Archive of Our Own

  ☾

by day, one way,
by night, another:
thou art shall stay
‘til freed by thine lover

clandestine moonshine,
by midnight threat;
the gift of entwine
sings a heart’s duet

the riddle spoke
the riddle sang
and in the prince’s ears
they rang and rang.

To the average vagabond, the Isle of Feathers was a shining tropical paradise pulled straight out of a fairytale poster.

You know, the kind that did a very good job of persuading bored, privileged elites with a great deal of time to spare to come and stay over for a grand holiday vacation. Cotton candy beachside sunsets? Check. A smorgasbord of exotic cuisine? Oui. A legitimate royal family ruling the island? Bingo.

With excellent weather conditions—never too warm or chilly—and an ideal map location, the Isle of Feathers was renowned across the realm of Elsewhere as the most scenic hotspot to see and be seen. In fact, it was even crowned on Fantasia Voyage magazine’s sixthmoon edition as the #1 Top Place To Visit Before You Die, which was a huge deal, considering that the competitors for the title were the likes of Dragon’s Keep and Summer Prairie.

The real charm of this lush island, however, lay not in its food or scenery, but in the good heart of its locals. Rumor had it that Featherians were a humble folk who genuinely enjoyed living in the same shared space. Everyone lived to celebrate—not merely tolerate—one another as kinfolk, because they grew up together and lived in harmonious milieu. They sang their national anthem proud and true. They revered their royal family the way a wide-eyed baby would its mother. Not once have they ever failed to spend the annual Yuletide Festival as one community bound by the same heritage and culture.

Indeed, the Isle of Feathers was a crime-free place that thrived in peace, serenity and unrivaled harmony—

“Seize that thief!”

…most of the time, that is. Surely even the most halcyon of places had occasional bouts of anomaly.

Boots thudding against the cobblestone ground, Yoongi raced past the Crystal Fort’s inner gates and stumbled across the bridge crossing the moat (he could’ve sworn there were crocodiles there), before meandering his way through stone sculptures and bushes peppering the royal gardens. His tattered brown cloak fluttered in the wind behind him.

Out. He had to get out of this place.

“Stop right now! This is a royal command!”

Damned entitled goons. Swearing under his breath, Yoongi kept his velvet satchel pressed close to his side and willed his feet to go even faster so that he could reach the ultimate exit – the main iron gates.

Had you told him that morning that he’d be burning this much energy before sundown, he might’ve barked out a laugh and shaken his head at the utter absurdity of the notion. But alas, as Yoongi was about to learn the hard way, today would be a fateful day of miracles. Or rotten luck, depending on how you looked at it. It was going to be the day where the most unimaginable things were slated to happen.

All because of one damned golden apple.

See, unlike most travellers, Yoongi was not on the Isle of Feathers for a sightseeing visit. He liked to think that his main purpose here was more of a… business venture, in a manner of speaking. A risky yet calculated move to save his livelihood.

Even if said ‘move’ included stealing from the royal family.

(This golden apple was turning out to be a lot more trouble than it was worth.)

When word of an enchanted fruit with healing properties first spread through the grapevine, Yoongi had at first been one of the skeptics who’d raised an eyebrow and treated the notion with distaste. Not at the idea of a magic apple — goblins peddled those at the black market frequently — but at the thought that the royal family was entertaining the concept of magic at all. Hadn’t they been the very same people who’d outlawed its use in favor of working towards a fairer, more equal society? These days, only witches and mages ever wielded such power anymore, and they were oft deemed as outcasts. It seemed contradictory that King Namjoon would consider himself above his own law.

But lo and behold, the rumor turned out to be true, and what Yoongi’s satchel carried was solid proof of it. Did he feel guilty for his thieving actions? Not as much as he should be. He wasn’t a sentimentalist. Call him morally skewed, but the Isle of Feathers wasn’t his hometown anyway, and he needed this apple almost as much as he needed air to breathe.

“Close the gates!” screeched the guard, hot on his tail.

The sentries manning the entrance broke out of their lazy slouch and sprang into action. Too bad for them, the palace gates were heavy; it took more than a few minutes to fully close them every day. Moreover, Yoongi was actually a pretty swift runner (albeit his terrible stamina). Short distances? No problem.

As quick as a feline, he dashed through the closing iron gates, sending the two stricken-faced sentries a tiny smirk as he darted past like an arrow. Out the gates, past the clearing and towards nearest thicket of trees that eventually led towards a forest. He needed somewhere to take cover — probably with a lot of undergrowth and thick canopies to hide him from view. The plan was to wait until nightfall, when he could better camouflage his face, before heading for the portside and boarding the last ship to leave the isle for good. Simple. Easy.

Chuckling to himself, Yoongi marveled at how this little heist of his was sailing a lot more smoothly than he thought it would. Why, he was even escaping completely able-bodied and unscathed—

A gasp died in his throat as the first arrow struck him and wedged itself between his back and shoulder blades.

Fuck.

He’d let his guard down too soon.

Another spearheaded arrow whizzed past his hair, barely missing his head and grazing his ear instead. Yoongi felt warm blood trickle down his neck, and raw terror nearly made his entire form freeze. His foot hit a hollow patch of the ground and he tripped forwards, landing on his knees. Fuck.

He forced himself to stand back upright, ignoring how his left shoulder protested in agony, and found his balance again… just as a third and final arrow broke through the cloth covering the back of his upper thigh. A broken sob tore its way out of his throat and he grit his teeth at the way his muscles strained against the slightest movement, but Yoongi was no quitter. He refused to let himself be ended so pitifully. Not when he was so close to getting away.

With a guttural groan, he yanked the arrow from his thigh—shwop!—and continued to flee.

Breathing raggedly, he limped the last few yards towards the woods, praying hard that he wouldn’t betray his will and pass out.

The mind’s resolve is a peculiar but powerful force. This was especially true for Yoongi. Just a little bit more. He repeated the words in his head like a hopeful mantra, and they carried him past uprooted buttress trees, damp narrow brooks and twigs whipping at his cheeks left and right. In his desperation to gain distance, he’d lost track of time; all he knew was that the sun had very nearly completely dipped below the horizon now, judging by how the sky had turned a blazing purple and how dim the forest had become.

And the forest at night is no friend to a wandering soul.

Every sight, smell and sound in the woods always intensified come nighttime. An owl’s hoot suddenly sounded like a warning call; the faintest rustle of leaves could hint at a prowling wild boar; the usually fragrant aroma of wildflowers suddenly reeked of poison ivy. Now that he was more alert, it struck him how unconventional this particular forest’s leafage was—they grew from their branches in varying shades, from the darkest indigos to the lightest of lavenders.

Through the lens of a harrowed, injured man, each sensation from the jungle brought on a new level to his mounting fear, and Yoongi was not immune to that emotion. Next to love, in his opinion, fear was the most powerful of all emotions.

He wanted nothing more than to set his satchel down, find a nearby freshwater stream and attempt to treat his own wounds, but out here in the wild, he knew he would be risking his head if he dared linger around any water source—animals, predators and prey alike always stayed near the water. What if he ran into a savage stag, or a wild goldhorn? What then? Yoongi wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to let himself become dinner. He knew he had to find a safe spot to retire for the impending nighttime.

So despite the pummeling ache of having two arrows lodged in his back (both of which he still hadn’t plucked out), he pressed on, fueled by the panic and adrenaline that turned his heartbeat erratic. He forced his numb legs to keep going. Up he went, gingerly picking his way past steep inclines and rocky surfaces, until he accidentally stepped on an unforeseen, treacherous patch of mossy ground and— 

“Fuck!” He lost balance in his wobbly legs, tipping over and tumbling— 

d

o

w

n

—the steep incline. With a squelching smack, he fell face-first into the muddy earth. All throughout his plunge, the arrows had ingrained themselves deeper into his skin, and it was all he could do not to yell in pain as his back muscles convulsed at invasion of the spears’ foreign shrapnel.

For a brief moment, his vision clouded over and blurred. His back stung as though stabbed by a thousand hornets and his body trembled. His surroundings turned watery and dimly, he thought, If I don’t die at the hands of a predator tonight, I’ll probably be taken by tetanus infection.

With a languid groan, Yoongi considered just lying there and closing his eyes for a little bit. He wasn’t thinking straight anymore, and he barely even had the energy to lift his head!

Funny how  Fate turned against you when you taunted it with fire. This was Yoongi’s first time ever stealing, and it occurred to him that perhaps he just wasn’t cut out for the bandit life.

He didn’t have a map with him, and he was very close to entertaining the idea of being hopelessly lost… when a faint shimmer of light caught his attention.

“What in the world…” Yoongi narrowed his eyes and stared into the darkness. Even though the sun had yet to fully sink, the forest, with its thick canopies of leaves, had already darkened and quieted down. The lack of natural light made it harder for him to train his eyesight on anything, but as he squinted harder, he found the spot where the strange, tiny ball of light was.

The golden flicker was slowly drifting away from him, but every now and then it kept pausing as if… as if it was waiting for him to follow. Was it a firefly? A fairy? And was it beckoning for him to stand up? Yoongi blinked, eyes bleary with exhaustion and body crying out from the torture he was putting himself through.

Fuck, maybe he was starting to hallucinate. He closed his eyes and sighed bitterly. Had he been a little more coherent and rational, he would have dismissed the notion of being guided by some forest fairy as delusional.

After all, he didn’t exactly have an altruistic, heroic charm that drew in magical creatures and animals to him like some sort of sweet, milquetoast princess. He was dead certain that he hadn’t racked up enough good karma points to warrant a rescue. There was absolutely no reason for anybody to help him at that moment.

And yet here, right before him, was a miracle he never would’ve expected.

“Come.”

Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. The voice, albeit a deep baritone, came out as softly as a breeze — so soft he might have not even heard it at all. And it seemed to be coming from the ball of light. He squinted. The light was addressing him. The light was talking to him.

The light was… taking him?

!!!!!!!

?????

“Am I… am I going to heaven, Sir Grim Reaper?” Yoongi babbled deliriously, his brain going numb. Again, he wasn’t a sin-free person, but when he was knock-knock-knocking on death’s door like this, he might as well inquire what was in store for him right then and there so that he could, you know, prepare himself for what would inevitably come.

But then the light spoke to him again, with a laughing voice like golden honey, and it said, “Follow me. I know a safe place. You can rest there.”

I’m dying, Yoongi mused half-grimly, half-dramatically. This is it. A soundless, broken sob escaped his throat. He was dying, and his appointed grim reaper was politely telling him to just accept it and walk towards his fate.

And what was this – what was he doing, actually following suit and finding the strength to push his body off from the sodden, muddy ground? Yoongi was sure he wasn’t the obedient type. But he was also sure he didn’t want to die out here, alone and unarmed in some foreign land’s forest whose trees sprouted strange, purple-patterned leaves. With as much effort as he could muster without inflicting too much excruciating pain upon himself, Yoongi followed the hazy, fuzzy blob of light that drifted through the fog enveloping the woods.

Stomp. Slush. Squelch. He walked and walked until he was sure he could no longer get any deeper into the forest than what was humanly possible, always keeping his eyes trained on that spirit light…thing.

Then the light abruptly disappeared (to his relief; not grim reaper, then!) and so did the woodlands around him.

It didn’t literally vanish per se, but it did eventually bow out and open into a small clearing—a field—with freshly cut grass and an open sky overhead. One upwards glance told Yoongi that nighttime was upon him. The sky had turned a candlewick blue, the way it does when sunset melts into twilight.

But the sky wasn’t the most important thing right at that moment. As the open air breathed clarity and refreshment into Yoongi’s slushed brain, he inhaled deeply, letting his mind clear for the briefest of moments. Then his gaze fell on what was standing smack dab in the middle of the grassy clearing, and he went slack-jawed with awe.

The view was… breathtaking, and serene, and hauntingly beautiful in the untouched way of fairytale tableaus.

There was a marble-white pavilion in the shape of a circle, with a domed ceiling and four gilded pillars embellished with green, creeping vines blooming with the freshest clusters of honeysuckle and amaranths. In the waning light, it seemed to almost sparkle, and Yoongi realized that this brilliance was brought on by the crystalline mosaic tiles covering the pavilion’s floor. It gleamed teal and thistle and verdigris, depending on which way you craned your head.

Gorgeous as the place was, the only coherent thought that persistently pounded against Yoongi’s mind was: Must. Find. Place. To rest.

And this place, this place looked like it was tailor-made for worn-out voyagers such as himself.

Huh, so maybe that yellow blob of light really was a spirit guide or deity of sorts, for it truly had led him to a safe space. The Isle of Feathers was rife with enchantments, wasn’t it? It seemed that despite the craft of magic being lesser-used nowadays, creatures like fairies and talking animals still remained a commonality here in this forest.

Or maybe Yoongi just got lucky this time round.

He took slow, staggering steps into the clearing, heading towards the pavilion. “H-hello?” he tentatively called out, weak voice echoing in the emptiness. “Anybody here?”

Only the humming of the wind and rustling of leaves answered him. He raised an eyebrow and flinched with every faltering step, his right thigh burning from the arrow injury.

“Right. I’ll just… I’ll just crash here for tonight.” With a shallow exhale, Yoongi stepped into the pavilion just as all the energy left his body—the world tilted and he swayed unsteadily before crumbling to his knees. His satchel dropped with a small thud, and then he collapsed on his side.

Everything hurt. He grimaced and hissed in pain as his shoulder hit the mosaic tiles and he shut his eyes tight against the tidal wave of ache, ache, ache crashing over his prone figure. Curling up into fetal position, he wished that the blackness of sleep would just grab and pull him under already.

Immersed in his own anguish as he was, Yoongi failed to clock in the most important fixture inside that pavilion.

There was a lone clay flower pot in the middle of the glassy floor. Not just any flower pot, though — it was a smeraldo flower, the rarest and most beautiful blossom to ever grace the Isle of Feathers. Legend has it that only one such flower bloomed every year. The smeraldo was an elusive species — some might even go as far as to call it enchanted, simply because it seemed… selective …about the people it showed its true form to. Always hiding from the world’s prying eyes.

And as the sun finally bid adieu to the sky to make way for the moon’s reign, the world turned dark, and the smeraldo flower transformed with a blinding white-hot flare.

Its large lavender petals, pigmented with gold freckles and tinged navy blue at the tips, elongated into a set of human limbs, long and lean and corded with muscle. Its green, drooping stalk gradually stretched out to become the torso of a human body, slender and slim. Finally, the smeraldo’s central bud expanded and broadened to take the shape of a human head, with a wild mop of curly hair the color of pure starburst.

All of this happened behind Yoongi’s unsuspecting, curled up back.

The flower had morphed into a boy. The boy lived in the pavilion. He was of slight stature, with cheeks as pink as a newborn’s, and as he stretched and yawned like a newly awoken kitten, his gaze landed on the dark-cloaked, injured man sprawled on the floor. His dancefloor.

Yoongi had his eyes closed, waiting for the knife-like pain to ebb and flow out of his body. He was slowly slipping out of consciousness, but at the sound of footsteps padding closer to him, his eyes slid open, panic seeping into him once more. Did the guards find me?

He jerked and rolled onto his other side to face the direction of the approaching footsteps, but the movement cost him too much effort and his body spasmed, vision swimming before slowly darkening. A wrecked groan slipped past his lips.

The last thing he saw was a blurry and skewed, sideways view of two pale, bare feet hurrying towards him.

“M’sorry for trespassing,” Yoongi slurred right before the blackness took him under.

The human body was a magical entity on its own — it seemed to know just how much rest it would require for maximum recuperation. Be it hours or days, it would stick to its chosen recovery period and never resume consciousness until it deemed itself fit enough to do so.

It was the crackle of flames that awoke Yoongi from his dreamless slumber. He slowly stirred awake, mind feeling like it was wading aimlessly through a muddy swamp. His eyes fluttered open, heavy and groggy, and distantly his body realized that it was no longer lying on the cold, hard floor.

He was resting on a warm mattress built for a single sleeper. As he tilted his chin down, he noticed that he’d been changed out of his soiled clothes and into a fresh pair of plain brown matching sleepwear. Settled atop his form was a deep magenta duvet, and it slowly sank in that this was not his own bed. It was way too soft and it held the sweet fragrance of roses and vanilla. Definitely not his own scent.

Nor was he in his own home — his room-slash-workspace was cramped to the point of suffocation and it always smelled like wax. This was different. This was warm and homely.

Glancing around, Yoongi found himself inside a sparsely-decorated cabin room with walls of sturdy dark stone and makeshift furniture wrought of logs and twigs — there stood a table, a scrawny coat rack and a window with wooden shutters. Another crackle of fire caught his attention, and his gaze slid over to the left, where an armchair sat beside a little fireplace. Settled comfortably on this chair was a—

“Oh, you’re finally awake?” a voice chirped. It sounded like the clinking of diamonds and wine glasses coming together for the first time, and it came from the person sitting beside the fireplace. He had an open book on his lap.

They locked gazes at the same time.

Eyes—what miracles of the human anatomy. You could go your whole life meeting new people and never finding a gaze worth staring eternities into, but then one day, out of a sea of faceless encounters, you find one pair of eyes and suddenly it feels like rebirth.

