Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Whenever Jeongguk gazed at the crescent moon dimly illuminating the night sky, he inevitably got the feeling he had forgotten something, something important, something he should never have forgotten. It was an uneasy feeling, disturbing even; unsettling in a way that couldn’t be shaken off and left goose bumps all over his skin. It was as if something inside him was begging Jeongguk to remember, sizzling beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed so that he could finally be whole again.

But no matter how hard he tried, Jeongguk couldn’t get a hold of it. No matter how much he racked his brain, the sensation remained intangible – fleeting as the wind which made the leaves in the treetops rustle gently, or the soft summer rain that was eagerly absorbed by the parched plants covering the dry earth. It was impalpable, invisible and inaudible. Yet it resonated within him, like an echo that reverberated from the barren walls of a ravine, reminding him of the void in his heart. A void that seemed to have a very specific shape, as if there was only one thing – or one person? – that would ever be able to fill it, to mend the fissures caused by the loss of something he couldn’t even name.

At the same time, Jeongguk was sure that this emptiness was not meant to last. It wanted restoration, longed for it. The problem was that he had no idea what or who was supposed to be the remedy to seal the cracks, or why he was able to feel the vacancy without remembering what had provoked it.

Some nights the nescience plagued him so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until the early hours of dawn. Because as soon as the sun rose and replaced the bewitching glow of the ever-changing moon, the feeling faded. And once more, Jeongguk forgot that there had ever been someone he couldn’t remember, someone important, someone he should never have forgotten...

“Will you accompany me today, Bam? Or would you prefer to lounge by the fireplace while I shiver outside?” Jeongguk asked his black cat as he washed the dishes while she sat on the nearby windowsill and observed the robins in the front yard, her long tail slowly swishing back and forth.

It had been beastly cold in the past few days, making late autumn in the Shadow Creek Forest even more unpleasant than usual. The unexpected drop in temperature foreboded a particularly harsh winter; one that, to top it all off, would probably start sooner rather than later, much to Jeongguk’s chagrin. Despite his fondness for the sight of glittering snow – through the window – he disliked the season when the flora practically came to a standstill and he had to wait months for the world around him to turn verdant anew.

Perhaps it was based on his fundamental aversion to chilliness. For years it had been creeping so deeply into his bones that he’d feared he would never be truly able to get rid of it. Or maybe it was the indifferent coolness, not to say callousness, that his father had increasingly radiated after Jeongguk had come of age. He wasn’t sure if the impassiveness had been directed at him, or if his father had simply become an ice-hearted man. Either way, he had passed away the summer before Jeongguk’s twenty-eighth birthday without ever showing anything resembling affection to his son again.

Jeongguk could still remember that there had been a time when he and his father had been so close that they hadn’t kept any secrets from each other. He had shared every silly thought with him and his father had always listened patiently to his chatter. With equal patience, his father had taught Jeongguk to use his innate magic, had shared his knowledge as a healer with him and had promised that one day he would show him spells that would allow the younger to wield far greater powers. He had helped Jeongguk to find his way in the forest and had schooled him to distinguish poisonous plants and mushrooms from edible ones and those with healing properties. And he had warned Jeongguk about the wicked fae and what happened to the humans they abducted to their court, had disclosed that the easiest way to identify them was by their pointed ears, and had drilled into him to stay away from them at all hazards.

For reasons unknown to Jeongguk, their relationship had changed sometime after his eighteenth birthday. All of a sudden, his father had become withdrawn and standoffish – and he had stopped training Jeongguk. Instead of having every step and ingredient explained to him, the younger had rarely been permitted to assist his father with the treatments. If he wanted to learn what a medicine consisted of or how to use it correctly, he had to settle for watching attentively. In addition, his father had started to behave differently in other matters. For example, he had refused any kind of food from patients as payment and in lieu of wearing the necklace with the iron-set ruby occasionally, he hadn’t even taken it off when bathing or sleeping.

More than once Jeongguk had wondered what had triggered these alterations and whether or not it had had something to do with the accident that he couldn’t remember. Had they argued before he had run to the river where he'd slipped on the moist stones, resulting in him hitting his head strongly enough to induce memory lapses? Had he said something inconsiderate that had offended his father, intentionally or not? Something so severe that his father would still hold it against him years later?

Whatever the cause was, Jeongguk had felt a distance between them from then on that hadn’t been there before. He had repeatedly tried to talk to his father about it, had attempted to apologize without knowing what for, desperate to mend their bond. Alas, his father had snubbed him each time until Jeongguk had no longer seen any point in trying. And after his death, he had to accept, for better or worse, that he would never find out.

Be that as it may, now that Jeongguk lived alone in the small wooden cabin, he diligently ensured there was a cozy warmth inside at all times. It made the relatively modest furnishings appear much friendlier – and avoided rigid limbs. For the same reason, Jeongguk had a generous supply of appropriate clothing. However, neither his thickest coat nor his fluffiest wool scarf saved him from freezing when he had to stay outside for more than a few minutes. And if the damnable weather was anything to go by, Jeongguk didn’t have more than a couple weeks left to make the necessary preparations until the first snow would fall.

Once he’d dried his hands, he briefly tickled Bam under her chin, earning him a contented purr, before he reached for his wicker basket and gathered his garden utensils. Although his herb supply was well stocked, he wanted to harvest as much as possible before the frost came. One could never anticipate what maladies might become rampant in the upcoming months and thus what he would need to cure them. Admittedly, Jeongguk could also harness his magic to heal, but the effect was limited – and it took a toll on him each time. So he had to carefully consider when to use it. The same applied to the remaining drops of moon blood in his cabinet, which were too precious to be wasted for colds and minor ailments.

Fortunately, numerous aches and pains could be treated effectively with the right mixture of herbs in the appropriate dosage, be it as a tincture, tea or ointment. The most important plants were represented in his self-built greenhouse and therefore available to him during the cold season. Nonetheless, he couldn’t grow everything in the confined space, let alone large trees. Oak and willow bark, for instance, were common ingredients in his mixtures that could solely be reaped in the forest. Some other plants in turn needed a special environment he couldn’t provide or a specific composition of nutrients in the soil to thrive.

In short, knowing which plants were required for a remedy was only half the battle. Knowing where to find them was equally important and a pivotal element in becoming a versed healer. And since Jeongguk placed the survival of his patients above his own convenience, the bitter cold did not stop him from leaving his cabin, albeit with a scowl.

Just as he was about to reach for his warmest boots, a knock on the door made him pause. He cast an accusatory glance at Bam, wondering why the cat hadn’t warned him like she usually did. Mentally preparing himself to find a sick or injured person on his porch, he eventually remembered what day it was: October thirteenth.

With all the changes that his father’s passing had brought about, Jeongguk had completely forgotten that for almost a decade, each fall an enigmatic fae had knocked on the door of the quaint cabin at the edge of the woods. Every year on this exact day, reliable like the cycle of the moon, the fae had come to help the older mage brew the most powerful elixir existing, an elixir that could heal any injury or illness and literally bring people back from the brink of death.

For the fae, it was an unspeakably painful process that would take them a month to fully recover from. In order to obtain a tiny vial of moon blood, a fae had to be drained of nearly half of their blood by a basilisk. The blood then had to boil inside the mystical serpent for exactly one day, permeating its deadly venom to form the rarest and most sought-after of all cures. A cure that was next to impossible to get a hold of.

Jeongguk didn’t have the slightest idea how his father had managed to conclude such a pact with that fae. No one in their right mind would voluntarily subject themselves to this agonizing procedure time after time, especially not without getting something extraordinarily valuable in return. He couldn’t imagine what his father could ever have owned that was of such high virtue to a fae. Of course, his father had never let him in on the details. Whenever Jeongguk had been overcome by his curiosity and asked his father about it, the old mage had plainly said that it was none of his business. Well, now it was – with the crucial difference that Jeongguk had nothing to offer in compensation.

“Stubborn old donkey.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Another knock, followed by a worried meow, abruptly snapped him out of his morose thoughts and Jeongguk rushed to the door. An icy wind blew towards him as he opened it. Yet, what really caught him off guard was finding himself face to face with the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes on. Apart from the pointy ears, which were hidden by soft black hair, the most striking attribute of any fae was their indescribable, otherworldly appearance – and the sight of the other’s unmatched beauty truly took Jeongguk’s breath away. Over the past decade, the young mage had only caught fleeting glimpses of the fae here and there as his father hadn’t allowed him to attend the procedure or stay too close to the other. It was the first time he had the chance to study the fae’s features properly and Jeongguk probably stared at him longer than was appropriate, unable to tear his gaze away.

Next to the fae, raised waist high, a lustrous green basilisk directed his head towards Jeongguk. The end of its tail was wrapped protectively around the fae’s ankle, giving the impression that one wrong move could incite the serpent to attack without missing a beat. Truth be told, it appeared no less threatening with its blind eyes than if it still had the ability to turn someone to stone. It was common knowledge among those familiar with mythical creatures that basilisks were sentient beings that should not be underestimated or equated with ordinary snakes. Their venom was lethal and their minds as sharp as the large teeth that peeked out from the slightly opened muzzle.

