomach, but racing, right behind his ribs.

It aches a bit to see Jimin so up close. Jeongguk knows that the kitchen witch is real, tangible, all warm hands and warmer smile, but seeing him face to face makes him just that much more real than in Jeongguk’s thoughts and daydreams.

They pass into the kitchen, and Jimin hands an apron to Jeongguk. He fumbles to pull it over his head and knot it behind his back. All of the bakery’s aprons are a mismatch of different fabrics sewn together, and this one is no different. It’s a messy thing, but one that fits right in with the rest of the shop.

The kitchen is warm and fragrant, and a small army of kitchen and cleaning tools float about. A whisk stirs flour and egg and sugar in a giant bowl, and a rag wipes away the loose powders that tumble onto the counter.

Jeongguk has been in this kitchen quite a few times. He’s sat on the counter and watched Seokjin and Jimin create all sorts of pastries, but he’s never tried to create something himself.

Jeongguk pulls himself onto a small section of bare counter out of habit as Jimin rummages through one of the refrigerators enchanted just like Jeongguk’s backpack.

“You’ve really never baked anything that didn’t come from a box?” Jimin teases, arms full with ingredients.

Jeongguk sticks out his tongue, “Have you ever grown any of the fruits you use to bake?”

“That’s what I have you for,” The grin that peeks over the mountain of boxes and bags in Jimin’s arms is enormous and bright. The warmth that rushes to Jeongguk’s cheeks is most definitely because of the ovens.

“I guess so,” Jeongguk returns the smile.

He scrambles off of the counter to help Jimin lay out the ingredients along the counter. Flour, baking soda, yeast, powdered sugar, and a dozen other containers of things Jeongguk can’t name.

Although Jeongguk tries to help by rolling out dough and placing pan after pan into the over, Jimin is a monster in the kitchen on his own. He tears open packages, pours ingredients, separates egg whites from yolks, and stirs and stirs and stirs, until he’s standing above one bowl of cookie dough and another of some strange pink batter.

“What is that?” Jeongguk peers over Jimin’s shoulder as the kitchen witch whisks the mixture.

“It’s for macarons,” Jimin pulls the whisk up and a little trail of the stuff follows along until it settles down into a little pink mountain. “They’re a bit tricky. You have to mix them a ton until they get stiff peaks.”

Jeongguk blinks and suddenly Jimin has flipped the bowl and is holding it just above the younger’s head. The green witch shrieks and ducks away.

“That’s how you know it’s right! When it defies the laws of gravity.” Jimin’s skin glows as he laughs, spattered with constellations of freckles and sugar and all Jeongguk can do is tilt his head and beam.

“You have a little…” Jeongguk freezes as Jimin reaches out a hand. He wipes ever so gently under the younger’s eye, and then holds his fingers up, “flour.”

“Oh,” Jeongguk’s lips part around the sound and an oven timer chimes in tandem with his fluttering heart. Jeongguk doesn’t know why he’s so enamored by such a small thing.

“Can you get that?” Jimin asks. “ That’s the muffins!”

Time passes in a flurry of cookies and brownies and big big smiles, and Jeongguk’s not entirely sure how many hours he’s spent holed up in the kitchen with Jimin. All of the finished pastries had been whisked away on breezes of magic, and the distinct people sounds that echo in from the other side of the doors means that the bakery had probably opened some time ago.

“Taste this,” Jimin places a chunk of something on the top of Jeongguk’s tongue. It’s sweet and savory and almost floral, and Jeongguk tells the baker so. Jimin somehow draws up another smile from that limitless supply of his, “Perfect.”

Jeongguk is full to the brim with all of the little sweets Jimin had needed a taste test for—he almost feels a bit sick with it—but the pure joy on the baker’s face after seeing someone compliment his work is more than worth the small stomach ache.

“What is it?”

Jimin rolls the floral dough into small balls, “I think cookies. I’m not really sure? Sometimes I just get the urge to mix certain things together until they come out how I imagined.”

“They’re good! I never expected to taste a flowery cookie.”

Jimin hums, focused on his small task of shaping the dough. He shines bright with joy and full magic, and as long as he is that happy Jeongguk is sure he can as well. “I think they remind me of you. Flowery and sweet. Taehyung brought in some edible flowers the other day, and it was the first thing I thought of. Cookies, with flowers and a little bit of kitchen witchery baked in.”

Jeongguk flushes from his toes to the tips of his ears. Even if Jimin will always have Yoongi and Jimin will always have Yoongi, Jeongguk knows that he needs to accept it. Even though it hurts and he wants to be a part of it. “I think they’re—they’re gonna be really good.”

An itchy sensation pin pricks behind his eyes and at the flesh of Jeongguk’s palm. There, in the center of it, a small stem of green sprouts, and curls into a small white blossom. A white carnation. A symbol of innocence and pure love. He doesn’t let the pressure behind his eyes pour out like it wants.

Jeongguk plucks the flower with a flinch before it can bloom, and tosses it out of sight.

☼

Winter hardly touches this place.

Somehow it sits just right in the world to avoid harsh cold and the magic is just right to keep all of the plants and people happy.

Time and weather pass so fluidly here that it almost feels like it isn't moving at all. Sometimes Jeongguk can't remember when it was the he first moved to the cottage, let alone how long it's been. So when he finally takes a good look at the month and the date he's startled.

Six months.

Half a year.

Almost two hundred days since the day that Jeongguk stepped foot into this little piece of paradise.

A little ghost of winter swoops in with colder weather. Scarves and hot chocolate and even more Witch's Brew. And yet it's not truly cold, just enough to bring with it the strange lull and peace of the holidays, but not quite enough for the trees to shed their leaves.

The Forest is still sickly, but almost happy with the weather. Maybe because of the joyful auras that shine off of each witch and human.

Winter also brings with it a slight dip in magic. The magic settles and rests. Recharges. And then, with spring, it returns just as it was before. But with such a small hint of the season Jeongguk can still feel the resting gaps in his magic, yet it's nothing like it was in the city. His magic is still there to be called upon, more so than it used to be during the winters of his old home.

And it’s all there. Just under his skin and all around him like always, just resting more heavily at night, and yet. None of his magic is coming out right .

Maybe it could be the winter season hindering it, but that’s not what it feels like. He’s been through eighteen years of winter and all of them have meant weaker magic, not wrong magic.

Not magic that makes the flowers wilt as he sings, that makes the trees dim more with each night. Not magic that makes him unable to help the sick Forest no matter how hard he tries.

Jeongguk grins and bears it. Even though it weighs down on him. Makes his stomach hurt a bit with frustration and confusion. Witches don’t react well to human medications, so he’s always depended purely on coping skills and his therapist to feel normal . And he’s been getting better. He has, really. Waking up and staying up, and being able to get things done. Even just doing the dishes and sweeping and just. Normal things. And now suddenly he can’t even use his magic properly and that’s—not normal.

But he grins and bears it.

Still wakes up every morning, still runs his shop, still tends the garden as best as he can. Picks away the dead leaves and petals and tries not to think too much about them. And lately he’s been feeling so young . He knows he is just eighteen and he is young, but lately he’s been feeling like such a—a child compared to his friends. Not because they’re old, but because he is so less sure of himself. Like he’s walking in shoes that are two sizes too big.

It doesn’t seem like anyone else notices, and that’s good. Jeongguk would rather keep it to himself.

Even though he tries not to think about it, it’s like every day his heart beats a mile faster and he sweat more and more and he twists his mother’s ring so often the skin of his finger is rubbed raw.

Jeongguk sits criss-cross applesauce in the center of the garden. Spine straight, shoulders back, chin high, hands clasped in his lap. He draws in a deep breath. Draws in all the sense and sounds around him. The chirps of birds, the rustle of leaves, the crunch of paws on soil, the slither of snakeskin on bark. The crisp fresh air, tinted with the ripe beginnings of late fruit. The wet cold of dew on the grass and stone beneath  him.

He takes it all in, and then exhales.

Lets his shoulders and spine rest and curve as they please, fingers loosen their grip. Relaxes. Relaxes until he’s laying completely sprawled out. Dew soaks in through his sweatpants and shirt and Freesia can be heard rustling in the distance, but he doesn’t mind.

He stretches his arms and legs out far far far as far as he can, and then he lightly grabs on to the grass with each hands. He holds it as gentle as he can. Curls in his fingers as if he is stroking Freesia’s fur or braiding Taehyung’s hair.

Jeongguk focuses his breathing, goes through all the steps of basic magic that they teach in school, and then double checks each of them. Then he lets his magic seep through him. It flows through his veins, within his blood, through his lungs with each breath, then out and around him. The green magic in the air whirls as he nudges it.

He does all the things with a purpose, though he normally doesn’t even have to think about any of them. It’s normally as easy as breathing.

He closes his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration.

All he wants is for all of the flowers to bloom, all of the plants to sing. All he needs to do is ask them kindly. All he wants is for his magic to work.

With one more focused breath, Jeongguk asks the plants to sing.

All he wants is for his magic to work, and yet all he hears is silence.

His lip curls back with frustration, and eyes sting behind closed lids. He opens them, and blinks away tears. Something tears beneath his palms, and Jeongguk pulls his hands up with a gasp. With them comes clumps of grass, all jagged ends and wilted tips. Jeongguk bites his lip, pulls his shaking hands close to his chest.

He had just wanted to see his magic work, but he had ended up... hurting the grass. And—it’s just grass. But the guilt still sears under his skin. Even though it’s a couple dozen blades of grass in his palms, each little piece had a voice not even minutes ago. They’re now fading. Wilting.

Jeongguk curls in close to himself, knees to his chest and pulls his cupped hands up to his forehead. A small bit of cold touches his arm, and he looks down to see Freesia’s big eyes turned up at him with worry.

“I’m so sorry.” He hiccups, and the tears finally come out.

“Jeongguk?”

The voice is deep and familiar, but concerned in a way Jeongguk has never heard before. He fumbles to wipe his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “Namjoon-hyung?”

“Jeongguk-ah,” wrinkles line Namjoon’s clothes, a mismatch of patterns and fabrics, more pyjamas than anything, and each syllable carries a bit of a rasp with it, “do you… want to talk?”

His long limbs make every small movement seem like a spectacle. He sits with very little grace, arms and legs folding and fumbling until he’s sitting in the dewy grass.

“No, I—” Jeongguk lets the grass fall from his hands, streaks of green painted across his skin as a reminder, “What are you doing here?”

Namjoon turns the slightest bit pink and fidgets for a moment. “Well, it’s not new , but for some reason when I woke up this morning I was just—just really bothered and anxious and had to come, and now—. Now I’m here?”