Yoongi’s pulse stuttered to life. Why, he had never seen such tantalizing hazel orbs before. Big and round, the boy’s irises shone like sunlight on polished stone, swirling with flecks of emerald and amber. Like summer and autumn dancing with each other.

Let’s not get started on his face—it was equal parts chiseled and cherubic, as if his features couldn’t quite decide whether to keep their babyish demeanor or succumb to maturity. He had chubby cheeks but a sharp jawline, a button nose but velvety lips. In the warm orange flicker of the firelight, he looked positively radiant.

If there was a poster boy for a model prince, then this boy was it.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Yoongi blinked to shake himself out of his reverie. Clever and smooth talker of a man he was, he replied:

“…nngh?”

The boy smiled, his eyes crinkling into upturned crescent moons. “Ah, still a little incoherent from the healing serum, I see. I used a lot of it on you, you know. For your…” he gestured to Yoongi’s shoulders and back.

Oh, that’s right. Yoongi had almost forgotten about his injuries because his body was practically numb, if only a little sore. But he no longer felt the sharp pain that lanced through him like when he’d first acquired those wounds. To test this, he slowly rolled his shoulders back and forth and tightened the muscles on his right thigh. Yep, no more pain.

A new thought struck him. If he was almost fully healed, then that must mean he’d been taking his own sweet time to recover…

He cleared his throat. “How long was I out?” His voice came out parched and hoarse.

“Just two days. The serum hastens the recovery period. Amazing, right?” As if sensing his physical need, the boy rose from his chair and glided over to the table to pour Yoongi a glass of water, which he graciously accepted with a nod of thanks.

Two days? I’ve wasted too much time. Yoongi looked out the window. He’d lost track of time. The sun was still down, but if those faint streaks of light painting the blanket of night were anything to go by, he hazarded a guess that they were rapidly approaching dawn. He surmised that if he had any hopes of escaping the isle before the sun rose, he had to do it now. He had to go.

“But you know what’s even more amazing?” Blondie rambled, his words coming out quick and breathy as he scooted forward, eyes glinting with keen interest. “The fact that you’ve found me here!” He let out a small, celebratory squeak and clapped his hands, looking beside himself with glee. “Finally, after years of waiting! Thank you, oh brave and fair stranger, for coming to my rescue. I am deeply grateful.”

The. Fuck? Yoongi stared at him. “What?”

The boy’s smile widened, his cheeks flushing pink as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “So… how did you do it? Did you use an enchanted map? It must have been a long journey. I saw your wounds! Oh,” he cut himself short, “-where are my manners? Please pardon me, good sir, for I’ve yet to formally introduce myself. You may call me—“

“Fuck,” Yoongi suddenly blurted, cutting the blond off short. He couldn’t care less for whatever gibberish this boy was prattling on about. His eyes darted around as he urgently patted the area around the mattress. “Where’s my satchel?”

Blondie frowned. “You mean that tattered old thing?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes warily. “What did you do with it?”

“It looked really dirty,” the boy commented with an innocent, half-shouldered shrug. “I’m not huge on letting things stay unkempt, so I sent it to Taehyung’s pixie friends to wash and dry! Free laundry service, you know.” He winked at Yoongi.

“You what?” Yoongi spluttered. He shook his head in bewilderment, trying to parse the boy’s words.

Now that he was fully awake, his mind buzzed with a million and one questions. Where was he? What happened to him? Who was this fine young man— er no, loony stranger, and who in the world was Taehyung?

“F-free laundry service?” the blond repeated, shrinking back at Yoongi’s outburst. Then his eyes brightened. “Because you are in the Witching Woods, you know. Pixie territory. Not to worry though—pixies are friends, not pets. They’re mostly harmless, and they help me a lot with the chores around here. Aha! Come to think of it, maybe Tae was the one who brought you here—“

“No, no, no, ” Yoongi bemoaned. Blondie was totally missing The Point. Damn it, five minutes into waking up and he was already developing a migraine.  “I mean what about the things inside my satchel? Where did you put them?”

If he lost that golden apple, then all his effort would have been for naught.

The boy paused, and tilted his head sideways in a birdlike manner. “Ohhh,” He hooked a thumb behind his shoulder, towards the door. “I left them out on the kitchen table. Let me fetch them for you!”

He excused himself and pushed off from his chair, skipping out of the room almost soundlessly. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

What a strange man, Yoongi mused, letting his gaze wander towards the window once more, where the sun was peeking out of the horizon and gradually lightening the sky. Where was he? He sighed, hoping that Blondie would eventually explain more to him after coming back.

So he waited. And waited, and waited, but no gradual return of footsteps came to his ears. The door did not open a second time, and blond-haired boy did not return. By the time the sun was lazily cruising the late morning sky, Yoongi’s patience had had grown paper-thin. Anxiety gnawed at his nerves like termites to frail wood. Where the hell is he?

How long could it possibly take to gather the few items Yoongi had stashed in his pack? Had the boy forgotten all about him? Worse still, what if he had—gasp!—realized who Yoongi was, and what crime he’d committed?

Fuck. Fuckity frick frack.

Pulse spiking, Yoongi’s eyes widened at the possibility that the boy had lured him to a false sense of security. Blasted stars, this woodwork shack could very well be just under the pretense of a safe haven—an elaborate trap to catch him! For all he knew, Blondie could be outside right now snitching and dealing with the royal guards from the Crystal Fort, leaving him a sitting duck here.

A stream of curses fell from Yoongi’s mouth and once again, he berated himself for letting his guard down. He’d been too quick to trust. To hell with that boy’s disarming ruddy cheeks and sunbeam smile!

With a low huff, he rolled his shoulders back once more and twisted his waist from side to side to check that he truly had healed from his injuries, before swiftly swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. He spotted his boots neatly tucked against one corner of the room, and he quickly put them on. Without a backwards glance, Yoongi swung open the bedroom door and crept out the hallway.

This cabin was larger than he thought it would be — in fact, it was closer to a cottage home than a bomb shelter. Outside, the sitting room was much brighter as open windows allowed sunlight to filter in freely, unabashedly. The floorboards creaked under Yoongi’s footsteps, but nobody else seemed to be present.

Where was Blondie? It was almost like he’d vanished — there one moment, gone the next. It was mystifying. Yoongi was beginning to wonder if he’d only been lucid dreaming about a cream-skinned phantom boy.

Not that it really mattered to him. His whereabouts weren’t Yoongi’s concern. The only thing he had to do here was to retrieve his belongings and go.

Hadn’t Blondie mentioned something about his belongings being in the kitchen? Yoongi sniffed and followed the aroma of eggs being cooked wafting through the air. Soon enough, he found himself stepping through a doorway that showed a scene that he never in a million years would have expected to see.

Like the rest of the cottage, the kitchen was mostly wrought of wooden furniture. There was nobody inside—not a single human soul in sight—and yet the pots, the pans and the cooking tools… moved of their own accord!

They zipped and twirled through the air as though performing a choreographed routine, one that every kitchenware seemed to have memorized. The ladle stirred a dark brown broth in a small cauldron cooking on top of a flame, while condiments—salt, pepper and other what-have-yous—zoomed through the air and plopped their contents into the soup in carefully measured amounts. Clang went the pots, and hiss went the frying pans.

Yoongi stood at the door, mouth open and brows scrunched. That’s it. I must be dreaming.

See, back in his hometown—Turvak—magic was about as common as a wild dragon sighting. That was to say, it hardly ever happened. Sure, Yoongi was a unique one, being a dabbler in magic himself… but in more of a cheap, watered down way, if he dared admit. It was awe-striking to see how freely it abounded in the Isle of Feathers. Probably cultural differences and all that.

Had Yoongi not been busy with being a wanted thief, he would have more gladly stayed just to watch the fascinating view, but he had priorities to attend to.

So he marched right into the kitchen, taking care not to topple the busy kitchenware over, and made a beeline for the table at the back of the burner. There, his belongings lay spread out – a metal flask for water, a bird’s feather for luck (hey, he was allowed to be superstitious!), his wide selection of candles and most importantly… a single golden apple, untouched and uneaten.

Yoongi heaved a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness. As quickly as he could, he grabbed the nearest sack he could find draped over a chair and tossed his things inside, before hauling it over his shoulder and heading for the front door. Hanging by a hook on the door, he grabbed a cloak – his own one, washed and dried – and shrugged it on. Time to leave, chop chop chop.

As he stepped outside, his feet met soft grass, and he lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. As his vision grew accustomed to his bright surroundings, he found himself looking at the same grand pavilion — albeit standing a few meters away — that he had stumbled into just two days ago. It towered over him, with a ticking clock tower atop its domed roof and a twirling spire that glinted a rich lapis lazuli in the sun.

He looked back the way he came, and saw that the cabin-slash-cottage was actually a home built into the trunk of an enormous wisteria tree. Around him sprouted more (albeit smaller) wisteria trees, with blushing lilac leaves swinging low from their branches and weaving into one another in an elaborate latticework. In fact, now that he more clear-headed and had the opportunity to drink in his environment, Yoongi now realized that the entire clearing was encircled by a cluster of wisteria trees like some sort of property fence.

It was like stepping into a page torn out of a whimsical bedtime storybook.

Yoongi slinked off to the side of the cabin, skirting the cusps of the clearing as he tiptoed his way around the pavilion — heaven knew some guards could be lurking nearby, ready to seize him.

But something didn’t quite click in his mind. There was a lack of… presence in the area. In fact, the whole clearing seemed deserted. Where were the noises of investigation? There was neither the stomping of boots nor the low, gruff chattering that Yoongi had come to associate with the Crystal Fort’s buff guards with.

He let his shoulders sink and relax the slightest bit. Perhaps he’d assumed the worst of Blondie. But then again, if that boy hadn’t gone off to report him to authorities, then where had he disappeared off to?

Now, had Yoongi bothered to poke his head into the pavilion, he might have caught sight of the single smeraldo flowerpot in the center of the mosaic floor, drooping with disappointment at the sight of him leaving. The purple flower stayed there, its petals curling in and its usual glimmer dulling to a small throb, unable to move away from being rooted to the soil.

Don’t go, it wanted to plead. Wait until the sun sets.

But of course it went unheard, for who would ever talk to a plant?

Especially since the next moment, an entirely different appearance stole Yoongi’s attention away. The faint rustling of leaves parting and twigs crackling made his gaze snap towards the overgrowth of bushes brushing against the sides of the pavilion.

His blood froze.

Two curious eyes, pale yellow like the candlewick of a small flame, peered at him from behind the thick foliage. They weren’t human eyes, though. Yoongi’s vision raked down its slender, four-legged form and its obsidian fur. It sported a long tail that flicked this way and that, and as it edged closer to where Yoongi stood, he backed away in alarm.

It was a black panther, strong and silent and strange.

Later, Yoongi would come to learn its name and perhaps even learn to befriend it, but at that moment his blood only froze in horror and his grip on his sack tightened ‘til his knuckles turned white.

“Stay back,” he warned in a quivering voice as the creature began to circle him. Sweat trickled down his spine and he took cautious steps backwards, keeping one hand held out towards the big cat in a placating manner. “Don’t come any closer!”

It paused, one paw mid-air, and cocked its head to one side, seeming to understand his words.

Seconds ticked by like a time bomb, but the panther made no show of coming forward, only boring holes into his forehead with its yellow gaze. Neither party moved. Yoongi was too terrified to even breathe — could the wild cat smell his fear? Hear the hammering of his heartbeat?

He gulped. Still the panther made no move to pounce. Sensing his chance to run, Yoongi wasted no time. He turned to flee, racing out from the clearing and re-entering the forest wilderness.

Behind him, the black panther’s ears twitched in amusement as it watched the young man run for his life, and if cats could smirk, this one was definitely doing it. It did not give chase, contrary to what you might expect a supposedly ferocious predator would do. Instead, it stalked back towards the pale purple flower inside the glittering pavilion and gave it an affectionate nuzzle.

And although flowers, technically, could not talk, there was one particular sentence screaming and grumbling in the smeraldo’s head:

Aww great, now you’ve gone and scared him away, Jungkook.

Ragged breathing. Panicked flailing. Footsteps skidding on slippery patches of mud.

Yoongi dashed through the forest terrain like fishhook on a line, smacking purple leaves out of the way. His mind whirled in time with his racing heartbeat, spinning like hurricanes, and he desperately tried to shake off the bizarreness the morning had brought him.

It wasn’t even noon yet, and he’d already had to deal with enchanted kitchens, disappearing hosts and predatory cats. What a wild world.

Just what was the Isle of Feathers?

Without warning, Yoongi tripped on a protruding tree root and plunged straight into a pile of leaves below him. It cushioned his fall, sending foliage of lilacs, purples and indigos cascading down on him like a winter storm. He let out a muffled grunt. “Just my bad luck.”

“Hmm? Leaving already?”

Yoongi paused. That voice…

His head snapped up. He could have sworn he’d heard that low, growly timbre before. In fact, it sounded oddly similar to…something…like the golden light that had led him to that weird pavilion courtyard in the first place.

Sure enough, that very same yellowish blob manifested out of thin air and hovered inches away from the tip of Yoongi’s nose, and from this up close, he understood that it wasn’t just any old plain, formless light, but an actual human.

Correction. A tiny, tiny human no taller than a pinky finger. With gossamer dragonfly-esque wings that sparkled like clear ocean water on a sunny day. His hair was the color of beetroot, and wavy locks grew past the nape of his neck to form a mullet hairdo.

Pixies, the blond boy’s words echoed in Yoongi’s head. Like the ones from the stories he used read as a kid. They were oft described as shy creatures that, like the smeraldo flower, only chose who to show themselves to. Never in his life did he ever imagine he’d get to meet one.

This was, though, a little different from how the species was described on a textbook. Hip and edgy, the pixie wore a dark brown, sprig leaf choker on his neck that complemented his mullet (hey, pixies could be fashion-forward, too). He had thick ginger eyebrows, a structured face that could put symmetrical art pieces to shame, and baby blue eyes that glinted with elfish mischief. His whole little body bobbed up and down as his wings propelled him to stay airborne, and he was small enough that if Yoongi opened his hand in a friendly gesture, the pixie could easily fit inside his palm.

But Yoongi was most certainly not in a friendly mood at the moment. With an exasperated sigh, he rubbed his forehead wearily and flicked stray leaves off his black bangs. “What now? Who’re you?”

The pixie’s mouth spread into a boxy grin. “Who am I? Who are you? ”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“Am I not allowed to answer a question with a question?”

Good point. With a frown, Yoongi said, “You’re a pixie.”

“Oh? Congratulations, you have eyes!”

Was this little rascal getting sarcastic with him? Yoongi let out a snort and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” Scrunching up his nose, he pushed himself to stand up from the leafy pile and dusted his pants off. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m actually in the middle of running away—“

“Hey, hey,” the pixie lowered himself on a nearby tree root and perched upon its surface, eyes twinkling as he smiled up at him, “wanna play a guessing game with me?”

“What- what the hell—“ Yoongi let out a perplexed growl. “No. No games.” He'd had enough—he couldn’t allow himself to be roped into silly, mindless child’s play. His own life was at stake here, for goodness’ sake!

The pixie, though, seemed to have different plans.

“Ddaeng! Wrong answer!” He folded his arms and made a tut-tutting sound before taking off to float mid-air again. With each wingbeat, he sent a silver-gold stream of pixie dust fluttering behind him. “Okay, my turn! Let me guess—your name is Yoongi.”

What the blazing fuck. “How did you…?”

“And you’ve just committed high treason against the throne. Stealing? My, my,” the pixie clucked his tongue, making a flamboyant show of shaking his head with a large pout on his face, “—how very frightening.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw. “It’s just one apple. Besides, I have no choice. I’m doing it to—“

“…to save your family business, I know. But remember,” the pixie’s eyes turned a darker, more intense shade of cerulean, “what may seem expendable to you may be precious to someone else.”

What was this guy, some psychic all-knowing entity? Yoongi suppressed a shudder at the thought that the pixie seemed to know all about him despite this being their first real meeting. “The hell does that even mean?”

“I dunno. What do you think it means?”

Yoongi found himself very, very confused. He scratched the back of his head and made a garbled noise of frustration that sounded like a dying skunk. “That’s it. You know what? I can’t deal with this. I’m done with you and your riddles. Bye.” With a huff, he turned on his heel to walk away.

From behind him, the pixie emitted a low, rumbling chuckle before casually asking, “So. Have you met him yet?”

Yoongi halted mid-step. “Who?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

Flowing locks of blond hair and a rosy-cheeked, fire-lit smile flashed in Yoongi’s mind. Turning around, he sent the pixie a suspicious glance. “You’re the one who led me to that pavilion.”

The mullet-haired boy smiled, triumphant and unabashed. He rested one hand against his waist and raised another to his forehead in a mock salute. “That’s me. Taehyung, resident tree spirit and forest pixie, at your service.”

So this was the friend that Blondie had been talking about. I guess he’s not lying.

A light bulb went off in Yoongi’s brain. “Listen, Taehyung. Can you help me with something? It’s for…” Belatedly, he realized that he never even had the chance to find out Blondie’s real name, “…for your friend.”

Taehyung’s ears perked up. “Yeah?”

Yoongi sighed theatrically and shook his head in a despondent manner. “He told me he’s looking for uh… for a new pair of shoes! Yeah, shoes.”