A throat clearing broke Jeongguk out of his stupor. He swiftly stepped aside to not leave the other standing in the cold any longer. “S-sorry. Where are my manners? Please, come in.”

A delicate weight landed on Jeongguk’s shoulder as he closed the door behind the fae. He chuckled when the cat’s tail coiled around his neck like a fluffy fur collar and tenderly petted her behind the ears. It seemed like Bam had felt compelled to demonstrate that the mage also had an animal protector.

“I brought these for you.” The fae said before Jeongguk could get another word in, holding out a small jute bag with pears that the mage hadn’t noticed until now. “I harvested more than I could eat myself and didn’t want to let them go to waste.”

“Oh ... erm ... thank you.” Jeongguk replied after some hesitation.

He didn’t want to be rude, even though he definitely wouldn’t eat them, irrespective of the fact that it was his favourite kind. Jeongguk didn’t need to have much experience in dealing with fae to know not to make such a careless mistake. Every child was taught never to accept food from fae. It robbed you of your own will and enabled them to enslave you until you worked yourself to death, smiling until you had nothing left to give and they discarded your lifeless remains like spoilage. Fae were vicious and cunning. Jeongguk wouldn’t throw his common sense to the wind just for the simple reason that this particular one had helped his father obtain moon blood for so many years. After all, the other didn’t act out of charity. He did it because he was bound by a pact, notwithstanding that the young mage wasn’t privy to the exact stipulations.

Reluctantly, Jeongguk reached out to take the pears from the other. When his fingers accidentally brushed against the fae’s, he jerked his hands back, his eyes squeezed shut. To never touch them was another lesson drilled into children before they were allowed to leave the security of their homes. All a fae needed to enter a human’s mind was simultaneous physical and eye contact. Then it was easy for them to manipulate it, to make one see things that weren’t there, or do things one would normally never do, such as eating their food. Nothing about the fae’s behaviour implied that he meant Jeongguk any harm, but one could never be too cautious.

“I don’t know if you’re aware that my father died this summer? So, um, I don’t know... I guess you no longer have to fulfil the contract with him?” Jeongguk cut straight to the point.

Talking about it brought back the disturbing memory of the young mage finding his father lifeless in his bed one morning, his body stiff and pale, devoid of any warmth. His health had been worrying for quite some time, yet the stubborn old donkey had declined his son’s help. He hadn’t allowed a proper examination to find the actual cause for his deteriorating condition, had insisted that it was nothing more than the flu and that all he needed was a few herbs to recover. Hence, he had not even considered taking one of the precious elixirs he could sell at a high price. Jeongguk had tried to get through to him over and over, each time with the same recurring result: his father had brusquely rejected him again and again until his pride and arrogance had ultimately cost him his life.

Judging by the stoic expression on the fae’s face, this news came as no surprise to them.

“I’m sorry for your loss but your father’s demise doesn’t change anything for me.”

“Oh, okay.”

Jeongguk rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He had reckoned that the pact would not last beyond his father’s death. How many years had the fae promised to endure this painful procedure? Another decade? Half a century? For Jeongguk, that seemed like an eternity and a part of him felt guilty that the other was bound to it for so long.

Anyhow, the elixir had saved many lives in the past few years, including Jeongguk’s. It would be foolish to not seize the opportunity whilst the fae came back with the basilisk. Unlike his father, Jeongguk would never sell the moon blood to the highest bidder. Goddess, he wouldn’t insist on getting anything in return at all if someone’s life was on the line. He believed in karma and that good deeds always paid off, one way or another.

“Since you’ll be staying here for several days, maybe we should familiarize ourselves with each other. I guess we’ve never had the chance to do that before. I’m Jeongguk.” The mage introduced himself and suppressed the impulse to extend a hand to the other. “The pretty one on my shoulder is Bam.” He added, prompting the cat to crane her head up with a proud meow.

The fae smiled, his eyes no longer narrowed but crinkled beautifully. “My name is Jimin. And my scaly friend goes by the name Haru.”

Jimin.

Jeongguk was sure he had never heard the name before. Yet, it resonated with him as if it touched a chord that had been silently waiting to be played, striking up a melody longing to be completed. Goose bumps spread across his skin and he had to shake himself to get rid of the strange sensation.

“Well, then ... Would you like some tea before we start? I could quickly make us a pot.”

His valid suspicion of fae in general was no reason for the mage to be as unfriendly as his father had often been. Jeongguk – or rather his patients – presumably benefited more from this contract than the fae. Offering some small amenities was the least he could do in return. He refused to let the wariness his father had instilled in him turn into hostility. As long as Jimin gave him no grounds to expect a guileful assault, Jeongguk would treat him with the same respect as any other patient. As a matter of course, he would continue to be vigilant and avoid touching the fae lest to run the risk of being manipulated, but having a mundane cup of tea together didn’t warrant any skin contact.

“That would be lovely.” Jimin responded as he began to unbutton his dark cloak, appearing genuinely grateful for Jeongguk’s accommodation.

An hour, three cups of tea and a cinnamon roll later, Jeongguk led Jimin to the humble back room on the ground floor where he usually treated patients who needed more than a bandage or a small bottle of medicine. It was equipped with a capacious cabinet that contained all kinds of ingredients, potions and ointments, a bookshelf with a versatile collection of grimoires and parchments with various spells and recipes, and a worn, yet comfortable cot that allowed Jeongguk to observe a person overnight if necessary. Or to carry out time-consuming procedures such as drawing blood from a fae with the aid of a basilisk.

“You rearranged?” Jimin asked, astonishment evident on his delicate features as he surveyed the slight changes. Despite being phrased as a question it sounded more like a statement.

Jeongguk had indeed redecorated the room sometime after his father’s death. It had been far too dark and depressing in his opinion. Even though he couldn’t always help all patients, magic or not, it was first and foremost his wish to cure them, not accompany them as they died, no matter if that was also part of his life as a healer every so often. Correspondingly, the room was not supposed to convey a gloomy atmosphere.

“Oh, yeah, I made it a little cozier, I guess. I tend to sick patients here and want them to feel relaxed. It’s more pleasant to wake up from unconsciousness in a light, welcoming room, isn’t it?” Jeongguk replied while sheepishly scratching his jaw.

He hadn’t been able to change much about the dark panelling which was made of the same sturdy wood as the rest of the cabin, but the cottony blankets, the new, semi-transparent curtains and the colourful painting of a flower meadow on the wall above the cot had visibly brightened the room. The additional candles he had set up further enhanced this effect and the few studiously placed incense sticks gave off a subtle yet calming scent of pine and sandalwood.

“That’s very considerate of you. I’m sure the people you take care of appreciate this, counting those present.” The fae praised with a soft smile as he sat down and began to take off his tunic.

Jimin’s generous words conjured a faint blush on Jeongguk’s cheeks – or was it the prospect of seeing the other’s bare chest? The mage quickly averted his gaze without probing the cause. In order not to be tempted to ogle the exceptionally handsome man, Jeongguk busied himself with arranging vials that had been sorted perfectly before extracting his father’s personal grimoire and searching for the spell to brew moon blood. He had never been allowed to witness the process in person, but luckily for him, his pedantic father had inscribed detailed instructions on how the elixir was made.

According to the book, the basilisk and the fae were required to be linked by a charm for the duration of the painful draining which prevented them from breaking away from each other prior to the decisive point. To make the connection resilient, both creatures had to forge direct physical contact of their own will. Then Jeongguk had to paint a variety of intricate runes on specific scales of the basilisk using a viscous, odorous tincture made from black pine resin, beeswax and plant tar, chanting an ancient spell in a long-lost language he could recite flawlessly without understanding it. The more blood the basilisk absorbed, the more the runes would fade, so Jeongguk had to be heedful to renew them in time until the fae had just enough blood left in his body to survive and the connection dissolved on its own, allowing the basilisk to retract its teeth and the life-giving fluid to boil within its veins.

When Jeongguk turned back to the other after reading everything twice, the fae was lying on the cot. The basilisk slithered onto the bed next to him, the look in its bleary eyes sad and crestfallen, contrasting with the vivid green scales glistening in the light of the few rays of sunlight filtering through the window. The sentient serpent slowly curled up on Jimin’s torso, like Bam did with Jeongguk on cold nights, as if it wanted to snuggle up to the fae to comfort him.

Jeongguk approached the unique pair with a jar in his hand. The tincture was the same one used to waterproof ceramics, so he didn’t need to mix a new portion. But he must have moved a little too briskly for the basilisk’s liking because it suddenly reared its head up and hissed in warning, the threat unmistakable although it seemed more protective of the fae than itself. Jimin instinctively placed a hand under its chin and whispered mellow, reassuring words. A moment later, the placated serpent nuzzled into the crook of the fae’s neck.