“What’s bothering you?” Jeongguk pats his own cheeks to try to ground himself. No matter how keen he is to wallow he’d rather be here, present in this moment, to comfort his friend.

They both sit criss-cross applesauce now, as Jeongguk relaxes and Namjoon follows. Cold beads of dew soak through to their skin, but Jeongguk hardly notices it.

“Franklin is sick.”

It takes Jeongguk a minute to remember the name. Namjoon hasn’t had his familiar for very long, and it has had it’s name for even shorter. Now that he thinks about it, he can feel a slight difference in the magic around him, aside from Namjoon’s presence: a wild mixture of all sorts of things that is unique to an eclectic witch. Jeongguk leans over to the side a bit. Just behind Namjoon he can see the older’s familiar grazing languidly.

Franklin is a young tortoise. One of the magical kind, the kind that lives by foraging the Forest floor and each carry their own little ecosystems on their shells. The moss, ferns, and lichen that rest on the soil grounded to the shell are all a bit too brown and not enough green. Not enough wildflowers are sprouted, and the ones that are are the half way to wilted.

Jeongguk straightens back up, furrows his brows. “When did this happen?”

“All of the Eco-Back Tortoises have been wilt-y for weeks now, same as the Forest has been. But it’s just getting worse. I check in on all of them when I can, and let Franklin visit. I didn’t know who to ask because they’re animals, but they live with plants. And—And their lives are connected to the Forest. It’s like that for all of the Forest’s animals, so I… I decided to come to you.” Namjoon rubs at the back of his neck and his gaze flutters from Jeongguk to the ground and back.

Jeongguk takes in a shaky breath. The air is cold and bitter on his tongue. He’s managed to push the Forest’s condition to the back of his thought but now—now it’s not just affecting him and the Forest. It’s affecting familiars, and witches, and. It’s not just Jeongguk’s problem anymore. The guilt that has been bubbling up from the bottom of his stomach since the first day the Forest had been sick now pools up up up, flooding until Jeongguk has to look to make sure it’s not leaking from the tips of his fingers.

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk speaks not above a whisper. He’s scared that if his words are too loud the wind will hear and carry them away to to be handled by the magic and the fate that twists and cracks and burns everything the wrong way. “I don’t know what to do.”

He brings his thumb up to his lips and starts gnawing on the skin. He’s seen Yoongi do it before. All the time, actually. The sigil witch bites at his fingers until he bleeds. When he panics, when he daydreams, when he looks at Jimin, his first instinct is to peel away at the layers that keep his magic within him.

“It’s okay,” Namjoon’s voice is so soft, and. And he should be sad. He should be angry. Jeongguk doesn’t deserve Namjoon’s love when Namjoon should be keeping it close to him and Franklin. “Maybe you can just take a look.”

Jeongguk nods, eager to try to help. “Okay,” he whispers.

Namjoon calls the small tortoise over with a little brush of his magic, and Franklin ambles their way. Franklin is small for an Eco-Back, but still big compared to most non-magic tortoises. His small, green face looks up at Jeongguk with what’s almost a smile, and Jeongguk can feel the guilt stab straight into his heart.

Jeongguk is familiar with all of the flowers and fungi and moss that grow off of the shell, and he can sense the different layers of the soil. But even so, Jeongguk can’t sense the problem. Can only feel that something is off. Wrong.

Franklin’s magic is almost like a raspy breath. Cold and empty and harsh but not too far from its origin. Jeongguk can hear the rasp, but not its cause.

He clenches his fists tight, bites down on his lip. He forces himself to relax and extends a shaky hand to hover over Franklin’s shell. Every little vein of magic and life is there beneath Jeongguk’s palm, and yet he can’t feel anything that he can do to help.

Something about it is like an echo of the strange half-awakeness that Jeongguk feels. It’s all wrong , and not quite there .

“I’m so sorry,” Jeongguk chokes up. “I can’t do anything. I don’t know what to do.”

Namjoon smiles and Jeongguk wishes that the older wouldn’t. The green witch doesn’t deserve it, not when the problem seems half his fault and he can’t even fix it. “It’s all right, Jeongguk-ah. Thank you for looking at him. I really appreciate it.”

Jeongguk nods despite not wanting the thanks. “I hope he gets better.”

“Me too,” Namjoon stands, brushes the dirt from his legs. He’s wearing shorts even in the colder weather, and they show his strong tan legs. Not quite as tan as Jeongguk, though. He’s sure he has everyone beat on time spent in the sun. “Come visit sometime, alright? You know where to find me.”

Jeongguk nods, stands to hug Namjoon goodbye. Namjoon is warm, even in the cold air in his denim shorts. Namjoon and Seokjin’s place is a quaint thing, second farthest from the Square besides the cottage, and a venue for many get togethers simply because of  Namjoon’s extensive collection of comfortable blankets.

The eclectic witch gives Jeongguk one last squeeze before leaving. Namjoon doesn’t have his broom with him. He hardly uses it for much of anything, always preferring to walk wherever his feet wish to carry him. Jeongguk is pretty sure that the only reason he owns one is in case of emergency for Seokjin.

Freesia brushes against Jeongguk’s leg as he watches his friend walk away. The weight of the grass is still heavy in his palms, even though they are empty.

He breathes. In. Out. No matter how hard he tries to focus just on the sensation of pulling in air, his thoughts continue to wander. Wander to images of the Forest growing more and more sick. The tortoises losing the little worlds on their backs. The magic dulling and dulling around him because the Forest is almost dying and it feels like his fault.

Jeongguk sinks back down into the soft green of the garden, curls in close to himself. The ground is cold and wet beneath him, and the plants whisper whisper whisper into his ears.

Jeongguk smiles. They croon comforting stories and lullabies to him. The lavender tries to sing him to sleep, the herbs tell him sharp witted stories, the succulents hum slow songs. But he can tell that they’re all tired. Because of the winter. Because of the sickness. And Jeongguk is just as tired.

☼

Jeongguk curls around a steaming cup of Witch’s Brew. The drink tastes even better in the winter. In Yoongi’s shop, Smeraldo. The place always seems to be open, no matter what time Jeongguk finds himself outside the doors. The doors always open with a pretty ringing of bells and the whole place opens up like the pages of a book. One after the other, shelf after shelf. Person after person.

He finds himself at the bookstore often, and is almost always with Taehyung or Jimin. They always manage to find something new, even though Jimin has been frequenting Smeraldo for years. Taehyung has a theory that the shelves rearrange themselves like a magic maze, but Yoongi refuses to confirm or deny.

This time isn’t really different than any of the others.

Freesia is settled in Jeongguk’s lap, and Jeongguk is settled in his usual bean bag. Jimin hangs upside down in a papasan chair, dragged close to where Yoongi is perched at his desk. Cae rests atop the sigil witch’s shoulder, a tiny ball of white fluff and feathers.

The lights stay a soft off-white, gentle on the eyes. A pretty twinkle of music trickles from an invisible source.

A copy of A Brief History of Magical Mushrooms floats open just above Freesia. Half of Jeongguk is entranced in the pages, and the other half causes his eyes to wander to Yoongi and Jimin. For a moment, Jeongguk’s wandering gaze accidentally meets Yoongi’s sharp eyes, and the younger smiles awkward before ducking his head. His book floats up a bit to cover his face.

He sits there a moment, hidden behind watercolor paintings of fungi, and takes a deep breath in, tries to breathe out his embarrassment. Finally, he lets the book lower, and squeaks.

Yoongi is hardly two feet away, sat cross legged on an overly large pillow. Somehow so quiet Jeongguk hadn’t even noticed. Yoongi’s brows are furrowed as he scans the lines of an old spellbook, a pair of reading glasses perched on the upturn of his nose. He looks up at Jeongguk’s small noise and smiles, “Hello.”

“Hi,” Jeongguk clears his throat.

“Funny seeing you here,” Yoongi turns a page, pushes up his glasses with a lithe finger, and his smile turns almost… coy. Yet still just as full of humor and mischief as usual.

“You too,” Jeongguk tucks a bit of hair behind his ear. It’s a bit long now, and so it stays firmly tucked away.

Yoongi looks hard at Jeongguk for a moment, eyes sharp and witty and serious even behind the lenses of his glasses. Jeongguk can feel himself redden, and blinks hard. With just that blink, Yoongi is back to his book, mouth forming the words he reads them.

A weight dips the space on the bean bag chair beside Jeongguk. Jimin curls in beside him, just the right size for the space left of giant thing.

“This okay?” The kitchen witch asks.

Jeongguk nods. It’s more than okay.

His chest pulses with both their nearness and a pang of worry. He’s not sure why they are so close to him, now or even any of the past instances. He hasn’t been the least obvious in his fumbling crush, and they shouldn’t want to be his friends, let alone spend so much time so close to him. Sometimes he wonders if it’s pity, all them feeding this unnamed thing he feels. Sometimes he wonders if he’s even feeling anything. If it’s just teenaged puppy love. But Jeongguk never thought puppy love would feel like so much, for two people. His chest hurts.

But he likes being next to them. He likes to wonder what it would be like to let himself be confident in this thing he feels. To be with one of them. Or both, if that’s possible. If it is, he doesn’t know. They’re so tightly woven he can’t begin to imagine how he’d fit within.

“I’m so—” Jimin yawns, so wide that his nose scrunches and his eyes all but disappear, “so tired.”

Yoongi uses his foot to nudge his boyfriend, endeared, “Take a nap.”

Jimin nods, “Okay.”

Jeongguk holds absolutely still as Jimin rests his head on the green witch’s shoulder. Jeongguk can see the blond in his peripheral, even though he tries not to pay too much attention. Jimin smells of the bakery, all spices and sweets and coffee grounds. The kitchen in Jimin and Yoongi’s place smells just the same—a fragrant blend of all the things that Jimin bakes and cooks, with a tinge of his kitchen witchery.

Jeongguk flips the page of his book, scans over the images of agaricus natares , the floating mushroom. Jimin and Yoongi do this sometimes, treat him like they treat each other. It doesn’t make sense. After all he’s just a kid who moved from the city tumbled headfirst into their lives. They hug and lean on their other friends like Jeongguk does with Taehyung, but, Jeongguk’s not sure if it’s his heart wishfully thinking, but it feels different when they gravitate to him.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he nudges Jeongguk ever so gently.

Jeongguk lifts a hand to press his fingertips to his own lips. He hadn’t even notice that his thoughts had pulled his mouth into a deep frown. He makes himself smile, speaks softly so as to not disturb Jimin, “No I was just focusing on reading. Do—Do you know of the floating mushrooms? Agaricus natarei ?”