The pixie’s eyes softened. “Shoes?”

Yoongi nodded. “So I’m heading out to the main town square to buy him a pair or two,” he lied. “Too bad it’ll probably take me the whole day, since this forest is just so big, and I tend to get lost so easily…”

“Oh, dear.” Taehyung’s eyes were downcast.

“I mean, it would be nice, I guess, if I had somebody to give me directions out of this forest…” Yoongi remarked casually, shrugging to himself. “Ah! Which reminds me — isn’t this pixie territory? You must be very familiar with this area, huh.”

Taehyung blinked, and his expression turned hopeful. “You’re right! I know a shortcut to the marketplace. Follow me!” Without waiting for Yoongi, he took off and started zipping through the air, leaving another trail of pixie dust in his wake.

Yoongi inwardly congratulated and patted himself on the back. What a genius he was.

They wove through more bushes and creeks, all of which looked identical to Yoongi, until the foliage gradually grew thinner and the dirt path ended where a new slab of stone and gravel pavement began. They made it. They’d reached the end of the woods in record time.

“The marketplace is just straight down the road. Keep left and you’ll see a sign leading you there,” Taehyung pointed out.

Yoongi nodded. “Thanks.”

The pixie shook his head and flashed him a sincere smile. “No, no. Thank you. You’re the first one in a long, long time who’s ever shown an ounce of concern for him. I’m happy to help, and I’m sure he can’t wait for your return. See you later!”

With that, Taehyung turned around and darted back under the thick cover of purple leaves.

Yoongi chewed on the inside of his cheeks. What was this strange pang, this twinge of guilt squeezing and twisting around his heart? He knew he shouldn’t have lied — he barely knew Blondie, after all — but he had no other choice. He had to get out somehow. Nevertheless, knowing that he’d manipulated another person to serve his purpose made him feel like scum. He was not a man without morals, however loose they might seem.

Oh, well. You gotta do what you gotta do. With a sigh, Yoongi shouldered his sack and marched forward, keeping Taehyung’s directions in mind. Without the cover of the forest canopy shielding him, the midday sun scorched his skin, and his feet burned from having walked all this time.

As he plowed through a street lined with living quarters, he passed by an assortment of residences — little bamboo huts with thatched roofs stood beside towering grey brick buildings shaped like fruits. There was a house shaped like a watermelon, all round and smooth, and another one shaped like a banana — it stood apart from the other houses like a crescent moon on sprouting up from the earth. It seemed that the Isle of Feathers was a place rife with the most unorthodox plethora of curiosities, as though somebody had taken a cauldron, haphazardly thrown in random ingredients, and uttered, “Let there be civilization.”

(It was great for publicity though, seeing as how tourists found that aspect of the island absolutely charming.)

When he reached the sign that said “To Marketplace”, Yoongi continued straight ahead instead of turning left, choosing instead to follow the sign that read, “To Harbour Docks”.

He wasn’t here to haggle with cart peddlers. He was here to get on a boat and leave this place for good.

A smile pulled at the tips of his mouth. Soon enough, he would be free.

But when he reached the docks, he found it completely empty and devoid of life – nary a single yacht or sailboat dotted the clear aquamarine water—save for a small cluster of pelicans and loitering by the wooden floorboards. Unlike the rest of the island, this place seemed to have had all color vacuumed from it. Mist brushed past the nape of his neck. It was eerily quiet; only the sound of the sea lapping against the docks washed over his ears.

“What’cha doing ‘ere?”

Yoongi nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to find an old man half his height glaring at him. His skin was sunken and pallid, with a once-white craggy beard growing from his chin to a pointed tip. His shoulders were hunched, and although his neck strained with effort to meet Yoongi’s eyes, the younger man couldn’t quite help but feel like he was the one being stared down.

“I’m looking for a boat, sir. Turvak-bound.”

The old man snorted and let out a cackle with no care for the snot dripping from his nostrils. “Hah, fat chance! Ain’t no boats coming this way for the next few days, lad. No one’s to leave the island.”

“Why? What’s the matter?”

“Royals gone mad, that’s what. Rumor says somebody broke into the Crystal Fort to steal from ‘em.” The old man shook his head. “You betcha King Namjoon ain’t givin’ up ‘til he finds that bandit, whoever the bastard is. So now the isle’s on full lockdown.” He fumbled around his pants’ pockets, searching for something. “Now you be a good citizen, won’t you? Look, I got with me ‘ere a copy of the poster for the wanted thief. There. You can have it.”

Yoongi swallowed nervously as the old man produced a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and pressed it to his own clammy palms before ambling away, crane supporting almost half of his weight.

As he unfolded with trembling fingers and glanced down at the leaflet, he felt his unrealized freedom slip away from his grasp. His mouth went dry. Nausea crashed over him like an unforgiving storm.

Lo and behold—a poorly sketched drawing of his own face stared back up at him. Shaggy hair, dark as charcoal and thick as a horse’s mane. Thin lips and a slight nose. Eyes that mimicked a cat’s, clever but cautious.

No doubt his face would be plastered across every nook and cranny of the isle by now. He would be recognizable. Easily caught. Even worse was that he wouldn’t be able to escape, because there wouldn’t be any boats coming by, at least not until he was seized and rightfully punished. In other words, he was as trapped as a caged fowl.

Bile rose up Yoongi’s throat.

What have I done?

Instinct screamed for him to hide if he couldn’t run. So he raised the hood of his cloak and pulled it over his head until it cast shadows over his entire face and scuttled to the nearest alley he could find. From now on, every minute spent in the public eye was a minute spent taunting death. He was a walking fugitive with a bounty over his head. Would his future only consist of running away from authorities from now on?

Reality came crashing down on him like a bucket of ice, and Yoongi slumped against an empty barrel littering the alley, utterly disheartened. The picture of perfect despair.

He didn’t intend for this to happen. He’d never felt so helpless. It had all seemed so easy at first, but now…

Sinking to his knees, Yoongi gulped down the first wave of tears that threatened to spill from his being. He took shuddering breaths to calm himself, and lowered his head while hugging his knees.

Pssst.

He paused and lifted his head at the hissing sound.

Hey, Yoongi.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What… who’s there?”

It’s me.

“Who?”

Me, you blissfully ignorant peanut. The author.

Yoongi squinted into the shadows of the alley, frowning deeply. “Whoever you are, show yourself.”

Err… that would be quite impossible at the moment. But hey, listen. There is one place on this island where you can stay. Two streets from where you are, there’s a local inn called the Crumbling Carrot. The innkeeper will take you in. It’s warm and most importantly, safe. Trust me.

With a bitter laugh that rang harsh and hollow, Yoongi sneered, “Trust you? Why in the world should I trust an invisible talking entity? For all I know, you could be a figment of my imagination.”

Tsk, don’t get cheeky with me, young man. I wrote you! I spurred you into existence! And I could very well erase you in the next scene, so don’t test me. Anyway, just follow my advice and go. Unless, of course, you want to rot in an abandoned island alone. Or get caught and beheaded by the monarchy. Whichever happens first – your pick.

Yoongi’s expression was not amused and he glowered at the sky. “Are you… are you threatening me?”

No, I’m guiding you. Now move along.

With a weary groan, Yoongi stood up and heaved his satchel over his shoulder. He had no clue what had just happened, but at least now he had a plan of action.

Fingers crossed that it would work.

Breathe in. Breathe out. You got this. As he darted across from street to street, he kept to the shadows with his shoulders hunched, never wanting to draw too much attention to himself, especially in the daytime.

Eventually, a rickety, wooden sign labeled “The Crumbling Carrot” loomed into view. The pub was located at the far corner at the cul-de-sac of a deserted street, and Yoongi’s bootsteps echoed against the cobblestone pavement no matter how lightly he willed his feet to go. That’s how quiet the area was.

But for all the silence of its exterior surroundings, the Crumbling Carrot was far from tranquil. Rather, it was the opposite. As Yoongi approached the front door, the slurred, off-key noises of drunken singing and terrible saxophone-playing floated into his ears:

I know a whoop-ee spot
Where the gin is cold
but the piano's hot

It's just a noisy hall
where there's a nightly brawl

and all (crash!)
that (bang!)
jazz (clang!)

Laughter, and then yelling, and then more laughter. They intermingled with each other in a way that left you wondering whether they represented cheer or anguish. Maybe both. Alcohol does that.

Yoongi scratched the back of his ear hesitantly, debating on whether he should go in or not. Judging from the sounds coming from the pub, it sure seemed like a jolly, vibrant place.

In other words, not his preferred crowd.

He sighed. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he needed a place to stay the night. With much reluctance, he pressed a handle against the doorknob and pushed the oak door open.

Chaos. That was the scene that welcomed him. The low-lit tavern was cluttered with half-naked men and giggling women slumped against benches and tables cut out of logs. Some were singing (babbling, really) incoherently,  while others were too hammered to stay conscious. Then there were the noisy drunks who sputtered random nonsense to nobody in particular, the miserable ones who griped about their spouses’ loyalty (or lack thereof), as well as the angry drunks who yelled and argued in each other’s faces about something as trivial as the origins of cheese.

Yoongi made a face and ducked down to avoid being noticed. He scampered towards the bar counter, where a lone, bartender stood churning out pints of ale one after another. His hair was the color of sunset – tangerine orange – and when he smiled, it was akin to the Sun smiling down at the world.

“Hey there!” He grinned at Yoongi. “Welcome to the Crumbling Carrot. Name’s Hoseok, chief moodmaker. How can I loosen you up?”

Yoongi blinked. “Uh, no. I’m not here to drink.”

“Not here to drink?” Hoseok looked affronted. “Buddy, everyone wants to drink! C’mon, it’s on me. Take your pick—vodka, ale, some good old rum? Or if you’re feeling a little more high society, how do you fancy a glass of our finest elderberry champagne?”

Shaking his head, Yoongi cut straight to the point. “I’m here to spend the night.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow at him. “What kind of night?”

“Uh. One night? With a bed?”

“Mmmm, good thing you mentioned a bed.” Hoseok smirked. “Because with no mattress to lay down, wouldn’t you have a one night stand?” He chortled at his own joke.

Yoongi leveled him with a flat look. “Ha. Ha. Funny.  It’s definitely not what you’re thinking.”

Hoseok threw his head back and barked out a laugh, joining the cacophony of guffawing idiots in the inn. “I know, relax. I happen to know exactly who you are.”

Busted. Of course the bartender knew — Yoongi’s face was stamped on a wanted brochure stuck to every other lamp post on the street!

“Oh, don’t look so terrified.” Hoseok winked at him. “Don’t worry, I personally don’t make a habit of butting into other people’s business. Here,” he tossed a set of keys in Yoongi’s direction. “Second floor, first door to your left. Enjoy your stay.”

Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Yoongi gathered his sack and made for the staircase, but not before his eyes caught sight of a painting hanging on the wall behind the bar counter.

It showed two men standing side by side, regally dressed in the finest fabrics of gold and darks blue. One man was tall and raven-haired, and his smile was marked with dimples on both cheeks. The younger, shorter man beside him… had blond hair and hazel eyes that struck Yoongi as all too familiar.

His eyebrows drew together. He pointed to the painting and leaned against the countertop. “Who are they?”

Hoseok turned around to look at the framed canvas. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the royal family?”

“Royal family?”

“Yeah. The Isle of Feathers has its own monarchy.” Hoseok’s eyes turned sympathetic. “Poor boys, their parents died in a shipwreck several years ago, so now it’s just the two of them. The one on the left is King Namjoon, and the one beside him is Prince Jimin.”

Jimin. Could it be? Yoongi’s breathing hitched. Could he be the same young man he met in the woods? He quickly dismissed the thought. What would a royal be doing out in the wild? How absurd. Impossible.

“But that’s not the end of the tragedy. Y’know, I think the blue bloods’ lives are bound by a series of unfortunate events.” Hoseok leaned closer in a conspiratory manner. “Few years ago, Prince Jimin suddenly disappeared without a trace.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows jumped in surprise.

“King Namjoon threw a search party that lasted for months, but everyone came plodding back to the palace with their heads hung in defeat.” Hoseok sighed. “The prince hasn’t been sighted ever since, and we don’t know for sure what the cause of his disappearance was. No body had ever been found, so we can’t declare if he’d been murdered or kidnapped. It’s almost as if he just went and vanished, you know?” The bartender took a swig of his own beer. “It’s the strangest case.”

Looks like the Isle of Feathers had its fair share of secrets, too. “Maybe he ran away,” Yoongi offered weakly.

“From what? The Isle is his home. He’s loved and cared for. Tell me, would you want to run away from your place of comfort?”

Yoongi didn’t know how to answer that, so instead he faked a yawn and stretched his arms. “I’m going up to get some rest.”

“But it’s only late afternoon.”

“It’s never too early or too late for a nap,” Yoongi countered, glancing out the window through which the waning late afternoon light filtered. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Hoseok shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

It would have been less troublesome to tell you that Yoongi managed to make his way upstairs and get his desired shut-eye. It would have been easier to let him have some time to himself to mull over his life choices. But then it also would have made this an entirely boring and conflict-free saga, and any narrative without some form of pandemonium maketh a good story not.

If you thought this was going to be a dull, nondescript tale, then you thought wrong.

Slam!

Before Yoongi could step one foot on the staircase, the door to the Crumbling Carrot slammed open and guards dressed in neatly-pressed uniforms barged in as though they owned the place. Their boots thundered against the tavern floor in time with Yoongi’s heartbeat.

Hoseok let out a startled cry and cowered behind the bar counter. “W-what’s going on?”

“Search party!” one of the guards answered brusquely. “The King ordered for us to inspect every place on the Isle of Feather for a bandit on the run. We will turn over establishments if we have to, so you will cooperate until we find the culprit. Theft will not be tolerated in this kingdom.”

Yoongi gulped down what felt like a brick lodged in his windpipe. This was bad. This was fifty shades of nightmarish. His eyes flew to the door, which was blocked by burly guards, and he shrank at the sight of more of them on horseback waiting right outside the pub. He couldn’t very well just saunter past the front door without expecting to get caught.

So much for being a safe place, he thought in defeat. His pulse pounded against his temples as he watched the guards ransack the tavern without regard for its tenants or the furniture.

A hand tugged at his cloak. Yoongi braced himself, ready to get apprehended—

“Follow me.” It was Hoseok. The bartender pulled him away from the bar stools and into the tight space behind the counter, towards the wall on which the painting of the two royal brothers hung. “I know a way out.”

The bartender slid his hand across the wooden wall and grinned as his fingers found a wedge on the surface. He pressed down and, with a soft click , Yoongi heard the machinery of gears turning as the painting on the wall swung outwards to reveal a musty, square-shaped tunnel behind the wall.

The painting was a door to a secret passageway.

“Hurry.” Hoseok pushed Yoongi in the direction of the tunnel. “It leads out to the Witching Woods—“ he gulped nervously, “but I think you’ll be safer there than here in town anyway.”

Yoongi paused and looked at the bartender with searching eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

Hoseok thought for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Feels right. Now go!”

With a grateful nod and a final wave of goodbye, Yoongi bent down and crawled his way through the tunnel. It was dark and tight. Every now and then, he could’ve sworn he heard mice squeaking and scampering about, but adrenaline kept his squeamish qualms at bay. That, and the fear of getting beheaded.

Just when he thought he was about to suffocate from claustrophobia, the tunnel ended without warning, and the next thing he knew, he was back on the forest floor, surrounded by the open sky, which was now bleeding with the promise of nightfall.

Back in the wild, then.

There was only one place left for him to go that he could think of, and Yoongi wasn’t even too sure if he wanted to go back there. The pavilion meadow. His skin crawled at the prospect of meeting the boy once more. Not because Blondie left an unpleasant impression on him, but because of the mysterious story he’d heard from Hoseok. What if the boy was some form of reincarnation of the prince? Or worse, Prince Jimin’s ghost?

Or what if he was the lost prince?

Brrr. Too many possibilities. Much as Yoongi was loath to believe whatever tale Hoseok had fed him, he had to admit the striking resemblance between the boy in the painting and the boy from the forest was uncanny.

“Oh? There you are!”

The soft fluttering of a dragonfly’s wingbeats brushed past with the breeze, and the next moment, Taehyung appeared, box-shaped grin and all. He made a gentle descent on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I knew you’d be back.”

Yoongi let out a nervous chuckle that sounded more like a cat choking on a furball. “Yep. Big whoop.” He was back, but for all the different reasons that Taehyung probably thought.

“Well, c’mon! It’s almost time!”

Time for what? Yoongi wondered as he trailed after the pixie.

They ducked under more branches and orchid thickets until the path opened out into the wisteria clearing, and Yoongi wondered just how badly Fate must want him to be here for him to end up in the same place for the second time.

He sighed and turned to look behind him. “Thanks for guiding—“

He stopped himself short. Just like last time, Taehyung had vanished, melting into the forest mist.

Strange and stranger, Yoongi mused. Always randomly coming and going, coming and going.

Stepping into the pavilion meadow, he made his way towards the treehouse cabin. What was he supposed to tell Blondie? “Hey man, I know I left without goodbye but guess who’s back? Surprise, surprise!”?

Then another thought struck him. Was the boy even here still? Hadn’t he disappeared earlier?