“Please excuse Haru. Strangers make him nervous, especially when he is already tense.” Jimin explained as his intense gaze darted from the basilisk to Jeongguk without removing his hand from the smooth scales he continued to stroke soothingly. “You have to know, Haru has been my companion for over a decade now. I found him severely injured after a fight with another specimen of his kind and nursed him back to health; bar his eyes. Sadly, the blindness was an irreversible condition. He could manage to take care of himself in spite of that, yet he refused to leave my side when a cruel twist of fate almost made me despair. We’ve been attached to each other ever since. That is why I have a hard time persuading him to do this every year.”

The insight into their remarkable relationship reminded the mage of his close bond with Bam. Jeongguk could understand that the serpent was not particularly well-disposed towards him and he eyed it suspiciously as he stepped closer. Once it was time to extract the moon blood, Jimin would possibly be unconscious. Would the basilisk cooperate anyway? Jeongguk wasn’t keen on provoking it. Unfortunately, the mage had found no details about this aspect of the procedure in the grimoire.

The fae must have read the uncertainty off his face. He answered the unspoken question while Jeongguk was still pondering whether or not to ask it. “Don’t worry. Haru will collaborate when you have to gather the elixir. We’ve been through this many times. He’ll open his muzzle, so all you have to do is holding a vial under each tooth and waiting until they stop dripping.”

Jeongguk nodded along as he listened carefully. That sounded easier than he had feared. To be honest, he was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to mess with the basilisk or coerce it to do anything. It might no longer be able to petrify Jeongguk, but its poison was no less deadly and his body was definitely muscular enough to cut off a human’s air supply if it aimed at winding around the neck.

The glass with the dark tincture placed within range on the small bedside table, Jeongguk was about to grab his book to examine the runes one last time when Jimin opened his mouth to add something. Wavering, the fae closed and parted his plush lips a couple of times before the quiet words finally found their way out.

“Please be nice to Haru. If you’d have a kind word for him or could gently pet his scales from time to time once I lost consciousness, I would be utterly grateful.” Jimin pleaded, his almond-shaped eyes full of concern – for the basilisk’s suffering instead of his own, even though he would be in torment for hours. “It takes a lot of effort for him to hurt me.”

As if to confirm, as if the basilisk had actually understood him, the end of its tail detached from the spiral of scales and encased Jimin’s waist, reminiscent of an arm embracing someone in a hug.

Jeongguk melted, his heart aching for the basilisk and the fae. “I’ll take care of Haru until you regain your strength.”

To emphasize his words, the mage reached out and let his fingertips glide over the green skin. It was colder and smoother than he had imagined, the muscles flexing with every intake of air. The basilisk raised its head with interest. It drew closer to his hand, gauging his reaction. Jeongguk didn’t back away, neither as the serpent looped itself around his forearm nor as its muzzle nestled against his palm.

“I think Haru and I will get along well.” Jeongguk said optimistically, a giggle erupting from his throat when a forked tongue flicked over his fingers.

Their playful interaction seemed to appease Jimin. Some of the visible strain fell from his shoulders and he eased deeper into the pillow. “Let’s get started. I assume we all want to get this over with rather sooner than later.”

With an acknowledging hum, Jeongguk propped the open grimoire against the fae’s hip and began to recite the strange-sounding words. Harnessing his hereditary, elemental abilities required no incantation, but this was something else entirely. It was an ancient magic nearly as old as time itself. Anyone with witch blood in their veins could learn how to use it. Regardless, those spells required very precise execution to achieve the desired goals. The slightest deviation could have catastrophic side effects. Thus, Jeongguk repeatedly peeked at the respective runes while he dipped his slender fingers into the jar of black tincture and meticulously transferred them onto the serpent’s twisted body. Once he’d completed the last glyph, the verdant scales started to glow, shedding a diffused light upon the wooden walls. A blink of an eye later, the basilisk sank its teeth into the wrist Jimin had held out.

The fae’s trembling fingers never desist from caressing the basilisk, its pacification still ranking foremost. The grimace spoiling his face was the sole sign that betrayed his anguish and when Jeongguk spotted it, when his eyes caught sight of the way Jimin bit into his bottom lip to avoid making any noise exposing his pain, a sharp pang shot through him. Tears blurred his vision as he clutched his constricting chest. It felt as if Jimin’s agony was his own, as if they were tied by an invisible string.

For a heartbeat, Jeongguk wondered whether he had made a mistake with the spell, whether he had bound himself to the fae as well, then the strange feeling subsided and he could inhale a shaky breath. Nevertheless, a dull throbbing remained. Several times he rubbed the heel of his palm over his sternum to drive it away, to no avail. The inscrutable sensation accompanied him the rest of the day.

With a heavy heart, Jeongguk watched how Jimin’s skin progressively became paler, how his cheeks sank and his hair lost its shine. True to his promise, the mage ran his warm hand over the basilisk every time he checked on them while the fae slipped in and out of consciousness, his contorted features only ironing a little whenever his eyes fluttered shut.

At nightfall, after diligently tracing all the runes with more tincture, Jeongguk retreated to his secluded room upstairs. He trusted Bam to wake him in case anything happened with the fae or the serpent before dawn. She was a very perceptive observer, so he knew he had nothing to worry about.

And yet, an ominous restlessness seized him as he left Jimin behind. It grew with each step increasing the distance between them, haunting him like a shadow that could neither be shaken off nor grasped, following him into his dreams.

“You’re a fae, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Thought so. No human being is that beautiful.” Jeongguk blurted out. A crimson blush tinged his heated cheeks as the blatant bluntness of his words dawned on him and he hurried to deflect the other from his brash statement. “I was told fae are vile creatures. Cruel even.”

“They are.”

Jeongguk hadn’t expected the fae to assent. He wondered if the other was ridiculing his allegation or if they really agreed with him. “You don’t seem particularly malicious.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

That was something Jeongguk knew all too well. “So you are malevolent? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

The question elicited a mellifluous giggle that made Jeongguk’s heart skip a beat.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. Whatever I say, you would be wise not to believe me.”

“Why is that?” Jeongguk tilted his head, eyes wide in curiosity.

“Never trust a fae.”

“You are one yourself.”

“That’s why I should know best.”

Jeongguk could hardly ever remember his dreams, the images usually so fleeting that they escaped him before he became fully aware of his surroundings, attempting to hold on to them as hopeless as trying to catch the wind. Yet, when he woke up the morning after Jimin and Haru had shown up at his door, Jeongguk could still see every little detail of the previous night’s dream precisely in his mind’s eye. Although “precisely” might have been the wrong term to describe it.

The environment had been razor-sharp, enabling Jeongguk to recognize it from the start. It was the closest clearing northeast of the cabin, the one circled by mighty ginkgo trees that provided shade, but at the same time let enough sunlight sift through to allow magnificent purple and yellow flowers to bloom, including coralroots and tormentils. During his childhood and adolescence, it had been the place where he had retreated to be alone and to get some distance whenever he’d had arguments with his father. Nowadays, Jeongguk was drawn there when something was bothering him and he was looking for a place where he could think in peace.

The person he had faced in his dream, on the other hand, had been blurry and virtually unidentifiable. While the voice had been crystal clear and also seemed vaguely familiar, as if he had heard it before, even though he couldn’t place it at the moment, the figure had been obscured, as if hidden behind a rain-soaked window pane. If not for the content of their conversation, Jeongguk wouldn’t have been able to say for sure whether they were human or fae. And the more he tried to recall what they had looked like, how tall they had been or what clothes they had worn, the more the image seemed to elude him.

Where had this dream suddenly come from? And, more importantly, what did it mean? Mulling over the words gave him a strange sense of déjà vu, as if he had witnessed the moment exactly like that, as if it was a memory – which was impossible. Jeongguk would remember if he had ever socialized with a fae. And when would he have done that? He wasn’t as cautious as his father, but humans weren’t supposed to chat with them on the unwelcome occasion of an accidental encounter. Most people only spoke to a fae when they were bargaining with them in one of the strictly monitored, mixed markets in the cities along the border. Not that Jeongguk could tell from experience, he solely knew about it from stories. If his father hadn’t made a deal with a fae so many years ago, Jeongguk might never have seen one of them up close, let alone talked to one. Those markets were far away and he received all the things he needed as payment from his patients.

That being said, the Shadow Creek Forest was entirely on human territory. Admittedly, there was no wall or moat or anything of this sort between their realms and it wasn’t directly forbidden to cross the border either, not in a way that was controlled or punished by guards. Yet, entering the other species’ territory would have been foolish, not to say suicidal. Just like a human was defenceless against multiple fae, a single fae was definitely at a disadvantage against multiple humans, despite their magical abilities; especially considering how hostile most humans were towards their kind. As shameful as it was, chances were that some humans would rather give short shrift instead of running the risk of being manipulated.

So, if it was nothing more than a dream – albeit a very bizarre one – had his subconscious made up these images to warn Jeongguk not to trust Jimin? He hadn’t intended to do that. Trusting a fae would be no less fatuous than hoping a wolf wouldn’t attack when one approached their puppies to give them a quick pat. However, his father had always said that he was too dewy-eyed and that his naivety would bite him in the ass some day. Maybe his instinct of self-preservation did him a favour by reminding him to be wary.