“There are floating mushrooms?” Yoongi’s eyes are wide with genuine curiosity as he sets his book on the floor beside him without even looking.

Jeongguk nods, forgets his worries for a moment. “Yes, yes! There’s not too many here, only in, like, some stranger parts of the wood, but they’re amazing. Do you… wanna see?” The green witch laughs nervously as he realizes how overexcited he must sound. “They’re just pictures, not the real thing, though….”

“Of course I wanna see,” Yoongi grins. “Here,” he pulls his bean bag next to the oversized one Jeongguk and Jimin share, squishes the two things close enough that it all looks like an even bigger bean bag chair. “Tell me all about the, uh. Agriculture notoriety ?”

“What?” Jeongguk laughs, hard. “Do you mean agaricus natarei ?”

Yoongi nods, “Yeah, that’s what I said, right?” He raises a brow and shakily purses his lips to hold back a laugh.

Jeongguk holds the book out to rest between him and Yoongi, Jimin’s breathing already evened out as he drifts to sleep. “Of course, that’s definitely what you said.”

The green witch fidgets a bit as he talks, rambles about floating mushrooms. He stumbles over words, and holds back all the movement that might stir Jimin. All Jeongguk wants to do is tap his foot, rub the back of his neck. He doesn’t know how to talk to Yoongi, sometimes. Most of the time.

All the words make sense in his head and then when he speaks them his mouth fumbles and drops them, so hard that the rest of him can’t hold still.

Somehow, after thoroughly retelling the first discovery of a floating mushroom, then a floating mushroom flock—very shocking to the humans that found them. After all natarei do grow to be the size of a school desk—Jeongguk finds a second head rested against his shoulder. Yoongi’s hair brushes against Jeongguk’s neck, and he shivers. The older witch is pressed against Jeongguk’s side, warm and soft. Even Cae is asleep, wings tucked tightly to his side, and safe, cupped within Yoongi’s palms.

“Are the floating ones your favorite?”

“No, I don’t think so. I quite like the ones that bite peoples ankles. They kind of remind me of you.” Jeongguk flips through the book and points to a photo of a not-so-menacing anklebiter.

“I will choose to ignore that comment,” Yoongi huffs and shifts a bit in his spot.

For a moment, Jeongguk worries about Yoongi leaving the store unattended. Jeongguk has never truly seen the owner, just caught glimpses and flashes, but he’s sure that they will take care of everything somehow. Then Jeongguk’s thoughts flit to the next worry.

Yoongi hadn’t minded Jimin being pressed up against the green witch, but what if Jimin wakes and is upset at Yoongi being curled on the opposite side? The last thing Jeongguk wants to do is cause a problem between the two, and he’s not really sure that he could, but his mind still travels down every negative possibility, even as he rambles about fungi.

He breathes deep. In, out.

He can worry and pester himself later. For now he’d rather keep hearing Jimin’s soft snores as he naps and Yoongi’s quiet questions about different species.

Jeongguk lets himself relax even more. Lets his neck unwind, bend just the slightest to his left, until. Until his head rests just atop Yoongi’s own. For a split second, Jeongguk thinks that he hears Yoongi’s next breath come out funny, but just as quickly Yoongi is whispering once more.

“Tell me more, please.”

“Sure. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” Jeongguk thumbs back to the beginning of the book. “Let’s start here.”

☼

The wind howls from the Forest and between the stout buildings of the square. Jeongguk shivers, can feel the hairs on his arms stand on end as he shivers. He pulls his long coat close around him, and tightens his scarf. A Brief History of Magical Mushrooms is tucked safely away in his backpack, which bounces against the base of his spine with each step. His broom is off wandering somewhere, but he doesn’t mind. Taking the trip through the Forest by foot is nice sometimes.

Despite the cold, Jeongguk’s heart races and so do his thoughts. Freesia trots alongside him, and her tail is slow slow as it cuts through the air.

The sun is setting, dipped just below the tree line. Its rays glow through each branch of every tree and cast brilliant gold across the village. The trees will soon glow on their own with how fast darkness approaches.

Jeongguk waves at the occasional townsperson that he passes. Everyone is languid and jelly today, in the heart of winter. It’s all tired, slow waves and smiles tops with half-closed eyes. He passes Yanan, Seulgi and Yeri, and bends at someone’s yard to ask a tiny frail flower to bloom strong.

By the time the town is far behind him and he’s halfway to the cottage, the sun is nearly gone, and the Forest’s lights are flickering to life. Jeongguk pulls at his backpack straps.

Birds chirp their goodnights, toads croak from distant swamps, and creatures that even Jeongguk hasn’t ever seen clearly flit through the bushes. A frigid breeze curls around him and his familiar, and Jeongguk startles as Freesia jumps onto him. He catches her in his arms, and holds her close to his chest as she curls into a tight ball.

“Cold?” He chuckles, squeezes her a bit tighter for just a second.

Once he has found himself back home he isn’t sure how to move without shivering. Freesia jumps from his arms as the door swings open for them, and she darts into the cottage to find the warmest spot she can.

Jeongguk doesn’t follow behind her. Instead he stands on the garden path, furrows his brows.

Something is off.

He spins on his heels, and scans the trees. They’re lit up, all the reds and oranges and golds of autumn, fading into the icy blues of winter. But still. Something is off.

For a moment he just stands there. Searches for the off-ness with both his eyes and his magic. The air is sharp and cold on his tongue as his jaw drop in realization.

The lights.

Every tree and vine and lichen and night-blooming flower glows, just like they have every night for hundreds of years. But, for the first time in the six months that Jeongguk has lived in the heart of it all, and maybe even the first time in all those hundreds of years, the lights have dimmed.

Jeongguk’s mouth flails around half formed words, lips curled around panic. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say, who he’s trying to talk to, but his mouth moves nonetheless. The words come out as strangled noises, caught in the back of his throat, behind where it’s closed tight. Blocked with a lump of something. The thoughts racing through his head? The emotions coming faster than he can imagine? Just the confusion?

Even though the Forest has been sick, less lively and filled with magic, it’s lights have stayed strong. Until tonight.

Jeongguk turns and darts into the cottage. He waits for the door to swing open for him but it stays shut. He moves to twist the knob but it doesn’t budge. Even with shaking and pulling the thing doesn’t move.

“What the hell?” Jeongguk cries.

He pulls his backpack off of his back, throws it onto the ground and begins digging for his cellphone. He hardly uses the thing, but he always keeps it with him. When he finds it he almost drops it with how hard his hands are shaking.

He clicks the first name in his recent calls list: seokjin-hyung .

It dials. And dials. And dials.

Hi you’ve reached Kim Seokjin! If you’re calling for a business inquiry or catering, please call the bakery at…

Jeongguk sniffles, hangs up, and dials the number again. It rings and rings, and goes right back to voicemail. This time he waits out the answering message and the beep so that he can leave his own message.

“Hyung?” he speaks after the beep. “Something’s… wrong. With the Forest. It has been for a while, but tonight it’s all—worse. And I think it’s my fault? I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t have called. I just— The cottage won’t let me in.” Jeongguk sighs, cringes at his words. “I don’t know. Bye, hyung.”

He hangs up and tosses his phone back into the bag. After the call, Jeongguk doesn’t even know why he bothered. His thoughts don’t make sense, let alone his words. Maybe he was hoping to feel better. Seokjin has a way with words and actions that, no matter how the kitchen witch feels, he can make everyone happy.

His awful sense of humor isn’t even what works, it’s just. Seokjin. Jeongguk doesn’t really understand it but he loves it. He doesn’t talk to Seokjin too much, since the older is so busy running a business and pursuing a master’s degree, but, sometimes, Jeongguk thinks that Seokjin is the friend he feels most comfortable with.

He doesn’t understand why the cottage won’t let him in. Even on the times the knob has stuck due to old age and rust he’s been able to fix it with the help of Hoseok or Namjoon or WD40. He tries again but the gold-painted handle just jiggles in place. Even with two hands, stance wide: nothing.

“What the fuck?” He huffs, face red with cold and anger. “Why? What’d I do?” Jeongguk kicks at the door, but the thud of his boot on wood is only met with a hollow echo then silence.

He kicks again, but all of his anger had been put into the first swing of his leg. It’s all but gone now. The tip of his boot taps the door, weak and dull.

Jeongguk lowers himself to sit on the hard stone of the garden path.

He sits there with his head bent and eyes closed until he’s not sure how long he’s been there. It’s cold as all hell, and Freesia tries to fit beneath his coat. Jeongguk raises the fabric and lets her curl up against his stomach.

He’s not sure if Seokjin will even check his voice messages, let alone come all the way to the cottage, but Jeongguk doesn’t think he has it in himself to fly back to town. And there’s nothing else he can do with the cottage locked. So he just sits. Tries not to think.

A few tears are cold against his cheeks, and he’s surprised the weather doesn’t freeze them to his cheeks. Instead they roll until the drip from his chin to the bundle of coat and cat in his lap.

He sits there, until he finally hears something. A few voices carry over the wind, and the distinct sound of brooms cutting through the air. Jeongguk looks up, just now realizing how much he’s shivering. All of his friends are riding in, little specks in the sky.

Seokjin is at the very front of them, standing perfectly balanced on his broom, with Taehyung’s bicycle just behind. The specks of them grow bigger and bigger until they’re right there in front of Jeongguk. All of them.

Seokjin and Taehyung and Yoongi and Jimin and Hoseok and Namjoon.

And Jeongguk hangs out with them so much, but it’s only now that he remembers how long it’s been since all of them have been together.

Jeongguk smiles around his chattering teeth as they land, and Freesia shakes herself loose from the coat to inspect the incoming noise, “Hi.”

“Jeongguk-ah!” Seokjin jumps from his broom, and in his hand it shrinks back down to its normal form as his wand. “I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t answer your call, I was in the middle of working on my cornerstone and this recipe and just—well, I shouldn't make excuses. But I’m here now.” Seokjin crouches until he’s level with the younger. “We’re all here.”

Jeongguk tries to stand but it feels like his knees are frozen in place. Yoongi rushes forward to help him to his feet, and Seokjin places the pad of his finger to Jeongguk’s nose. Seokjin doesn’t often need his voice for spells, and this time is no different. Jeongguk is warmed from his head to his toes the second Seokjin touches him.

The green witch finally gets himself standing, and bursts into tears. All of the witches rush toward him, and Jimin leans in close. Jeongguk can see where the dark brown of his natural hair is starting to show and his bleached blond curls long against the nape of his neck.

“What’s wr—no, what can I do?” Jimin asks, face bunched up with worry.

“I don’t know.”