Sure enough, as Yoongi gingerly walked through the small field (he still felt like an uninvited trespasser), nobody came up to greet or welcome him. Damp beads of nervousness kept Yoongi’s hair matted to his forehead. What if this prince lookalike he’d met earlier really was a ghost? A poltergeist, perhaps? A shiver rippled down his spine. The last thing he’d expected when he first set foot on this island was to be haunted.

A sudden gleam from his peripheral view made Yoongi glance sideways, towards the marble pavilion in the middle of the clearing. Just like the first time he’d seen it, it was bedazzling in the sunset. But this time round, something else caught his eye — there, in the centre of the circular mosaic floor, stood a single pot with a single sprout of flower. The flower was large, with petals that reminded him of purple candy floss and crushed grape juice.

He trudged towards the pavilion. What was a flowerpot doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Such pretties deserved to be out on a windowsill, soaking up sunlight, and not in an abandoned gazebo floor. Was there a gardener around? If Blondie lived here, then maybe he was a horticulture enthusiast. Aha! That must be the reason why he disappeared on Yoongi earlier – the boy must’ve gone off to pick flowers or tend to bushes or something, whatever gardeners did.

Squatting down, Yoongi picked up to cradle the flowerpot in his big, big hands just as the sun sank below the horizon.

Just as nighttime pulled its dark veil over the sky.

Just as a sharp, lightning-white beacon of light broke through the pavilion and made Yoongi shut his eyes to avoid going blind. It seemed to be shining from the flowerpot.

The flowerpot which had, at one moment, been as light as a teacup but now weighed infinitely heavier like a sack of rice. So heavy it became that it knocked Yoongi backwards on his butt. It had grown larger too, and were those… limbs? Arms? An actual human head?!

It took Yoongi a few seconds to realize that there was a once-flower, then-boy who now sat on his lap. And who else would it be, other than the same young man who’d vanished from sight this morning during sunrise?

With a shy smile, Blondie whispered, “Hello. Please don’t freak out.”

Yoongi screamed.

What followed was a tangle-web of hasty dialogue and panicked, slapdash gestures between two people talking over each other. Yoongi scrambled backwards from their intimate position and brisk-walked away faster than his feet could carry him, a steady stream of incoherent swearing rushing out from his mouth the whole time.

“I promise I can explain—“

“A motherfucking flower—“

“Only during daytime!”

“…no, a ghost, I’m talking to a damned ghost, oh fuck stop following me—“

“Excuse me? I’m very much alive!”

“Fuck this, I’m going batshit insane.” Yoongi stopped marching and ruffled his hair, mind reeling. He let out a whoosh of breath and rolled his shoulders back to ease the tension out of them. He had to calm down. “Okay, okay. First things first.” Aghast, he turned around to come face to face with the boy, only to forget what he was going to say next.

Damn, those startlingly clear, hazel eyes.

I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.

Yoongi shook his head to snap out of it. Now where the hell did that sinister thought come from? Heart, be still. With a frown, he asked, “Are you the island’s missing prince?”

Blondie nodded wordlessly, face solemn.

Blasted stars. “No kidding? You’re Jimin?” Yoongi’s eyes went as wide as two full moons.

“That’s Prince Jimin for you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, whatever. If you’re the prince, then why are you out here alone in the middle of the forest? Did you, uh… did you run away?”

Jimin looked horrified by the very idea. “No. I would never!” he cried indignantly, the feisty light in his eyes diminishing. He reached for Yoongi’s forearm and looked into his eyes pleadingly. “Look, I know you’re really confused and probably a little freaked out—“

“—'a little' would be an understatement,” Yoongi intoned.

“…but please, don’t go. You’re the first human being I’ve talked to in years. At least hear me out?”

Yoongi chewed on his inner cheeks, stewing silently. Why did this kid have to flash him such huge puppy-dog eyes? How was he supposed to say no to that? Scowling, he returned the blond’s imploring expression with a wary one of his own. “Fine. Shoot.”

Jimin inhaled deeply before launching into his full story:

“I was cursed by the Wood Witch.”

Once upon a time, on a Fateful Afternoon, the Isle of Feathers’ youngest prince forayed into the wilderness for his daily hunting session. Although he was a skilled archer, he wanted to someday oust his older brother the King—who never missed a target in his life—in a friendly match. It was a complex possessed by younger brothers; they always wanted to measure up to their role models.

However, instead of heading east towards the Evergreen Meadows, Jimin puffed out his chest in pseudo bravery and marched westward, straight into the Witching Woods. The deer that always grazed the Evergreen Meadows were an easy catch — surely he could hunt better, tougher prey. He thought himself capable. He thought himself strong.

Big mistake number one.

Not that he hadn’t any of those qualities; Prince Jimin was a well sought-after young bachelor, skilled and dignified, but he simply hadn’t been prepared for what he would encounter in the woods.

He’d been poised with his hunting bow; muscles pulled taut and sweat beading down the nape of his neck as he focused intently on a nearby bronze-horned stag hiding behind a bush.

Right before he released his grip, a broken whimper broke him out of concentration. His aim went askew. Jimin watched helplessly as his useless arrow sailed through the air in a lopsided direction, disturbing birds and alerting the stag of his presence. The creature jerked to its feet and galloped off in the opposite direction.

Disappointed, Jimin glanced to the left, where the strained cry had come from, and as his eyes adjusted to the camouflage of the purple foliage, he saw a small creature tied to the bark of a tree.

It was a gremlin — a sub-species of domestic house elves, with big floppy ears and soft caramel fur instead of human flesh — and it was sniffling through the tears trickling down its cheeks. It made no attempt to wrench itself away from the ropes tying it to the tree, and Jimin’s heart cracked at the sight of the creature’s pitiful state. Who could ever do something so mean?

“Hey, little guy,” Jimin called out softly. “What happened to you?”

The gremlin looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “I’ve disappointed my mistress, and as punishment, she has ordered me to tie myself up to this tree.”

Jimin shook his head. “What kind of employer would do that? Come on, let me untie you.”

“No!” the gremlin screeched, squirming away from his direction. “This is my punishment! It’s what I deserve!”

“Now don’t be silly,” Jimin tsk-tsked. “I’m sure we can talk to your mistress and settle your, um, punishment, in a more amicable way.”

Panic flashed through the gremlin’s eyes when Jimin’s hands crept closer to undo the ropes’ knots. It shook its head vehemently and squeaked, “No, no! My mistress will be furious!”

Jimin really should have listened.

Alas, the prince was nothing short of a stubborn mule, and with a serene smile gracing his lips, he undid the last of the ropes tying the creature to the tree. “There. Now you’re free.”

Big mistake number two.

Sometimes, too much of a good thing could prove to be harmful. In this case, it was Jimin’s extensive kindness that led to his inevitable doom.

“…the next thing I knew, the Wood Witch appeared out of nowhere and banished me here!” Jimin finished animatedly, hands flailing. “She chanted a riddle that sounded like a sea witch’s song, and then poof! I woke up in this treehouse. How was I supposed to know that the gremlin was her housekeeper? I thought I was just being a good citizen. Aren’t princes supposed to be kind?”

They were sitting inside the treehouse cabin’s living room, chatting over cups of warm cocoa like old-time friends. By some miracle, the both of them had calmed down enough to host a civil conversation with each other. A lamp by the door cast the room in a warm orange glow.

“Let me get this straight,” Yoongi said, struggling to digest the sudden avalanche of information. “The Wood Witch cast a curse on you, so now you can’t leave this forest, and every morning you turn into a—“ he waved his hand in search of the right word, “—a flower when the sun rises? Then return to human form at night?”

Jimin nodded slowly. “Yes… mostly.”

Mostly? There was more? Yoongi quirked an eyebrow. “Enlighten me. What else am I missing?”

Distantly, he wondered why he was so curious about the prince. It shouldn’t be any of his business, yet here he was, poking his nose into mystical matters like any other meddling busybody.

Good thing Jimin seemed to be the talkative type. Boy was quite the storyteller. Heaving a sigh, the prince said, “Only the most burdensome part.” He flashed Yoongi a wry smile before setting his mug down on the table and standing up.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi asked.

“It’s almost time. Follow me,” Jimin replied over his shoulder on his way out the door.

Time for what?

Before Yoongi could prod any further, Jimin seemed to have guessed his question already. “Wait and see, I’ll show you. I figured maybe you might want to witness what I do every night, without fail.”

Every night? “What, like a chore?”

That made the prince pause. Jimin pursed his lips and hummed thoughtfully, before sending Yoongi another smile that looked more pained than happy. A smile, but not. A non -smile. “I guess you could call it that.”

As they exited the cottage, Yoongi noticed that Jimin was once again wearing clothes more befitting a dancer than royalty – ballet tights, navy blue this time round, under a flowing sapphire satin collared shirt.

Later on, he would berate himself on why he hadn’t figured it out sooner.

They stopped in front of the pavilion. Jimin slipped out of his shoes and stepped onto its mosaic floor—a surface that seemed to radiate its own prismatic everglow—completely barefoot.

The prince walked to the center of the pavilion and turned around to face Yoongi. “Three seconds.”

Yoongi frowned, befuddled. “Huh?”

“Two…” Jimin closed his eyes and straightened his spine to brace himself.

“Wait, what’s going on—“

“One.”

As if on cue, the clock tower on top of the pavilion’s roof struck midnight, and a little bird slid out of a small latch like a wooden tongue licking outwards. The clock’s pendulum swung in time with the grinding of gears and chiming of bells, but rather than a whimsical tune, the clockwork song sounded closer to that of a haunting death march.

Yoongi couldn’t fight the gasp that escaped him when Jimin’s face went slack and impassive, eyes turning glassy. All tension seeped out of his body and his arms went limp at his sides. The prince looked like he was sliding, melting, slumping towards the floor…

…right before his body snapped up, spine ramrod straight and muscles taut as a kite string. Then, his feet pointed outwards and his arms rose upwards as though to encircle or hug an invisible person in front of him.

In ballet terms: first position.

Jimin’s arms flew to his sides, unfurling outwards like a bird’s wings. Second position. Then they moved to form an L-shaped formation while his feet rearranged themselves so that his right foot was directly in front of the left. Third position.

Yoongi watched with rapt, wide-eyed fascination as the prince twirled and went through a series of complex motions that translated into an elegant dance. It would have been beautiful, he marveled, had they not looked so… unnatural. There was something mechanical about the whole thing. Jimin’s movements did not look like his own. Instead, he looked like a marionette tethered to a puppet master’s strings. A miserable marionette. As the prince did a triple pirouette that transitioned into a leaping arabesque, Yoongi caught glimpse of his expression.

Empty. Lifeless. Soulless.

Goosebumps skittered down Yoongi’s back like a thousand crawling spiders. Combining the clock tower’s eerie chiming, the chilly midnight mist, and Jimin’s gaunt face while dancing a choreography that seemed almost inhumanly, the scene unfolding inside the pavilion looked like it belonged to an alternate, otherworldly gothic stage play.

Then the nightmare sequence ended as soon as the clock struck five past midnight. Jimin’s arms lowered to his sides, and his eyes went from blank grey back to their amber-hued brilliance. The midnight dance was over.

Yoongi released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. What in the blasted stars just happened?

Jimin shuffled towards him, head hanging timidly. He kept his eyes trained on his toes and as he neared Yoongi, who was standing frozen outside the pavilion, he started chewing on his lower lip. He seemed almost afraid to talk first, but then he asked, “Well? Aren’t you going to ask anything?”

Yoongi watched the prince play with his fingers nervously in order to avoid his gaze, lacing and unlacing them together, and in that moment, the older man understood.

This was part of the prince’s curse.

For some reason, he didn’t want Jimin to feel ashamed for showing it to him.

So he asked, “Is it tiring?”

The question worked. It broke the ice. Yoongi’s lips quirked to one side as tension left the prince’s shoulders. Jimin let out a whoosh of breath that sounded like he was laughing and sighing at the same time. “Absolutely back-breaking.”

Yoongi nodded understandingly. “Must be. I’d probably break my neck trying to do even half of that dance.” He didn’t voice out the real question in his head — why?

But as it turned out, Jimin seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

“The Wood Witch had a daughter who couldn’t walk,” the prince started by way of explanation. “I guess she took the opportunity to make me into child’s play.”

“That’s sadistic.” Not to mention sickening. It was a lot to take in. Massaging the bridge of his nose, Yoongi muttered, “I can’t believe it.”

“What, that somebody could be so ruthless, or about my whole curse in general?”

“Both.”

Jimin only offered him a rueful smile in return. “Well, at least now you know that the island’s prince isn’t dead. Congratulations, you’ve found me.”

“Is there any way to break the spell?” Yoongi asked. “Haven’t you ever tried just, like… I dunno, stepping out of the woods?”

“Easier said than done,” Jimin answered. He waved a hand around them. “I can’t even leave this area. There’s like an invisible barrier blocking my way. So, what you see here, the treehouse, the pavilion, the field… this place has been my home for the past few years. Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Must be tough,” Yoongi commented hoarsely. Sometimes he really wished he were a less awkward person.

“Yeah, but it’s okay!” the prince chirped, face brightening. “Everything will be fine again, because you’re here now!”

Yoongi pointed to himself. “Me?”

“Yes! Didn’t you come here to rescue me?”

Oh.

Oops.

Just like that, the fragile camaraderie he’d formed with Jimin over their brief storytelling discourse fragmented like brittle glass. He suddenly remembered why he was here in the first place.

“Actually…” Yoongi scratched the back of his ear sheepishly. How was he supposed to explain that he’d come here seeking sanctuary? That he was trying to save his own ass? That he was the one who needed rescuing from a bunch of raiding guards? “…No.”

His words wiped the hopeful grin off Jimin’s face. “What do you mean?”

Yoongi hung his head, feeling abashed for some reason. “I’m sorry, but I’m probably not the person you were waiting for. I’m not a knight in shining armor.” He was no hero, that much he knew. He wasn’t the type of man who made bombastic entrances, who swung through vines and whisked lovers off to ride into the sunset on horseback. “I don’t do that sappy happily ever after crap.”

Jimin stayed quiet, waiting for him to continue. Hoping for him to say more, perhaps. Like maybe claim that he was just joking.

With a sigh, Yoongi added, “What I mean to say is, I’m not here to rescue you. I don’t know how to break the curse, either.”

Letting people down, in general, is easier than making people proud. But that didn’t make it any less difficult for Yoongi to bear the sight of Jimin looking so utterly crushed. His shoulders deflated and the hopeful gleam his eyes dimmed. “Oh,” he managed, sounding faint. “Then why are you here?”

Here was the tricky part. Yoongi knew he had to phrase his next words tactfully if he didn’t want to risk getting thrown out. Or worse, meet death by Jimin’s wrath. What was he supposed to say? I’m looking for somewhere safe to hide because I’m a thief who’s being hunted down by the royal family, which hey, happens to be your family too! What a wonderful coincidence, right?

Nope.

He cleared his throat. “I was got lost and injured in the woods when a tiny ball of light brought me here. I think he’s your uh, pixie friend.” There. That wasn’t a complete lie, was it? Granted, it was only half of a truth, but at least he wasn’t fabricating fake information! Yoongi liked to think that omission of truth wasn’t the same as blatant lying.

Jimin’s face morphed from despondent to interested. “Oh! You’ve met Taehyung?”

Hipster Pixie's face flashed in Yoongi's mind. “More or less, yeah.”

“Hmmm, that makes sense. I was right, then. After all, you can’t find this place unless the pixies allow it.” Jimin tapped a finger against his temple. “It’s a precaution, so that people can’t accidentally “stumble” in here. The Wood Witch is smart. She’s made it impossible for people to find me.”

Yoongi made a sound of acknowledgement. “Why not just talk to the Wood Witch and ask her to release you? Bribe her or something? You’re the prince.” In other words: you’re probably loaded rich with more than enough money to last you nine lifetimes.

Jimin looked at him as if he’d just suggested something hilariously ludicrous. “When it comes to personal agendas, magic can’t be trumped by money.”

“Well then, remind me not to get on her bad side, damn it.”

For the first time since they met, Yoongi finally heard the sound of Jimin’s happiness, and it was a darling discovery like no other. The prince threw his head back and laughed — a sound like wind chimes on a summer’s breeze; like flute notes skipping through a bubbling brook in a daisy prairie.

Yoongi’s stomach flipped, but for an entirely different reason than it had been all day.

“Oh, good sir. You’re a funny one.” Jimin smiled at him with those crescent moon eyes of his, and damn if Yoongi didn’t suddenly feel bedazzled to the point of dizziness. “Pardon me, but I’m afraid I never actually caught your name.”

He swallowed thickly. “Just call me Yoo…Y-Yoongi.” Fuck, stop stuttering your own name, you bland noodle.

Jimin hummed thoughtfully, as if he was letting his tongue fawn over the name the way a jeweler would a rare gemstone. “Yoongi. In my island’s language, it means ‘wonder’, did you know that?”

Yoongi shook his head. As far as he knew, he was just plain old Yoongi, only son of a deceased merchant from the sleepy trading town of Turvak. “Wait, how did you know I’m not one of your people?”

At this, Jimin’s eyes roamed over his clothes in an appraising manner. “You don’t dress like us. You don’t sound like us.” He gave a small shrug. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. Anyway, can I ask you one last thing?”