Jeongguk was staring at the ceiling, his profile bathed in the golden light shining through the round window, when Bam snapped him out of his thoughts. With a soft meow, she jumped onto his chest and nuzzled her head against his chin. It was her typical way of asking for cuddles which the mage readily gave. Once Jeongguk sat up, she made herself comfortable on his warm pillow, yawning.

“Sleep well, sweetheart. Thank you for keeping an eye on my special patient.” Jeongguk murmured and gently caressed her smooth back before putting his bare feet into his padded scuffs.

After getting dressed, the anything but cozy temperature in his sparsely heated attic room driving him to hurry, Jeongguk made his way downstairs to check on said patient himself. It was distinctly warmer on the ground floor, courtesy of the still glowing embers in the fireplace. Due to a handy spell, they never ceased to smoulder, ensuring that the cabin didn’t cool down completely. Jeongguk only had to mumble a few words as he passed by to ignite new flames, the warmth of which would soon spread throughout all rooms. Although he was closer to the elements of earth and air, meaning his innate magic was much more powerful and effective in relation to them, he knew at least a handful of spells that also enabled him to use water and fire to his advantage. Nonetheless, he didn’t feel confident enough in his control over the latter to leave an open fire burning unattended overnight.

Mindful not to let the stiff door drag too much on the wooden floor so as not to startle Jimin or the basilisk, Jeongguk entered the silent back room and grabbed the tincture he needed to renew the visibly faded runes on his path to the cot. His soft-footed steps were quieter than the howl of the wind outside, yet the basilisk noticed his presence straight away. The serpent’s milky eyes shot open and turned in the mage’s direction, his hearing or keen sense of smell sufficient to locate him. Jimin, on the other hand, didn’t stir. His skin was pale as parchment and his beautiful features contorted, the previously rosy lips now chapped and twisted into a tormented crease.

Jeongguk had helped his father heal people since he was a child, had seen all kinds of illnesses and injuries, from small insect bites to fatal wounds. He had witnessed people writhing in agony, had heard them screaming and whimpering. In the beginning, he hadn’t been able to bear the misery of others. His father had called him mollycoddled and frail every time a tear had rolled down his cheek. Jeongguk himself had never considered his compassion a weakness, but he too had to realize long ago that if he truly wanted to help them, he had to distance himself from the torment of his patients. His job was not to hold their hand, even though he sometimes did anyway. His task was to identify the disease, determine the best cure and focus on the healing process.

After years of practice, not letting other people’s afflictions get to him didn’t cause Jeongguk any problems. That is what he’d thought until Jimin doubled over and let out an excruciating sound of distress. Jeongguk gasped. For some inexplicable reason, seeing the fae like that hit him deep in the core, his insides clenching. Before he knew it, he reached out and placed a hand on Jimin’s undraped chest, propelled by the instinctive urge to ease the other’s ache.

A violent spark flickered against his palm, akin to the unpleasant sting of an electrostatic discharge. Still, he didn’t pull away. The chaste touch seemed to calm the fae and Jeongguk’s heart immediately felt lighter. The compulsion to use his abilities to alleviate the pain washed over him, coupled with the oddly fierce desire to endure it in Jimin’s place. Neither was possible for as long as the basilisk drank the fae’s blood. Conjuring any other kind of magic could interfere with the spell – with unknown consequences.

For a few hours, Jeongguk tried to go about his daily routine. He brewed healing potions and dried herbs, mixed ointments and chopped firewood. There were lots of things to do before the onset of winter, so he had no shortage of duties. Yet, he kept being drawn to Jimin’s side. His weirdly profound worries didn’t stop gnawing at him until he gave up going through the motions and just sat down next to the fae with a book to silently keep him company.

By evening, Jimin still hadn’t regained consciousness. Afraid he might dehydrate, Jeongguk gently lifted his head to make him drink some water at the very least. The close proximity granted him a better look at the other’s face, allowing him to detect the beads of sweat that coated Jimin’s furrowed brows and moistened his hairline. When the mage pressed the back of his hand against the other’s forehead to feel his temperature, the skin was not only damp, it was also burning hot.

Jeongguk swiftly leafed through his grimoire, his healer intuition on high alert. Woefully, he found no clues as to whether or not it was to be expected for Jimin to have a fever. He cursed his dead father for his secrecy while he walked back into the living room. Bam, who had resettled to the throw rug in front of the fireplace, cocked her head at him quizzically as he hastily wrapped his coat around his torso and snatched a bucket. In the glow of the setting sun, Jeongguk left the cabin to fetch some cold water from the nearby creek. Heating water wasn’t an issue, cooling it was a whole different story. And he currently didn’t have the nerve to deal with his shortcomings concerning this tricky element.

Once he’d returned, Jeongguk soaked an absorptive cloth with the cold fluid. He gingerly swiped it over Jimin’s face and neck before placing it on his forehead to lower some of the heat. A sigh of relief escaped the fae’s lips and his eyes fluttered open for a moment.

“J-Jeongguk?” The other stammered in a croaky voice, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“I’m here.” The mage whispered as he squeezed Jimin’s shoulder.

With difficulty, the fae turned his head in Jeongguk’s direction, his lids already closing again, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you… Jeongguk.”

The mage’s breath hitched when the modest expression of gratitude made his heart beat faster. What was wrong with him? The other had merely thanked him, nothing more and nothing less. In fact, Jimin shouldn’t feel compelled to do that in the first place. In Jeongguk’s view, he was the one who owed him for bearing this awful procedure.

The question remained: why did the fae’s words have such an effect on him? His patients thanked Jeongguk all the time; it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. And Jimin was essentially nothing else, notwithstanding that the mage’s patients were naturally human.

So why did he react like this? Was it perhaps less the statement itself and rather the way his name had rolled off Jimin’s tongue? Why did it sound familiar?

“Is it true that fae can’t lie?” Jeongguk wanted to know. He was curious by nature and since his entire knowledge about fae came from biased hearsay, he couldn’t miss the opportunity to interrogate a specimen of the creatures concerned while they watched the sunset together by the river.

“It is.”

“Why are most humans so afraid of you then? I could simply ask you if you want to harm me and you’d have to answer honestly.”

“We can’t lie and only the strongest, most experienced fae can resist the urge of a direct question and choose not to answer at all. But every fae can obscure the truth. We can twist words to our advantage. We are taught this from the moment we learn how to speak. Fae detest having to tell the truth. They consider it a weakness because they don’t want to be seen through. So their replies are often evasive, never clear. Anything else should make you highly suspicious, for the more a fae talks, the more dangerous and insidious they probably are.”

“Why is that?” Jeongguk enquired, confusion etched onto his boyish features.

“If you’re too busy listening to what they say, you’re not paying attention to what they don’t say. Telling you that I won’t hurt you, for example, doesn’t necessarily include the promise that I won’t make you injure yourself or orchestrate someone else to do it.”

This gave Jeongguk food for thought. “You’re usually quite talkative.”

“I don’t like silence. It lets my mind run free and I don’t always end up in good places.” The other defended themselves, a hint of grievance in their melodic voice.

“But sometimes…” Jeongguk continued quickly, hoping the other would conceive that his mind centred around something different.

“Sometimes?”

“Sometimes, when I ask you something, your responses are plain, monosyllabic even.”

Jeongguk had noticed this a few times now.

“Is that something you dislike?” The other queried, obviously not grasping yet what the young mage was getting at.

Jeongguk shook his head, dispelling the fae’s worries.

“I have a theory about what it means, though; about why or rather when you are so uncharacteristically taciturn.”

“Are you inclined to share this theory with me?” They seemed genuinely interested.

“You said fae are masters of words.” The other nodded, prompting Jeongguk to go on. “Would you feel uneasy telling me about how the fae treat humans at their court?”

Jeongguk had heard myriads of horror stories about enslaved humans working themselves to death without being aware of it. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that none of them were true. The notion sent a cold shiver down his spine.

The fae nodded once more. “I would.”

“What would you answer if I asked you nevertheless?”

Jeongguk would never force the other to talk about something that evidently caused him tremendous discomfort, so he had been heedful not to ask him inadvertently.

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

That was exactly the kind of vague non-answer that Jeongguk had wanted to point out.

“You would try to beat around the bush.”

“I guess there’s no use denying that.”

“Would you miss talking to me if we wouldn’t meet again?”

“Yes, I would.”

Whenever the fae aimed at concealing something, they deflected with ambiguous remarks. In contrast, they were deliberately outspoken regarding the things they didn’t want to hide from Jeongguk, especially those that involved the young mage himself.