Jeongguk shivers harder, both from the cold and the sobbing he can’t seem to stop. Yoongi fumbles to unzip his own jacket and drape it over the younger’s shoulders. It’s still warm with the lingering touch of the sigil witch.

“How long has it been?” Taehyung asks as he pulls his friend into a quick hug. How long has it been since your magical house locked you out , is what he doesn’t say.

“Maybe… an hour?”

“Fuck,” Jimin hisses through his teeth. “Do you have any idea why?”

“No,” Jeongguk shakes his head. “If I did I wouldn’t have bothered you all.”

“Hey,” Hoseok smiles soft and nudges Jeongguk with his elbow. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Hoseok’s words are so reassuring. They make Jeongguk feel warm and steady and sure that it will all end up right and—.

Jeongguk shoves himself away from Hoseok.

“What the fuck?” He shouts. The six witches all look with wide eyes. Hoseok takes a step back.

“What’s wrong?” The older holds his hands out cautiously.

“You know what’s wrong,” Jeongguk spits out. “You have the fucking audacity to use your magic to manipulate my emotions, and yet you push Taehyung away because you’re scared he will manipulate yours?”

Hoseok’s lips fall empty around words that won’t form.

“If you’re so scared of Taehyung, then why isn’t he scared of you?”

Jeongguk’s words are met with silence. Taehyung looks at Hoseok with a face more empty than Jeongguk has ever seen on his best friend.

Namjoon takes a step forward, “It’s good to talk this all out, but maybe—maybe right now Hoseok and I can just try to get the cottage open?”

Yoongi and Jimin hold onto each other awkwardly, and Jeongguk notices how they each stand like they’re trying to block the other from the conflict before them. Jeongguk notices how they both lean the slightest bit towards him. Seokjin stands beside his husband. The kitchen witch’s back is straight, eyes focused and moving from witch to witch.

“You really are afraid of me?” Taehyung looks Hoseok in the eyes.

Jeongguk is warm now. Maybe from the last tendrils of Hoseok’s magic. Maybe from the anger that’s starting to subside. He watches two of his friends frantic and confused. He watches two of his friends lean into each other, and lean toward him in a way he doesn’t understand. He watches two of his friends stand and watch and wait. They’re all worried. All six of them. Worried that an argument will end in shambles, worried worried worried.

And Jeongguk is worried too.

He wants to lean into Yoongi and Jimin, tell Namjoon and Seokjin that no one will get hurt, they can relax, pull Hoseok and Taehyung apart and call them both idiots.

But instead he hears a soft click behind him. He turns and lets his lips part in surprise. The door to the cottage swings open just the slightest of an inch. The green witch looks back at his friends, then back to the open door. Then he steps inside his home.

He sighs, hard and rough, once he’s finally past the door frame. He runs his fingers through his hair. His head throbs, right behind his brow and around and back. He doesn’t know when the pain started, but now it’s all he can think of. All of a sudden the throbbing is loud , loud loud, right in his ears and his head and it hurts .

He hisses and closes his eyes against the minimal light in the room. He wills the orbs along the ceiling to dim, and slowly blinks his eyes open to a squint. Even the faint light from the windows hurts. He feels stupid for yelling at Hoseok, but at the same time he knows what he said was right. Although he should have been more calm and rational. It’s hard to be calm and rational when he’s locked out of his magic house.

For a moment he stands there. Not sure if he’s still or swaying. The pain is somehow both a physical feeling and a mental noise, like screaming. Jeongguk breathes, tries to listen to the inhales and exhales over the sound in his head. As he stands there and takes in the noise, it almost begins to take shape.

Jeongguk forces his eyes open all the way, and looks.

The noise is coming from the plants. The fungi and herbs and flowers inside the cottage, out in the garden, and even the wild foliage of the Forest. All of them are yelling.

“Why?” Jeongguk rasps. “What’s wrong?”

The shouting is all white noise, the green witch can hardly make out words in it.

He stumbles to the kitchen in search of something cold to press against his skull, but the noise only gets louder the closer he gets to the back of the cottage.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk spits through his teeth. He leaves the kitchen and trails further into the back, until he’s stood in front of the back door. Freesia stand at the foot of it, as though she can hear them too. The screams are loudest here, and Jeongguk can’t keep his eyes open anymore. They’re squeezed shut and he clasps his hands over his ears.

His cheeks are wet from where he has been crying. He didn’t even notice the tears, but now he cries harder. Sobs. Freesia presses her forehead to his side.

“What do you want?” He yells back, words choked and rough around his cries. “I don’t know what I did wrong or why you’re sick but I can’t— I can’t fucking help like this.” He drops down until his knees hit the wood floor. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Please.”

He hiccups, breaths coming out in short bursts. Through his tears, he realizes that the plants are silent now.

He uncovers his ears and raises his head to look around at the plants nearest to him. They sit still, some Forest natives glowing faintly, as if everything is normal.

A loud knock at the door makes Jeongguk flinch. He turns his head to look towards the other door. Although the noise is gone his headache is still strong.

“Jeongguk?” Someone shouts from outside. Seokjin. “Open up. Please. We’re all here. Please come out.”

Jeongguk doesn’t remember locking the door behind himself, the cottage must have locked it on its own. He wonders for a second if Hoseok and Taehyung worked things out.

“I’ll be there in a—” Jeongguk shouts as he rights himself to stand when he sees it, “minute…”

The back door, the one that hides behind it the contents hidden within a shell of ivy, is open.

Jeongguk looks at it for a moment before he steels himself and walks in, Freesia beside him. The door immediately swing shut behind them. It’s dark within the ivy, and the closed door takes away the last traces of light. Jeongguk stands there, blind. Overwhelmed at how silent it is without the yells. There are none of the murmurs and quiet songs that he almost always hears, constant background noise.

It’s completely silent. No plant speaks, nothing moves.

Jeongguk hasn’t been without the noise as long as he can remember. Even in the city, grass and potted plants and weeds talk and gossip.

“Hello?” He doesn’t raise his voice but it still sounds too loud in this dark.

A minute passes and nothing has answered. Jeongguk isn’t sure if he’s holding his breath.

Then. Finally.

Lights squeeze in through the vines, in between each tiny gap and crevice. They’re the soft orbs from the cottage, come to find Jeongguk. They glow a bright green yellow, and light the whole interior of the ivy shell.

Even though Jeongguk has known that the mass of vines is massive, much bigger than the cottage, it almost doesn’t register until now. Until he sees what’s within.

A greenhouse stands before the farthest edge of ivy, and before it, closest to Jeongguk, is a gazebo. A few vines rest atop the two structures, almost like the plants are holding on to make sure the things are still there. The greenhouse is all glass and metal, around the size of the cottage, and Jeongguk can’t believe that this thing has been behind for months and in hiding for who knows how long.

He hardly notices the steps he has taken forward until he’s standing before the greenhouse. The green yellow of the lights bounce off of the glass, layered in dust, and the colors warp on the face of the metal, covered in rust. Jeongguk raises his hand, and places the pads of his fingertips against the cold door frame. The double doors swing open with a loud squeak.

Inside the greenhouse the lights are muddled and blurry from the dirt covered glass. A few orbs flit in behind the green witch and spin through the beams of the ceiling. From outside Jeongguk hadn’t been able to see the inside through the thick grime, but now. Now he can see.

There are still plants.

Even after maybe hundreds of years, plants are still lined in wooden boxes, pots, cups, a bathtub. He rushes to them and looks over leaves and stems and shrunken flower buds. The soil within the containers isn’t the soil mixed with long dead herbs and annuals and succulents that Jeongguk was expecting. It’s all plain soil, with herbs and annuals and succulents growing out of it.

The plants themselves are wilted and shriveled and dry, but Jeongguk can feel their weak pulses of magic. He almost wants to cry. After all this time of neglect, they’re all still alive. Dying and in pain, but alive.

The green witch’s head still throbs with the echoes of screams and shouts, and the pain steadily grows as he walks along the rows of green. By the time he reaches the tub, filled with dry soil and an arrangement of half-dead succulents, he can hardly keep his eyes open around the pain.

Jeongguk bends just a bit to wipe a fallen basil leaf from a small cacti when his head pounds so hard that he swears he sees stars. He sways, tries to grab the edge of the tub. The green witch’s fingers slide past the porcelain, and he falls backwards.

The green yellow lights mix with the black and white spots behind his eyelids, until his head hits the hard ground of the greenhouse and all he can see is empty night.

Chapter Text

There are so many colors.

Cold, blue-green bruises mingle with warm green and yellow. Dots of white wink like stars before fading into nothing. There is an orange-pink color as well, like pressing a flashlight to the palm of a hand. There is the color, and then there is the pain.

It throbs and stings at first, an echo from far away, then closer and closer still, until it’s everywhere. And the pain is more visible than any one of the colors.

Jeongguk’s eyes snap open. The rush of air he takes in is warm, warmer than before. Before... everything had been hazy. The colors from before still dance before his eyes. The pain still caresses the nape of his neck and curve of his skull. It all clears slowly, one at a time. First the blue-green narrows into the orbs that he had enchanted, then the green and yellow melt into the forms of the plants, then each white dot winks into nothing.

Just like the air, the ground is warmer. It feels more like living earth than the cold deadness of before. He stays there for a moment, sprawled in the dust and dirt. His head pulses with the same pain. He blinks back the small wave of nausea that the headache brings, and slowly lifts himself to sit up.

He leans back on one hand, and presses his other to the already bruising spot on his head. He hisses as he touches the tender skin. A hard lump is already forming, the source of each aching tendril of nausea.

Thankfully, his fingers are clear of blood when he pulls them away from his head. Each blink and movement has to be slow, or else he might just keel back over. He pushes himself onto his hands and knees with a groan, clings to the lip of the bathtub to pull himself up.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been unconscious. It feels like a few seconds and a few hours all at once. A strange lethargy that reminds Jeongguk of falling asleep in the small garden at his mother’s house. The small thing was all they could fit in their tiny, suburban backyard, but Jeongguk loved it more than everything but Ma. He’d drift to sleep there when the sun was perched high and bright, and wake when the moon and dark had come. It’s that feeling of closing his eyes to day and opening them to night that Jeongguk thinks of now. Time and place and sense all seem to be far far away.

His vision flickers with white spots and black shadows after he has stood. The pain in his head dizzies him, but he blinks it away. His knuckles turn white as he grips the porcelain tight. Slowly, the headache dulls.

He’s been staring at the dirt and plants inside the tub for a few long, empty moments as he tries to right himself. He stares harder. Blinks.

He’s sure that before he fell these plants were withered and brown and dying. Now they perk towards him, lush and green and living. He spins, too fast, and he’s dizzy again for a second before everything rights itself and he can see that every plant in the greenhouse is like those in the tub.