Yoongi lifted his eyebrows. “What?”

“Will you still come by every now and then?” Splotches of pink dusted the prince’s cheeks. “Be my friend? I mean you are the only person who can find this place.”

Yoongi cocked his head in confusion, before realizing the implication of Jimin’s words — did the prince think that he was going to leave already? The beginnings of a brilliant idea took seed in his mind, and Yoongi all but smirked deviously. “Actually, I was just about to make a proposition.”

The offer was simple enough: in exchange for letting him stay over for a period of time, Yoongi would help Jimin with repairing houseware, maintaining the treehouse cabin and tending to the wisteria garden during the daytime, when the prince was in his flower form.

Easy peasy. Yoongi immediately agreed to it. He wasn’t the type of man who shirked household responsibilities, and he actually rather enjoyed keeping himself busy in order to make time pass faster. Jimin had been agreeable to the arrangement too, especially after Yoongi explained that all ship activity coming and going to the island had been temporarily put on hold in order to find “a certain bandit”.

“A bandit?” Jimin parroted over dinner, eyes blown wide. “Stealing from the throne? That’s terrible, I feel bad for my older brother. Dealing with all of this alone must be a huge headache for him.”

Yoongi blanched, and his own reply came out stiff. “Ha. Ha. Yeah, I’m sure that person must be rotten on the inside.”

Jimin surprised him by saying, “But you never know, maybe he has his reasons. Not that I condone theft, by the way. That’s just wrong.”

Yoongi averted his gaze. He definitely had his reasons.

Without realizing it, Yoongi had subconsciously begun to help the prince with smaller chores, like doing the laundry. Being the sheltered prince that he was, Jimin was used to being served by maids and butlers at his beck and call. That meant that he wasn’t quite terrific at cleaning up. The “free laundry service” he’d mentioned to Yoongi earlier actually just meant letting Taehyung and his other pixie friends take all soiled clothes to a far away magical stream to wash and dry. Which was really inconvenient to the pixies, in Yoongi’s humble opinion (he also felt sorry watching the pixies lugging around such huge pieces of fabric mid-air.)

So he started making the laundry trips himself every other day instead of waiting for Taehyung to come. During one of his rinsing sessions, Taehyung perched on his shoulder again and asked, “Have you met Jungkook yet?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Who’s that?”

“Nevermind. He’ll show up soon. Oh!” Taehyung clapped his hands together. “Have you seen the amazing things that Jimin’s treehouse can do, then?”

Again, Yoongi shook his head no.

“N’aww. You’re missing out, Yoongoz. Make sure to ask about it.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, Yoongoz? I think it suits you!” Taehyung teased, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Shut the fuck up,” Yoongi dipped his hand into the brook to flick water at the pixie, but quick as a flash, Taehyung disappeared into a puff of air and colored dust, leaving his gleeful laugh to ring through the forest.

Yoongi pouted. That naughty pixie.

Nighttime had fallen by the time Yoongi marched back to the pavilion courtyard. Jimin would be in his human form by now, probably hungry and looking for food. Luckily for him, Yoongi had already prepared dinner.

His pulse skyrocketed at the sounds of Jimin’s high-pitched cries reaching his ears. Setting the laundry basket aside, Yoongi broke into a full sprint to cover the last few meters between the forest undergrowth and the clearing. He froze at the sight that welcomed him.

Jimin was struggling, caught in a tussle with a familiar black-furred wild cat that had him pinned down by the shoulders. His face was dirtied with soil and his eyes were manic with an emotion that Yoongi couldn’t quite place. He convulsed and let out another choked scream when the black panther pawed at his sides, and Yoongi raced towards the two…

…only to slow down when he heard that the prince was… laughing?

How the hell could somebody enjoy being attacked by a wild animal?

He watched with mounting horror as the black panther leaned down to lick Jimin’s cheek like a lion tasting its kill before digging in. Fuck, the animal was tasting him!

“…no, you’re not—“ a quick gasp, “—gonna win… this time round…eek! Kookie—ahahaha stop stop!“ Jimin burst into peals of giggling and the black panther leapt off his body to circle him in a smug show of victory. Breathlessly, Jimin pushed himself up on his elbows and rasped, “Okay, fine. You win. Happy?”

The panther let out a satisfied purr and jutted its chin out proudly.

Yoongi blinked, a little dazed. His eyes flitted back and forth between the prince and the wild cat. “W-what the hell is going on?”

“Oh?” Jimin looked up at him and grinned. “Hi, Yoongi! Jungkook and I were just having a tickle fight. Wanna join us? It’s kind of our tradition.”

“No, I mean…” Yoongi shook his head and trailed off, flabbergasted to the core. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the black panther. Did Jimin just call it Jungkook? Was this who Taehyung was talking about?

As the puzzle pieces clicked into place in his brain, he massaged the bridge of his forehead. Of course. Trust Jimin to make friends even with non-humans. Heck, he probably talked to butterflies and ladybugs too. “Oh, blasted stars.” He’d been frightened for nothing.

Sensing nothing amiss, Jimin gestured between the two of them. “Yoongi, meet Jungkook. Jungkook, this is Yoongi. He’s living with me.”

The black panther bared its teeth and growled at Yoongi.

Gulping, Yoongi took an involuntary step back. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s just protective and doesn’t deal too well with strangers, especially if he’s meeting them for the first time.” Jimin reached over and ruffled the fur behind Jungkook’s ears, making cooing noises at the big cat. “But really, he’s just a big ol’ baby, aren’t you?”

Yoongi nearly rolled his eyes at the irony. Who was calling who a baby here? His gaze switched back and forth from Jimin to Jungkook. Baby? More like babies. Birds of a feather really did flock together.

The black panther swished its tail, seeming to relax in Jimin’s hold, and started purring again. Taking advantage of the lighter mod, Jimin grabbed Jungkook’s paw and Yoongi’s hand to clasp them together in the most bizarre cat-human handshake Yoongi had ever participated in.

“There, now we’re all friends!” Jimin beamed like a child with a star sticker. “Heee.”

Then Jungkook sniffed around and stalked off, and Yoongi gently drew his hand back, studying Jimin’s serene expression wondrously.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” Jimin reached up to touch his cheek self-consciously. “Is there something on my face?”

Well, it was mud-stained, but that was besides the point. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” Yoongi asked. “Spending all this time here without meeting another person?” He wondered what Jimin could possibly be keeping under that sunny smile of his. Sometimes the broken souls were the happiest-looking ones.

Crickets chirped. Leaves rustled. Flowers whispered secrets to each other. The night breeze blew past the two of them as they looked, and looked, and looked into each other’s eyes, until Jimin sighed and let his smile turn wistful. “Not really, I don’t let myself think about it,” he answered. He stood up and dusted his pants off before glancing up at the pavilion’s clock tower. “We’ve got some time before my midnight routine. Let me show you something.”

They walked towards the treehouse cabin but instead of stepping inside right away like they usually would, Jimin stopped outside the front door. Only then did Yoongi notice a small hourglass the size of a fist hanging on the door’s wooden surface, where a knocker should typically be. It contained silver sand that shimmered like glitter under the moonlight.

“This is how I cope with loneliness,” the prince said, before reaching out and turning the hourglass upside down. Then he grabbed Yoongi’s hand, and pushed the cabin door open.

It was like stepping into a different realm. Instead of being greeted by warm firelight and wooden furniture, Yoongi found himself inside the grandest bedchamber he had ever seen. He gawked at the frescoed walls with wide eyes, painted with depictions of baby cherubs drifting atop clouds in the sky.

At the middle of the room, tucked against the wall was a four-poster canopy bed draped with the softest velvets in hues of mauve and wine. The bed’s headboard was gilded in gold, and its pillows were clothed with exotic fur trimming. One side of the chamber’s walls was made entirely of floor-to-ceiling glass through which rays of sunlight streamed.

“Welcome to my room,” Jimin declared as he bounced up and down on the bed. “Back in the castle, of course.”

“D-did we teleport or something?” Yoongi stammered, unable to believe his eyes. Where was the cabin?

The prince shook his head with a pensive expression. “I wish we did, but no. Everything you see here is just an illusion. But I can interact with the things here, if only for a few minutes.”

Yoongi furrowed his brows. “Is there a time limit to this?” He traipsed towards the wardrobe at the far left of the room and tried to hold its handle, testing to see if he could also hold the things inside this chamber. The handle felt solid under his grip. He let out a low whistle. “And how is this whole illusion thing even possible?”

“Did you see the hourglass outside the cottage door? It usually lasts for a few minutes until the sands runs out. That’s the amount of time we have in each place,” Jimin explained.

“Each place?” Yoongi repeated. “What, you mean you can manifest any kind of illusion here?”

“Yep. It depends on where I want to go. Look.” Jimin snapped his fingers and in the next instant, the scene around them transformed into a mountainous environment. Suddenly, they were on top of a canyon, staring down as a waterfall gushed out from beneath the plateau that they were standing on and cascaded over rocky outcrops. “Now we’re at the Saujana Falls.” He signed dreamily. “I’ve never been there before, but I’ve heard stories about its natural beauty. Ah, how I’d love to go there someday.”

Yoongi’s mouth fell open and he glanced down furtively. “If I jump off this cliff, will I die?”

“Don’t be daft, of course not,” Jimin scoffed.

“How did you even manage to get ahold of that magic hourglass?”

Jimin hesitated, but his held a playful glint that hinted at a juicy secret. “Alright, okay… don’t laugh at me for saying this, but,” he lowered his voice to a hushed, conspiratory whisper. “I think I have a fairy godmother.”

Yoongi bit his lip and raised a skeptical eyebrow, wanting to snicker but choosing not to comment instead. “Go on.”

“It’s true! I’m not sure how, but I seem to have an anonymous benefactor?” Jimin grinned sheepishly. “Every now and then, I receive gifts outside the treehouse’s front door. They come irregularly, but I’m not complaining.”

“Doesn’t that mean that there is someone who can find you here? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen anyone else?” Yoongi said, genuinely baffled.

Jimin shook his head. “Nope. It’s like the items appear by themselves. One time, I received twelve months’ worth of Fantasia Voyage magazine copies, and let me tell you, they sure kept me entertained!” He giggled and chose a flat patch of rock to sit on, tucking his knees in his arms and propping his chin on his hands.

Yoongi bit back a smile at the sight.

Cute.

From up here, it didn’t even feel like they were actually inside a simulation room. The air nipped at their cheeks and made them shiver. Light fog from the sheer force of the crashing water shrouded them like a veil of after-rain. If you told Yoongi that they were truly at on top of the Saujana Falls, he might’ve believed you.

“But enough talking about me,” Jimin said softly. “I’m curious about you.”

Yoongi tugged at the collar of his grey shirt uneasily. “Me? What do you want to know?” Truth be told, he didn’t really think he was a very interesting person. He was just a regular person who was a) definitely not cursed and b) definitely not royalty. “My life’s not as exciting as yours.” And certainly not as magically catastrophic.

“Do you like to sing, Yoongi?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Then what about dancing?”

“I don’t dance, either.” The corners of Yoongi’s mouth curved south. “I’m not like you, princey. I can’t waste time prancing around singing to the dawn or what-not. In the real world, people actually have to work.”

“What kind of work do you do, then?”

Yoongi’s mouth clamped shut. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk about himself. Doing so would mean talking about his family, and any mention of his parents made his heart feel like as if a hot iron was searing it. “Oh, you know. Just the regular selling of goods.”

Jimin studied him closely without saying a single word, and the look in his eyes was so intense that Yoongi’s cheeks began to redden. “What?” the older eked out.

Without warning, the prince snapped his fingers again, and their surroundings changed into a bustling marketplace, where wren men and peddlers with hoarse voices yelled their prices and vermin scampered helter-skelter across the dirty asphalt road. “This is-“

“—Turvak,” Yoongi finished. “The trading town.”

Jimin looked at him. “Is this where you’re from?”

Yoongi exhaled shakily. “Yeah. How did you know?”

With a knowing grin playing at his lips, Jimin replied, “Your accent’s pretty thick.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes. Smart cookie.

His gaze raked over the crowded area, past throngs of shoppers and crates of fruits, looking for something specific. He didn’t even notice that he’d already started walking.

The prince called out, “Hey, wait up!”

His feet carried him through familiar winding streets and damp, shadow-ridden alleys before finally coming to a stop just a few feet away from a certain storefront.

He was standing before a dainty little shop with a bright blue wooden sign above that spelled, “Candlekeep”. The front door was decorated with cheerful crayon drawings of sunflowers – sketches Yoongi had scrawled as a child. There was a light inside the shop, and as he stepped closer to the windowpane, his stomach lurched with anticipation and anxiety.

There, sitting inside the shop with her face wrinkled in concentration, was his mother in all her bare-faced glory. Without the layers of makeup she typically wore outside, her lovely features spoke of a once-youthful veneer. Yoongi had inherited her intelligent, catlike eyes and wavy dark hair.

A hand came up from behind to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly, and it belonged to the man of the house, a stout and stocky man with an austere expression but a kind smile.

Yoongi’s heart twisted painfully.

His father.

His parents, back when they’d both been alive.

“There you are.” Jimin ran up to his side, panting, and bent over to catch his breath. “I thought I’d lost you! But then I realized that this place isn’t real so I just willed the illusion to bring me to where you were.”

Not real. Not real. Yoongi latched onto the words to remind himself to get a grip. Nonetheless, he fisted the hem of his shirt and dug crescent moon indents into the skin of his palms. He blinked rapidly to stifle the hot sensation burning behind his eyes.

“Candlekeep,” Jimin said while reading out the shop’s sign. He turned to Yoongi with a questioning gaze. “Why did you come here?”

“It’s ours,” Yoongi mumbled.

Candlemaking. That was his family’s main source of income. They made scented candles, towering candelabras, intricate wedding candles — you name it, his family created it. Yoongi hadn’t the slightest interest in the craft (he was a devout piano virtuoso in the making), but after a serious plague took away both of his parents — first his father, and then his mother out of heartsickness — he’d had no choice but to leave behind his life with black-and-ivory keys in exchange for laborious waxwork.

The only silver lining in this hellish dark cloud was the star of his heart and pet flitterwing, Holly. Flitterwings were sister species to doves, but instead of pristine white feathers, theirs grew out in various shades of gold. Gold like treasure coins, gold like sun-dipped morning dewdrops.

And flitterwing feathers, as Yoongi had accidentally discovered, carried magic.

He’d been in the midst of sculpting a vase-shaped candle commissioned by the Turvak mayor, working tirelessly in the weak light of his table lamp, when Holly leaned in to inspect his work… and abruptly shed a single feather into the bowl of liquid wax he was using.

Yoongi nearly had a panic meltdown out at first, but he couldn’t very well just throw away and waste a night’s worth of progress, so he toiled to finish the candle, hoping that the mayor wouldn’t notice anything wrong with it. And so, in went Holly’s feather, disintegrating into glittery ash as it molded with the wax.

Then the miracle happened.

A week later, the mayor called Yoongi into his office to “have a serious chat’. Yoongi had entered the musty, cramped space, fidgeting with his collar and trying to look anywhere but at Mayor Regius. The quintessential behavior of a totally guiltless person.

The mayor cleared his throat, face stern and grim. Yoongi nearly pissed his pants.

But then Mayor Regius broke out into the most uncharacteristic, ear-splitting grin and chortled, “Your candle grants wishes!”

Four words, six syllables. If only Yoongi had known how much that sentence would change the course of his fate. In the eyes of the mayor, magic could be sold in the form of candlesticks.

You must understand; unlike the Isle of Feathers, Turvak was a town that saw literal value in magic. Greed is an insatiable monster that consumes people, and in this case, human greed plucked Holly bare. Fuelled by his selfish desire to generate more cha-ching, Mayor Regius called for every available flitterwing on sight to be captured and used for commerce.

This dark trade went on for months; money poured in and fattened Turvak’s banks. Yoongi found himself sitting on more than enough riches to ensure him a comfortable living for years to come. There was only one very important detail that he’d failed to take into account.

See, greed is a monster that blinds people. Yoongi had forgotten that birds were given wings to fly freely, not plucked raw, and it was a few weeks into the summer solstice when Holly fell terribly, terribly ill.

Sometimes it takes the threat of losing a loved one to open your eyes to their importance.

Yoongi had already lost his parents — he couldn’t lose his dearest pet, too. But regret is a friend that often comes late to parties, and he realized too late he had to take quick countermeasures lest he lose Holly forever.

“So what did you do?” Jimin asked, eyes curious and filled with sympathy. The prince was listening to Yoongi’s tale with enough focus to put a university student to shame.

The illusion of Turvak’s marketplace around them had already faded, and they were back to being inside the treehouse cabin, sitting on a fur sofa in front of the fireplace.

What did I do, indeed. Yoongi was not very proud of his solution: to steal a magic golden apple with healing properties from the Isle of Feathers. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and now here he was, stomach curdling with shame in front of the prince. He looked away from Jimin — those bewitching eyes were hard to lie to — and focused on the crackling flames in front of them instead. “I came to the Isle of Feathers to look for a… a cure.”

Again, yet another white lie. But it was as close to the truth as he could possibly reveal.