For the second night in a row, Jeongguk had been restless. He’d tossed and turned in bed until the ebony night sky had begun to fade into a dark blue and the ensuing sleep had been far from restorative. Instead, it had bestowed another strange dream upon him that only confused him more. He had been in the forest again, with a fae – the same one as before? – but nothing about this scene had felt threatening or like a warning. On the contrary, it had seemed as if he and the fae were familiar with each other. Almost like they were friends? It didn’t make any sense. In spite of him wishing he could see the fae clearly, their face was still hidden from him and the mere thought of lifting the peculiar veil that disguised them gave him a headache.

Frustrated, Jeongguk threw back the blanket and got up. Going back to sleep was out of the question for the time being, no matter if the sun had barely started to illuminate the firmament. Shortly after, the mage found himself at Jimin’s bedside with a freshly brewed cup of peppermint tea in his hands and Bam on his lap. Haru’s blind yet queerly expressive eyes fixed him, almost as if it – or rather he? – was observing Jeongguk in an attempt to assess his true intentions. The human was about to check whether he needed to renew the runes once more when they began to glow with the first ray of sunlight breaking through the cloud cover, announcing the end of the first part of the procedure. Now that the spell was no longer hindering him, Haru instantly detached his teeth from Jimin’s wrist and curled up next to him, overtly unwilling to leave his side.

With a snap of his fingers, Jeongguk turned the waiting hourglass on the windowsill. After its fourth turn, the elixir would be ready to be obtained. He was contemplating what to prepare for breakfast when he remembered his promise to the fae and reached out to run his hand soothingly over the basilisk’s smooth scales. Galvanized by the soft touch, Haru wriggled closer. The look in his dull eyes was sorrowful, not to say guilty, as he nestled his muzzle against the mage’s palm.

“Jimin will get better soon, don’t worry. And the elixir brewing in your body will save many lives.” Jeongguk murmured.

The reassurance actually seemed to cheer the serpent up a little bit.

“Do you need anything? Food? Water?”

Jeongguk had completely forgotten to ask Jimin about it, so he had to trust the basilisk to give him a sign. However, Haru only shook his head before burying it in the fae’s neck and closing his eyes. That was enough of an answer for the mage. After replacing the washcloth on the other’s still heated forehead, he retreated to the kitchen to give Haru and Jimin some much needed rest.

Like the day before, Jeongguk didn’t manage to keep his distance for long. He checked on the fae more often than necessary, heaving a sigh of relief every time he found his facial features placid. As the fever subsided, Jimin started to take on a slightly healthier complexion. His ragged breathing evened, the shadows under his eyes became lighter. Although his life had never been in acute danger, it had a salving effect on Jeongguk to watch the other’s condition gradually improving.

Over the course of the following hours, Jimin slipped in and out of unconsciousness, his body too drained to stay awake for more than a couple of minutes. It wasn’t until late afternoon that he was eventually able to sit up and ingest a small bowl of the soup the mage had cooked. Jeongguk couldn’t refrain from scrutinizing Jimin’s face while he ate. He was even prettier now that life was no longer literally sucked out of him.

Once again, the mage ruminated on what could have motivated the fae to make such a deal with his father. The elixir undeniably saved many lives – lives of humans Jimin had no affiliation to. So why should he care when it took such a toll on him each time? What had he gained in return that was worth such a sacrifice?

Alas, Jeongguk wasn’t as stealthy as he had hoped. Jimin caught him staring and met his prying gaze with an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Is it possible that you’d like to ask me something? I can see the gears turning in your head.” The fae said without a trace of irritation in his tone, his smile almost fond.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but...”

Jeongguk cut himself off when he became conscious of the idiocy of his statement. He had half a mind to slap his palm against his forehead. Jimin was a fae, for moon’s sake, he was deprived of the option not to answer. The best he could do was deflecting.

“Nevermind, it’s none of my business.” The mage amended, ducking his head.

“Jeongguk…” Jimin bit his bottom lip as he chuckled. “Go ahead. I’ll find a way to answer honestly – one way or another. I always will. The question is whether or not my response will reveal what you really want to know.”

“Why did you make this deal with my father?” Jeongguk blurted out, losing the battle against his own curiosity. “What did he do for you in return? He never wanted to tell me.”

Jimin was silent for a moment. An unreadable expression swept across his delicate features, right before wistfulness streamed into his eyes; a feeling that was all too familiar to the mage.

“He saved the life of the one I love.”

“Oh.” Jeongguk breathed, tongue-tied.

He truly hadn’t expected such a weighty inducement. Enduring pain for several days once a year suddenly seemed a minor price to pay in exchange for the life of a loved one. He was just ineffably ashamed that his father had taken advantage of a dire situation to exact a commitment like that, over such a long period of time to boot, from someone who most likely had had no choice but to agree rather than offering his help because it was the right thing to do.

“I’m sorry my father forced you into such a contract.”

Expressing his sincere remorse for his father’s behaviour was the least he could do, if it was neither in his power to undo it nor release Jimin from it. Jeongguk was glad that he seemed to take more after his mother than his father. Sadly, she had died when he was still an infant. He had no memories of her, had never seen a painting of her or heard stories about her. All Jeongguk knew was her name, Iseul, and that he resembled her. He firmly believed that she had been kind, though. Someone had to be responsible for him not inheriting his father’s cold heart.

Unlike him, Jeongguk couldn’t imagine tarnishing the love of two souls. He hadn’t experienced yet what it meant to be in love, but he had seen the love of others. In his opinion, there was nothing more beautiful in this world. Love was something precious that deserved respect and appreciation. And something he himself yearned for every night.

“It was worth it. I would do it all over again.”

Jimin interrupted his thoughts. Sincerity spoke in the fae’s tone and gave emphasis to the words that didn’t contain an ounce of regret.

“Is the fae he saved your significant other?”

Jeongguk wondered if he had correctly interpreted the emotions swirling in Jimin’s depthless eyes. He figured having someone who waited for the fae to return made the ordeal more bearable. Then why did the idea of Jimin belonging with someone else sting him somehow? Was it an unpleasant reminder of his own loneliness?

“Who says it was another fae?” Jimin retorted, his gaze inscrutable.

“A-are they not?” Jeongguk muttered, taken aback. Was it possible th–

“No. He’s human.” The fae stated, never ceasing to baffle him.

Jimin’s dark stare held Jeongguk hostage and for a brief moment, he felt as if there was a covert meaning between the lines, as if there was a message hidden there that the mage couldn’t decipher, even though it was meant for him. He wanted to learn more, wanted to probe further and ask how it had happened that a human had become so important to Jimin, that a human and a fae had entered into a close relationship with each other. But something stopped him. Something told him that Jimin wouldn’t unveil more, couldn’t unveil more; that any further questions would solely lead to answers that would amplify Jeongguk’s bewilderment rather than adding enlightening pieces to the nebulous puzzle.

“How come the pears you gave me stayed fresh so much longer than usual? I was fully expecting to have to make jam out of most of them because I wouldn’t be able to eat them fast enough.”

“Fae magic is vastly different from that of human mages; it’s subtler, less tangible. Like earthbound witches, we value living in harmony with nature. Everything we take to survive, we try to give back in some way. It happens intuitively, without us thinking much about it. When we nurture a tree to give us fruit some of our magic flows into it. I guess it not only makes the tree stronger, the harvest is also more productive and lasts longer.”

“Is that why you didn’t like it when I picked you flowers yesterday?”

“You noticed?”

Jeongguk nodded. He had sensed that the other had been reluctant to accept them, he just hadn’t really understood why.

“I’d rather behold blooming flowers in a field than watch them die in a vase.”

Frankly, Jeongguk had never thought about it that way. But he could comprehend the mentality. An idea occurred to him, inciting him to look around the meadow they had chosen for their afternoon picnic. When he spotted the capsule of a withered poppy, he gently shook a few seeds into his palm before using his magical abilities to germinate them and accelerate their growth until they sprouted into new, vibrant flowers.

“Here, these can be replanted.” The mage said as he proudly handed them to the fae.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you are trying to impress me.”

“And what if I am?” Jeongguk bantered, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Then I would say it worked.”

When Jeongguk accessed the back room shortly before dawn the next morning to complete the procedure, Jimin was sitting on the edge of the bed. Fully dressed, with the basilisk’s head resting on his thigh, he was lost in thought as he absent-mindedly caressed the green scales. His whole demeanour gave Jeongguk the impression that he planned to exit the cabin with Haru as soon as the elixir left his body. The mage couldn’t help but wonder why Jimin was in such a rush; whether he didn’t want to overextend his hospitality or whether he couldn’t wait to leave Jeongguk. That sentiment was absurd. Jimin wasn’t leaving him, they would simply part ways, like they were meant to. Three days of civilized interaction didn’t make them friends. And somewhere, someone was waiting for the fae, wasn’t there?

“Good morning.” Jimin uttered once he took note of Jeongguk’s presence, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The mage returned the greeting with a small bow as he opened a display cabinet across from the bed, still too drowsy to start a conversation. He needed all his energy to remember what he was supposed to be doing, the lack of sleep over the past few nights taking its toll on him.