Just as the ground felt warm with life, so do the plants and the magic. The sounds are different too. It’s all quiet. Calm. Little noises. Nothing like the shrill screaming from before. Jeongguk listens closely. The little sounds come from each of the plants in their soft language. Chatter, laughter, banter.

They stumble over their words as they greet both each other and Jeongguk. He exhales a shaky breath and blinks back tears. They aren’t sad tears. Just happy. The sight of all the flora so close to death had broken his heart, and now their bright laughter stitches it back together.

“Hi,” Jeongguk laughs, still wobbly on his feet. “You’re all better?”

Yes , they chorus. Jeongguk smiles and tries to straighten his clothes, brush off dirt, flatten his disheveled hair.

“Me too, I think.”

He looks over each of the little plants and notes what species are present. The flowers and herbs seem to be more than rare. Though no longer wilted, they are unrecognizable. He tries to pair them with memories of old field journals and books, but falls short. Those that he does recognize make him giddy with how special they are. A brilliant treasure trove of flora.

Jeongguk bends to examine an enormous flower that blooms in the center of the tub. It had been nothing but a dried out nub earlier, and now its giant petals spread open to shade the smaller plants. It smells of all things sweet and pleasant.

The ache in his skull has faded and he might have bruises along the length of his body, but he’s happy. Happy because the plants are happy. Happy because they’re living. Happy enough to let himself smile.

The magic in the room is full and sweet and warm, bubbling over with everything the plants have to say and feel. The pure green magic makes Jeongguk’s blood sing. The feeling reminds him of the Forest before it fell sick.

For a moment though, as Jeongguk bends to smell a plot of herbs, the magic dips. Swells. Flattens back out.

Jeongguk furrows his brows and tries to search for the source of the disturbance. It wasn’t bad feeling, no. The hiccup in the stream of magic made it stronger. Now the plants sing alongside the magic in Jeongguk’s veins, high and bright and green .

The magic dips and flares again, stronger this time. When it hits its peak, it’s as though the air in front of Jeongguk curdles and bends over itself. The magic stitches and pieces together, until Ahn Heeyeon stands before him.

Jeongguk’s breath hitches. He takes a step back. A million questions well up at the tip of his tongue.

All he can manage is a small, broken word: “How?”

She’s just like the picture in Grandma Park’s house. Tall and regal, with hair a deeper red than blood. Her lithe figure is swathed in a mismatch of fabrics. Part hanbok, part ball gown, part costume. The fabric is pinched together and bunched up and draped low and held tight all at once. It’s ugly, almost. She’s beautiful, despite it.  

She smiles and her warm eyes crease around the edges. She looks at Jeongguk like Grandma Park looks at Jimin.

“Hello, Jeongguk,” her palm lifts as if to caress his cheek, but she stops herself. “I don’t think I can touch anything like this. I’m not sure what I can and can’t do.”

“How?” Jeongguk echoes, stunned still at the sight of the woman before him.

She smiles so big her head tilts with the weight of it.

Her voice has a twang to it, a mix of the distinct drawl of the native villagers and the sharp old tongue from life a hundred years ago. “All Keepers are connected to the Forest, even after death. We can visit if need be.”

“You needed to visit today?” Jeongguk asks. “Is it because the Forest is sick?”

“Partly,” she smiles. “ More importantly, I needed to come to finally name you the next Keeper.”

All of his breath leaves his lungs.

“ What ?” he wheezes.

The tips of his fingers and toes feel numb, almost asleep. His stomach lurches. He stumbles back a step. In the back of his mind, he knew it was coming. He didn’t know that Heeyeon’s spirit would stand before him, but he knew that he was more to the Forest than a green witch. And he knew that the Forest was more to him than any other green his magic had ever touched. He wants to be that for the Forest. But he can’t.

“If you will, the Forest chose you as the next Keeper. To protect it. To love it. To heal it.”

Jeongguk’s knees buckle, and he lets himself sink to the ground. He swears it feels cold once more beneath him.

“How am I meant to be the Keeper— heal the Forest—when I’ve made it sick?” Tears well in his eyes. “I’m killing it.”

Heeyeon lifts her skirts as she settles down before him. She hovers her hands over his as if she were holding them. “You aren’t killing it.”

“I am,” the young green witch chokes out. “I am. I’m killing it. It chose me and I’m killing it.”

“Listen to me,” she speaks stern, voice hard. She curls her hands into fists after failing once more to hold him. “You are not killing the Forest. You haven’t officially become a Keeper yet, but the day that you stepped toe onto this land you became connected. The blood in your veins and the blood in the Forest’s veins run together.They have for months. You are not killing the Forest. The Forest is just feeling your emotions. In the only way it can.”

Jeongguk’s face pinches. He bites down on the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to stop it, but his eyes still burn with tears. “But I haven’t felt that bad. I’m on witch-safe medicine! I talk to my therapist. The Forest shouldn’t be so… so dead .”

Heeyeon’s face goes stony and she seems to go stiff with concentration. After a moment she moves again, and pulls Jeongguk into a sitting hug. “Sorry. It’s hard to gather myself enough to touch anything. But sometimes hugs just have to be given.”

He hugs her back, wraps his arms around her and squeezes as his shoulders shake with sobs.

“I’m not doing that bad,” he insists. “Really. I promise. I’ve been doing,” he hiccups, “good. I’m good.”

She rubs a cold hand over his back, “Sometimes even with the best of help, magic, and people, you still aren’t good. Sometimes things are bad, even with this modern day medicine and therapy. And that’s okay. Any Keeper, any person, falls ill,” she relaxes her grip and presses the tip of a finger to his forehead, “in here.”

“I don’t know about a hundred years ago, but—” he hiccups, “—that’s called depression nowadays.”

“I know what depression is,” she laughs, grip weakening. “Though when I was alive it had a much more negative connotation.”

She squeezes him tightly one last time before she has to let go. Her form flickers for a moment as she lets herself become intangible once more.

Jeongguk shoots her a watery smile, “Thank you.”

“As I was saying, even with all of those things you can still be depressed. It won’t just go away. The first ever Keeper had the Forest sick for years because they were so confused and lost. All the mushrooms kept dying for six months because I had a bad breakup. It’s not the same as depression, but every Keeper has felt the guilt of seeing their emotions through the Forest. That doesn’t mean you don’t try to feel them anymore. It means that you feel them more than ever, let them run their course. You can talk to your—your therapist more. And even if you’re never as good as you wish, the Forest will know you are trying your best.”

“I don’t know how to be like you,” he insists.

“Don’t be like me,” she laughs and a red kalanchoe blooms. “The Forest didn’t chose you because you’re like me. It chose you because you love it. And you always will, won’t you?”

He sniffles. Nods. “Of course,” he croaks.

“That’s as good a reason to be Keeper as any.”

He looks away from her strong gaze and watches himself pick at the skin around his nails. A habit he shares with Yoongi. “Do you really think I can do it?”

“I don’t think so,” she starts and his heart stops. “I know so. The Forest never chooses wrong.”

All of the things she has said are the slightest bit cheesy, but he knows that she is right. He doesn’t know how his mental health will pan out. He’ll have his clinical depression and anxiety for all his life as a green witch, but even so. He… he wants to live that life with the Forest. He wants to be a Keeper.

“Okay.” He gives a few rapid nods. “I can do it.” He wipes his tears and snot with the collar of his sweater. Tucks his hair behind his ears.

Heeyeon smiles. Even though it’s just her spirit before him and her body is long gone beneath the roots of the Forest, her eyes hold the purest emotion. Pride. Love. Hope.

“Come,” she rises and gestures for him to follow. “Stand.”

He pushes himself off of the hard ground and wipes the dirt from the legs of his overalls. She leads him out of the greenhouse and to the gazebo. The ivy releases the wood from its clutches with a wave of her hand, and the mold and moss leaves with only a blink of her eye.

“Go. I cannot follow you there.”

Jeongguk walks into the gazebo, apprehensive. The floorboards creak with each footstep, but as he enters the orbs of light brighten. They illuminate each crevice between the vines that encapsulate the greenhouse and gazebo, every splinter of the wood he stands on, every vein that runs along his skin.

He stops in the center of the small space, and looks back at Heeyeon. She stands a few yards away from him, but she meets his gaze and holds it.

The air cracks and bends around them. The magic sparks, then rises like a tidal wave. To the left of Heeyeon, another spirit flickers to life. Then another. And another. They all follow counterclockwise until the gazebo is completely circled by so many witches Jeongguk can’t begin to count them.

Heeyeon doesn’t have to say anything. They don’t have to say anything. Jeongguk knows who—what they are. Were.

The Keepers entwine hands and speak with one voice. The voice that Jeongguk hears everyday, singing, laughing, loving. The language that he has heard every day of his life.

The Forest speaks through them in the language of flora.

“ I am Keeper. Today, before, and always .” It says, and Jeongguk can hear the bits of Heeyeon’s voice peeking through. “ But today, I pass on this living title to Jeon Jeongguk .”

Heeyeon’s distinct presence in the voice fades until it’s only the Forest speaking.

The Forest speaks with the voice of every Keeper and the voice of every plant within it. It speaks to Jeongguk, and Jeongguk only.

“ Your heart is full of love. For us. For your mother. For Jimin. For Yoongi. For every one of your friends. Every person in the village. Every little weed that grows from the cracks in sidewalks. That love that you carry is your greatest strength, weakness, and weapon. ”

Jeongguk’s entire body tingles. Almost as though it’s asleep, yet different. His blood hums. Sings. Roars.

“ The moment you landed here. Today. Every day until you are gone beneath our roots and after. You are the Keeper of the Forest. You will love. You will live. You will Keep. We have and will love you forever, as well. Love with all of your heart and our hearts and we will all flourish. Jeon Jeongguk is a Keeper of the Forest, today and forever.”

The orbs of light grow bright bright bright until the greenhouse, the gazebo, and the Keepers disappear from his sight and all he can see is the deepest green.

It’s a strange vertigo as he opens his eyes. His blood still thrums wild and he’s not quite sure how his skin is containing it.

He can no longer see the green, but he can feel it, deep within himself.

A million sets of eyes looks back at him.

He blinks. Groans.

Not a million. Only twelve. Twelve eyes that belong to six people.

It’s brighter now, more light than the orbs ever could provide. Jeongguks sucks in a breath through his teeth when he realizes that he is flat on the floor of the greenhouse once more. Sunlight filters through the glass of the greenhouse. No more vines.

The voices he hears now are both plant and witch, but the sound is murky. Like he’s underwater.

He sits up with an even louder groan, and the volume of his friends grows even louder. Slowly, he begins to be able to hear them clearly.