Jimin nodded and took a sip from his mug of hot cocoa (it was quickly becoming one of their daily routines to sit together and drink hot chocolate at night) with a thoughtful pout. “Well, I hope you found it.”

Yoongi was staring at him as he talked, moon-eyed and a little dazed. Yes, he definitely managed to snag a cure… and perhaps more. He breathed reverently, “Yeah, well, I found you.”

Jimin froze, eyebrows shooting upwards. He may or may not have choked on his hot cocoa, and as he cough-snorted the liquid out, his face turned into a tomato model. “What?”

Yoongi closed his eyes in mortification. Stupid, dimwitted mouth, who let you talk? Inwardly, he wanted to pinch and punch himself. He let out a nervous titter. “I mean, I found you…you…” he drummed his fingers restlessly against his knee, “…a unique cure for Holly. Yeah.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, he mentally patted himself on the back. Smooth save, Yoongi, smooth save.

The prince stared at him for a heartbeat longer before slowly sinking back into the sofa’s cushion. “Good for you,” he mumbled, and that was the end of that conversation.

Yoongi gradually lost time of how long he’d been staying with Jimin. Minutes melted into hours and blended into days. He’d stopped counting down; stopped seeing his time in the forest as imprisonment or compulsory detainment. You could even go as far as to say that he’d begun to enjoy this little arrangement he had with the prince.

Funny thing about time: you could go your whole life rushing and worrying about hours being wasted away, but then suddenly one person waltzes into your life and everything slows down to a beautiful halt.

Because what was time, save for a collection of moments gone past, and moments yet to come?

That wasn’t all — Yoongi had also started paying closer attention to little details about the Featherian. The way he sat down, all prim and proper and delicate. The way his voice was always so modulated even when he was riled up or frustrated. The way how, whenever he laughed, baby fairies were probably born from flower buds. Jimin spoke like poetry and walked like a song.

And the way he danced? Left Yoongi feeling like he’d never truly witnessed what true art was until he met Jimin. Every night he would sit outside the pavilion to watch the prince carry out his midnight dance, armed with a towel and a cup of water to help Jimin cool down after each routine (such difficult choreographies always left him wiped out).

“Couldn’t the Wood Witch have chosen a different curse?” he once lamented while dabbing a towel against Jimin’s forehead. Hi heart tore at the sight of the Featherian all red-faced and bathed in sweat, barely able to stand. “Why dance?”

“I used to perform for the opening ceremony of every annual Yuletide Festival,” Jimin eked out in gasping breaths. “Maybe she took inspiration from that.”

“What a sadist.”

“Agreed. Now I don’t even enjoy dancing anymore.”

His words made Yoongi pause and wonder. How much would you have to be forced to do something you used to love until you despised it?

“Don’t worry,” reassured the candlemaker. “If it counts for anything, I think you dance like a pro.”

Jimin’s brows dipped downwards. “Really? Not everyone thinks so.”

Yoongi instantly quipped, “Yeah, well, you are strange and mysterious and beautiful. Something not everyone knows how to love.”

It was the first time the term had ever slipped out in a conversation between the two of them, but it came so naturally that neither of them questioned it. Instead, they shared a tender look—eyes could speak too, and sometimes they conveyed emotions better than words ever could.

Because sometimes our eyes reveal the feelings we are much too afraid to tell.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

Yoongi glanced at Jimin quizzically. “You already know everything about me.” Almost.

They were sitting side by side on the sofa by the fireplace, flipping through the ninthmoon edition of Fantasia Voyage together. At one point in time, Jimin yanked the magazine out from the space between the two of them and closed it, opting for face-to-face conversation instead.

“Don’t you have anything you like to do? A hobby?”

Hmmm. He did. With ‘did’ being past tense. “Well…” Yoongi shifted uncomfortably. How did some people talk about themselves so effortlessly? “I uh… I used to play piano. Before I took over Candlekeep.”

“Really?” Jimin’s eyes lit up like a chandelier. “You’re a pianist, then? I’d love to listen to you!” He blinked, re-orienting himself. “Someday, I mean. Once we get out of this forest.”

Yoongi felt like sinking into the collar of his shirt to hide his flaming cheeks. “I’m a little rusty.”

“I bet you’re good. Your fingers are long and slender. Pianist hands.”

“You like them long?” Yoongi smirked, eager to embarrass the prince.

“Yeah,” Jimin answered, cheeks now pinking too. Nevertheless, he held their gaze unwaveringly. “Long is good.”

Yoongi choked on his own spit, and the prince laughed while slapping the candlemaker’s arm good-naturedly (he had a habit of hitting things close to him when he was amused). In an attempt to change the subject, Yoongi said, “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn to what?” Jimin was still grinning.

“Tell me more about yourself.” Yoongi thought for a moment. “Or this island, if you love it that much.”

Jimin hummed thoughtfully. “I could teach you a few phrases in my language.”

“Sure, fire away.”

Crossing his legs to sit in a more comfortable position, Jimin taught him simple sentences that meant basic small talk like how are you’s, thank you and goodbye. The dialect tasted sour and unfamiliar on Yoongi’s tongue, but he tried and tried to get the pronunciation right anyway, if only to keep that excited gleam in Jimin’s eyes.

“There’s one more phrase you should know,” Jimin added at the end of their little tutorial session.

“Oh, yeah? What?”

“Em agape rui.”

Yoongi cocked his head to one side, baffled. “And what does that mean?”

But Jimin only flashed him a smile that seemed to hold every secret in the world before getting up from the sofa. “Maybe you’ll find out one day.”

Later, as they sat down together in the wisteria garden under the night sky to watch a rare passing meteor shower, Jimin asked, “Have you ever thought about the concept of forever?”

Yoongi racked the back of his head for an answer. “Not really, never bothered to.”

“Do you think maybe forever can be measured?” the prince continued, sighing as he raised his face up to watch the twinkling supernova overhead. Stars of all shapes and sizes painted the usually-navy midnight sky in bursts of chromatic colors. “I think forever consists of many ever-moments strung together.”

Jimin, as Yoongi had come to learn, had an affinity for stitching words together in beautifully new and odd ways. The candlemaker tilted his head in careful consideration.“ Ever-moments?”

“Yes. Moments you never want to end.”

“Then, going by that logic,” Yoongi drawled, “wouldn’t ‘forever’ be a split-second or a lifetime, depending on how you look at it?”

The Featherian Prince nodded with a small smile. “Precisely. That means we can have many forevers. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Yoongi emitted a low, amused scoff. “Right. Have you found your own version of forever yet?” He meant, with this question, something along the lines of What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

The prince interpreted his words differently.

“Well, maaaybe.” Jimin gave a shy, vulnerable smile before slipping his hand into Yoongi’s, and tore his gaze from the galactic sky to meet the candlemaker’s startled eyes. “And I think I’m looking at it right now.”

The candlemaker grinned. “That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Jimin set his mouth into a petulant pout and muttered sourly, “I wasn’t kidding, you know.”

Yoongi momentarily forgot how to breathe. He cleared his throat. “I know.”

What was oxygen anyway, when you had a whole Jimin, sweet and pure, existing right in front of you?

There he sat, princely and regal, with wavy locks of blond hair falling into his sparkling hazel eyes. The very same eyes that brimmed with honeyed witchlight as they gazed into Yoongi’s with a softness reserved only for people deemed special.

And then there he sat in all his plain Yoongi-ness; just a lying scumbag who had dared to steal from the prince’s family. The shame he felt was now accompanied by guilt, and those two emotions clawed harder at his guts with each passing day. He and Jimin were nothing alike. The two of them together – it made no sense. They weren’t puzzle pieces waiting to fall into place together. Perhaps some fairytales should have the lead couple not ending up together – now, wouldn’t that be more realistic?

So with a wan smile, Yoongi gently squeezed Jimin’s small hand before pulling away. “I think maybe you should keep looking somewhere else.”

After that night, it was as if an invisible wall of space had erected itself between the two of them. Clipped replies and monosyllables replaced their normally-easygoing banter, and awkwardness grew like an unwanted clump of weeds in their friendship garden.

Yoongi didn’t know how to deal with it, so he didn’t. It wasn’t like he cared.

Right?

Jimin grew distant, choosing to spend time with Jungkook instead. Some nights, Yoongi would spot the pair cuddled away under one of the younger wisteria trees in the clearing, with Jungkook snoozing away, head on the ground, while Jimin leaned against his side and gazed at the stars. Whenever that happened, candlemaker would huff, turn around and stomp away in the direction of the riverbank where he usually did laundry with Taehyung.

“What’s wrong with you?” Taehyung asked during one of Yoongi’s foul moods. “Why so glum? You don’t even respond to my teasing anymore.”

Yoongi snarled with his teeth and turned his face away. “Hmppf.”

“Oh? Are you sulking? You’re totally sulking!”

“Am not.”

“Are too. What’s up?” Taehyung flew over to hover in front of Yoongi’s face, farting glitter as usual. “Oh. Let me guess. Jiminie and Kookie have been spending a lot of time together lately. Why don’t you join them? Did you two fight?”

Yoongi’s frown deepened. “No.”

Understanding dawning on Taehyung’s face. “Woooaahh. Don’t tell me… you’re feeling jelly?”

Pin-drop silence.

The pixie gasped dramatically, bringing his hands up to his face to cover his hanging mouth. “You are jealous! How adorable!”

“Sh-shut up.” Yoongi crossed his arms, the tips of his ears turning pink. He was rather embarrassed to be feeling this way over the prince being close to an animal. Was he getting too attached?

“There’s nothing to worry about,” the pixie snickered. “Those two are practically brothers.”

“I never asked.”

Taehyung laughed good-naturedly. “Fine, fine. Anyway, have you prepared anything for Jimin’s birthday?”

At this, Yoongi’s ears perked up, attention completely diverted. “Birthday?” 

“Yep. It’s this thing where people celebrate the day they’re born? It’s kind of an annual event?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I know what a birthday is, genius. When is Jimin’s?”

“Tomorrow.” Taehyung blinked. “You mean you didn’t know?”

Well, considering that they hadn’t had a proper talk in a while? Nope. In fact, now that he thought about it, Yoongi couldn’t remember if the prince had mentioned anything regarding his age at all. “How does he, uh… usually celebrate it?”

“Believe it or not, we always manage to whip up a cake for him,” Taehyung answered proudly. “We light candles and then he makes a wish. I wonder if we can fit twenty-one candles on his cake this year.” He looked at Yoongi. “So what are you getting for him?”

The pixie’s words set the gears in Yoongi’s brain churning. Candles, the pixie said. Wishing candles. His mouth quirked up in the tiniest of smiles. “I think I’ve figured out the perfect gift for him.”

When Jimin transformed from flower to human the following sunset, he found Yoongi siting cross-legged inside the pavilion, waiting for him.

The prince’s eyes widened at the sight of him before he looked away, not sure what to say after so many days of stiff and stoic interactions.

Awkward silence.

Yoongi broke the ice first. Raising his hand in a semi-wave, he greeted stiffly, “Hey.”

Jimin peered up at him from underneath thick eyelashes. “Hello.”

“Here.” Yoongi thrust something towards the prince in a rushed manner that ended up seeming brusque and careless. He winced — he’d meant for the action to be gentle. “Happy birthday.”

Jimin looked up at him with shining eyes, the beginnings of delight seeping into his irises, and Yoongi couldn’t fight back the warmth stirring in his chest at the sight of the prince sporting an expression that wasn’t gloomy. “Did Taehyung tell you?”

Yoongi nodded. “Look,” he croaked, scratching his nose sheepishly. “I uh… I’m sorry. For making things weird between us these past few days.”

He expected the prince to jump at the chance to pin more blame on him, but Jimin was nothing if not kind-hearted. The prince actually looked relieved after hearing his words. His posture relaxed. “I’m sorry, too. For avoiding you.”

Just like that, their rift was solved. As the weight of anxiety dissipated from his chest, Yoongi held out a hand. “Friends?”

Jimin stared at his outstretched limb for one heartbeat, maybe two, before breaking out into another one of his beatific smiles and shaking it. “Friends.”

Is that all you want with him, though?

Yoongi willed the persistent voice at the back of his mind to shut up. He couldn’t allow himself to want anything more. Bastards like him didn’t deserve angels like Jimin.

The prince looked down at his gift. It was rose gold figure in the shape of a flower, adorned with a wick on top. “A candle?”

“Not just any regular one,” Yoongi corrected. “A wishing candle.” It was one of the last few he’d managed to create, right before Holly fell sick and he swore off making any more unless he found a way to save the flitterwing. “It grants up to three wishes. So choose wisely.”

“You made it?” Jimin turned the candle over in his short fingers, turning it this way and that as though he were inspecting a museum ornament. Then he looked up with an adorable grin and murmured, “Thank you, Yoongi.”

Yoongi looked away and wrinkled his nose in a show of indifference. “It’s nothing much. I had a few extra to spare anyway,” he lied.

(It was actually his last wishing candle. Luckily he’d brought one with him to the Isle of Feathers.)

“No, really.” Jimin squeezed his hand, and belatedly, Yoongi realized that they never let go from their earlier handshake. Not that he was complaining. “I appreciate it. Your work is beautiful.”

Just like you, Yoongi wanted to say. Instead he blurted out, “You’re welcome, petal.”

Jimin inhaled sharply at the nickname, but made no comment. And then—bless his heart—instead of letting go of Yoongi’s hand, he interlaced their fingers together and stood up, pulling the older along with him.

Yoongi looked down at their interlocked hands. Jimin’s skin felt warm against his palm, and their hands fit together so perfectly it almost convinced him that hands were made to be held, and nothing else.

Holding hands with Jimin felt a lot like coming home.

It felt a lot like falling in love.

“There’s something I need to show you,” the prince shared giddily, like a child with a secret to tell. “Come on.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the fond grin that slowly spread across his face. What was it about Jimin that made him want to follow, no matter where they went? He had no doubt that he’d probably follow the prince to the ends of Elsewhere, if he so asked.

Hand in hand, Jimin led Yoongi across the clearing and turned towards a hidden dirt path that the candlemaker had never noticed before. They went deeper through the cluster of wisteria trees, stepping over undergrowth and swatting away limp branches, and just as Yoongi started wondering where if they were ever going to stop walking, the earthy path opened out into yet another clearing with a view that left him speechless.

The forest at night could be a frightening place. But it could also be unforgettably picturesque. This was a case of the latter – here, even more wisteria trees sprang forth from the ground, and their purple-tinged blooms swayed gently in the early evening breeze. These trees formed a semi-circle around a small pond in the middle of the clearing, and moonlight streaming in though the wisteria foliage set the area awash in an amethyst glow. Snow-white water lilies dotted the pond, which was so surreal and clear that it mirrored the moon, hanging in the sky like a wolf’s claw.

But that wasn’t even the best part. All around them, the secret garden came alive with the sparkle of… fireflies?

No, not fireflies. As Yoongi squinted harder, he realized that these small winged creatures were all pixies, twinkling in the dark like a thousand stars in the night sky, and as they perched on the branches of the wisteria trees, they lit the scene up like moving fairy lights suspended in the air.

Purple and gold; water and wings; witchlight and wonder. Yoongi’s breathing turned shallow as he drank in his surroundings with a hummingbird heartbeat. This was a view not even his sweetest dreams could conjure. What was this place?

“I call this place my Moonlight Pond,” Jimin said quietly. “Beautiful, right?”

Yoongi nodded, unable to form a single word. What he wouldn’t give to etch this memory in his mind forever.

“Hey, can I make a wish on your candle?”

Yoongi faced the prince. “Sure. But you’ll need to light it with a flame first. You got a match?”

Jimin giggled. “No problem.” He placed two fingers between his lips and let out a shrill whistle. All at once, bright-eyed pixies eagerly soared towards him and offered to light the candle.

“Okay, ready.” Jimin closed his eyes and held the candle out in front of him, its light casting oscillating shadows on his face.

“Make a wish, petal,” Yoongi said softly, eyes never leaving the prince’s face. “Then blow the flame out.”

Jimin opened his eyes and, as he let out a whooshing rush of air from his lips, the flame flickered out.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then… a delighted shriek escaped Jimin as he looked down and wiggled his toes. Yoongi’s eyebrows shot up, eyes also drawn to the sudden radiance gathering at the prince’s feet.

It seemed that the prince had wished for new dancing shoes, because when the light dimmed, Yoongi glimpsed that his feet were now clad in classic ballet toe shoes. Its satin fabric was a warm, rose gold color, perfectly matching the blush on his cheeks and the embroidered silk tunic he was wearing.

“Ooooh, Yoongi, look!” Jimin cried, his voice high-pitched with happiness. He sauntered a few feet away and did a mini twirl, testing his brand new shoes out. When he turned back to face the candlemaker, his eyes were misty with emotion. “I love them.”

Yoongi’s heart did a somersault. Why, if this was how one pair of shoes made Jimin feel, then he wouldn’t mind buying every kind of dancing gear in the world for him. Anything to keep that smile on his face.

It was in that moment, of watching Jimin wholly immersed in his own bubble of joy, that Yoongi realized how deeply he felt for the boy.

If falling in love was a slow descent to madness, then he had obviously taken a shortcut and crash-landed towards perpetual delirium. He was pretty sure whatever he felt for the prince was beyond the realms of logic anymore.