With two glass vials in his fist, Jeongguk sat down on the other side of the serpent’s spiralled shape and began to stroke the smooth tail. Haru seemed to enjoy the double attention, if the manner in which he briefly closed his eyes was anything to go by, but like Jimin had said, the basilisk knew exactly what was expected of him. Without being asked to, he stretched his jaw wide, revealing his two poison fangs.

The fae wordlessly held out his open palm and after a moment’s hesitation, Jeongguk handed him one of the empty vessels. When their fingertips touched, his eyes flicked up to Jimin’s, magically drawn to his intense gaze. A spark ran through Jeongguk’s veins though this time it didn’t feel irritating. Reminiscent of the warm tingling the sun’s rays left on shivering skin, it was rather invigorating. It distracted him so much that he even forgot to avert his eyes despite the imminent danger. All his life, his father had instilled into him to avoid such a situation at all costs. Yet, Jeongguk didn’t have the slightest desire to break their eye or skin contact prematurely.

In the end it was Jimin who disrupted their frozen state, a hint of disappointment pulling down the corners of his lips. He snatched the vial with his fingers and brought it to one of Haru’s fangs. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jeongguk followed suit. Mesmerized, he watched as the purple moon blood dripped from the hollow teeth into the glasses. The process seemed to be straining for the basilisk, so Jimin did his best to appease him. He never quit petting Haru and murmured soft words in a language Jeongguk didn’t understand. Still, their calming effect worked on him as well.

Having lost all sense of time, the mage had no idea how many minutes had passed when the final drops seeped from Haru’s fangs. The two vials now filled to the brim with the precious elixir, Jeongguk meticulously sealed them with tiny corks. The basilisk let out a puff of air that resembled a sigh and curled up in the fae’s lap, his muzzle buried into the other’s belly. In an almost protective gesture, Jimin cradled him in his arms as he whispered praises against Haru’s verdant scales until some of the tension had visibly left the serpent’s body.

“I guess it’s time for us to go.” Jimin ventured after turning his head to look at Jeongguk, his eyes full of warring emotions that the mage couldn’t discern.

A rueful smile flashed over the fae’s face as he got up from the bed. Jeongguk opened his mouth to protest before immediately closing it again. Jimin was right. There was no reason for him to stay any longer. Like every other year, he had only come here to undergo the spell, had only come here because a contract required him to, because he had no other choice. Or did he?

Dispelling his last thought, Jeongguk gingerly placed the vials in the designated cabinet. He intended to follow Jimin out of the room when he noticed how unsteady the other was on his feet. Instead of placing one in front of the other, the fae merely dragged them forward and had to brace himself on the doorframe to not lose his balance, panting. On his next step, Jimin tripped over the threshold. He would have fallen onto the hard wooden floor if Jeongguk hadn’t sprung forward to catch him at the last second.

“Are you alright?” He asked from behind, one arm wrapped securely around Jimin’s dainty waist to keep him upright.

Judging by the way his body sagged limply against Jeongguk’s, his recovery from the gruelling procedure wasn’t nearly as advanced as the fae had led him to believe. Had Jeongguk done something wrong that made Jimin feel worse than usual? Or had his father actually deigned to send him away in such a miserable health?

“I-I’m fine. I just stumbled. It’s okay.” The fae assured.

He made a half-hearted move to free himself from Jeongguk’s embrace, but he was so shaky on his legs that the mage didn’t dare to let him go. For a heartbeat, he contemplated carrying Jimin. It wouldn’t have caused him much trouble since the fae seemed to be as light as a feather. The fear of humiliating Jimin was what ultimately convinced him to opt for the next best thing. Jeongguk put one of the other’s arms around his shoulders and turned around to lead him back into the room.

“What are you doing?” The fae queried without offering any serious resistance.

“I’m taking you to bed where you belong.” Jeongguk stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

“What? No. I’m fine, really.” Jimin objected, refusing to admit that he was far from recuperated.

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave in this condition.”

Sternness usually wasn’t one of Jeongguk’s traits – except when he was dealing with mulish patients who didn’t know what was good for them. It was irrelevant how far away Jimin’s home might be for the fae hadn’t even been able to make it out of the room on his own, let alone to the front door. Jeongguk wouldn’t risk Jimin passing out somewhere in the forest.

Jimin scoffed. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, Jeongguk.”

“I don’t doubt that you can – under normal circumstances. Now stop arguing with me. I am the healer of the two of us. You and Haru will stay until you can walk properly. End of discussion.”

Jeongguk expected more backtalk, but to his surprise, Jimin didn’t contradict further. Maybe he had accepted that he was fighting a losing battle. The mage could be quite stubborn, he knew that himself. Or maybe the fae had finally come to terms with the fact that he truly wasn’t feeling well. Jeongguk suspected the latter after he had lifted Jimin back onto the cot. The fae’s half-lidded eyes fluttered shut as soon as his head hit the pillow, as if the few steps had indeed robbed him of all his vigour. A sigh escaped his parted lips and he sank deeper into the mattress, the basilisk still pressed against his stomach.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Jeongguk carefully removed the fae’s shoes before covering him and Haru with the warm blanket, the basilisk’s muzzle peeking out near his collarbones. His angelic face looked so peaceful in his slumber that Jeongguk couldn’t restrain himself from staring at Jimin. His chiselled jaw would have made his features appear edgy had it not been for the prominent pair of plump lips and the soft peach tone accentuating the high cheekbones. His almond eyes were framed by silky black hair. Several stray strands fell gently over his forehead, one of which was stuck in his curved lashes.

Jeongguk impulsively reached out to tuck it behind a pointed ear. He was so close to the other that he could have counted the hardly detectable freckles on his flawless skin when, all of a sudden, Jimin opened his dazzling eyes. Jeongguk caught his breath. As if he was a moth and the fae the flame he couldn’t resist, his instincts urged him to lean in rather than backing away. Jimin’s unfathomable gaze held him captive while his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. A myriad of indistinguishable emotions permeated the fae’s eyes. He didn’t flinch when Jeongguk inched even nearer, didn’t make any move to impede him; as if he wanted the mage to bend down, as if he was yearning for the other’s lips to capture his.

Jeongguk didn’t understand why, yet something inside of him begged him to kiss Jimin – and Jimin would have let him, he was sure of that.

As if he too was trapped in this trance-like state, the fae tentatively raised his hand to Jeongguk’s face. Time seemed to slow down while the mage waited for the touch. But the moment the warm fingertips grazed the apple of his cheek, the spell broke. With a sharp inhale, Jeongguk recoiled as if he had been burned. His skin tingled all over his body and he couldn’t shake the sensation that he had forgotten something, something important, something he should never have forgotten.

Overwhelmed by his own disorienting thoughts, Jeongguk leaped up. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he cleared his throat to cover his befuddlement.

“I… erm… you… y-you should rest… I-I’ll check on you later.” He stuttered right before he fled the room.

Unable to sit still, Jeongguk paced in front of the crackling fireplace and berated himself for his carelessness. This was the second time that he had let Jimin come near enough to manipulate him. Or – to be exact – that the mage himself had created the crucial proximity, against his better judgement; completely ignoring the danger he was putting himself in. Jeongguk could consider himself fortunate that Jimin hadn’t seized the opportunities he’d granted him on a silver platter.

Or had he? Just in a subtler way? Was he the reason for the hurricane raging within Jeongguk that rendered his feelings tightly knit into a twisted web he couldn’t unravel? Why else would he feel regret instead of relief? Regret about not having felt Jimin’s lips on his? It was driving him insane! He shouldn’t be so attracted to the fae. He barely knew him, had spoken to him for the first time scarcely a few days ago, and yet he felt more connected to him than to any other person on this planet.

Although he continued to feel this inexplicable pull towards Jimin, Jeongguk withstood the compulsion to give in. For the rest of the day, he mostly avoided entering the back room, too scared to stay near the fae longer than absolutely necessary until he got himself under control. Of course, he occasionally checked on Jimin, if only to bring him something to eat. As luck would have it, he always found the other fast asleep, which gave him some reprieve to dissect his scrambled emotions.

Or to try – because Jeongguk ended up not having much success with it.

“Why are you living all by yourself? Don’t fae typically live in a court?”

At least that’s what the stories circulating about them said. However, the descriptions varied so widely that Jeongguk had grave doubts about whether or not any human had ever seen a fae court – any human that had had the chance to return to talk about it, that is.

“I don’t fit in. I never did.”

“Why is that?” Jeongguk’s curiosity was unbridled.

“I don’t enjoy manipulating others. I don’t revel in exploiting humans. I’m not wicked. Or devious. Or guileful.”

“You say that as if it was something despicable.” Jeongguk exclaimed, flabbergasted.

It was jarring to hear someone list such horrid traits as if they were something worth striving for. As if not having them was an unforgivable flaw.

“For my folk it is.”

“For me it’s not.” Jeongguk argued, shaking his head.

“No?”

At first, Jeongguk thought the question was nothing more than a hollow remark. Upon closer reflection he realized that the other’s tone was laced with insecurity. As if the fae wasn’t confident that Jeongguk was serious. As if they challenged the sincerity of his words.