“Jeongguk-ah!”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Oh my gods.”

The first thing that Jeongguk notices is that Yoongi’s face is red and swollen, streaked with tears. The green witch leans forward with a gasp, “Hyung, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, affronted. “You’ve been in here for forever and I had no idea what you were doing or what was happening. I was worried!”

“Oh,” Jeongguk shrinks back, sheepish. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jimin scolds as Yoongi pulls Jeongguk into a suffocating hug.

Jeongguk can feel Yoongi shake as he cries onto the younger’s shoulder. “Please don’t cry, hyung. I’m okay.”

Taehyung and Hoseok sink to their knees to be level with Jeongguk.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Jeongguk-ah,” Taehyung speaks with a shaky voice. “I shouldn’t have bothered you with my weird romance problems. But I’m so so glad you’re okay.”

“No, hyung, don’t say sorry!” Jeongguk pulls his best friend into the hug. “I shouldn’t have made a scene. And I’ll always want to hear what you have to say, no matter how weird.”

Namjoon kneels down, “Even Seokjin couldn’t get in with all the magic fortifying the door and vines.”

Seokjin shifts on his feet, rubs the back of his neck, but still speaks proudly, “I tried my best.” The kitchen witch is one of the most powerful in the whole village, second only to Grandma Park, but...

“Even he can’t get past the power of the Forest,” Jeongguk says.

“How in the world do you disappear for an hour and we find you passed out in a greenhouse with this ?” Jimin curls a strand of Jeongguk’s hair around his own finger.

“With what?” Jeongguk furrows his brows.

Seokjin snaps his fingers and a small mirror enchantment shimmers in the air before Jeongguk. “ That .”

Jeongguk gapes at his reflection.

Everything is the same, except that his hair shines a brilliant red. It’s odd to see himself like this. His reflection is him but different. He’s used to looking at himself and seeing a brunette. But. He’s always wanted to dye his hair, only stopped by the stern words of his mother. A small chorus of voices hums in his ear, the same that came from the mouths of the Keepers.

Green for the heart of the Forest, it starts. “Red for the heart of the Keeper,” he finishes.

His friends stare at him. Faces a mixture of shock and smugness and giddiness.

“I knew it!” Taehyung exclaims.

“Grandma is going to say ‘I told you so’ every single time she sees you, you know,” Yoongi mutters from where his face is tucked beneath Jeongguk’s neck.

“You’ll be lucky,” Jimin grunts as he fights to wrap his arms around both Yoongi and Jeongguk, “if she only says it once every time she sees you.”

Jeongguk closes his eyes as all of his friends wrap themselves around him in one giant embrace. He sighs, happy. Still confused. Not perfect.

His friends hold him and he holds them back.

“I think I’d be okay with that,” he murmurs.

☼

Things don’t change much with Jeongguk’s new title.

Sure, they change—but it’s not like he expected. Nothing extravagant or large like the fairy tales he has read in Smeraldo. Nothing miraculous.

The Forest’s wilted leaves and magic slowly lift themselves back up. They aren’t as magnificent as in the summer or the days that Jeongguk is happiest, but they’re better. Grandma Park flies herself out to the cottage to tell him “I told you so.” in the comfort of his own home. Everytime he sees his reflection he has to pause for a moment to register the red crowning him. Everyone else still double takes at it as well, Namjoon most of all.

The green witch—Keeper—can’t stray too far from the cottage. The farther he goes, the weaker he gets. The first time he had tried to go with his friends to visit town he had fallen off his broom, unconscious, less than half way there. Seokjin had said that it seems as though his new bond with the Forest is still fragile. Staying closest to the heart is best for a while, so as not to break it.

Jeongguk calls up his therapist, tells them that he’d like to try something new. The new prescription should arrive soon as well as more frequent therapy. He doesn’t stop taking his current medicine. It doesn’t help all that much, but he’s happy with that something. He writes in his Book of Shadows as often as possible.

More than just potions and spells. His thoughts, feelings, broken and whole.

It’s only been a few days, but things have changed. Not too much, but just enough.

Jeongguk marvels over these small beautiful changes as his eyes follow the lines of his bookshelf.

His bed is warm, warmer than Freesia keeps it. Yoongi and Jimin are curled up beside him, their gentle snores filling the room. Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok are all piled on the floor atop nearly every blanket and pillow that Jeongguk owns.

Through the window seeps a beautiful mosaic of color. Although they sometimes still flicker, the lights have been back to their normal selves. Jeongguk takes note of each different color. A frail pink, a delicate orange, a midnight blue, a lavender purple, a light red.

He mouths those words as they cross his mind, and wishes that he could run off into the trees and admire the night from a high branch. All he wants to do is run through the trees, lay in the dirt, feel the soil beneath his fingers.

But being in his bed, Yoongi and Jimin curled up beside him and his friends piled on the floor, is just as nice.

His hand tingles, asleep. Taehyung had fallen asleep with his arm stretched to hold his best friend’s hand, and somehow he is still holding on despite being unconscious. Jeongguk gently removes his fingers from Taehyung’s grip and sits up to make sure the siren witch’s arm rests less awkwardly.

The green witch covers his nose as he yawns, a strange habit he picked up from his mother. It is nearly impossible to leave the bed and make his way across the floor without disturbing, or stepping, on anyone. Jeongguk can’t help but smile as he carries his Book of Shadows into the living room.

His friends have stayed with him every day and night he has been stuck in the cottage. Coddled him a bit, but cared and loved. And thought about him. His heart warms every time he thinks about it, and the lights swell a bit through the windows. He sets the Book down on his coffee table and tiptoes back to the bedroom to make sure everyone is under a blanket. Under the pale light from the Forest he can make out the vague outlines of his friends.

Seokjin and Namjoon aren’t entwined like Jimin and Yoongi, but Seokjin has an arm and leg draped over his boyfriend protectively. And even in sleep a content smile rests on Namjoon’s lips. Taehyung’s back is pressed to Seokjin’s. As Jeongguk had held his hand, the siren’s arm had been dangling above Hoseok, and now it rests against his chest. Their feet are entangled. Better. They are better. Jeongguk bites back a grin as he covers them in a thick throw blanket.

The floorboards creak beneath his feet. Goosebumps rise along his skin. Though winter is not strong here the nights are cold, and the cottage only has as much heating as a few spells and space heaters can provide.

He tucks his feet beneath himself as he curls into the sofa. He chooses one of the many pens that litter the coffee table and begins to write. The cold feels good. He’s always liked the warm seasons better, of course. Spring and Summer bring the best growth. But certain crops and flowers flourish in the cold. Even though his depression grows worse as the days grow shorter and darker, he still appreciates the hot cocoa and snow and scarves.

The Book is balanced,a cover on each of his knees, and he bends so close to see in the dark that his nose nearly brushes the pages. A small weight dips the sofa. Jeongguk knows that it’s Freesia without having to look.

A second, then third weight dips the cushions, much too big to be a cat. Jeongguk looks up from his writing to gape at Yoongi and Jimin.

“Did I wake you up?” He whispers. “I tried not to wake anyone.”

Yoongi shakes his head as he curls into Jeongguk’s side to search for warmth. “You left the bed all cold. I’m just here to steal your body heat.”

“That’s a lie,” Jimin scoffs at his boyfriend. “I noticed you left and then hyung got worried. We wanted to check on you.”

“I was just writing in my Book of Shadows,” Jeongguk assures, sheepish. He places his Book and pen on the coffee table and shifts to face the two men.

“You don’t have to stop,” Yoongi insists. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Lost my train of thought anyways.” Jeongguk tugs at a strand of his hair. “You guys can go back to bed if you want?”

Yoongi shakes his head again, “No it’s alright, we’ll stay up with you. You should go to bed though.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he sighs.

The sigil witch rests his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Fold his hands between his thighs in an attempt to warm them. “You should try. Seokjin-hyung and Grandma said that you should get lots of rest.”

“I know, I know. ‘During sleep, the magic and the user meld together more, just like with young witches.”’ Jeongguk smiles at them even though Yoongi can’t see it. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“You really should rest, Gguk-ah,” Jimin reaches over and takes Jeongguk’s hand in his own. “You got so sick the other day, it was really, really bad.”

The first time Jeongguk had tried to leave the cottage it had gone awful, but.

He looks at the hand in his. Small. Soft. Jimin.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not—I’m not your boyfriend.”

Yoongi stiffens beside him. Jimin’s hand goes slack in his hold.

“I—” Jimin stutters and Jeongguk almost wishes that he could take his words back. “I didn’t mean—. I just. We just care about you.”

Jeongguk almost wishes that he could take his words back. But he can’t. And more than he wishes that could, he’s glad that he said it. His heart races. He takes his hand from Jimin’s to hide his sweaty palms.

Jimin draws his hand back with a wounded look, and Jeongguk fights the urge to take it back in his own. Hold it close.

Yoongi draws in a deep breath. Jeongguk can feel his chest rising where it’s pressed against his own. “You could be.”

Jeongguk freezes and he’s sure that the temperature has dropped more with how many goosebumps rise on his arms. “What?”

The look that Jimin gives his boyfriend is one of both shock and understanding, but Jeongguk is just confused. Finally almost understanding his magic and the Forest, only to be confused again.

“You could be,” Yoongi gulps, “my— our —boyfriend.”

Jeongguk moves so that he’s facing the two, and Yoongi is forced to face him as well.

“What do you mean? Date… both of you?”

Jimin nods, “We… We’ve talked about it.”

Jeongguk stores the thought that they’ve talked about him in the back of his mind, “But you—you two are already dating each other?”

“We are,” Yoongi agrees and stops Jeongguk before he can interject, “but a relationship doesn’t have to be just two people.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be?” he asks.

Jeongguk has had boyfriends and girlfriends during high school, but never more than one at once, “Wouldn’t that be… cheating?”

Jimin laughs, in a way that isn’t mocking or insulting. Just kind. “It can’t be cheating if you’re dating the both of us and we both know. No secrets.”

Jeongguk’s eyes flit back and forth between the two of them, and he doesn’t know what to do. The Forest’s lights flicker, wane.

Finally, he clears his throat. Nothing feels right to say, but he has to say something. Anything.

“I’ve dated before,” he starts, tries not to wilt under their heavy gazes, “but they never liked me all that much. And I just—you guys are so good together, and you’re perfect. And I’m just not? I don’t have anything to give. I’m not—I’m not good enough for you two.”

And there it is. All the shit that has been stewing in his chest for months. Growing with each shared mug of witch’s brew, each shared laugh, each hug exchanged for no reason, each day spent reading together in the bookstore. All the things that friends do, that didn’t feel like they were just friends as they did them.