Strangely enough, Yoongi didn’t care, not right then. Perhaps the air, sweet like powdered sugar, rendered him drunk beyond reason. Or perhaps the iridescent pixie lights all around made him bolder, braver, urging him to shed his earlier misgivings and worries. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he didn’t want to hold back anymore.

He wanted to shout these newly-realized feelings out into the endless void. He wanted to let Jimin know how every smile made butterflies erupt in his stomach. He wanted to be allowed to love, even if it was somebody as out of his league as a prince. Yoongi wanted.

Now, if only he knew how to express them.

“Alright, let me make another wish!” Jimin chirped, prancing back to where Yoongi was standing. “It’s not fair that only I get to smile tonight.” He called for another pixie to light his wishing candle and closed his eyes briefly before blowing it out.

“What did you wish for?” Yoongi asked.

As if on cue, a grand piano made entirely of glass – transparent, crystalline glass – manifested out of thin air, and it cast prismatic colors in every direction whenever the pixie glow and moonlight shone down on it at all the right angles. Its delicate keys glittered silver under the moon’s radiance. Yoongi’s breath hitched.

A piano. His first love.

Jimin was gifting him music.

He blinked back the hot tears that had unknowingly started pooling at the corners of his eyes. “Why…?”

“I remember you mentioning that you used to play before your parents passed away,” Jimin explained, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “So… I have a birthday request. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though.”

Yoongi bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling, suppressing the wave of fondness surging through him. “What is it, petal?”

“For the first time in forever, I finally want to dance for myself,” Jimin said confidently. “Won’t you play me a song? A moonlight sonata, perhaps?”

The candlemaker regarded him earnestly before saying, “How about an original piece instead?”

Jimin beamed at him. “Even better. I’d really like that.”

There is something exhilarating about doing what you love. It’s a slow burn process of finding yourself. It’s like free-falling into a headspace where you’re free to create, create, create and never stop going until you heart feels full from the product of your work.

And now, for the first time in a long time, under the sweet caress of twilight, the pianist and the dancer would henceforth take the first – and bravest – baby step back to rediscovering their first loves.

Together.

Yoongi rested his fingers over the piano keys, marveling at the feel of the cool surface under his skin again. He took a deep breath before playing one of his original compositions, a song called ‘Serendipity’.

Jimin waited, arms poised to dance, neck as graceful as a swan’s. When the first notes of the piano floated through the air, he started moving in time with the candlemaker’s music. He spun faster and leapt higher whenever the song soared to a crescendo, tip-toed en pointe at every diminuendo. He rode through Yoongi’s music the way a skilled sailor would the highs and lows of the sea’s changing tides, and somehow it was a shared experience more intimate than whispered promises between long-lost lovers.

(The universe has moved for us.)

At some point in their duet, Yoongi’s fingers halted abruptly and he forgot to keep playing, utterly mesmerized and distracted by the dancer’s strong but elegant movements. Watching Jimin lose himself in his dance left the pianist in a wonderstruck trance, and he simply didn’t have it in him to tear his gaze away. Jimin was art reincarnate.

Noticing the sudden lack of music, the prince slowed down to a gradual stop, too. He turned around to look at Yoongi with a question in his eyes. The pianist pushed away from the instrument and stood up.

Wordlessly, they drew closer to each other like the two opposing poles of a magnet, eyes never leaving each other’s. It was as if a heavy spell had been cast over the two of them, and when Jimin slid his arms around Yoongi’s neck, the older responded by draping his arms over the prince’s waist.

“Yoongi,” Jimin murmured roughly. “Remember when I told you your name stands for ‘wonder’ in Featherian?”

Yoongi’s answer came out all sorts of low and raspy. “Yeah?”

“I think it’s true. You’re my wonder.” Jimin’s diamond eyes sparkled with adoration. “Thank you for enchanting my life.”

The pianist's heart skipped a beat. Instead of talking, he responded by tightening his arms around the prince.

Closer, closer, closer.

Jimin inched his face closer, warming their embrace, and… booped his nose against Yoongi’s!

The candlemaker blinked in surprise. “Wha…?”

“Hah!” Jimin teased, eyes sparkling. “Got you!” Sticking his tongue out, he took off and sprinted towards the other side of the moonlit pond, giggling like a maniac all the way.

Sneaky little fox. “Why you little…!” Yoongi laughed and raced after the prince.

Here was a tale as old as time: as the two of them played tag, chasing each other around while laughing, the rest of the world fell away. Time stood still. So lost they were in each other’s presence that they didn’t even notice their animal forest friends gathering around the secret garden, crooning a song as old as rhyme:

There's a rhyme and reason
to the wild outdoors
When the heart of this star-crossed voyager
beats in time with yours 

Can you feel the love tonight?
You needn’t look too far
Stealing through the night’s uncertainties
Love is where they are

It would have been such a perfect scene, really, had Jimin not accidentally slipped on a wet patch of grass at the pond’s edge while running.

“Woah!” He teetered precariously over the water’s edge and flailed around wildly in an attempt to keep his balance.

Strong arms encircled and caught him just in time before he broke the ice water’s surface. For the second time that night, Yoongi found himself gazing into the prince’s eyes, so closely that he could probably count every single eyelash. Jimin’s warm breath fanned against his cheek, and their intimate proximity must have made the pianist’s brain short-circuit, because the next moment, he recoiled, retracted his arms…

…and dropped Jimin straight into the pond.

Splash!

Well, shit. Yoongi grimaced in horror and he squatted down at the pond’s edge just as Jimin broke the water’s surface with gasping breaths, teeth chattering and blond hair plastered to his head.

“Jimin! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Yoongi beseeched, reaching out his hands to pull the prince out of the water. Blasted stars, he’d really done it now. Way to kill the romantic mood. “I didn’t mean to let you go— woah!”

The prince surprised him yet again (Yoongi could never fully predict his behavior) by laughing even louder and pulling Yoongi down into the pond with him.

Splish, splash, down he went. He tumbled into the water and came up shuddering, Jimin’s breathy giggles ringing through the air.

“Ha! Serves you right!” Jimin flicked water in his face, that teasing smile still fully present on his lips. “Awesome, now we’re both wet.”

Despite the freezing cold, Yoongi smiled so hard his gums showed. He waded closer to Jimin and pulled him close by the waist again, not caring how ridiculous they both looked right then and there, stringy hair matted to their heads and all. “You’re insufferable, petal.”

Jimin snaked his forearms around Yoongi’s neck as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “But you like it, admit it.”

“No, maybe I don’t.” Yoongi leaned in and nuzzled the prince’s nose, inhaling his unique scent — sweet like vanilla, floral like peonies. “Maybe I love it.”

He knew he was treading dangerously close to the more-than-friends zone here — hell, he’d probably already overstepped his boundaries — but he didn’t care. Walls down, hearts up. He threw all caution to the wind because in that moment, they weren’t prince and thief, but Jimin and Yoongi, two young people brought together by misfortune and bad timing, yet in spite of the circumstances surrounding their unlikely relationship, everything seemed to be coming up roses.

A startled gasp forced Yoongi to open his eyes. Jimin had jerked his head backwards from their embrace, and he was staring at him with a stunned expression, lips parted and eyes twinkling with an emotion Yoongi couldn’t quite place.

“What?” He reached up and cradled Jimin’s cheek with his right hand, and the prince closed his eyes and leaned into his touch with a soft sigh.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming,” Jimin murmured, voice thick with emotion. “All of this is real, right?”

How could Yoongi reassure him? He wasn’t the best with words; he had a knack for sounding stiff and clunky. So instead, he decided to show his feelings the way he knew how — through actions. His gaze flickered down to the prince’s mouth.

Cupping both cheeks, Yoongi leaned in and pressed his lips against Jimin’s.

Lips — yet another miracle of the human anatomy. In spite of the cold, the prince’s mouth was warm like the glow of firelight, and when Jimin sighed into the kiss, a new kind of flame ignited in Yoongi’s chest. Their lips picked up a rhythm of their own, and together, they learned that they could dance with each other too, without ever having to use legs. What a revelation. How amazing was that?

Yoongi broke the kiss and began pulling back, but Jimin kept his arms locked tight around his neck.

“No, more,” the prince breathed with his eyes still closed, and who was Yoongi to deny a royal command?

So they dove into each other’s space, this time with more frenzy, hands emboldened. Jimin tugged at the hairs at the nape of Yoongi’s neck, while the pianist squeezed his waist and nipped lightly at his lower lip in encouragement. Jimin let out a small mewl. They pushed each other’s hot mouths apart, craving more, needing more. The first touch of tongues made their toes curl, while the second made them both sigh into each other’s mouths.

Then Yoongi purposefully tickled Jimin by the waist, and the prince laughed into their kiss. They broke apart giggling, breathless and flushed. Pouting, Jimin slapped his chest playfully before wading closer and hugging him tight, resting his chin on the candlemaker’s shoulder.

They stood still like that, two souls locked in embrace while ripples of water floated away from their warm bodies.

“Happy birthday, petal.” Yoongi turned his head and pecked the dancer’s forehead, before deciding to make a small sojourn down his face to pepper his nose and cheeks with more featherlight kisses. “Come on,” he murmured. “You might catch a cold if we stay out here any longer.”

Fingers interlocked, they swung their hands together as they made their way back to the treehouse cabin. Yoongi’s chest felt lighter than he had in years, and when he glanced at the blond beauty beside him, he sighed happily. Maybe even swooned a little.

Jimin, on his part, blushed furiously every time they made eye contact. It made Yoongi want to squish his cheeks, squeeze him tight and keep him safe in his pocket forever.

A gust of icy wind blew past them and they both shivered.

“Shall I make a wish on my candle to dry us up?” Jimin suggested lightheartedly.

Yoongi shook his head. “Slow down, petal. Don’t squander your wishes away. Keep your them for the more important things. You only have one left.”

“Okay.”

When the reached the treehouse cabin, they noticed Taehyung sitting on the windowsill, swinging his legs in boredom. The pixie gave a cheery wave when he saw them, before giving their drenched figures a quick once-over. Then his eyes flitted to their intertwined hands before commenting, “Well, took you long enough.”

Yoongi’s ears turned pink.

“Hi, Tae,” Jimin said. “Wanna eat dinner with us?”

The pixie shook his head. “Not really hungry. Just want some company. There are new foreigners on the Isle again.”

Yoongi stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Taehyung looked at him. “They just lifted the travel ban on the island earlier this afternoon, because it was causing a huge strain on Featherian economy.” Then he added, with a knowing glint in his eye, “They never found the thief, anyway.”

The travel ban had been lifted? Yoongi let go of Jimin’s hand. That means I can go back to Turvak to save Holly. It had been a long time since he last touched his satchel, but now it seemed that he would finally be able to put that golden apple to the test. “When does the first boat leave?”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at him. “In one hour.”

With an excited whoop, Yoongi turned to the prince and practically wheezed, “I have to go.”

Jimin’s face fell. “Now? For good?”

“What? No, no.” Yoongi flinched at the dancer’s expression. “Listen, I’ll be back in a few days. There’s just… there’s just something I have to do.” He turned to walk away, but Jimin kept the hem of his shirt fisted in one hand.

“Why do you have to go?” Jimin asked fearfully, eyes wide and uncertain. “What do you have to do?”

“I told you, I found a cure for Holly. I need to give it to him.”

Jimin whimpered in a small voice, “What kind of cure?”

Yoongi’s blood froze in his ears. That’s it – he couldn’t lie anymore. Not to this precious baby.

So with a heavy heart and a big sigh, he told Jimin the full truth. The facts came tumbling out of his mouth effortlessly, and his heart broke, splinter by splinter, as he watched Jimin’s expression turn from hope, to denial, to disappointment and eventually, mild distaste. Yoongi didn’t blame him, for who could ever trust a thief? In fact, he considered himself lucky that the prince didn’t outright lash out or kick him out.

Jimin didn’t immediately kick Yoongi out for telling him the truth, but this time round when Yoongi went to pack, he didn’t try to stop him from leaving either.

And somehow, that alone spelled out the meaning of everything for the two of them.

As Jimin watched Yoongi hurry out of the clearing and head into the woods—probably for good—he finally choked out a sob and let his face break out into a pained grimace.

Yoongi had lied to him and taken advantage of his kindness. His chest felt tight, and his throat felt scratchy. What a stupidly unsuspecting prince he was. He couldn’t believe he’d offered shelter to a thief. Heck, he’d even allowed the very same culprit who’d stolen from his brother to kiss him!

And yet, despite knowing all this, Jimin couldn’t bring himself to hate that kiss. Quite the contrary, actually – in his heart of hearts, he knew that he held no ounce of hatred for the dark-haired young man.

Paws padded lightly against the earth as Jungkook came up beside him, purring with an unspoken question burning in his eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jimin said, patting the black panther’s head. “Why did I let him go?”

Why, indeed. Call him a hopeless romantic, but Jimin wanted to be chosen without having to ask. After all, love wasn’t love if not freely given.

Still, that didn’t mean that a small hope didn’t continue to flare inside of him; one that wished that Yoongi would still come back no matter what.

Snap. Crackle. Rustle. Yoongi dashed through the forest and followed the path that Taehyung had pointed out to him, the one that led to the town square. He pushed all complicated thoughts of what he was leaving behind to the back of his mind. He couldn’t afford to let himself mope about and be sentimental. He had a boat to catch.

On his way to the docks, he passed by the Crumbling Carrot, which made him pause for a second to think. He never got to properly convey to gratitude to Hoseok for saving his ass that night. Perhaps he could pop in for a quick goodbye.

“Heyaa, welcome to the Crum—“ the orange-haired bartender cut himself short at the sight of Yoongi walking through the oak doors. “Why, I’ll be damned — if it isn’t Lil Meow Meow!”

Yoongi frowned and let out a disbelieving snort as he perched on of the stools in front of the bar counter. “The fuck kind of a nickname is that?”

“It makes sense. You look and act like a cat,” Hoseok reasoned. “So, what brings you here? You taking up my offer of champagne?”

Humming thoughtfully, Yoongi said, “Maybe just a sip.” He figured he could at least humor the bartender in exchange for his kindness. After all, would be gone for a long time, possibly forever. He no longer had a good reason to return to the Isle of Feathers once he left, especially since a certain prince didn’t seem to want him around anymore.

“One elderberry glass, coming right up.”

Yoongi sighed, staring off into space until he felt a heavy gaze pressing down on him. He looked around and spotted a young man with silver-and-pink streaked hair, staring at him from his seat along the opposite wall of the inn. He was tall, of slender build with broad shoulders, and he was dressed in a flamingo-hued tunic with an equally pink pair of breeches.

The man’s eyes kept trailing Yoongi’s every move. It was unnerving.

Why is he staring at me? He flashed the man a polite smile and nod in hopes of getting him off his back, but Mr. Pink seemed to interpret otherwise and instead saw it as an invitation to come over for a chit-chat session. Ugh.

Yoongi scooted away uncomfortably when the stranger sat beside him on the bar stools. Clearing his throat, he asked, “I’m sorry, but do I know you?” He was beginning to regret coming back to the inn.

Pink Man looked amused, and he rested his chin on his palm. “Nope, but I know you.” Then he uttered two words that raised the hairs on Yoongi’s arms: “Don’t go.”

The candlemaker’s mouth went ajar. How did the stranger know his plan? “Excuse me? What do you mean? Who even are you?”

“I said, don’t go.” The man had an air of flamboyance and dignity about him, and to answer Yoongi’s question, he merely said, “I’m the Worldwide Fair Witch, Seokjin.”

?????

Yoongi slowly inched away from the Pink Man, thoroughly confused and weirded out, and he was about to make a run for it when the man said, “I’m serious. If you leave this island, you will never see Jimin again.”

Now that caught Yoongi’s full attention. He turned to Seokjin and leaned forward, eyes burning with newfound intensity. “What do you mean? How do you know about me or Jimin?”

Pink Man rolled his eyes as though Yoongi had just asked the stupidest question in the planet, “Like I said, I’m the Worldwide Fair Witch…?”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “And?”

The stranger’s eyes were expectant. “Does it… does it not ring a bell?”

“Nah.”

An exasperated sigh. Seokjin rubbed a weary hand over the delicately carved planes of his face. “…a.k.a, I’m Jimin’s fairy godfather.”

!!!!!!!!

Yoongi’s eyes went as round as coins. Fairy godparents were real? Blasted stars, so Jimin hadn’t been lying when he talked about that anonymous benefactor of his.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped. A million questions jumbled around in his mind, but for some reason, the one that stood out to him like a neon-printed sign in block letters was: of all the places he could meet a fairy godparent, why inside a pub?!

Did anything ever make sense on this damned island?

“I see. You don’t look like a fairy godfather,” Yoongi remarked in a clipped tone.

At this, Seokjin barked out a petulant huff and gave a small shake of his head. “Buddy, I’ve got a life lesson to teach you. Number one – never ever blindly trust a stereotype. Just because I don’t look like a fairy godfather doesn’t mean I’m not one.”

This was getting way too preachy for his liking. Yoongi cut straight to the point, highly aware that he was running on borrowed time here. “Gotcha. So. You were saying something about Jimin…?”