“No.” Jeongguk repeated more firmly. “For me it makes you amiable. Benevolent. Lovable...”

When Jeongguk woke up from his dream, he could still hear the echo of the words that had last escaped his lips. Amiable. Benevolent. Lovable. The last one in particular resonated within him, as if it desperately wanted to draw his attention to something. But the sensation was too fleeting to get a hold of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shadow approaching. A heartbeat later, Bam jumped onto his bed, snuggling up to him. She rubbed her head against his chin and started to purr as soon as he smoothed his hands down her bent back, grateful to have something tangible between his fingers as he tried to untangle his muddled feelings. The strange dreams had gotten a little clearer every night. By now, Jeongguk was positive that he always spoke to the same person, or more precisely fae. Their face remained hidden, while their body and voice became more conspicuous, increasing the feeling of familiarity. In those dreams, Jeongguk was not only deeply attached to this particular fae, he felt something for them; more than he had ever felt for another person. The idea was so disconcerting that he almost didn’t dare to name the emotion that seemed most comparable to it: pining.

From a purely logical point of view, Jeongguk should have been frightened or at least wary; he should have been prone to keep the fae at bay. Every human grew up with the basic tenet that one wasn’t supposed to mingle with a fae. Because fae couldn’t be trusted. The fae themselves had confirmed this. Yet, Jeongguk had craved to be closer. Being around them had made him feel sheltered, adored, treasured. If he didn’t know better, he would say that – in his dreams – he was dead certain that this fae was the missing piece to the puzzle of his soul.

Jeongguk groaned, the noise disrupting the morning tranquillity loud enough that Bam bolted with an indignant meow. None of this made any sense. The theory that the dreams were a warning from his subconscious had indubitably been proven wrong. Then what else could be the cause? Did the fae’s abilities extend further than humans were aware of? Was Jimin getting into his head to mislead him to throw all caution to the wind? To drop his guard so he could outfox him without hindrance? Jeongguk shook his head. That seemed equally unlikely. Such an effort was superfluous, to say the least. There had been more than one instance in which Jimin could have manipulated him with ease.

Sighing heavily, the mage got dressed and went downstairs. After neglecting his daily work one too many times, owing to his current house guests, there was a lot to catch up on. Thankful for the distractions that deterred him from mulling over his cryptic dreams, Jeongguk busied himself with all the winter preparations on his list that he had planned to tick off days ago, such as creating tea mixtures to prevent infections or blending salves that assuaged nasal congestion. When the temperatures fell, people increasingly caught coughs or colds, and soon the inhabitants of the surrounding villages would send out runners to replenish their medicine supplies. The mage wanted to be prepared for that. And since the kitchen was his favourite place in the cabin, even though it was basically his workspace, he didn’t mind holing up in it.

Was it cowardly to evade Jimin? Perhaps. But Jeongguk struggled to retain his composure around the fae – and to not dwell on what had nearly happened yesterday; what he secretly kept longing for. Distance seemed to be the safest option until he had figured out what was causing these weird dreams and why his thoughts didn’t cease gravitating to the fae temporarily residing in his back room. In the worst case, he would have to sit it out. Jimin should be semi-recovered in a maximum of one or two more days. He would leave the cabin and the irresistible pull would disappear with him. Everything would return to normal.

Jeongguk should be happy about that. So why did the prospect of being alone again give him a queasy feeling? He had been doing well over the past few months. Besides, he wasn’t all alone. Bam wasn’t going anywhere. Thinking about her, where had she gone? In light of the way he had accidentally spooked the poor cat earlier, the mage should probably make amends. Armed with her favourite treat, he scoured for her in vain, first in the living room and then in his bedroom. After several years of living together, Jeongguk was sure he knew all of Bam’s hiding spots. In spite of that, he couldn’t find her in any of them. In the absence of an open window, she couldn’t have gone outside either – not that it would have ever occurred to her at temperatures below cozy warmth. Which meant she could only be in the one place he hadn’t checked yet. Traitor.

Reluctantly, Jeongguk knocked on the door to the back room – he deemed it rude to barge in, now that Jimin was awake most of the time, irrespective of whose cabin this was. He entered once he’d heard a muffled ‘come in’.

Jimin was reclined against the wall behind the head side of the cot with Haru draped over his outstretched legs. Judging by the number of pages turned, he must have been halfway through the novel Jeongguk had provided after the fae had asked for something to pass the time. The gaze fixed on the mage was clear and perceptive, but still kind, and the full lips had the same rosy shade as before the draining procedure.

“Did you happen to see Ba–?” Jeongguk started when he noticed a black ball of fur next to the pillow under Jimin’s book. His jaw dropped.

“Bam?” Jimin finished the sentence with raised brows. “She came scurrying in a while ago and has been lounging with me and Haru ever since. She is lovely.” The fae praised as he put the novel aside to scratch her under her chin, earning him a pleased purr.

Jeongguk couldn’t believe his eyes. “She lets you pet her.” He blurted out, thunderstruck.

“Yes?” Jimin chuckled, obviously amused by the dumbfounded expression on the mage’s face. “Why do you sound like this is an affront to you? Are you jealous?”

“What?! No! That’s not it.” Jeongguk spluttered, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. She usually doesn’t like strangers. Or other people in general. She hadn’t even let my father touch her.”

And that was an understatement. Bam had hissed at the old mage whenever he’d been less than a metre away from her. It had taken a lot of persuasion for his father to tolerate her in the cabin. The fact that an animal had the audacity to “disrespect” him in his own four walls had angered him greatly. Luckily, Bam had never used her claws against him because he definitely wouldn’t have put up with that.

“She must like me then.” Jimin concluded with a smug grin and leaned down to nuzzle Bam’s nose. “The feeling is mutual, pretty kitty.” He cooed, massaging her ears.

Although Jeongguk felt a little betrayed, the sight of Bam’s contentedly twitching tail and Jimin’s radiant smile that creased his eyes into crescent moons warmed his heart. The sensation intensified when Haru snaked across the floor towards him, wound up his legs and curled around his shoulder. In a nonverbal request, the basilisk nudged his muzzle against the mage’s neck until he began to caress his green scales, eliciting a snicker from Jeongguk.

“I guess that means you’ll keep me company for a bit, huh?” He said to the serpent, but his eyes flicked back to the fae whose fond gaze already rested on them.

At that moment, Jeongguk felt as if everything had fallen into place, as if it should never have been any other way, as if all four of them were right where they belonged.

“Do you believe in love?”

“Love?” The word sounded outlandish coming out of the fae’s mouth, as if they had never pronounced it before.

Jeongguk nodded. “Love.”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid I’ve never learned what ‘love’ is. I don’t think it’s a concept fae are acquainted with.”

“Love is not a concept. It’s a feeling.” Jeongguk objected, his eyes darting back to the starry sky they watched side by side on this cloudless night. “And I don’t think it’s something you have to be taught. It just happens, whether you reckon with it or not.”

“And what exactly does it entail? What do you feel when you love someone?” There was genuine curiosity in the other’s voice.

“It’s warm. And bright. All at once, everything looks different, somehow more colourful. Your world no longer revolves around the sun, but around the person you love. And you start caring more about their well-being than your own.”

The silence that followed was so deafening that it drowned out the rushing of the nearby waterfall. It seemed to last forever and Jeongguk wondered if his expression had given too much away again; if the other was able to perceive that he was speaking from personal experience. And that they were the moon that now determined his orbit.

“Maybe I do know what love is then.”

Instead, Jeongguk might have gotten the answer to a question he would have never dared to ask.

Two days after Jimin had attempted to leave the cabin for the first time, the fae’s condition had improved significantly, much to Jeongguk’s relief. Although the other would have to rest for a few more weeks to regain his full strength, including all of his magical abilities, he no longer appeared as weak and sickly as he had a couple of days ago. His eyes sparkled, his complexion was more akin to quartz than ash and his movements were as graceful as those of a feline predator. In summary, Jeongguk didn’t have to fear that Jimin wouldn’t be able to walk more than a handful of steps on his own.

Accordingly, it shouldn’t have surprised the mage that Jimin brought up the subject of his departure after finishing the delicious soy bean stew they had cooked for lunch together – and the sweet piece of pear tart they had treated themselves to for dessert. It had been nice to share these trivial tasks with someone for a change, even if it hadn’t been much effort overall. Perhaps Jeongguk yearned for this kind of domesticity more than he wanted to admit to himself. The cabin would feel a lot emptier if it was only him and Bam again.

“I think it’s about time for me and Haru to return home. I don’t want to overstrain your hospitality.” The fae began, a hesitancy in his dark eyes that Jeongguk couldn’t quite interpret.

If he didn’t know better, he’d believe that Jimin was hoping for him to contradict. But why should Jeongguk have done so? How should he have justified that? Jimin had come here for a purpose and had merely stayed to recover. He had no reason to linger beyond that. And from a medical point of view, there was also nothing that spoke against it.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Jeongguk. That wasn’t a given, so I really appreciate it.” Jimin went on, emphasizing his words by placing a hand on the mage’s forearm, the tip of his thumb brushing bare skin.