“No, no ,” Jimin’s face pinches like he doesn’t know what to say. His hand reaches out for Jeongguk’s, but he pulls it back with a pained look.

“Do you really think that?” Yoongi asks, and his voice is so low and melancholy that Jeongguk just wants to hold him and pretend nothing ever happened. “You really think that you’re not good enough for us?”

Jeongguk fixes his eyes on one of the pens on the table and holds back tears. He’s not sad. No, just confused. But his eyes never seem to get the memo, and would rather cry than anything else.

He steels himself. Decides to be honest. The truth is, he’s tired. So fucking tired of being confused all the time. So tired of having so many feeling and never doing anything with them.

“Yeah,” he makes himself look at them instead of anything else. He can’t look them in the eyes. Focuses instead on the curve of Yoongi’s lips, the freckles on Jimin’s cheek that have faded in the winter weather. “For… For a long time, actually. I’ve liked you for a long time, too. Though you probably knew that.” He laughs awkwardly. Scratches the nape of his neck.

“I—” he can tell that Yoongi wants to deny it, “yes. We could tell, but—but it was never a bad thing!”

“No, it was never bad,” Jimin agrees. “You’re cute. Summoning flowers every time you saw us for the first few months you were here. You were, and still are, so sweet and funny and nice. Yes, I could tell you liked us, but I liked you back.”

“Actually,” Yoongi flushes, “Jimin noticed before me. I knew you were cute, but I tried to convince myself that all the flowers and flusteredness was just—just you. And I liked you, but I tried to convince myself that it was just in a dongsaeng way.”

Yoongi’s face is scarlett as Jimin finishes the story with a smile, “Yoongi came to me one day, crying, and told me that he liked you so, so much, just like he does me. That he didn’t love me any less. And I had to tell him that I knew, I knew right away that the both of us were head over heels for you, and that it was okay for him to like you because I did—do—too.”

Jeongguk looks at them with his jaw dropped, and he tries and fails to form the right words. “But you—you never said anything. You didn’t tell me.”

The two flinch at that, and exchange an embarrassed look before Yoongi speaks. “We aren’t much older than you, but you’re still younger than us. That’s not bad or anything, just. Jimin thought that you might find someone else because there are so many people out there. And I thought that maybe you wouldn’t want to date both of us. Maybe you’d rather not be a part of a polyamorous relationship.”

They’re all so close, squished together on the couch, but Jeongguk feels like he’s getting closer and closer to them as they speak.

“You should have told me,” he furrows his brows in concentration. He just wants to say the right things. “I’ve been really confused for a long time now. I didn’t think that three people could be together. And I didn’t know you felt that same about me. Next time, if you don’t know what I’ll think, please ask me?”

They both nod fervently and Jeongguk smiles, small but warm.

“So,” Jimin clears his throat and shifts in his place, “would you… want to be with the both of us?”

Jeongguk grins hard, “Of course.” He points to his hair, “I’m going to be here for the rest of my life. I’m not going to find anyone better. And if there is better out there, I don’t want it. I want you. Both of you.”

☼

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ma.” Jeongguk smiles. One hand is holding his phone and the other is plucking browned leaves from stems.

“Jeongguk, is that you?” His mother exclaims. “Actually calling? It’s been too long!”

“I’m sorry, Ma.”  His smile weakens. Nearly a month has passed since he’s truly talked to her. He’s been caught up in everything. Far too caught up. “I’ve been… well, I don’t know what I’ve been. Busy, depressed, forgetful. Something.”

“Still. I wish you would have kept up with me a bit more in the past month.” He can hear the frown on her lips.

“I know. I regret it.” There’s an ache in his gut. It twists and churns with guilt. Everything had been too much in the couple weeks before he fell in the greenhouse. And the couple weeks after were more than too much, in the best way. “I just… A lot has happened. I still should have called. Probably would have made both of us feel better.”

“Honey… I do wish you’d called, but don’t feel too bad.” She laughs, voice light. He snips a wilting bud from a small geranium versicolor. It’s beautiful petals, once webbed through with white and purple, fall to the ground, now a frail brown color.

“I’ll try. But I love you, and I want to talk to you more. I haven’t seen you in so long. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, love. Maybe I’ll come and visit you, wouldn’t that be nice? Or you could visit me?”

Jeongguk winces, “I can’t visit you for a while, Ma. I can’t leave my home at all for a while.” It’s strange to speak the word home to his mother and not mean the place where she lives.

“Why not?” Her voice pitches up with worry. “You’re alright, aren’t you? Did something happen?”

“No, no, no,” he laughs nervously. “Nothing—Well, a lot happened. But I’m alright. You know how I talked to you about how this place and the Forest has traditionally had a ‘Keeper?’”

“Yes,” his mother trails off. He can see the knowing look she’s making from miles and miles away. “You called me crying in the middle of the night on several occasions.”

“Well,” he blushes. Through the glass of the greenhouse, the winter sun shines bright. “Now my hair is red and I have a Forest to Keep.”

“I suppose I could have seen that one coming from a mile away,” she sighs. “Always knew you were destined for greatness. But...why can’t you come visit me?”

“Since it all happened I haven’t really been able to leave the cottage,” he shifts his phone between his shoulder and ear so he can use both hands. He loosens soil with the tips of his fingers, and ever so gently eases a sprout from a too-small pot to one just the right size. “At first I couldn’t leave the cottage at all. Then I could go in the yard, then anywhere within the trees. I still can’t go into town though. I think I’d die if I went all the way to you.”

His mother tsks, “Sounds like you’ve been a Keeper for quite a while. If only I knew before so I could fly down there and be there for you.”

“I know, I know,” he cringes. “I just. Didn’t know how to break the news. And it’s been so fu—very overwhelming. I’ve hardly thought of anything at all but the Forest.”

“I guess I can forgive you, honey,” she teases, “but only this time. Next time you leave me out of the loop I’ll get down there and take the loop for myself.”

Jeongguk laughs. Talking to his mother lifts a weight from his shoulders, one he hadn’t noticed before. Gods, how he’s missed her. He’s never felt a “blood is thicker than water” obligation to any family, but he loves his mother more than anything. Her voice is like music to his ears. All he wants to do is hear her tell him about her day as he falls asleep beneath the sun, just as they used to.

“I promise I’ll keep you in the loop,” dirt flutters to the ground as he pats his palms against his jeans. Both the Forest and greenhouse have been looking and feeling better. When he’d woke after speaking to Heeyeon, the plants had still been as healthy as she’d made them. But now they were truly better. Not because of Heeyeon or anyone else. Just because of him.

“You better,” she replies, mock-stern. “Now, since I know all this about you being a very important witch, I just have to come visit. Expect me soon, honey!”

“Wait—” she hangs up before he even has a chance to mention Jimin and Yoongi.

“Great,” he sighs. She’s always made an extreme deal over his past relationships, no matter how short and fleeting. Nothing bad. His mother just has the tendency to get very, very excited. And now he has not one, but two that she can fawn over and tell all of his embarrassing stories to. And she’ll be here, in his new home, who knows how soon.

He fixes the plants with a distressed look, “You’re all going to absolutely love her. She can’t speak to you, but I just know you’ll somehow find a way to talk about me.”

The little things giggle and whisper and tease. As much as he isn’t looking forward to the embarrassment, he loves them. He loves his mother.

He sits in the center of the greenhouse. Pulls his Book of Shadows from the big chest pocket of his overalls. Writes.

☼

Music filters through Yoongi and Jimin’s place. Soft music. A small wooden piano rests against one of the living room walls, a sigil glowing above the keys as they ring with Yoongi’s magic.

Jeongguk scrubs away at the dishes in the sink. Jimin chops, slices, marinates, and passes the dirty knives and bowls away to Jeongguk. Yoongi hums and dances along with the music as he cooks. They work in tandem.

He’s been to their apartment plenty of times. Partying with everyone, relaxing with everyone. And sometimes, before they were anything more than friends, just them. Relaxing, reading, talking. He’s grown used to the place, even more so in the past couple of weeks. The apartment is as comfortable with him as he is with it, its magic now bent just the slightest to accommodate his in the midst of Yoongi’s and Jimin’s. Sigil magic, kitchen magic, green magic. A strange mix. Jeongguk likes it.

His gaze flits between the sink and Jimin as he towel dries the dishes. He has the strong urge to lean against Jimin and close his eyes and breathe. Even though they’ve been more than friends—they’re boyfriends —Jeongguk still sometimes doesn’t know how to initiate, well, anything.

Jimin smiles when he catches his boyfriend’s gaze. Jeongguk looks down, flustered. He’s allowed to look, to touch even if he asks, but he’s not used to it. He still isn’t used to having more than an empty wish for them. He forgets that he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about being caught.

Jimin sets the knife down and wipes his hands off on his pyjama pants.

“May I?” He asks and makes grabby hands at Jeongguk.

Jeongguk purses his lips to hide a grin, “You may.”

Jimin wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s waist, rests his chin on Jeongguk’s shoulder. Hums comfortably.

“What about me?” Jeongguk can hear Yoongi’s pout.

“You can join when you aren’t standing by hot, popping oil,” Jeongguk replies. Him and Jimin sway together to the jazzy piano.

“Almost, almost!” Yoongi insists. Jeongguk spins so that he can see Yoongi. Yoongi pours the vegetables into the broth and turns to his boyfriends with a grin. Stretches out his arms. Wraps them around both of them.

If Jeongguk were to choose his favorite physical feature of either of his boyfriends, he would choose their smiles. When either of them smile, their eyes squint and disappear, noses scrunch. Yoongi’s gums peek out between his teeth and lips. Jimin’s crooked front teeth show. Both of their smiles are purely genuine. Never fake. Jeongguk loves them.

He holds the two tight to him, closes his eyes. Breathes out a sigh of contentment.

“ Quand il me prend dans ses bras. Il me parle l’a tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose ,” Jimin sings  along to the piano.

Jeongguk hums and opens his eyes, “I don’t know how you know the words, hyung.”

“Yoongi plays this song all the time,” he drawls with a laugh, “after a while I decided to learn the words.”

Yoongi smiles before he leaves the hug with a dramatic groan, “I think the soup is done.”

Jeongguk frowns, but lets Jimin go so they can eat.

They pile on the sofa together, stuff themselves with warm soup, and wrap up in each other to fight the winter cold. After they finish eating they sit in comfortable silence. Jeongguk notices that the piano has stopped playing. He’s not surprised. Yoongi is more than halfway asleep, head on Jeongguk’s chest and their bodies aligned. Jimin is sandwiched between them and the back of the couch. Jeongguk is grateful for their oddly large sofa.