“Ah, that’s right. Where was I?” Seokjin stroked his chin the way old people with beards usually did, and his flighty expression turned pensive, the gleam in his eyes darkening. “Listen closely to what I’m about to say. If the prince’s curse isn’t broken by tonight — on the eve of his twenty-first birthday — and he still turns into a flower come sunrise, he will never become human again.”

Panic seized Yoongi by the chest. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that this is your last chance to free your loverboy,” Seokjin said matter-of-factly, picking at his cuticles. “Otherwise he’ll be a flower forever. You know that golden apple you stole? That was a countermeasure. After Prince Jimin disappeared a few years back, his brother Namjoon – who’s fucking hot, by the way, but don’t tell him I said that because I’ve got a hard-to-get image to protect — summoned me to ask for help.”

The candlemaker blinked, not sure if he was still following everything correctly. “Wait. I don’t get it. Why didn’t you just break Jimin’s curse, then?”

Seokjin scowled. “Because I’m only a Year 3 student at the Witching Grad Academy. I’m not as powerful as the Wood Witch, you know? She’s one beastly Year 6 senior. But anyway, I digress.”

Yoongi prodded, “Go on.”

“So I told Namjoon that although I couldn’t pinpoint his brother’s exact location to him, I could create an anchor tethered to Jimin’s lifeline. I plucked a strand of blond hair from the prince’s pillow and voila – the birth of a golden apple!” Seokjin gave a smug smile. “It indicates if Jimin is still alive. You see, on the day that the golden apple rots, it means that the prince…” he made a head-chopping gesture with his hand. “Gone. Poof.”

No wonder the King had gone berserk trying to get the stolen apple back. It was his only connection to his younger brother. With rising shame and fear, Yoongi fished for the apple inside his satchel and gasped to see that its usually brilliant golden glow had waned to a dull bronze shimmer now.

“Whoops, would you look at that,” Seokjin sing-songed. “My apple’s started rotting already!”

(Yoongi was dumbfounded. What kind of fairy godfather could stay so blasé and nonchalant in the face of his charge’s impending doom? How was the Fair Witch not in full panic mode?)

He understood the implication of Seokjin’s words. If Jimin turned into a smeraldo flower later, it would mark his last transformation, because after then he would remain that way forever.

The pink witch clapped him on the back. “Well? Time’s-a-runnin’ out, loverboy. Quick, better go and break the curse before sunrise.”

"H-how?” the candlemaker stuttered desperately. “How can I possibly break it?”

“It’s simple for you.” Seokjin said, tone light. “True love’s first dance.” His red-painted mouth quirked to one side. “But seeing as how you’re wasting so much time, I think it’s going to be the last dance for you and prince charming, at this rate.”

In other words: go.

Yoongi spun around to bolt out of the Crumbling Carrot as fast as his two legs could carry him, not bothering to answer even when Hoseok called out to ask where he was going.

He knew how to break the curse. He could set the prince free. All plans of leaving the island flew out the window when it came it came to Jimin, because a Yoongi in love was a Yoongi who put his significant other first.

Now here’s the thing about stories: the best fairytales, especially love stories, are always the ones fraught with difficulty. After all, if the road to happily-ever-after was so easily traversed, then how come very few people attained it?

The moment Yoongi threw open the heavy wooden doors, he came face-to-face with a rowdy group of boorish royal guards, off-shift and ready to spend the night away drinking.

But just because they were off-duty didn’t mean that they were also off-responsibility. They recognized Yoongi right away.

The nearest guard, a beady-eyed brunet with freckles, pointed at Yoongi’s stricken face and hollered, “That’s the bloody bastard! The wanted thief!”

“Fuck.” Taking advantage of their frozen surprise, Yoongi shoved his way past the royal guards and took off running in the direction of the Witching Woods.

Several pairs of boots thundered after him, and he bit back the urge to scream in frustration. Of all times, why was karma only catching up to him now? He couldn’t afford to get caught, not when he had the love of his life to save.

He gasped when arrows started whizzing past his head. This was becoming very reminiscent of that day, all those weeks ago, when he’d stumbled into the woods for the first time. He was being chased the same way.

Thank the stars for the coverage of nighttime, for it made him harder to spot and hit. Still, the guards continued their hot pursuit, and one of them got lucky when a tiny dart hit Yoongi’s left shoulder. He groaned in pain and stumbled to his knees.

Just when he thought all hope was lost, with the guards easily gaining speed to catch up with him, a wild, bloodcurdling roar blared from the left. The bastards quit running and flocked together in fear, squinting their eyes to see through the forest’s shadows.

From behind them, a menacing growl ripped through the air. The guards held their breaths as a black panther prowled out of the darkness, eyes glinting dangerously as it began to circle them.

Jungkook. Yoongi let out a silent cheer.

“Pssst!” Out of nowhere, Taehyung appeared and hissed into his ear. “Come on, let’s go. Kookie will take care of these thugs.”

With a great heave of effort, Yoongi forced himself to stand upright, ignoring the way his body protested, seeming to run out of energy at an alarming rate. Up ahead, he could spot the faint beginnings of dawn, and he willed the sun to rise slower and his feet to run faster.

Please be there, petal. Don’t you dare transform.

Crouched on the pavilion’s glittering floor with his knees tucked under his chin, Jimin was blissfully unaware of the fate that awaited him. He hummed a melancholic hymn to himself, looking up at the sky while clutching his brand new dancing shoes in both hands. He wondered, Is the moon ever lonely, being the odd one out in a sea of stars?

When Yoongi’s sweaty figure burst forth from the forest foliage and into the clearing, Jimin gasped, and his heart leapt to his chest with so much pure joy it almost hurt.

He came back. Yoongi had come back for him.

“Yoongi,” Jimin began. “Did you leave something behi—“

He was cut off by Yoongi engulfing him in a bone-crushing hug so tight that he struggled to breathe. The candlemaker was panting hard as if he’d been running, and after a moment, the prince realized that his tense shoulders were shaking. Jimin frowned. Was Yoongi… crying? “W-what’s wrong, Yoongi?”

“No time, can’t explain.” The pianist pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “Stars, thank goodness. You’re still here.”

Why did he sound so amazed? Bewildered, Jimin answered, “Well, yeah, where else would I go—“

“Listen,” Yoongi cut him off, dark grey eyes boring into his, and the prince struggled to remind himself to breathe. “Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. I’m so fucking in love with you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”

Time slowed. Every sound faded away except for Yoongi’s words, echoing in his mind like the sweetest serenade on loop. Jimin’s eyes widened, and his heart soared with barely contained happiness. “Oh, Yoongi. M-me too—“

“Will you dance with me?” the candlemaker interrupted him again, face aghast.

“Huh? Why so sudden—“

Yoongi clasped their hands together and pulled Jimin close, urgent but not rough. “Dance with me now.“

Why wouldn’t Yoongi let him finish his sentences? Jimin wrinkled his nose and let out a disgruntled grunt. This was not the kind of confession he’d always daydreamed about. This was all sorts of strange and sudden and random. Did Yoongi even mean those words?

A little put off, the prince folded his arms and pursed his lips suspiciously. “Did you do something wrong? Are you playing mind games again?”

Yoongi looked even more panicked, and Jimin didn’t miss the way he glanced askance to watch the slowly lightening dawn sky. “Please. Dance with me, petal.”

It was the nickname that softened Jimin’s wary demeanor. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and dropped his defensive stance before stepping back into Yoongi’s hold. “Sheesh, fine.”

He didn’t understand what the rush was for, but hey, he wasn’t about to say no. Here was Yoongi, who claimed to be a non-dancer, doing exactly that! What in the great stars’ name was going on?

They moved, initially only swaying side by side, before Yoongi twirled him and supported him in an elaborate dip. Jimin would’ve laughed if not for the strained silence between them.

Eventually, their impromptu waltz ended, and it was only then that Jimin realized just how bright the heavens had gotten. The sun—it hung high and lazy in the early morning sky… yet here he was, still human. He gasped, realizing setting in, and sent Yoongi a stunned gaze.

The curse was broken!

The candlemaker smiled weakly at him, eyes bloodshot and face turning ash-pale.

Jimin knitted his brows. Something was not right.

Then Yoongi started wobbling unsteadily on his feet. Warning sirens blared in Jimin’s head, and a heavy knot of dread formed in the pit of this stomach. He cupped Yoongi’s cheeks, hardly daring to breathe. “Yoongi? Yoongi! What’s wrong? Can you hear me?”

With a tight smile, Yoongi reached up to pat his cheek lightly. “My petal,” he breathed, gaze unfocused and cloudy. “You’re free now.”

Then his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped against the prince.

Jimin grunted as he struggled to hold up the older man’s weight. He couldn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t like it one bit. He kneeled down to lay Yoongi’s body on the pavilion’s floor, lips quivering. “No, no, no. What happened to you? Yoongi, answer me…“ When he shook the pianist by the shoulders, his hands came away sticky and red. Blood.

And that’s how Jimin reached behind and pulled out a tiny piece of shrapnel attached to an empty vial.

A poison dart.

Jimin felt like all air had been ripped away from his lungs. Somebody had struck Yoongi with lethal liquid.

Pure, unadulterated terror pummeled into Jimin from all sides, and suddenly he wanted to retch. No, this can’t be happening. His eyes burned; his heart felt like it was being skinned alive and subsequently hammered with a baseball bat.

Calm down. Think. Think! He reached for Yoongi’s wrist and tried to locate a pulse, and he could’ve cried when he found it – weak, but present. The light of his life was alive. Still alive.

Jimin forced himself to inhale and exhale, trying to clear his mind amidst the clutter of panic and fear threatening to swallow his sanity whole. Oh, how he wished none of this was real—

He froze.

Wishes.  

Wishing candles.

With one lingering backwards glance to make sure that Yoongi was safe, Jimin dashed inside their treehouse cabin to retrieve a fire match along with his wishing candle, before scurrying back out again and collapsing on the pavilion beside the pianist.

“Yoongi, love, please,” Jimin pleaded through the tears warming his cheeks. He didn’t even realize he’d been crying. “Don’t leave me.”

Without wasting another second, the Featherian Prince lit the candle, closed his eyes, and made a wish.

Yoongi awoke to the sound of a screeching bird.

More specifically, to the sound of Holly’s hyperactive “morning singing” (the flitterwing liked to imagine he was a songbird) and energetic flapping around his room.

What?

He blinked off the remnants of sleep and disorientation, and that’s when the strong smell of candlewax hit his nose. Sitting up, he found himself lying on the familiar sight of his plain white mattress, in his own real bedroom.

He was back in Turvak?

Closing his eyes, he tried to think back to the last time he’d been conscious, but his head throbbed at the effort it took to reshuffle his memories and try to play them like a movie reel.

“Morning,” a voice greeted. To his dismay, it wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear the most. Looking up, he saw Seokjin entering his room carrying a tray of what looked like breakfast. Wait, what the hell was Seokjin doing in his house?

“Where’s Jimin?” Yoongi croaked.

“Wow, you must really be attached to that boy if that’s the first thing you say after being out for two weeks,” the Fair Witch retorted drily. “But since you’re wondering, Jimin’s fine. He’s back and well looked after at the palace. Congratulations, you broke the curse.”

“What happened?” Yoongi asked, frowning. “And what are you doing in my house?” Last time he checked, he didn’t have any friends named Seokjin whatsoever.

“I can’t believe I took care of you for two weeks, only for you to repay my kindness like this,” Seokjin scoffed. “I swear; nobody in this whole damned story deserves me. I must meet with my lawyer immediately—”

“That didn’t answer any of my questions at all,” Yoongi deadpanned.

“See? I can’t even make melodramatic monologues without being interrupted,” Seokjin continued in a woe-is-me fashion. Then he sobered up and met Yoongi’s eyes. “For your information, Namjoon asked me to stay here and look after you until you wake up, so that they can finally sort things out with you in a civil and legal way.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked in puzzlement. “And who’s ‘they’?”

The sound of horses neighing and galloping outside the house floated its way into Yoongi’s ears.

Seokjin gestured outside. “They just arrived.”

King Namjoon was as charismatic as the paintings depicted him, if not more. He was tall, even taller than Seokjin, and he held himself with grace and elegance of the highest accord.

That was, until he strode three steps into Yoongi’s house and promptly tripped on the carpet.

(“It’s part of his charm,” Seokjin muttered in defense.)

The purpose of the King’s visit was, as per his words, “to discuss matters surrounding my younger brother and propose an appropriate compensation for the convicted fugitive”. Big words, yes, and they rattled Yoongi all the way to his bones. Sweat broke out of his temples and he quaked even more in boots when King Namjoon unsheathed the sword hooked to his belt…and swung it in the direction of Yoongi’s head!

“Joonie, don’t behead him!” Seokjin screeched dramatically. “He’s the main lead! This fic isn’t tagged with Major Character Death!”

“What? No! I’m trying to—“ the King fumbled with the sword before accidentally dropping it. The metal weapon clattered to the floor with a loud clang. “—I’m trying to knight the man, Jin. But as you already know, I don’t exactly possess the greatest mobile dexterity…”

Yoongi blinked. Knight? He was about to get knighted? “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” he interjected between the bickering couple. “May I just ask what I’m being knighted for?”

King Namjoon stared at him, before turning to Seokjin. “You didn’t tell him?”

An indignant huff. “It’s not like I had the chance, because the first person he asked for was your dearest younger brother.”

“Didn’t tell me what?” Yoongi asked. “What’s going to happen to me?”

King Namjoon picked up his sword and walked closer to the edge of his bed. “Look. I’m knighting you for saving my younger brother, Prince Jimin, from the curse that had befallen him and setting him free. This act absolves you of your previous crimes, such a theft.”

Oh, right. The golden apple. “How did my pet flitterwing get better?”

“Ahhh,” Seokjin sing-songed. “Turns out the golden apple really does have healing properties. I used it to make last week’s stew and Holly loved it. I think I must be really talented in cooking.”

King Namjoon sent him a fond smile, before clearing his throat and continuing. “Furthermore and hitherto, the Isle of Feathers is commissioning you, Min Yoongi of Turvak, to become the island’s first official trade advisor.”

That was random. “Um. Why?”

Still smiling, King Namjoon answered, “My brother suggested we appoint you.”

At the mention of the dancer, Yoongi asked, “And where is Jimin?”

“Right here.”

Yoongi inhaled sharply. The Isle of Feathers’ youngest prince poked his head into the threshold of the door, and this time instead of being clad in the bare minimum pair of a loose, flowing shirt and tights, Jimin was outfitted in the most expensive regal finery. He wore a richly embellished wine-red cloak, under which a silver brocade tunic with form-fitting leggings peeked out. On his feet were thick brown leather boots with bronze scuffs, and he wore a golden sash that fell diagonally from his right shoulder to his left hip. At the sight of Yoongi, Jimin’s shoulders sagged and he sighed in relief.

King Namjoon and Seokjin saw that as a chance to excuse themselves, preferring to give the two their privacy.

Jimin glided closer and perched on the edge of the bed, and Yoongi’s bones nearly melted. He wanted to pull the boy close and keep him there. But of course he wasn’t about to get all sappy, so he said, “Don’t tell me you’ve been hanging outside the door all this time.”

Smiling, Jimin nodded his head. “I was waiting for you to finish talking to my brother first. How are you feeling?”

Yoongi winced. “Eh. I’ve been better.”

He listened to Jimin narrate the immediate details of what happened after he passed out in the pavilion, heart hurting at the thought of his precious petal being so distraught.

“I was so terrified,” Jimin said quietly, taking Yoongi’s hands in his. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

Yoongi chuckled. “And I thought I was going to lose you.” He told him how he discovered the way to break the Wood Witch’s curse (“I think I met your fairy godparent?”), how he ran into the guards and how he’d been rushing to at least complete one dance with Jimin before sunrise.

“I thought our first dance was going to be our last dance,” he added. “I didn’t want to see a morning without you in it.” Fuck, that was cheesy. But then again, this was Jimin. There were simply some people in our lives who made cheesy seem pardonable.

At this, Jimin smiled softly and leaned over to place a swift peck on Yoongi’s cheek. “Me, too. Listen, Yoongi… I never got to say this last time but I just thought you should know.” He inhaled deeply as if to brace his nerves. “Em agape rui.”

It was that sentence again. Yoongi opened his mouth to ask for its meaning, but Jimin shushed him by pressing a finger against his lips. “I’m in love with you. Thank you for dancing with me and setting me free.”

Yoongi felt as though a thousand shooting stars had taken up residence in the walls of his heart. It felt so light and warm and fluttery. Swallowing thickly, he leaned forward and kissed Jimin, slow and deep, not trusting his words to serve his emotions justice.

When they pulled apart, Yoongi said, “Baby, I might even learn how to waltz while singing for you.”

Jimin giggled, before the mirth in his eyes morphed into something more tender. “Let’s… never have a last dance, okay? I want to share many more with you, if you’d like. Come to the Isle of Feathers with me?”

It was, in retrospect, a simple offer of moving homes and switching professions. But to Yoongi’s ears, Jimin’s words were laced with the underlying promise of building a tomorrow together.

If he wanted to.

Yoongi grinned, gums showing. “Anywhere, petal. As long as it’s with you.”

To the average vagabond, the Isle of Feathers was a shining tropical paradise pulled straight out of a fairytale poster, the kind of place tourists visited but never stayed for good.

But to Yoongi, this was the island where his forever awaited.