Jeongguk’s breath hitched at the feathery touch. It sent a spark shooting down his spine and he lifted his head until his eyes locked with Jimin’s. His mind and his heart wrestled with each other, trying to win a battle from which neither would emerge victorious. Logically, Jeongguk was aware he should withdraw his arm to protect himself. Yet, he didn’t have the slightest urge to follow this inalterable rule when dealing with fae. He craved that touch, more than he should have, more than he could explain to himself. It wasn’t as if he didn’t care or had developed a penchant for risk. Deep down, he just knew that Jimin wouldn’t manipulate him, that the fae didn’t pose a threat – not to him.

“Have we met before?” Unable to tear his gaze away from the other, the question slipped out of his mouth before Jeongguk could stop himself.

“Yes.” Jimin nodded, his eyes so full of sorrow that Jeongguk’s throat tightened. “I’ve been coming here every year since I signed that contract with your father a decade ago.” He added after a pregnant pause that seemed to imply so much more than his words.

“Did we ever talk to each other before this year?” Jeongguk tried anew to get to the core of what he actually wanted to know, what he desperately needed to know.

“Yes… You’ve greeted me from afar before your father sent you away.”

Once again, Jimin’s response was separated by a salient intermission, his voice almost strangled, as if something was forcing more words out of him than he would have preferred. Was it an attempt to tell the mage something he couldn’t express explicitly?

Jeongguk was sure the fact that he was referencing more than an impersonal greeting wasn’t lost on Jimin. He tried to remember what the fae in his dreams had said about the different ways of answering something, what his own theory about it had been. The evasive and vague phrasing of his addendums indicated that Jimin was obscuring at least part of the truth. Then why bother replying with a clear ‘yes’ at first? The solution was within reach and yet flowing through Jeongguk’s fingers like water.

Certain he was missing something, the mage racked his brain for an unambiguous question that would leave no room for interpretation, but his thoughts were so jumbled that he was unable to find one. Nevertheless, Jeongguk couldn’t shake the feeling that the key to the puzzle was hidden between the lines. All the pieces were right in front of him. They could be easily put together – if only his vision wasn’t too hazy to make out the shapes and combine them correctly. It was infuriating.

Sighing, Jeongguk broke their intense eye contact. He stood up and carried their used crockery to the sink, needing some distance to not drown in the vortex of his own mind. He hated not knowing what was going on with him, hated not understanding what his dreams were aiming to convey and what role Jimin played in all of this, if he had anything to do with it at all. Maybe the months of isolation had made Jeongguk lonely to a point where he ached for closeness so much that he simply clung to the first person who’d come along.

A rustle behind him snapped the mage out of his swirling thoughts. When he turned around, Jimin was already standing at the front door, dressed in his winter coat with Haru wrapped around his shoulder. For reasons unknown to him, Jeongguk was terrified by the impending farewell. He rushed into the living room, his hands itching to grab Jimin’s arm. The reluctance he felt inside was reflected in the fae’s eyes, as if he was every bit as unwilling to say goodbye to the other as vice versa.

In the silence that spread between them, Jeongguk’s accelerated heartbeat roared louder than thunder in his ears. There was a tension in the air, a pull that brought them closer together and at the same time pushed them away from each other, as if they were simultaneously opposite and equal poles of a magnet. A glimmer of hope flashed in Jimin’s eyes, a desire for the mage to stop him, to ask him to stay. And Jeongguk wanted nothing more than that, wanted to spend more time with the fae, wanted to see him smile and hear him laugh, but something deterred him. His tongue felt as heavy as lead, failing him as long as he didn’t know why he shouldn’t let Jimin go.

Voiceless, Jeongguk watched as the spark faded. It was replaced by a resignation that cut through him like the stab of a dagger.

“Take care, Jeongguk.” The fae murmured before rising to his tiptoes and pressing his full lips gently against the mage’s cheek.

Motionless, Jeongguk allowed Jimin to take a step back and grasp the doorknob.

“See you next year, sunshine.” The fae added with a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Helpless, Jeongguk stood idly by as Jimin left the cabin and walked away, accompanied by the chill autumn wind that blew around the crowns of the sparsely leafed trees. He stared after the fae until he disappeared between the thicket of the contiguous forest, stared after him even when he was no longer in sight. Only when the infiltrating cold made him shiver did he wake up from his stupor and closed the door.

With his back pressed against the wood, Jeongguk clutched his chest and slid down until he was slumped on the hard floor, unable to stay on his feet. The grief was immeasurable. Tears blurred his vision while his body wracked with sobs. He felt like his heart was breaking, or worse, like it was being ripped out of his chest. He was crushed, devastated, shattered. It was as if he had lost a part of his soul, a part without which he would never be complete again; a part without which life was meaningless. The sensation was oppressive. It took his breath away and clenched his insides, far more than his father’s death had done. But why? Why did witnessing Jimin depart from him hurt so much more than burying his own father? What was it that he couldn’t remember?

“I’ve decided to tell my father.” Jeongguk confided to the fae after thinking back and forth for days.

“Tell him what?”

“That I fell in love. With you. That I want to be with you.” Forever.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The dismissive reaction stung more than Jeongguk liked to admit.

“Why? Are you afraid that someone will find out you’re involved with a human? Is that it?”

The other shook his head. “You are my sun. Nothing would be further from my mind than wanting to hide the fact that your light shines upon me.”

“What is it then?”

Jeongguk didn’t want to keep his feelings to himself any longer. His heart was overflowing and he wanted to shout his love out to the world.

“Have you forgotten that I’m a fae? Humans hate my folk. And I can’t blame them for it. They are right to fear us. I would never consider leaving you alone with another specimen of my kind, not even for a second. And jealousy is – woefully – not the reason for it.”

“You are different from them. You would never hurt me. And you have never manipulated me. I’m sure of that without having to ask you.”

“It fills my heart with joy to know that you trust me, sunshine. You can’t expect other humans to have the same trust in me, though. They won’t understand. And they won’t approve. They will think I outsmarted you, especially when they see you touching me willingly. And nothing you or I say will convince them otherwise. I have come to terms with my life as an outcast. But I don’t want this solitary life for you. Your light and your gifts are too precious to be wasted solely on me. People won’t come to you to heal them if they no longer trust you, not even if it costs them their lives.”

“What if I don’t care? What if you are more important to me than those narrow-minded people who cannot free themselves from prejudices? Maybe some will refuse to see the bond we share for what it truly is. But maybe there will also be some who will learn to understand, to trust. We’ll never know if we don’t try. Isn’t it the sun that makes the moon shine brighter? Only together, they can light up the sky.”

The smile the fae gave him as he heard those words was so rapturous that it turned his teary eyes into crescents. It reminded Jeongguk once more why the sight of the lucent moon always eased his pining a little whenever he had to spend the night apart from his lover.

Jimin!

The name rang like an echo through his head as Jeongguk startled awake at dawn, his entire body vibrating, an invigorating energy humming beneath his skin that made him feel more alive than he had in the past ten years.

Jimin!

After all these nights, the shrouding veil had finally lifted and the fae of his inscrutable dreams had a face; a face with plump lips, high cheekbones and a button nose – the most beautiful face Jeongguk had ever seen.

Jimin!

Jimin wasn’t just some fae his father had made a deal with. Jimin was his fae, the fae his heart belonged to, the missing fragment of his soul. Jimin was the reason why he had always felt so hollow. His disappearance had carved a hole in Jeongguk’s heart that no one but him could fill, regardless of whether or not the mage had been aware of it. Jimin was the someone he had forgotten even though he should never have forgotten him; someone he loved.

Memories flooded his mind like an unstoppable tidal wave, a tremendous force that he welcomed with open arms as it swept him along, unleashing feelings that were waiting to come back to the surface; feelings that had never faded, they had only been buried, locked away, unattainable yet not erasable; feelings that overwhelmed him with their intensity and vastness, for his love was so boundless that he could have filled an entire ocean with it.

Every single moment was a piece of the puzzle that completed him. And every single one of them included Jimin, as if he had been the sole target of the butcher who had tampered with his brain and robbed him of all the memories of the man he loved. Memories of secret rendezvous and fireflies on warm summer nights, memories of stolen kisses and tentative touches, memories of how Jeongguk had fallen in love with the fae, of his heart being so full of love for the other that he wanted to scream it out into the world, of being happier than ever before, of having found his significant other, of wanting to spend the rest of his life with him.

His heart splintered when the beautiful memories were followed by unpleasant, disturbing ones; memories of telling his father about Jimin, memories of his disgusted expression, memories of being disowned. Jeongguk remembered being on the way to the waterfall where Jimin lived, craving his loving embrace, needing his solace.

In his haste, he had slipped on the wet stones linking the opposite banks, had fallen; a dull ache, appalling coldness and impervious blackness being the last things he could recall from that disastrous day…