Jimin has an arm draped over both of his boyfriends. Jeongguk cards his fingers through Yoongi’s hair.

This is perfect. Just a few weeks since he’s become a Keeper, a little less since he’s become a boyfriend. These little moments of holding, resting, just being with each other. They’re all perfect.

“How was your day?” Jimin murmurs, breath tickling Jeongguk’s neck.

“Good. Really good.” The first part of the day had been spent around town with Taehyung. Today is the first day that Jeongguk has been able to go so far from the cottage without getting sick. So, the beginning of the day he spent with his best friend. Now he’s spending the rest of it with his boyfriends. Boyfriends, boyfriends, boyfriends. The word feels perfect in his mind. Better on his tongue. “I missed town even more than I thought I did.”

“I’m glad you got to come,” Jimin squeezes them tighter. “I missed seeing you. I mean I’ve seen you almost everyday, but I don’t think it’s the same, not seeing you here or in town or with Grandma for weeks.”

“I missed seeing you here too.”

“It felt like something was missing.”

Jeongguk hums, “Not anymore. I’ll be here to bug you all the time again.”

He can feel Jimin’s smile against his neck.

“I missed you coming to visit me at work. I missed seeing you and Grandma laugh together. I missed reading with you in Smeraldo. I missed you. Hyung did too.”

Jeongguk blushes. The weeks of magic house arrest have been rough, but, “You act like it’s been years. It was only a few weeks!”

“I know. Still.”

All he’s seen of Yoongi and Jimin these weeks have been in and around the cottage. Getting used to new magic and new relationships all at once has been. Hard. Everything the same but different.

“Missed you too,” he whispers.

Jimin is right. Being in town, in Smeraldo, in the Forest, it’s all different than being holed up in the cottage. Jeongguk loves the cottage, but. Being stuck for days and days made him crave everything else.

“What’d you do with Taehyungie?”

“Mmm,” he hums as he thinks, “we visited the bakery and saw you. You gave me some Witch’s Brew. I gave you a hug. I said hi to Seokjin-hyung, he also got a hug but the one I gave you was better, of course. Then we visited Yoongi-hyung at the bookstore, then Grandma, then all the other shops on the square. I also saw Yanan and we talked for a bit. It was nice to just talk to everyone.”

“I’m glad,” Jimin smiles again.

Jeongguk shifts just enough so that he can see Jimin, but not enough to wake Yoongi. The eldest snores quietly on Jeongguk’s chest. Jimin blinks his eyes slow and heavy as he meets Jeongguk’s gaze. Yawns, slow and small.

“Let’s go to bed, hyung,” he insists.

“Alright,” Jimin mumbles.

Jeongguk carefully moves so that he can pick Yoongi up. Jeongguk pats his back to wake him just a bit.

“Come on,” he urges. Yoongi sleepily drapes his legs around Jeongguk’s waist and his arms around Jeongguk’s neck. Jeongguk lifts him with a grunt, and shuffles to the bedroom with Jimin trailing just behind.

Yoongi and Jimin’s bedroom is just like the rest of their apartment: soft and warm and sweet. Photos line all empty counter space. Photos of them, photos of them with Jeongguk, photos of all seven of them, photos of just one friend or a few. It is all of their happy moments on display.

Jeongguk tucks Yoongi into the bed as gentle as he can. He parts Yoongi’s hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. He climbs over Yoongi and lays between him and Jimin. The kitchen witch fixes the blankets over all of them and leans back with a sigh.

Yoongi moves in his sleep, clings to Jeongguk. Jimin draps his arm over Jeongguk once again. Keeps a little bit of space between them. Both of them like a little bit of space, sometimes. Yoongi on the other hand likes to hold and to be held, always. But is always willing to give space, no matter what.

Jeongguk can hear Jimin fall asleep. His breathing evens and he murmurs a bit as he dreams. His hand goes lax where it sits atop Jeongguk’s chest. Jeongguk rolls onto his side carefully, until Jimin’s hand rests on his hip.

In the middle of town the lights from the Forest aren’t as bright as Jeongguk is used to. They still seep in through the windows, pale and soft. His chest aches, just the slightest, to be closer to the cottage. At the same time though it’s so, so full. He remembers how his chest ached when he lived away in the city. Empty, just beneath his heart. He hasn’t felt like that in a while.

His chest has ached since he’s been here, of course, but not like before. It’s ached for Jimin and Yoongi. For Ma. For his friends. It’s ached to not be confused, to just know . But hasn’t ached for home, not in months.

And now he has Jimin and Yoongi. Now his mother is coming to visit. Now his friends love him just as he loves them. And he’s always a bit confused, but now he knows what he is.

His chest aches for the Forest, but it’s so, so full.

Yoongi and Jimin are asleep beside him, and he loves them. He won’t tell them yet. He wants to wait until they all know that the words are more than words. They know that he loves them. Just like he knows that they love him. None of them have to say it to know.

Every time Jimin brings Jeongguk his favorite drink, he knows. Every time Yoongi lets Jeongguk see the new shipment of books before anyone else, he knows.

Every time he brings all of his best herbs and fruits to the bakery, Jimin knows. Every time he falls asleep at Smeraldo waiting for closing time, Yoongi knows.

They all know. They don’t have to say it.

Jeongguk’s eyes are heavy with sleep. He looks over the framed moments of Yoongi and Jimin. For a moment he doesn’t know how to feel. He wishes that he lived all of those moments with them. But. He’s happy where he is. As he falls asleep he reminds himself that even though they had a time without him, now it is the three of them.

He knows that one day there will be pictures of all three of them, not as friends but as people in love.

☼

Steam curls up from the mug in Jeongguk’s hands.

Seokjin peers into the glass and raises a brow. “Let me guess: Witch’s Brew?”

Jeongguk takes a sip. “What else do I ever drink?”

“Touché.”

Seokjin settles next to Jeongguk, a few smudges of flour on his cheeks. The bakery is warm. It bustles with all of their friends, but is empty of customers. The winter is slowly warming, and everyone is happy to feel their magic waking.

“How are you feeling?” Seokjin asks as he unties his dirtied apron.

Jeongguk looks at his hyung and smiles, “Pretty good. Sore from training. I didn’t think that becoming Keeper would mean I had to train physically as well. You?”

“Good, really good,” Seokjin sighs, happy. “Namjoonie and I are gonna start fostering, I think. And I’ve started to sit in on meetings with the elders.”

“Hyung that’s amazing!” Jeongguk exclaims as he observes his friends. “With the elders? Aren’t you only, like, twenty six?”

Seokjin laughs, “Me and Namjoon are much older than we look. We’re witches, after all. Still not elders in witch terms, but I ‘tested’ in.”

“Tested in?”

“I showed them that I’m good enough with my magic to be with them, and that I want to use it to help our town. Do more, y’know?” The look in Seokjin’s eyes is both proud and uncertain.

Jeongguk nods, “That’s amazing. You’re the most powerful witch I know, hyung.”

Seokjin smiles big big big, “Thanks. It means… a lot.”

Jeongguk admires Seokjin. The kitchen witch is pursuing a degree. Maybe his second, Jeongguk can’t remember. He has a husband, a home, a career. He’s a part of the group that guides the whole town.

“I’m proud of you, hyung.”

When Seokjin smiles his eyes are watery.

“Everything’s ready!” Namjoon calls and holds Seokjin’s hands to pull him up and into the kitchen. “Come on, husband.”

Jeongguk stands to follow and leaves the one of many sofas behind. Three, maybe four, of the cafe’s coffee tables are pushed together, edge to edge. Jeongguk sits on the floor beside Yoongi. Tucks his feet under himself. The tables are piled high with almost everything the two kitchen witches have cooked and baked in the past few hours.

He sets his mug down on one of the few open spaces of the table. Jimin looks just as messy, if not messier, than Seokjin. His blond hair is mussed and crusted in some places with what might be chocolate. When he sits beside Yoongi a small cloud of flour floats from his apron.

Jeongguk laughs, “Hyung how do you make such a mess?”

Jimin ducks his head with a blush, “It just happens! You get dirty in the gardens all the time.”

Jeongguk sputters and flushes a red to match his boyfriend.

Yoongi clicks his tongue, “You two blush too easy.”

Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, and Taehyung carry in the last of the food from the kitchens. The tables are covered in an obscene amount of food, from pastries to soups to platters of tteokbokki.

They aren’t celebrating anything in particular. Maybe the winter solstice that just passed, maybe the turn of the new year. As Jeongguk sits and watches his friends eat and laugh, he thinks that maybe they’re doing all of this just for the hell of it.

Outside, the thin layer of snow is melting away. Jeongguk can feel the magic in everyone and everything grow just a bit with every passing moment.

Hoseok and Taehyung sit beside each other, laughing so hard that Jeongguk can see tears in their eyes. Friends. Without their fear they make each other happy. So far they’re only friends, but Jeongguk thinks that one day they might be more. Taehyung still looks at Hoseok like he’s the only light in the dark. It’s sickenly sweet, but so are Jeongguk and he boyfriends. He loves it. Namjoon and Seokjin sit beside each other, loud and obnoxious as they argue over which cake is better. Jeongguk and Yoongi and Jimin sit beside each other, quieter than the others as they bicker and eat. This, all of this, feels like home.

Growing up, Jeongguk had always loved his home. The neighborhood was loud and bustling with energy. It was in the heart of the city, but it only truly came alive at night. The witches would light their candles and burn their sage, singing songs to bring back memories of a history long forgotten. The humans would stare in awe at the magic that made itself one with the world.

Jeongguk grew up surrounded by the soundtrack of the city: a symphony of life and magic, which he found himself part of time and time again as he grew older. It was the sound of hundreds of thousands of conversations layered over each other, each one equally as important as the next in its own right, the honking and roaring of cars along traffic-jammed streets, shop owners and vendors calling out to attract just one more customer before closing, and, beneath it all, the neverending hum that lingered both somewhere within the air and under the ground – the hum that made itself at home in everyone who possessed magic. Right in the chest, between the ribs, and just under the heart, singing a melody that no one could quite replicate.

He’d loved that town. That home.

Yet he’d always known, deep down, that it wasn’t meant to be his home forever. His magic had always been just a little out of place, just a little uncomfortable. It didn’t settle into the soul of the city, not like his mother’s did. The hum was always there, right in his chest like it was supposed to be, but always felt just a tad bit hollow. Just a little bit too unwelcome. The same hum felt by every witch in the city, yet why did it feel so wrong?

Jeongguk knows now.

Looking at his six best friends, laughing and loving and living. He knows why his old home always felt so wrong. That place, and any other place but here, can never be his home. Not as long as he has this.

☼ ☾☆